by E L Russell
"How do you collect DNA samples to ensure the chain of evidence protocols?"
He nodded once. "Thanks to a brilliant nanotechnologist and friend. Ling suggested a miniature disk, with embedded sealable cylinders that could be made to rotate into position like the chambers of a revolver. Each chamber receives a sample. Ling Chang examined at my beetle's interior design and is sure she can find the space without making the drone larger. Ling also made some recommendations on how to design the process the lab techs should use to do their analysis."
"She sounds sharp. I'd like to meet her. Have you discussed a working relationship?"
"Ah, you think like a business man, uh sorry, woman."
He folded his hands over his slim stomach and twirled his thumbs. "Tell me, Meret, what prompted your interest in making specific genetic markers?"
She waived one open palm up and down as though evaluating the weight of something. "Just a low-level test. First, I creating a specific genetic marker that I could safely insert in a dark section of my own DNA. Knowing what it was and where it is in the DNA chain is important. It gave me a control variable I could use in my marker detection program."
"Isn't altering your own genome a bit risky?"
She frowned and bobbled her head slightly. "Sort of. There's plenty of space on the DNA chain. It worked well in the lab. You'll need to adjust your sniffer to locate it. All you need to do is modify a protein to act like a dedicated CRISPR to examine the collected DNA."
He grinned, but didn't respond and continued playing with the phone's screen. The beetle flew off and landed on the far side of the room on the top of a large painting's frame.
"Let me see the screen, Zhen." She held his phone and saw the place from the beetles' point of view. "Nice. How's the battery?"
His fingers were tented over his chest, tapping to each response. "Built to spec, will last eight hours with everything turned on."
"That's a good battery. What level of communication?"
"Each beetle uses NASA's burst system with scheduled uploads and streaming, which are totally, and fully encrypted."
"How large is its kill zone?"
"Its capacity is one to three ounces of explosive. I have chosen Nitrogen Octaiodide as its bang-bang since it is very stable. Each ounce yields a minimum of three-person kills per meter."
"So nine people. How many beetle bots have you made?"
"Twelve."
"Fantastic. Do you feel ready to make a full demo? I'd hoped we'd have landed our first client by now, but that's not turning out so well. Certainly not as well as your beetles."
"I'm beginning to visualize your suggestion to design the beetle's bio-mechatronics technology, combining electronics and mechanical engineering with biology, kinda like a field-programmable gate array. That lets us introduce many of the beetle bots into the field and let them learn to work their surveillance strategy together, even if one or more is lost from the team."
"My idea, huh. Lord. I've wanted to get my hands on a field-programmable gate array for years. Imagine, the integration of biologicals and mechanicals in smart devices. Beautiful, send me a timely update of your current expenses."
"To do that I'll need to recruit my exceptional friend from India." He grinned. "The one you wanted to meet. Oh, and the special equipment we will require is close to one point five million, give or take."
"Give or take?"
"Can the budget handle that?"
Lord, when she started this business, she had thought thousands. Shortly it had changed to millions, but when did it change to millions upon millions? "Yes, I think so, at least eventually. Let's collect a few projects on paper before we commit to funding. I'd like to get some input from our new accountant. I'm confident we can come to an agreement for your friend and her needs. How's the search you and Poppy are doing for your lab's team coming along?"
"She and I have some ideas for property."
How soon will we be able to show them a lab?"
"As soon as you and Poppy find a suitable location, the three of us need to have a protracted working dinner together. I want us to have only the equipment we need for this initial venture. The two of you can go off spending money together after that.
Her cell rang.
"Dr. Mather, two gentlemen from Washington have arrived to see you. Shall I send them through?"
" Of course, they must be the CIA guys to ask about that asshole. "Thank you, Clark. Wait, hold them for three minutes and then escort them here to the Hemingway."
She picked up her papers and tab. "I have an idea. Let's leave the beetle on the painting's frame. Call it our first test. Follow me to the bar. I want to scope these guys out before I see them. There's a blind spot there by the bar that will cover us from anyone coming into the lobby headed this way."
They made the short walk across the hall into the back corner of the bar. "Can you record what the beetle sees from here?"
He held his smartphone so she can see the table they just vacated.
She patted his forearm. "I think I love this spy shit. Get everything, include DNA. Run their images through the server's facial recognition programs, but don't kill anyone."
14
Conditions
Late April, Washington, D.C. - Donahue meets his destiny
Project Director Dirk Donahue sat at his desk in PSI Headquarters, Washington, D.C. replaying the surveillance video of Katya Kournikova’s interrogation of Dr. Subash Sen on his tab. He needed to know which parts he’d witnessed were real and which were things she'd planted in his mind. He set the tab to fast forward and waited for her image to enter the screen.
The initial footage covered Katya interrogation of Dr. Sen as a new PSI Corps psychologist. Neither she nor Sen moved much, except when she occasionally touched various parts of his body, almost as if to remind him of her presence. A blur of something strange crossed the screen, and he rewound the video.
