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Authors: W. Michael Gear

BOOK: The Athena Factor
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“Her attorney—Felix Baylor, a big gun in the LA legal world—set up an account for her alias and paid down a pretty big deposit.” Neal glanced from one to the other. “A lot of firepower could be leveled at us if this isn't handled just right.”
“How did you finger her?” Hank asked.
“We might even have missed her with the tip, but apparently
the woman knows more about acting than she does about genetics. She asked for implantation of one of her own clones.”
April burst out laughing.
“What's the joke?” Hank asked from the side of his mouth.
“They'd chart identically in the lab. Like a crook submitting his own fingerprint when he volunteered to help solve his own crime.”
“Right.” Hank frowned.
“So, people, what do we do?” Neal gestured at the screen. “She doesn't know we're onto her. She's under sedation and out of trouble while we figure out how to handle this thing.”
“I say she has an accident,” one of the shipboard guys said. “Maybe the launch has a little bad luck? An explosion just before she and her party docks at the pier in Brooklyn?”
“No way,” Hank countered. “The launch is already under Coast Guard scrutiny. Right now they know that something's going on under their nose. The first time I was here, I was stopped by them. Believe me, they know that high-profile people are traveling out here, and maybe even have a hint at what we're doing. But until they get a flag, they're not going to show up to do a ‘safety inspection' and search of the ship.”
Neal nodded. “For the time being, they know we carry enough senators, judges, and congressmen out here to cut us a little slack. Hank's right. Let's not make more trouble for ourselves that way.”
“What about the Anaya option?” Hank asked.
All eyes turned his way.
Hank spread his hands. “We were going to drop Anaya in Kingston, Jamaica, stoned on good dope, and let her wake up in the local pokey. The cover was that she ditched her friends back in California for a drug binge. It gave us deniability when she tried to finger us for jacking her.”
April gave him a thoughtful look. “You mean just substitute Sheela Marks? What about the law firm, this Felix character? He'd know.”
“What would he know?” Hank shot back. “With the right
spin, we could say that Marks did this sort of thing on occasion, always with a well-rehearsed alibi for being where she was not. She might have scheduled an elective ‘medical' procedure with Genesis Athena, but at the last minute, booked a flight from New York to Kingston as Jennifer Weaver to let her hair down out of the spotlight.”
Neal had listened with pursed lips. “You think you could put that together and make it stick?”
“Yeah.” Hank leaned back. “Sure. It would take a little setup, but it could be done.” He glanced at April. “You've got a little darker hair, gray instead of blue eyes, but with the right makeup, you could pass for her. We could fly down on the first available flight, score some drugs, throw some wild parties, and book it all to Weaver's credit card. We sneak Marks in, tailor a drug cocktail, and call the hospital to report an OD on our way out of town.”
April was nodding, putting it together in her mind. He could see the quickening of anticipation in her eyes. “Damn, I'll miss getting a piece of George Clooney. He's supposed to have such a way with women.”
“One hitch,” Neal replied. “What about Marks' security?”
“Piece of cake,” April said. “We got by those guys twice. Once in New York, once in LA, so we can do it again.”
“And almost got nicked,” Neal added. “Both times.”
Hank tensed, remembering the hard-eyed look Lymon Bridges had given him in the LBA offices that day.
“That second time was Anaya,” April replied. “And if you'll recall, she's belowdecks.”
“Who's with Marks?” Hank asked. “Show me.”
Neal turned to the young bearded man sitting at the monitor control panel. “Vince? Could you give me a visual of the Weaver security detail?”
Within seconds the monitor changed, Sheela Marks vanishing to be replaced by a shot of Lymon Bridges prowling down the B Deck corridor. He walked in easy strides, like a muscular predator. Behind him, a thickset man followed a half step behind, arms swinging slowly. Hank stood, rounding the table to stare. “I don't fucking believe it!”
“What?” April and Neal asked in unison.
“People, take a close look. That's Special Agent Sid Harness of the Washington Metro Field Office. FBI,”
“You're sure?” Neal asked, coming to stand beside him.
“Yeah. Real sure.” Hank took a deep breath. “Game time, folks. The feds are here. Things just got a whole lot trickier.”
“So, what do we do?” Neal asked.
Hank chewed on his lip as he thought. “Let me make some calls. I might have an idea.”
T
he cramped bathroom was in quarters belonging to a female nurse named Asza, whereabouts currently unknown. Christal stepped in to straddle the toilet as Brian closed the door behind them. A white technician's uniform hung from a hook in the door. It looked clean, crisp, and freshly pressed.
Brian gave her a grin, that sexy twinkle in his eyes. His Australian accent seemed to have thickened in the close quarters. “You see, the thing is, Asza is one of the Sheik's nieces. He wouldn't dare allow a camera to monitor her during her private moments. And, fortunately for us, she never locks her quarters.”
“Brian? How did Nancy Hartlee get out of here?”
The twinkle died. “She was involved with one of the guards at the controlled entry. She worked on it for a long time. You know, just going for casual conversations. After a couple of months, he started sneaking in, spending the nights in her quarters. No one gave it much thought. Just two people having an affair.”
“So what happened?”
“One night she came to me. Brought me here.” Pain reflected in Brian's eyes. “She said she was going up top, that she'd talked the guy into letting her see the stars. He took her out. Got her past the security somehow. It was like camel crap hitting the road the next morning when Nancy didn't
show up for work. The guards were replaced by Max and Hans—the two gay guys—and we didn't hear another word about Nancy until you confirmed her body was identified.”
Christal felt her guts drop. “Damn, I thought maybe it was through some vent or something.”
“Sorry.” He seemed to be musing. “You know, over the years, almost everything's been tried at least once. That's why most of the staff's been replaced with trained members of the Sheik's family.”
“Security-friendly.”
“What's this thing with Jennifer Weaver?”
She took his hand, reassured just to touch him. “I work for her. Or, I should say my company does. Jennifer Weaver is Sheela Marks. Weaver was her breakout role. She must have gotten her hands on the information I've compiled about Genesis Athena. At least, that's my guess. Just shooting from the hip, I'd say she set up an appointment for one of your cloning procedures, figuring she'd come right to the source and find out what it was all about. She's probably got my boss and some of his people following in tow.” She gave him a wicked grin. “Brian, if there was ever a time to get the hell out of Dodge, this is it.”
“Where's Dodge?”
“It's a bit north of Alice Springs.”
“Christal, I don't wish rain on your parade here, but how are you planning to get past the controlled entrance? You saw that, right? How it works? And then there are the security cameras in the hallways. It's a bleeding fortress, and you're smack in the center of it!”
“Uh, you don't have a couple of Arnold Schwarzenegger clones hanging around, do you? Maybe with a couple of M79 grenade launchers?”
“Sorry. We don't do Terminators here.”
“How about Linda Hamilton?”
“I'm afraid not At least we haven't seen her sample come through yet.”
“She did pretty well with just a paper clip.”
“I don't follow.”
“Wait a minute.” She tilted her head, weaving her fingers into his. “McEwan can come and go as he wants, right?”
“Forget it, he's
not
going to sign you a pass. He's the biggest prick on the boat. No way he'll take a fall—and you can't bribe him.”
“Who's his superior?”
“No one. He reports straight to the Sheik. He's the head of the biological section.”
“So he can do anything he wants, anytime?”
“Pretty much. Like I say, he's thick with them.”
“You know him, Brian. If it came down to him or Genesis Athena, what would he do?”
“He'd save his neck.”
She was thinking hard on that, aware suddenly that he was staring at her mouth. “What?”
“Do you know that you stick your tongue out of the corner of your mouth when you're concentrating?”
“I've heard that before.”
He reached out, running his other hand down her sleek hair. “I'd love to tell you that McEwan had a weakness other than his vanity. Dickless shit, he already acts like he sits immediately to the right of God's throne. To hear him tell it, he is Genesis Athena, and the world has yet to understand how great he is.”
It began to click in Christal's mind. “Brian? How desperate are you?”
“Desperate enough to take their buyout. Desperate enough to take a chance on you.”
“You mean that?” And oddly, his answer was important to her.
“God help me, I don't think I could stay here now. I'd give the world for a chance to get to know you.”
“I don't need the world, Brian.” She reached up and took his other hand in hers. “Just a little help from you, and a little bit of courage.”
“What? About taking their buyout?”
She shook her head. “McEwan knows that Sheela's aboard. Copperhead—your April Hayes—knows that I work
for her. They're putting the pieces together as we speak, so we've got to move fast.”
“It's going to be dangerous, isn't it?”
Christal nodded.
He smiled shyly at her. “Whatever it takes, I'm here for you.”
She reached her arms around his neck, pulling him to her. His lips met hers gently, and she turned into his kiss. Her heart began to beat, and her breasts felt sensitive as they brushed his chest. She let her memory linger on the dashing light that sometimes filled his eyes, and how those lips on hers bent into that devilish smile.
Finally she leaned back, sighing. “I could get to like that.”
“Me, too,” he whispered. “Now, just what do you have in mind?”
“Hand me that uniform hanging on the door. If I'm not mistaken, Asza is about my size.”
 
