Chapter 15 – Thickening plot
Middleton – 8am
James Possible looked up from his breakfast newspaper as his daughter entered the kitchen. Kim was dressed in her signature green crop-top and dark jeans. It had only been 36 hours since she had agreed to lay off the Dementor search, but already she was chafing at the bit, buzzing with nervous energy. Her reasons for wanting to find Dementor were mainly personal. She needed to find Cyrus Bortel and to understand more about how the Moodulator determined who you reacted to. And – equally as important – why she was getting so angry with Bonnie, and even Monique, despite having had the infernal device removed.
Although she had assured Ron and Betty that she was okay now, the truth was that she was anything but. She still felt guilty about messing up Ron's love life, and felt an almost physical pull to apologize to him and Tara. She hadn't had the courage to address Tara yet, and she knew that she absolutely had to say something today.
And the question that she was desperate to avoid addressing but which kept surfacing in the middle of the night – why did she hit on Ron when under the 'fluence?
Her father noticed her uncharacteristic silence.
"You're not mad at me for missing pizza night last night, are you?" he inquired hesitantly.
Kim looked up at James. "Of course not, Daddy," she smiled reassuringly. "Mum told me that you've been over-working and you just passed out. Are you okay today?"
"Yes I think so," he answered. "Your Mum wants me to have an MRI scan this morning to be on the safe side but I'm sure it's going to be fine. It takes more than a brain-tap machine to stop a Possible, you know."
Kim stared at her father. A brain-tap machine?
James looked closely at his daughter. "Are you okay, Kimmie-cub?" he asked.
"Dad, you just said something about a brain-tap machine." There was a concerned look on her face.
"Did I?" her father answered in a puzzled tone. "I don't think I've ever heard of a brain-tap machine before."
Kim looked confused. "But that makes no sense. You just said that you wouldn't be stopped by a brain-tap machine."
The pair were still looking at each other when Anne entered the room.
"Feeling better, hon?" she enquired of her husband, before noticing the unusual expression on their faces.
"Mum, did you do something to Dad last night that involved a brain-tap machine?" Anne was surprised at the question.
"A brain-tap machine? There's no such thing as far as I am aware," she answered, equally confused. "Why did you ask?"
Kim's face fell. Am I hearing things? I'd swear that I heard Dad say something about a brain-tap machine. I think I'm going crazy!
Anne was alarmed at the expression on her daughter's face. "Is everything alright, Kim?" she asked hesitantly.
Kim Possible paused. "Mum, I thought I heard Dad say something about last night, but he doesn't seem to have heard it himself.
Anne considered. "It's possible that you did hear something but your father has forgotten he said it."
If so, that might indicate more of a problem than I thought.
The older redhead looked concerned. She turned to her husband.
"James, do you remember anything from last night?"
Her husband pondered. The last clear memory he had was switching on his microscope at about 4pm. Then there was a blank until he was woken up by the telephone sometime after 10pm.
"No dear, nothing after 4pm till you came to get me."
"Dad?" The pair turned to their daughter. "What were you working on yesterday?"
Her father shifted in his seat. "I don't really remember. In fact I don't seem to recall what I've been working on for the last week!"
A look of concern crossed Anne's face, quickly masked as she saw her daughter turn to face her. There's more to this than a fugue state brought on by over-work. Dear god, please let it not be a brain tumor!
Kim looked from one parent to the other. She saw the tell-tale signs of stress in her mother's eyes. Her throat tightened as the possibility of something more serious made itself known to her.
She came to a decision. "I'm coming with you to the hospital, Mum," she said in an authoritative voice that broached no objection.
ooOooOoo
Sitting outside the MRI suite, the tension of the two women had not it seemed communicated itself to James. He was reading the newspaper, when an item caught his eye. He waved the paper at his wife. "Look, honey, I owe that computer friend of Kimmie-cub a huge favor," he exclaimed.
Kim took the journal from his hands. It was open to the business pages, with the headline reading "Mystery buyer claims 60% of Bueno Nacho stock." The sub-headline went on to say that a spokesman for the buyer claimed that the new owner expected to gain 100% control within hours.
