by E L Russell
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 w
illing 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 ha
d 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.