Genecaust

2

Meret Mather

March, Southern California, USA - A New Life

Alternating glancing between her cell phone on a side table and the Venice Beach pier at the end of her street for the approach of her Uber, Meret felt her life plummeting in a downward spiral. She sat on the balcony of her hotel near Marina del Mar, finger-combing her long straight black hair into a tight ponytail. She stretched her not-quite six foot frame and slouched on the lounge placing her crossed ankles to rest on the balcony rail. Pulling the sleeves and the pants of her running gear back to examine her light chocolate skin for any signs of solar abuse, she remembered her mother’s love of the sun.

The pier's jetty split the vista of the Pacific Ocean in two reminding her of the barrier she felt existed between her and her grandfather, Elias. All her family members, with the possible exception of her Aunt Doris, were minions of her grandfather. They would side with him on Company policy. This was her battle and was hers to win and hers alone.

Sounding like an oracle from the depths of St. John's Grotto, her grandfather’s voice on her speakerphone reminded her that Elias held the purse strings. And he did not share her vision, or values, to release her trust fund so she could pursue her dreams.

No, Meret, I am bound by your parents' written directions. They explicitly stated that until you complete your education, I am required to keep your annual draw to three percent of the corpus. As you know, regardless of your age, all your university expenses will be paid by company funds and will not be taken from your trust. The conditions of the trust should be no surprise to you. The three percent draw began when you were eighteen, and it has supported you well for the last ten years. In spite of your current status as a post-doc student from USC employed by the Lentiviral Core Laboratory, I see no reason to change it.

Once again, her grandfather refused to release her trust fund. Dammit. She’d had little hope he would. She took the scrunchy from her mouth. Sir, ah, grandfather, the three percent was barely adequate ten years ago and with the cost of living here in California versus Houston—

He stopped her like an armed crossing guide. "The funds have been wisely invested in the ten years since your mother and father died in that horrible car crash. It has grown beyond mere compensation for inflation. Besides, you know quite well the written directions of your parents' explicitly required that you to take over one of the family companies before the trust would be released."

Meret pulled her hair through the scrunchy. She knew what he wanted her to say, but couldn't understand why her parents had felt so strongly about her getting involved in the family business. Why was being a CEO so damn freaking important to them? Why did her rule-bound, former-Marine Colonel of a grandfather care so much? She wanted to scream. Her decision head a biochemical consulting business should qualify her for inclusion in the family empire. She stepped away from the phone as if it were poison and stepped on something that yowled.

Oh. She scooped up the neighbor's cat. Growltigger. I'm sorry. Poor kitty. Are you all right? The thirty pound monster of a cat butted his chin in forgiveness and Meret scratched behind his ears as a soothing purr washed over her.

Her grandfather's voice intruded from the phone on the side table. Meret, what's that noise? Are you still there?

Yes, I'm here.

We need to discuss the status of this counseling business,

It is a consulting company. Hoping he might soften his reaction, she quickly dropped the cat on the nearby couch and pulled on her shorts and speed-tied her favorite running shoes. They were probably the only pair of running shoes ever seen on the run around Rice University with an eighty percent level of shoe glue repairs. She stood near the phone and steadied her voice. With cousin Arthur’s help, I put together a business plan. He sent it to you yesterday.

I did not see it.

His tone said, and if he had, he wouldn't have liked it. She took a deep breath, smothered what she really wanted to say and picked up the phone. "Following my parents’ wishes, I am going into business. A sound business." In anger, she wiped a tear off her cheek. God damn it to hell. Why did she always get so emotional when she got angry? Steadying her voice, she asked again, Can you help me cover my start-up expenses?

When did you send the business plan? It is not here.

She exhaled in frustration. Arthur said he would overnight the papers yesterday. She glanced in the small tabletop mirror at the mess she’d made of her mascara. Shit.

What?

Nothing.

Well then, I'll have my man Harold look for it. After a short pause, he gave her another directive. Come to Houston and discuss the details with me. Meanwhile, I'll study your proposal and consult with a few of my men from the company so I can go over it with you. We need to talk.

