The Athena Factor (58 page)

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Authors: W. Michael Gear

BOOK: The Athena Factor
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C
hristal sat quietly in the darkness and dangled the weight of the gas mask from one hand. She replayed that last instant over and over. Seeing the monitors going black, feeling the shudder and then the jolt. Her chair had thrown her against the control board, and the room had gone black in an instant.
Oddly, the last monitor to go had been the one that showed Copperhead and her four goons tumbling down the corridor floor like broken dolls. It was even better than giving
the bitch three good solid belts to the stomach! Paybacks were hell.
Then a silent and eternal night had fallen.
The worst part had been the waiting. Was Lymon alive? Had the Sheik killed him?
She smiled grimly in the darkness, and said, “Hank, you always were a wuss.” She'd seen it in his eyes as he held the gun to Lymon's head. So, he'd done the right thing, but had it been for the right reasons?
A groan came softly out of the darkness. “Shit!”
“Good morning, Gregor.” She wondered it if was morning. Her universe might have been stopped in time, frozen like existence at the edge of a black hole.
“What the hell? Where am I?”
“Security center.”
“Turn the fucking lights on. I can't see a thing.”
“Power's cut.” She made a mocking face in the darkness.
“God, they've gone to that extreme? How long have I been out?”
“I haven't the faintest idea. Hours.”
He shuffled in the darkness. “How on earth could I have gone to sleep?”
“Gas. Anesthetic, I think. They pumped it into the ventilation. I barely got to the gas masks in time.” She smiled wryly. “Be glad they didn't use anything lethal. You'd be dead, bucko.”
“You won't win, you know. They'll starve you out in the end.”
“Sorry, Greg—”
“Gregor,” he insisted.
“—but you've already lost.”
“What?”
“You slept through being slid across the floor.” She leaned back in the darkness. “I don't know how the hell they're going to get this thing off the beach.”
“What are you talking about? Beach?”
“Yeah, Brian and I decided on Sandy Hook.”
“What? Where's that?”
“New Jersey. It sticks up like a thumb on the south side of New York Harbor. It's a national recreation area. We thought it was perfect.”
“Oh, come now! Stop the bluff.”
She chuckled at the sincerity in his voice. “Greg, you've got no idea. You're through, buddy. Coast Guard is probably swarming around like fleas out there even as we speak.”
“Right, lass, and if that were indeed the case”—he let his brogue deepen—“ye'd not be sitting in here on yer hands in the dark.”
“Got that right. Problem is, the hatch is jammed. I tried it. You can turn the wheel, but I think the dogs are bent.”
“No way!”
“Way.” She took a deep breath. “Air's gone stale too. Ventilation's gone. I hear bangs and creaks every so often, but not much else. This hole's pretty soundproof. I think it was an eternity ago I heard a clang on the door. God knows what that meant.”
“Assuming you're not lying through yer teeth, you think they've forgotten us?”
“That's a possibility. They might have their hands full. It was quite a jolt when we beached. Brian would have had them throttle up just before we ran aground.”
“And why would the captain have done that?”
“You remember that black case that sat on the table when you first got us in here?”
“Aye.”
“Turns out it belonged to Lymon. It had a Heckler and Koch subgun and some other equipment in it. Enough that the bridge crew didn't hesitate when Brian ordered them to set a new course.” She paused. “I hope he didn't have to kill any of them.”
“Ach, are you trying to tell me that Brian fucking Everly had the guts to commandeer the bridge? And that nobody noticed?”
“Who'd know anything was amiss?” She resettled herself in the darkness. “Look: Neal Gray, Hank, and April were intensely occupied trying to run Lymon and Sid down at the same time they were trying to pry me out of here. My only
concern was the Sheik. He was the guy who had the windows, who might have been able to see what was happening and react in time to stop it.” She smiled in the dark. “But God bless Sheela, she played the role of a lifetime. Kept him occupied and didn't even know it.”
“So, yer telling me that we're beached in New Jersey, that you and Brian did this all on yer own?”
“Claro que sí
. That's the way it is.”
“Bullshit!”
A slight moan came from behind Vince's tape. Christal wondered if he'd ever managed to relieve the pressure in his bladder. She sniffed, but wasn't sure she'd recognize the odor of urine in the stuffy air. She might have already grown used to it.
