by Blake Banner
Now I smiled. “With walls around it and CCTV cameras.”
He laughed with genuine pleasure and turned to Lucia. “I like your friend. I think there is no bullsheet ’ere!” He laughed some more, then wagged a finger at me. “Sometimes, Lacklan, to protect an idea, we must protect the land where zat idea is ’eld.”
I couldn’t argue with that and I told him so. He gave a satisfied smile and gestured toward his grotesque front door.
“Please, let us go inside and enjoy some cocktails before dinner. I like to sink, Lacklan, zat on Olympus, ze Greek gods used to enjoy a cocktail before ze great feasts which zey ’ad. What do you sink about my little fancy?”
I didn’t answer because I thought his idea was about as stupid as his house and his suit. Instead, I said, “Classical Greece and Rome are obviously an interest of yours, Francoise.”
We stepped into a large, circular entrance hall with two marble staircases that spiraled up the walls to meet at a galleried landing on the second floor. He stopped dead and looked up at me, and for the first time I realized how short he was, and how large his jacket looked on him. He pointed at me and said, “You know what zee ancient Greeks gave us, apart from democracy, which is questionable, and zee great philosophers?”
I looked him straight in the eye and said, “The Greek alphabet, from Alpha to Omega?”
There was not a flicker of recognition on his face. He wagged his finger in the negative. “No, my friend, what zey gave us was class! Zee idea of an elite, zee shameless recognition zat zere are base people, and zere are fine people. For zis reason I like to sink of…” He made a strange face of enjoying something exquisite, raised his right foot so that only the toe was touching the white marble floor, held out his hands like he was holding two drinks and hunched his shoulder, then went into a bizarre little act: “’Ello, Aphrodite! Can I offer you a martini? Oh, you prefer zee gin tonic, pa de problem! Ah, Apollo! ’ow long I ’ave not seen you! Is Athena wiz you? ’Ave a canapé? What are you drinking? Where is Mars?”
Lucia covered her mouth and burst into astonished laughter. I couldn’t repress a laugh myself and pretty soon, Francoise was slapping his thighs and wiping his eyes. “I cannot ’elp it! It is a wonderful vision. Alor! Zee drawing room is through ’ere. Come! Come!”
We crossed the white marble floor and he pushed open two tall, walnut doors into a large room with a very high ceiling. The ceiling was bordered by a stucco picture rail that had been painted with gold leaf, and a vast chandelier hung from the center of the ceiling. The walls were hung with paintings that were more impressive for their size than their quality as works of art, which was hard to assess because there were so many of them. The floors were highly polished boards strewn with Persian rugs big enough to Christmas wrap an RV. And the furniture all looked like genuine antiques from the French baroque period. There were two men standing in the middle of the floor, holding glasses and smiling at us.
But before he introduced us, Francoise swept his left hand around the room and said, “Everything you see is a fake!”
I raised an eyebrow at him. “Even the Secretary of State and Mr. Fokker?”
He laughed like I’d quoted something really witty from Voltaire. “No, no, they are genuine! I refer to zee furniture and the paintings. They are all replicas. Zee originals are sadly in a bank vault because zee cumulative value of this room is astronomical. If there were such a sing as morality, zis would be immoral. Fortunately for me, morality is a human construct! Come!”
We followed him across six acres of rug to where O’Brien and Fokker were watching him and chuckling. Again, he made his theatrical little sweep of the hand and said, “Allow me to present Secretary of State Paul O’Brien… Mr. Lacklan Walker.”
I held out my hand to him and heard Lucia smile and mutter, “Hello Paul.”
He returned the smile, then took my hand. I held his eye and said, “I believe we have a friend in common, Mr. Secretary.”
He smiled amiably. “Oh really? Who’s that?”
“Senator McFarlane.”
A slight furrowing of his brows. “Oh, you are a friend of Cyndi’s? A fine woman.”
I nodded. “We share many interests.”
Francoise was bending forward like a caricature of a wine waiter, gesturing at his partner. “And Wolfgang Fokker, my business partner and great friend…”
Fokker offered me a hand like a large, cold trout and a smile that was well-practiced but ill-mastered.
