Jezebel's Ladder

by Scott Rhine

  Jez lost focus for a few minutes until the photo of a hideous man appeared on the screen. He had a nose like W.C. Fields, but the sneer and scar from a World War II Nazi movie. “Our primary focus is their chief scientist, Dr. Samuel Godfrey Wannamaker. At sixty, this genius geneticist has over twenty recorded patents. His best work remains under the umbrella of trade secrets. He’s offered his expertise to several government agencies, foreign and domestic.”

  Benny asked, “Why the sudden shift to private sector?”

  Trench Coat said, “He was forced into the arms of the chemical company by a radical, anti-genetic-modification, eco-terrorist group called Whirlwind. He changes his name regularly, but they located him again by the signature on a prototype grain. Whirlwind accuses him of setting up a worldwide potato famine. In their press releases, their leader, his son Seth, calls him ‘God Wannabe.’”

  “Son?” Jez burst out. “What? Did he toss into a Petri dish?”

  Crusader leafed through some notes. “In all probability, yes. My profile shows that he prefers little boys.”

  “Probably why Seth hates him so much,” Benny guessed.

  Trench Coat said, “Actually, Seth was a failed experiment. Before these sorts of procedures were banned in the US, Wannamaker took his own DNA and improved everything he could think of. However, in extending the cell longevity, he broke necessary death cycles. Seth’s cells multiply too often, causing a hideous, elephant-man effect and tremendous weight gain. Wannamaker left him to die in an institution, fully aware of the self-crushing fate that awaited him.”

  “That resentment makes him a prime candidate for recruitment,” Fortune decided.

  Trench Coat brought up a fuzzy security photo of a morbidly obese man in the distance, labeled Seth.

  Crusader warned, “He’s a psychopath like his dad, just a little more charismatic—too unstable for the Ladder Project.”

  “Still, he could be a useful tool,” Fortune countered.

  Trench Coat said, “We’re trying to contact him, but he’s very paranoid. It could take a while.”

  Jez wanted to take a shower. “If this bastard is tinkering with people, trying to make his own version of the Master Race, what else has he been doing?”

  Benny looked at her as he said, “That’s one of the things we needed Oobie to flesh out, and why Trench Coat’s requests were so urgent. We knew about his first-generation experiments with poppies that cause fugue state and memory loss.”

  “Plants with tailored genomes that released airborne poisons when disturbed,” Fortune elaborated.

  “Straight out of the Wizard of Oz,” Jez said.

  Trench Coat responded, “Exactly. It was a non-lethal, defensive-perimeter project for Top Secret installations.”

  “Brilliant work, but too hard to keep confined to a limited area. Wind and insects can carry the pollen for miles,” Fortune recalled. “What did he do for second generation? I know he got those Russian Gulag contracts.”

  Daniel replied, “I had to confirm this on two dives, because I found it so hard to believe. This guy modified Irish wolfhounds to the size of ponies, trained to imprint on the kennel owner. You can spot his handiwork because they have a glow-in-the-dark birthmark at the base of their neck. He does this luciferin marker to verify the modifications on all his creations. Over half still fail.”

  “That’s unholy,” Benny said.

  Daniel paused. “It gets worse; their bite, the saliva, has a paralytic agent.”

  “So you can watch while they eat you?” asked Jez.

  Trench Coat wasn’t shocked. “No, so they can drag you back to the Gulag for questioning. Don’t worry. This project was cancelled because, when the kennel master died unexpectedly, the dogs went rogue and killed the whole town, prisoners and guards alike.”

  “What was he working on before the Fossils got him?” Fortune asked.

  Trench Coat changed to a picture of a medical-research lab’s computer screen.

  “Cures tailored to the genetic makeup of the person,” Daniel answered. “He needed uninfected, umbilical-cord blood or the marrow from a close relative.”

  “Is Wannamaker trying for immortality?” Crusader speculated.

  Fortune shook his head. “No, the clone would already have any defect he does.” They had a long discussion about everything gathered from the passwords that Daniel had provided. “Where are they keeping their Golden Tickets?”

