The Athena Factor

by W. Michael Gear

  “Did you abort or carry to term?”

  “Abortion.”

  “At a regular clinic?”

  “Yes. I had help. Daddy never knew.” She sniffed angrily. “As if he’d given a damn.”

  Abernathy smiled sympathetically as she jotted something on her form. “What do fathers know, huh?” She looked up. “Tell me about your periods. Bad cramps?”

  “No, well, sometimes.”

  “How would you describe your flow? Heavy, medium, light?”

  She shrugged. “Uh, medium, I guess.”

  “Any tenderness associated with either menses or ovulation?”

  “A little, maybe. I don’t know. I mean, I never take pills, or anything.”

  “Ever had STDs?”

  “Yeah.”

  “When?”

  “When I was younger. You know. I was a kid then. I didn’t give a damn.”

  “What kind?”

  “I had the clap when I was sixteen. Then a doctor told me I’d had chlamydia. He put me on pills for a couple of weeks.”

  “Did you take them all, or save some for later?”

  “I took them all.” She shook her head. “I didn’t want the disease, you know? It’s like being a whore or something when you’ve got disease.”

  “Well, before we do the procedure we’ll double-check and make sure everything’s okay. Jennifer, have you had a pelvic exam recently?”

  “Last November. Everything came back normal.”

  “Those times you were pregnant, how long did you wait before the abortion?”

  She made a wincing face. “Four months with the first one. I was like really young, you know? I didn’t know what to do. I was scared. The second time, I knew—I mean, I’d been through it before, so I only had that one for a little over a month. You know, just long enough that I knew I’d skipped. Then I got the test.”

  “No problems or complications?”

  “No.” She shrugged. “I didn’t even bleed much afterwards. I thought, you know, that I’d be laid up for days or something.”

  Abernathy smiled. “You look like a very fit young woman. How long since your last period? Can you give me a date?”

  “Almost two weeks.” She bit back any reaction as she thought of her stolen tampon.

  Mary made the notation on her form. “So you’re almost ready to ovulate. Have you noticed any indication that you’re close? Tenderness in the ovaries, vaginal discharge?”

  “Not yet.” She appeared to think. “But it should be soon.”

  “We might want to hurry you forward.” Mary Abernathy looked up. “Outside of pregnancy, have you ever skipped periods?”

  “Yeah, back when …” She looked away. “It was before Dad died. Before the trust was set up. He wanted to have me locked away. Sent off. Anywhere but where he was. You know. It wasn’t a happy time in my life.”

  “So it was stress related you think?”

  “Yes.”

  Abernathy didn’t look up as she made notes on her form. “But nothing since?”

  “No.”

  “I’m going to read off a list of diseases and health conditions. I need to know if you or anyone in your family has ever had any of these.”

  Through the long list that followed, Jennifer Weaver answered no to some, and yes to others, building the profile of her rich but unhappy life. Mary Abernathy dutifully noted each on her form.

  Finally she looked up. “Okay, Jennifer, that’s it for the paperwork. Next I need to do a quick physical. It’s nothing to worry about.” A smile. “I’ll warm the stethoscope. The worst part is taking a routine blood sample for the lab. That will provide us with a baseline blood chemistry board, ensure that you’re not having some problem, and confirm that your baby’s immune system will be compatible with yours.”

  Jennifer swallowed. “Okay.” She tried to look listless as Mary took her blood pressure, listened to her heart and lungs, but flinched when the blood sample was taken.

  As Abernathy finished sealing and labeling her samples she looked up. “Now, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

  “No.” Jennifer actually managed a weak smile.

  “One last thing to do.” Mary removed a plastic cup from her case, along with a plastic bag. Jennifer could see a Q-Tip inside. “I need you to walk back to the bathroom and give me a urine sample. Seal the cup when you’re done. Finally, I want you to put your foot up on the toilet, just like inserting a tampon, and very carefully insert the Q-Tip and swab the inside of your vagina.”

  “Huh?” the request caught Sheela by surprise. She blinked the confusion away, pulled Jennifer’s character back into place, and nodded reluctantly.

