by Shanon Hunt
“Dr. Harris, welcome to the Hacienda del Sol. Please follow me.”
He led Austin down the long walkway, as an attendant picked up his bag and followed them. Austin glanced over at a gardener, who immediately stopped working and stood straight with his hands clasped behind his back. He offered a respectful nod as Austin passed.
A woman in a servant’s uniform took his bag from the attendant and greeted him with a nod as they stepped into the foyer.
“Buenas tardes, Señor Harris,” she said politely.
Austin couldn’t help feeling a bit like a celebrity.
The lobby was understated compared to the grounds, but once Austin stepped through the large wooden double doors into the living room, he breathed in sharply. It was the most beautiful room he’d ever seen. Two stories tall and at least twice the size of his own great room back in Connecticut, adorned with what had to be authentic Venetian antique furnishings. Impressive. The back wall featured a quarry fireplace large enough that he could have stepped into it upright. Double French doors led to the magnificent garden.
Austin noticed the discreet surveillance cameras in the corners of the ceiling capturing both the interior and the outdoor approaches. For a home straight out of the 1700s, the security was definitely twenty-first century.
“Austin Harris!” boomed an unfamiliar voice from behind him.
The man who entered the room appeared young and fit, an American in his early forties, maybe, with wavy brown hair and perfectly trimmed three-day stubble. He strode over to Austin with such energy and confidence that Austin felt his own energy sag a bit. Still, Austin wasn’t one to be intimidated by alpha males. He stood tall and took a step toward his host.
“Stewart Hammond.” The man reached out his hand. “I’ve been waiting a very long time to meet you. Huge fan of your work.”
Austin shook Hammond’s hand warily. “And what work is that?”
Hammond’s smile oozed patronizing arrogance. “Your reputation precedes you, Dr. Harris. I’ve been following your career and your work in human genetics very closely.”
“Well, I wish you’d spent less time doing that and more time planning my extraction, which has been a fucking train wreck.” Austin glared at this new irritant in his life. Damn Fixer had almost screwed up the whole plan. “The experience over the past week was not what we agreed to nor what I paid for.”
Hammond’s smile faded as he took a step closer, violating Austin’s personal space and enraging him further. “I think you may misunderstand. I’m not the one who extracted you from your situation. I own the operation that extracted you as well as many other organizations you should hope never to encounter, including some task forces within the FBI. As you are well aware, your extraction didn’t go precisely to plan, which isn’t uncommon with a complicated exit strategy such as yours, especially given the mistakes you made. Frankly, you’re lucky to have made it this far.”
Austin flinched, taken aback the change of tone. He took a small step back despite his anger.
“What you need to appreciate is that I’m here to help you out of your current bind,” Hammond continued, “and for the moment at least, I’m your ally. If you prefer, I could turn you over to the FBI, who I’m sure would be delighted to escort you back to Connecticut.”
Hammond tilted his head slightly and raised his eyebrows as his implacable smile spread across his face.
Austin’s stomach turned as he processed this option. He stepped toward an opulent chair and dropped into it with a long exhalation. “Fine, Mr. … Hammond, was it? My apologies if I seem a bit irritable. I’ve had a stressful week, and given what I’ve been through”—he couldn’t help reminding his host—“as a captive led blindly over the border, a complete deviation from my original contract, I obviously may not have all the facts. So let’s start over. I appreciate your help, but I’ll be more comfortable once I understand what our connection is and what it is you want from me.”
“That’s much better, Austin.” Hammond gave him a friendly slap on the back.
Austin noted the shift to his first name. It was a tactic he frequently used himself to level the playing field when he was dealing with powerful, arrogant types.
“Let’s not let confusion spoil our relationship,” Hammond said. “We have so much to talk about! But you’ve had a very long trip, and I’m afraid that I’m to blame for at least part of your digression from the plan. I’d like to try to make it up to you. Would you join me for dinner?” He tapped a button on the wall next to the door. “Bring us two glasses of the Hirsch Reserve 27-Year. Dr. Harris prefers his neat.” He turned back to Austin. “I know you’re a Knob Creek guy, so I think you’ll really like this one.”
