The Athena Factor (40 page)

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Authors: W. Michael Gear

BOOK: The Athena Factor
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“And the second option?”
“We come to an agreement.” She shrugged. “It'll cost you, but I can go back, assure everyone that I had to make a split-second business decision. That I'm sorry for upsetting people, but Genesis Athena made me an offer I couldn't refuse. I can turn the official wrath so that Lymon Bridges, my previous employer, takes most of the heat. I make amends with my family, buy mom a new car, and apologize for worrying her.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Why would you do this?”
She chuckled, gesturing around. “For the same reason you did. Come on, tell me, Gregor, you were abducted in the beginning, weren't you?”
He sighed, giving in. “Aye. They came out of the mist one morning when I was dying of a hangover. I was terrified, hauled off at gunpoint, and drugged. Much as you were. It wasn't until I began to see what they were doing, realized the possibilities …” His eyes had taken on a glow. “Christal, there's a bloody fortune to be made here! What the twentieth century was to technology, the twenty-first will be for biotech. Imagine being in on the ground floor of a company like General Electric or Microsoft. That's what Genesis Athena will be. But more, because today we're talking global, not just national.”
“Okay, but I'm still a little hazy on how this all works.”
He grinned arrogantly. “All right, think of it like this: We have nearly six billion people in the world, but they're still people. They have the same old human desires for health, family, and security. People will
pay
to obtain those things.”
“And Genesis Athena can guarantee security?”
“Maybe not complete security, but security from illness, from birth defects, augmented immune systems, resistance to certain diseases”—he grinned—“the return of a dead loved one.”
She frowned at that.
“Oh, come on, Christal! Think about it. The greatest single tragedy in human history is that of the lost child—the young adult taken before their time. Society as a whole can bemoan the notion of cloning a dead infant. It's a different story when it's
your
infant, whom you loved and cherished, whom you would give your very life, your soul, to bring back.”
“Maybe for some.”
“Maybe for all, once the notion gets around.” Gregor waved it away. “Part of the resistance to the idea of creating life out of someone's cellular DNA is that it's still too new, reeking of the impossible. Of black magic, if you will.”
“And it's not?”
“Heavens, no!” Gregor leaned forward again. “We're not
talking wacko Raelians here. It's the future, Christal. It's adaptive. Look ahead into the next hundred years. As the population continues to grow, life will become ever more competitive. We're nearing a cap on our global resources. Maximizing productivity, knowledge, and redistribution of resources is the key to long-term survival. I'm not just talking at the individual level, but at the corporate, governmental, national, and international levels. It's a matter of positioning, of pooling talent and employing it.”
“To do what?”
“Let's say a country pours fifteen percent of its GDP into health in the prevention of contagious diseases, for degenerative and metabolic disorders, treatment of alcoholism and genetic disorders, not to mention care for the aged and infirm. For the sake of argument, we'll give our government an annual budget of one hundred billion. That being the case, fifteen billion is going to health care.”
“Uh-huh. So what can Genesis Athena do?”
“What if we could approach that government with a genetic screening program that would save them ten billion a year?”
Christal blinked. “You're joking!”
“No joke. Oh, granted, we can't do anything about traumatic injury. People will continue to fall off buildings, crash their cars, get in fights, and burn themselves. No, what we can eliminate are the contagious, metabolic, and degenerative diseases. How? By simple gene therapies, by rapid genotypic scanning of fetal tissue from amniotic fluid. What would the government of South Africa pay to stop HIV cold? We can do that for them.”
“No way!”
“Way,” Gregor said flatly. “And here it is: We've isolated the gene sequence on the ape chromosome that makes chimpanzees resistant to HIV. For roughly two billion we can build the labs, equip them, and guarantee that no child born with that additional complex of ape genes will be HIV positive in South Africa again.”
She stared at him. “You're serious.”
“Very much so. And that's just the tip of the iceberg. You ever been to South Africa? Roughly a third of the population is HIV positive. Johannesburg will change your comprehension. On one side of the street, I've seen a thirty-story glass-and-steel skyscraper. It might have been transplanted from downtown London, Frankfurt, or Hong Kong. The parking lot is filled with Mercedes, BMWs, and shiny Lexus autos. Across the street—I kid you not—is a refugee camp filled with a thousand people living in cardboard, tin, and plastic tarp shanties. They bathe and drink in the same ditch they defecate in.”
“Why?” Christal shook her head. “Why do they do it?”
“Because Africa is teetering on the verge of catastrophe. In the old days, the ANC was granted asylum by other countries. Now, they refuse to deny any refugee a similar chance at the future. Their borders are open to persecuted people fleeing the tyranny of demented egomaniacal leaders in Zambia, Zimbabwe, and Angola. So today in South Africa the First World exists in a patchwork crazy quilt with the Third, often only separated by a single boulevard. It has to be seen to be believed.”
