The Athena Factor (49 page)

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Authors: W. Michael Gear

BOOK: The Athena Factor
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“So, what are you saying?”
“I'm saying that just like my example with bacterial resistance earlier demonstrated, what you lose on one hand, is taken on the other. In short, do you expect world leaders to decry Genesis Athena in public while in private we're restoring the gift of life to them and their loved ones?”
Christal sat back. “But these other things!”
“What?” Brian lifted his hand as a supplicant. “You're drooling mad that they're going to sell your DNA? That people like me have been held against our wills? Do you think that Senator Baber is going to call out the dogs? Genesis Athena gave him back his sex and his daughter. Where do you think he's going to come down?”
“There are other leaders.”
“Ah? The director of your FBI had a procedure done at Bethesda Naval Hospital last year, remember?”
“Yes. Something about deterioration of the optic nerve. After a couple of months he was back to twenty-twenty vision.”
“Want to take a stab at who licensed that procedure? That was actually our beloved Gregor's brainchild. He was the one who thought to utilize that particular protein matrix for delivery to the degenerating cells. The point being that if push came to shove, would your FBI director have his heart and balls behind an investigation of Genesis Athena?” He
paused. “Gregor even hinted that your director may have been responsible for your friend Hank's recruitment. Well, for the initial phone call at least.”
At her stunned look, he added, “It's more than just the
ZoeGen,
Christal. It's hospitals, pharmaceuticals, gene therapies, and a thousand patents in molecular biology. Their tentacles extend throughout the medical field. They offer life and hope where there hasn't been before.”
“So what do we do?”
He stared down at his hands again. “I've spent five years fighting them, and what's it got me? My friends are gone, my life has been stolen, and my universe is this little patch of deck in the guts of the
ZoeGen.”
He reached out, tentatively touching her hair. “For the first time, I've found something that I want. A reason to finally say all right, take their bloody settlement, and go someplace to try to rebuild my life.”
She didn't understand at first. The sadness mixed with hope deep in his eyes sent a flutter through her. “God, Brian, you hardly know me!”
“Right. And I'm not trying to be a boor. A woman like you has guys hitting on her all the time. It's not like that. From the moment I first saw you, all hot and sweaty, I was stopped short in my tracks.” He withdrew his hand. “But, no matter what, take their offer, Christal. For me. Get the hell out of here, bite your bloody tongue, and be glad of having your life back.”
“What about you?”
He looked away. “Assuming they actually believe me, I'd like to look you up out there. On the outside. When there's just the two of us. You know, maybe do dinner and the movies. Just to see if I find you so wondrously attractive as I do in this bloody hole.” A shrug. “I want a chance to be normal with you, that's all.”
“You don't think they'll let you go?”
“I fought them a long time, Christal. McEwan once told me he'd see me rot in hell before I'd breathe unfiltered air.”
She bit her lip, frowning as she considered. “No matter what, Brian, I'm not leaving here without you.”
“Now that,” McEwan's familiar voice interrupted, “might be quite a feat.”
They turned to see McEwan leaning in the door. He stepped in, one eyebrow raised. “Thinking about leaving? Really?”
Brian sighed wearily. “Oddly, I've been trying to talk Ms. Anaya into accepting the offer she's been made.” His voice dropped. “I've been thinking of accepting, too.”
“You, Brian?” McEwan's voice mocked. “After all your years of protestation and principle?”
Brian's soft chuckle was heavy with resignation. “What am I going to do? Sit here in the bowels of this ship for the rest of my life? You've won, McEwan. You and Genesis Athena.” He paused as McEwan studied his expression. “I'm tired.”
“Yes,” McEwan agreed. “I suppose you are. But why should we believe that you'll play by our rules?”
“Maybe because I've never had a reason before.”
McEwan turned his attention to Christal, as if seeing her anew. She tensed under his probing eyes. He said, “Ibrahim and I were just running a few tests on a blood and tissue sample taken from a client. You know, to test for compatibility? We've just made a fascinating discovery. Too bad you weren't there, Brian.”
“Oh?”
McEwan's eyes hadn't left Christal's face. “The client is already aboard. A Ms. Jennifer Weaver here for an implantation. That name mean anything to you?”
Christal caught herself, struggling to keep her face straight.
Jennifer Weaver?
“No.” Brian answered absently, “Should it?”
“Maybe not now, but she's going to make history soon. She's here for a Sheela Marks copy.”