Was this guy kidding? He’d paid $400 for a glass of Hirsch Reserve 16-Year a few years ago. The things Hammond seemed to know about him were absolutely unnerving— but he had to admit his mouth was watering.
***
The evening sun had set, casting shadows across the ornate dining room. Now showered, shaved, and feeling much more like himself than he had for the first time in days, Austin sat at the dining room table opposite Hammond. He spread a bit of warm walnut-encrusted brie on a slice of Italian bread. It was so nice to be eating something other than diner take-out. He would never eat another turkey club sandwich for the rest of his life. He sipped his Turley Zinfandel 2015—boy, a good year for Turley. Hammond had excellent taste.
Hammond also monopolized the conversation as Austin fixated on his dinner and wine. Fine with him.
“Money always came easy, Austin. I built a name for myself in quantitative financial analysis. I always had a good sense for the fundamentals. But my real money came from sniffing out high-value private equity. I was aggressive and ruthless. I made my first billion before I was thirty-two.”
Austin was impressed. He’d always considered himself pretty ambitious, but at forty-two, he wasn’t anywhere near his first billion.
Hammond continued. “I think when individuals have that kind of financial success, it changes them, you know?”
Austin nodded, even though he didn’t know. Or care. God, this was a particularly bold and fruity Zinfandel. He wondered how much it cost.
“So I started looking for other things to amuse me. I raced sports cars for a while, but that wasn’t very fulfilling. I looked into US politics, considered running for the Senate, but then I decided that even with all my energy, my influence would be minimal in that bureaucratic shitshow. Some men don’t think …”
The next course was being served. Crispy sautéed bronzini with vegetable succotash. Excellent choice for a main course. The voluptuous server smiled seductively as she refilled his glass of Zinfandel, and he stole a glimpse at her cleavage. He wondered if she lived on the property. He had to admit, he was very much enjoying the hospitality. Hammond might not be such a bad guy to know. Maybe one day he’d invite him to his property in—
“ … something far more noble: the human race. Agreed?”
Austin was instantly back in the conversation. “Sorry?”
“Gene editing for the betterment of humans. I believe that with the right technologies and the most brilliant minds behind them, we can make a real difference in this world. That’s why I wanted to meet you. To talk to you.”
Austin finally understood. Hammond wanted his CRISPR/Cas9 gene editing platform. He probably had a soft spot for crippled kids or moms with MS; everything on TV these days was geared to the bleeding-heart liberals. Now it made sense. Quandary was the first to deliver larger genes into the cell, as evidenced by Enigmax and some of their other early drugs, and Austin held several patents on this technology. He certainly wouldn’t be giving it away for cheap, especially to a multibillionaire.
Austin sat up a bit taller. Ah, it felt great to have the upper hand again, to have something someone else wanted. He sipped his wine, pretending to be thoughtful about it. “Well, Stewart, I’ve put a lot of time and money into my technology. My patents are extensive. What did you have in
mind?”
Hammond looked at him quizzically. Then he laughed and leaned forward. “Oh god, I’m sorry, I should have been more explicit. I’m not interested in your CRISPR platform. In fact, I have a better one, and I can’t wait to show it to you.”
Austin was baffled. “Then what is it you want?”
Hammond’s eyes literally twinkled in the low light of the chandelier. “What I want, Austin, is your pain colony.”
Chapter 31
Austin took a sip of wine to hide his astonishment. With every bit of vocal control he could exert, he said, “Excuse me?”
“You heard me right. Your colony.”
Austin laughed. “I’m sorry, but I really don’t know what you’re—”
Hammond flopped back dramatically in his chair, arms out to his sides, staring upward. “Austin, please. Can we finally drop the act? We’re getting along so well. How can you still not trust me?”