“Olga Lucia has told me very much about you, Mr. Walker, or should vee call you Captain?”
“So I gather. I am no longer in the army, Mr. Fokker.” To Francoise, I said, “A martini, dry, thanks.”
Francoise went away to fix the drinks and Fokker proceeded. “I am so looking forward to heffing an frank and open discussion with you.” He turned to O’Brien. “Muscular honesty is such a rare quality in a man zees days, don’t you agree, Paul?”
O’Brien smiled at me, nodding. “Captain Walker, late of the British Special Air Service. I just made the connection. Cyndi, and your friend Professor Gibbons, both mentioned you in passing. I think you’ll find, Wolfgang, that Captain Walker will agree with you.”
Francoise reappeared with drinks. As I took mine, I said, “Well, as we’re cutting right to the chase, Mr. Secretary, let me say I am pretty surprised to see you here this evening.”
He smiled. “I can imagine why, Captain, but why don’t you tell me, and then we can take it from there.”
“As I understand it, you torpedoed the SERESS bill that would allow companies like the Ceres Corporation to experiment on human subjects in the field of gene regulators. Which, on the face of it, means that you are not an ally of these gentlemen.” I paused, looking at Lucia, then at Francoise. “And I am here so that they can try to persuade me not to go to the cops, or worse still, go public, with the information I have concerning experiments that they have conducted in the last six months on five subjects—in that very field of research. So, as I say, I am pretty surprised to see you here, Mr. Secretary.”
O’Brien turned and gazed at Fokker. “Is this true, Wolfgang?”
Fokker gave a big, German laugh that was at odds with his small brown frame. “Excellent! Excellent! Let us sit down and take off zee gloves. Let us, as you Americans say, talk the turkey.”
There was a large, marble fireplace, and gathered around it were imitation Louis XIV sofas and chairs with shapely legs covered in gold leaf. Lucia sat next to O’Brian on the two-seater sofa. I sat to the left of the fire and Fokker sat opposite me while Troyes stood, leaning against the marble surround.
I studied Troyes a moment, who was smiling at me, waiting. I said, “You invited me here because you had something to say to me, Mr. Troyes. What’s on your mind?”
He became serious, and suddenly his flamboyant French act seemed to slip, along with the elaborate accent. The accent was still there, but it was more of an inflection.
“OK, let me be honest with you. Dr. Salcedo tells me that you are worried about some young volunteers who were involved in our program…”
I shook my head. “I’m not worried about them, Mr. Troyes. They are dead, and there is no point in worrying about the dead. I am worried about Carlos Vazquez, who is still alive, and I am worried about the Ceres Corporation, which, on the face of it, seems to be exploiting vulnerable people who are below the legal radar.”
O’Brien was frowning very hard at Troyes. He said, “I don’t like what I am hearing, Francoise. Not one little bit.”
Troyes nodded, with both hands held up, “And that is why I have invited you to come along this evening and ’ear what Mr. Walker, Captain Walker, has to say. These are very serious allegations, and though they are not true, there is some foundation to them. So! I want you, Paul, to ’ear the allegations and also our explanation for Mr. Walker. I am confident…” He gestured at Fokker. “We are both confident that by the soufflé, you will both be ’appy.”
I looked at Luci
a. She was smiling at his joke. O’Brien was still frowning, but he had half smiled. I wasn’t smiling.
“I went to see the Peabodys this afternoon. That’s the family who took Hans and Hattie in after they started their treatment with you. They kicked me out, told me they didn’t want to talk to me. They were heartbroken and traumatized. They loved those kids…”
Paul was staring at me. “I’m sorry, Walker, who are Hans and Hattie?”
“Hans and Hattie are the subject of an NYPD investigation at the moment. They were recently murdered, executed in fact, and dumped in a wood pile in the Peabodys’ backyard. They had, since Christmas, developed some extraordinary skills, am I right, Francoise? I think, I hope, that Francoise and Wolfgang here will be able to tell us a lot more about Hans and Hattie, who they were, their families, their background, because if they can’t, I am going to be pretty mad.”