“Why don't you pull this tape off me, and we'll both try to open the damn hatch?”
“Just lie there in the darkness and shut up.”
“Go ahead. Be smug. In the end I've had the best of you, Anaya. How will you choose, you sanctimonious bitch? Will you give it life or—”
The clang was so loud she jumped. “Shit!”
“Aye. Someone knows we're here.”
A slight glow turned from dark to cherry, to light red, then faded.
“What's that?” Gregor asked.
“I think they're cutting the hinges, Greg.”
A lower glow could barely be made out, and then it, too, faded. Metal on metal rang out; then a grinding sound came through the steel. A high-pitched whine ended with a drill poking through and being withdrawn.
Christal grinned when a thin voice thick with Australian accent called, “Anybody alive in there?”
“Nobody but us mice,” she shouted back at the hole.
“Be clear of the hatch. It's going to fall inward when we pry it.”
Christal stumbled across the dark floor, feeling for Gregor's and Vince's bodies. Then she shouted, “Clear!”
The grinding sounded, and a thin line of light widened as the heavy hatch leaned, then crashed inward.
Christal blinked in the white light as Brian's tall shape stepped in, followed by two gray-clad Guardsmen.
Christal grinned as she stepped into Brian's arms. “Hey, it's good to see you.”
“Good to see you, too. You all right?”
“Couldn't be better.” She turned to the Guardsmen, pointing. “Those two need to be cuffed and confined ASAP. The charges are conspiracy to commit kidnapping, attempted murder, breaking and entering, tax evasion, and any kind of violation of maritime law you want to throw at them.”
Then she reached up and kissed Brian Everly firmly on the lips.
TWO DAYS LATER
S
heela padded across the carpet in her corner suite at the Plaza. Through the windows, she could see the street below: Manhattan traffic starting and stopping, joggers making dots of color as they trotted along the winding paths visible through the trees in the park.
On the television, CNN continued to document the evacuation of the
ZoeGen
as, by groups of ten, the frightened passengers were removed, loaded into vans, and hauled off to the INS detention center for processing.
The press was in the midst of an incredible feeding frenzy. Each story that emerged fed an ever-greater appetite.
“Information on Sheik Amud Abdulla continues to trickle in,”
the commentator said.
“Apparently, he has been a strong supporter of US policies in the Gulf, playing a hand in the pacification and rebuilding of Iraq. He has been instrumental in helping to stabilize the Gulf during building tensions with Iran. Senior White House officials are hinting that the Sheik, despite the grounding of his
ship, has been cooperative and forthcoming during this investigation.”
Dot, looking harried, walked into the room. “God, you wouldn't believe it! How do they figure these things out?”
“What now?”
“Somehow, angels alone know how, Letterman's producer has figured out that you were aboard the
ZoeGen
.” Dot cocked her head. “Do you want to do the interview?”
“Tell him yes, but later. After things have settled down.” She waved at the TV. “Dot, anything I say is just going to complicate matters.”
Dot gave her a thoughtful look. “You understand, don't you? You couldn't buy better publicity.”
“Good, because right now, that's the last thing I'd spend money on.”
The frown deepened on Dot's forehead. “Tony called. I know you said you didn't want to talk to anyone, but he's on pins and needles to speak with you. I have him and Letterman holding.”
Sheela made a face. “Right. Tell Letterman that the next interview I do will be his, and I'll take Tony's call here.”
She walked over, settled herself in a settee beside a half-drunk cup of tea, and lifted the receiver. “Hello, Tony.”
“Hey, babe! Wow! Is this some story or what, huh? Listen. I've got Soderbergh on the other line. We've been talking. You know, throwing some pitches around. He's hot to do your story. You know, the whole thing! Like from the tampon incident to you traveling incognito to snoop out Genesis Athena. It's like, name your price, babe! You can produce, whatever. Just give the word!”
“I need to think about it, Tony.”
“Hey, babe! It's okay. Still too close, huh? Take a day or two to let it sit and digest. This stuff just keeps growing like mold in the refrigerator. I been talking to Benny. He thinks we can cast Patricia Velasquez to play Christal, and maybe even Tom Hanks as Lymon. Wouldn't that be a rip?”
“Tony, take a break.”
“It's cool, babe. We're already working on the script. You
know, just things I know. We'll have a treatment ready by the time you land in LA.”
