Bianca huddled back into the shadows, waiting for the Dakotans to leave. At last, the lights were turned off and she was left staring into the darkness. Whatever just happened, it isn't the first time, she thought. Ellery's family was too coordinated. So why hadn't some mention of it ever made the news? She rubbed her chin. This piece of Dakotan history had been kept under wraps for who knew how long. Or--had it?
She recalled an earlier conversation with one of the wedding guests. Old Victor wanted computer brains but he got more than he bargained for. When she had pressed for an explanation, the dour senior citizen had clammed up and walked away. I've overlooked something, she thought. Something that appears normal but isn't. Somehow, that growth is part of it.
She rose from her hunkered position, wincing at the sharp pain in her knees. "Is what I'm looking for in the dossier?" she murmured to herself as she rubbed her knees and flexed her legs. Bianca raised her head like a wolf on the scent. I'll find it, she thought. As her eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, she picked her way across the room to the exit doors, her thoughts fixed on the mystery.
Chapter 27
George
George Kayman, paper gown open in the back, coughed. Bianca moved the stethoscope down. He coughed again.
"I keep telling you it isn't my lungs, Bianca. I think it's those damned shots you're giving me," he whined.
"Now, now, my pet. We have to check everything, you know." She reached across his thighs and traced a heart in his pubic hair with her finger.
"Cut it out, Bianca." He shoved her hand away, ripping the front of the gown in the process.
"My, my. We are touchy today aren't we?" She resumed her examination.
"Not touchy. Tired. I'm sick to my stomach, too." His gaze wandered around the laboratory, swung back to a new addition. "What's that?" He pointed toward the far corner.
Bianca followed his pointing finger. "The tank? It's exactly what it looks like, George." She picked up a small, gold cylinder emitting a blue light from its tapered end.
"Look up. I want to check your retinas."
He looked up but continued his questioning. "Damned lot of oxygen, if you ask me. What's it for?"
"I can't answer silly questions and finish this exam, too," she said in exasperation. "What I use it for is none of your concern. Now look down."
He looked down. He didn't give a fuck what she used the stuff for, he was only making conversation to keep his mind off the bitter taste that kept pumping into his throat. He pulled back from the irritating light. "I told you—it's my stomach, goddammit."
She twisted around and yanked the instrument cart forward. Picking up an injection needle, she spurted liquid from its tip. "Make a fist."
George could see the anger flashing deep in her eyes. Bitch, he thought as he clenched his fist. It wouldn't hurt her to be a little more civil. She knew he didn't feel good. He felt the needle slide beneath his skin; his arm twitched as she emptied the liquid into his vein. He could trace its path as it sped up his arm and into his muscles. It was a strange sensation, like little pinpricks of heat. Bile flooded his esophagus. He swallowed hard. He'd be damned if he was going to throw up in front of her.
"You're doing wonderfully, George. You have a little congestion, but that will clear up shortly," Bianca said, peeling off her rubber gloves and dropping them into a sterilizing tank.
"These shots are making me sick."
"You've only had six." Her smile was brilliant when she turned back to him. "That's not enough to make a baby sick, but I'll give you something to settle your stomach if it's really a problem." She brushed her lips against his ear. "Isn't it worth a little queasiness, Pet? After all, the serum is doing what I promised." She rested her body between his legs.
A surge of ardor flared. He had to admit the shots were working. For sure. Flinging an arm around her back, he pulled her to him. With his other hand, he jerked up her skirt. A moan escaped his lips when he felt her bare buttocks. "Oh, jeezus. You are a wicked woman, Bianca Raborman."
Shoving herself away, she strode to the open laboratory door, slammed it shut, and twisted the lock. With a smile on her face, she returned to the table where George waited, and ripped aside the remains of his paper gown.
"Yes, I am bad," she whispered as she straddled his legs. "That's why you love me, isn't it?" Her mouth found his.
An hour later, George strode from the laboratory and whistled off key as he made his way toward the vestibule. He paused beside the reception desk.
"How are you this lovely morning, Leann?"
