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Steven Matthews, using the alias Edward DuPont, sat in the chair with his eyes closed. An anesthesiologist checked the I.V. line and monitor at the side of the bed. On a metal tray lay a syringe.
Dr. Mordia stood near the computer monitor. Her dark eyes held depth, mystery. Her thick black hair was pulled back in a tight bun and tucked beneath a blue sterile cap. During their first interview, Matthews had noticed she was reserved and somewhat timid. Even then, she had kept her hair hidden.
Although Matthews seldom found women infatuating, he imagined how she might look had she let her long, flowing hair down. Applying a dark foundation to her face could make her a seductress, if she chose to be, and overcame her inhibition, but the more he thought about it, any makeup hid her smooth, unblemished complexion. That would be a shame, a crime. No, her true beauty was exactly how she portrayed it with a modest touch of lipstick and eyeliner.
“Mr. DuPont,” Dr. Mordia said with her thick Indian accent. “Are you certain you wish to go through with this? You cannot undo this procedure.”
Matthews watched her thick lips move as she spoke, and for a moment, he was captivated by her voice and smile.
“Mr. DuPont?” she said, allowing a flattered smile.
He shook his head. “Yes. Sorry.”
She had succeeded in doing two things no other person had before. She had made his face flush red from embarrassment and gotten a one-word apology from him.
“Are you completely satisfied with your decision?” she asked.
Matthews looked at the computerized image of what his new face after plastic surgery would be. The new nose and narrower chin altered his appearance enough to keep him unnoticed by the authorities and Grayson. Hiding without a new face wasn’t something he’d mentally survive. His scientific projects demanded he be in the public eye to garner financial support and notoriety, but without the plastic surgery he didn’t have the freedom to move from place to place. Once recognized, federal agents would quickly apprehend him.
His ego demanded that he receive the proper adoration from the public and the scientific world. His vanity abhorred superficial qualities. He didn’t desire his fame to be associated with striking good looks because he didn’t covet gracing the cover of GQ. He wanted to be famous for his scientific innovations. Intelligence was more appealing than physical attributes. Not to say that he wasn’t a handsome man before the surgery. He was. And after the surgery, he’d have no problem attracting women. He made certain the tweaked alterations were still appealing.
Once the surgery scars healed, he’d dye his hair and use contacts to change his eye color.
Finally, Matthews nodded. “I’m ready.”
“Any further questions before you go under?”
“How long before the bandages can be removed?”
Mordia smiled. “With today’s technology, usually only a few days.”
“Good. Proceed.”
“Very well, Mr. DuPont,” Mordia said.
She nodded at the anesthesiologist. He injected the contents of the syringe into the I.V.
Matthews closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and waited for the medicine to take effect.
Grayson Enterprises
A silver Cadillac with mirrored windows pulled through the security gate at Grayson Enterprises. The driver eased the car along the winding blacktop to the rear parking lot. The car parked in the space reserved for Senator Ralph Johnson.
The senator stepped from his car and pressed his thumb against the car security panel, which locked the doors and set the alarm. He nervously glanced at his watch and walked up the concrete sidewalk.
Bright orange-red foliage covered the spreading Japanese maples along the lavishly landscaped quad. The curving concrete path meandered through a slender forest of weeping cherry trees, lilacs, palm trees, and hardy junipers.
Johnson wished he had time to inhale the beauty of the landscape, but since Grayson owned the property, it was nothing more than the glossy peel of a rotten apple—spectacular to behold, but the core was filled with putrid, runny goo.
He hated visiting Grayson, but his seat in the California Senate depended on appeasing the wealthy entrepreneur and his unusual political demands. To do less abated Grayson’s financial support against Johnson’s rivals at the upcoming election.
Large polished MarQuebes, each weighing a ton or more, were massive centerpieces in each flowerbed at the building entrances. MarQuebes were the first discovered gems from the exploration of Mars. The stones were ruby-red but direct light revealed an inner purplish hue. The contrasting colors made them a prized stone. Since Grayson was the first and only man to stake a claim on the Martian mining rights, he controlled the market without any fear of competition.
Grayson had invested billions into his Mars excavation projects and reaped one thousand times what he expended. With his endeavors, though no one had dared breathe the words aloud, Grayson owned Mars, Deimos, and the crashed remains of Phobos. His status wrought power, numerous friends, and a vast number of jealous enemies.