She hung up, rubbing her eyes and trying to shake off the sense of premonition. “This is going to be a nightmare.”
Dot was watching with neutral eyes. “You were the one who wanted to take a month off.”
“Why the hell doesn't Lymon call?”
Dot smiled. “Listen, you're just lucky that Sid Harness managed to get you extricated from that mess. Lymon and Christal are going to have their hands full for days. They're giving statements, talking to lawyers, filling in details. Thank God you were smart enough to fly Felix out to look after them. And what about this dead guy?” Dot's face tightened. “Did you really shoot him?”
Sheela glanced up, her face like a mask. “Dot, I think you have things to do. And while you're about them, make sure that we have a plane ready the moment the government cuts our people loose.”
“Yes, ma'am.”
After Dot left, Sheela looked down, barely bending her right index finger. In her mind, she could feel the gun vibrating in her hands.
“A short burst,” she whispered, remembering the weapons training she'd received in preparation for
Moon of the Falling Leaves
. “So short. But now, everything's eternally different.”
On the TV, photos of Elvis Presley and Princess Diana were being overlaid atop the beaming faces of two little babies.
“Are these cloned children really created from Elvis Presley and Princess Diana of Wales? As of this report, we have no reaction from either the Spencer family or the Presley estate.”
Sheela gasped, staring in disbelieving horror at the young woman's face on TV. Krissy was smiling into the camera, that crazy gleam in her eyes. “
Oh, yes
,” she was saying. “
I went to Genesis Athena months ago
.” The camera pulled back to show Krissy pressing her hands to a swelling abdomen. “
Mine's a Sheela Marks baby! And I want everyone to know that I'm going to love her … the same way I love Sheela Marks!”
For a moment time seemed to stop. Sheela pressed a hand to her mouth, stifling a scream. Then, in horror, she bolted from the room, Krissy's madly gleeful expression burned into her brain.
BEVERLY HILLS—TWO MONTHS LATER
“
I
n the end I've had the best of you, Anaya.”
Gregor's words echoed hollowly.
The cold rage had continued to grow. Christal considered that as she put the Concorde in park and killed the ignition.
“Don't go there.”
Brian's words hung in her ears.
“Got to,” she muttered, aware of the coiled rage that was growing like a cancer inside her.
“How will you choose, you sanctimonious bitch?”
She had been raised Catholic. In the old church where the
santos
stared down from the walls. Down deep in her bones she believed in heaven and hell, in the consignment to flames of woe. The decision she now faced tore her soul in two. But the choice couldn't be made—not yet; not until she had placed her foot atop the serpent's head and heard him squeal.
“
Will you give it life or
…” Death? Christal finally understood the choice Gregor had left her to make.
She stepped out of her car and walked down between the manicured hedges. Her heavy hiking boots looked peculiar against the brushed cement of the walk. The place was a sprawling angular mansion of white cement, soaring windows, and great views of the surrounding mountains that gave way to the city. In the hazy distance, through the smog, the brassy gleam of the Pacific under afternoon sun could be seen.
What was the moral choice? She hated herself for having to make a decision that her upbringing, even her legal education,
left her so ill prepared for. One way she was a murderer in the eyes of her church, the other, an accomplice in the propagation of sin. Or, if she went through with it, wouldn't it be a form of suicide?
It is me … and it is not. But, who are you, Christal Anaya? What are you?
The anger, the injustice of it, deepened as Christal stepped up to the great black door sunk in the white stucco wall. With a slim brown finger she rang the buzzer at the call box, then leaned down, announcing, “It's Christal.”
“
Cool, babe. Be there in a sec
,” Tony's voice answered.
She hung over the abyss, lost and alone, facing eternal damnation. How did one atone? She could hear Grandmother's distant voice hissing at her from somewhere beyond the grave.
Within moments Tony opened the door and stepped back. He was in a square-cut white shirt and wearing long baggy shorts. He held a margarita in each hand, offering one to her as he sang, “Da-dah! Cheers, babe! Here's to you.” Then he was off, padding barefoot across the tiles. “Come on. I'm poolside, you know? It's a perfect day for it. You up for a dip?”
“I didn't bring a suit.” She stopped long enough to pour the margarita into a potted plant.
“Don't need one here, babe. No close neighbors—not that they'd mind anyway.”
