“Life signs?” Chow called out.
“Steady,” was the reply.
Enzo stuck his face close to the vat. Myyk, who was near the surface, sunk down and met him on the other side of the glass. Enzo took a few steps left, and Myyk followed. When he stepped right, the Quasing came as well. Then Myyk’s gaseous form began to blink in quick succession.
Enzo watched with concern and turned to Chow. “What’s going on? Is something wrong?”
“Life signs are normal,” Chow responded.
He is speaking to me.
“You understand him?”
Partially. It has been a long time since I have seen these patterns.
There was a strange edge to Zoras as he spoke, a hesitation that Enzo did not think the Quasing had. Every time Zoras had spoken to him, it was with an assured voice.
“What did he say?”
That is not important right now. Check his status.
Chow was already on it though. Myyk’s life signs were on half a dozen screens, drawing information from the Penetra scanners. Everything looked steady.
“How long was the last test?” Enzo asked.
“Seventy-four minutes, Father,” one of the techs piped.
Enzo walked back up to the platform and leaned forward on the railing. “Very well, then. Now, we wait.”
Two hours later, Enzo had not moved from his spot.
EIGHTEEN
GIRLS’ NIGHT OUT
Yol was another dissident who hid directly under the gaze of the Genjix. It wasn’t until after his host had risen to high prominence that they discovered his true intent. Yol was working for the Prophus spying on the highest seat of Genjix power, the Papacy.
Unfortunately for the Genjix, by that time, Galileo was far too respected for them to kill. They did the next best thing and convicted him of heresy, sentencing him to house arrest for the rest of his natural life, no doubt waiting to kill Yol once Galileo passed away.
Galileo died at the age of seventy-seven. My host at the time was able to spirit Yol away, and we fled to the New World. We both operated in the maritime ranks for many years, until eventually, we both settled back down in Europe at the turn of the nineteenth century.
Baji
Jill met Paula for tapas and sangria at Bodega on M Street for a much needed girls’ night out. Though this was technically an intelligence meeting, it was the closest thing she had to a relaxing evening. Between the mountain of deals on the Hill she was juggling and the new training regimen Marco had put her on, just talking about something other than politics and climbing walls like a monkey felt like a vacation.
They started the night sharing a pitcher of white sangria with small cuts of apples, oranges, and peaches floating on the surface. Appetizers were cold potato salads, marinated Spanish olives, and some delicious bacon-wrapped cheese. Jill helped herself to a little of everything. That was what she loved about tapas; she could order half the menu and not feel guilty about it.
“So, how are things with Marco? He’s a handsome handful, isn’t he?” Paula said as she sipped her sangria.
Jill furrowed her brow. Well, maybe something else besides politics, monkey climbing, and Marco. She was already seeing too much of him every day. Right now, he was drinking at the bar across the street, probably charming some unsuspecting Georgetown law student bedazzled by his perfect hair and King Tut chin. It’s not that she minded him, quite the opposite actually. It was just that she had never ever spent this much time with any man other than her husband. And while Roen could cause a ruckus at times, he was a pretty low-key guy. Marco was up-tempo and the life of the party no matter where they went. It was draining.
He is unlike your husband in every way, which is a good thing.
“He’s just swell,” she replied as she pretended to pick at the fruit in the glass.
That is an understatement.
“That’s it? He’s swell?” Paula raised an eyebrow. “No other developments?”
“None worth mentioning,” Jill shrugged. She changed the topic and slid a stack of papers across the table. “Here’s where we’re at with processed minerals. Here’s the list of over one-ton shipments of processed rares. The United States has a pretty small list of unrefined exports that can’t be had more easily in another part of the world. The commons we can ignore since they can be had anywhere.”
Just from this list: diamonds, platinum, and iridium from South Africa. Bauxite, thorium, hafnium from Australia. Palladium, samarium, and rhenium from Russia. Nothing in the States that the Genjix cannot obtain from a neighboring country.
“There’s something,” Paula talked with her mouth full as the first plate of patatas bravas came. She took out a sheet of paper and slid it to Jill. “Here’s a list of Genjix-related industries on the eastern seaboard. Thirty-five are in manufacturing and refinement, fifteen are in electronics. Two are military.”
“Can you get eyes on them to investigate?” Jill asked.
Paula shook her head. “Not necessary, nor do we have the manpower even if we wanted to. Ninety percent of them are redundant. China can build or refine everything those places can. The problem with the rest is we don’t know what we don’t know.”
“I’ll cross-reference these two lists against each other,” Jill said. “Any word from our overseas network?”
Paula pulled out another stack of notes. “We’ve intercepted communications between Russia and China. They’re screaming up their supply chain, escalating their grievances from the research bases to the ports to a neutral trade hub in a country friendly to Western countries. What that tells me is they need something on the restricted list with the United States and are smuggling it through a third party country.”
It has to be a country friendly to both the United States and China.
Jill ticked off her fingers. “My guess is a port on the continent. Cut out the extra sea route.”
Paula made a face. “That’s a lot of countries that are friendly to both superpowers.”
Start with the south Asia countries. The recent instability in the region is ideal for the Genjix to set up shop.
The two continued spinning theories as the waiter brought several more hot and cold dishes. They took a break from work and helped themselves to spiced pork bellies, Spanish meatballs, cheese croquettes, and bacalao fritters. That last plate they ended up placing triple orders of. Six more dishes came in rapid succession until they had fully gorged themselves.
Inevitably, they moved from white to red sangria, and the night dissolved into a psychotherapy session on Jill’s love life, with Paula playing Oprah.
“That jerk left me while I was pregnant, jet-setting around the world on Tao’s fool errand,” Jill complained, draining her cup. “What kind of husband does that?”
“He thought he was doing the right thing for the world,” Paula said. “He always arranged to have someone watching over you.”
“What are you talking about? He was never there!”
Paula drained her glass and slammed it down on the table. “You know that conference you had in Paris last year? Roen pulled me away from Beerfest to watch over you. I was on vacation, and he made my entire team babysit you. I bloody love Beerfest!”
Jill picked at the fruit in her empty cup. “That was an economic summit. Why would I need protection? I had six Prophus with me.”
Paula shrugged, pouring them both another drink and signaling to the waiter for another pitcher. “He doesn’t trust anyone else to do the job. Roen’s very protective of you.”