Chapter Six - PARIS BLUES

Six

PARIS BLUES

Paris, spring 1990

In a dimly lit underground chamber in the guts of Paris, a group of laboratory-suited individuals sat around an oval table. Their words were muffled by the freezing cold air of the surrounding vaults and the antiseptic masks on their faces. The soft neon light disclosed well-groomed men and women of middle age underneath the scrubs. The room was sterilized, as required by its function as a microbiology laboratory. The catacombs of Paris hide many terrible secrets: this rendezvous was one of them.

A grim center table had the undivided attention of the symposium. Lying on it was a human-sized glass pod. A body was wrapped in muslin bandages inside this unusual incubator. It looked like a mummy with the shape of a woman. The mummy was alive. Her right hand was moving, signaling ‘yes’ and ‘no’ to questions being posed. Her vacant eyes and shaven head were the only parts of her body that had not been covered in gauze. Electroshock pads were still attached to the skin on her skull. Wires and fiber optic cables connected the pod to a machine at one end of the table.

“Can you hear me?”

The mummy raised her left forefinger slightly.

“She’s come round, Monsieur Harker, she’s come round! We’ve made it! The electroshock didn’t kill this one! We’ve made it!”

The man with glasses spoke with a strong French accent. His eyes were beaming. He stopped the flow of current that was still directed at the woman. The tall man next to him, with chin-length wavy hair tucked under the protective clothing, was Robert Harker. He looked to be in his mid-thirties and was known around the world for many reasons, most particularly for being one of the most handsome men ever to grace the planet. He raised his hands and pushed them forward. Silence fell on the room at his gesture.

“Hush, Francois,” he said, “we’re not there yet. She needs to survive the first 24 hours before we can sing our victory song. Marion, what is her temperature?”

“42 degrees, Robert. It’s been decreasing slowly and steadily. Her brain activity is within normal parameters. No damage has resulted from the procedures. The lobotomy was successful. Likely, she has retained a comprehension of the basic rudiments of language, but hopefully she has no notion of her identity anymore.”

“Let’s see...,” Harker said turning to the mummy. “Who are you?”

Silence was unbearable and still unbridgeable for the mummy-like girl: it sucked her in like water down the drain, vacuumed into a void. She lied still. Far too much space was in her head. A big blank descended when the question was asked. She didn’t have a clue as to who she was. She understood sound and nothing else. The voice that was talking to her was soothing. It could take her home. She was pure matter ready to be forged by the whims of her onlookers, by the sound of that voice. All she could understand were the sensations she was experiencing. She enjoyed breathing, shallowly at first, and then more deeply. Yes was yes and no was no. They had told her so repeatedly when all she could see was that big bright light. Now she wanted to sleep again. Rest. Forget even more. No need to hold on to any memory. She was new, she was the Chosen One. Her body hurt. Her limbs were heavy. Her eyes couldn’t focus on any shape in particular. She had only definitions but nothing to attach them to yet. She wondered if she was a larva, a parasite. No: she was a girl, almost a woman, the Chosen One. Their voices had told her, their words had programmed her. All was dark now and she needed to rest.

Marion Le Blanc started fiddling with the machinery. A red button came on. All faces turned to look at what she was doing. She addressed the man wearing glasses.

“We’re losing her, Francois. Brain activity is deteriorating. She has a regular pulse though. No panic, the situation is under control. Pump more morphine and give her more anesthetic. That’s it. There should be no major brain damage and she’s likely to have retained all of her organ functions perfectly. Let’s wait and see... my God... I can’t believe we’ve made it... I’ll believe it when she’ll be walking and talking... my God, my good God... we’ve made it, it’s a miracle!”

This was the most secretive and confidential clinical trial that Three-D Pharmaceuticals had ever run. Indeed, it wasn’t really a clinical trial, although that was how they had labeled it from the beginning, in case any information leaked. So far so good; twenty years of ground breaking research and preparation had gone into perfecting the study. Many ‘guinea pigs’ had succumbed to the perils of this adventurous experiment. The world needed it now more than ever - Kassandra Morgante had to be stopped before she could develop her self-healing powers and grow ever-lasting cells in her body.

