The Rise and Fall of Khan Noonien Singh, Volume One (10 page)

Disappointed, the amorous biologists drifted away in search of other prospects, leaving Roberta alone with the new arrival. “Thanks!” the younger woman said, her voice clearly identifying her as an American:
A college student,
Roberta guessed,
attending the conference on her own.
“Gillian Taylor,” the grateful stranger identified herself.

“Ronnie Neary,” Roberta supplied, shaking Gillian’s hand. “And no problem. We American chicks need to stick together, especially abroad.”

“I’ll say!” Gillian agreed. Her rosy cheeks, pearly smile, and corn-fed good looks clearly marked her as a daughter of the American heartland. For a second, Roberta was briefly reminded of those robot housewives she and Seven had stumbled onto in Connecticut earlier that year—Gillian was
that
cheerleader pretty and well groomed—but it was also clear that there was a lively and genuine personality behind her cheerful auburn eyes. “Some of these wild and crazy geneticists are a little too eager to pass on their DNA, if you know what I mean.”

“Tell me about it,” Roberta said sympathetically. She’d had to fend off a few unwelcome advances herself. “I think the male-to-female ratio at this conference is about ten to one. Reminds me of a science fiction convention I went to once; in fact, I think I recognize some of the same faces.”

“You’re probably right,” Gillian laughed. The bartender swung by and she ordered herself a glass of wine. “So, are you here for the conference, too?”

“Definitely,” Roberta said sincerely, before bending the truth a
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lit
tle. “Genetic engineering is my favorite pastime; at least, I hope it will be someday.”

“Really?” Gillian asked, sounding intrigued. “I’m into marine biology myself, but I’m fascinated by the notion of preserving endangered species through cloning. There’s talk of starting a genetic repository, where we can save tissue samples from any of the hundreds of species threatened with extinction, from the bald eagle to the humpback whale. In theory, someday it might even be possible to bring back a species that has already died out, provided there’s enough leftover genetic material to work with. The Russians are even talking about resurrecting the woolly mammoth, using DNA harvested from frozen carcasses in Siberia.”

Roberta was impressed by Gillian’s obvious passion and enthusiasm for wildlife preservation; she’d have to ask Gary Seven if this mammoth-cloning idea could really work. “Sounds like a worthwhile goal,” she said.

“I think so,” Gillian stated. “Human progress has wiped out so many other species’ natural habitats; it would be nice if we could use our ingenuity and technology to actually preserve some of the other living creatures on the planet. Once a species goes extinct, it’s gone forever, at least until somebody invents a working time machine.” Her wine arrived, and she paused to take a sip. “How about you? What kind of projects are you working on?”

“Oh, you know,” Roberta fudged, “your basic chromosome counting and amino-acid mixing.” She felt bad about lying so blatantly to her new friend, and was trying to figure out a way to divert the conversation from her own alleged career in genetic research when Walter Takagi came running into the bar, out of breath and apologizing profusely.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said, huffing. He wore the same tweedy jacket as before, but had changed into a fresh T-shirt, this one featuring a brightly colored illustration of Astro Boy. “There was sort of a crisis on the project I mentioned, which meant a lot of long-distance phone calls.” Roberta offered him a drink from her 7-Up, which he accepted gratefully. “Everything’s fine now, though. I hope you weren’t waiting too long.”

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“No problem,” Roberta assured him.
Long-distance calls from where?
she wondered. “I had company.” She introduced Takagi and Gillian to each other, then started to make her apologies to Gillian. “I’m afraid Dr. Takagi and I have things to talk about.”

“That’s fine,” Gillian insisted. She finished off her wine, then looked around the bar. “I think maybe I’ll migrate to a less predator-infested environment. Room service and an early bedtime sounds like seventh heaven at this point.” The youthful marine biologist surrendered her seat to Takagi. “Thanks again for playing chaperone.”

“
Anytime,” Roberta said. “Good luck saving the whales and all.”

Once off his feet, Takagi’s labored breathing quickly returned to normal. He took advantage of his second wind to keep on burbling apologies for his late arrival. “It was completely unavoidable, I promise.”

