“But they—they—” Looking back, George remembered the way Gina would play five pieces of music at the same time, would build astonishing programs, develop circuitry that nobody else could even imagine. He remembered her passion as he used his security camera to watch her work, screaming at the top of her lungs when Mark was on a dangerous operation, worrying about her as she paced through her house all night drinking from a bottle of vodka and singing in five or six different languages. But he also remembered that Bryan was a monster, a real killer, who had probably murdered his own men, and he wondered if perhaps the president was right.

“George?”

“Yes, Director?”

“You understand that these two creatures are to be killed along with the rest?”

George nodded.

The president spoke again. “Is any part of Hybrid still going?”

At least George could answer that intelligently. “The project was illegally continued in San Francisco, but that’s been shut down tight.”

“Shut down how?”

“Sir,” Secretary Arthur said, “the original alien facility at Dulce was struck with six deep-penetrating bunker busters this morning. It’s gone.”

“And San Francisco?”

“We know where Turner’s lab was. It’s been a television station for years. There’s no evidence of any activity there.”

“What about the records? And don’t tell me there are no records because that won’t be the truth.”

“The records are at the USDA Plum Island facility—”

“That’s where that … what—that creature—there was a report about it some years ago. Odd report.”

“The body of a genetically modified human being was found on a Plum Island beach in January of 2010, yes. A man with six-fingered hands. But it wasn’t polydactylism, with a repeated finger. All six fingers were functional and discreet, meaning that genetic engineering was involved. We recovered the corpse from the local coroner, but we couldn’t explain it at the time. USDA management on the island was at a loss.”

“So it’s not just records. They’re still working on this over there. Somebody is.”

“Possibly,” Dick said.

“Possibly,” the president snarled. “Nothing is ever yes or no with you people, is it?”

“Sir, I’m sorry, but we were outmaneuvered. I cannot deny that,” Lamson said. “But there is a man who may be able to help. I was in touch with him before the storm. He’s a retired general, Henry Walker. In the eighties, he worked with Dr. Turner. He was a sergeant orderly. He actually participated in Mark Bryan’s birth, then was secretly detailed to supervise his fostering. He’s helping us now. We’re looking at how the programming works, and we have some of the equipment. His wife is Emma Walker, the Nobel winner in biology three years ago.”

“Oh, good, so you can do it all again and the same goddamn thing is gonna happen. Assuming the current generation of hybrids doesn’t win.”