"Fine, Mr. Kayman. Busy." Leann didn't look up from her console.
"Well . . . Yes, I can see you are." He fidgeted a moment. "I'll be out in the garden. In case anyone needs me."
The morning sun had burned off the fog; the sky was a brilliant blue. In the distance, a fast-moving launch threw spray from its cutting edge. Someone's in a helluva hurry, he thought. Below, he could see Captain Harmon taking the steps upward two at a time.
George turned left and started around the corner of the building toward the garden, but the popping sound of water slamming against a launch hull brought him to a halt. He hesitated, then turned about and jogged back to the stone-paved entry, reaching it in time to see Captain Harmon push through the glass doors calling out to Leann.
"He's five minutes out, Leann. Let Ellery know before you notify . . . "
The doors closed, blotting out the rest of the sentence. I wonder what's going on, George thought. Must be something important for Harmon to get so excited. He reached for the lobby door, then changed his mind. The captain had said Ellery not Bianca. Nothing that concerns me, he thought. He whirled and continued toward his original destination.
Rounding the building, he headed directly for the old weeping willow. He felt warm and secure hidden inside its leafy arbor; safe from the world and its memories. Even Bianca didn't protect him like the willow did. Slipping between the dense branches, he sucked in the pungent fragrance of new growth.
"It is nice under here, isn't it?"
George spun to his left. A young woman with red-gold braids wound into a frame for her face sat in the silence. He stepped closer and felt a familiar touch of softness tug at his mind as he stared down into large, sad eyes. Four times he'd talked with her, that was all, but he'd never forgotten her, never forgotten her gentle ways, her intelligence, her warmth.
"Yes, it is. I thought I was the only one who came here. How are you Sefura?" He hesitated, and then said, "Doctor Raborman didn't tell me you were at the Foundation. Of course, there's no reason why she would—I don't know the doctor well enough to talk about family." He wanted to snicker, but that same mind tug stopped him. What the shit is this, he thought. She looks at me through big eyes and I'm suddenly worried about what she might think?
Sefura stood up, brushed leaves from the back of her gathered skirt, and extended her hand. "I arrived yesterday." Her voice was low and sweet. "You?"
"A temporary guest at the Foundation." George smiled as he shook her hand. "You've changed. You're all grown up now. What? Sixteen, seventeen?"
"Eighteen." Sefura sat back down. "Plus three quarters. I keep forgetting to add that." Tucking her knees against her chest, she rested her head on them. She hugged her legs tight. "I heard about Trevor and your wife, Mr. Kayman. I'm sorry." Her gentle voice broke the silence. "I kept meaning to write to you. I don't know why I didn't."
He shrugged his shoulders as if to say it was a long time ago. "Did your mother come with you?"
Sefura raised her head. "She died last week. A stroke."
George dropped down beside her and pulled his own legs up to his chest. They sat without moving. What do you say to a kid who's just lost her mother, he thought. How do you tell her the pain never goes away, the pain never goes away? Where the hell did that come from? Back to the real world, George. Pain comes and it goes. That's life.
Turning his head, he looked into eyes misty with unshed tears. His throat felt dr
y and he coughed. She stared a long time at his face. At last, she nodded her head and drew a deep breath. "It never goes away, does it? The miss-you pain I mean."
"It'll pass. No big deal," George said, but his thoughts confused him. He shook his head and turned his face away from her scrutiny.
"What do guests do here, Mr. Kayman?"
"Sit, mostly. I help your sister with a little research in the mornings. When that's done, I come here or read." He chuckled. "Pretty boring after working in the fast paced business I was used to."
"That was advertising wasn't it?"
"Why—yes it was." George could feel his brows lifting with surprise. Although he had only mentioned the fact in their brief conversation the day before he left Washington, she remembered. "The only business in the world that gets that adrenaline pumping and keeps it pumping. Did you know a good ad agency can make or break a company simply by using the right kind of message?"
"No, I didn't," she said. "Was your agency good?"