No pharmaceutical company could survive if the element of immortality and viral invulnerability were introduced into the minds and bodies of the human species. Everything would blend into oneness. The very foundation upon which the industry was based would be shaken irrevocably. The course of history would be changed forever. Fear and death would disappear over time, and Time itself would eventually come to an end. No one, but a fool, would want this.

Duality was much better than oneness, and Harker knew this. Human evolution was based upon struggle and making the right self-preserving choices. Some may maintain that love is nature’s preference. In the third dimension, however, a species’ endurance doesn’t result from love. It depends on fear, which had so far driven the Survival of the Fittest of the Earth. Kassandra had to be wiped out, or at least counteracted. That’s why Harker had devised an antidote to her: her own personal, custom-build nemesis.

He turned pensive for a second as he remembered the place of his origin. He could never go back there, to that plane where love rules. Wasn’t love the force that had begun to erode his angel race after all? Too much love can wipe matter away, and sweep life into nothingness. It was starting to happen on Venus when he had taken his bet. He wouldn’t let this happen on Earth, his adoptive planet for the past number of millennia. The last two thousand years had been a greater challenge, as more and more Beings of Light had started to incarnate as Earthlings. This was raising the Planet’s frequency, and humans were starting to live longer and better lives. But it was Kassandra’s birth that was the real problem. She was equipped to succeed: she was designed to be the first immortal human.

Something needed to be done before that could happen. Harker had sided with the most money-driven, mercenary pharmaceutical giant in order to counteract the Arkadian Plan. Humans had to continue to suffer and die. Their collective fear had kept him in vogue for so long, and it had given him the strength to last for all these centuries. The Lord of the Ego, the Angel of Pain, the Most Beautiful in the Legion of Angels, or Monsieur Harker as they called him now. He had introduced the Goddess Games on Earth after all, and didn’t want any new rule to be introduced.

His amber eyes were fixed on Charlotte Mechant’s body: it was half the size it had been a year before, on the night he had enticed her to the lab. She was an easy prey. A spotty seventeen year-old girl, a problem teenager who’d run away from her family in the countryside of Bourgogne to the French capital in search of work, love and a new body. She was overweight then, verging on obese. Depression and an extreme need for attention were her constant companions. She thought she had found the help she badly needed at Monsieur Harker’s Hypnosis Centre on the Boulevard du Mont Parnasse. The clinic was expensive and lavishly decorated, with marble floors and antique tapestries on the walls. Charlotte fell in love with Bob Harker the second she saw him. All women did; and he knew that she would also follow suit.

Now she was lying on the table, covered in bandages and shaved head to toe, having undergone ninety-seven different surgeries and hours of electroshock at various degree of intensity. She definitely had the body she had always wanted at last. It would be revealed once she had healed. He knew that she would succeed: he had created his own personal ‘anti-Kassandra’. From this point onwards, the efforts of the Luciferian Tribe he led could concentrate on making Charlotte believe she was like Kassandra, so that they could swap places, and Kassandra would hopefully forget who she really was. The former would be difficult. The latter would be borderline impossible.

There was a lot of cunning in Harker’s plan, but he had to entrap Kassandra before her powers could grow any stronger. It would take some hard work to defy her mighty helpers. The Tribe had always enjoyed a challenge anyway. Harker wanted Kassandra for himself. He could seduce her to, though somehow he felt reluctant at that possibility. Nevertheless, he needed to de-activate her to fulfil his own personal prophecy and create the world he wanted.

She was becoming a real problem. Her energy was rising and reaching towards the Core Signature, the harmonious frequency of creation. She could raise the consciousness of those she interacted with by her mere presence. This kind of shift in perception could bring about a change in the cellular make-up of those who experienced it. In due course she would end up tuning into her Core Signature, bringing her chakras into alignment and prompting to the kundalini to rise and dance. When the 12-strand DNA replaced her normal 2-strand one, she would become an angel.

This could be contagious, too. That’s why the Tribe was keeping close watch. So far, her escapades into her angelic essence had been short-lived and inadvertent. She didn’t realize they were coming from her and thought of them as external experiences generated by the environment, or as messages from the natural world. Harker didn’t want this to happen, and certainly not while she was in Paris.

