by M. C. Miller
“It sucks when it takes a marriage to wake up. The fact is – I married the wrong woman.” Without saying it, Faye knew his most bitter truth was about her.
Faye digested what she heard with leaden indifference, a full heart, and a careless disregard for the little voice of what might have been. She looked away from Colin, disgusted. “No. She married the wrong man. You don’t know what marriage is. You certainly don’t know how to be a father.”
The final blow was landed. Colin drained of all fire, all resolve to confront her. He reached for the remote control and switched off the video display. Standing, he picked up his coffee cup. His manner was all business but his energy was defeated.
“We both deserved that.” He walked to the door. “Maybe now we can get on with the work. There’s more I need to tell you. But not now. I’m going to the surface. I won’t be available. I’ll call you.” He hurried out the door.
The emergency meeting ended as abruptly as it had begun.
Faye sat in the empty conference room, expecting more.
One of twelve chairs was left pulled back from an otherwise undisturbed table. Spots of brightness from track lighting bathed the large oval. An unbearable tension lingered in the room. It was the only evidence that anyone else had been invited.
Sixteen years of unfinished business between them had gone by in a blink.
Faye felt like crying but couldn’t.
She sat a long while, astonished. A solitary surprise of instant reflection petrified her. Not sure of her feelings, her breaths quickened around a realization.
There was nothing left – of what she knew was no longer there.
Chapter 13
Marie-Louise Square
European Quarter, Brussels
Eugene Mass eased back on the heated leather and waited for his driver to open the black Bentley Mulsanne’s rear door. It was the middle of the afternoon but weather kept traffic light. They had made good time from Mass’ office to the rendezvous site. Buttoning up his topcoat, Mass took a moment to reflect. Looking around, he was dismayed.
A dusting of snow had drained color from the familiar row of Art Nouveau residences. Their elongated windows and ornamental spires reached for a grey sky without inspiration. Once decorative arches and moldings now seemed pallid and excessive in the cold. Across the street, a frozen lake was ringed by frosted trees. Everywhere around him, the bloom of nature was in retreat and the encroaching works of man appeared pitiful.
The skyline was a disheartening contrast of architectural styles. New concrete blockhouses squatted next to 19th century charmers. Looming above the unlikely pairings were the glass and steel monoliths of finance and government. In their false glory they exuded the arrogance and narcissism of global enterprise. Mass knew it all too well. He was a part of it. He was also in the best position to bring it down.
As the heart of the European Union, the once great European Quarter was considered by Mass to be a governmental ghetto. It was a place where neglect and lack of planning met a callous infatuation with anything new. The evidence surrounded him. Bureaucratic expediency and the lust for mindless profit had run roughshod over the lessons of history and civilizing culture.
This street had come to symbolize the world for him.
No wonder he found it so easy to come here in secret to plan its reordering.
The car door opened and Mass stepped into the cold holding his gloves.
“I expect a longer session today but I may have to leave on a moment’s notice.”
The driver doubled as bodyguard. “Yes, sir.” Mass was accompanied to the front door of the residence but not inside. He had a key; there was no need to knock.
Mass headed up the stairs right away. He ignored the elaborate furnishings, the fine paintings and exquisite woodworking. Even though he had supervised their installation, today they seemed out of place for the work at hand. A sterile operating room with scalpels and needles would be more fitting. The patient was dying but in denial; the disease was aggressive. Only drastic amputation would save the body. The burden of being the one who had to do it was a crushing but humbling reminder that without moral conviction, facile chance alone guided individual fate.
At the fourth floor landing, Mass found the door to the room at the front of the house open. He stepped into the scent of fresh-brewed espresso and bathed in the light from slanted windows in the vaulted ceiling. He knew the place from frequent visits but took inventory anyway. What was once a bedroom for children was now an office, a meeting place where surgeons conspired to launch a bloody intervention.
It was time to revisit the tryst.
“I’ve been waiting for you, lover.” It was a voice of inflated machismo reeking of sarcasm. It belonged to the handsome man on the sofa.
“If you mean we’re all fucked, I’m inclined to agree.” Mass shed his topcoat and helped himself to a cup of Jamaican Blue Mountain Peaberry. He stood at the window and wallowed in his disgust.
The voice fell out of character. Its true accent was a blend of far-flung experience. “We don’t have to do this today if you’re not feeling up to it.”
“I know damned well what we need to do. Putting it off won’t make it any easier.” Mass turned to face a lounging man half his age. Years of their private collusion had made Mass as much friend as boss. Sometimes the casualness between them felt too familiar. Other times, Mass was thankful for someone he could interact with man-to-man. Someone who wasn’t afraid to call bullshit to his face.
Javier Francisco was not his birth name but it adorned his American passport. An expat twice removed from Cordoba, Spain, Javier had run the full spectrum of a colorful life. From male model to drug runner, from soldier to bouncer, from activist to private operative, the man was a caldron of energy and contradictions.