Kim looked puzzled. "What's Wade got to do with this?" she asked.
"He told me to buy Bueno Nacho stock earlier in the week – something about price movements indicating a buyer in the market. Wade's often given me good stock tips – I split the profit with him."
Kim shook her head in disbelief – she wasn't sure what was worse, her eleven-year old techie playing the stock market or her father financing him?
ooOooOoo
Two pairs of eyes swiveled as the door to the MRI suite opened and neurologist Doctor Brian Scan emerged with James in tow.
"Anne, your husband is absolutely fine." He smiled at the relieved look on his colleague's face and that of her daughter.
In answer to Anne's unspoken question, he continued "There's definitely no sign of a tumor".
Kim looked at her mother. She saw the huge relief she felt mirrored in the blue eyes opposite.
The neurologist continued. "Nevertheless, James seems to have a gap in his memory relating specifically to work. But that's not uncommon after over-work. Make sure he has plenty of rest. I'm going to recommend at least two weeks away from the office."
"Don't worry," Anne said with a slight tremor in her voice. Turning to her husband she said, "James Possible, you are going nowhere for the next three weeks! And you are never again going to get so engrossed in work that your health suffers. Understand me?" Her cowed husband nodded.
She turned to her daughter. "Kim, you should go to school now. I can manage from here."
Kim began to protest but an uncompromising look from her mother silenced her. She stood up and walked away from the pair. A tear ran down her cheek as she released the tension of the last few hours. She glanced over her shoulders to see her mother embracing her father.
I love them so much. Thank goodness it was nothing worse.
ooOooOoo
It was not until the school gates were in sight that she remembered the earlier mystery of her father apparently saying something that he'd promptly forgotten.
Why would I imagine Dad saying something about a brain-tap machine?
Only a few steps later she had resolved to call Wade. And there was something else she needed to settle with the young boy. Taking her Kimmunicator out of her bag, she called Wade. His face appeared on the screen within seconds.
"Hello Warren Buffett," she greeted him with an icy look on her face.
Wade looked shifty. "Whatever do you mean, Kim?" he asked innocently, but the guilty look on his face belied the words.
"You know what I mean. Playing stocks and shares with my Dad's money!"
"We always won …. well mostly," Wade protested, though without much conviction. "And it was his idea."
"Prompted by you no doubt," the girl pressed relentlessly.
Wade had the grace to look away.
"No more, Wade," she insisted. "If one of your picks went pear-shaped in a big way, my parents could lose the house. And my rep would be shot to pieces. You should never have gotten started with this. Promise me you'll do nothing like this again."
Wade could not remember when he had seen Kim so angry. Unfortunately, he was well aware that he deserved every bit of her ire.
"I swear that's it, Kim," he promised humbly. But he couldn't resist a final comment.
"But who'd have thought about Bueno Nacho changing hands, eh? Some anonymous corporate raider ...".
Kim paused. She had to admit that Wade had made a good call there. But she wasn't going to tell him that. Instead she said, "So long as the new owners don't get rid of the bendy straws. Ron would go ballistic."
Wade chuckled, the image of his friend reacting to a lack of bendy straws was exactly as Kim had described.
"Is that everything, Kim?" he asked. "It's just that I haven't had breakfast yet."
"No that's fine," she answered, when she was suddenly reminded of her main concern.
"Oh, there's one more thing, Wade." The techie's hand paused over the disconnect button.
"What is it, Kim?"
She paused. Yes, what is it indeed?
"Something odd happened this morning, Wade," she ventured. "Dad came out with a comment that he didn't remember saying immediately afterwards. Something about a 'brain-tap machine'. Does that mean anything to you?"
Wade looked puzzled. "You're saying that your father talked about this brain-tap machine then forget he'd said it? Are you sure you're not confused yourself?"
Kim looked pained as she thought of the events of the morning so far. "I don't think so but how can anyone be sure of their memories?"