She checked the calendar on her watch. I can be there the day after tomorrow.

I’ll tell Harold to expect you. Don’t be too optimistic, Meret. From what you told me I can not see how your proposal will comply with your parent’s conditions.

She clicked off and picked up Growltigger, returning to the balcony. This is goodbye, puss. I won't be babysitting you anymore. Whatever happens in Houston, I'll be staying there.

Meret’s flight approached Houston’s Hobby International flying low over the curving concrete-lined bayous framed by wide strips of green grass, trees, and running trails. With her Grandfather's words rattling in repetitive circles in her brain, the rain-streaked window echoing her mood.

I don't believe your proposal will comply with your parent's guidelines.

Even though he had relented somewhat saying they could discuss the details when she arrived, his tone told her he would dismiss it. Nevertheless, she had promised Elias she would be there in two days and now that the deadline had arrived.

The harrowing drive to River Oaks in the torrential rains set Meret's teeth on edge. It brought memories of another rainy day when a fool drunken driver had mindlessly hurtled into her parent's limousine and snuffed out their lives in an instant. She swallowed hard and tried to push away the gripping sadness that still crushed her when she let it in. Like a squeezed orange, her spirit had been pressed from her. Being taken in by her cold grandfather had not done much to soothe her misery, and it was a long time until she came out of her hole and looked around. She took a deep breath, forcing her mind to the present.

Following British tradition, her grandfather's man, Harold, met her at the door. You’re looking well, Dr. Mather. Still keeping fit I see.

Thank you, Harold. It's good to see you again.

He silently lifted a finger to a staff member and her travel bag disappeared to her room. Herald led her directly to Colonel Mather's private office where he stopped at the door. Your appointment with the Colonel is scheduled for two o'clock. My I bring some hot tea while you wait?

Thank you, Harold. When would she learn? She always made a point of being early so she wouldn’t anger him and he always made her wait until the precise minute of the designated time. Obsessive compulsive genes.

She reviewed her pitch to him. She’d replayed it so often in her brain, there was no way she’d forget it, no matter how he rattled he made her. And he would rattle her.

As she entered his personal office, the memory of his last words echoed in her head. From what you told me, I cannot see how your proposal will comply with your parent's conditions.

3

Pilgrim

March, Southern California, USA - Childhood Memories

Meret paced the dark hardwood floor of Colonel Elias Mather's office for ten long, silent minutes. Her grandfather's unexpected invitation was, in reality, a command performance and she had no stomach for the tea or the scone Harold had so thoughtfully remembered she enjoyed.

She paused to run a finger along the top edge of his desk. More than three times as long as its width and strangely lacking in objects, it appeared more like an unadorned altar. More likely a sarcophagus. Two tall, floor-to-ceiling, arched windows framed the desk and illuminated the room. To complete the image of a sanctimonious sanctuary, dark wooden paneling in an arched recessed wall behind the desk held rows of treasured artifacts. It wasn’t coincidence his high-backed leather chair resembled a throne.

Footsteps echoed from a dark corner of the paneled wall to her left. She was not surprised. In her childhood, her grandfather's approaching footsteps from a hidden stairway leading to his upper chamber had often terrified her when he had mysteriously appeared from that dark corner after summoning her to his inner sanctum. Hell and damnation. She hated these meetings. She hated them then, and she hated them now. The colonel would soon step into the light, and she believed the pearly gates couldn't provide a better venue.

Slightly surprised by his iridescent dark blue silk robe, Meret schooled her face and spoke first, hoping to take control of the conversation.

Grandfather Elias, thank you—

"Good day, Doctor."

Doctor? No welcome there.

He walked past her, gesturing with his free hand at the only vacant chair. "Please continue referring to me, as Colonel Mather."