  Trench Coat answered, “We think he is storing their pages at the Arkansas chemical plant.”

  “Wait a minute,” Crusader interrupted, “that’s where Cornflake Girl worked. She called an animal-cruelty hotline because they were being mean to the doggies. That’s what got her fired.”

  Trench Coat brought up a map of the plant and turned to Daniel. The teenager sighed. “I don’t know how these were modified, but all the guard dogs at that site have that same, tell-tale glow patch under their collars, too.”

  Fortune deduced, “They definitely have something valuable stored there. What are we waiting for?”

  “That place is tighter than Fort Knox,” Crusader complained.

  Trench Coat replied, “We’re working on an insertion plan. It would be easier with Seth’s help. His teams have infiltrated before and sprayed graffiti.”

  Fortune grunted. They moved on to the syllabus for the new agent and guard training seminar that day. It began with a lesson on avoiding assassination, taught by Crusader. The former police officer would also be instructing in self-defense. Jez fell asleep to a steady drone of petty details.

  ****

  When Jez woke up, it was almost nine o’clock. There were seminar students milling in the hall, and someone had knocked. She had drooled on the conference table. Her neck was kinked, and she was hungry. She whimpered when she saw her frumpy reflection in the glass of the door.

  When she let the crowd in, she noticed that several had donuts from the shop down the street. She waved to Nena. Daniel and Benny were nowhere to be seen, just newbies. The fried confections smelled delicious. Of course, there were none left in the box in the hallway or in the lobby. Double-checking the time, Jez went to the front door of the HQ.

  There, she saw Crusader carrying a massive armload of books and charts to the front door. As he reached for the handle, the heap unbalanced in his gloved hands and fell all over the ground. She propped the door open for him and helped to pick up the fallen books. As she leaned over, she said, “Here, let me…”

  The gloves were to insulate him against the effects of the blank page. Crusader took the rolled-up page from his pocket and jabbed it into the base of Jezebel’s skull. The result was like a stun gun. She dropped to the ground, with only a vague impression of her surroundings filtering through. He whispered, “Sorry, Buddy and Oobie refused. Trench Coat said someone had to give you your medicine.”

  She had volunteered for the experiment but not the humiliation. Crusader flung her over his shoulder and carried her back to the classroom. He announced to the students. “This is an example of what not to do. Never go out alone. Never leave the door open. Never help a stranger.”

  He proceeded to give a thirty-minute lecture on techniques and then handed out paintball guns and goggles in the hall. They would hunt through the building in two-person teams. “The last person left gets a ten-thousand-dollar bonus.”

  “Person?” someone asked. “I thought we were teams.”

  “It’s like a big, dodge-ball game: at the end, there are no sides. I find this simulates the desired level of alertness,” explained Crusader. “There is no second place.”

  Soon after they left, Jez was able to open her eyes again. An unmatched person, an older man, sat in the darkened room with her. He looked like the swami, complete with the temple robe. Looking for some way to cover her embarrassment, she asked, “Don’t you want the money?”

  “Don’t you?”

  Jez snorted, rubbing her neck slowly. “I’d rather have my dignity back. Are you abstaining beca
use you think learning to kill humans is wrong?”

  The old, bald, yoga master said, “It is what you think that is important. Is a weapon wrong?”

  Jez sat up, forcing herself to think. “Nuclear weapons, maybe. They kill without discrimination. Weapons that children can trigger by accident are bad, too. But as a general rule, weapons can’t be wrong because any tool can be made into a weapon.”

  “So tools are not themselves wrong?”

  Jez warmed to the debate. “We shape our environment with them. We made the first tools with our bare hands as extensions of our will. So the question becomes whether the will of the user is wrong.”

  The swami bowed to her. “I look forward to our discussions.”

  “What should I call you? Sensei, Mahatma, Teacher?” she asked.

  “Whatever you like.”

  “Sensei, are you here to help people who specialize in the mental aspects?”

  “Humans are not about being the absolute best in one area. To be properly human is to be balanced. Our tools are to help you become a more-rounded human. As to your first question, do not try to win any zero-sum game. This is the first step on the path of the Destroyer.”