“I know how that goes,” Roberta said sympathetically. She was just glad that Takagi had shown up at all, although she tried to hide the extent of her relief from the voluble scientist. After all, he shouldn’t know that she’d come all the way to Rome just to track down some eager-beaver genetic engineers.
That might scare him off for good,
she thought.

Interestingly, Takagi’s appearance on the scene seemed to liberate his former associate from his obligation to keep an eye on Roberta. While Takagi ordered a beer, she watched out of the corner of her eye as the ever-present colossus finished off his wine and exited the lounge, leaving the stub of his cigarette smoldering in an ashtray.
Time for the night shift to take over,
Roberta deduced, judging that Takagi was clearly considered competent enough to keep tabs on her on his own.

She wasn’t too displeased to see the other man go; the friendly young microbiologist was far and away better company. She couldn’t help wondering, though, where exactly the mammoth Latino was going to.

Carlos Quintana, CIA-trained survivor of the Bay of Pigs, knew all too well where Veronica Neary’s hotel room was located, having spent a good part of the day keeping it under observation. So far the attractive blond
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woman seemed to be exactly what she claimed to be—an American scientist sight-seeing in Rome—but Carlos was not satisfied yet.

Pausing in front of the door to Neary’s room, he surveyed the hall from left to right. There was no one else in sight.
Good,
he thought. He knocked gently on the door, but no one answered. Confident that the room was empty, and that he was not being watched, he removed a thin silver rod from his pocket and inserted it into the keyhole. The security at the hotel was hardly state-of-the-art, so he picked the lock easily and let himself in, ducking his head to fit through a door which, like everything else in the world, was much too small for him.

He made sure the door had closed completely behind him before flicking on the overhead light. To his surprise, he found a pair of golden eyes staring at him inquisitively. The luminous orbs belonged to the sleek black cat curled in the center of the room’s single queen-size bed. Raising its head from the neatly made bedcovers, the cat squawked at him with obvious indignation. A jeweled collar sparkled around the animal’s neck.

What the hell?
Carlos thought. Nobody had said anything to him about a cat. He had observed Neary ordering room service less than an hour ago, but had simply assumed that she’d wanted a quick snack before meeting Takagi in the bar. The half-eaten plate of fish on the floor, however, suggested another explanation. This cat obviously lived well.

The unexpected feline stalked imperiously across the quilt to confront Carlos from the edge of the bed. Pearly fangs flashed as the cat hissed at the gigantic intruder, ebony fur rising up all along its spine. Worried that the stupid animal might start yowling loud enough to attract unwanted attention, Carlos rushed forward and seized the cat none too gently. Leather gloves, worn to prevent leaving fingerprints, also served to shield his hands from the cat’s angry claws and teeth. Crossing the room with long, giant-sized strides, he hurled the squirming feline into the adjacent bathroom, then pulled the door shut firmly, trapping the troublesome beast in the other room, where it could scratch and hiss all it wanted.

That’s better,
he thought, irritated by the unforeseen complication of
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the cat. He’d been tempted to throttle the miserable creature, but that would have raised too many questions once the American woman discovered her pet’s brutal demise; Carlos’s goal was to check out Dr. Neary’s belongings without her knowing that anyone had ever been here. He knew he could search her things without leaving any clue. Surreptitious breaking-and-entering was a specialty of his, even before the Experiment, and one of the primary tasks for which Chrysalis employed him.

Knowing that Takagi was awaiting his go-ahead regarding the woman, Carlos inspected the small room quickly. Aside from the odd-ness of transporting her pet all the way from America, he observed nothing overtly suspicious about Dr. Neary’s personal possessions. Impressive-looking scientific journals, of the sort one would expect a potential Chrysalis recruit to read, were stacked upon the bedstand, while her suitcase contained merely a couple of days’ worth of clothes. A tag attached to her luggage cited a home address in Seattle, Washington. Carlos scribbled the address down for future reference, in the event that Chrysalis wanted to send another operative to search Neary’s permanent residence.
So far, so good,
he reflected, finding nothing to indicate that the American was anything other than what she purported to be.