It now seemed a lifetime away. Mass had recruited Javier off the streets of Marseille. Back then, by day he did dirty work for Friends of the Ocean. By night he worked at a techno-dance club tending bar and exercising his dick with anything young and willing. In exchange for his loyalty, Mass promised a lucrative income and membership in an exclusive club. Club members did dirty work for Mass.
Javier had once stood on the deck of the environmental research ship PaxTerra wearing a windbreaker and green ski mask. He had shoved a handmade sign at the camera announcing Operation Mermaid’s Tears.
Shadowing André Bolard had been Javier’s first assignment. Since then, he had become an essential resource for coordinating business that by necessity must remain secret. Javier shared Mass’ vision for a stable and ordered future. More importantly, Javier needed to be where the action was, on the inside track, in line to be rewarded.
To protect the final stages of the overall plan, Mass had set him up in this residence as a kept man, the object of Mass’ philandering desires, the secret tryst into bisexual bliss that was sure to be discovered. Once rumored, the salaciousness of it had blinded an orgasmic press to the real motive for their occasional get-togethers. Never substantiated but made guilty as sin by investigative journalists, it provided the perfect cover.
Ironically enough, the ruse had been the suggestion of Mass’ wife, Leah. She felt the future was too important for pride and held no illusions what would work. Both of them were too rich and too old to cling to monogamous fantasies. That would be their story. Racing each other to the bottom, the world’s media would believe it and propagate it. The indoctrinated masses would be teased to distraction.
Mass took a seat in a favorite overstuffed chair. “Where are we?”
“Where would you like to begin?”
“Tell me about Malcolm.”
Javier lifted a leg off a coffee table and straightened up. “We can’t be sure if he discovered more than Riya. Whatever he knew, Janis has to know. She never showed up for the deposition. Indian police can’t locate her.”
“And the laptop?”
“Gone.”
“We have to get to her first.”
; “Just like Malcolm?”
“No! We can’t afford that kind of sacrifice if we can help it. Not again.” An agony discharged through Mass. “She’s too valuable in the lab. There’s more to do on simplifying the delivery of GenLET. There’s still a chance she’ll come around. We need her to finish her work on the rapid therapy method.”
“That’s a huge gamble. If anything leaks out…”
“I know. Prepare countermeasures just in case.”
“This sucks. So much exposure over one fucking memo! We don’t even know if she has the damned thing!”
“We have to assume she does. I’ll have Indian police coordinate with Interpol. Wherever she’s running, we’ll bring her back. NovoSenectus will press charges. We’ll make it about intellectual capital.”
Javier pulled on his upper lip and nodded.
Mass felt a prodding sixth sense. “I’m surprised she hasn’t gone public already. What is she waiting for?” A silent gap filled with concern. “We’ve been acting on the assumption we know more than she does. What if she knows something else? What if she’s been told something else?”
“What can she know?”
“You tell me. That’s your job.”
“There’s nothing. Riya had good reasons to keep her in the dark.”
“Don’t avoid the fucking issue. Somebody kidnapped the daughter. Alyssa is leverage but for what? Did Janis run out of India or was she taken out? If she was taken out, was it willingly or by force? Does somebody want GenLET secrets as ransom? What could we be missing?”
“Isn’t GenLET too complicated? She can’t have it all in her head.”
“She knows enough.”
“She has no access to NovoSenectus to give anybody the details.”
Mass felt the weight of holding the prize everyone wanted. “If you locked Robert Oppenheimer in a room, you wouldn’t have the atomic bomb. But you’d have the next best thing.”
“We’ll find her.”
Mass was all boss as he stared at Javier. “We better. She can hurt us two ways.”
“So what if we get into a situation.”
“Say what you mean.”
“If it comes down to it, when does she become expendable?”
“You already know the answer. Tell me.”
Javier hesitated. “To preserve the plan, we’re all expendable…” He looked up at Mass with a wry smile. “…at least down to 500 million.”
Mass had a second cup of espresso. He let Javier’s affirmation of 3rd Protocol linger in the room undisturbed. It was a good reminder for both of them. Cup in hand, Mass stood at the window. His gaze saw nothing in particular. He was tired of looking upon a troubled world. With that in mind, he grew intensely serious.
“What about Goodwin Diye. Have we set up the necessary financial accounts?”
“Everything’s in order. Finances and legal instruments.”
“Double check it. Goodwin Diye must be in place; it’s imperative. It’s the only insurance I have that things will get done. Anything new going on with vaccines?”
“The 3rd Protocol extension to MIOVAC is ready.”
“Does that include halal inoculations?”
“Of course.”
“Good. We can’t overlook any detail. One-fifth of humanity is Muslim. Devout Muslims will not permit themselves to be injected with vaccines grown in pig cells or alcohol. When something is permissible by Islamic law, it’s halal. We must provision accordingly.”
“It’s being done.”
“Do you have anything else for me?”
Javier thought a second. “You wanted me to keep an eye on The Center for Earth Awareness – one of Curtis Labon’s think tanks.”
Mass squinted and snickered. “Imagine that. He has more than one.”