“And Genesis Athena can fix that?”
“We can help.” Gregor tilted his head, inquisitive eyes on Christal's. “Let's go back to our hypothetical model. What could they do with another ten billion a year? Build infrastructure? Educate their people? Develop industries and train new workers? Perhaps put it into agricultural production to feed their people?”
“Let me get this straight. You're telling me that Genesis Athena is out to save the world? That all this”—she waved around at the ship—“is part of a mission for mankind?”
Gregor stared thoughtfully at the table in front of him. “The brutal truth is that we're a business. No better and no worse than any other. We intend to make a profit. We're no different than a hospital, and in a sense, we offer the same services. Health in return for payment for services rendered.”
“And the cloning?” Did she dare mention the things Brian had told her? No. Not until she understood the dynamics.
“That's what we call vanity, or luxury services.” He searched her eyes intently. “Like I said, it's a business. We're in a race to patent as many genotypes as we can. The same with the genes themselves, like the chimpanzee immune sequence I mentioned earlier. Meanwhile, we have people paying small fortunes to have us re-create a dead child. Our Elvis clones sell for one hundred thousand dollars apiece. We've cashed checks for over ten million on Elvis alone.”
Christal gaped. “Ten
million
? Just for Elvis? It's hard to comprehend.”
“Imagine trying to explain automobiles and airplanes to someone in Victorian England in the 1890s. People would have thought you daft. In fact, they'd have looked much the way you do right now, Christal Anaya. They'd have had that same skeptical look in their eyes.”
“Do you really think you can do this?”
“Aye.” He smiled fondly. “That's why I went with Genesis Athena. In another fifty years my name will be spoken alongside Bill Gates, Thomas Edison, and Henry Ford. My processes will have banished HIV, multiple sclerosis, Huntington's chorea, cystic fibrosis, and even susceptibility to such common diseases as tuberculosis, rubella, influenza, and rhinoviruses. My replicative procedures will be the standard for millions who wish to duplicate themselves. Lass, it's going to revolutionize everything.”
Christal sensed his vulnerability. “I want to see this.”
He glanced up. “I beg your pardon?”
She waved around at the cafeteria. “I'm in a secure part of the ship, right?”
“To put it mildly, I think you'd be harder pressed to get into the White House than out of here.”
“Then let me see. Let me meet people.” She glared when he started to object, stating, “Gregor,
I mean it.
What if you're not just blowing smoke? What if it's really true and you can do all these things?”
“It is.”
“Then why can't I make my own decision if I want in or not?”
S
heela sat across from Felix Baylor in her first-floor meeting room. The polished wooden table was already littered with papers from Felix's open leather briefcase.
“Jesus,” Sheela whispered as she scanned one of the stapled sheets Felix had given her.
“That's just the tip of the iceberg.” Felix's voice pinched. “As near as my people can determine, Genesis Athena has somewhere in the neighborhood of forty million in assets in their publicly held corporation. My guess is that many of the entities who are major shareholders have even deeper pockets.”
“And this Sheik Amud Abdulla?”
“He's the public figure. There are others, Sheela, people back in the shadows. I can't even begin to guess at this point.” He hesitated. “And I'm not sure I want to.”
She looked up. “Excuse me?”
Felix fitted the tips of his fingers together. “You asked me to set up a hypothetical inquiry from Jennifer Weaver. I did that. There was no risk involved for either you or me. I don't want to dig any deeper, Sheela. If I do, flags are going to go up.”
“Meaning what?”
He shrugged, creasing his sleek silk suit. “I'm not sure myself. I can tell you, however, that after years in this business, I can sense trouble when I'm sniffing at its door. If I send my people to ferret out the big guns behind Genesis Athena, I don't think we're going to like the results.”
Sheela sat back in her chair. “I've never seen you scared before.”
Felix took a deep breath. “I've never tripped over anything like this before. A great deal of wealth from Saudi Arabia,
Kuwait, Qatar, Iran, Italy, the US, Argentina, Peru, and Great Britain is involved here. Even one Texas billionaire with a really unsavory reputation when it comes to outside interference in his affairs is seriously involved.”
Sheela laid the sheet in front of her. “Thank you, Felix. I won't ask you to do more for the time being.”
He gave her a sidelong glance. “It doesn't mean that we can't sue, Sheela. Given what I've discovered”—he gestured at the papers before her—“we can still file. These people invaded your privacy, stole your DNA for profit. What they're doing is morally, ethically, and legally reprehensible.”