The Colonel, three times her age and pencil-slim, was considerably taller than her five-foot-eleven and four-quarters. He intimidated her. His bald head, as shiny as the boots he never abandoned after becoming a former Marine and his expression, warm as dry ice, welcomed her as much as the separation of the long desk between them. It was to be a professional meeting. Heaven forbid that anything of a personal nature entered in.

With no pleasantries, he slapped a folder onto the desk and flipped it open. "I have considered your request to release your trust, which we both know, goes against your parent’s directions. I have also read and examined the business plan for your new company."

She waited, not moving or breathing.

"You do understand your trust was never intended to be in effect as a testamentary trust? It was never linked to your parent’s death."

Yes, but—

He flicked his hand to shut her down.

Their wisdom and extensive global business sense led them to establish your trust using contributions and equity from several of their limited liability companies. It took effect the day they signed it and entailed the distribution of assets to the beneficiary, you, during and after your parents’ lifetime. As you know, it has been used for the expenses of your upkeep and tuition at St. John’s, then at Rice, and now at the University of Southern California. Their death was not necessary to trigger the creation of the trust itself, but its oversight was transferred to me on their death. Locking his eyes to hers with a steely gaze, he stopped talking.

His way of saying it was her turn to talk. I understand all that, and I appreciate what you have done for me. Thanks to your good planning, I never felt the need for more money.

He sat back in his chair and folded his hands on the desk. Raising one eyebrow, he said, However?

She knew him well enough to know that this was his way of testing her will and her knowledge. "I realize your expectations for me were always high and I can say with confidence I have never failed you. I believe my consulting business addresses the intent of my parent's handwritten codicil and that my company qualifies for inclusion within the family sphere of global enterprises."

Stony-faced, he said nothing. How like him. She had to convince him her new business plan was sound.

You are aware of my current situation at the University of Southern California?

Tapping a finger on the desktop, he nodded and leaned toward her. "At the Lentiviral Core Laboratory, your post-doc position puts you at the forefront of managing, manufacturing, and distributing custom strands of DNA to support genomic research around the world. You are in a position to learn a great about the skills and knowledge to become the CEO of a biotech company. I can see this puts you in a most profitable niche of a new industry. He narrowed his eyes. How is this something I should care about?"

Did his body language say he was open to her plans? She took a deep breath and tried to relax the firm grip of the muscles that ran up the back of her neck and tied a knot around her head. Yes, grandfather. However—

He leaned back on his royal throne. However, you need money to start up this new and risky business.

She tapped her chin. "Ye-e-s-s, but it must be private funding. This company cannot share its leadership with venture capital or public funding. It is private."

He turned over one hand extending a palm as an offer to reason. "Knowing what you must do to lead a company is not the same as knowing how to do that. We have many companies that you could lead, right now. Think of the experience you'll gain."

Colonel, the family has a chain of upscale hotels and resorts throughout the world as well as several casinos. Where do I fit in those environments and how does that align with my goals to be the best in my field of research? My goal is to contribute to greater understanding of the human genome?

A good CEO is like a field commander. Think of it. Beyond all the knowledge you have for science, what I'm talking about is leadership- getting things done, taking care of those under your command. With skills like that, you could manage anything.

Lord. She was beating her head on a brick wall. "I'm ready for that leadership now. USC has provided many excellent learning opportunities. Meanwhile, my own research, my own ideas, and my own interests went begging with the requirement to write grants. I don’t want them second fiddle while I fight over the budget instead of writing journal papers of tackling the unknown."

He copied her posture and rubbed his chin. Like magnets, his deep-set dark eyes held her, and she wondered what was running through his mind. She remembered how effortlessly he cradled her as a child in his large hands, lifting her to his wide, muscular shoulders. Although that physical strength had diminished, at eighty-one, he still possessed the sharp mind of a thirty-year-old.

How serious are you about this proposal?

She cleared her throat. I terminated my position with Lentiviral Core Laboratory and recruited my first two employees.

His silence hit her in a tsunami of displeasure. Long moments passed, and Meret forced her fidgeting fingers to stillness. The thumping of her heart and the ticking of a clock vied for domination to fill the vacuum.

