“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?”
39
Sheela 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 At
lantic, 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.”
Neal had begun to smile. April had lowered her chin, complicated thoughts shuttling back and forth behind her gray eyes. She asked, “Do you think that would work?”
“With a little embellishing, yeah. I mean, we’ll have to fine-tune it, but it’s got all the right ingredients. If she wants to babble about a ship, the feds will think it was a regular cruise ship. They’ve got an excuse to think she wasn’t kidnapped. Instead, she was doing drugs, went AWOL with partying friends, and came to in Jamaica, or wherever the hell we leave her. End of story, and we all go back to work.” Hank lifted an eyebrow. “We’ve got the resources, right?”
“Uh-huh,” Neal agreed. “Sure, we can do it. But what about Anaya? She was after Genesis Athena in the beginning. She’s going to know when she sobers up and flushes out that she was set up.”
“Let her.” Hank shrugged. “Look, the lady’s got a bad rep with the Bureau. They’ll be glad to wash their hands of her. As to her boss, he’s an arrogant prick. If it looks like he’s going to be tarred by her actions I think he’ll fire her butt and make sure she stays a thousand miles from Sheela Marks. The LAPD is going to read the FBI report and figure that Anaya just wasted a pile of their precious time. Without resources, Christal can say anything she wants. Who’s going to believe her? Her credibility, along with a buck fifty, will get her a cup of coffee at Denny’s, and that’s that.”
April looked at Neal. “When can we do this?”
Neal. shrugged. “That depends on whether the Sheik wants to make a special trip out to see her. For the present, as soon as we finish with the last Canadian, we’re heading south again. Reservations has another sixty clients coming out of New York for procedures. Depending on what the Sheik wants to do, I’d say that we wait for another week, set up the arrangements, and initiate the plan. It will take a while to score the drugs, review the plan, and figure out how to move Anaya from here to there. I’ll want to talk to McEwan, make sure that what we sedate her with won’t leave a fingerprint.” He glanced at Hank. “Is this time-critical?”
Hank shrugged. “I can’t say. Probably not. The longer they look until they find her, the more pissed at her they’re going to be.”
April laughed suddenly, causing Hank to ask, “What?”
“You’re going to enjoy this, aren’t you?”
“Hey,” he told her, “paybacks are a bitch.”
That night, Mozart’s Symphony no. 40 was playing on the sound system in Felix Baylor’s oak-paneled home office at his 4.5 million-dollar mansion perched high on the flank of the Santa Monica Mountains just off Canyon Drive. He sat behind his huge teak desk, a snifter of Camus Borderies XO to his right. He had his laptop open, a copy of a contract glowing on the scree
n. If he looked to his left he could see through the large picture window and down the brush-choked slope to the city. The lights twinkled and shimmered. He could see the Beverly Hilton glowing near where Whittier merged with Wilshire. Across the room—flanked by floor-to-ceiling bookcases—a large red cordovan couch with carved armrests dominated the wall.
Returning his attention to the contract, he frowned as he studied one of the clauses covering residuals and bent to the keyboard, overstriking a series of Xs over the offending part. What the hell did the studio take him for? A brainless idiot? Leaving that wording would have let them weasel their way into several million in DVD sales.
He reached for the cognac, lifted the crystal bulb, and sipped. The door clicked, and he looked up, irritated. “Becky, I’ve told you …”
Lymon Bridges came striding into the room followed by a burly man in his midthirties, black-haired, in a casual coat and tie. The stranger closed the door behind him, flipping the lock home as Lymon crossed the floor.
“What the hell?” Felix stood, glaring. “Get the hell out of my house! Damn you, Lymon, you don’t just show up here without some sort of appointment! I don’t give a foggy damn what you told Becky—”
Bridges stepped around the desk, caught Felix’s arm, and twisted. Felix screamed as a spear of pain lanced through his shoulder. He bent, following Lymon’s lead as the man bulled him across the room and stuffed him face-forward into the plush red leather Spanish couch.
Stunned, half-panicked, Felix heard the second man say, “So this is how the other half live? Nice office. From the thickness of the walls, I’d say pretty much soundproof, too. No one’ll hear the screams.”
“Where is she?” Lymon demanded, bending down to growl into Felix’s ear. He added torsion to the strained arm, and Felix screamed into the leather.
“I want to know it all, Felix. Every last bit of it. Where is she?”
“What are you …” His whimper was stifled as Lymon jammed a hard hand behind his neck and pressed his head deeper into the suffocating leather. Felix flopped, trying to kick out with his legs, feeling his shoes slip across the waxed maple floor.