“You just told me you wouldn't want to tangle with these people.”
“That's in a different realm.” Felix smiled warily. “If we file suit, it will be a matter of record in a court of law. That's according to the rules, if you will. Then, during discovery, we can drag out the other names. That, too, will be according to the rules. They won't mess with the judicial system because of the unwanted attention it will bring them.”
“Such subtle nuances.”
“That's law. But if we go that route you had better be prepared to settle out of court with a literal mountain of nondisclosure forms. They're going to want to bind that settlement up in iron chains.”
She picked up the report again, reading through the several pages. “So, this is really it?”
“That's it.”
“Christal hit it on the head, didn't she?” Sheela tapped her fingers on the paper. “Jesus, Felix, they're selling my DNA.” She glanced up. “Can they really do that? Technically, I mean. Implant little copies of me into some other woman's womb?”
“Apparently. Yeah, I guess. They've done it with sheep, cattle, cats, monkeys, and apes. The popular story is that there are too many variables for reliable cloning of a human being. You remember the Clonaid thing with the Raelians? After that people said it was too dangerous, that too many unknowns made it unreliable.”
“Unless Genesis Athena knows something the rest of the world doesn't.”
His expression was serious. “Given the amount of money they seem to have poured into this, they could be light-years beyond the current state of knowledge in university labs.”
“Thank you, Felix.” She indicated the report. “If you could set this up so easily, anyone else could, too. I need to think for a while. I'll be in touch.”
Felix nodded, stood, and began replacing papers into his briefcase. “Sheela, I think it would be a good idea to let Rex know what we've discovered.”
She stared at the neat paragraphs on the report, her heart like lead in her chest. “I'll tell him when I think the time is right.”
“All right, but I want you to know that in my professional—”
“Yes, yes, I know.” She waved him away. “But I'll keep my own counsel on this. Thank you again, Felix.”
She watched him snap his briefcase closed, nod, and walk to the door. Only after it had clicked shut did she reach for her telephone. “Keep the faith, Christal, wherever you are. You're going to be part of the settlement.”
She dialed a 1-800 number and picked up one of the bound reports Felix had left behind. When the voice on the other end said,
“Genesis Athena. Melinda speaking. How may I help you?”
Sheela answered, “My name is Jennifer Weaver. My case number is 94-4443.”
“One moment please.”
A pause.
“I see that you're interested in a procedure for a Sheela Marks baby.”
“Yes. I'd like to book a procedure, please.” She made a face. “I'm afraid time is something of a problem. Could we do this soon?”
 
 
From the
ZoeGen
's high railing Hank watched the white launch approach the ship. The small launch bobbed on the North Atlantic's deep blue swells. It seemed like an eternity
since he, himself, had been one of the baffled visitors. From his vantage point on the rail, Hank watched the people clamber down the ladder to the craft. One was a petite blond woman wearing a white windbreaker and slim jeans. She looked slightly unnerved as she leaped into the rising and falling boat. One by one he watched, counting no less than thirty-one passengers. Assuming fifty thousand a day as an average, that was a 1.6 million-dollar boatload down there. And the launches arrived three times a day for delivery and pickup.
He raised his eyes, looking out to the west. The cool breeze was blowing into his face, carrying with it the smells of salt, sea, and far-off land. He squinted past the razor-sharp horizon. There, somewhere just beyond the curve of the Atlantic, lay Halifax, Nova Scotia.
April appeared, a white sweater masking the thrust of her breasts but accenting her square shoulders. The wind whipped her copper-colored hair back. She looked over the railing, catching sight of the blonde, and remarked,
“Cha-ching!
There's another big chunk of change into the till. I just hope she was one of mine.”
“One of yours?”
“The embryo she was implanted with. If it was one of my recoveries—say, Julia Roberts or Sheela Marks—I'm a couple of thousand dollars richer.”
“That's your royalty, right?”
“Right.” April leaned her head back, breathing deeply through her nose. “Rumor is that we've got another three big-dollar clients down in the lab. All Canadians. One of them for a child replication. The other two are enhancement jobs for rich kids.”
“An enhancement?”
“Something about changing one of the base pairs to modify a sugar molecule on the brain cells” April made a face. “I'm way out of my area of expertise, but I think it's supposed to make the brain grow larger. Our people are into things like that. Simple little changes that give cells a slightly higher performance.”
“What if it backfires? I'm just starting to understand the risks involved in fooling with people's genetics.”
“There's risk in everything, Hank. You didn't go into the FBI without accepting a little risk.”
“No, I guess I didn't.” He smiled at that. “Funny, isn't it? The last place I'd have thought I was going to end up was on a ship in the Atlantic, preparing to steal other people's DNA.”