* * * *

When Kassandra, who at this stage was an undergraduate student at Edinburgh University, arrived in Paris, the atmosphere changed. She brought Light and good energy, and the city hated this. As usual, we, the Arkadian Masters, followed her to shelter her from the snares of the Dark Forces. After all, the place she was visiting was the hub of all Luciferian activities, the capital of the Dark Angel, the environment in which the deepest wound of the Earth was kept permanently bleeding. Evil lurked freely everywhere, in the lushest of disguises. However, Kassandra hadn’t noticed. Her focus, as usual, was on love, which she was seeking actively once again. This time she was hoping to find it in the romantic surroundings of the French capital, sitting in a café or strolling along the Seine. Letizia was her travelling companion. The girls’ friendship was still as strong as when they were growing up together in Northern Italy.

The official excuse for their visit to Paris was that Kassandra wanted to look at some early Merovingian manuscripts in the Bibliothèque Nationale. She was in the third year of her Medieval History degree and had managed to get a travel bursary for this purpose. She and Letizia had already been through a number of adventures together, and they were adamant that this was going to be another one of them. They wanted to explore new ground. April was a good month to do just that. So they boarded a train in Venice one evening, and found themselves in Paris on the following day. They were both 22 then. They took a twin room in a hostel in Saint Michel. Breakfast was included. The expanse of the city stretched out ahead for them to explore. Everything was possible.

The first few days were spent admiring the artistic treasures of the Louvre and the Jeu de Paume, and the quirky beauty of the Pompidou Centre. Kassandra wanted to leave the manuscripts until later in their two-week stay. On the third morning, the two friends decided to have an early breakfast and hit the town without any further ado.

“Kassie, wake up! It’s sunny outside! Let’s get moving now.”

“Letizia... what time is it?”

“7 on the dot. I woke up over an hour ago... can’t you hear that?”

“What? I’m too groggy... ah, yeah... someone’s singing... underneath our window... down in the alleyway... beautiful voice...”

“Beautiful my arse! It woke me up when I really needed a rest. We have a full day ahead of us and I wanted to feel recharged this morning... not serenaded!”

The sun was shining through the curtains. Kassandra got out of bed, put on a sweater and went to open the window.

“Bonjour! Hey there! Good morning to you and thanks for the music!”

A young man in a cowboy hat and a long suede coat was leaning on the brick wall of the back street, strumming his guitar and humming a bluesy tune. He sounded American, at least when he sang. It was hard to make out much of what he was singing though, as his words were mumbled. The song was about getting a girl, taking her away from Boulevard du Montparnasse and to the man who loved her. A strange blues with a Parisian twist, probably his own composition. He stopped for a short second to greet Kassandra with the flash of a perfect smile. There was something familiar about him, she thought, though she was sure they had never met.

“Hello...,” he said looking up absent-mindedly. His blond hair fell on his shoulders in sun-kissed waves.

“Definitely Californian, definitely a surfer,” Kassandra told Letizia as her eyes absorbed the vision of this suntanned troubadour who looked more like an athlete than a travelling musician. “I have found what I’d come looking for in Paris!”

His chiseled face was unique: he had blue eyes and slightly Asian features. He continued to play his music, keeping his eyes on the girl who was leaning out of the window in a vest and shorts. She was even more attractive than he’d guessed at first glance. He had seen her the day before in the breakfast room. Stunning. He had felt a drive, almost a compulsion, to get to know her. Conor, that was his name, was always on the lookout for the chance of a romantic liaison. She fit the part: exotic, innocent and young as she was. How old could she be? Eighteen perhaps? He was a man of experience at twenty-three, and well-travelled too. Was she Spanish? A tourist in the city of love. He had tricks up his sleeves and he wanted to show her. His fingers could touch a young woman in the most exquisite way. He could feel her trembling under his hands already. She had to fall for him: she had to be enthralled by his charms.

“Gonna get your girl, gonna take her down...”, he was singing.

“Are you staying in this hostel?,” Kassandra asked him. He nodded in reply.

“Well, see you downstairs at breakfast then!”

