It was that same day in the evening that she first re sponded to Devan Gaudet's entreaties. He was the most sin ister man she had ever come across. Chellis hired him for things that he seldom talked about, but she knew that Gaudet was shrewd and ruthless. That night she went to bed with him and thus began the long plot to dethrone Chellis. Thereafter she learned that there were men even more ruthless than Chellis, and Gaudet was one of them.
Chellis had been unwise in creating trusts to hold the stock of Grace Technologies, making his wife and Benoit trustees if he became incapacitated. Benoit, Chellis's wife, and Gaudet saw to it that he was incapacitated, using the genetic brain- altering technology developed by Grace Technologies in Ma laysia to turn him into a quivering mass. Although it certainly wasn't the purpose for which the technology was developed, the personality transformation was astounding.
When Benoit and Gaudet got control of Grace Technologies, the world was their oyster-except for a man called Sam. Unfortunately, Benoit didn't know that this Sam fellow hated Gaudet as much as she hated Chellis. Sam, she learned, lived in a shadow world of spies and treachery. When Sam built the case that put her in prison, Gaudet did what he always did-protected himself and killed his enemies. Apparently, Sam was the exception to the formula since Gaudet had never been able to carry out the second half of his equation.
Benoit blamed herself for her lot in life and had carefully traced the bad choices. The difficulty was that making only inherently good decisions, if indeed she could recognize them, would not get her out of this pit. To escape she would have to resort to the more troubling of her talents and then, like a caterpillar that transforms itself into a butterfly, she would use her dark side to produce the light. Her task would require more cleverness than was common even for her, more guile than she had yet displayed, and in the end more goodness.
Circumstances would soon make the transformation a possibility. The French government had shown signs of be ginning an all-out campaign to solicit her assistance. She had started the process by giving them a meaningless hint, disclosing that the key to the riddle was nicknamed Chaperone, a protein molecule with a number of anomalies. Predictably, this had sparked their imagination, and for good reason: since Louis Pasteur, the French had not been good at anything ex cept wine and women. On this point she knew she was per haps a bit jaded, but it seemed that her countrymen were possessed of a kind of brilliance that enabled them only to do stupid things faster. As the government realized that mas tering the vector technology, and particularly Chaperone, would quench its thirst for greatness, its representatives would come to her. And she would be ready.
The familiar sound of the hall door slamming preceded a set of footsteps.
"They're coming," said the girl from the next cell.
Benoit gathered herself and waited obediently by the cell door.
They threw the switch and the door slammed open. As she walked down the corridor, some of the inmates called out greetings; a few unleashed curses. There were three more sets of doors and two corridors before she arrived in the long hall where prisoners usually waited for the visitation room. There were tables and one could sit with visitors under the watchful eyes of the guards. But this time there were no lines, no other prisoners. Her cousin Colette worked for important people and could arrange special visits.
Colette was the chief of staff for Charles Montpellier, a well-known member of France's Senate, le Senat. Although Colette did not approve of Benoit's chosen course in life, she nevertheless acknowledged that Benoit had a heart that seemed to draw those who loved life and some of its ex cesses. Benoit was the rascal that people liked despite them selves. That would include a fair portion of the French legislature, where she was well known to several members.
When she entered the visitation room, Colette managed a slight smile. Benoit knew her cousin hated it here. All the ta bles were bare metal, likewise the chairs and the walls equally stark and heartlessly mechanical.
Benoit sat down across the table from her cousin and, for a moment, they just stared as if looking across a gulf. And indeed they were. Two different worlds would collide and then, after a few short minutes, separate.
"I have a plan to change my life," Benoit began.
"Too bad the men who put you here aren't around to help."
"Well, they aren't and they wouldn't. I've got to do this myself."
"Does it involve committing more crimes?"
"I am in a bottomless pit. To get out I must climb over certain people."
"Speak plainly."
"I will use the greed and the lust in others to further my own advancement, but I myself shall not be taken with greed or take any ill-gotten gain. When I reach my goal, I will have love and a law-abiding life."
"What about before you reach this goal?"
"I cannot promise perfection in a world of flaws. I need your help, Colette. I will not endanger you. I will ask you to do things that will enable me to catch demons, but I will catch no angels because I have no angel bait."
"You speak in metaphors. I think Americans would say bullshit. But so far you have never dragged me into your problems. You have destroyed only yourself."
"You know that the French government, now that they have taken over Grace Technologies, must be desperate to understand the genetic research that I helped administer before they put me in here."
"I know very little about it really, but what if that is true?"
"If I helped them get it-if I did a great service for the government, could I get a pardon? This technology is very valuable. There are the parts Gaudet has. I can get those. There are the parts even Gaudet doesn't have, the part called Chaperone. I can get that as well."
"We have gone over this. I think there is no way for you to get a pardon."
"I hear the SDECE is paying me a visit."
"That is not about a pardon. It is because they desperately want your help. It is the beginning. Maybe years from now if things go well with them, you could get something. House arrest they call it, or something like that. Don't think about a pardon, you will only be disappointed. Many French shareholders lost a fortune when Grace Technologies went under and they are angry. And I am telling you, do not try to fool the government."
"I will tell the SDECE the truth. From you I want to know Admiral Francois Larive's prospects for political advancement. I want to know where his strengths lie, what position he might next hold, and who would be responsible for getting him there. I want to know the same for an agent, Jean- Baptiste Sourriaux. In the not-too-far distant future I may want you to send certain e-mails to America."
A guard came in.
"Time to go back."
She would wait for the Service de Documentation Exterieure et de Contre Espionnage, commonly the SDECE, and she would hope-for without hope she would die.
Grady was dressed in her gym shorts and sweatshirt and was ready to go out the door for a late-afternoon workout in lieu of a lunch break. She was taking a last look at her desk; then she looked up from her cubicle to see Sam walking toward her with a gray-haired, mustached man. Her gut tight ened. Never had she met anyone inside this building that wasn't part of the company. And certainly she had never met visiting dignitaries while she wore her gym clothes.
Harry growled a low growl.
That was even rarer.
"Grady, I would like you to meet Figgy Meeks, officially Alexander H. Meeks. One day I will have the pleasure of telling you how Figgy got his moniker."
"I'll blow you to hell, Sam," Figgy said.
"This is Harry, he kind of adopts Grady when I leave and he's my pal and he's smarter than most people."
Figgy nodded at Harry, but Harry left the cube, most likely for Sam's desk.