After a long moment, he said, That was foolish of you. He slid her proposal across the desk. You seem to be spending money you do not have.

Meret ground her teeth. She was pissed and had nothing to lose. Arthur sent you a polished copy of the business plan I've worked on for the last eighteen months. I researched this document you so unceremoniously disregarded, with the best minds in three top MBA schools in the country. She could no longer stand still. She paced on her side of the divide.

My proposal represents a rational, prepared course of surveillance and action against biochemical disasters and challenges from commercial hackers, terrorists, disgruntled military, and insurgent black hat groups.

She wanted to smack her fist on the desk to get him out his boardroom mentality so he could see the problems the rest of the world faced. "Such acts of terror exist today, grandfather, not the future. I need to be at the forefront of the war against the misuse of our genetic structures. Make no mistake, the danger is real? She slid her papers back at him. How does that fit in a business plan?"

She realized she was breathing hard like she’d just run a race. God. This was so important to her. It was important to the country for god’s sake. All I need is one and a half million to kick start a lab, staff, facility, branding and marketing. I need another one and a half for salaries and benefits to support staffing for the first two years. She admitted it sounded like a great deal of money but knew it was peanuts in her trust, which her grandfather was so reluctant to release. With access to my trust, I can accomplish that without being beholden to shareholders or investors.

She wiped her expression clean. Money was nothing to him. The family foundations gave such amounts away daily. "The thing I fear most, the thing that wakes me in cold sweat, is the possibility of the unspeakable, a major biochemical terrorist attack to our homeland. The real possibility continues to creep closer. After the first attack shows us the dark side of this science, businesses, and governments will provide the money I need, but I don't want to wait until after the fact. It will be too late then. We need to be preventive. We need to be and today."

Elias thrummed the desktop with the fingers of one hand while holding his chin with the other.

Trapped by the silence, Meret steamed within. Leaving the business plan strewn across his large desk, she stomped toward the door hoping she could find Harold and get the hell out of there. It is my money, and I'm old enough to take the risk. Are you too old to see that?

4

Katya Kornilova

March, Washington, D.C. USA - Katya launches her plan

Katya Kornilova paced in front of a desk too large and pretentious for the small office. Knowing she gambled her career on the paltry piece of flotsam about to interview her, she promised herself she would never again lower herself to do anything to get or keep another job. Today, during her final interview with PSI Corps, one of the top privately funded INTELligence companies in the world, she'd clear the last hurdle to achieve her goal. She’d spent years training for this position, and even though it required approval from dip-shit Dirk Donahue, she was prepared to do anything to get it.

PSI Corps, pronounced sycor in public and psycho in private, had courted her for the job and she was confident her strong record of success in interrogations within the INTELligence community would assure her that position. Her subjects always lived to return to their previous existence with no memory of being taken or interrogated. Actually, they were never the same, but they did live. Katya made her catch and release philosophy pay extra dividends over time. Her mantra, once an informant, always an informant, was based on her ability to remove the guilt and embarrassment of being taken and changed into a slave she euphemistically called an asset.

PSI Corps derived much of their income harvesting INTELligence from subjects using methods most governments had given up due to negative publicity. The company culture didn't believe in or approve of, psychological techniques. Furthermore, she guessed Director Donahue was not alone in an aversion to women who practiced such skills. That assessment was generated by the stench of testosterone laden interrogation rooms filled with assholes that cherished the old ways. She snorted at their use of electrodes, leather slapsticks, and harsh chemical treatments that seldom generated good INTEL and often produced corpses unsuited for scientific research. It was the men who used these methods who resented her hiring.

Katya knew she was the world expert in the deep hypnotic conditioning they often ridiculed as voodoo mind magic, but she would demonstrate the power of her magic in a way that Donahue could understand. She would show him his inner demons.