He smiled and continued with his song. Letizia appeared at the window and slammed it closed. She raised her middle finger to him as she pulled the curtains. Conor remained as if transfixed in the alleyway, playing his guitar for a few more minutes. Then he woke up from his trance and couldn’t quite understand what he was doing in the backstreet so early in the morning. He felt very sleepy and tired all of a sudden. All he could do was go back to the dorm and hope for a bit of sleep, despite the fact that everybody else would be waking up.

“What did I smoke last night? What did I drink? Where did I go,” he wondered.

 A sensation of panic and fear started spreading from his head to his heart, finally reaching his guts. Or was it hunger?  Perhaps he should go and get a bite. Breakfast would be served in half an hour in the hostel. Food or no food, the fact remained that he had no recollection of what he’d done the night before and how he ended up playing underneath a window at dawn. Whose window was it?

 “Mad trip, man! I’m running on empty here... gotta ground myself again, gonna get some sleep, man!”

The two girls emerged from the luxury of their twin room into the hostel’s cafeteria where many of the guests were already busy with breakfast. Kassandra’s hair was in a ponytail. She wore a miniskirt and a sweatshirt that she had selected carefully in the hope of getting the attention of the weird but gorgeous serenading dude. Heads turned as she walked in. She looked around the room: he wasn’t there. Her heart sank. She put some food and a coffee on her tray and went to sit with her friend at the end of one of the long tables, wanting to avoid having to chat with other guests.

“Where is he?”

She was sure she would find him there waiting for her. She always got what she wanted after all, especially with men.

“Kassie, get a grip, he’s probably fast asleep now. He was completely out of his face, didn’t you notice? He wasn’t singing, he was mumbling...”

Letizia was right. Conor hit his bunk bed and fell fast asleep, totally oblivious to any noise around him. He started to dream. He could hear a soothing voice in his sleep, hammering the same words in his head: “Get that girl and bring her to me...” Every cell in his body was acquiescing to that command. He was a man with a mission and failure was not an option. Back in the cafeteria, meanwhile, he was the topic of conversation between the two girls. Kassandra had definitely fallen for his charms.

“But he nodded when I told him I would meet him here... he had the most beautiful face I had ever seen...”

“They all have the most beautiful faces you’ve ever seen, Kassie! And how could you possibly believe him? A total stranger, drunk or something, and that one was definitely from another planet, I tell you. If he’s not sleeping right now, he’s probably walking around the streets of Paris with his guitar, busking to earn some money...”

“Not at 7:30 in the morning! Not when he smiled at me the way he did...”

“You didn’t come to Paris to fall for an American bum, as pretty as he may be, who is likely high on drugs and penniless. You know the reasons why we’re here...”

“Sure, my research... the magical powers of the Merovingians, their divine descent... how I can develop my own powers by following their teachings... but wasn’t he just the cutest man who has ever treaded the Parisian pavements? I want to know him, I have to know him... something is pulling me towards him... Maybe not today, but I’ll keep my eyes peeled and my ears open until I meet him again. I have a feeling he has an important message for me...”

Paris looked enchanted that afternoon. The Seine was calm and majestic, and the Eifel Tower sparkled in the sunshine. The girls went to the Beaubourg to watch the street entertainers. Summer was fast approaching and the weather was perfect for outdoor activities. With an ice cream cone in their hands, Kassandra and Letizia stood in the crowd, watching jugglers and contortionists earn their trade outside the Pompidou Centre. Kassandra’s presence brought a sense of wellbeing to the people standing around her, though they didn’t know she was the reason for their sudden bout of elation. Sunshine and joy were the essence of her youthful being. In this set of circumstances, she would normally thrive and the most incredible adventures could unfold. Provided she didn’t get too enmeshed in her human side that always tended to play havoc with her plans.

Letizia was aware of the oscillations between her friend’s two sides, and was always on the lookout for signs of approaching drama. That was part and parcel of her relationship with the magical girl. She knew of Kassandra’s powers from their early years in Italy. The first miracle she saw her perform was when she witnessed her resuscitate her dead hamster. Kassandra had since tried to teach Lettie how to copy her skills, but to no avail. She nevertheless insisted that such powers were available to one and all, if only one really wanted to achieve the desired result.

