Ellery
Munoz led Ellery to the wingback chair. He sat opposite, elbows propped on his knees as he leaned forward with hands clasped. Forefingers pressed together, he pointed toward the woman.
"We do not want your resignation, Ellery," he said earnestly. "We said that earlier and We're saying it again."
"As I explained to you this morning, Holiness, before Bianca arrived, Tartarus is committed to using its genetics division for healing as long as I am Director. What she's doing doesn't fall into that category. I cannot, will not be a party to such cruel experimentation."
"Yes, We agree Doctor Raborman stepped over the line this time, but We're certain it happened because of her zealousness to succeed—to be another Ellery Jensen in the annals of genetics. Is that such a terrible thing to want?" he coaxed.
"When it means doing what she's done to that poor animal down there—yes. There is no value to success if it's accomplished like that," Ellery said, her voice hard.
Munoz sighed. "I should have listened to you, Ellery. I know that. If I had understood what you were telling me in the beginning, that . . . that thing wouldn't exist today. However, I didn't. Your expertise is important to Us, Ellery. Your interpretations of her formulas and summaries give Us the knowledge We need to evaluate what is happening. I have made it clear to Bianca that neither the Transnationals nor I will tolerate this type of research. It won't happen again."
"It will happen again. She's picked forbidden fruit and found it tasty. She won't be able to stop—her mind won't let her. Surely you can see that."
"I hear what you are saying, Ellery. However, you must understand Our position. We have millions of dollars invested in this Foundation and Doctor Raborman has contributed enormously to the success we've enjoyed. We cannot, in good conscience, throw that fruit to the wolves of this world."
"It is not for man, Holiness. It is too dangerous."
He leaned back into soft, oyster white cushions, his face registering his frustration at her stubbornness. "Ellery, stay. You'll never see another dumb animal used for such experimentation again." He turned his hands palms up as if in supplication. "Never again. Trust me."
As he spoke, she watched his face, the set of his shoulders, the tic at one corner of his glittering black eyes. She watched his nostrils flare and the pulse beating in his neck—and she knew. She rose and strolled to the walnut easel.
Trust me. His words vibrated in her mind. I did trust you and look where it has led, she thought. How could I have been such a fool? Her fingers gently touched the faded colors in the Renoir. All this time they've used my knowledge to keep them on the right track. Bianca didn't have to make time-consuming mistakes because Ellery Jensen knew what would occur if the experimentation continued to follow certain paths, and she obligingly gave that information to the man sitting on her couch. She had trusted he would stop Bianca's research. The bitter thoughts twisted in her mind. He knew. All this time he knew and encouraged. Her hands dropped.
"You will not change your mind, Doctor Jensen?" His voice rang with soft imploration.
Ellery shook her head. "No, Your Holiness. It's time for me to turn the Foundation over to those forward thinkers who, like my grandfather, are itching to leap into the future. That is not my way." She strolled to the chair and leaned her arms against its back.
"The future of Tartarus is in Doctor Raborman's hands. So long as you guide her efforts with a firm stance, she'll not fail you," she said with smooth innocence.
Munoz rose. "That is your final answer then?"
"It is. I understand the terms of resignation—voluntary or otherwise—for anyone with access to the sensitive material developed at Tartarus. I will leave the island today."
"Then I wish you all good luck, Doctor Jensen." He held out his hand. "We will miss you."
"Thank you." She accompanied him to the door. "Actually, I'm rather looking forward to retirement," she said. "Of course, six months from now it may be a different story."
Munoz chuckled. "If you ever want to do a little consulting work, Ellery, let me know. As We've said, We can always use your expertise."
She watched him stride into the lobby before she closed the door hard and leaned against it. A moment later, she hurried to her inner office. Yanking open the large side drawer of her desk, she transferred a small stack of notes to her desktop. She shuddered, recalling her near panic four nights ago. Intent on making copies of the entries in a journal she'd found tucked far back in Bianca's desk drawer, she'd not heard the cruiser's warning signal and had missed her ride home. Not until she'd heard the voices did she know how close to apprehension she was. Even now, thinking about it, she could feel her heart racing. Only Bianca's preoccupation with George Kayman had kept them in the bisecting corridor long enough for Ellery to make her escape. Her hands folded the notes into a compact square. Her console buzzed as she reached for her purse.
"Yes," Ellery said.
"His Holiness, Doctor Jensen. With Doctor Raborman."
Damn, she thought. My own policies are going to trip me up. They'll watch me pack then escort me off the island, just as I have done to others more than once in the past. Ellery looked at the folded notes. What to do with these?
"Send them down. Oh, Leann, will you ask someone to bring me some boxes for my personal items? I'll be leaving the island today."
