Wired - Douglas E. Richards [30]
“Psychiatric evaluations?” added Desh accusingly, recalling how his soul had been laid bare during the few sessions he had had with the military Psychiatrist after his team had been butchered in Iran. Of all the records to which she had access, this would be the biggest violation of privacy of them all.
Kira lowered her eyes and then nodded uncomfortably. “I’m sorry,” she said softly, appearing once again to be completely sincere. “From the moment you were assigned, I studied everything I could get my hands on to understand you as a person. Including that. I won’t lie to you.” She lifted her eyes and locked them onto Desh’s once again. “I studied the others Connelly sent after me as well,” she said. “Just as thoroughly. But they weren’t what I was looking for.” She leaned toward Desh intently. “You are. I’m sure of it.”
The corners of Desh’s mouth turned up in a small, ironic smile, and he shook his head in clear disbelief.
“I know, I know,” she said in frustration, “Flattery is also a tool of a master manipulator, and you’re not buying it. Be that as it may, it happens to be the truth.” She paused. “Look … David … you yourself pointed out I could have easily recruited others with your skill set.”
Desh said nothing, but silently bristled at her use of his first name.
“So why would I choose you and go to such pains to abduct you,” continued Kira, “putting myself at this kind of risk, instead of just calling a mercenary—or one of my terrorist friends for that matter—on the phone?”
“Because I have special qualities,” he said skeptically. “I get it.”
Kira frowned. “I knew this wouldn’t be easy,” she said resignedly. “There’s only one way I can ever hope to gain your trust. I know that. So I’ll tell you what, when I’ve said my piece, I’ll remove your cuffs and give you my gun. If that doesn’t demonstrate my sincerity, nothing will.”
Desh didn’t respond. She was trying to get him to lower his guard by giving him false hope, to perhaps stave off an escape attempt, but it wouldn’t work. He would believe this when he saw it. In the meanwhile, he would continue to assume that if he didn’t escape he was a dead man.
Still, he couldn’t help but be intrigued by the unexpected course of the discussion. “Okay,” he said finally, pretending to believe her. “It’s a deal. By all means begin your persuading. Tell me your version of the truth.” He pulled at his restraints and added bitterly, “Consider me a captive audience.”
She winced at this; regret at having to restrain him etched in every line of her face. Her body language seemed totally genuine, and Desh realized she was as brilliant an actor as she was a biologist.
“The information you have on my childhood and schooling is correct,” she began softly. “Except my parents really did die in a tragic accident—I had nothing to do with it.”
“The report never said you did.”
“But you assumed it, didn’t you?”
Desh remained silent.
“Of course you did,” she said knowingly.
“Are we going to argue about what I assumed, or are you going to make your case?”
Kira sighed. “You’re right,” she said unhappily. She visibly gathered herself and then resumed. “I excelled in school and later found my calling in gene therapy. I was told by many in the field I had the kind of insight and intuition that comes around once in a generation. Over time, I came to believe it myself. In fact, I became convinced that I could truly change the world. Make a dramatic impact on medicine.” She paused. “But the key to making an impact is choosing the right problem to solve. I wanted to tackle the most challenging problem right from the start. At the risk of sounding immodest,” she added, “if you come to realize you’re Da Vinci, you owe it to the world to paint masterpieces rather than cartoons.”
“Let me guess,” said Desh. “You’re going to tell me the project you chose has nothing to do with bio-weapons.”
“Of course not,” she insisted, irritated. “I decided to solve the ultimate