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  Katya smiled and addressed Donahue through the intercom. “As you see, his conditioning is complete. He will comply with our directions.” She turned back to the doctor, her voice, barely a whisper. “Subash.”

  Sen stiffened.

  “I shall remove the straps that hold you.” Using two fingers, she touched his wrists and legs.

  His body slumped in the chair.

  “Is that better, Doctor?”

  His head rolled from side to side, and she knew in his mind he saw thick pieces of leather straps fall away to the floor. With half closed eyes, Sen murmured his obedient response. “Yes, Katya.”

  She pressed her thumb to his forehead at the spot of the third eye of spiritual sight. “I shall now remove all the pain from your body . . . except for the special pain in your stomach." She removed her thumb. "That pain remains and will go away only when you complete the simple chore you agreed to do for Dirk Donahue. Only then, Sen, will you obtained security for your family.” She patted his hand. “Tell me about your family.”

  He raised his head when she said your family and his eyes shot open. He shook his head and looked away.

  “Do they still live in Mumbai?”

  He stared at the floor, his posture and expression one of fear and alarm.

  Teasing him, she lied, “Your body language tells me all I need to know.” Using only words, she had gotten more out of the man in seconds than Donahue’s goons had in sixteen hours with slapsticks. Gently, she shook the prisoner’s arm, reinforcing his conditioning.

  “Subash, the word is hospital. When I use it, you will see six hospital beds lined up on the wall in front of you. The one at the far right has a neat pile of green scrubs on top of a pillow.” She gave him a slight nudge. “Your bindings have been removed. Please dress in the scrubs I placed on the bed.”

  Subash rubbed his wrists, then, using his hands to cover his genitals, stood. His thin, bruised, five-foot-four height made him a sad specimen yet Katya knew the dark threat of his knowledge, his skills in engineering the human genome, held for mankind. She watched as the small man carefully made his way toward the imaginary beds on shaky legs.

  He spread his shaky arms “What have you done?” These beds were not here before. You are a daayan.”

  “Yes, I am a witch, but you are a geneticist." She snorted, "We shall soon discover which one of us makes the most use of black magic."

  6

  Dr. Subash Sen

  Early April, Washington, D.C. - A dreamer

  Dr. Subash Sen sat in a small interrogation room not far from Dirk Donahue’s office and waited to complete his last compulsory debriefing before he could begin his work as a PSI Corps scientist.

  The small, dark-skinned man with nondescript thick black hair, Subash reached into the deep pocket of his immaculately clean white lab Jacket and compulsively read the letter several more times, confirming not only his surprise at getting an offer to work for PSI Corps but that the offer has not magically vanished.

  Obsessive, he reached again in his deep lab Jacket pocket. Where was it? Panic set in. He'd lost it. Didn't he pray over the envelope each time he touched it? Why were the gods toying with him? Had he foolishly made his appeal for success to the wrong gods? He frantically patted all of his pockets, including those in his black business suit he wore under his lab coat for the PSI Corps interview. Sweat poured down his skinny back and beaded on his forehead.

  He found the envelope in his Jacket's inner pocket and with relief pouring through him slowly removed it. He felt his beating heart had slowed and breathed in again in great long breaths.

  While adjusting his black suit Jacket, he knocked off his carefully positioned lucky stethoscope. Catching it in one hand, he rubbed its microphone against his blue silk tie.

  After a brief prayer, he kissed the tie, repositioned the lucky stethoscope over his shoulders and turned his attention to the questionable envelope. Did the gods hide it in my coat because PSI Corps changed their mind?

  He was promised the position. He paused to pray to another set of his favorite gods before running his finger along the perfect incision he had made with his straight razor. After kissing the envelope, he pushed a thin stream of air from his pursed lips opened the envelope wide and using two fingers removed the typed, twice-folded, letter welcoming him to the company, with an outline of his first week's schedule. After gently spreading the folded letter open, he glanced at his wrist calendar to check his Tuesday session appointments.

  Although he'd read the schedule many times, he slid the over the paper for confirmation and stopped to read aloud.

  “Tuesday, 9:00 a.m. Dr. Kornilova, MD, Ph.D., psychiatrist, Room 35B."

  He checked his watch. "8:59." Subash, an obsessive compulsive man, expected others to keep appointments promptly.

  After double-checking the number on the door, he retrieved his stethoscope from his side pocket and, using his blue silk tie, polished the bell end until it gleamed to his satisfaction. Meticulously positioning the instrument about his neck like a dead mongoose, he opens the door to leave.

  "Going somewhere, doctor?" before placing his hand on the doorknob. When he opens the door, he is brought almost face-to-face with Dr. Kornilova.

  Believing himself a superior corporate person, he waits for her to introduce herself.

  Katya, vastly amused, lowered her heading to hide her smile. Schooling her expression, she assumed a deferential nature. He would not know her other persona until she was ready to reveal it

  He extended his arm, limp wrist with palm down,

  as though presenting a regal ring to kiss.