Johnson despised Grayson as much as he possessed a treasured need to be considered his friend. Grayson’s greed ran deep, and Johnson’s desire to feast from the table of plenty overwhelmed his rationality to flee and reclaim his soul. Grayson lined Johnson’s pockets with money. The senator understood that no one stood in Grayson’s way. Opposing Grayson brought painful repercussions, both physically and financially. Sometimes death.
Entering through the front brass doors, two muscled security guards greeted him. These guards were massive muscled men with dark shades and earpieces. They kept their suit jackets open, revealing their guns. Their massive size intimidated Johnson more than the guns. He doubted these men ever needed to use guns.
Johnson stepped through a metal detector. The green light cleared him. He placed his palm against the print scanner. A line of green flashed on the panel.
A computerized voice stated, “Welcome, Senator Johnson.”
Johnson turned. A guard escorted him to the elevator. When the silver doors opened, Johnson stepped inside where another guard waited.
After the doors closed, he nervously nodded at the solemn guard. The man ignored his kind gesture and stared straight ahead at the doors. His silence chilled Johnson.
Lately, Johnson entertained the idea of retiring. Anything was better than facing the pressure of visiting Grayson. He imagined the horrendous pain these bodyguards could inflict should he ever piss Grayson off. And knowing Grayson, death wouldn’t come quickly.
After the elevator opened, Johnson stepped onto the plush carpeted hall and reluctantly followed another guard. They turned left at the intersecting hallway. They stopped at the secretary’s desk.
Without looking up, she said, “Mr. Grayson will see you, Senator Johnson. He’s been expecting you.”
He looked past her. Large tinted windows opened to the most brilliant view of the blue ocean below. The sensation of being on top of the world ran through him.
“This way, sir,” the guard said.
Johnson followed the guard to Grayson’s office. The man opened the door and Johnson crossed the room. Grayson stood from behind his desk and extended his hand.
“Good you could make it,” Grayson said.
Johnson wrung his hands. His nervousness and frustration built. In exasperation, he blurted, “Sir, what do you need? I have other appointments.”
Grayson turned and glared. His tailored Armani suit displayed his muscled arms, chest, back, and shoulders. He was much bigger than his largest guard.
“Do you? Are they as generous in funding your cause as I am?”
Johnson looked at Grayson’s feet. “No sir. They’re not that important.”
“Good. I need more prisoners to mine on Mars. The preliminary projects are going well. With more, we’ll be able to establish the settlements quicker.”
“More? That’s not possible. I’ve freed as many prisoners as I can to prevent more ethical protests from occurring. Besides, training is expensive.”
“Since when are you worried about the finances? I’ve always covered the costs.”
“But I just had seventy men released to you last year for your Deimos project.”
Grayson nodded. “I know. Something’s amiss there.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve not received any communication from Dr. Frank Carter in over a week. Perhaps their satellite transmission is on the fritz. I don’t know. But I need to train another seventy prisoners, just in case.”
“Mr. Grayson, exactly what are you trying to accomplish?”
Grayson frowned.
Johnson cleared his throat. “I thought your goal was to settle Mars and establish a civilization.”
“It is.”
“Why not start recruiting qualified people to settle Mars instead of more prisoners?”
“We must set the groundwork first. Why endanger decent, honest people with the drudgery required to establish housing and businesses? You know how overpopulated the prison system is. I remove them by employing them on Mars. They are paid excellent wages and deeded land once we’ve succeeded in settling outside the mines.”
“So you’re proposing to later settle decent people with the ex-cons inhabiting Mars?” Johnson asked. “I don’t believe you’ll find too many eager people wanting to neighbor with the criminals doing your groundwork.”
“Even the worst of men can be broken through labor,” Grayson said.
“Careful,” Johnson replied. “I’m already leading the council to believe that you aren’t enacting slave labor.”
Grayson laughed. “Whatever it takes.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I,” Grayson said with an intense glare. “Keep me happy, and your seat in Congress remains safe. Understood?”
Johnson stared at his feet. “Yes, sir.”
“Now, what help has the CIA been in tracking Matthews?”
“He’s off the radar,” Johnson replied. “Not a trace of him. But it’s highly unlikely that he’d even attempt to infiltrate your organization again.”
“Never underestimate an enemy.”
Johnson nodded. I’ve thought the same thing for years.
Grayson turned toward the large windows and crossed his arms, watching the ocean waves. “Should they discover Matthews’ whereabouts, have them contact me.”
“Yes, sir.”
Johnson stood a few minutes longer.
“That’s all, senator. Contact the state warden and let me know when I can expect the prisoners to prep for the mines.”
Johnson turned and exited Grayson’s office.