She dressed for the main role she would play, a mild-mannered, almost submissive, Dr. Kornilova. Wearing a pair of black slacks and a white shirt, all but hidden under a long starched lab Jacket, she accentuated the paleness of her complexion with pale make-up and black-rimed glasses. Flat white tennis sneakers kept her height at a non-threatening five- six-inches and her and straight shoulder-length black hair was unexceptional. Her face showed no emotion. Only her jet black eyes could catch the attention of a man, and that was all she required for her domination.

The office door opened and Program Director Dirk Donahue strutted through dressed in his corporate uniform. His beautiful silk suit, Italian shoes, and crisp dark shirt marked a stark contrast to her nondescript lab persona.

He motioned her toward a small chair facing his desk and took a seat behind it. Waiting for him to address her, Katya noted with little surprise his dark Ray-Bans remained on in her presence. Sooner or later he would remove them, and she could use her eyes to begin the process of control. For now, she had no problem evaluating his emotional and physical weaknesses. She knew immediately he'd reached his highest level of incompetence and she went right for his Achilles heel.

Donahue was working under tremendous pressure for something important and the mild-looking woman sitting across from him would not fit into his plans. Or so he thought.

Plain, everyday Dr. Katya Kornilova had several tools she could engage, and she begins the director's conditioning with eye contact. Casually, she cleaned her glasses with a special cloth. Before returning it to her purse, she offered it to him. This is a new fabric on the market. Have you tried it?

He reached for it and rubbed his fingers over the fabric before removing his glasses.

She suppressed a smile as he made his corporate pitch for PSI Corps while cleaning his Ray Bans

She made her own pitch establishing a locked eye connection. Donahue rambled on about the importance of his position and how much money PSI Corps made because of his administrative skills. He never stopped cleaning his glasses and never wavered from her eye contact. She didn't care one iota about the PSI Corps details he glibly tossed her way. She knew the true value of the company and had just completed step one in its acquisition.

His pitches of self-aggrandizement were just so much white noise. They had no importance to her agenda. She moved on with her business.

The second tool of her trade, her voice, was filled with nuances he didn't consciously hear. Her words spoke to him with a rhythm and tone that weaseled their way into his mind. They decorated his unconscious brain like so many Christmas ornaments. Her eyes held him to her while her voice positioned the payload. When the moment was right, she unleashed her third and most powerful tool. Touch.

Donahue droned on, and she knew he was congratulating himself on a fine interview. Soon he'd hit her with the ‘don't call us' routine.

She waited patiently for him to rub the back of his neck. During their initial session, she conditioned his brain to make that signal to let her know when his mind opened to deep suggestion.

Katya knew from her experiences as a professional poker player the importance of the physical ‘tells’ players unconsciously make under stress. Learning their tells would reveal their weaknesses, strengths, and whether or not they were bluffing.

Now that Dirk unconsciously told her his mind was open to suggestion she could seal his conditioning.

Knowing she couldn't leave his office until she was certain he'd give her another callback, she planned to complete Dirk’s session by implanting one more behavior. To accomplish that, she relied on her strongest weapon, touch.

Without breaking eye contact, she reached across the desk and gently stroked the back of his hand with her fingertips; a physical signal to his lower brain that what was to happen was important for his well-being.

Dirk stilled. He neither moved nor spoke, but his eyes remained fastened on hers. She allowed herself a small smile. He was ready. His mind remained open for deep suggestion, and she added her voice to his training.

Katya spoke to him about PSI Corps and although the words held little meaning, the rhythm and tone of their delivery, coupled with her touch, drove the director’s mind into a deeper and deeper receptive state. Her voice dropped to a low whisper, and his mind became the repository of her conditioning upload.

Stretching her other arm across his large desk, she casually checked his pulse and found it pleasurably slow. Dirk’s vaulted mind, like a secure bank, had opened for business. She gladly continued making her deposits.

I am not the only PSI Corps new hire you must interview. What is the name of the other candidate?

His mouth opened and waited for words to worm their way out. Dr. Subash Sen.

Ah, yes. I am pleased to hear that. See to it that I meet with Dr. Sen soon. I must be the one to vet him for his position. Do you understand?