Just to play it safe, though, he planted listening devices in the phone receiver and behind the headboard of the bed; the bugs would insure that Chrysalis heard everything discussed in the room. Rescrewing the plastic mouthpiece back onto the phone, Carlos took a moment to wonder about the other blond woman, the one Dr. Neary had met in the bar earlier. As far as he could tell, it had been merely a casual encounter, but it probably couldn’t hurt to check out the second woman as well. He made a mental note to find out where she was staying in Rome.

According to his watch, it was past 7:30. Takagi would be contacting him soon, to find out if he should proceed with the cautious courtship of this new candidate. Glancing around the room, Carlos decided to take one last look at the woman’s luggage, just in case he had missed something earlier.

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Kneeling on the floor beside the open suitcase, his massive head still towering over the adjacent bed, he carefully reached beneath Dr. Neary’s folded garments to pat the inner lining of the bag. A knowing smirk lifted the corners of his lips as he felt the outline of a hidden pocket within the buried padding.
Aha,
he thought.
Sneaky, but not sneaky enough.
Taking care to memorize the position of each item of apparel, he began lifting the doctor’s clothes from the suitcase. It was quite possible, he realized, that the existence of the secret pocket meant nothing at all; chances were, the built-in hiding place merely housed the woman’s passport and traveler’s-check receipts, like any other paranoid tourist’s. Nevertheless, he was not going anywhere until he found out what Dr. Veronica Neary had to hide.

He placed the last of the American’s clothing onto the floor, then groped with his fingers for the zipper of the secret compartment.
There it is,
he thought smugly, at the very moment that twelve pounds of angry feline landed on his shoulder, hissing and biting.

“Carajo!”
he swore, as the cat’s claws raked across his cheek, drawing blood. He leaped to his feet, but the accursed beast clung to his back like a giant furry tick.
How in the world
—
?!
he thought. The cat had been locked tight within the bathroom; there was no way it could have gotten out on its own! Claws like fishhooks dug into the flesh of his left shoulder and small, sharp teeth locked on to his earlobe, making him shout out loud in pain.

Eyes wide with shock and surprise sought out the door to the bathroom, finding it unaccountably ajar. Gloved hands struggled to take hold of the wriggling cat even as Carlos charged into the unlit bathroom, half-expecting to find that the cat had a human accomplice hiding within. “Where are you, you filthy
cabrón?”
he snarled.

The cat escaped his grip by springing to the floor somewhere behind Carlos. More concerned with locating whoever had let the cat free, the Cuban operative tore the shower curtain aside, only to find an empty stall. He spun around in confusion, clutching his wounded face. There was no one else there! The cat had freed itself, as if by magic.

His cheek and ear stung like the devil, and his fingertips came away from his face stained a bright shade of red. He staggered out of the
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bathroom, bumping his head on the doorframe, and discovered that, somehow, the lights in the main room had been turned off. Blinking in surprise, he peered into the darkened hotel room, trying futilely to spot the midnight-black feline amid the murky, umbrageous shadows. Lights from the street outside filtered in through the drawn curtains, providing only a hint of illumination.

Feeling his way along the wall, he groped for the light switch, but the cat found his leg first, its claws sinking into his calf even through the expensive fabric of his trousers. Hissing like a demonic teakettle, the savage animal added its fangs to the attack, tearing both limb and slacks to shreds.

To hell with this!
Carlos thought, growling like a mountain gorilla. He kicked his leg violently, but could not shake the enraged cat free. Malevolent yellow orbs glared up at him from somewhere below his knee.
This is just too plain loco,
he decided.
I’m getting out of here!

He swung at the cat with a clenched fist, forcing it to leap away to avoid the blow. That was good enough for Carlos, who took advantage of the momentary respite to grab on to the doorknob and make a hasty escape from the lightless torture chamber Dr. Neary’s hotel room had become. He could still hear the cat’s ferocious hissing, and the scratching of determined claws against the other side of the door, even as he hurried away down the hall. Thankfully, the corridor remained unoccupied, so that nobody witnessed his humiliating retreat.