Christal imagined Sheela's face staring down from the screen.
For a Sheela Marks implant?
Sheela hadn't come here, had she? Dear God, was she aboard the
ZoeGen?
“Oh, it's a little coincidental, that's all.” McEwan's eyes never wavered. “We've just never seen a perfect match between a client and a donor before. It was one hundred percent the same. Right down to point mutations.”
“What?” Brian sounded perplexed. “That's impossible!”
“Yes. Quite.”
Christal's heart began to hammer. She had no idea what McEwan was reading from her expression. Jennifer Weaver? God, it had to be! Was Lymon with her? Had they tracked her down? If so, then it was only a matter of time until the cavalry appeared.
“There's got to be a mistake,” Brian said irritably. “Someone mixed the samples. It's a joke.”
“Oh, it's not a joke.” McEwan smiled at Christal with a subtle satisfaction. “As Ms. Anaya will be able to tell you soon enough, I have a very sophisticated sense of humor. One with a wee bit o' time delay.”
Brian was frowning as McEwan turned on his heel and strode from the room.
“What was that all about?” Christal tried to control her racing pulse.
“The bit about time delay? I have no idea, but there's only one way a donor and client can have a perfect match.”
She placed a hand on his arm, chafing under the scrutiny of the security cameras. Would they be watching her? Recording her reaction? “Explain.”
“Prior to beginning the process of implanting an embryo into a host mother, we do a series of simple tests to determine compatibility. The first thing we look at is blood type, since blood is the interface between mother's uterus and the fetal placenta. We want to know if Rh is a factor, as well as any of a number of other genetic predispositions. If we find no conflicts, our physicians will give the woman a complete physical, and inject her to stimulate ovulation and the release of multiple oocytes, egg cells from the ovaries. After we collect the eggs, we'll evaluate them for morphology and resources, choose the best, and replace the nuclear DNA with the donor's.”
“Yes, I know all that. What did McEwan mean they matched?”
“Christal, the only way they can match one hundred percent is if they come from the same person.”
She felt the blood draining from her face. “Brian, we've got to talk.” She glanced meaningfully up at the camera. “There's got to be a place.”
W
hen Peter finished with Sheela, he looked at Lymon and Sid, asking, “Would you gentlemen like to see your room?”
Lymon, Sid in tow, followed Peter down the B Deck hall to the next suite. This proved to be a duplicate of Sheela's, right down to the stock of fine liquors in the bar.
“Is this right?” Lymon asked. “Generally quarters for security are somewhat, well, less expensive.”
Pete clasped his hands, his perfect professional smile unblemished. “This was done at Ms. Weaver's request, sir. If you would like other quarters, we would be more than happy to comply, but as I'm sure you can understand, it will have to come through her.”
“I'm sure this will be fine, Peter.” He slipped another fifty from his money clip and handed it over. “Thank you very much for your courtesy to Ms. Weaver.”
“Thank you, sir. Is there anything else?”
“No, that will be all.”
Sid, in the meantime, had taken to wandering around the room, looking carefully at the walls and ornamentation. “Quite the digs. I could get used to this business.” A hesitation. “Uh, that is if you think I work out, sir.”
At the old familiar tone in his voice, Lymon turned wary. “It's not always like this.”
“I would hope not,” Sid added cryptically as he turned away from one of the wall sconces. “Uh, you said something about checking out the corridors? Getting the lay of the land? Maybe we'd better be doing that.”
“I did.” Lymon bent, laying his plastic case on the table. As he began undoing the combination lock, Sid leaned close to whisper, “If there's anything there you don't want seen, you'd better not open it.”
Lymon froze, reading Sid's eyes. “Right.” Instead, he strode over to the phone and lifted the receiver.
“Operator. How may I help you?”
“Ms. Weaver's suite, please.”
On the second ring, Sheela answered,
“Hello?”
“Ms. Weaver, it's Lymon. We'll be advancing the hallways. If you need anything, please ring my pager.”
“Thank you, Lymon. Sometime soon I must talk to you. We have some things to clear up.”
“Yes, ma'am.” He tried to sound contrite and hung up. Looking at Sid, he said, “Let's go.”
He was turning when a knock sounded. Lymon met Sid's curious gaze and shrugged. Opening the door, he admitted an attractive man in a gray suit, white shirt, and tie. The blond hair had been combed back to reveal a high forehead. He had a professional smile under his wary blue eyes.