His house was nice—the sort of thing that, as a child outside of Nambe, New Mexico, she'd have once considered to be straight out of a fairy tale. She followed him out onto the terraced poolside. A tall stone formation spouted water that flowed down a cascading waterfall to a sparkling turquoise pool. He'd been right—from where she stood, none of the neighboring places were visible.
“So, Tony, did you read the screen treatment that your writers put together on the Genesis Athena thing?”
He turned, smiling in the golden sunlight. “Yeah, dynamite, I tell you. Soderbergh's flipped over it. I mean, like, Sheela's still feeling fidgety, but she'll give in the end. This thing's gonna blow the top right out of the box office. Do
you understand? Babe, there ain't never been nothing like it before! Sheela playing herself, pulling up all that rich emotion.” He glanced down at her empty glass. “Wow! Sucked it down already, huh? I'll get you another.”
“No.” She set the glass on one of the poolside tables. Smiling, she took off her jacket. “I'm here for something else, Tony.” She let her voice soften, and raised an eyebrow as her coat slipped off her fingers. “Didn't you say it was a perfect day for it?”
Tony grinned, set his own drink down, and in one fluid movement, slipped his baggy shorts off. “Yeah, it is. You know, I've been thinking. It would be way cool if you played yourself.” He crossed his arms, and started to pull his shirt over his head. “You've got chops! The part—”
Christal's booted foot caught him squarely in the dangling genitals. The force of the blow lifted him off the cement, spiking a pain up her leg in the process. He screamed, staggering, trying to grab himself through the folds of the confining shirt. She stepped in close and used an elbow to hammer the side of his head. As he shrieked and screamed, she went after him: kicking and punching. Then, grabbing his staggering form, she bodily threw him through the poolside window.
The shirt ripped, leaving him blinking and moaning in the midst of the broken shards of glass. He tucked his knees to his chest, arms up protectively as he gaped up from his lime green carpet. “
Don't hurt me!
Christal? What the fuck?”
She stood over him, hands knotting, as she glared down. “It wasn't until I read the script that I knew. It was you, asshole. All the time it was you! Shit, you had Sheela's schedule, knew her every move. I couldn't figure out how Hank and Neal found me. You gave them my address, you piece of shit! And you tipped them that Sheela was onto them—that
I
was onto them! The whole time, you were ratting us out.”
“No!” He tried to stand, and she took the opportunity to land a kick under his jaw. At the impact, his head snapped back, and he collapsed onto the glass. She could see little dabs of blood sopping into the carpet.
“It's in the treatment, Tony! The details of how I was kidnapped,
flown across the country, and carried aboard the
ZoeGen
. How I was locked in a tiny little cabin in the secure part of the ship! Nobody knows that outside of the FBI, asshole.”
He raised his hands in a pleading gesture. His eyes were unfocused, and blood was leaking out of the corner of his mouth. “Don't,” he whispered. “Don't hurt me anymore! I'm sorry! I'm fucking sorry!”
In bitter rage, she hauled off and kicked him again. “You're a piece of shit, Tony. A filthy piece of stinking shit.”
She turned, walked back to her jacket, and picked it up from the cement. As she started for the door, she looked down. “Nice place you have here.” She paused. “By the way, I'm pregnant.”
She was out the door and in her Concorde before the shakes started. She made it halfway to the main road before she had to pull over and cry.
 
 
A lazy surf rolled itself against the pure white sand. Lymon glanced out at the turquoise water and squinted from behind his sunglasses. In the distance he could just see the green mound of St. Kitts floating at the edge of the blue. The warm salty breeze ruffled his too-colorful flower-pattern shirt and teased his legs below his white cutoffs. Beside him, Sid walked barefoot, trousers rolled, head down, with his coat thrown over his shoulder. His white shirt was unbuttoned at the collar to betray his black thatch of chest hair. Lymon could see the sunlight gleaming on the incipient bald spot at the back of Sid's head.
“They still haven't found April Hayes. The best guess is that she passed herself off as a patient. Wherever she is, she's gone to ground until the dust clears.”
“What's the point of hiding?” Lymon reached down and picked up a seashell before flinging it into the light surf. “Hank and Neal are already out on bail. The Sheik's jetted
off to Qatar, and they've almost refloated
ZoeGen
off the beach at Sandy Hook. Hayes could have just cooled her heels like the rest of them.”