 
“This is bullshit,” Lymon growled as he knocked on Sheela's suite door. “She wouldn't have charged off and left a trite little phone message on the machine.” He rattled the handle, finding it locked.
“It sounded like a prissy little girl,” Sid reminded him as he watched up and down the corridor. “Lymon, what do you really know about her?”
“Enough.” He shot a hard glare at Sid.
“Yeah, so?”
“So”—he lowered his voice—“someone was there, with her, when she left that message.”
In an equally rough whisper, Sid replied, “She might have been playing to the audience: you. Come on, Lymon. She ditched you in LA so she could come here. Maybe she's doing just what she wants to.”
Lymon glared, voice hoarse. “You mean that? Or are you playing to the audience, too?” He jerked his head toward the closest security camera.
Sid shrugged. “You tell me.”
“I
know
the lady.”
“You're in love with her. That's different.”
“Shut up, Sid.” Lymon turned on his heel, striding down to their door, a building panic was fueled by anger in his gut. They hadn't even had a chance to get their stories straight, and poof! She was gone. Vanished into the bowels of the
ZoeGen.
“If they figure this out,” Sid muttered as he leaned close, “she'd make one hell of a hostage.”
“I said, shut up.” Lymon crossed his suite in long steps and picked up the phone, dialing zero. At the voice, he said, “This Lymon Bridges, Ms. Weaver's security. Give me Neal Gray, please.”
“One moment.”
The moment lasted three long minutes, during which Lymon's desperation quotient got jacked up another couple of notches.
A voice said,
“This is Vince Harmon. I'm sorry, Mr. Gray isn't available. May I be of assistance?”
“I
need to know the location of Ms. Weaver.”
“One moment.”
A slight pause.
“She's currently in conference with our counselors.”
“Can you put me through? I need to speak with her.”
“I'm sorry, sir. She can't be interrupted. I'll contact our floor security and make sure that she is notified of your call as soon as she's out of her session.”
“No, Vince. You'll put me through right now.” He tried to keep his voice flat and emotionless. From Sid's expression, it didn't work.
“I'm sorry, sir. The counseling conference cannot be interrupted. I will have her call you the moment she's finished. That's the best I can do.”
“Hey, pal! It's not good enough!”
Sid was shaking his head in warning.
“Make sure she calls!” Lymon bellowed before he hung up. “What?”
“What are you going to do? Charge forth, beating down doors until you find her? You know the score here. You're a
smart guy, Lymon. Do you really think you can get off this deck without Gray's goons mobbing you and bundling your butt back here? You're not thinking.” A pause. “It's not like you.”
“No, I suppose not.” Someone had once told him that human beings were just oversophisticated chimpanzees. He considered that as he stepped away from the phone instead of ripping it out of the wall and throwing it. “What's the look for?”
Sid's face had softened. “I hope that she's worth it. That's all.”
“Worth what?”
“All the love you have for her.”
“Yeah, well, sometimes, Sid, it ain't all it's cracked up to be.” Lymon started for the door. “I can't just sit here like a bug in a jar. I need to figure out how to get into my tactical case; then we're going out.”
“We going to get into trouble?”
“What do you think?”
 