  While he's resume painted him one of the most world's most brilliant biochemists, his coworkers described him as projecting an unfounded arrogance.

  Controlling a derisive snort, she accepted his three finger handshake, "Dr. Sen, I feel privileged to meet you. I am Dr. Kornilova." She waited to see what he did next.

  He escorted her to the table where they both sat.

  A small tea and coffee service sat at one corner.

  "I see PSI Corps has provided—"

  "Thank you. I'll have the tea,"

  he said.

  Katya anticipated the fun she would soon have with this poor caricature of a man. It was difficult not to preen in preparation. She poured him tea, and, with

  long practice, released two drops of an unseen drug into the cup. The drug she used is a blend of Rohypnol and certain opiates designed to encourage compliance.

  Subtle waves of a struggle between his subconscious and her will rippled across his face. Unaware of his mind's predicament, Subash's body continued to fight its battle with equilibrium his mind lost control. He became her puppet with each new string she spun. The first session with her victims always filled her with the excitement of domination.

  Katya soon became the guardian of his soul. PSI Corps may have of record of Subash's studies at India's prestigious ITT University, described by many, as a mashup of the best of Harvard, Yale, and MIT, but s

  he knew about his real ambitions. His disreputable projects with poisons and drugs he developed for despicable Dark Web customers formed the basis of his first fortune and helped create his insatiable quest for more.

  Others knew him from his published work. She learned much of it stolen from colleagues or plagiarized.

  "Subash, you’re a regular Jekyll and Hyde, aren't you?"

  She lifted his chin with one finger to get his wandering attention. “You've been involved in many unspeakable acts, but what we will do together will blow what I have left of your mind away. For now, what I say is important. You must remember my special words. The first phrase you must learn is, The word is remember. I will mention it when I'm about to tell you things you must remember. Do you hear me? The word is remember.”

  She sat across the table from him and held both his hands. "In our next session, I will introduce you to my friend, Katya. She will become your friend, your best friend. The two of you will
become partners and make billions of American dollars together. You will believe what she says and believe in her. You will be loyal to her. Do you understand?"

  He nodded.

  "You must say you believe in her and you will be loyal to her. Include her name."

  Although his expression was vacuous, he dutifully said, "I believe in Katya. I will be loyal to Katya."

  She patted his head. "Good boy."

  7

  Making Do

  Early April, flight to Houston - What’s next?

  Meret's head ached beyond the reach of the First Class double gin and tonic. Aware she might have overreacted in her response to her damn grandfather, she wished she'd managed her presentation better. She'd reacted as though she'd met him unexpectedly in an express elevator and tossed him a flip twenty-five-word pitch that sucked beyond belief. She should've visited with him for a week and had some quiet, yet insightful dinner conversations. Ugh. Maybe not. She sighed heavily and wished she'd paid more attention to his life and what was on his mind instead of behaving as though she'd been given one swing with a broken bat to work out a home run.

  Stopping to consider her potential role as a successful CEO in any business, she concluded it seemed little more than pie-in-the-sky now.

  A coldness settled in her chest. Now, what could she do? Pulling her knees tight under her balled up form, she wrapped herself in the thin airplane blanket vowing to remain there in her cocoon until all her problems vanished.

  * * *

  The grinding noise of descending wheels on approach into Houston Hobby International woke her. Sitting alone in the last row of the First Class cabin, Meret's thought drifted to her mom and dad. They would have understood her mission. They'd have understood her need to form this company. Damn. Why did it still hurt like hell to remember them? As she searched her briefcase for diversion, the Captain made an announcement.

  "The plane is diverting to Albuquerque. It's just a short delay, folks."

  Meret waved a hand and caught the eye of the First Class cabin attendant. "What's the problem?"

  "We're picking up a package or something." He made a face. "I don't know why we have to do it, but there you are. It's just a short side trip."

  "Should I be worried?"

  "No, no. No worries." He left her to reassure other passengers. From that moment until they were safe on the ground, every air pocket, bump, dip, or vibration took on an ominous meaning.

  After an announcement stating there had, in fact, been technical difficulties, the captain told them the airline would make every effort to book everyone on the next available flights to Houston. So much for believing friendly flight attendants. She made a mental note to doubt all declarations made by any airline employee. She deplaned with the other passengers and headed for the terminal.

  The only good news was that the Albuquerque Airport was a smallish airport and the distance between boarding gates of different airlines was minimal. She raced for another airline. There weren't many connecting flights to Houston, and she assumed they'd fill up fast.

  Amid the angry voices of unhappy and inconvenienced adults, however, Meret heard the sound of soft weeping. Cautiously, she followed the cries to a deserted corner of the waiting area and peeked around a large column. A young girl sat on the floor in apparent despair. No large ID dangled from around her neck and Meret revised her initial age assessment. She was old enough to travel alone.

  Meret went to her and sat near to her, but not too close. "Hi. My name's Meret. What's the problem?" The girl wore the snug-fitting jeans that were the uniform of every teenager and a comfortable red hoodie. Her shoes liked like serious running gear.