“Minds shouldn’t falter in the pursuit of one’s wishes,” she used to say. “You must embrace your heart’s whims with all of your might.”

Letizia didn’t know whether her friend was mad or a genius. She was sure that she wasn’t completely human. However, her non-humanity – whatever that may be – wasn’t her concern. She was far more worried by her friend’s over-blown sentimentality and tendency to fall for the wrong guy. Paris was a dangerous place for both of them. Letizia sensed it and realized that her friend was in denial about it.

We knew that Kassandra’s human side had taken over, and her hormones had driven her to the place wrongly known as the city of love. It was a city of fun, that was a given, but only that. In that very place, love was vulnerable to attacks from the darkness, and mixed messages could be received. Letizia wanted to protect Kassandra without letting her know; thus we could operate through her. Despite Kassandra’s self-centred take on life, Letizia was generous and loyal to her. She didn’t mind: it would all pay off one day.

* * * *

The crowd of spectators was intent on observing the buskers and the street performers. A group of tiny, one-foot tall, almost invisible people gathered around Kassandra and Letizia as they were watching a show. These creatures served their Lord’s orders to a T. They had been sent to steal Kassandra’s wallet, and to test for still-vulnerable areas in her life. As it stood, her mind didn’t falter. Her body was becoming stronger and stronger. Her Core Signature could at times tune into the Sound of Creation in pitch-perfect fashion, so her invulnerability was on the rise. Her physical belongings and physical environs were all that was left for the Darkness to attack. Everything else, it seemed, was impenetrable to an assault from Shadowland and its creatures.

The little people were dark fairies at the service of a very illustrious master: the Prince of Darkness himself, who operated in disguise 1990’s Paris under the name of Robert ‘Bob’ Harker, hypnotherapist supremo. These fairies were only visible to children who had not yet lost the ability to see into the ethereal dimension. These creatures were not really evil. Good and bad are only relevant in the three-dimensional world of duality. As fourth-dimensional beings, they only understood a drive towards action of a type or another. As they belonged to the Dark Side, their inclination was towards the dictates of the ego and their direction was towards a re-enactment of the past.

The Pompidou Centre towered over the crowd, and the crowd towered over the little people. The latter were not worried that a couple of kids had spotted them among the standing spectators. Their only concern was how to approach Kassandra without her noticing. This would be tricky: her second sight was already well developed and she had often caught glimpses of the fourth dimension. If she did see them, her abilities would allow her to break anything created by the Darkness. They couldn’t risk being caught by her eyes.

They had to aim at her Achilles’ heel: her attraction for men. If a handsome man appeared in the Beaubourg, her stellar sensors would diminish, while she tuned into her human side. This would allow the dark fairies to move around her, freely and unnoticed. Her constant focus on men was due to the fact that her star DNA and cells were developing in her body at the same rate as her human hormones. The more she was turning into a star being, or a human angel, the more her human aspects were attracting, and attracted to, their own kind. The struggle in her was still only hinted at during this phase of her life, and not enough for her to have yet noticed.

The little people enlisted the help of one of their human colleagues, Pierre, who was the security guard at the Hypnosis Centre. As an initiate into the Mysteries of Lucifer, he was the ideal candidate for the purpose; all muscles and equipped with a handsome, chocolate-box-type of face. As soon as he walked past the girls, Kassandra’s eyes were glued on him and not on the show. He stopped to stand next to them, skimming her arm with his. Her hormones jumped around her endocrine system sending her far from subtle reproductive signals she couldn’t ignore. She turned to look at him. He smiled. She felt his thoughts travel to her breasts and down to her genitals. She felt instantly aroused.

 He was very attractive. Not too tall and his face was as cute as a button. He had the same colorings as she: dark brown hair and green eyes. His muscles were well defined but not too bulky. He wore a white shirt and a pair of jeans. Letizia was eyeing him, too. The two girls looked at each other and giggled. With one glance, they understood they were ready to play their favorite game: man-teasing. They would make him hot under the collar, simply because they could.

Meanwhile, the little people stood still and observed the three youngsters, ready to intervene as soon as opportunity arose. Pierre started to talk to the girls. He addressed them in English, which surprised Kassandra, given that she and her friend had been talking in Italian next to him.