 
At his chair in the security center, Vince Harmon watched Lymon Bridges as he walked into the bedroom, threw his black plastic case on the bed, and then pulled the cover over himself. The other guy, the one he'd been told was FBI, yawned and stretched.
Vince changed the camera angle, switching from one fiber-optic lens to the next. No matter how good the system, he couldn't see through the bedspread.
Report it?
Even as he considered, Bridges threw the spread back, made a negative gesture to Harness, and stalked out of the room, his suit coat neat and a determined look on his face.
Vince played with his controls, flashing back to the bed. The case sat half-exposed, still locked.
“Come on,” Vince whispered. “Give it a try. You can't beat our system, asshole.”
 
 
Gregor stepped out of the Sheik's opulent suite on A Deck and closed the door behind him. He nodded to the two security guards who stood outside; sinister black machine guns hung from straps at their shoulders. The guns came as a surprise. That was a new twist, but then, this was a curious new development: the first infiltration by an outsider that they were aware of.
Gregor straightened his smock and walked to the lift that would take him from the Sheik's palatial quarters down into the bowels of the ship. He pressed the button and waited until the doors slipped open.
Inside the lift, he thumbed the button and watched the lights flicker until the lift stopped on H Deck. Stepping out, he padded down the illuminated white hall past doorways; passing staff nodded politely, often giving him faint smiles.
He shouldn't be bursting with this sort of excitement, but he felt absolutely exhilarated. They had known that someday they would be faced with this situation. Gregor was actually amazed that it had taken this long before someone finally wised up.
“Everything in its time,” the Sheik had said calmly, his dark eyes glowing. “This, my dear Gregor, is our time.”
“What are we going to do?” he had asked.
The Sheik had steepled his long brown fingers, smiled, and replied, “Let it play out as it is meant to, Doctor.”
Gregor smacked a fist into his palm as he found the right door, flashed his implanted wrist over the lock plate, and entered. He walked up to a glass partition and was raising his hand to the intercom when his PDA buzzed in his pocket.
Pulling it out, he flipped it open and accessed his personal channel. Brian Everly was staring out at him with worried eyes. “Gregor? Do you have a minute? Something's come up.”

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