"Boxes? Leaving?" Disbelief echoed through the intercom.
"Yes. As I explained to Pope Munoz, I am tired. Tartarus needs energy to move into its future, energy that I don't have. It is time for me to retire. I'm sure His Holiness will make the announcement soon. Now, boxes?"
"Yes, Doctor Jensen." Ellery heard the tears in her assistant's voice.
She punched off the intercom and switched on the view screen. Bianca and Munoz were walking down the corridor to her office. "The notes. Where the hell am I going to put the notes?" Ellery glanced at the view screen. Bianca and Munoz had nearly reached the outer door. I can't make them wait, she thought. That will kindle suspicion. She grabbed her purse, and stuffed the notes inside. As she punched the release button for the outer door, her gaze flew to her purse. Damn! The thought exploded. That's the first place Bianca will look. Ellery snatched up the purse and removed the notes. Where? Where? Where?
A discreet knock sounded on her locked door.
Ellery yanked up her dress, shoved the notes inside her panties, and smoothed the dress down as she opened the inner door. She looked into Bianca's triumphant black eyes.
"I believe you know why we are here."
Stepping aside, Ellery merely nodded her head. Bianca brushed through and walked directly to the purse. Dumping everything onto the desk, she pulled the lining inside out, carefully examined the interior stitching.
"Are you looking for anything in particular, Bianca?" Ellery's voice chilled. "If so, tell me. Perhaps I can save you some time."
"Routine, Ellery. You know that." Bianca picked up the white disc, turned it back and forth in her hand.
Ellery held her breath as the woman smoothed her finger over the back of the disc. Voice casual she said, "It's a worry stone. Relaxes tension." It also unlocks anything you point it at if it's right side up, she thought.
"I know what it is," Bianca snapped.
"It's yours if you want it."
"Why would I want it? I have no use for it." Bianca shoved the disc and scattered belongings back into the purse. Her black eyes sparked with pleasure. "Bathroom time."
Ellery drew her five-foot frame up another quarter inch. "You can't be serious?" She waved her arm around the room. "Just how much of this do you think I could stuff up my privates?"
"Policy, Doctor Jensen. Just policy," Bianca said.
With a contemptuous turn, Ellery walked toward the bathroom, her back straight and dignified.
"I don't think a strip search will be necessary in this case," Munoz said.
Bianca whirled, her black eyes like thunderclouds. "I do."
His mouth went flat and hard. "Not this time." He turned to the director. "We'll pack your things and send them to you later, Ellery."
"Thank you, Holiness." Ellery walked to her desk and picked up her purse. She nodded as she turned to leave. "Bianca."
Striding down the monitored hall, she held her shoulders back and her head high. At Leann's desk, she paused to say good-bye, knowing the two in her office would monitor her words and actions. The young woman jumped up from her desk, came around, and threw her arms about Ellery's neck. "I'll miss you terribly." Tears welled in her eyes, overflowed.
Ellery patted her shoulders. "And I you, but it's time for me to go." She hugged the girl close, and then released her.
Her assistant stepped back and wiped her eyes.
Giving the computer desktop a quick pat, Ellery said, "I'd like to take Jerico with me, but since you're the only one he listens to, I guess I'll have to leave him here."
Leann gave a tremulous smile. "I'll take good care of him, Doctor Jensen."
Her own eyes misting, Ellery nodded, then strode toward the familiar glass doors. Without a backward glance, she ran down the broad steps. The Pelican was waiting.
Ellery's shoulders didn't relax until she felt the salt spray on her face and the wind whipping her hair. She stared at the retreating island for a long time. She thought about the journal she'd found in Bianca's lab and the few notes she'd managed to copy before the woman's unexpected return. She'd not taken the time to study them in the hectic four days that followed; she'd seen it all before and more of the same presented no emergency. Even so, her curiosity wanted to know. She went below. Huddled tight into the security of an oversized chair, Ellery unfolded the notes. Her hands were shaking by the time she reached the last page. That poor man. That poor, unfortunate man.
She stared at the notes in her hands. Whom could she tell? Not the Transnationals; they owed their souls to Munoz and the Church of Universals. The public? Ha! A Dakotan blaspheming the Pope? She'd be buried alive.
Who else would care about a man that was becoming a monstrosity? She sighed. No one. Just like no one cared about those young women whose lives were destroyed ninety years ago—especially when the experiment failed.
Ellery could still hear her mother's bitter voice, her railing against Papa Victor—her famous father—as she fought death. "He was going to rule the world with his super brains," she'd said. "After my brother and I were born, every nation on the globe supplied him with their virgins. Only the pure, the uncontaminated were good enough for his creation. My brother wasn't enough for him. He wanted more males. More freaks!"