He nodded. Then, without an INTELligible word, grinned, stared at her and tilted his head like an adoring puppy.

You look ridiculous, like some dumb freaking dog.

He made a slight whining sound.

She decided to complete the session by adding a few new commands. "When you hear me say the word is we agree, you will remember my idea as yours, you will be pleased you thought of it and say so with your words."

He nodded.

"When you hear me say, the word is leather, you will see Katya, the woman of your dreams."

He continued to nod, adding a boyish grin.

Katya is pleased that you remember that session. She paused before adding, "When you hear me say, the word is lace, you will awaken, feeling relaxed and pleased to see the Dr. Kornilova, the woman you are interviewing."

He stopped grinning.

She patted his hand like a mother putting a colicky baby to sleep and then sat back in her chair to watch him sitting there, ready to record her every command.

"Remember, upon hearing me say, the word is conditioning, you will relax into a state of open-mindedness."

He nodded.

She snapped the phrase like someone snapping a book closed. "The word is lace."

Dirk rolled his head, cracked his neck and stretched as though waking from a peaceful nap. Thank you for your time, Dr. Kornilova, I’m impressed by what you can bring to this company. He pulled out his pen and waved it in the air it like a baton. "I’m putting you on our short list for this position. As one last interview, I want you to vet a new a new hire. How about we reconvene in two days to wrap this up?

Yes, thank you. Standing as she wiped her glasses once more, she left the cloth on his desk and preceded him to the door, but as he reached for the knob, she ducked behind him. Sorry. Forgot my glass cleaner. And then she added, "The word is Katya."

Dirk Donahue stood with his mouth open, transfixed by the image of a voluptuous woman clad in black Leather wearing six-inch stilettos and a very low cut bolero Jacket.

5

Dirk Donahue

Late March, Washington, D.C. - Predator or Prey?

Program Director Dirk Donahue had just been given the most important assignment of his career. His superiors at PSI Corp had charged him with the responsibility for the interrogation of Dr. Subash Sen, the keystone appointment for their most ambitious program to date. The problem was, even after they’d already paid him a two million dollar advance for a special Smart Killer Virus he’d developed, Sen refused to release the SKV.

Donahue turned to his top interrogator, Jack Strake. We have one day to turn this worm around. Do whatever it takes, but make sure the perp must be able to walk out of here when you’re done. Got it? If he dies, for any reason, you and your team will disappear into the cold.

Jack, a man, not known to smile, grinned broadly, exposing the gaps in his nicotine-stained bridgework. Well, well, well, then. So how much is the bonus when we find out what it is you need to know so badly?

Still willing for the shilling’ eh, Jack?

"Right gov. How much are you willing to spend to get this done?"

I'm spending for success. Dr. Sen walks out of the interrogation room to play in his laboratory, and you get fifty thousand in cash. You pay whatever to any men that help you.

Jack pointed two crooked fingers from his left hand in a mock salute. I’m in. Where and when do I start?

Now. In the interrogation room adjacent to my office. Need any fresh slapsticks?

Mine’ll do. He patted the belt behind him. What do you want to know?

Donahue folded his arms and looked away. I need to know where he hid the canister of killer virus and if it works.

Jack Strake stood outside of the interrogation room and watched the new female staff psychologist interrogate Dr. Subash Sen. Two of his favorite goons had already followed a scripted process of physical torture designed to take the people in their care to the edge of death. "Do either of you two know this skinny bitch?

They shook their heads.

From the looks of her, I'll wager neither of you cares to.

He took their laughter as his due. Okay, boys, time for the first team. Let’s have a go.

Jack Strake led his men led him men into the interrogation room toward the woman. She turned her head and immediately stepped back to Dr. Sen's side. Her arms, folded over her clipboard, covering her chest. I am trying to get my patient—

Yes, mum, I can see from your lovely clean starched white lab coat what it is you’re trying to do. He tapped her clipboard with his finger and leered at her exposing years of poor dental hygiene. You’re the company’s new shrink. Any luck?"