Wade looked doubtful. "I've never heard of such a device but I suppose I can do some research. Let me get back to you."
"Sure, Wade. And, despite leading my father into wicked capitalist ways, you still rock!"
They smiled at each other as she dropped the connection.
Drakken's Lair – His office
Drakken smiled infuriatingly at Shego as she deposited the Hephaestus development tank in front of him, with a question mark on her face. He knew that she was dying for him to share the entire plan and he rather liked to see Shego's frustration. It made a change from her normal snarky attitude when a plot was being developed. But he would not be swayed by pleas or threats this time. There was too much at stake.
"In good time, Shego, in good time." He turned to Manfred, who was waiting patiently with Dementor. They had been summoned by Drakken to the conference room, to find him in high spirits. He had had a restful night's sleep for the first time in days, now that the entire plot had revealed itself to him. Now he knew how to project his influence across the globe without anyone being aware. He also knew what to do with that reach once he had it. There were still some loose ends, particularly Synthodrone #901 and the distribution of his global weaponry. But he was confident that these final elements could be sorted.
"Dementor, you and Manfred are progressing on creating the synthodrones to neutralize Global Justice, yes?" The pint-sized villain nodded. "Good," Drakken responded, satisfied.
Dementor spoke. "Ve vill not haf to vorry about Global Justice if ve can take control of the verld quickly enough. Our synthodrones can be used to best effect against the remaining pockets of resistance. So long as ve can achieve overwhelming superiority simultaneously around the globe, then GJ will have no option but to surrender. I assume you haf a plan to achieve this?"
Expectant faces turned to Drakken, who thought back to his In-Terror Net conversation with Hank Perkins earlier that morning. Perkins was at this very moment en-route to an important meeting in Osaka.
"I am still working on this aspect of Project Nemesis. However, be assured that the plan will be in place and in good time."
He saw Shego smirking at him. She still doesn't think I am capable of success, does she?
He looked angrily at his sidekick. "Do not doubt me on this, Shego. I am this close to the full picture." His face was black with anger.
One more act of insubordination, Shego, and I will …
Shego recoiled at the malice directed at her. She turned on her heels and left the room, seething.
I'm off to Toronto as soon as Drakken lets me. I've got to get out of this place.
ooOooOoo
Drakken looked up as Cyrus Bortel knocked on the door and walked into the office. He was expecting the scientist. Yesterday he had given Bortel and Dementor instructions about the creation of Synthodrone #901. This creature was to be the lure that distracted Kim Possible away from any possibility of detecting their plan, and if necessary, to keep her occupied when Project Nemesis kicked into action. The key to the plan was to create a synthodrone that Possible would fall for.
While Dementor would work on the body shape and building of the synthodrone, Bortel was to find a face that would attract the cheerleader.
"Well?" he asked the visitor? "Have you found my hottie yet?"
Cyrus cringed. "Not yet, sir. But I have developed a program that will enable me to superimpose faces to get the right blend. We can play around with the mix until the face is exactly right."
Drakken looked suspicious. "You're not deliberately slowing things down are you?" he spoke threateningly.
"No, I swear. Come and see for yourself."
And so it was that Drakken and Shego watched as Cyrus Bortel pulled up a familiar image onto the computer screen. Mr. Muscle had just won the global body-building competition. The handsome hunk, six feet three inches tall, with a six-pack to make the girls drool, rippling biceps and a loin-cloth that barely constrained an ample lunchbox, stared out of the screen arrogantly, confident in his masculinity.
"I thought we'd start with him," Bortel commented. "From what you told me, Possible is a sucker for hotties. And this guy is about as hot as they come."
Shego looked with interest at the fine specimen of manhood arrayed across the monitor. Yes, I could certainly go for this guy, she thought to herself. But Kim …
Manfred had joined the group. He admired the sculptured figure, noting the over-developed torso. Even someone as straight as him could see the attraction of such a figure as this.
Drakken was also reacting to the image. Are those muscles even real? he thought. He looked down at his own scrawny body and felt a sense of inadequacy. When I become Emperor I will ban such abnormal bodies!