“This is a great act. The guy can flex and bend his body as if it was made of rubber. It’s like watching something against the laws of physics...”

“It’s remarkable, and a bit freaky,” Letizia said.

Kassandra smiled mysteriously and kept her eyes on the show. She knew that by ignoring a man, his attention would be guaranteed. She was right. An hour later, the three were sitting in a café on Boulevard St. Michel, sipping champagne and talking about things to do in the city. Pierre had offered to be their guide over the next couple of days. If everything went smoothly, Kassandra might bag herself the lovely Californian, while Letizia could find herself in the arms of the cute French man. Love was in the air. Or, more accurately, passion was on the cards. Unbeknown to the girls, however, something more sinister was lurking in the background.

Kassandra’s bag was on the floor under her chair. Perhaps it wasn’t very clever to leave it there as a tantalizing bait for any petty thief in the vicinity. Normally both girls would be a bit more street-wise. The fairies took it easily. When Kassandra’s hand reached under her seat to fetch it, she realized that it was no longer there. They hadn’t noticed anyone approaching them, given they were sitting in a corner and her chair was next to the adjoining walls. But the bag had disappeared. And with it, her passport, money and student card. Her heart sank. Now what?

They went first to the Police to report the loss of her identification documents and belongings, and from there to the Italian Embassy. By the time they reached the Police Station, the fairies had already taken her bag to the Catacombs. They wanted to disturb her plans during her stay, and bring her energy down to a lower frequency. The high Core Signature she carried was a real disturbance for the Luciferian Tribe, whose members needed a much lower and denser vibe to thrive. In addition, the bag was covered in her DNA: which would be very useful for Monsieur Harker’s experiments. They also wanted to put their hands on her ID. It may be handy in the future. Luck was on their side; they also found her diary. Their boss would be delighted.

* * * *

Kassandra, Letizia and Pierre made their way back to the girls’ hostel. Kassandra felt upset and very vulnerable. She was in a hostile environment, surrounded by unfriendly forces. Normally she could dismiss this nonsense with a blink of her long-lashed eyes, but it didn’t seem to work this time. Her feelings were all over the place and she couldn’t think straight. She wanted to be held and protected. She phoned her adoptive father. Lord Hughes arranged for money to be sent to a bank in the city where she could collect it. It would take a couple of days so she would have to survive with some cash borrowed from Letizia. Yet it wasn’t money she was worried about. Something else was draining her soul and her Life Force. She needed a fix of love. As soon as she got out of the phone booth in the cafeteria, the troubadour-surfer crossed her path.

“Hello there! Where were you this morning? I came to the cafeteria but you weren’t here!”

He had an Irish accent, to her surprise.

“I was here! I left around ten to go sightseeing,” she said. “Where were you? By the way, my name is Kassandra. Nice singing this morning. What’s your name?”

“Conor. Thank you. Nice to meet you. Are you English?”

“I’m Italian by birth but my parents are from Sussex.”

“Ah! What brings you to Paris?”

“You!”

She was her cheeky, assertive self again. They were flirting, as expected. Talking to Conor, her confused state of mind started to ease off. This man’s presence was mellow and calming. Destiny must have sent him.

She took him by the hand and brought him to the table where Letizia and Pierre were sitting. “Come join me and my friends for a bite.”

Two couples were formed as the evening stretched into the night. After dinner, they went for a walk around the neighborhood. Kassandra and Conor talked about Ireland. She’d never been to the country but was keen to find out about the spirituality of its people. The place had a strong connection with the soul of the land, unlike the majority of Western countries. She was intrigued.

Conor had a great affinity for ancient spiritual sites. He described himself as a follower of the ancient druidic religion. One of the reasons for his visit to Paris, apart from busking, was to explore its Catacombs. He felt a strong call towards this area and sensed that it emanated a heavy dark force. Kassandra herself had not been aware of it until that very day. She proceeded to relate the events of that afternoon. Conor told her that he felt that that she was at risk in Paris.

“The Dark Forces are after you. I’m speaking through my second sight. You have to trust me on that. There is something in this city which wants to hurt you, which wants to take you away from the man you were born to love and from the very purpose of your life.”