"The best. We specialized, though." He leaned sideways and lowered his voice to a whisper. "Politics. We specialized in politics—that's where the power is, to say nothing of the money. Lots of money." He leaned back. "I owned the best. Had to sell it when my wife died." George propped his chin on his knees and stared at his feet.
"Do you believe in God, Mr. Kayman?" Her question seemed to float in the space between them.
George raised his eyes upward then back down. "Hell no!" he blurted. "Sorry. Hey—do you think a real God would let your mama die with you still so young?"
Sefura pursed her lips and a frown gathered between her eyes. She stretched her legs in front of her and studied the tips of her shoes. "Maybe we have to learn how much it hurts so we don't cause someone else to suffer the same way," she finally said, pulling her legs back up. "On purpose, I mean."
"Yeah. Right." George cleared his throat and toed a small pile of leaves. Maybe he should just lay it out straight for her, let her know this whole God idea was nothing more than a damn good political campaign. But then, what good would that do? She didn't need him to break the news, she'd figure it out soon enough for herself. He did.
"My mother was afraid to die, you know. Afraid she'd spend eons in some dark place, waiting for someone to come find her. That's why she tried so hard to stay young. It didn't do any good, though. She still died." She sniffed.
He picked up a withered leaf and turned it over in his hand. Blowing the leaf from his palm, his gaze followed its spiral to the ground. He didn't need to be sitting here feeling this girl's sorrow. He needed to be alone where he could sort out his thoughts about Bianca. He stole a sidelong glance at Sefura. Christ, if she ever found out that he and her big sister were-- He stopped the thought. She wasn't going to find out, not if he had anything to say about it. It might or might not be a problem for Sefura, but it was for him. He didn't want her to know. He looked at his watch.
"Oh, my. I almost forgot. I have an appointment in ten minutes. You probably heard the launch."
"I understand, Mr. Kayman. Yes, I did hear the launch."
George turned to leave. That odd tenderness tugged again. The hell of it is, I bet she does understand, he thought. She knows I'm trying to get away from here, knows I'm lying to her about the appointment. Somehow, he didn't feel good about that. He spread the weeping branches. "It's good to see you again, Sefura. I have to go now."
She nodded. "It was nice to see you, too, Mr. Kayman. Maybe we can talk again sometime."
"Sure," he mumbled, stepping into sunlight.
As he pushed through the entry doors, he saw Bianca in animated conversation with a tall, handsome man dressed casually in gray slacks, a pale blue shirt, and a navy blue pullover. Ellery Jensen stood by quietly, her face pallid, her petite body rigid. Something heavy going down, he thought as he watched the tableau. He strode forward.
"George!" Bianca smiled. "I wondered where you disappeared to." She turned to the tall man. "Your Holiness, this is the man who has graciously agreed to help with the virility program."
"Oh?" The black eyes flicked down his muscular length and back up.
George flushed. "Libido boosting isn't something I need, but Bianca is a persuasive woman," he said. "I should have had her working for the agency.”
"Don't be testy, George," Bianca cooed. "Everyone knows your participation in the program is a favor to me." She patted his arm and smiled at Munoz.
George felt a sharp stab of jealousy at the way her eyes sparkled. He looked down and focused on the Pope's shoes. Humph, he thought. Italian leather. Wouldn't you know. Tearing his gaze away from the shoes, he thrust out his hand and said, "George Kayman, Holiness. Kayman Media Specialists."
"On this trip, I'm Raphael Munoz. I'm not here as Pope." Munoz grasped George's hand firmly. "Media specialists—what exactly does that entail?"
"For us it was politics, Rafe. We specialized in public awareness campaigns." George winked. "A little subliminal persuasion never hurts a campaign, you know, and subliminal is my middle name," he bragged, his cheeks puffing.
"Subliminal? That . . . art form is tightly regulated by the Transnationals is it not?"
"Well—it is and it isn't. If you know what you're doing, then it isn't. A little sub sub you might say. If you know what I mean." A broad grin stretched his lips.
"Hmmm." Munoz's gaze flicked to Bianca and back to George. "Perhaps we can discuss a program I have in mind." He turned toward Bianca. "If there's time—after I'm finished with my inspection."
