The Rise and Fall of Khan Noonien Singh, Volume One (7 page)

Sounds good,
Roberta admitted, joining in a round of polite applause. Her initial gut response to this whole gene-tampering business had been one of wary skepticism; messing around with people’s DNA sounded a little too close to
Brave New World
for comfort, and Gary Seven’s dubious attitude toward the endeavor (even if faintly hypocritical) had only heightened her suspicion that maybe genetic engineering was one of those things that mankind was meant to leave alone, like nuclear missiles and streaking.

On the other hand, she had to concede that the F.P. had made a good case for the medical benefits of selective genetic repair work. Roberta had known a girl with muscular dystrophy back in junior high; poor Tina had already been forced into a wheelchair by seventh grade, and her condition had only deteriorated over the years they went to school together. In the end, she had died early in her twenties. Roberta remembered attending her funeral, and thinking what a waste it was that such a bright and talented person hadn’t lived to fulfill her full potential, all because of a genetic accident that occurred before she was even born.
If gene therapy could have cured Tina’s MD,
Roberta thought,
or maybe even fixed the problem in her parents’ genes before she was ever conceived, then maybe conscientious chromosome-splicing isn’t as bad as Seven makes it out to be?

But now was no time for hesitation or indecision, she realized; if she wanted to reach the people behind the big project Seven feared was in the works, then she needed to place herself firmly and publicly on the side of bigger and better DNA.

She waited for the applause to subside. Then, as soon as the F.P. asked for questions from the audience, her hand shot up faster than a Saturn V rocket.

Her quick reflexes (and snappy fashion sense) must have done the trick. “Yes?” the F.P. prompted, calling on her. “What is your question, please?”

[36]
Roberta stood up in the first row of the auditorium, feeling the collective gaze of the entire assembly turn upon her.
Good thing I’m not prone to stage fright,
she thought as she cleared her throat.
Well, here goes nothing.

“So far all you’ve proposed is fixing preexisting defects in the genetic makeup of a few individuals whose DNA isn’t quite up to code. What about making overall improvements in the ordinary human genome? Increasing life expectancy, for example, or intelligence?” She raised her voice, trying to sound inspired and enthusiastic. “Why settle for curing a handful of inherited disorders when you can use genetic engineering to create a better and more advanced form of human being?”

Her remarks didn’t exactly elicit gasps—this was a pretty savvy crowd where such notions were concerned—but Roberta thought she detected more and louder murmuring going on all around her, thanks to her bold (and, to be honest, wildly reckless) proposals.
So much for making a splash on Day One,
she thought, sitting back down in her seat.
Here’s hoping somebody takes the bait.

She didn’t have long to wait.

Roberta first noticed she was being followed later that morning, while strolling through the Eternal City in search of lunch. After her successful infiltration of the conference, she’d figured she was entitled to a break and a little of the local cuisine.
Why save the world if you can’t stop and smell the pizza once in a while?

The two men—one Asian, one Latino—started shadowing her shortly after she left the hotel and had been keeping her in sight ever since. They were being discreet about it, naturally, but years of spy games with Gary Seven had given Roberta very good instincts when it came to being the subject of covert surveillance.
You’re good,
she silently granted her secret admirers,
but I’ve been tailed by the best, including invisible aliens from Devidia II!

She paused in front of a window display on the Via Sistina, ostensibly to check her reflection in the glass, but actually to take a closer look at the two strangers as they lingered on the sidewalk across the
[37]
street, apparently engrossed in an Italian newspaper. The front-page headline said something about the Red Brigade and terrorism, but she doubted that the men were actually paying much attention to any news articles at the moment.

The Asian man looked vaguely familiar; Roberta thought she’d seen him around the conference. He was a slender, handsome man, about her age, wearing a somewhat battered tweed jacket over a Godzilla T-shirt. His long hair and sideburns made him resemble some long-lost Japanese cousin of the Partridge Family. Roberta caught him peeking at her from behind his companion’s newspaper, but pretended not to notice. From his lapse, she guessed that he was new at this, and not a professional spook.

The other man was a whole different story: he was almost freakishly large, maybe seven feet tall, a yard across the shoulders, and a good deal more intimidating.
Just like that robot Bigfoot up north,
she thought,
only a lot less shaggy.
Indeed, the second man was a walking endorsement for Darwin’s theory of evolution, complete with sloping brow and a noticeably prognathous jawline. Tinted sunglasses concealed the giant’s eyes while the bottom half of his broad, square face maintained a stony expression. A black silk suit was draped over his imposing frame and a marine-style crew cut bristled atop his oh-so-simian skull.
And they say the Neanderthals have all died out. ...

Roberta could readily believe that the first man was another visiting scientist, in town for the conference; there was something mildly nerdish about his appearance and body language. The big gorilla, on the other hand, looked more like an enforcer than a geneticist.
Talk about your Odd Couples,
she thought.
These two make Felix and Oscar look like identical clones.

Turning away from the reflective glass, she let them tail her for a few more blocks, until curiosity, not to mention an empty stomach, prompted her to see what would happen if she presented a stationary target for a while. Just how long would they be willing to hang out, she wondered, waiting for her to start moving again?

Lunch was a slice of pizza, a can of Fresca, and, for dessert, a small helping of fresh gelato. Roberta sat on the Spanish Steps overlooking
[38]
the city, enjoying the warm spring weather as she gazed out at the rose-colored rooftops spread out before her, nestled snugly between Rome’s famed seven hills. Throngs of tourists flowed up and down the steps, posing for photographs and admiring the view, while portrait artists, flower vendors, and portable snack carts competed for their attention. Roberta politely declined several roses, plus the opportunity to be immortalized in colored chalk or watercolors, and resisted the temptation to look back over her shoulder to see what her mismatched pursuers were up to. The pizza crust was thin and crispy, just the way she liked it.
Your move, guys,
she thought.