  Jez squinted her eyes. She was having trouble keeping him in focus as he said, “That which destroys life creates nothing of its own. The virus only steals the creations of others and moves on in its unending hunger. This trait is the opposite of human and cannot be allowed to infect the Union of Souls.”

  Jez was puzzled. “You’ve read that page already?”

  The swami tilted his head. “That is the wrong question. Your first assignment is to list your fundamental beliefs. The atoms from which all other decisions are made. This is known as the ethical geometry of your society. If they conflict, decide what must go. Usually there is another set of assumptions hiding behind the first set. I will return when you wish to discuss your results.”

  As Jez reached out to touch him, the man vanished. She staggered into the wall and propped herself against it for a long while. Implications swirled in her mind like sheets of newspaper inside a tornado.

  Chapter 11 – Taking Charge

  Jezebel staggered up to Benny’s office in a daze. The secretary tried to stop her, but Benny intervened, “It’s okay. Come in here and sit on the couch. You shouldn’t be running around like this after a theta shock.”

  “Shock effects last about half the duration with each successive page,” she mumbled, borrowing his brain power for the regression analysis. She hadn’t mastered the page and wouldn’t for months, but she was definitely infected. Perceptions were already shifting.

  He carried her over to the plush sofa. Benny smelled great, better than the donuts had. Other appetites stirred. Jez shook her head. “Why are there boxes on your desk?”

  “When Dirt Bag ordered me to zap you with the blank page, that was the last straw. I quit on principle. I was just cleaning my things out of the office.”

  “Where did he put the blank page?” she demanded.

  The star pointed to a wall safe that had an alphanumeric key pad. “In there with the rest. I can’t get in any more. Dirt Bag changed the combination. All I know, from hearing the beeps, is that it has nine characters.”

  When she tried to stand and toppled again, he said, “You need water, electrolytes, and food. I’ll be right back.”

  Benny ran to the break room.

  With him gone, she took out her origami butterfly and concentrated. There were a dozen actives in the conference room directly beneath her feet. She borrowed brain power from them and smiled when the answer came to her. She activated the alphanumeric touch screen and typed in the name CLAUDETTE. The safe opened.

  On top was the page they had used against her. Just as she suspected, the sheet wasn’t blank after all. Dirt Bag just couldn’t see it. The page represented a code of ethics. He had none. She laughed out loud like a crazy person. As she changed the password to the safe, Benny’s ex-secretary came in. “Can I help you, ma’am?”

  Giggling, she said, “I’m going to find that nice man and let him buy me lunch. When we get back, I’ll agree to talk terms with Mr. Fortune.”

  “Ma’am?”

  Jez leaned over Benny’s computer, and typed a one word e-mail to Elias Fortune. “Checkmate.”

  “He’ll understand. There are going to be some changes around here soon.”

  ****

  Jez ate with Benny in a booth at Spago. Photographers and fans stared at Jez because of her dowdy clothes. Who was she and why was Mr. Hollis dating her? Was it for his charity?

  Benny made pleasant conversation, but he was depressed. When the waiter left, he admitted, “I want a drink.”

  She grabbed his left hand. “You’re free of a major asshole. This is the best thing that ever happened to you, besides having lunch with me dressed like a bag lady.”

  He played with the stir stick in his iced tea. “Jez, Fortune is going to come after me. There are some things about me you don’t know. They’re going to come out in the press, and it’s going to be ugly.”

  “You worry too much. By dinner time, I think Fortune is going to be begging us to come back, but if it bothers you so much, tell me.”

  Benny stopped stirring. “I can’t.”

  Jez coaxed. “I’m from a trailer park, and Oobie found me in a dumpster. I’m very hard to shock. How bad could it be compared to Wannamaker?”

  Despite himself, Benny laughed. “Not in public—come to my place after lunch and we’ll see.”

  Her eyebrows shot up, but she stayed silent. Her role at lunch was to get him to talk, to feel comfortable again. When his phone rang during the entrée, she snatched it out of his hand. She spotted the New York area code and powered the device off. “It’s Dirt Bag; he needs to suffer a little before we let him grovel.”