She adjusted her black-rimmed glasses. Dr. Sen is slow to cooperate. I have—

He raised his chin and sneered down his hairy nose at her. How long have you been at it duckie?

Th-three days. Dr. Sen's beginning to res—

Jack removed the slapstick tucked in his belt behind him, held it under her nose and spread his legs.

She lowered her eyes.

You can leave love, the director wants us to have a go now. Ah, he liked the submissive ones.

She stepped back and placed her hand on Sen's shoulder, speaking quietly to him. "Remember Subash, the word is no pain."

She headed for the door clutching the clipboard to her chest.

Hold on. Jack roughly grabbed her arm as she passed and raised his voice. What did you just say to him?

Katya looked at him then quickly glanced away. I said I’d be back again.

Well, then. Let’s all hope the little brown bloke is still alive. He gave a bark of uproarious laughter.

Dr. Subash Sen sat in silence with his eyes closed.

Donahue stood outside the one-way glass window holding cells of Psi Corp Headquarters, Washington, D.C. and studied the naked man strapped to a chair inside. Although he knew the pathetic piece of humanity was unconscious and not dead, his bruised skin looked more like that of a corpse then of a living breathing man.

Dammit. He had promised Doctor Sen millions to create the deadly protein cocktail that Katya had ordered for their demonstration only to have Sen balk at the concept of actually using the damn thing as a weapon. Nodding his chin with each drop of blood that drooled from the damn man's mouth, he considered his situation. What the fuck did he think it was for? Why the cold feet now? He's been in the freaking chair for six hours, and no matter how hard they worked him over, Jack Strake and his goons got nowhere. Like the chicken shit he was, Donahue avoided confrontation. After using the intercom to fire them, he slid into his private bathroom and locked the door before Jack, and his goons could react.

Once inside, he pushed the button on his phone. Katya, I need you to come back to the interrogation room immediately.

Once inside Donahue's office, she reminded him how she liked to stand close to her male targets. She used small body movements to adjust her form-fitting leather garments to seduce them. I knew you would call. The drab Dr. Kornilova he had first interviewed was nowhere in sight. Her voice, low and throaty, paused long enough for him to absorb the magnitude of her sexual allure. She adjusted her black bolero Jacket allowing his eyes to fall away from her bust and linger on her tight mini-skirt. Finally, she said, Am I correct that Dr. Sen does not wish to tell you if his poison is ready for the field trial?

Donahue scratched the back of his head. When he and I first discussed the proof of concept, we were talking about a handful of subjects, only six to ten. He is hesitating at killing more.

Her face darkened, and her eyes became serpentine slits. When I first told you about my research into demonstrating the power of our technology, one that would capture the attention of eight very wealthy oligarchs, you were excited. You agreed that if the circumstances called for it, killing a dozen or so pedestrians with a car in traffic would be exciting and something you could live with. You also admitted you would do it for 5 five million dollars.

He lowered his chin.

"You like money, don’t you, Dirk?

He raised his chin and grinned.

You like to be excited, don’t you Dirk?

He slipped a short laugh between his teeth.

My plan is no different, just a case of scale. Instead of millions, my idea generates billions. The only difference is, in order to generate sufficient interest in funding our project, they demand a proof of concept on a large scale. She nonchalantly used a finger to brush a lock of hair from his forehead. Therefore we must identify a specific group of people living among others and kill them without harming the rest.

He almost whined. How many?

She gently pinched his cheek and shook his head like a child. You let me worry about that. What I propose requires a bit more than ten thousand.

He shook his head and mumbled. No, no. Too much.

You do not understand, we’re talking billions of dollars. She laughed. You know, I had little trouble finding a group who would pay billions for the job. That part was too easy. The hard part was to locate a suitable group of special people of that size within a greater population for our proof of concept.

Donahue’s mouth opened as though to speak.

She grabbed his chin. What is it, Dirk? Tell me.

Wah . . . how?