Austin sat silently, unwilling to acknowledge this conversation. He had gravely underestimated Hammond, and now he had once again lost his footing in this peculiar relationship. Who was this guy, and how did he know so much about him? This asshole had turned him into a ridiculous pawn on some huge chessboard he couldn’t even see.
And he fucking hated chess.
Austin set down his wine. He shouldn’t have drunk so much. If he’d had any idea where this evening would lead, he’d have kept his wits about him.
Hammond looked at him woefully. “Okay, perhaps it was unsporting of me to spring this on you after a long night. You’re probably exhausted. Let’s retire to the smoking room, and I’ll revive you with some incredible Cuban cigars.”
Hammond stood up. Austin didn’t know what else to do, so he followed him.
They sat quietly, taking short puffs on their cigars. Austin wasn’t a fan of smoking of any sort, even expensive cigars, but he was desperate for the nicotine to help him clear his head. He sat back in the overly cushioned lounge chair and watched the smoke fill the room.
Hammond broke the silence. “I got this box of Cubans from a client back when I was working on Wall Street. He was a big name in finance, had all the banks wrapped around his finger. One day he comes in through the front door of our building—how he got past security, I have no idea. Anyway, he waltzes into my office—literally just opens the door and walks in, as if I had nothing else going on—and sets this box down on my desk. Then he leaves. Doesn’t say a word. Meanwhile, the entire office had witnessed the scene, so they come running in. ‘What did he want? What did he say?’ Naturally I’d already stashed the box, so I have to make something up. You won’t believe what I said.”
“What?” Austin was feeling better already.
“I tell them, ‘He told me to short Goldman Sachs.’ I hated those arrogant pricks, and it just popped into my head. And would you believe it? Goldman dropped nine points that day.” Hammond laughed at the memory. “Took ’em three weeks to gain it back.”
Hammond leaned forward. “You know, I think that might’ve been the first time in my young life that I realized just how pliable people are.” He paused as though he was going to say something else, but then leaned back into his lounge chair and puffed his cigar. “How do you like the stogie?”
“I’m not much of an expert, but it sure feels smooth.” He was kind of enjoying it.
“I’ve been watching you for a long time. I followed your work at Quandary to see what kind of a businessman you are. I watched you in the public eye, presentations, ad-board meetings, that kind of thing, because I wanted to understand your people skills. I saw your bad judgment with the insider trading and fraud, but I understood why you did it. It was calculated, and you had a sweet thing going, but it was also reckless for a man like you. Still, I didn’t interpret it as a character flaw.”
Austin bristled. He didn’t like being appraised, but he was interested in where this was going.
“The truth is, I think we’re a lot alike. And that’s important to me when I look for a business partner.” Hammond took a drag from his cigar and closed his eyes as he let the smoke linger in his mouth. He exhaled slowly and rolled the tip of the cigar across the ashtray. “So let’s get back to the colony. I’ve been following twelve colonies throughout the world.”
Austin startled, and Hammond caught it.
“Yeah, I’ll bet you thought you were the only one, right? All of ’em do.” Hammond laughed. “Actually, the others are much older. Two of them have been running for four generations, long before you and I were even born. But most of them cover at least two generations. They’re not purposed for the same objective as yours, obviously. They’re not all doing genetic work. But they’re all experimental biohacking programs using human subjects, trying to learn something for the betterment of science. And in most cases, the subjects aren’t aware of the experiment.”
Austin shook his head in disbelief.
“Take the colony in China, for example. Before the Chinese government enacted the new family planning policy to allow couples to have two children, the colony became a home for many second births or first female births. Now, as you can imagine, it’s slowed down a bit, but the colony is already functioning and self-sustaining. It’s quite successful. Over fifteen thousand subjects. They’ve done some great work in cosmetic enhancement and started doing genetic research in muscle development a few years back, but they were a bit premature and they’ve had a lot of failures.”
The door to the study opened, and a server entered the room with two taster’s glasses and a bottle of Rémy Martin. He couldn’t read the label as the server poured double shots, but he had no doubt it was Louis XIII.
