Five minutes later, he slammed the phone onto the hook. Fuck them. Who needed the Transnationals anyway? There were plenty of politicians around who wanted his services.
He slumped onto the couch. Who was he kidding? Without him there on a daily basis to handle the specialty cases, his client base in Washington had steadily declined, and San Francisco wasn't the political grab-bag he'd thought it would be. He'd been able to keep the charade of success believable these past two years, but without the Transnationals, it was over. He'd be broke within six months and Cathy would be gone for sure. Her father hated losers and Cathy listened to her father.
He began to laugh with a sound that was half gasp, half sob. He should've branched out into tobacco when the idea first came to him. A Raborman contract would come in handy right about now. He took a deep, shuddering breath and rubbed his hand across his mouth. God, he needed a stiff drink.
Chapter 15
Bianca
In her laboratory, Bianca dug through folders and pulled out notes and pictures. She sat down at the polished mahogany desk, flipped on the desk light, and searched the center drawer for a pen with black ink; the color of the notes Ellery had already seen.
"You'll get your summaries, Doctor Jensen," Bianca muttered. "But they won't be what you expect to see. I know your cardinal rule. You won't allow me to break that rule and remain at Tartarus. So, what you see will be well within Tartarus requirements."
She leaned back in her chair and reread the typed notes Leann had prepared. As she read, she marked. When she was finished, she went back to the beginning and started again. At each marked comment, she searched through old research logs until she found notes and pictures that would stand up to scrutiny. At last, she pulled a fresh pad of paper from the middle drawer. As the hours flew, her bold scrawl filled page after page.
"You work late, Bianca Raborman. Are you always so dedicated?"
Choking back a startled cry, the scientist slowly turned to face the man standing behind her. "How did you get in here?"
He shrugged. "Through the door." He smiled, his black eyes glittering in reflected desk light.
"That door was locked, Mr. Munoz. I locked it myself." Her nostrils flared at his subtle fragrance.
He shrugged again. "Doors are made to be opened, Doctor Raborman."
He stepped closer and she heard his quick intake of breath as he looked down at her. "Nice," he said. "JeTu, I believe." He boldly caressed her body with his eyes.
Nodding dumbly, she rose and took a step backward. The corner of his lip lifted with amusement as he crowded in. His arm brushing lightly across her breasts, he reached around her and picked up the pad of scribbled notes.
"What have we here?" He backed away, the half smile still on his lips.
Bianca walked around her desk into the shadows, pressed her hands tight against her stomach. "Summary notes for Doctor Jensen. On the experiments."
Sitting down in her chair, he leaned back and crossed his legs. "You handled yourself well in the meeting today, Doctor Raborman. I value someone who knows how to tell the truth without revealing specifics, knows how to let a listener draw their own conclusion." He smiled into the shadows. "I believe that's called diplomatic license. Take your cryogenic teaser, for example. Most scientists gave up on that idea years ago. Yet, even knowing that perpetual preservation will never happen, we humans still thrill at the idea that just maybe."
"I am not most scientists, Holiness, and passé examples don’t impress me." The words tumbled from her mouth before she realized it. If only she could take them back.
His gaze sharpened. For what seemed an eternity, he stared into her eyes. At last, he said, "You are right, you aren't." Without further comment, he turned his attention to the pad of notes.
Had he caught what she had not said? If so, surely he would have followed up with questions. His query at the meeting had established his interest in preservation and yet, not a word as to her meaning. He had either misinterpreted her reference or didn’t hear it at all. An inner sigh of relief relaxed her shoulders at the thought.
She watched his face as he read through the pages. His seeming nonchalance intrigued her, especially when he examined the anatomical photos. Even a Pope should react to one or two of those experiments, but not this one. She shook her head with admiration. Rarely had she seen such control. Would he be as controlled in more intimate situations? she wondered. Her cheeks burned at the involuntary thought. Leave this one alone, Bianca, she cautioned herself. He is dangerous.