“Hello. I'm Neal Gray, head of
ZoeGen
security.”
Lymon hesitated for the slightest instant, and recovered immediately as he recognized the guy. He'd last seen him in the parking lot outside Christal's Marriott. Lymon forced his most bluff smile, extending his hand. “Lymon Bridges, and my partner, Sid Harness. We work for June Rosen's security firm. Glad to meet you.”
The man's shake was firm as Lymon searched his eyes for any hint of recognition. Would he know him? Lymon had been wearing a three-quarter helmet that night, with a full-face visor. While Gray's face had been clearly visible in the sodium lights, how much of his own could have been seen?
“What can we do for you, Mr. Bridges? I came just as soon as I could after receiving Peter's call. I trust everything's been satisfactory so far.”
“It has. You have excellent staff.” Lymon thrust his hands into his pockets. “We just wanted to introduce ourselves, let you know who we were. Familiarize ourselves with your system, and see if there was anything we could do to make your job easier.”
“We appreciate that. Peter should have shown you your
rooms. If you have a minute, why don't we take a tour of the ship? Your advance, if you will.”
“We'd like that.” Lymon kept his smile in place. “After you”
They followed Gray out into the hallway as the man said, “In all honesty, I don't think you guys are going to have much to do. Believe me, we've got all the bases covered. Look at this assignment as having your own semiprivate cruise ship. And since your principal was gracious enough to provide a suite, I think you're going to enjoy your stay.”
“Are we expected to share the king bed?” Sid asked dourly, eyes hooded.
“Peter didn't tell you? The love seat across from the TV folds out. Or we could have a second bed brought up.”
“The foldout will be fine.” Sid grinned humorlessly. “Boss, I'd actually prefer the foldout.”
“That's it, suck up,” Lymon chided, trying to stay in character.
Gray pointed at the hallway. “I'm sure you've already noticed that we have security cameras up and down the hallways. As a result we can control movement and access through any part of the visitors' portion of the ship. B Deck is yours to roam, gentlemen. Please feel free to use any of the facilities. We have a weight and exercise room.” He pointed to a door marked with a golden barbell. “The nearest fire extinguishers are at either end of the hallway.”
“What about first aid?” Lymon asked.
“You didn't bring a kit?” Gray asked innocently.
“In my suitcase,” Lymon replied dryly.
“As I thought.” Gray clasped his hands together. “Dial zero on any phone. The operator is on duty twenty-four/seven. Simply state the nature of the medical emergency and your location. Two trained EMTs will be on-site within minutes if not seconds. Because of the nature of our work, we have a small hospital on board. We can handle anything from heart attacks to hangnails.”
“Quite an operation”
“You'd be surprised.” The man's voice was filled with irony. Did he mean medically, or the ship? Gray pointed at another of the wooden doors. The shape of a pool table had been engraved on the gold plate. “This is the game room. Pool, snooker, card tables, the latest video games, that sort of thing.”
As they proceeded down the hallway, they were shown the dining room, library, business center, and small lounge with a dark bar in the rear.
“Should I call ahead?” Lymon asked as he eyed the empty room.
“If you'd like. We can have her favorite beverage waiting, assuming the medical people clear it.” Gray pointed to one of the cameras. “Otherwise feel free to just drop in and we'll know immediately and have someone coming on the run.”
“I'll bet you don't get much business from the ACLU,” Sid observed matter-of-factly.
Gray laughed. “Mr. Harness, we're not a public institution. This is a private and very professional clinic. While we treat people's privacy with the utmost care, believe me, we take our responsibilities for their safety most seriously. Your principal is spending a small fortune to come here for a procedure. We will make sure that she is satisfied.”
“Yeah, right,” Lymon said woodenly.
At Gray's curious look, he added, “Mr. Gray, don't misunderstand. The lady's my principal, and I'm a professional. But then, so are you, so let me give you a heads-up. A courtesy, if you will, from one pro to another. Let's just say that Ms. Weaver is a little, um, flighty. She's not one to stick things out, if you know what I mean.” He glanced at Sid. “What do you think? Fifty-fifty?”
Sid shrugged. “Maybe.”
“Meaning?” Gray asked.
“Meaning that we might get a call from Ms. Weaver at midnight tonight asking—no
demanding—
that we get her out of here.” Lymon shrugged. “It's our job. What we're paid for. If she decides she doesn't want to go through with this procedure of hers, what's the drill?”