She believed him. She knew that it was we, the Masters, who were talking through Conor’s second sight. But she didn’t know that Harker was also using him as a puppet in his scheming.  Kassandra was in great danger. Fortunately, Lord Ralph’s money arrived two days later. Kassandra took the first plane to Scotland. She didn’t keep in touch with Conor. Their paths were destined to cross again, however, when she moved to Ireland three years later.

Paris, winter 1991

The lab technician couldn’t hide his enthusiasm. “These cells are remarkably resilient. Marion, come and look at them through this microscope. They have multiplied again and recreated the tissue. The radioactive bombardment hasn’t destroyed or transmuted them. They have managed to maintain the shape they had before irradiation.”

Men and women in white coats worked diligently at their assays, checking results and entering them in their log books. Due to the highly confidential nature of the study  that was being conducted, the Director and the Research Committee had decided that the experiment should not take place in their laboratories in Switzerland, but at the secret location deep in the Parisian catacombs, in an area so long closed-off that it had become forgotten. No government was informed. The very best scientists from all around the world were recruited to offer their skills to the project. They each signed a one-year contract with a special clause. To ensure the confidentiality of the study, they all had to agree to undergo neurological laser therapy at the end of their tenure. The procedure ensured that any memory associated with this experiment would be wiped away.

Marion was the only person among them who would be working throughout the project up to its completion. Her credentials were impeccable: she was married to the Director of Three-D Pharmaceuticals. Her colleagues didn’t know and she would never let it transpire either. Marion and Bob Harker had been married for over thirty years. She was in her late sixties but looked half her age. She didn’t know her husband’s actual age. He said he had stopped counting when he got bored. The truth was a secret he had shared with her, and which she would keep until she died. Robert Harker was immortal. She had married the devil. He was the real thing. Her first reaction had been one of deep terror. In the end, however, she had come to consider meeting him as the best event in her life.

Robert was involved in many activities, from medical research to financial investment. He was also the founder of the Hypnosis Centre on the Boulevard du Montparnasse. It had opened at the height of the student revolution, in the early part of 1968. A regular figure on the student barricades, Harker had attracted a significant number of followers. He was looking for candidates who wanted to learn how to expand their minds and reach higher levels of awareness. Many artists, musicians and poets of the time started to attend his workshops in Montparnasse. Rumors of his immortality had started to circulate then.

Once a promising research fellow at the prestigious Santé Research Institute, Marion’s path had crossed with Robert’s on campus in 1968. She’d never seen such an attractive man before. Everything about him oozed charisma: his voice, his mannerisms, the way he swept his chin-length fringe from his face. He looked like a Victorian character: like Hanno from the Buddenbrooks, or Dorian Gray of the famous picture fame. As with all women wooed by him, she too fell in love the minute her eyes met his. He loved her too, in his own liberal way. She had that quality he most admired in people: intelligence. Beauty wasn’t as important. It could be recreated through surgical procedures. That had been the case with Marion and many of Robert’s closest female friends. Intelligence, however, and at the level with which she was endowed, could not be solely reproduced at will.

Robert wanted to create an immortal human by chemical processes. Marion’s pioneering knowledge of cloning techniques in plants and animals were her ticket to his heart. Thirty odd years on, the two were still the best of partners. Like all couples, they were trying for a baby. But not in an ordinary way. They wanted an immortal baby. This would take some serious work. Marion applied herself in the lab with religious discipline. After many years of research, they were finally making some headway.

The experiment concerned tissue cloning. Initially, the research team’s efforts concentrated simply on deriving a population of cells from a single cell. Success rates had exceeded their wildest expectations, so attempts were made at reproductive cloning through somatic cell nuclear transfer. The purpose of their research was very specific: cloning that one particular individual who had obsessed Harker for the past twenty odd years.

Marion approached the microscope and looked at the Life Force working its magic on the assay. The cells were unscathed and healthy.

“Let me see, Francois. Yes, these cells are perfect. They are alive and reproducing. Monsieur Harker was right: immortality is contained in this DNA. Onto the next step now: reproductive human cloning.”