“He’s lobbying all nations to sign the Population Neutral Policy Treaty.”
“In a revised state no doubt. He’s tried that before.”
“This one is more aggressive.”
“Give an example.”
“The new treaty would make all foreign aid contingent upon the receiving country’s government adopting certain Population Neutral Policies.”
“Such as?”
“It requires all women of child-bearing age implanted with a treaty-approved birth control device. Governments would issue permits when women can get pregnant. Permits would be decided by lottery. To be eligible for the lottery, certain criteria would need to be met.”
Mass looked down on the snowy street below.
“A remarkably old idea. And I imagine a spectacular failure.”
“It’s applauded at all the international conferences…”
“And ignored in the legislatures.”
“It’s gotten a lot of attention. Their newsletter has twelve million subscribers.”
“No doubt. Everybody likes to hear what someone else is doing to solve the problem. It makes them feel so much better about doing nothing at all themselves.” Mass strolled back to his seat. “It’s an odd state of affairs. Progress nowadays only defines how bad the problem is. Did you know that Iran is the only country where contraceptive classes are required for men and women before a marriage license can be obtained? In India, only people with two or fewer children are eligible to run for election to local government. China is the only country with a one-child policy – that alone has prevented 400 million births, a massive weight on the planet.”
Javier sat in reverential silence. He had seen Eugene Mass like this before. It was often at his lowest point that his loftiest idea came forth.
Mass smiled. As was his habit, he rubbed his right temple to feed energy to his thoughts. “So much for old business. Let’s begin with what comes next.”
Chapter 14
Bright Hope Farms
South Hero Island, Vermont
Sara Rushton entered the boathouse knowing where to look for her daughter. Stretched out on a bay window couch with blankets over her legs, Janis was engrossed with a webpage open before her. The mid-day view of Lake Champlain offered an unchanging palette and little movement. The occasional Pine Grosbeak or Snow Bunting flew by but Janis no longer noticed them.
Sara broke the studious seclusion with an offering. “How about some lunch?”
“Sounds good. Thanks.”
Sara set the covered plate down. “My guests have gone – if you want to come back to the house.”
“I’ve kinda settled in here for now. Did you have a nice visit?”
“Oh, sure. Whenever they’re down this way from Swanton, they like to see how I’m doing. They love to talk about their road trips. Sorry it took so long.”
“We got the Jeep in the garage just in time.”
“I don’t think it would have been a problem. They’re harmless.”
“I know. It’s just better if no one knows I’m here.”
Sara motioned to a color printout on a stack of research. “What’s this?”
“A map. Knockout Mouse volunteered it in his last email. He said Bolard is back at home. The map shows where in Marseille I can find him.”
Sara sank into a nearby chair. “I thought you reconsidered that.”
“What gave you that idea?”
“It’s been several days…”
“I was waiting for word Bolard was back in town. Let’s not get into it.”
“You know how I feel.”
“I know but nothing’s changed. I’ve scheduled a flight out later tonight.”
“You didn’t tell me about this.”
“I just confirmed the tickets. I was going to tell you as soon as I finished here.”
“There’s nothing I can say to change your mind?”
“Sure there is. You can tell me Alyssa is up at the house, waiting to see me. You can show me proof that Eugene Mass has given up on this plan.”
“All right. Do as you wish. If there’s anything I can do, I’m here. But I think you’re going to need help. You’re jumping into a complex, chaotic situatio
n. Worst yet, you’re trusting everything to circumstantial evidence. I can’t believe you accept what this shadow, this Knockout Mouse sends you. It’s anonymous hearsay.”
“The facts I know are strong enough.” Janis looked out across the lake.
“Something else is bothering you. What is it?”
“It’s nothing. Just something I have to decide.”
“About Marseille?”
“No.”
“Tell me. I need to know what’s going on with you. How else can I help?”
Janis considered holding back but couldn’t. “I discovered something else on the laptop. It’s everything Malcolm used to access GeLixCo.”
“The backdoor into their network?”
Janis nodded. “I wonder if it still works. I imagine they’ve plugged that hole by now.”
“You’re not thinking of trying it, are you?”
“I don’t know. Don’t worry. I wouldn’t do it from here. When Malcolm did it, he disguised his route. I don’t know how to do that.”
Sara scooted to the edge of her seat. “Janis, listen, you really have to think this through. Holding what someone else stole is one thing. Stealing more yourself takes it to a whole different level.”
“You don’t have to tell me. I know what it would mean.”
“Then why involve yourself so deeply?”
“Because Malcolm didn’t get all of it. He told me so.”
“You said there was a good chance he got cut off because they detected him. Look what happened to him.”
“There’s more to Riya’s story. There’s a reason why she needed to hide what she did. More of the truth is still out there.”
“The truth. How much worse can it get? If the part you already have is true, you already know what Mass is planning.”
“Riya hid certain things for a reason. I have to know why.”
“You can’t protect yourself if you go down this path. No one can.”
“I told you – I’ll wait to do it in a public place, a web-hotspot somewhere.”