Gray frowned, lips pursed. “If she doesn't, it will complicate
things. A lot of people have gone to a lot of trouble to set this up.”
Lymon glanced away, lowering his voice. “The people who run her trust are used to, shall we say, ‘situations.' My job is to see that we accede to her demands. If we need a helicopter, can we get one?”
“It'll be expensive.”
Lymon laughed. “She can afford it. And it's always in the middle of the night.”
“If we can't use the helicopter that's currently aboard, I'll be able to summon one from the mainland. It might take as much as a couple of hours, or she could go by means of one of the ship's launches, if necessary.”
“Thanks. That's good to know.”
“What's down there?” Sid asked as they passed a stairway leading down. A substantial steel grating barred passage. It reminded Lymon of one of the scarier scenes in the movie
Titanic.
“That leads to the lower decks.” Gray turned, a fist in his palm. “Gentlemen, your access is restricted to B Deck. If you wish to visit other areas of the ship, please don't hesitate to call my office and a guide will be assigned. We are happy to accommodate visits to places like the engine room, the bridge, and galley. Because of the sensitive and
private
nature of our work, some portions of the ship are off-limits to unauthorized personnel.” He gave a forced smile. “We have had people in the past who, for reasons of their own, tried to break our security. It is our standing rule that anyone who does so will be confined, and removed from this vessel at first opportunity. Am I understood?”
“Fair enough,” Lymon replied easily.
At the end of the corridor Gray opened the large double doors and led them out onto an open deck surrounded by white steel railings. A large pool dominated the center, surrounded by lounge chairs and tables. Another bar was covered by the overhang to the right of the doors. A healthy-looking man and an attractive brunette woman were lounging in a small whirlpool to one side. They looked up, smiled, and waved.
“More clients?”
“Yes. Leaving tomorrow, actually. Traveled down from Canada with us.” Gray pointed overhead. “Up the steps you will find the tennis courts.” He indicated the davits that could just be seen beyond the railing. “Lifeboats are just there on either side of the ship. Peter would have already shown you where flotation devices are located in your room closets. These large cabinets to either side contain others in case we have to evacuate when you're away from the room.”
“What about the other guests?” Sid asked.
“We'd like a list if we could,” Lymon added. “It would give us an opportunity to interface with their security, let them know who we are and vice versa.”
“As of this moment, you are the only party aboard with security.” Gray gave him a sharp look. “As I said, we take our clients' security very seriously. There are currently no persons aboard who could be considered threats to your principal. Given our monitoring, we will be on top of it in an instant if there is.”
“Sounds good.” Lymon looked around, seeing nothing but empty ocean beyond. It wasn't a new vista. He and Sid had spent weeks looking out at water from ships in the Persian Gulf. The afternoon sky had taken on a brassy look.
“Is this your first time on a ship?” Gray asked, reading his expression.
“Not hardly.”
Gray's beeper went off, and he lifted a small radio from his belt, flipping it open. “Yes?”
“Sir, when you can, we need you in the barn. There's a situation you should be aware of.”
“On my way.” Gray reholstered his radio. “Gentlemen, if you need anything, dial the operator. I, or one of my staff, will be back to you immediately.” He gave a brief nod. “And thanks for the heads-up on your principal. I'll make sure the proper people are notified in case she changes her mind.” He looked back and forth between them. “Anything else?”
“Not at the moment.”
“Then, if you will excuse me, I'll get back to the grind.”
Gray shook hands again and disappeared through the double doors into the hallway.
“What do you make of that?” Sid asked.
“Top of the line, right down to the helicopter. You think he recognized me?”
“Who?” Then Sid made a chopping gesture, warning in his dark eyes. “Hold that thought and follow me.”
Sid led the way to the railing farthest from the bathing couple. As they faced out at the ocean, where swells were shining in the late-afternoon sun, Sid said between gritted teeth, “The room's bugged. We're under a fucking microscope.”
“You sure?” Lymon asked as he looked down at the water rippling along the steel hull so far below.
“Yeah, I found what I think is a Super Vanguard Sciax system in both Jennifer's room and ours. The thing uses top-of-the-line fiberoptics, microlensing, and computer-enhanced resolution, as well as superb directional audio capability. You can hear someone digesting a pizza from across the room. We considered it for surveillance, but it got axed in the budget. Absolutely incredible what it will do. Hell, for all I know, they've got a long-range microphone on us now. Be careful, Lymon. Tell Jennifer to be careful.”

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