I sat at a table near one side and ordered the Italienisch from the menu: a cappuccino and a croissant.
A man, dressed in drab casual clothes, entered and took a seat on the far side of the café. Close cropped hair, sunglasses. I had seen him behind me when I changed course and headed down Herrengasse. My shadow.
As I was spreading thick jam on my croissant, I heard someone speak English nearby. A woman, her back to me, was ordering. While most waiters—if not all—could speak enough English, this one was pretending to be without that skill. The woman was struggling. I got up and went over.
“May I help you order?”
She looked up. “Oh…thank you. Yes. I am trying to order this, I think, but I want turkey bacon if they have it.” She pointed to an item on the menu.
Her wrist bore the mark as mine, in the same spot. An exact copy.
I looked up at the waiter, trying to hold my composure and frantically trying to figure a way to make my escape.
“Sir, Diese Frau möchte…” I looked down at the menu, I wasn’t sure of the proper article to use, “Uh, Vitales Frühstück, Bitte. Aber mit Truthahnspeck?” I wasn’t sure that was the right word. “Bitte.”
“Ja, Herr. Frau. Einen Moment.” He bowed his head and left.
“Thank you,” she said. “I know a little German, but he was not willing to meet me halfway.”
“Glad to help. Let me know if you need any more translation services.”
She laughed—a melodious sound, appropriate here, in the city of music—and looked down coyishly at my arm, then jerked upright as a quiet “oh” escaped her lips. I thought I saw a slight sign of panic her eyes. “I should be fine now. Thank you.” She nodded and turned back to the menu, as if perusing for more. Her self-control impressed me.
Under her breath, she said, “Eyes everywhere.”
As I turned, I said, “Kunsthistorisches. Friday afternoon at 13:30.”
As I stepped away, she whispered, “Odysseus and Irus exhibit. Bottom floor. Three exits.”
She was good.
I returned to my table and positioned myself so that the man on the far side could not see my face.
I thought about her pretty brown eyes, rather almond-shaped, and long thick black hair. Her intelligence was apparent in the way she held herself, the way she spoke. Yet there was something else. Something drew me to her. Perhaps the connection of being chosen for the same secretive program. The two ‘subjects.’ Like prisoners of war in the same cell. It could also be that we shared a lot of the same characteristics physically, emotionally, mentally, and psychologically.
Or maybe I was just tired of being alone and would like to have some company.
I’m not sure why I suggested we meet at the museum and was even more surprised that she was in step with me so quickly. We could be risking our participation. And our money.
I smiled to myself. It was unlikely they would kick us out at this stage and start all over again just because of a couple of chance meetings. They needed us.
In the near future, when biotechnology is stretching the limits of ethics and legality, a man, a woman, and a young child are caught up in a heavily funded project based on the work of a brilliant geneticist. But bio-research firms, Big Pharm, governments, and black marketeers see a way to become wealthy and powerful. Kidnappings, payoffs, political intrigue, and murder follow the test subjects, who must decide what to do with the data and the lives that have been destroyed—and find a way to save the child.
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