He laid the notes back onto her desk. "I didn't see anything about disposal tarps." His fingers drummed the pad. "In fact, I see nothing at all that impresses me. Unlike what I expected." He rose from the chair. "The cosmetic enhancements will have some commercial value, of course." He chuckled. "As long as we have young people, we'll have young people fads. Although I don't see the value of retractable claws in place of fingernails, I suppose it could be an effective deterrent to over-amorous attention." He moved silently toward her like a panther on the hunt. "Do you have claws, Bianca Raborman?" he said softly.
She retreated into deeper shadows. Backed against the wall, she could only see his outline: tall. Demanding.
"You don't . . . you can't . . ."
"Oh, I can," he whispered. "Indeed I can."
His fragrant nearness washed across her face, clung to her body. The need flamed. She trembled. Her breathing shallowed and she knew he was aware. "You're a priest. The Pope of the Church of Universals."
"I am a man," he said huskily. His hands caressed her lips, slid gently down her torso. "You belong to me."
He drew her away from the wall, turned her about, and began slowly unzipping her dress. He pulled her closer, letting his hips brush hers as he turned her to face him. His mouth moved across her closed eyelids, teased against her shoulders as he slipped the dress from her body.
Out of control, her hands tore at his buttons, his belt, his trousers. She found his erection and jerked back with a sharp gasp.
"You are a big woman. You should have a big man," he murmured.
For a moment they stood apart. Then her hunger exploded. Consumed. She pulled him tight into her.
"Mine, Bianca Raborman." His voice cracked as he lowered her to the floor. "You always have been and you always will be." His mouth claimed hers as he thrust deep into hungry warmth.
Chapter 16
Ellery
Ellery drove into the garage, turned off the car, and sat in the cool silence. Tomorrow will be a hectic day, she thought, but once the tour is finished and everyone's gone, I'll have time to deal with Bianca. She leaned back against the head rest and closed her eyes. Genetics will never be used to create unnatural life in the Tartarus laboratories as long as I am director, she thought. Not even if the most brilliant mind I've ever seen discovers how. Our knowledge must be used to cure, not create another fiasco like the three thousand.
She jumped as a car horn blared behind her. Twisting in the seat, she recognized her youngest sister and her nephew Patrick. She waved through the rear window then opened her door and stepped out. Margaret was walking up the driveway, a smile on her face.
"Have you talked to Matthew yet?" She scooted over as Patrick squeezed by and ran into the house.
"Briefly. On the phone." Ellery hugged her sister, kissed her cheek. "Matthew could never keep a secret from you, Maggie." She grinned. "How much has he told you?"
"Not as much as I want to hear but enough for me to bring Patrick." The two women stood silent, staring into each other's eyes. "Do you think it's true, Ellery? Oh, God, please tell me it's true." Margaret whispered.
Ellery opened the side door and held it for her sister. "Let's not get too excited just yet. Wait until we talk with Matthew."
As they entered the kitchen, she could hear Patrick's voice changing from high to low to high as he spit questions to his cousin. Her head tilted as she listened.
"His voice is beginning to squeak. He'll be coming i
nto the change soon." Ellery glanced at her sister's face. "Have you prepared him?"
The younger woman shook her head. "He's just a baby, Ellery." Her eyes pleaded.
"He's a BH male, Margaret," Ellery said, a tinge of reproof in her voice. "You know Vickie saw her brother go through it, and you know she and Patrick talk. A child's point of view can never prepare him. You must do that."
"I thought maybe Matthew—or John." Margaret hesitated. "Maybe?"
Taking a deep breath, Ellery patted her sister's shoulder. "We'll see. We'll see." Gentle Maggie, she thought. You could never stand to see even the smallest thing in pain and now you have three sons. Three BH males who will develop.
As they entered the living room, Matthew looked up, his eyes shining. He's changed! Ellery thought. He seems taller somehow. Confident. Proud. For a moment, Ellery could do nothing except stare at the handsome stranger standing beside her couch. This stranger called Matthew. She shook her head then began to cry as he folded her into his arms.
