“I know what they are. They were perfected in 2010. Programmable neurons.”

“They were perfected long before that. They became part of the public record in 2010. Using zinc finger, they can be inserted into brains. They offer extraordinary intelligence enhancement. Even programmability. In other words, superstrong, superintelligent biomechanical creatures—”

“But not human.”

“What I know is this. The DNA report that finally came in from DARPA says that genetic manipulation via zinc finger is the only way hybrids with genetic mixes like what we’re seeing could have been created.”

“But smart? As smart as we are? Because Mark is very smart. How could somebody that smart be—what? What is he?”

“I fear very much that in seeking perfect soldiers, they have created extraordinary monsters. Stronger than we are, more ruthless, more cunning, more intelligent.”

“But programmable. So we need to reprogram them.”

“Given that they’re smarter than we are, I doubt that they’re going to let us do that. Even if we had the technology.”

“But we must have the technology. We created them!”

“They are beyond human. What we are facing are gods of destruction.”

“Mark seemed very human to me.”

“The first couple of models were mostly human, as I understand it. At least, on the surface.”

“How many were there?”

“Two individuals. Generation one and generation two. Then Turner began experimenting with more efficient forms. More aggression from the animal world. More memristors and alien DNA for greater intelligence. Above all, less human feeling. Or none, actually.”

“You never suspected Mark was the—what?—prototype? You just let Turner put him out there?”

“Gina, they were all destroyed, all of them. So, no, I did not. I assumed that he was exactly what Turner said he was, a master tracker from Delta Force. The Hybrid Project was closed down, the creatures destroyed. That’s why I assumed that these had been created by the aliens. We all did.”

“Except Turner.”

“I’m not sure.”

“I fell in love with what appeared to be a human being. I had no way of knowing otherwise. To the contrary, I believed the record I was given. I had no reason not to. So don’t hang me out to dry here.”

“Just as we were an evolutionary leap beyond Neanderthals, this new creature is an evolutionary leap beyond us.” George gazed out the window. “There’s heavy weather in the Carolinas,” he muttered.

“George?”

“I’m sorry. It’s just hard. What’s happening is so damned disturbing. Turner’s creatures are dead and gone for years. The nightmare has ended. Now, suddenly, here they are, right in our face.”

Sorrow was there in the wilted gaze, anger in the tight run of his lips, and something furtive, a trapped animal’s hopeless calculation.

For a long time, he looked at her. Evaluating. Considering. Finally he asked her, “Do you know why you’re in the job you’re in?”

“Dr. Turner—”