Pulse

FOUR

Sitting in the office in which he'd interviewed three years previous, Todd Maddox reviewed the latest batch of test results. He scoured through the nearly fifty pages, searching for a clue as to what was going wrong with his test subjects. With the Hydra's burial place eluding Manifold's best efforts, Maddox had focused on his nAG protein theory. He'd made remarkable progress in the field of regeneration, no one denied that, but with each regeneration his subjects, animal or human volunteer, went stark raving mad. What good was a regenerated limb when all the subject used it for was mayhem?

Despite his early enthusiasm, Ridley was beginning to doubt. He didn't come right out and say it, but with every failure, he increased the pressure. The man had made most of his dreams come true, but he was a controlling task master with little tolerance for delays or setbacks. Even in the wake of his amazing strides forward, this last step back from the goal of perfected human regeneration had brought the man's wrath down like a digital maelstrom. E-mails, phone messages, and faxes from Ridley bombarded his office. The message was simple every time—"work harder," "think faster," "I'm not getting younger" — and the increased pressure had kept him awake for days. Even more stressful was that he had to apply that same pressure on the people working under him. He'd been well liked at his previous jobs. Here he lived and worked constantly feeling that a mutiny could break out at any moment. Ridley had never once mentioned firing him. Not even a hint. But the thought was always in the back of his head, urging him to make progress. He didn't want to risk losing all he'd worked for.

His bloodshot eyes burned, his sinuses stung, and a tickle at the back of his throat warned of an ensuing cold, but he ignored the symptoms. It would be well worth suffering through the illness if it meant securing the prize they'd sought for so long.

But the test results revealed nothing new. The subjects reacted to every possible combination of genetic tinkering in the same way. Rapid healing of the body caused swift degeneration of the brain, resulting in insanity and lack of intelligent thought. From rats to humans, each became frothing mad, brutally violent, and ravenously hungry. Some, who were allowed access to food, ate themselves to death, their regenerative abilities not able to keep up with their appetites. Others tore off their own limbs to escape their bonds only to have the limb grow back and send them deeper into madness. In the end, the failures were incinerated alive. Killing them had become a challenge since biological and chemical agents had no permanent effect. Bullets in vast quantities did the trick, but no one wanted to clean up the mess afterward. Maddox couldn't help but feel sorry for the volunteers. He never spoke to any of t hem — they arrived sedated — but seeing what they turned into… They were supposed to be helping people, not turning them into monsters.

His laptop chimed, signaling the arrival of an e-mail. He moved his hand to the mouse and clicked the "delete" button. He didn't feel up to reading more of Ridley's taunts. As he did so, he noticed the subject line was different from Ridley's usual. It read simply: Fwd: Item found— details inside — pls pay.

He quickly opened the e-mail software's trash bin and read the e-mail.

The first line, added by Ridley, read: Expect a delivery soon.—R.R. He looked at the forward information below the note.

It was from one of Ridley's many contacts scouring the globe for any sign of the Hydra's burial site. That this e-mail came from a source within the U.N. made his stomach twist. This wasn't some black-market hooligan trying to make a quick buck. Bronleewe could lose his job, or worse, if he was found out. With so much at risk, the information had to be pertinent. When the first photo came through, his suspicions were confirmed. This was real.

When a second and third photo came through, he laughed. The first photo showed an inscription carved into a rock. He couldn't make out a word of it and scrolled down to the next image. Upon seeing it he stood from his leather chair, covered his mouth, and stared at the aerial photograph of a large drawing etched into the earth that depicted a nine-headed creature. He moved back to the laptop and scrolled down, bringing the third and final photo onto the screen. Staring back at him was the dark-haired, browned-eyed face of a man he didn't recognize.

Following the photos were a few lines of text:

Maddox pieced together the information. The man in the photo was George Pierce, the U.N. Heritage Commission's man on the scene. Possibly an expert on the subject of Hydra. They had seventy-two hours, less by now, to get someone on site before some kind of security showed up. Private security. Not U.N. Interesting. Coordinates for the site came next, followed by a bank account number. The source would get $10,000 for the tip and an extra $100,000 if it panned out. Manifold had already spent $220,000 on previous tips that had them scouring several sites in Greece and others around Europe, but none had gleaned even the smallest hint of the treasure they sought. Other than the documents Ridley had already secured, it was almost as though someone had destroyed all historical record of the creature's genuine existence. It survived only in myth.

But it wasn't a myth. Ridley had shown him that much. The Hydra was real. Hercules as well. He had no doubt about it — not anymore. Maddox looked at the photo of the inscribed stone. This was very real. That it was in Peru struck him as odd, but again, who really knew where myths originated?

He also found it strange that this drawing in the sand, made twenty-five hundred years ago, depicted the Hydra in its legendary, nine-headed form. Perhaps the historical Hercules perpetuated the first legendary aspects of the creature, Maddox thought. He would have bolstered his reputation while frightening people enough to keep them from investigating his claims. A theory worth pursuing… at another time.

As hope crept back into his thoughts, he picked up a small vial of lemon and eucalyptus oil and breathed deep through his nose, allowing the aromatic scent to fill his sinuses and fend off his growing infection. His appreciation of natural remedies had grown since meeting Ridley, and he used everything from oregano oil to echinacea to strengthen his strained immune system, but it had also inspired his work. Nature held many secrets. Uncovering them was the trick. Mad-dox breathed deep again, feeling a slight sting deep in his nose. He'd need to be healthy and rested if the prize he'd sought for so long finally arrived at his doorstep.

His instant message software chimed as a message appeared on screen.

Get back to work in case this doesn't pan out, but be ready.

"Bastard," Maddox said before closing the laptop. But he believed Ridley would come through. The man had delivered on every promise to date. He'd probably steal the discovery, which didn't thrill Mad-dox, but he'd learned the occasional theft or subterfuge went a long way in his field. The greater good would be served. And he had yet to truly deliver on his promises to Ridley. A vastly extended life span as a madman wasn't very marketable, though he often wondered if Ridley would choose eternal madness over death. He seemed downright terrified of dying. He pushed the thought from his mind. If he could recover the Hydra's DNA and unlock the secrets of its genetic code, death might be an issue that Ridley would never have to face.

It wasn't a question of solving the puzzle of regeneration. That, to an extent, had been accomplished. It was the effects of regeneration on the mind. For Hydra to have survived into adulthood, a sound mind would have been required. True, it was probably an unintelligent creature, but the negative effects of regeneration that he had witnessed so far caused severe reactions even in the dumbest of creatures. Hydra must have had certain genes that blocked or negated this effect. The idea normally sent his mind spinning, but right now all he could think of was sleep.

Maddox sat on his office couch, which more often than not served as his bed, covered up with a lab coat and closed his eyes. A few more tests out of the thousands already run would garner little useful information. But a rested mind combined with the prize soon to be plucked from the U.N.'s grasp might just unlock the secrets to immortality.

Then again, maybe not.

He opened his eyes and sighed. Sleep would not come. He climbed off the couch and shuffled toward the office exit, pausing at the desk to pilfer some caffeine pills from a drawer. He popped two in his mouth and resumed his slow journey back to the lab. There was always time for a few more tests.