"It's all right, Mom. Everything's all right," he whispered.
As the others made themselves comfortable, Ellery sat down on the edge of the couch, wrapping her arm around Victoria who sat beside her. "Now, start at the beginning. What happened, and how?"
Matthew threaded his fingers through his hair. "I don't know exactly," he said. "I was . . . I was practicing the centering exercise Mr. Wyland taught us. You know. The Chi."
Ellery nodded. Matthew, John, Victoria, and Patrick spent hours at the beach practicing the intricate moves of the Chi. At first, she had been concerned the exercise was becoming an obsession with them, but then she had noticed a smooth grace when they walked, a quiet confidence developing, and had encouraged them to continue. She smiled. Matthew always explained the Chi as if she had never heard of it. She looked up. Her son waited expectantly.
"Yes, I remember the exercise. You were practicing and?"
"I was concentrating on—" He shook his head. "Actually, I really wasn't thinking about anything. I was enjoying the movement, the peace of being one with myself. It was as if I became each movement. Fluid. Changing." He paused, drew a deep breath. "All of a sudden, I was standing in a library with stacks and stacks of empty shelves that stretched as far as I could see."
"Oh, Matthew, this sounds like a nightmare," Vickie broke in. "Weren't you scared?"
Matthew shook his head. "No." His forehead wrinkled into deep furrows. "It was strange what I felt." His struggle for the right word played across his face. Then his mouth rounded. "Reverent! That's what I felt. Reverent. As if I stood in a sacred place."
He began to pace. "As I walked up and down the aisles, I found one stack with twenty or so books on its middle shelf. A hand—I knew it was my hand—reached up, pulled a book titled "Sely" from a shelf, and opened it."
"Sely!" Ellery and Margaret spoke in unison.
"That was your great grandmother's name!" Ellery finished the sentence.
Matthew nodded. "I started to read and then . . . " He stopped, breathing heavily as if afraid to continue.
Alarmed, Ellery reached out her hand. "You don't have to tell us, son, if you don't want to."
While her son struggled to regain his composure, Ellery watched pity and then compassion play across his face. Her hands grew cold and in her head she could hear the beating of her heart. A wisp of pain spread across her chest, vague and uncomfortable. Almost before it registered in her mind, it vanished. She concentrated on Matthew's voice.
"I wasn't reading anymore but standing in front of a laboratory door with a frosted glass window. On the window, black letters edged with gold spelled out Victor Dakota, Director of Research."
Ellery shifted back against the couch, pulled Victoria tight against her. A memory flicked. She was six years old, standing with her mother, watching a man in a white coat scrape black letters edged with gold from her grandfather's laboratory door. He had proudly shown her the solid gold letters that would be mounted on the wall next to that door. Those gold letters were still on the wall. Her own name had been added below them many years later. Matthew had never seen those black letters and yet, here he was, describing them. She had long forgotten the episode. Ellery trembled. Vickie looked up and patted her mother's arm.
"I opened the door and entered the laboratory," Matthew said. "Papa Dakota was having a terrible fight with Gramma Sely. She was crying, kept screaming she wouldn't do it."
Ellery felt a chill slither down her back. "My grandparents died before you were born, Matthew," she whispered.
"I know." He knelt down, laid his head on her knees, and continued. "Gramma tried to open the laboratory door but Papa Dakota dragged her back. He kept her arm twisted up high behind her and buzzed two assistants into the lab." His voice quivered.
Ellery stroked the blond hair that curled down over the bulge at the base of his skull. Gently, like she had when he was a child and the nightmares came. Dear God, she thought. His own wife. He sacrificed his own wife on the altar of science. No, not science, she corrected herself. Godhood. Her gut twisted into a painful ball as Bianca's face rose before her. She, too, yearned to be all powerful. She, too, would sacrifice unless stopped.
"Gramma screamed and fought while they strapped her to a table." Matthew began to shake. "Papa unwrapped a syringe, drew up a solution from a petri dish . . . "
Ellery heard no more. Her head spun. I never, never, never told him a story like that. Even had I known such a horror, I wouldn't have told my children. His words swam in and out of her consciousness: secluded; twins; three thousand.
