Feeling queasy, she shut off the light, slipped on her squeaky shoes, and headed for the hall. If they’d planted a bug, they had to have a monitoring station somewhere.
The first place she checked was Bill’s office. With him in Switzerland, this was the perfect time to snoop.
She didn’t expect to find anything. Keeping such equipment in his office where Marge could come across it would be stupid. But she needed to cross his office off her list and wanted to poke around and see if she might come across something about Proteus.
Her footsteps echoed along the empty hallway. She wasn’t alone here, but close to it. The pounding rain had kept all but the hardiest at home. The hospital never slept but in the office today it was mandatory personnel only.
The outer door to Bill’s office was unlocked. People tended to be lax about security. But she had no illusions about his inner sanctum. That would be locked.
And it was.
She went to Marge’s desk and checked the top drawer. There: a solitary key on a ring. She tried it on Bill’s door and was in.
She stepped into the familiar office and stopped. She’d always felt comfortable here. Now it held a different feel. The dark paneling seemed ominous, the awards and testimonial certificates and photos with celebrities mocked her. But she shook it off and got busy.
The storm had blotted out the sun but she didn’t dare turn on the lights for fear of drawing attention.
A quick survey of the cabinets yielded the expected: nothing.
As she approached his desk she jumped when a bolt of lightning lit the sky and the office; the immediate blast of thunder rattled her along with the leaded glass windows.
Too close.
The desk proved as unrewarding as the rest of the office. Except for pens, paper clips, sticky notes, some keys on a changing-the-world-one-person-at-a-time key chain, and other miscellaneous desk stuff, the drawers were virtually empty. One held a large near empty bottle of Jack Daniels. That explained the whiskey breath. The only surprise was a small metal lockbox in the bottom drawer. She lifted it. Heavy. Something metal rattled within. None of the keys on the chain fit the lock and if she tried to pry it open then Bill would know he’d been searched.
She returned the box to its place and sighed. Marge managed the paperwork. Most of the data that concerned Bill would be stored on his computer.
Sheila’s gaze snapped to the blank monitor. Bill’s all-access computer—why hadn’t she thought of that in the first place?
She seated herself in the big leather chair, booted it up. She tried every password she could think of—his wife’s name, his childrens’, Proteus, Tethys—but couldn’t get past the login screen. She wanted to slam her fists against the keyboard. The answers she needed could be just a few keystrokes away. So damn frustrating. In the movies somebody always sussed out the password. But this was no movie.
She turned off the computer, locked the door behind her, and returned Marge’s key. She peeked before stepping back into the empty hallway.
Now where? The search seemed hopeless. That bug’s receiver could be anywhere—even in some locked room in Bill’s basement at home. But she couldn’t see Bill spending hours running through the recordings. He didn’t have enough time as it—
She heard one of the entry doors close down the hall. Instinctively she stepped back into the shallow well of Bill’s doorway. Stupid! If whoever it was walked by and saw her standing here …
She heard squeaking footsteps but they were headed away from her. She risked a glance and saw that it was Shen Li. No surprise there. The chief of security seemed devoted to his job and to …
… Bill.
Mother of God. Had Shen been a part of this the whole time?
A prickle of fear shot up her spine. He’d been so close-by for the break in. And his height … Shen. Reliable Shen. “If someone wanted you dead, you’d be dead,” he had said. Or something like that. He knew. She was alive because, for now at least, Bill didn’t want her dead. Hadn’t ordered Shen to kill her.
Sheila watched Shen head for the elevators, but he opened the door to the tunnels instead.
Who more likely to be doing the monitoring and dirty work than Bill’s trusted chief of security?
The question was, where was he monitoring from?
Sheila was on the move as soon as Shen stepped out of sight. She hurried to the door, reaching it just before it swung shut. She hurried down the two flights and emerged into the tunnel. The empty tunnel.
After a mental coin flip she chose a direction and began to search. No need for subterfuge. She had perfectly good reasons for being here, like going to or returning from one of the wards. No one in their right mind would brave the weather raging above.
She walked softly, cursing her squeaking soles, stopping at each of the half dozen doors she found. She couldn’t knock or yank on their knobs, so she pressed her ear against them and listened. No sound from the first three, but the fourth … the fourth had a peephole—the only door with one. She pressed her ear against the wood.
A faint voice—a woman’s, barely audible. Couldn’t tell who she was or what she was saying, but this had to be the place. The elation of a successful hunt mixed with vague nausea at knowing that Shen Li was probably spying on someone else at that very moment. She wanted to bang on the damn door and make him stop.
But she hurried away. Needed to get in there. Maybe it held other secrets—something on Proteus, perhaps? But now she’d have to wait for Shen Li to leave, and then find a way to get past the lock. She’d need a key—
Keys! In Bill’s desk.
She ran back upstairs.
ABRA
Abra beamed at the regal, white-haired woman on her computer screen.
“Why didn’t we think of this before, Mama?”
“To tell you the truth,” Mama said in her thick German accent, “I had no idea it was so easy.”
Mama knew all about genetics but not about Skype? Well, perhaps that wasn’t such a surprise. She tended to have tunnel vision.