"Nice try, Bortel." The others turned to Shego. "But waaay too mature for Princess. The prissy virgin would run a mile if someone like that showed her any interest. You need more the boy-band look."
Drakken looked incredulously at her. "She doesn't seriously go for the Oh Boyz does she? I mean, that Dexter is quite good-looking, and Robby has a nice smile, but as for Ryan, not to mention that creepy Nicky Nick with the awful hair, he's just …".
He trailed off as he saw the others staring at him. "Well so I've been told," he finished sheepishly.
Shego spoke up. "Doctor D, if you're going to make a synthodrone that Kimmie will go for, you need to make sure you press her buttons. As a cheerleader, she's surrounded by football players. Bortel, find us some college football types."
Bortel searched the Internet for the latest college sensations, and pulled up five images. He opened a graphics package and superimposed the five faces. A blended football player formed on the screen.
"He looks a bit … fearsome, don't you think?" Drakken ventured.
"That's because I haven't added the boy band guys yet," responded Bortel. A few keystrokes later and a new image appeared on the screen. Drakken and Shego looked askance at the face in front of them.
Drakken was the first to respond. "Now he just looks butch," he complained.
Shego had to agree. The combination of sweet face and muscle-bound body created something that might give Doctor Victor Frankenstein nightmares. Forget Princess, she would run a mile if someone like this approached her.
Drakken sighed. "This isn't working. How do we create a face and body that will attract Possible?"
Bortel and Shego looked at each other. Bortel shrugged. He was merely following instructions.
"Shego," Drakken demanded. She looked up at him, surprised to find him reasserting his authority.
"You spent some time at Possible's school. Haven't you any ideas for the sort of boy that she'd fall for?"
Shego considered. She wasn't really there long enough to figure out Kimmie's love life – well apart from the electrically induced attraction to Stoppable which doesn't count. But an idea occurred to her.
"Let me get Rockwaller to send me photos of Possible's previous crushes."
"Who?" Drakken queried.
"My spy," Shego answered. "The girl who hates Princess' guts. I'll just tell her that the authorities are conducting background checks before arresting the girl."
"Okay, but make it quick," Drakken grumbled. "We're wasting time and this synthodrone needs to be ready to go in 48 hours. We must have the design sorted by tomorrow morning."
Osaka
An assistant led Hank Perkins into the office of the Chief Executive of Nakasumi Toys Corporation, the world's largest and most profitable manufacturer and distributor of mechanical toys. The lawyer, now dressed in an immaculate grey Brooks Brothers suit courtesy of his one million dollar advance from his unknown client, walked up to the imposing Japanese businessman and put out his hand to shake. He was slightly disconcerted when Mr. Nakasumi merely bowed.
Standing next to the chief executive was his ever-present assistant Miss Kyoko. Perkins had been briefed that Mr. Nakasumi did not speak English but was always accompanied by his translator. To complete the formalities, Hank turned to the red kimono-clad girl and bowed to her. He watched as his host turned to the girl and whispered something into her ear.
Miss Kyoko smiled at Hank. "Nakasumi-san welcomes you and hopes that you had a comfortable flight."
Hank tried hard to hide the grimace that crossed his face as he thought of the uncomfortable Air Japan flight from Middleton. The seats were seemly designed for slender Japanese bodies and he had had to endure twelve hours of non-stop discomfort.
Well, at least I'm getting paid handsomely for this, he thought.
He looked up at the translator. "Please tell Nakasumi-san that I appreciate his hospitality. But my time is short …". He was interrupted by the translator turning to her boss and whispering into his ear. He whispered back and she turned back to face Hank.
"Mr. Nakasumi invites you to join him for tea." The expression on Miss Kyoto's face suggested that the invitation was not one to be turned down.
Tea? It's the middle of the morning!
"Please take a seat," the translator said, indicating a low table with four low chairs surrounding it. Hank lowered himself painfully toward the floor, joints still aching from the long journey.