". . . were monstrosities. Did you know that?"
Her attention snapped back. He was looking into her face waiting for an answer. "I'm sorry, Son. I didn't hear the question."
"Grandmother Dakota thought she and Great Uncle Jeremiah were freaks. Did you know that?"
"Your grandmother had a difficult time accepting the fact that she and her brother had . . . certain differences," Ellery said. "She was frightened her children would somehow become hideous monsters with great bulging heads. We didn't, of course." Ellery smiled at her son.
The voices didn't manifest until your generation, she thought as her eldest child rose and settled himself in the chair across from her. The growth itself was but a puffy birthmark; it did not activate in the manner it does today. I think neither I nor my sisters would have been born had my mother known about the terror that was coming.
Forcing the thoughts from her mind, she asked a hundred questions and Matthew gave a hundred answers. John listened with wide-awake eyes while Patrick and Victoria finally fell asleep. Margaret gently shook them awake. She walked them up to bed and returned to the living room.
They talked until black night faded to gray dawn. At last, Ellery called a halt. It was time for her to shower, dress and return to Pelican Island. She rose and stretched her arms high.
"Call the family, Margaret. I don't know what it all means, but we must share this." She started up the stairs.
"Mom?"
Ellery turned and looked into Matthew's amethyst eyes. "Yes?"
"The whispers? That constant headache?"
She nodded.
"Everything's gone now. For the first time, I'm free."
Ellery stared at her child a long time. Tears filled her eyes and trickled down her cheeks. She nodded again. "That's good, son. That's good." She climbed the stairs. Thank you, God, she said silently.
Putting the finishing touches to her hair, Ellery mulled over Matthew's revelation. Whatever had happened, at least her son no longer cried out with pain, no longer lived with the clamoring voices of madness. She didn't know why it worked, but she understood how it could be tapped. Matthew had found the way to wholeness and somehow his gift from the BH gene, the gift of phenomenal memory, played a part in that.
Another thought intruded. The girl children! Only the daughters passed the gene. Her eyes flashed. "They must all learn the Chi," she whispered to her mirror image. "Never again
need a Dakotan male fear insanity. Our women will teach them how to survive.
Ellery turned off the light. Now if Bianca would simply go away, everything would be perfect. Perhaps she will, Ellery thought. If not willingly then at Pope Munoz's behest—once he understands what she is doing.
Whistling, she made her way to the garage. This might not be such a bad day after all.
Chapter 17
Ellery
Ellery disembarked from the cruiser and ran up the steps to the main building. Her breath frosted the glass doors as she turned the key. Inside, she shivered at the welcome warmth, and unbuttoned her coat. Striding toward Leann’s desk, she laughingly said, "I don’t think I will ever arrive first in this office, Leann. Don’t you ever sleep?"
Leann glanced up, a wan smile on her lips. "Sometimes not." On her desk, typed pages were stacked in a neat pile. Beside them, boldly scrawled pages were clipped together. "Doctor Raborman brought her notes to my cottage late last night. She seemed anxious that you have them first thing this morning."
Ellery glanced at the wall digital. Six-forty. Her smile turned into a frown. Leann must have been up at the crack of dawn to have scanned these notes. Poor child. That means she's had one of her nightmares, again. Ever since her assistant had confessed her fears of the water, Ellery always knew when Leann experienced one of her drowning dreams.
"Ummm. What are you doing now?"
"Sweeping out the Coliseum." The girl had turned back to sensor pads, tapping keys as she talked.
Ellery chuckled at the comment. Be it file purging, desk polishing, computer maintenance, or any of several cleanup chores Leann performed, she tagged it sweeping out the Coliseum. A leftover memory from a previous life, she’d explained once, giggling like a mischievous child at Ellery’s startled expression.
"I swear, Leann. Jerico has to be the best maintained computer in California! Have you had breakfast?"
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