  "Nice kicks," Meret said, pointing to the footgear. "What's your name?"

  "Ginny." The girl hiccuped.

  "Hello, Ginny." She kept her voice calm and hoped she didn't sound too meddlesome. "What's the problem? Maybe I can help."

  "The girl snorted and held out a crumpled boarding pass and a cell phone. "These things don't work anymore, and I'm too old for special airline treatment."

  "How'd that happen?"

  She looked across the thick lines of passengers scurrying along. "I'm thirteen, and the plane to Orlando is full. The thing is, no one answers my cell phone and the next flight isn't until tomorrow morning."

  "You're going to Disney World?"

  Without taking her eyes from the distant crowds, she seemed to struggle to control her voice. "I wish. My mother . . . " she gulped and wiped her cheeks . . . "she had a stroke and isn't expected . . ." she sniffled " . . . you know . . ." her voice trailed off. "I need to see her." She turned toward the column and buried her face in her hands.

  Meret slid closer and placed a hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry." She gave a gentle squeeze and said, "Come on, let's go and if two of us can accomplish something."

  "What can you do?"

  "Not sure, but I've had enough of being pushed around for one day. I'm ready for a win. It's worth a try, right? The check-in counter isn't far. Let's get our giddy up and get moving."

  Even the First Class check-in line was unusually long. Waiting, Meret focused on her smartphone, typing as though she had to place a last minute bet on a sure thing. She muttered. "Oh, crap."

  "What?" Ginny's weepy eyes widened. "What happened?"

  "Hang on. We're far from done here." Her pokes on the screen increased. "Shazam. Got it." When it was her turn to speak with the agent, she placed her ticket and Ginny's on the counter where the overworked airline rep could see them. "I need to change my ticket to Houston, to accompany my young friend to Orlando."

  When the agent heard Meret's desire to change destinations, she raised an eyebrow.

  Meret resisted snapping at her but just barely. "We were bumped off another carrier, and her mother is in critical condition in a hospital in Orlando." She moved closer to the agent and spoke lower, displaying her ID from USC. "I'm a medical doctor, and after consultation with the Orlando physician, I'm afraid her mother's in critical condition. I know there's a good chance the airline can accommodate two more First Class passengers." Her eyes pleaded for consideration, but her calm voice spoke with authority.

  The agent looked at Ginny, who wiped tears from her red eyes, but even so. Meret knew the woman weighed the possibility of a lie to get them to Disney World. In what seemed like forever, the rep smiled and her fingers danced across the keyboard. " Seats 1A and 4D are the best I can do. You will not be sitting together."

  * * *

  When their flight set down, they took a cab directly to Orlando Regional Medical Center. Although the situation looked initially grim, Meret felt measurably better after speaking with the doctors and nurses working with Ginny's mom.

  Exhausted from the trip, and coping with the stress of the unknown, the waiting room offered little comfort. It was cold, and the furniture was conducive to sleep. It was a long night and was not until just before sunrise, that the doctor came in. Although they had struggled all night to get some rest, they were on instant alert.

  "Your mother will live," the physician said, wasting no time. She looked tired, too, but smiled assurance. "Furthermore, with therapy, she should fully recover. You can stay in her room with her for as long as you like, but don't be alarmed that she is unresponsive. We put her into an induced coma for several days to heal." She led Ginny and Meret to a private room, and Ginny went directly to her mom and took her pale hand.

  "Mom?"

  * * *

  While her mother slept, Ginny's efforts to reach her father's military emergency contact finally paid off. The man at the other end of the phone put her through to her father's commanding officer somewhere in the Middle East, and Ginny handed the phone to Meret. When she hung up, she shook her head in wonderment. "The commander arranged a seat for your father on a military flight to a National Guard Airbase near Hobby Airport in Houston. I think it's a major miracle."

  Ginny melted into one of the recliners. "Good news all around. My mom will r
ecover, and my dad is coming."

  It seemed like years ago that Meret had found Ginny crying in the corner of the terminal waiting area. She was still pale and drawn, looking only slightly less despondent now then she did then. She wrapped an arm around her young charge and gave her a squeeze. "With your mom safely in a comma, we have time to fly to Houston to meet your dad."

  The next day, Meret and Ginny boarded a direct flight to Houston. Never mind that it would have been simpler if Ginny's dad were arriving in Florida. Meret took her miracles where she found them.

  "Sorry, Ginny, I couldn't get two seats together. You take the window seat in front of the curtain, and I'll take the aisle seat by the bulkhead."

  She tapped Ginny on the shoulder. "You're on the left."

  Ginny nodded and stowed her carry-on above her seat. "Do you always fly first class, Doctor Mather?"

  "Only with friends," She gave a silent snort. Considering her shaky financial future, this would probably be her last first class flight for a long time. She examined the girl's sad face, a reflection of the last two hellish days.

  She waited until Ginny buckled her belt then gave her a pat on the arm and backtracked to her own seat, pleased that the family fortune that would not be released to her would at least make somebody's life a little better. Hell and damnation. She needed a client.