She had cackled with pleasure as if she personally had thwarted Victor Dakota's plans. "You didn't get your males did you, Dad? You found out little boys were the exception and not the rule with your zygotes, thank God. If there is a God," she'd croaked. A fit of coughing shook her emaciated frame. When it was over, she motioned Ellery close. "He didn't care about the little girls," she whispered. "They inherited the disease, but they didn't have the growth so he didn't care." A tear slipped down her cheek. "But I care. Now I've passed the disease to you and your sisters, Ellery. No Dakota woman will ever bear a son; his tampering blocked the male chromosome. The name of Dakota will pass—has passed—from this world. I've made you into—" She lapsed into silence, her eyes wild. Suddenly a loud screech echoed through the hospital room. "Freaks, all freaks," she'd cried with her last breath.
Ellery jumped up and began pacing the cabin confines. Maybe there were some who would care, some she could tell. She had inherited her grandfather's files when her mother died; the full story of the three thousand forced pregnancies was detailed in his precise language. He had tried to improve on his first creation and most of the women had miscarried at seven months bringing into the world cruel malformations that had been stillborn or died within hours. Of the seventy-five healthy births, fifty-two were females. Ellery hugged her arms tight across her chest to stop the trembling. Victor Dakota's grand scheme produced twenty-three males, shattered lives, and unbelievable heartache.
He had tracked the live births until his death. Of the men, seven had died in institutions for the violently insane, ten had been killed by their outraged countrymen as demons, and six, concealing their puffy growths, had lived out their lives in hiding. As for the women, several eventually married, had children—and disappeared.
As a young woman, the idea of unknown cousins taking their rightful place as members of the family had filled her with excitement. She had made a search of birth records to no avail and her mother had denied any knowledge of such Dakota offspring. After her mother's death, she read Papa Victor's journals, but there seemed to be no point in raking up painful memories—for herself or for the alleged carriers.
Ellery stopped pacing. She scrunched her eyes tight in concentration. The forced pregnancies produced male and female children—Victor Dakota had tracked those first generation children. Then what? The pages of his journals were flipping through her memory. Those women who married bore females only, just as her mother had birthed all girl children.
Papa Victor had expressed his keen disappointment in succinct verbiage: years of work have gone down the drain. What began as a glorious victory has ended in abject failure. Nothing but females.
He had died before that second generation of BH carriers could bring their surprise into the world—the male line had not been destroyed after all. Still, the journals had lain in storage gathering dust and the carriers of the gene were forgotten.
Until now.
A terrible disease her mother had called it; so it had seemed until Matthew entered the library mists.
She must find the files and find the women. It was imperative that they and their progeny—if any—place their line into the fountainhead. She would join, too. Her knowledge of Bianca's horror and the Pope's encouragement would become a part of flawless memory. Such misuse of science and power could never be allowed to happen again. Not as long as one single Dakotan gene existed.
When Munoz finds out that there are many of us who know what he's planning to condone and that our voices will be heard through generations, he will have to stop it, she thought. When he knows our heritage is more than computer brains ticking off variables, he won't let his church bear the burden. He'll deny her then.
Captain Harmon poked his head through the cabin door. "We're here, Ellery." His eyes said much more.
Ellery picked up her purse, and shrugged into her coat. She held out her hand. "Jack."
"If you ever need me . . . " He grasped her hand.
"I know," she said. "I will."
As she turned to leave, he touched her arm. "Vickie's wedding—I'm sorry I couldn't stay till the end, but I'd be mighty honored to have a picture. Maybe one with you and her both in it?" he said gruffly. "If you get any extras from the photographer, that is."
"You old bearcat. I thought Vickie was just too much energy for you to have around long." Ellery dug through her purse. "Now you want a picture."
"Oh, she's just a youngun' like my own boys. Now that she's married, she'll lose some of that spit. You wait and see." He jammed his hands into his pockets.
Ellery pulled a small leather case from her purse and flipped through photographs. Finding the one she wanted, she pulled it out. "How's this, Jack? Ned insisted we do some with just the Dakota clan and this one is a great shot of Vickie."
Jack studied the formal portrait of Vickie with Dane and John standing on one side, Ellery and Matthew on the other. He pulled the picture closer. "That young man who gave her away," he said, jabbing a finger at Dane. "Which one of your sisters does he belong to?"
"That's Dane Wyland—Vickie's best friend." Ellery grinned. "He wasn't born into the family, but as far as she's concerned, he's a Dakotan by osmosis. Besides, it was her wedding."
Jack chortled. "Sounds like your daughter." He pulled out his wallet and tucked the picture inside. "Thanks, Ellery," he said. "Don't forget. Any time."
She patted his arm, turned, and strode away. She never looked back.