Miss Kyoto pushed a button on the desk and the door opened, as a secretary entered, carrying a silver platter containing a teapot and three porcelain cups.
Hank nodded to the secretary as she poured out what looked like hot water with bits of floating leaves. There was no sign of milk, sugar or a tea bag. The pouring was itself a delicate act, with the pot being held daintily between finger and thumb, and the contents being slowly poured out so as not to disturb the leaves.
Minutes passed as the three cups were poured, while Hank drummed his fingers up and down on the side of his chair, out of sight of his host.
At last, the pouring was over and the secretary departed. Hank looked askance at the concoction in front of him. He picked up his cup and took a cautious sip. As far as he could tell, it tasted like dishwater.
"Oh, no," Miss Kyoto interjected. "You must wait for the tea to infuse. Please, leave it for another five minutes.
Suppressing his frustration at yet another delay, Hank looked at his host, and started. "About our proposition …".
A pained look crossed the face of the translator. "First tea, then business. It is the Japanese way." She smiled at her boss, reassuring him that there would be no further breaches of protocol.
Hank smiled strainedly as he thought about the imminent departure of his return flight. He had to be at the airport in no more than seventy minutes. He had thought that his business here would be completed in fifteen minutes, but that period of time had already passed and he had yet to start the negotiation.
At last the tray was removed by another flunkey, Hank having forced himself to drink a third of the cup.
Nakasumi called out in Japanese, and Hank looked up as half a dozen identikit businessmen entered the room, all wearing ill-fitting suits with buttons that strained to hold in their ample stomachs.
"Nakasumi wishes you to meet his fellow directors," Miss Kyoto stated.
Hank Perkins stood up and was forced to endure another delay as the directors approached him smiling, and bowed as he returned the compliment. Each spent a good minute speaking to him in Japanese. The smile plastered across his face grew more and more forced as the line grew shorter, until finally he was left alone.
Nakasumi clapped his hands twice, as the room cleared of extraneous personnel, leaving the three of them alone again.
Miss Kyoto smiled at him. "Now you can state your business."
Perkins heaved a sigh of relief.
He opened his briefcase and pulled out a folder. Opening the folder, he handed Mr. Nakasumi a copy of the share register of Bueno Nacho (Holdings) Inc.
"I represent the new owner of Bueno Nacho. As of yesterday, we own more than 50% of the voting stock, and will acquire the balance by Friday."
As Miss Kyoto translated, Hank formulated his next words.
He watched as the Japanese man nodded.
"I have been authorized to make you a proposition. My company would like to license your new range of toys, the Lil' Diablos." He paused as the man reacted to the name. Ah, so Diablos has him interested eh?
"Why would you want to do that," asked the translator having consulted her boss.
"We at Bueno Nacho are always looking for model toys to give away with kids' meals," Hank answered confidently. He knew that he had a good sales pitch. He continued.
"It is our belief that a licensing deal for the Diablos would be in the interests of both of our organizations. For Bueno Nacho, we increase our sales of kids' meals. For the Nakasumi Corporation, you obtain worldwide recognition of the new range of toys. When you officially launch them, you will have had several weeks of publicity. Every child who enters a Bueno Nacho in that time will want to buy the real thing as soon as it becomes available in their country."
Hank waited as Miss Kyoto communicated the message to her boss. He was expecting the question that came back.
"Nakasumi-san would like to know what fee you would propose to license these toys?"
Hank smiled. "My boss has authorized me to make you an offer at five hundred million dollars."
In fact, he was authorized to go even higher. The emails he had received through the In-Terror Net had made it clear that money was to be no object. It was, in the email's word, "imperative" that Bueno Nacho conclude this deal. And that he leave the offices of the Toy Corporation with at least one model of the Diablo.
He was surprised to see Nakasumi's eyebrows rise as he spoke, especially when he mentioned the figure of five hundred million dollars.
The CEO noticed Hank's stare and gave a look to his interpreter, indicating that she should leave. When Miss Kyoto had left the room, he turned to his visitor, and spoke in an accent-free voice.