They’d had a lovely, meandering conversation over a wide range of topics.
“And how is Die Perfekte?” Mama said, sipping her tea in her office in Geneva.
Abra smiled. “So, Bill told you about that?”
“Of course. He is quite proud of it. And you should be too.”
“It’s an interesting experiment with no real practical use.”
It had been Bill’s idea, really: create a stem cell line with a genome as close as possible to flawless. They’d dubbed it Die Perfekte in honor of Mama. Of course, no genome could be perfect, but Die Perfekte was pretty close. They’d scrutinized its genetic structure for years, scrubbing it of any defects.
Mama laughed. “One could always add it to the water supply.”
“That wouldn’t work. Chlorination and purification processes would kill the cells before—” She stopped when she saw Mama’s expression. “You’re having me on, aren’t you.”
She shrugged. “Perhaps. Would it be so terrible?”
Here we go again, she thought. This sounded like a lead-in to their ongoing argument about expanding the scope of Proteus far beyond Tethys.
“Mama, please. Can you imagine the havoc that would cause?”
“Not so bad, I think.”
“Are you serious? First off, Die Perfekte is a blond-haired, blue-eyed Caucasian genome.”
“You say that as if it is a bad thing.”
“I know you’re joking, but considering the recent tragedies here—”
“Yes. Bill told me.”
Bill told her everything, it seemed. Abra couldn't help but feel a flash of jealousy at their closeness.
“Well, then you can understand why I don’t see any humor in it.”
Mama stared straight at her. “I wasn’t joking, dear.”
“What? Considering Grandpapa’s background—”
“Must you always bring that up? He has nothing to do with this.”
Mama’s father had been a member of the Nazi Party during the war. Just a paper shuffler in the Berlin headquarters, but still … the taint was there.
“It’s not my bringing it up we'd have to worry about. If people hear you talk like that and look him up—”
Mama’s chin lifted defiantly. “It is not as if he was a death-camp guard. He was a simple clerk and did nothing to be ashamed of. In those days you had to join the party to survive.”
“It doesn’t matter, Mama. The whole racial purity issue will rear its ugly head and drown out rational discourse.”
“This isn't at all about racial purity, although you'll have to concede that race lies at the heart of much of human conflict."
"Race and religion."
"In the end it all comes down to differences, yes? We fear the other, yes?”
“I suppose.”
“And so it stands to reason that if we were all less different, we would have less conflict, yes?”
“I suppose.”
“But let us put those issues aside and, just for the sake of intellectual exercise, assume that Die Perfekte cells could survive in the water supply. What would the resultant world be like?"
Abra tried to imagine and couldn't help but laugh. "Cataclysm and chaos—Die Perfekte is male. The female population would become sterile and begin to develop male characteristics."
Mama waved a hand before the screen. "Let us just assume that we can neutralize the gender effects of the genome."
"I don't think that's possible."
"Oh, it is, my darling. It is."
Something in her tone, her eyes …
"What are you saying? Have you—?"
Another laugh. "Oh, no. I am simply saying that with enough will and intelligence, anything is possible. So let us assume that we have neutralized the gender effects of Die Perfekte genome and introduced it into water supplies all over the world. What will happen?"
"Well, after a number of years, dark-skinned people will begin to notice a lightening of their pigment, and changes in their hair."
"Yes-yes. That is the first generation. But the next generation and the generation after that?"
"Everyone will begin looking more and more the same."
"All superficial. It is the internal changes that will cause monumental shifts in society."
"You mean diseases …"
"Just for starters, yes. All the inheritable forms of cancer and diabetes and heart disease and so many other diseases that have been eradicated from Die Perfekte will be absent from its population as well. Spontaneous mutations will still occur, but Die Perfekte will attack those tumors aborning and replace them with healthy cells."
"No question that the resulting population will be healthier," Abra said, "but—"
"Not just physically, my dear. So many forms of mental illness—depression, alcoholism, schizophrenia, and so on—are due to inherited aberrations in neurotransmitter levels. Die Perfekte will maintain serotonin, norepinephrine, and dopamine at their proper levels without drugs."
"You paint such a rosy picture."
"How can I not? With a healthy, happy populace, differences will fade, and along with that decline we will see less crime, less violence, less need for wars … what is not to like?"
"You're playing God, Mama."
She made a dismissive sound. "God botched it. Die Perfekte would correct His errors. And let us not cast aspersions: What do you think you are doing at Tethys? Do you not think you are playing God?"
"Not at all. People come here of their own volition requesting a cure. I give them a cure."
"And more."
"Yes," Abra conceded. "Much more."
SHEILA
Sheila shook herself as she felt her eyes drifting shut.
Wasn’t Shen ever going to leave?
She’d made a return trip to Bill’s office and scooped up the keys in his top drawer. They’d been in her pocket for almost an hour now as she sat at her window watching the parking lot. It looked more like a pond.
She yawned. No one had called from the ward. Lucky thing. Left her time to wait on Shen. Tired. Not much sleep last night. But then, who could sleep with what was going on? Things moving too fast. She needed a little breathing room, a little time to—
She straightened in her chair as a figure slogged away through the icy water toward one of the half-dozen cars in the lot. She glimpsed his face as he slipped behind the wheel: Shen Li.
