who was now standing calmly between him and the third thug.
Before Draganov could respond, the third thug lunged at the newcomer, who moved with deceptive casualness. As Draganov watched in disbelief, the thug crumbled to the ground with a gasp of pain as the pipe clattered away into the darkness.
“You wanted to take a left at that last stop sign,” the newcomer continued on as if his interaction with the thug hadn’t really happened. “Walk ten blocks and you’ll see the St. James off to the right. Can’t miss it.”
Draganov stared blankly at the newcomer, and then switched his attention to the other two thugs who were approaching warily.
“But they — ”
“- won’t be bothering you.”
“But — ”
“Hurry along now, doctor. You’re going to be late for your lecture. The lads and I will sort things out here just fine without your help.”
Finally understanding that he’d been rescued from a certain beating and the loss of his briefcase, Draganov hurried down the debris-strewn street. Behind him, in the darkness, he heard another agonized gasp and then the clattering sound of a metal pipe.
The Miracle Grand Convention Hotel Lounge, Bangkok, Thailand
His lecture completed, a less-despondent Dr. Sergei Draganov was sitting alone at a table in the far corner of the lounge, staring gloomily at an expensively-printed menu, when the sound of approaching footsteps and a familiar voice caused his head to snap up sharply.
“May I join you, doctor?”
“You — ?”
The tall newcomer pulled out a chair on the opposite side of the table from Draganov, sat down, and then motioned for a waiter.
Draganov started to say something, but then sat in silence as an attentive waiter quickly appeared.
“Would you like some coffee, doctor? And perhaps a sweet roll?”
Draganov glanced down at the menu in his hand and then tossed it aside with a grimace. “No, it’s much too expensive here — ”
“Nonsense. I’m sure you haven’t eaten anything all morning. It will be my treat.” The newcomer looked up at the waiter. “We’ll have coffee, fruit, and breakfast pastries, please.”
Draganov waited until the waiter disappeared and then leaned across the table toward the newcomer, looking scared.
“That was you who woke me up this morning… the voice on my cell phone?”
The newcomer nodded with a slight smile.
“Then I must know… who are you… why are you here… and why were you following me this morning?” Draganov demanded in a nervous whisper, looking around to see anyone at the surrounding tables was paying any attention to their conversation. No-one seemed to be.
“My name is Emerson. Marcus Emerson,” the newcomer — whose last name was actually Wallis — lied. “And I was at your hotel this morning to make sure you made it to your lecture. I didn’t want to miss it.”
Draganov blinked. “You were there, in the audience?”
“Yes, I was. Why, do you find that surprising?”
“No, not at all,” Draganov stammered quickly, “I mean, you just don’t… seem like a man who… uh… who would be interested in my work.”
“On the contrary, doctor, I find your work to be most fascinating.”
Draganov gulped nervously. “May I ask why?”
Wallis paused while the waiter set the coffee and food on the table, and then smiled as he observed Draganov staring hungrily at the platters filled with fruit and sweet rolls.
“Help yourself, doctor. You’ve had a busy morning. Time for you to relax, enjoy your breakfast, and allow me to do the talking.”
Wallis then sipped casually at his coffee as he watched Draganov fill a plate with fruit and rolls, and begin to eat hungrily. Then, a few moments later, he set his cup down and stared quietly at the Russian scientist until Draganov finally sensed the scrutiny and looked up.
“So tell me, doctor, given the huge potential of your research, and the amount of money your anonymous benefactor initially invested in your facilities, why are you having trouble getting funding?”
Draganov blinked.
“What do you know about my bro — my, uh, b-benefactor?” he stammered.
“Not a great deal.” Wallis shrugged. “Our paths happened to cross on a remote Southeast Asian island several months ago. At some point, you and your research became a topic of conversation.”
“My brother… talked to you — a complete stranger — about my research?” Draganov looked stunned.
Wallis smiled. “Glasses of expensive vodka and remote locations have a way of rapidly creating close friendships.”
“But — do you know where he is now? I haven’t heard from him in… many months.”
“Which is presumably why you’re making a desperate pitch to the investment crowd? Your brother’s money is about to run out?”
Draganov stared at Wallis, seemingly unable to speak.
“I must say I’m not surprised,” Wallis said calmly. “Your brother was clearly a man who took substantial risks in his ‘business endeavors’; risks not necessarily appreciated by the local law enforcement agencies, much less his competitors. I have every reason to think that he was in the process of quickly relocating his operation to a more friendly work environment when we happened to meet.”
Wallis stared directly into Draganov’s horrified eyes for a long moment. “For your sake, and his, I sincerely hope he made it, Dr. Draganov. But I would assume from your lack of communication with him over these past months that he probably… didn’t.”
An ashen-faced Draganov seemed to sink deeper into his chair.
“So is that the problem you’re having with the money crowd? They think you’re too much like your brother? Too willing to gamble against the odds?”
Draganov finally seemed to find his voice.
“The investors do think my approach involves too much risk,” he acknowledged in a raspy soft voice. “They want me to make progress in smaller steps… use a more defined and less variable virus as a transport vehicle… things like that.”
I understand they’re also concerned about your use of something you call ‘transition’ genetics?”
“Yes, that too,” Draganov conceded uneasily.
“Please explain.”
Draganov hesitated, and then began to speak, staring out at the far wall. “Genetic manipulation is traditionally done by altering genetic coding — genes, if you will — in a fertilized or unfertilized egg using precisely constructed segments of DNA. This is relatively easy to do, because you are only working with a single nucleus… the drawback being the length of time it takes for the altered egg to reach adulthood.”
“Yes, I understood that from your lecture.” Wallis nodded. “Go on.”
“Transitional genetics — the protocol I’m using — involves manipulation of that same genetic coding, but in a very young animal that is still in its primary growth stage. The advantage is the relatively short time it takes for the animal to reach adulthood whereupon it can be utilized.
“And the drawback?”
“The huge number of nuclei that must be altered — essentially the entire animal, which means billions of cells at the very least. The transition must be accomplished in a rapid, thorough and precise manner, which is why I use the cold virus and nano-tube technology to replicate and insert the altered DNA segments. That particular virus type is quite effective in its infection process.”
“So are your critics right? Is the procedure too risky?”
Draganov shook his head firmly, finally meeting Wallis’ cold gaze. “No, not at all. There’s been no evidence at all in any of the literature that nano-tube technology is dangerous. They are correct in saying the cold virus can
