Calling on the discipline of his martial arts training, Kurt calmed himself. Within minutes, his muscles began to relax and his quivering stopped. Even his heart rate slowed to less than fifty beats per minute. He knew, because he frequently checked it. When he was fully in control, he got up and went into the video room.
The clock on the wall said it was twelve-forty-one. That meant that Spencer Wingate and Paul Saunders would be in the cafeteria. Kurt sat down and looked up at the bank of monitors. His eyes went to number twelve. Using the keyboard in front of him, he connected the joystick to minicam twelve and began to pan the room. Before finding his bosses, he found Daniel Lowell. Kurt zoomed in. The man was reading a scientific journal while feeding his face, completely oblivious to his surroundings. Across from him was Stephanie’s untouched tray. A slight sneer played on Kurt’s face. He had the man’s girlfriend locked up in his private jail cell after feeling her up, and the man had no clue whatsoever. What a pompous jerk!
Kurt zoomed back out and continued looking for Spencer and Paul. He found them at their usual table and with the usual bevy of female employees. They were jerks as well, since Kurt knew for the most part whom they were screwing, although more for Paul than Spencer, since Paul lived in the compound. To Kurt, most of the men of the world were jerks, including most of his commanding officers when he’d been in the service. It was a burden he had to bear.
Kurt reached for the phone and put in a call to the cafeteria supervisor. When he got her on the phone, he told her to tell Spencer and Paul there was a security emergency that necessitated their immediate presence in his office. He told her to say specifically, “It’s a major problem.” Within seconds of his replacing the receiver, Kurt saw the woman appear on the monitor. She was frantic. She tapped Spencer and Paul on the shoulder in turn and whispered in their respective ears. Both leaped up and, with worried expressions, made a beeline for the exit. Spencer was slightly in the lead, since he was the first one the cafeteria supervisor had approached.
With a few clicks on the keyboard, Kurt brought up the image of the jail cell on the monitor directly in his line of sight and switched his attention to it. Stephanie was pacing back and forth like a caged cat. It was as if she were purposefully taunting him with her body.
Unable to watch another second, Kurt abruptly stood up. He retreated to his desk to rely again on his training to calm himself. By the time Spencer Wingate and Paul Saunders breathlessly arrived, Kurt was back to his stoic self. All he moved was his eyes, as the two fertility doctors rushed up to his desk.
“What’s the major problem?” Spencer demanded. As the titular head of the clinic, Paul yielded to him. Spencer’s complexion was slightly flushed, as was Paul’s. The two men had run all the way from building three, which was more exercise than they were accustomed to. Both were panicked, because Kurt’s message had been the same one he’d communicated back when Federal marshals had besieged the Wingate Clinic in its Massachusetts incarnation.
Kurt enjoyed their anxiety as payback for the scant recognition they gave him for all his efforts with getting the new clinic’s security in line. He gestured for his bosses to be silent, then motioned for them to follow him as he led the way down to the video room. Once they were inside, he shut the door. He gestured for them to sit down in the two chairs present while he remained standing. He eyed them while basking in their anxious, undivided attention.
“What the hell is the emergency?” Spencer demanded, losing patience. “Out with it!”
“We had a break-in involving the egg room,” Kurt said. “An obvious espionage situation that has compromised the egg-procurement program.”
“No!” Paul exclaimed. He sat forward in his seat. The egg program was pivotal in his plans for the future of the clinic and his reputation.
Kurt nodded, enjoying drawing out the moment.
“Who?” Paul demanded. “Was it an inside job?”
“Yes and no,” Kurt responded ambiguously without elaborating.
“Come on!” Spencer complained. “This isn’t a goddamn guessing game.”
“The perpetrator was caught perusing the Oocyte Register and apprehended.”
“Good God!” Paul blurted. “This person was actually looking at the Register?”
Kurt pointed to the central monitor just above the counter. Stephanie had retreated back to sit on the iron cot. Unknowingly, she was looking almost directly into the minicam. It was clear she was distraught.
For a few minutes, silence reigned in the video room. All eyes stared at Stephanie.
“How come she’s not moving?” Spencer asked. “She’s all right, isn’t she?”
“She’s fine,” Kurt assured him.
“Why is her cheek bleeding?”
“She fell en route to the cell.”
“What did you do to her?” Spencer demanded.
“She wasn’t being cooperative. She needed a bit of encouragement.”
“Good Lord!” Spencer exclaimed. All in all, this was less of an emergency than he had feared, but it was still bad enough. “How come her arms are behind her back?” Spencer asked.
“She’s handcuffed,” Kurt said.
“Handcuffed?” Spencer questioned. “Isn’t that a bit heavy-handed? Although, with your history, we should be thankful you didn’t shoot her on the spot.”
“Spencer,” Paul said. “We should be thankful for Kurt’s vigilance, not critical.”
“It is standard operating procedure to cuff an individual when they are apprehended,” Kurt snapped.
“Yeah, but she’s in a jail cell, for Christ’s sake,” Spencer said. “You could have taken the handcuffs off.”
“Forget the handcuffs for the moment,” Paul suggested. “Let’s worry about the implications of her behavior. I don’t like the fact that she was in the egg room, much less having her looking at the register. She’s been less than complimentary about our operation, particularly in regard to our stem-cell therapy.”
“She is a bit high and mighty,” Spencer admitted.
“I don’t want her upsetting our oocyte program, not that there’s a lot she can do here in the Bahamas,” Paul said. “It’s not like we’re back in the States. But she could still make waves and get us some bad publicity, which might impinge on our uterine-rental recruitment efforts and then our bottom line. We’ve got to make sure that doesn’t happen.”
“Maybe that’s why Lowell and she are here,” Spencer suggested. “Maybe this treatment rigmarole they are doing is all an elaborate ruse. They could be industrial spies, intent on stealing our thunder.”
“They’re for real,” Paul said.
“How can you be so sure?” Spencer said, looking away from Stephanie’s image on the monitor and directing his attention to Paul. “You’re rather gullible when it comes to dealing with real researchers.”
“I beg your pardon!” Paul snapped.
“Oh, don’t be so sensitive,” Spencer responded. “You know what I mean. These people have real Ph.D.s.”
“Which might account for their lack of creativity,” Paul responded. “You don’t need a Ph.D. to do groundbreaking science. But, be that as it may, I can assure you that these people are not faking what they are doing. I’ve seen with my own eyes that this HTSR is impressive.”
“They could still be fooling you. That’s my point. They are professional researchers, and you’re not.”
Paul glanced away for a moment to keep from getting mad. Spencer was the last person in the world who should be suggesting he was an authority on who was and who wasn’t a researcher. Spencer knew nothing about research. He was a mere businessman in doctor’s clothing-and not even that good a businessman.
After a calming breath, Paul looked back at his titular boss and said, “I know they are doing real, honest-to-goodness, goal-directed cellular manipulations, because I took some of the cells into which they had patched some of Christ’s DNA. The cells are amazing and extremely viable. I’ve used them myself to see if they work, and they do.”