Sheila’s fatigue evaporated as she all but leaped from her seat and headed for the hall. She bounded down the flights to the tunnels and made a beeline for the mystery door.
Caution slowed her as she neared it. She peered around to confirm that she was alone and that wet footprints wouldn’t give her away. She pressed her ear against the door: all quiet. Just to be sure, she knocked. She had no idea what she’d say if anyone answered, but that would be better than being caught with a key in her hand—if she had the key.
When no one answered, she tried the first key. No luck. Too big for the hole. The second fit but wouldn’t turn. She took a breath and tried the third.
It turned.
Another look around, then she pushed through. Before closing the door she found a light switch and flipped it. As the overhead fluorescents flickered to life, she closed the door and turned the deadbolt.
She looked around and felt as if she’d wandered into the storage room of a Best Buy. Red and green lights glowed in the faces of black electronic boxes stacked on shelves along the walls. The room was tiny to begin with, but so much equipment made it feel even smaller. She’d never been claustrophobic, but this would be the place to start.
She looked for something recognizable. Two chairs and two cheap pressboard desks sat at right angles. Scattered papers, a pair of black leather gloves, a pair of small video monitors plus a DVD player on each of the desks.
Monitors? What good were they if you were recording audio?
And then it hit her.
Not knowing what she was doing, but unable to stop herself, Sheila stretched a trembling hand toward the nearest monitor and pressed the ON button. The screen flickered to life with an overhead view of an empty office. She couldn’t tell whose it was but knew it wasn’t hers.
Her mouth went dry.
They weren’t just listening, they were watching as well.
Oh-no-oh-no-oh-no …
She turned that off and tried the neighboring monitor—and saw just what she prayed she wouldn’t.
Her office.
She closed her eyes and leaned against the desktop. Had they been watching when …?
A disc protruded from one of the DVD players … the one with its wire connected to the monitor showing her office. She pushed it into the slot and waited as the machine accessed it and started playing.
At first she couldn’t tell what she was seeing, then gasped as she recognized the two naked figures writhing on the desk.
Her … Paul … in flagrante … her legs spread … Paul between them … the two of them moving … moving …
Sheila jabbed a fingertip against the EJECT button.
Weak, breathless, she felt her face and the rest of her body burning, perspiring … Shen had been spying then and no doubt watching an encore this morning …
She suppressed a surge of bile. He’d burned a disc of it. How many times had he watched? And who else had seen it?
Oh, God. Bill.
He must have seen it. That was why he’d seemed so different. He’d said all the right words, made all the right gestures, but always seemed one step removed. Now she knew why.
You filthy bastard.
Her embarrassment mutated to anger. She and Paul in their most intimate, private moment … and Bill and Shen making it into a peepshow, a porn movie. She wanted a hammer to shatter every screen, smash every piece of electronics in here.
But she couldn’t. Couldn’t let them know she’d been here. Had to leave everything as it was. Even the disc.
S
he stared at it sitting there in its slot, ready for another viewing. She wanted to take it home and throw it on the fire.
Sheila forced herself to turn away and survey the filthy little room to make sure everything was as she’d found it. She had one hand on the deadbolt and the other on the light switch when she heard footsteps in the hall.
Headed here? Shen’s replacement?
Even if someone was simply passing by, they might notice light under the door. She flicked the switch and held her breath. The sudden darkness revealed a spot of light from the peephole.
She put her eye to it and began a litany as she listened to the footsteps.
Please don’t stop … please don’t stop … please—
But the steps did stop—right outside the door. An Asian face, distorted by the fisheye lens, hove into view.
Shen.
Mother of God, what to do? What to say to explain? Would he kill her?
Hide. But where? The room was so small.
Under one of the desks. It seemed ridiculous even to try but she couldn’t just stand here.
As the key slipped into the lock she ducked into the kneehole of the desk on the right and tucked herself into a ball. She couldn’t hold this position long. Her only hope was that he’d forgotten something and would stay only a minute.
She heard the door swing open, saw a shadow on the floor framed in a shaft of light from the hall before the overheads came on. She watched as dripping boots stepped into sight and moved past her.
Please don’t let him play the disc!
She couldn’t sit through that, listening to her moans. She’d jump up and throttle him.
She heard him muttering as he shuffled papers on the neighboring desktop. Then the boots appeared again. She pressed herself back against the wall as they stopped only inches away.
More muttering, more shuffling papers, then a pleased sound followed by a Chinese phrase.
The boots backed away. She heard him slide his hands into his gloves and then saw the bottom half of Shen, papers squeezed tight in his gloved hand.
The lights went out.
The door closed.
The bolt clicked home.
It took her a couple of minutes to muster the nerve to unwind her body and regain her feet. She felt wobbly as she stumbled to the door and peered through the peephole. No one in sight. She turned the deadbolt. Before she stepped out she turned on the lights and took one last look around. What had Shen come back for? Please not that disc.
The Proteus Cure Page 31