  Benny just shook his head. “I should’ve had you for an agent.”

  “You’ve got me curious. After lunch, you’re driving me to your place before you chicken out.” Then, they passed the rest of the meal talking about everything but work. When the dessert cart came, Jez passed, eager to hear the secret. Benny, who had enjoyed their time so much he’d forgotten about the blackmail, left reluctantly to get his Mercedes.

  While Benny waited for the valet, a woman in a tennis outfit leaned close to Jez. “How did you land him?”

  Jez smiled, “I got him fired from his job, and he had to let me take him out to apologize.”

  “Risky,” the impeccably manicured bystander said. “But with a lot of potential.”

  Jez shrugged. “I’ll get him rehired by dinner, but I wanted him all to myself for a few hours for curiosity’s sake.” She knew this was none of the woman’s business but couldn’t stop herself. It was probably the after-effects of the ethics page.

  The woman handed her a card. “Have dinner with us at the club this weekend and tell us all about it.”

  After driving to a residential area, Benny began, “You know I’m an alcoholic. Hollywood enables that lifestyle, encourages it. I’ve done some things that can never be forgiven. At first, I thought people covered for me because of my gift. Eventually, I figured out all it takes is money. People’s lives are just grease for the machine.”

  Jez nodded. “You’ve stood as the Project’s only conscience for years. I refuse to believe accusations against you without hearing your side.”

  Benny pulled up to a gated driveway, and pushed the remote to open it. “I’ll do one better. One of my victims will tell you.”

  After they parked in the garage and entered through the side door, Jez was overwhelmed by the huge, white kitchen. “Wow, this place is bigger than my last three apartments put together.”

  A young, Asian man in an Oriental housecoat approached and bowed.

  Jez bowed back and said to Benny, “You have a houseboy?”

  “Tan is a good friend who stays with me. He owes me nothing. He fixes tea because he drinks it as well and gets up before I do.”

&nb
sp; Jez kept a neutral expression and said, “Any friend of Mr. Hollis is a friend of mine.”

  “I had the same reaction to this kitchen as you,” Tan confided. “It is like a palace here. Even after so many years, this city is so strange. You actually seem normal.”

  “If you only knew,” Jez laughed.

  Benny pulled him aside and whispered. “Actually, I would call her exceptional. Tell her everything about that night.”

  Tan seemed uncomfortable. “Mister Ben, you do enough. You should not worry. It is past.”

  “Tell her. I can’t,” Benny said, emphasizing each word.

  Tan led her into a sitting area and offered tea. “Please, do not share what I say with anyone else. People in this town cannot be trusted. Mister Ben brought me here from Thailand. I had no family. He opened his home to me. I have a job at his hospital charity.”

  “Nothing negative there,” Jez said.

  Tan paused. “Mister Ben was filming a movie in my country. It was monsoon season, so filming was delayed. Most of the crew went on elephant tours or to the brothels in the city. Mister Ben got drunk with local farmers, rice wine. He is very friendly to everyone. He boasts of being able to make best Western omelet ever, but we have no cheese. Mister Ben sets off in his car in the heavy rain to get cheese for his new friends.”

  The story was difficult for even Tan to tell, so Jez put down her cup and listened intently. “We lived ten miles from the nearest town. No one in our village even owned a car or a phone. There are no street lights. My sister, Mali, forgot to close up before the storm and left the chickens to go free in the street. When she heard the car, she ran out to grab the birds, to save them.”

  Jez read volumes into the silence. “He ran into your sister.”

  “He swerved to avoid, but the graze was enough to cause internal bleeding,” Tan said. “The car continued sliding until it destroyed our small house. I was inside, watching through the window. I escaped with only two broken arms.”

  Jez grimaced at the image.

  “Mister Ben’s phone would not work in the monsoon with the antenna broken. The fancy car would not start because of a safety feature that disconnects the battery after accident. This is to save lives. Mister Ben put my sister in our wheelbarrow and started walking to the nearest clinic. The wheelbarrow broke after three hours. I was unable to help because of my arms. He had to carry Mali himself for the last hour. He fell several times in the mud.”