“The colony in Bangladesh has done some good work with intelligence genes, but their recruitment efforts haven’t been as successful, so I’m afraid it’s dying out. Then there’re two in Poland, one in Russia, even one in the UK.” He waved his hand dismissively. “And a few others.”
“Where did … How did you find these? How do you know they exist?” He was feeling childishly envious.
“This esoteric world is small but tight, Austin. You’ll find out soon enough.” Hammond rolled out his cigar in the ashtray and picked up his glass of cognac. “But I don’t want to talk about the others. I want to talk about yours.”
Austin crossed his arms over his chest protectively. He wasn’t interested in a show and tell about his program. And he certainly had no intention of selling it. Or even partnering it.
“I like your pain experimentation work. You’ve been aggressive with delivery of these megagenes in humans. And I gotta say, I didn’t think your origami strategy would work, but so far you have a—what, sixty-, seventy-percent success rate? How many subjects have you lost on the LXR-016 gene?”
Austin gaped. How did he know all this?
“Well, it doesn’t matter. But I’ll tell you this. Your pain cocktail—oh wait, you call it an elixir, right? clever, by the way—your pain elixir is foolish. All animals need to feel some pain to protect them from environmental threats. You know that’s why your field cohort failed, right? I mean, your subjects might be safe while they’re shielded behind the walls of your colony, but what about after their reentry into society?”
That was enough. Austin dropped his cigar in the tray and stood up. “Whatever it is you’re trying to work me for, I’m not interested.”
Hammond stood as well. “You haven’t heard my proposal yet.”
As soon as Austin took a step toward the door, the goon who’d met him outside stepped into the room and stood soldier like against the back wall. Austin's eyes darted to the corners of the room in search of a camera. It appeared he wouldn’t be leaving anytime soon.
Hammond continued. “I’ll clean up your mess with the field cohort. It won’t be easy or cheap, and I’m not happy about it, but you left those families hanging. You know what people do when they get stiffed? They talk to the police.”
Austin clenched his jaw to curb an explosive reply. He was well aware h
ow people behaved when they felt they hadn’t been appropriately compensated. He’d been doing this for years. And he hadn’t purposely cheated those families. Had Hammond not noticed he’d been a little busy lately getting arrested and running from the law?
“And I don’t approve of your Vitality program, either. That’ll have to go.”
Fatigue washed over him. He sat back down on the edge of cushy leather chair and tried to hide his unease. “It pays the bills.”
Hammond sat back down as well, mimicking Austin’s position on the edge of his own chair. He met Austin’s eyes and spoke with intense sincerity. “My proposal will not only make you wealthier than you’ve ever imagined, but this will be the most important work you’ll ever do. You’ll leave a legacy for a thousand generations to come.”
Wealthier than he’d ever imagined. His eyes darted to the fancy black walnut liquor cabinet, and he recognized bottles he himself had never owned. This whole night might have been an elaborate set up to recruit him into—what, he still didn’t know, but he had no doubt Hammond had the kind of money he’d been bragging about all night.
Austin leaned forward. “I’m listening.”
***
Austin collapsed on to the plush pillow-top bed in the Hacienda’s lavish guest house just after two in the morning. He was mentally and physically exhausted, but there was no way he would be falling asleep any time soon. He stared, starry-eyed, at the ceiling. So much to think about. So many ideas and paths forward. He felt awestruck and revitalized.
He felt reborn.
Chapter 32
Layla’s eyes were closed, and despite the cool evening desert breeze, her hair dripped sweat down her face. She sat in heel-sit position in the jagged, sun-heated gravel of the garden.
“Thank you, Father,” she said as the ache in her legs begin to melt away. She was indeed grateful to the Father for helping her release the pain, but she didn’t feel deserving of his kindness today. A new level of suffering during her meditation was necessary. The jagged rocks beneath her added to her experience, but they weren’t enough.