“That's what I came to tell you. It's been a fucking madhouse. I've been hauled into meetings with everyone from the White House to the attorney general and the secretary of state. I've been grilled up one side and down the other. If there was a way they could twist the story, they've tried it.” He glanced at Lymon. “A lot of people are really pissed about this, Lymon.”
“Good, their pal Abdulla shouldn't have been acting like a sultan. Slavery went out with the Ottoman Empire.”
Sid's expression soured. “That's not why they're pissed.”
“No?”
“Most of them are wishing it just hadn't happened. That Everly hadn't driven that ship aground. Sure, they're pissed at the Sheik for stealing his little clones, but they're more worried about what it will do to stability in the Gulf.” He paused. “Lymon, I want you to prepare yourself. My superiors are telling me in not-so-subtle ways that they're going to, and I quote,”Try to minimize the damage.”
“‘Minimize the damage'?” Lymon growled. “You heard the reports! Abdulla has clones of over four hundred women in his palace back in Qatar.”
“They want it to go away. It's politics. He's a powerful man. I've been told over and over what a great friend he is to the United States.” Sid made a face. “You seen TV recently?”
“No.”
“It's one Genesis Athena ad after another. Little angelic-looking children talking about how Genesis Athena's medical miracles saved their lives.” Sid rubbed the back of his neck. “The whole world knows what Genesis Athena is, what they do, and how they sell it. Hits on their Web site topped forty million last week.”
Lymon fixed his gaze on the turquoise water. “I heard yesterday that Neal Gray just sold book rights for two million, and Hank Abrams …”
Sid gave him a look from the corner of his eye. “He could
have pulled that trigger, boss. No matter what, you can't forget that.”
“No, I suppose not. I just hated to hear he'd gone on
Larry King
.” He reached down to pitch another shell.
“You talk to Brian Everly?”
“No. But his embassy just kicked him loose. I heard he flew to LA first thing.” Lymon paused. “Christal had an abortion yesterday. Said she wasn't sure what that would do to her immortal soul. She wasn't happy about it.”
“No, I suppose not.” Sid stomped a wave. “What's it called when you abort your own clone? Suicide?”
“Well, just keep your mouth shut when we get back to the villa, huh?”
“How is Sheela? She coming to grips with it?”
“I guess. Felix has filed a civil suit against Genesis Athena. During our conference call last night, he said that they're already offering a five million out-of-court settlement tied up with a billion strings.”
“She gonna take it?”
“I dunno.”
Sid glanced around. “You sure I shouldn't just take the ferry back to Basseterre?”
“Yeah. The place is big enough you'll probably get lost in it as it is. We won't be disturbed unless we want to be.”
Sid's lips tried to smile, but failed. “You know, the whole world's looking for you two.”
“Yeah, and to date, they haven't found us.” He chucked another shell. “We rode to Montana on the Beemer, then caught a charter from Billings to Miami to here.”
“Word is that Sheela Marks is the most sought-after interview in the world.” Sid kicked at the pristine sand. “Your boy, Tony, made sure of that. I hear he's having trouble eating.”
“It'll be another couple of weeks before they take the wires out. He's declined to press charges.”
“I also hear that the Sheik and his investors are very pleased with Sheela's profile right now, and the last thing they want to do is upset her. You might get more than that five million.”
“I'll tell the Sheik what he can do with his profile.” Lymon
felt his jaw muscles tensing, and a slow anger burning around his heart.
“Don't, Lymon. Let it lie. Trust me on this. Just love the lady. Hold her, and support her any way she needs it.”
“Yeah.”
“One last thing before we head back. Claire hates DC.”
“So, move her.”
“Yeah, well, you still interested in having someone help you with the IRS paperwork? I've got to give them two weeks notice, but after that …”
“You might give June a call.”
“Yeah, I know. I've heard from a reliable source at LBA that she runs the place.”
 
 
It looked like the same world, but it wasn't. It never would be. Sheela sat in the shade beside the row of soft green plants on the villa balcony. Beside her, a lemonade sweated condensation in the tropical breeze. The droplets trickled down to soak the envelope on which the glass rested. The words GENESIS ATHENA were barely legible as the ink ran. Inside, absorbing the moisture, lay the Sheik's last insult: an invoice for the balance due on her procedure.

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