O’Brien had gone very still. “You had better have a damned good explanation for this, Francoise.”
He nodded. “And if you will allow me, I will offer it to you.”
“Start talking.”
He took a very deep breath, pursed his lips and stood, staring at the floor. Fokker was watching him with no expression at all on his face, like he knew exactly what was coming next.
“Since the 2003, work in the field of genetics has advanced at an extraordinary rate. But in the West we ’ave had a problem. Because we are democratic nations, and we ’ave moral standards by which we must abide, this means that in some fields, our competitors in the East, and in the Third World, can progress much faster than we can, because they can conduct experiments and tests which in the West would be considered immoral!”
He paused, staring down at the floor again, like he had a script there which he was studying. “I ’ave said before, and I will repeat it many times, that science ’as left science fiction behind. Science fiction cannot keep up with what is happening in the laboratories around the world, in every area of science and technology. And as they advance, they are converging. Genetics is meeting with neurology, is meeting with nano-technology, is meeting with quantum mechanics, and we are finding that the potential of the human mind is…” He paused, smiling, shaking his head. “…literally… not figuratively or metaphorically, literally immeasurable! We ’ave, today, the technology, following the work of Ami Citri at the University of Jerusalem, to alter people’s memories. If we can alter their memories, we can alter their very identity! And with it, their genetic encoding.”
O’Brien sighed loudly. “This is all very exciting and interesting, Francoise, but I did not ask you for a lecture on the current state of dangerous technologies…”
“Forgive me.” He held up his hands again. “But I try to make the point that, if we do not pursue this research by every possible means, our competitors, and our enemies will.”
“I’ve heard your pitch before. I didn’t like it then, and after what Captain Walker has just told me, I like it even less tonight. Get to the point.”
He used his raised hands to make a ‘slow down’ gesture. “Please, I am getting there. Our laboratories developed a powder, Alpha-G. The powder is a delivery system for active nano-agents. So, without getting too technical, by reading the protein characteristics of a person’s genetic code, we can deliver an especially tailored…” He searched for the word. “…Supplement that will be delivered directly to the DNA within the body and act upon the regulators within the genes, switching on or off this DNA or that. So that within a week or ten days, the person begins to change and become transformed. This was the theory. So we tried it on rats and dogs and on monkeys. And it worked as far as it can work on an animal that has no personality and no sense of ‘I’. But until we try it on a person, we ’ave no idea if it works! Because in a person, the administering of Alpha-G will be accompanied by developmental work, electronic stimulation, counseling, monitoring, guided reading, audio-visual stimulation, even diet—a whole raft of techniques and strategies designed to optimize the effect of the powder.”
O’Brien leaned forward. His face was incredulous. “So you tested this monstrosity on people?”
“One moment. First, we talked to our lawyers and we asked them, ‘staying within the law of the United States, what can we do?’ So, they think about it and after a couple of days, they come back and they ask us, ‘Does this powder, Alpha-G, contain any substances that are proscribed by law in the United States?’ To which we were able to answer, ‘No!’ So they ask us, ‘Does this powder contain any substance or combination of substances that will be toxic or poisonous to anybody taking it?’ To which we could answer ‘No!’ also. So they tell us, ‘If a volunteer in full knowledge of what the experiment entails agrees to these tests, it is legal.”
O’Brien was shaking his head. “That is a course of action which is in direct defiance of Congress’ decision on the SERESS Bill.”
Francoise shrugged and spread his hands. “Forgive me, Paul, but our lawyers disagree, and I think you will find there are powerful lobbyists within your own party, and in opposition, who can see the potential benefits to Alpha-G in the Defense Industry.”
“I am telling you right now, Francoise, and you, Wolfgang, I am as mad as hell that you went ahead and did this, and tomorrow I am going to be kicking some serious ass. You better be ready.”
“Of course, of course, Paul, we understand this, believe me. But please, let me finish.”
At that moment, a door behind Troyes opened and a footman in uniform stepped in. “The dinner is served, Mr. Troyes.”