  Mary Abernathy’s expression turned serious. “If you’d like, I could help you.”

  “No.” Jennifer stood, reaching for the cup and baggie. “That’s all right. I think I’ve got the idea.”

  “Just be very careful not to contaminate either of them, okay? Don’t lay the Q-Tip on the sink or toilet. Just drop it straight into the baggie when you’re done and seal it.”

  As she went through the process, Sheela had to wonder. Urine samples, well, sure. But the other? She made a face as she swabbed herself then dropped the Q-Tip into the baggie and sealed it.

  Stepping out, she gave the samples to Abernathy and watched the woman write on them before she placed them in her case.

  “Any questions?” Abernathy asked.

  “Will it hurt?”

  “The procedure? No.” The nurse smiled. “You won’t even know it happened.”

  “When will we do it?”

  Abernathy shuffled through her papers. “If you’re as close to ovulation as we think—and we’ll know from hormone levels in the blood and urine samples—the sooner the better. Our lab ship, the ZoeGen, has just arrived off Long Island. I’m going to recommend that you leave as soon as possible. Can you do that? Go at a moment’s notice?”

  Jennifer nodded. “I’ll be right here. Waiting, you know? I don’t have any friends in New York.”

  At her expression, the nurse’s professional demeanor seemed to crack the slightest bit, only to be replaced by the personable smile. “We’ll be in touch, then.”

  “And the billing?” Jennifer asked. “That will all be handled through my attorney?”

  “That’s what I was told. Your deposit has been received, and your credit is approved. Provided that the tests don’t indicate any problem, you’ll be home in a week and pregnant with your new baby.”

  “It’s that easy?”

  The woman nodded. “It’s that easy. We guarantee that your baby will be free of any genetic defects. But you are going to be warned so many times, you’ll have it memorized, so I’ll start now: Jennifer, you must understand. We can’t be responsible for what you do to yourself and your baby once you leave our facilities. Alcohol, tobacco, drugs, stimulants, certain foods, chemicals, poisons, and things like mercury that you introduce into your system can cause irreparable harm and are beyond our control.”

  “I know.”

  “Good. Be sure that you do,” Mary Abernathy told her firmly. “Jennifer, I’ll be honest. We guarantee our work and the health of the fetus. We know our business well enough that we’ll know if you cheat, understand? Our doctors will be giving you periodic checkups throughout your pregnancy. We are going to monitor both you and the baby very carefully. If you work with us and follow the rules, everything will end in a perfect delivery and a remarkable child.”

  “Will you be there?” Jennifer glanced away. “At the procedure, I mean?”

  She nodded. “If you’d like. We’re here for you, Jennifer. You’re paying for the finest care and service on earth.”

  Jennifer looked uncertainly at Mary. “If … I mean …”

  “Yes?”

  In a small voice, she asked, “What if … if at the last minute, I change my mind?”

  “It will be all right,” Abernathy replied gently. “We’ll deal with it when the time comes. This is a big d
ecision. If you decide, for whatever reason, that you’re uncomfortable, we’ll call it off. No one will say anything. It’s happened before. We want you happy so that when the time is right, you’ll come back to us.”

  Sheela clenched her fist. “They said it would be a Sheela Marks baby. That’s what they promised. That’s who my little girl will be, right?”

  “Oh, yes,” Nurse Abernathy answered. “We took her DNA right off of her tampon. Remember when that happened?”

  “How could I forget?” she said too coldly.

  Rex sat fuming in Tony’s plush reception area. ZTA, Zell Talent Agency, had its offices on the eighth and ninth floor of a high-rise off Melrose. A polished white marble floor gleamed under the lights, and the furniture was designer stuff Tony had picked up in London. A balcony hung over the waiting room where Rex fidgeted on one of the couches. Access to the sacred upper spaces where Tony hovered like God was gained by way of a sculpted staircase behind the reception desk.

  Across from him a woman in her forties, dressed in a brown Gucci concoction, held a huge brown leather purse in her lap while she consoled a pouting teenage boy dressed in baggy gray canvas. The kid had chunks of metal sticking out of his lips, nose, cheeks, and brows, as well as spiky black hair that stood out in all directions.