“You'll retire rich”
“If we don't get busted first.”
“We have insurance in the form of a crack legal team. Sometime it'll happen. As inevitable as rain. Cost of doing business and all. When it does, keep your mouth shut, call our attorneys, and let them settle. We've got some of the biggest guns in the business.”
“Assuming we can come to terms with Christal. Kidnapping isn't just trespass.”
Neal's voice came from behind. “We're working on her. The head of our genetics department has been talking to her. He seems to think she's coming around.” Neal stepped up and looked down just as the launch cast off. White foam boiled under the stern as the launch bucked into the waves and headed for the invisible western shore.
“What's the plan?” April asked. “Vacation's fine, but I'm not adding to my investment by sitting out here, pleasant though it might be.”
Neal leaned forward, staring down at the swells that rose and lapped so far below. “There's a complication.”
“Why don't I like the way you said that?” Hank asked, turning, crossing his arms.
“You remember that motorcycle when we grabbed Anaya?”
“Yeah. The one you knocked over. I think I told you at the time it was a dumb thing to do.”
Neal turned, his blond hair flipping in the wind. A coldness lay behind his blue eyes. “Want to take a guess as to who was on that bike?”
“Ronald Reagan. But since he had Alzheimer's he couldn't remember a thing.”
“Try Sheela Marks. The driver was her bodyguard. I think you made his acquaintance.”
Hank made a face. “Neal, I want you to know right off: The guy's trouble. He's not just some rent-a-cop. Neither is he the usual stupid no-neck muscle guy recruited from a gym. He's the real thing. Don't underestimate him.”
Neal pursed his lips. April was watching him, a cool appraisal in her eyes.
“It gets worse,” Neal added. “It seems there was a paparazzo with a camera. The guy got photos.”
“Shit.” Hank turned, slapped his palm on the rail, and glared out at the endless expanse of water. The sun was riding high, well into its summer path. A group of gulls wheeled and ducked, checking them out before following the deck aft.
“What does that mean?” April asked.
“It means that Neal fucked up,” Hank muttered.
“Hey! Don't start pointing the finger at me!” Neal barked. “You were the one who coordinated that whole operation, remember?”
Hank raised a hand. “Stop it! We're in the shit, Neal. You're the one who walked over and knocked the bike over. Prior to that, everything was explainable. But I'm not going to get into a pissing contest.” He turned, glaring alternately at Neal and April. “I've been down this road before, so believe me, let's admit that we had a screwup, deal with it as a team, and go about fixing the problem instead of cutting each other's throats.”
Neal was still hot, his face red and angry. “Right, smart guy. You got any ideas?”
Hank bit his lip, avoided Neal's eyes, and gave April a slight wink. She seemed to be hanging all her hopes on that. After a moment, he said, “The key to this is Anaya.”
“Yeah,” Neal said roughly. “I say we go down, walk her up here, and let her see if she can swim home.”
“An injection would be quicker,” April added. “We could dissect her in one of the labs and drop the pieces overboard. If you'll recall, they found Nancy Hartlee and identified her.”
“Whoa, Nelly!” Hank raised his hands. “Jesus! It's a miracle you've made it this far. You're about to compound
one crime with another? You guys aren't any smarter than the damn hick criminals I've spent half my life slapping cuffs on!”
He had their attention now; even Neal was calming down. Hank smiled. “Look, the thing is, you can't let it escalate. You start to panic, and intelligence goes out the door so fast it sucks logic and sense right out behind it. No, what we have to do is handle Anaya. Buy her off, convert her, brainwash her, I don't care; but the fact is that you've got to get her back to Los Angeles with a story that the cops can believe.”
Neal looked unconvinced. “A bullet to the brain—”
“Don't even think it!” Hank growled. “From here on out, put that thought out of your mind. Banish it! Be smarter. That's the tough thing.”
“Smart how?” April asked. The chill had sharpened her complexion.
“A thousand ways,” Hank answered. “She came here doped to the gills; she could leave the same way.” He snapped his fingers as he looked around the ship. “All right, just for example, what would happen if our Christal was found two weeks from now passed out on a street in Kingston, Jamaica? Let's say she was injected with cocaine and ecstasy and with a blood alcohol content of two-point-two, so that when the cops dropped her at the hospital, her toxicology read like a junkie's dream recipe. Meanwhile, someone calls her mom in New Mexico asking if Christal's there. When mom says no, our caller says, ‘Well, she ripped off two hundred bucks from me in Key West, and I ain't gonna forget it!' When mom asks who this is, our caller says, ‘Hey, I just party with the lady in LA, you know?' And we hang up.”

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