"There will be time."
"Good," Munoz said. "I think you made the right choice with this man, Bianca. He seems to have exactly the qualities We need and obviously the qualities you need."
Bianca flushed. "I work hard to please, Holiness. You know that, I'm sure."
Munoz chuckled. Again, George felt the jealousy. Bitch, he thought. His gaze lowered. Munoz shifted and a flash of light glinted off smooth leather. Somfbitch, George thought, as his eyes darted from the shoes on the Pontiff's feet to the shoes on his own feet. She's playing footsies with a goddamn Pope and thinks I'm too dumb to see it. She wants to ride? I'll give her a ride that'll make her brakes squeal. He'll be gone tomorrow, but not me. Before I'm through, she'll forget he ever existed.
"I have a lot of things to do, Holiness, so if you will all excuse me."
Surprised, George's attention jerked to the small woman who spoke; Ellery Jensen had waited so quiet and unobtrusive, he had forgotten she stood there. His eyes slid away from her thoughtful stare, and he could feel a hot spot on his neck. He was almost certain she knew what he had been thinking.
"Ellery, I'm sorry." Munoz waved a hand at George and Bianca. "You two go ahead with whatever you need to do. I have some unfinished business to discuss with Doctor Jensen." He turned and cupped a hand under Ellery's elbow. Together, they strolled down the hall toward her office; he relaxed and confident, she rigid and absorbed.
Chapter 28
Ellery
Munoz led Ellery to the wingback chair. He sat opposite, elbows propped on his knees as he leaned forward with hands clasped. Forefingers pressed together, he pointed toward the woman.
"We do not want your resignation, Ellery," he said earnestly. "We said that earlier and We're saying it again."
"As I explained to you this morning, Holiness, before Bianca arrived, Tartarus is committed to using its genetics division for healing as long as I am Director. What she's doing doesn't fall into that category. I cannot, will not be a party to such cruel experimentation."
"Yes, We agree Doctor Raborman stepped over the line this time, but We're certain it happened because of her zealousness to succeed—to be another Ellery Jensen in the annals of genetics. Is that such a terrible thing to want?" he coaxed.
"When it means doing what she's done to that poor animal down there—yes. There is no value to success if it's accomplished like that," Ellery said, her voice hard.
Munoz sighed. "I should have listened to you, Eller
y. I know that. If I had understood what you were telling me in the beginning, that . . . that thing wouldn't exist today. However, I didn't. Your expertise is important to Us, Ellery. Your interpretations of her formulas and summaries give Us the knowledge We need to evaluate what is happening. I have made it clear to Bianca that neither the Transnationals nor I will tolerate this type of research. It won't happen again."
"It will happen again. She's picked forbidden fruit and found it tasty. She won't be able to stop—her mind won't let her. Surely you can see that."
"I hear what you are saying, Ellery. However, you must understand Our position. We have millions of dollars invested in this Foundation and Doctor Raborman has contributed enormously to the success we've enjoyed. We cannot, in good conscience, throw that fruit to the wolves of this world."
"It is not for man, Holiness. It is too dangerous."
He leaned back into soft, oyster white cushions, his face registering his frustration at her stubbornness. "Ellery, stay. You'll never see another dumb animal used for such experimentation again." He turned his hands palms up as if in supplication. "Never again. Trust me."
As he spoke, she watched his face, the set of his shoulders, the tic at one corner of his glittering black eyes. She watched his nostrils flare and the pulse beating in his neck—and she knew. She rose and strolled to the walnut easel.
Trust me. His words vibrated in her mind. I did trust you and look where it has led, she thought. How could I have been such a fool? Her fingers gently touched the faded colors in the Renoir. All this time they've used my knowledge to keep them on the right track. Bianca didn't have to make time-consuming mistakes because Ellery Jensen knew what would occur if the experimentation continued to follow certain paths, and she obligingly gave that information to the man sitting on her couch. She had trusted he would stop Bianca's research. The bitter thoughts twisted in her mind. He knew. All this time he knew and encouraged. Her hands dropped.
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