Katya, appeared bored and dull, stood with her arms folded over a clipboard pulled tight against her white starched lab Jacket. Her black-rimmed glasses, black pumps, and her long, straight black hair gave contrast but no color to the scene before him. In the testosterone-laden interrogation room, her innocent image looked as out of place as a thin straw in a pint of Guinness.
She circled and stood in front of him. Holding the clipboard with one hand, she waved the other in rhythm with her steps. At times her hand floated about him like a slow butterfly, and her touch seemed linked to Dr. Sen's libido as though she danced about an invisible pole.
His head and eyes followed her like a mongoose tracking a cobra.
It was a freaking seduction of the diminutive doctor’s will to hers, and Donahue felt himself being drawn in by the rhythm of her choreography. He began to predict when she would touch Sen. She circled behind him, and Donahue realized what the blur had been. Dropping her clipboard on the small table, Katya yanked of her black-rimmed glasses, lab Jacket, and shoes. When she ruffled her hair with her fingers, it became full and sexy around her face and shoulders. He inhaled sharply at her transformation.
A siren stood in front of Subash Sen and took Donahue’s breath away.
She postured, poked, and stroke Dr. Sen’s body and the director tried to read her lips to know what she said to make the doctor react. The damn cameras needed sound. Management screwed up their decision to put audio on a different monitoring system. He searched his memory to remember what she had told him.
On his iPad, she turned toward the one-way window as though she heard something. Donahue remembered it was about the time Jack Strake and his bullyboys arrived. The Lorelei ran for her lab coat and clipboard. Jumping into each of her shoes, she wedged her face into her glasses with one hand and then smoothed her hair back behind her ears. When Jack and his boys burst through the door and took over the interrogation, she had repositioned in front of Sen's sleeping form
That Bitch. She played him. She got in his head the same fucking way. Donahue dialed Katya and told
her to come into his office pronto.
Pissed after reviewing the security camera's unveiling of Katya's true form, he couldn't make up his mind if she did it to show off her skills or to fuck with him. Did what? Screwed with him or changed her looks for Subash?- not just so he could see though, right? Yeah, he was pissed. He set the video to fast forward and replayed the scenes of Jack Strake beating the shit out of that worm Sen with his slapstick.
Katya knocked on Donahue's door wondering why she'd he called her. She felt she had a good handle on Sen and the director would soon have what he wanted.
“Come in. For Christsake,” he shouted, “Come in.”
Although Katya dressed in her innocent looking starched white lab coat and black-rimmed glasses, she sauntered into the room like she owned it and wished she'd worn her leather outfit.
“I’m surprised you called,” she said. “Is Sen okay?”
“The little prick is better than he deserves to be. And stay the hell out of my head.”
Well. That was unexpected. “What?”
"Don’t play dumb with me. You’re playing the same game with me that you are with that damn sack of shit who calls himself a doctor. I won’t have it.”
She adjusted her glasses and tented her fingers, tapping them slowly. She decided not to contradict him. There was no harm in him knowing she could manipulate him once. She suppressed a smile. Even if he knew, she could, and would. There wasn't a damn thing he could do about it. She nodded once saying, "Ah. That."
“Yes, that.”
He glared at her, and she supposed he had a right, but, she didn't give a good goddamn. "I thought you would better understand my methods if you had a taste of them."
“I understand them just fine.”
“Okay. It doesn’t need to happen again." It was a blatant lie. She could control him anytime, and would, without him even knowing.
He sucked lips into the stupid fish-look he made with them and glared at her for so long she gathered herself to leave.
“Sen is making demands.”
That surprised her, although it shouldn't have. When she discovered the diminutive weasel refused to be reduced to terror, she attributed it to the will of his brilliant mind. "What could he possibly want?"
“You.”
“Oh? I’ll have to tone down the costume.”
Donahue studied her. She could see his mind wondering if he was being played. It was a moment or so before he said, "No, he wants you to join us for the demonstration."
"Demonstration? That is probably the most euphemistic description of a massive slaughter I have ever heard.”
Donahue lifted a negligent shoulder. “I see no harm in him coming. It just surprised me he asked after his reluctance to try his biological poison on such a large scale. In two days we’ll take a company plane to Yemen, then a helicopter to our secret base in the desert, and then a corporate jet onto Socotra.”
She hadn’t planned on attending the event and for all her bullying, wasn’t one hundred percent she’d feel safe, let alone be safe. She fished around for a legitimate reason not to go ended up with something that sounded lame to her ears. "I don’t like helicopters.”
“Read the small print in your contract.” He spent no more time with her objections. “It seems that your mind games with Dr. Sen made the little worm turn. He wants to observe our armada flying over Socotra. He wants you to take part in his celebration. As long as he did his work correctly, you should be safe."
She didn’t like it.
He tossed an envelope across the desk. “Here are your papers.” Before she stepped toward the door, he added, "We'll need you to take him to the Berlin safe house afterward.
She allowed no emotion or reaction to his curt command. The ego on this clown must have been a present from his mother. The son-of-a-bitch actually believes he is in control. One special word from me and he’ll wish he wore diapers. Your day’s coming Dirk, but not fast enough for me.