  Rex shot a hard look at the receptionist, whose radar immediately picked up on it. She smiled, saying, “It will be just a moment longer, Mr. Gerber. Are you sure you wouldn’t like anything? Coffee perhaps? Sparkling water?”

  “I want Tony,” he growled.

  “Yo!” Tony called from above, his white leather shoes appearing on the steps as he descended and bent to peer down at Rex. “You’ve got him. Come on up, Rex.”

  “Hey!” the bratty teenager bitched. “I’s here first, man.”

  Rex shot him the same sort of look he would have given an unwashed beggar pushing a grocery cart down Santa Monica Boulevard. The older woman was trying to hush the kid, hissing something about success and paying dues.

  Rex flashed an empty smile at the receptionist as he hurried to the stairs and took them two at a time to Tony’s upper level.

  “I thought ‘Yo’ was out of style these days.”

  Tony grinned. “You never know. I might bring it back. So, Rex, what’s up, babe? You look like, you know, bad shit’s happening? I had to cut short a—”

  “Can it,” Rex muttered, leading the way down the hallway, past the assistants who watched from lowered eyes, past Tony’s personal secretary, and into his large corner office. Rex made the ‘close it’ gesture with his finger, and Tony shut the door behind them.

  “Sheela’s missing.” Rex stopped short, whirling, hands braced on his hips.

  Tony stood with one hand on the doorknob, a confused look on his sleek tanned face. Two thick gold chains could be seen behind the open throat of his shirt. “Missing?”

  “Yeah, as in I can’t find her.” Rex jabbed a finger at Tony. “Tell me you’ve heard something. That she’s called, left an e-mail, messengered you, sent flowers, anything.”

  “Hey, man, the lady’s been on my radar, but not since we had that meeting, you know? What’s Lymon say?”

  “The prick’s gone, too. No one home. When I collared Tomaso—that Cuban dickhead that works for her—he just shrugged and said ‘Sheela left for a vacation.’ End of story.”

  “A vacation?” Tony asked, amazed.

  “Bullshit! It’s all bullshit.”

  “What’s Dot—”

  “Nothing. She’s still pissed about clearing Sheela’s schedule. I called you about that, right?”

  “Yeah, I got your message. I called Sheela’s, but it was late. No answer.” Tony looked up. “You’re sure Dot doesn’t know where she is?”

  “Nope.” Rex pursed his lips. “But I think Felix does.”

  Tony rubbed his face with a tanned hand as he walked over to the window that looked out toward the Hollywood Hills. “Give it a break, Rex. I think the lady pushed herself too hard.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “She was burning out. Thing is, she was smart enough to see it coming. If you ask me, she’s gone somewhere to lie on a beach without a phone, drink some good booze, and chill. You know what I mean?”

  “If you’d let me finish, Felix knows something. I could hear it in his voice. When I asked about Lymon, he almost burst a vein. ‘That son of a bitch! What did he tell you?’ That’s what Felix said, and he said it in a voice like I’d never heard him use before.”

  “I’ve heard you use that tone of voice before when Lymon’s concerned.”

  “Genesis Athena,” Rex stated bluntly.

  “What?”

  “The thing Christal Anaya was working on.”

  Tony smiled. “Yeah, Christal. They got any leads on her yet?”

  “Nope.” Rex paused. “What’s that look for?”

  “I’ll never get to see if she was as good as she looked.” Tony seemed to return to the conversation. “What about Genesis Athena?”

  “I just came from Lymon’s office. I said I needed to get in and find a file. That hyena woman that works for him was breathing over my shoulder the entire time to make sure that I didn’t get into anything I shouldn’t. When she started to get suspicious I said that Lymon must have the file and I’d get it from him.”

  “So where did Genesis Athena come from?”

  “It was written on a notepad by Lymon’s computer in big block letters, you know, like he was scratching it right through the paper. You know, the way people do when they’re mad.”

  Tony frowned. “Wait a minute. You think that Sheela and Lymon are doing what? Chasing down Genesis Athena?”