“Excuse me, miss,” a friendly voice greeted her within minutes. Roberta looked up, but the glare from the midday sun whited out the face of the speaker. Squinting into the blinding sunshine, all she could make out was a single male figure standing on the step just above hers.

“Hang on,” Roberta urged through a mouthful of pizza. She scrambled to her feet, nearly knocking over her soda in the process. “Just give me a second here.”
Is this it?
she wondered, her heart speeding faster in anticipation.
Surely I can’t have hit pay dirt so soon!

Raising her hand to shield her eyes, she saw that the speaker was the Asian guy, minus his hefty partner. “I’m sorry to bother you,” he said with a smile and a slight Japanese accent, “but I wanted to let you know that I was impressed by your remarks at the presentation this morning.”

Bingo!
Roberta felt a surge of triumph, then struggled to hold on to a more cautious attitude.
Let’s not jump to conclusions,
she warned herself.
It’s just possible that he might only be trying to pick me up.

“Thank you,” Roberta answered in English. The more she thought about it, the more she thought she recognized this guy from the talk on gene therapy. “I thought it was a fascinating topic.” She started to offer to shake, then realized that her hands were full of pizza and gelato.
Oops!
She hastily placed the half-eaten gelato between her feet, switched the pizza slice to her left hand, wiped off the right on her skirt, then stretched out her open and not-too-greasy palm. “Veronica Neary, but you can call me Ronnie.”

[39]
If the cheesy residue on her hand bothered the young man, he gave no sign of it. “Dr. Walter Takagi,” he introduced himself, giving her hand a firm shake. “Pleased to meet you.”

“Ditto.” Roberta shifted right to put the sun fully behind her, hoping to locate her other shadow. Looking up the stairs, past Takagi, she spotted his enormous partner near the top of the steps, having his portrait sketched by one of the ubiquitous street artists. Rather ominously, he kept his shades on while posing seated upon a stool that looked two sizes too small, his opaque gaze studiously directed away from Roberta and his accomplice.
Now, this guy’s probably a pro,
she surmised, wondering why they had decided to let the amateur make the first approach.

“So, you’re here for the conference, too?” she asked, as casually as possible. Now that she had possibly hit the jackpot, she wasn’t entirely sure what to do next.
Just play it by ear,
she told herself. The most important thing now was not to scare either of the two men away.

“Exactly,” Takagi said warmly, as though they were old friends. “You’re American, correct?”

“That’s right,” she said. “From the University of Washington, in Seattle.” She lied confidently, knowing that Seven had already established a paper trail backing up her fictitious identity, just in case anyone felt inclined to check up on her. There was even a fully furnished apartment in Seattle’s U. district, complete with a working phone number, newspaper and magazine subscriptions, photo albums, diplomas, and all the other accoutrements of Ronnie Neary’s imaginary existence.

“That was a pretty brave position you took this morning,” Takagi observed, “especially given most people’s irrational aversion to radical genetic engineering for its own sake.” She noted that he did not volunteer any information about where he was working these days. “Not everyone would be willing to go out on a limb like that, particularly at so public a forum.” He eyed Roberta hopefully. “Were those your actual views on the subject, or were you just playing devil’s advocate?”

Roberta told him exactly what she figured he wanted to hear. “Not at all. Recombinant DNA research is the most exciting thing to come
[40]
around since the discovery of the wheel. I really think it can change humanity—for the better, of course.”

“Me, too!” Takagi exclaimed. His dark brown eyes lighted up at the prospect. “We may be the first generation to actually take control of our own biological destiny. It’s a chance to create a whole new world, full of better, healthier, and more intelligent people.”

“A veritable genetic golden age,” she suggested, finding Takagi’s optimism and enthusiasm surprisingly infectious. He certainly didn’t seem like the sort of person to be mixed up in the kind of sinister experiments Seven envisioned, let alone the abduction of his fellow scientists.
Maybe we’re barking up the wrong tree here,
she mused.

“Hey, I like that!” he said encouragingly. “The Golden Age of Genetics, that’s a good phrase.” He pulled a small spiral notebook from his pocket and jotted the slogan down. “Sounds like we’re on the same wavelength,” he continued. “In fact, I may know about a project that might intrigue you.” He paused momentarily, glancing upward at his burly ... bodyguard? Baby-sitter? “I’m really not at liberty to discuss the details right now, but perhaps we could discuss it later, over drinks or something?”

“I’d like that,” Roberta said, trying to sound interested, but not
too
interested. “Are you staying at the Hotel Palaestro?”

After another hesitant pause, Takagi revealed that he was indeed rooming at the same hotel as Roberta. They agreed to meet later that evening at the hotel bar. “Great,” he concluded, giving her a parting nod. “I’ll let you finish your lunch then. Nice meeting you, Dr. Neary.”

Without a backward glance at either Roberta or his former companion, he marched down the wide marble steps to the piazza below, swiftly disappearing into the milling crowd of tourists, artists, and flower vendors. She waited to see if Mighty Joe Young would take off after him, but, no, the other man didn’t budge from his perch at the top of the stairs.
Looks like I’ve still got a shadow,
she realized.
He’s probably waiting to see what
I
do next.

It was kind of a frustrating situation. Roberta would have liked to run after Takagi and tail him back to the conference, if that indeed was where he was heading, but that was hardly an option while she
[41]
was under observation herself. A mental image of King Kong following her following Takagi produced a rueful smile. Nobody ever said international espionage was going to be easy.

Instead she had no choice but to play it cool and let the idealistic young scientist go, confident that they would meet again as planned.
If he wanted to make a break for it,
she assured herself,
he didn’t need to make an appointment with me first
—
unless that was just to lull me into a false sense of security.