Her eyes widened, and she shrilled a laugh. Archaeogenetics. It’s a word used to describe human history in terms of molecular genetics. Imagine having to look at DNA in your history class. She paused to catch her breath. Well, I found us a good one. I found a specific haplogroup on an island of 60,000 people.

He shook his head as his mouth opened and closed.

She pretended to care. I’m sorry, Dirk. A haplogroup is a genetic population of people who share a common ancestor within a male or female lineage. I found us some women who can trace their family tree back to either Sarah or Hagar. You know, Dirk, she brushed his shoulder with the back of her hand. The two wives of Abraham?

He closed his mouth and frowned.

She acted coy. Which one? Tell me now. Do we take the children of Sarah or the children of Hagar? Which will it be?

He closed his eyes and shook his head.

Not sure? That’s okay. She gently finger combed his hair. I’ll surprise you.

Donahue’s mouth hung open, but he said nothing.

Exasperated at his reticence, he slapped his desk with the palm of her hand. Remember, the word is conditioning."

Donahue started to shake his head, and then his chin dropped. His will had departed, and his mind moved to a state of openness. Yet as she inched closer, a bead of sweat formed on his brow. She held out her hand and waited for him to give her his handkerchief.

She tilted her head and said sweetly, "The word is we agree,"

After she had returned his mind, he seemed to consider her words and then nodded. Yes. We agree.

Okay. I can work with that. So, Sen's mine? Do you feel better now?

Yes. Donahue raised one finger. But remember, I need him back, sane, and able to work.

Katya laughed. It wasn’t a nice laugh and Donahue involuntarily stepped back a pace.

"He will be sane and believe me, he will want to work."

Where will you take him?

She stroked her chin and pointed her index finger at the viewing window. "Oh, in there will do. It is your turn to watch, Dirk. Remember, you do like to watch, is that not so?"

She left Donahue staring through the window and went to Sen.

Katya leaned toward the window in the interrogation room. Dirk, can you hear me? Our doctor looks dead. Can I hope your assholes failed to kill him and he is only unconscious?

Shake him. He should come around.

"You need to remember, everything I am about to place in his mind will only be a suggestion. He, however, will think it is very real."

Katya turned to Sen and passed a hand over the pathetic doctor’s skinny arm in what appeared to be a slow sensual caress.

What the hell are you doing? Dirk barked into the intercom. The bastard needs a good beating, not a hand job. Get on with it, for Pete’s sake.

She ignored him and spoke to Sen as if he were a child. He sagged to the left on the upright metal chair, and his skinny, naked, body looked more like a hairless beaten dog than a man. She knew, however, that in that head lurked a brilliant mind and it was this she was going to control. Do you remember our lessons, Dr. Sen? Do you understand?

The semblance of a nod met her query.

No Subash you must use my name. He complied, his voice thick.

Yes, Katya.

She bent at the waist, resting her hands on her thighs, and examined the semi-conscious man slouched in the stark chair. Lifting his chin, she stood and slowly raised a finger in the air. His chin followed the finger, but when she turned her finger into part of a fist, his eyes widened and locked on her hand. He began to tremble and shook like a baby in stroller rolling down a long flight of stairs. Seconds later, Sen's body went rigid, and he strained against his binding, his eyes and mouth opened wide.

Katya smiled and addressed Donahue through the intercom. As you see, his conditioning is complete. He will comply with our directions. She turned back to the doctor, her voice, barely a whisper. Subash.

Sen stiffened.

I shall remove the straps that hold you. Using two fingers, she touched his wrists and legs.

His body slumped in the chair.

Is that better, Doctor?

His head rolled from side to side, and she knew in his mind he saw thick pieces of leather straps fall away to the floor. With half closed eyes, Sen murmured his obedient response. Yes, Katya.

She pressed her thumb to his forehead at the spot of the third eye of spiritual sight. "I shall now remove all the pain from your body . . . except for the special pain in your stomach. She removed her thumb. That pain remains and will go away only when you complete the simple chore you agreed to do for Dirk Donahue. Only then,