Troyes beamed. “Ah! Let us continue over dinner! Please, Dr. Salcedo, Olga Lucia, allow me…”
He gave her his arm and we proceeded to the dining room.
SIXTEEN
The dining room was as pretentious as the drawing room, trying too hard, and failing, to evoke the days of the French aristocracy. The table was long enough to seat twenty-four. It was also a copy of an antique, as were the chairs, the plates, the gold and silver cutlery and the hand cut crystal. If he was trying to make a point, he was overstating it.
They continued to overstate it by serving caviar in little silver dishes, with a tray of chopped egg, lemon wedges, red onion, chives, creme fraiche, and toast. To drink, we were offered a choice of vodka or Krug Clos d’Ambonnay, 1990. A footman stood behind each chair, ready to do our bidding at a click of our fingers.
Troyes smiled benignly at us and said, “Bon appétit!”
We ate in silence for a while, with Troyes making little noises of pleasure and enthusiasm and Fokker grunting quietly to himself as he stuffed his face. Lucia kept her eyes firmly on her plate while O’Brien, sitting opposite me, watched my face. When I caught his eye, he gave a small nod, then turned to Troyes.
“It’s delicious, Francoise, almost as good as the stuff Putin gave me. Now, how about you finish your story?”
Troyes gave a little snort. “It is a shame to spoil the food and the wine with such talk, but, c’est la guerre! Uh?”
Fokker, who was sitting on his left, reached over and patted his arm. “Eat, enjoy. I will explain.”
Like Troyes, his German act seemed to have slipped a little. The accent was still there, but he was no longer caricaturing himself. I wondered vaguely why they did it. He knocked back his vodka and signaled his footman to pour him champagne.
“Dr. Salcedo, we knew for some time, was interested in our research and we approached her, if she knew perhaps of some suitable student who would be willing to participate as a volunteer, in the full knowledge of what the tests involved, and perhaps also to recruit other test subjects—volunteers! Always above the board and in full compliance with American legislation.”
He shrugged and spread his hands. “So! She finds for us, the, uh…” He made little circles with his hand. “Carlos, who is Mexican, but he is here legally, and he is willing to take the powder. Lucia has explained to him all about it, yuh? And he understands and he is heppy and excited, yuh?” He smiled to illustrate happy a
nd excited, in case we didn’t know what that was.
“Then, Carlos is friends with some drop outs. He has friends in this kind of social environment, where people are living in squats, or renting a room in somebody else’s house, sharing… You know the kind of thing. So he tells them about the powder, and they too are excited. So all of them are going to see Lucia, and she is talking to them about the powder, and the benefits and the risks. And they are all voluntarily signing up for it.”
Troyes sat back in his chair, looking at O’Brien. He snapped his fingers and the footmen moved to clear the table. He sipped his champagne and took over from Fokker.
“So, you are asking, well…” He hunched his shoulder and waved his hands and made one of those French faces that mean something is absurd. “Well, if everything you did was so correct, ’ow come we ’ave a disaster on our ’ands?”
O’Brien said, “Something like that, yeah.”
“Et bien! OK, so, something ’appens. We do not know what. Suddenly, Charlie, he is beginning to suffer from serious depression. Immediately, Dr. Salcedo tell ’im he must stop taking the powder. He must return it to her immediately! And we communicate with… um… Zack, the Australian boy, um…” he snapped his fingers several times.
I said, “Bran.”
“Bran, Hans and Hattie. They must stop taking the powder also and come immediately to a meeting with Dr. Salcedo and with us to review their ’ealth and their mental and emotional wellbeing.” He spread his hands. “They do not come. Charlie, he disappears. He goes the AWOL. So, now we ’ave a problem. We do not want public attention drawn to this powder. We do not want this powder to fall into the ’ands of the Russians or the Chinese! Or anybody! So, we speak with my ’ead of security, Mr. Sykes, and he sends a team to collect the powder, and also a diary and a laptop which we ’ad given them and asked to keep a record of their subjective feelings and experiences. When our team arrive at the ’ouses of these people, they find…”
He turned to Fokker, who lifted his thumb.