He continued, "Sen can hide in the Berlin safe house until we're sure he's not on any list of suspects. Operation Rapture is going to kick up some serious shit."
There he was, telling her what to do again, and Katya was damn tired of it. Her associates in China and Russia had expressed serious concerns over Donahue's choices lately and his ability to complete the final part of the mission. He had wasted too much of their money, and he had not stuck to the schedule. Although these associates had no control over the date of the attack, they needed her to provide assurance she could generate sufficient funds and adhere to the calendar. For that, she needed better control of Donahue before removing him and PSI Corps from the table.
She placed her glasses on the desk and sat. Rubbing her ear between her thumb and finger, she casually commented, "We're missing something here, Dirk. We need to communicate better."
With forearms resting on the edge of his desk, he held up both palms. “If you’re thinking of getting back into my head, forget it. No touching.”
She frowned and pushed her chair back a few inches. “Of course I’m not getting into your head. We’re partners, aren’t we.” She made it a statement and hoped he bought it. He was an albatross around her neck that needed to go sooner rather than late. “I mean on the phone. The only time you call is when I’m needed to do something. All I’m suggesting is that we discuss what you want me to do in more detail.” She put her shoulder purse on the desk and rummaged through it as they talked. “I should have told you more about my version of classical conditioning.” Soon a small pile of nail clippers, lipstick, eyeliner, a pill container, tissues, and a small pair of scissors littered the edge of the desk. “Damn it, where’s that—”
He leaned closer, “What the hell are you looking for?”
"Aspirin." She snapped. "I’ve got a fucking headache." Picking up a tiny bottle, she dislodged a small perfume vial that rolled across the desk toward Dirk. As she shook two pills into her hand, he caught the runaway cylinder.
She popped the pills saying, "Good catch."
“Need water?”
She shook her head. “Chewable. Do you like that smell? Cost a fortune.”
He looked at the cylinder in his hand and leaned forward setting it on the desk as the final move in a chess match. “They’re all the same to me.” He put his hand to his nose, held it there and slowly raised his eyes as his hand fell into his lap. Removing the debris from the desk to her purse, she watched him. Only his eyes moved when she retrieved the perfume. She tested his response by slowly waving the fragrant vessel in front of him. His eyes followed it everywhere.
“How are you feeling, Dirk? The word is lesson. Are you ready for a new lesson?”
15
Visitors from Washington
Late April, Houston - Encounter at the Zalea
Meret left Zhen drinking more coffee and playing spy from the bar. The two men from Washington entered the small Hemingway Dining Room dressed like twins in dark suits and stood together at the same side of the middle of the table. The taller of the two extended his hand and made the introductions.
"I am Special Agent William Parker, and this is Special Agent Harry Richbane, Dr. Mather. We are pleased to meet you.” They reached inside their Jackets like a choreographed ballet and placed leather ID folders on the table for her inspection.
She respectfully examined each ID as if she knew what she was doing and nodded. Thank God for Dr. Robert Eastwood filling me in on the company culture.
After they had sat, Agent Parker placed his smartphone on the table and waited until an icon blinked green light. It was not until then that he spoke.
"We have a serious problem, Dr. Mather. One of our field agents has gone missing, and we need your help finding him."
What the hell? "That's not the kind of stuff I do. I'm a genomic consultant, not a lost person locator."
“We know that. You come highly recommended, and we—”
“Harry, let me.” He turned to Meret. “We can't afford the time you need t
o become a public corporation. We are here now to offer you work as a private consultant. Pure and simple, we need your help, Dr. Mather."
If public meant secret, how secret was private? “Two quick questions.”
“Does this have something to do with the fake Granger Hawking?”
“Well, actually, yes. It does.” The two agents exchanged a quick glance. “And what he is undercover for . . . is a rumored biological attack somewhere in the Middle East.”
She pursed her lips and paused. "I remember someone using biologicals in Yemen's Civil War of 2015 or so. Do you think they're holding SA Granger there?”
The agents dropped their jaws and sat still except their eyes flashed alarm.
William tapped the table with his finger and flipped through his notes. “We had a lid on this tighter than a double boiler. Somehow, it has leaked. No one outside of the company knew about the possible attack.” He pushed back from the table and crossed his arms across his chest. It was a moment before he collected himself enough to speak. “You can appreciate the potential for global panic . . . the need for secrecy?”
Hell yes, she could appreciate it. She leaned forward resting both forearms on the table.
“Yes.”
“So you’re saying that the fake Hawking is somehow mixed up in a biological terror event? An attack? And that the disappearance of the real CIA Hawking person is also linked to a biological threat?”
SA Hawking squirmed in his chair. “That’s about it. We had chatter, ah, rumors and he went in to lead the field team to work the possible attack. We need to get closer to whoever is behind the imminent attack.”
“How big are you talking?"
Agent Parker rolled his pen across his papers. “Big. Our unsubstantiated sources place the terrorist's goal in the thousands.”