Page 55 of White Wolf
A man waited for them. Clean-cut, in white shirt and tie, brown slacks and a white laboratory coat over it. Nikita’s first thought was that he had a distinctly western look about him, and then he opened his mouth and greeted them in clumsy, American-accented Russian.
“Welcome, comrades,” he said, his smile stiff and nervous. “Welcome to the Ingraham Institute.”
“You’re American,” Nikita said, surprised.
“Oh, um…yeah…”
Philippe stepped up beside the man and clapped him on the shoulder. “Gentlemen, meet Dr. Charles Ingraham. A leading biologist in America.”
“Why is he here?” Ivan asked, beating Nikita to the punch.
Nikita made a token, “That’s rude,” comment, but bit back a smile.
“Oh. Well.” Ingraham blushed. “I wouldn’t say that I was aleadingbiologist. My field is actually very small–”
“Nonsense, don’t be modest,” Philippe said. “You’re brilliant. Gentlemen,” he said, turning his smile to Nikita and company. “Dr. Ingraham is conducting ground-breaking research in America and he volunteered to help with your project as part of the Lend Lease Program. Isn’t that generous of him?”
No one commented.
Dr. Ingraham blushed harder. “It’s good to meet you all.” His gaze landed on Sasha and his eyes brightened. “Are you–” He started to extend a shaking hand.
“Yes, this is Sasha, our volunteer,” Philippe said.
Sasha’s smile was thin as he accepted the doctor’s shake. His voice flat. “Hello.”
Slowly, this entire ordeal was sanding down the boy’s bright, curious corners and turning him as dull and suspicious as the rest of them.
“Let’s show them the lab,” Philippe said.
Ingraham led them to an iron stairwell that went down two levels into a subbasement. Cold, and damp, but clean. Voices murmured behind half-closed doors.
Nikita heard an inhuman whimper and pulled up short. “What’s that?”
“It’s–” Ingraham started to explain, but Philippe cut him off.
“All in good time, captain.”
“One of my test subjects,” Ingraham added, quietly, ducking his head. He pressed the lever of a heavy steel door and pushed it open. “This is the lab we’ve set up for the procedure.”
It was a vast space, low-ceilinged, but deep, the caged bulbs overhead unable to reach into the farthest corners. In the center of the room waited two gleaming steel tables…the kind with drains at the foot of each. There was another drain in the concrete of the floor, freshly-scrubbed. One wall held metal shelves loaded with boxes and bottles and canisters. Another wall was glass from the waist-up: a viewing window, and on the other side, chairs arranged in a viewing room.
“There’s going to be an audience?” Nikita asked, rounding on the doctor. He’d known from the onset that this was to be some sort of medical procedure, yes, aided by the old man’s magic and God knew what else. But the idea of an audience of doctors taking notes on clipboards struck him as obscene. Sasha didn’t deserve that.
He didn’t deserve any of this.
“No, of course not,” Dr. Ingraham scrambled to assure him. “Only you – if you’d like – and a small contingency of guards.”
To ensure they went through with it. Christ.
“I’ll be here,” he said, staring the doctor down.
Ingraham gulped. “G-good.”
Nikita glanced at Sasha and found him standing beside one of the tables, touching its edge with a fingertip, pale brows knit together. He’d tucked his hat into his belt, and his hair was a greasy mess. Under his coat, the frayed neckline of his sweater seemed twice as sad against the cold, industrial backdrop of the lab. So out of place.
“What are you a doctor of?” Ivan demanded of Ingraham, and Nikita left them to it, walking across the room and sidling up to Sasha. He acknowledged Nikita’s presence with a slight tilt of his head, but didn’t speak.
“Sasha,” Nikita started, and Sasha interrupted him.