  Rex chewed his lip as he thought. “I don’t know. But like I said, Felix does. When I mentioned Genesis Athena, he told me to go fuck myself.”

  “Felix said that?” Tony looked ever more thoughtful.

  “Yeah. Not quite his style, huh?”

  Tony reached out a hand and placed it on Rex’s shoulder. “Hey, you’ve been working too damn hard. Fuck it If Sheela and Lymon are out having a little tryst, more power to them, huh? You said that she practically admitted they were lovers that day at Lymon’s. You’re overreacting. Sheela wanted her calendar cleared so she and Lymon could disappear someplace where they could get it on in private. After what happened with de Giulio, I don’t blame her.”

  Rex chewed harder on the inside of his lip, then shook his head. “I don’t buy it. Sheela was pretty broken up about Anaya’s kidnapping. She had that look. You know, the one that said she wasn’t going to let it go.”

  “Fine, go wear yourself out, Rex.” He walked to his desk, dropping into the easy chair. “Look, if the lady calls, I’ll tell her you’re worried. I promise, as soon as she hangs up, I’ll use my caller ID to get the number, ring you, and you can get back to her. It’s your funeral.”

  “Just hope it isn’t hers, Tony.”

  He had already shrugged it off. “Only if the media gets hold of it. They’ll have color photos of her and Lymon in flagrante around the world within hours.”

  “So, you’re going to do nothing?”

  “Call me when you’ve really got something to worry about, Rex.”

  42

  The chatter of a helicopter beat its way through the ZoeGen ’s maze of decks and companionways. Christal blinked her eyes open, yawned, and stretched. She sat up on her hard bunk. Pale morning light was streaming in through the porthole. She threw off her blanket, stumbled over, and squinted out at the day. She could see the chopper, one of the fancy Sea Kings; it dropped out of the morning sky, slowing. She lost it as it drifted out of her limited line of sight to settle on a helipad somewhere above. The chopper’s chatter and whine died away to be replaced by the now-familiar ship’s hum.

  Christal rubbed her eyes and walked into her small bathroom. She used the toilet and splashed water in her face. She was feeling her damp shirt and pants—washed in her little sink the night before—when a knock came at her
door.

  “Just a minute!” she called, grabbing down her damp things. She whirled in anger when her door swung open. “Hey! I said just a minute!”

  To her surprise, Copperhead—dressed in a flattering pantsuit—stepped in and closed the cabin door behind her. She gave Christal a curious appraisal, noting the crumpled clothing Christal now held in a futile attempt at modesty.

  “You look like a drowned rat,” Copperhead stated frankly.

  “Get the hell out of here!”

  The woman smiled, her hands loosely at her side, her weight perched on the balls of her feet. She wrinkled her nose. “Is that you, or is there something wrong with the plumbing?”

  Christal’s fingers cramped where they bunched her clothing. She considered flinging the whole mass at the woman as a distraction before she beat her to death.

  “Go on,” Copperhead said easily. “Get dressed. I’ll meet you outside.”

  “Why?”

  “You’re wanted.” With that, Copperhead laughed softly to herself, opened the door, and stepped out into the companionway.

  Christal took a deep breath, shook her head, and began dressing. When she stepped out into the companionway, Copperhead was leaned against the far wall, her arms crossed. She pushed off, looking Christal up and down. “Come on. This way.” She started down the hallway. “We didn’t think to bring you anything else to wear.”

  “Inconsiderate of you, don’t you think, April?”

  “If we ever do it again, we’ll know.”

  “What? Kidnapping’s not a normal activity?”

  “Actually, you were the first. Change that. Let’s say you were the first fully developed adult that we ever snatched. Some cells here and there don’t count, right?” She gave her a wry smile. “Look, I’m sorry. Anaya, I don’t have anything against you. Fact is, if you weren’t good, we’d have never crossed swords in the first place.”

  “One of these days, I’m going to pay you back for those punches you gave me that day in the women’s room. And I’m going to bust your dear little mousy Gretchen, too. I’ve never been shot at before—let alone with intent.”