"Indeed, Mr. Perkins, I can understand and speak English. It amuses me to pretend otherwise, and it keeps my business rivals off-balance. I trust that you will not share this knowledge outside this room."
"No, Sir," Hank promised.
Perhaps now we can start talking turkey!
And ten minutes later, Hank was climbing into a taxi with a signed contract, detailed schematics and two full-size Diablos 'for his daughters'. He had agreed to pay seven hundred and fifty million dollars and the money had already been transferred into Nakasumi's bank account.
He sat back in the cab, relieved to have completed his task successfully. Hank Perkins had just added another 7.5 million dollars to his personal account. There was just enough time to make the airport before another twelve-hour journey but he now knew he needed to upgrade to first-class for the return trip.
On returning to the USA he would deposit the Diablos and the schematics in a left luggage locker at Middleton Airport. He had no interest in waiting around to see who opened the locker later.
All in all, a good day's work.
GJ Middleton Headquarters.
"Come in Will," Dr. Director gestured to her senior operative and effectively number two in the organization. The slender, olive-skinned agent nodded to her as he took his place at the conference table, where a monitor was displaying the unmistakable features of Wade Load with a straw protruding from his mouth.
Will stared at his boss, surprised. "Has Mr. Load been cleared for this discussion?" he asked suspiciously.
Elizabeth sighed, knowing only too well Will Du's views on freelance amateurs but also knowing that behind the public mask he had a high regard for Team Possible's talents.
"Yes, Will – Wade knows as much as we do about the situation. I wanted his take as well as yours on the latest development."
Will Du looked sourly at the screen while Wade grinned back at him, draining the last of his cola. "Hi, Will," the African-American boy greeted him. The agent merely nodded back.
The GJ chief tapped on the tabletop to draw their attention.
"Alright, now that the pleasantries have been dispensed with, let us proceed to business."
Elizabeth opened a file in front of her marked Top Secret. She pulled out a slightly blurred black and white photograph, apparently taken from chest height, probably a concealed camera. It showed two men across a table. In front of one of them – who looked oriental – rested what appeared to be a thermos flask, while the other man, Germanic-looking, was holding a large briefcase. The GJ boss placed the photograph onto a flatbed scanner and pressed the Transmit button.
"Are you getting this, Wade?" she asked. He replied in the affirmative, as he momentarily leaned out of camera shot to retrieve the printout.
"Good." The one-eyed woman addressed the two.
"This picture was received last night from our contact in Macao. It was taken about two months ago by a Nato undercover agent in Shanghai. We have identified the two men. The man with the thermos is Guozhi Wu, former General in the People's Liberation Army of China. He was responsible for the Meking weapons-manufacturing factory in Xingiang province until six months ago, when the facility disappeared off the map."
Will raised an eyebrow. "Disappeared?" he questioned.
"Yes. US spy satellites indicate a massive explosion, but time-lapse photos indicated that the source of the explosion was external. It was as if the Chinese were deliberately destroying their own facility. Wu was dismissed from the military days later."
Wade coughed to draw their attention. "Is this the same General Wu who you suspected Dementor was trying to acquire some secret material from? What was it called?" He peered down at the file that Dr. Director had sent him a few weeks earlier, when she was briefing Kim. "Oh yes, JT-3."
"Indeed, Wade," the woman responded. "It is my belief that this photograph documents the handover of JT-3."
Du stared at his boss. "Who's the other man?" he asked.
"That appears to be Manfred von Steinhaus, one of Jack Hench's elite mercenaries. And now apparently working for Professor Dementor."
"Soooo," Du started. "If you're right then presumably the briefcase contains payment. And this JT-3 must be in the thermos flask?"
"So we can assume," his boss answered. "Unfortunately we don't know anything about JT-3. But this photo seems to confirm the rumors and that Dementor is using the best resources to obtain the material. We can only assume that it's valuable and dangerous."
Wade had been studying the photo closely while the other two were talking. Something caught his eye. He increased the image magnification but the resolution was too poor and the picture was pixelating.
"Dr. Director?" he called. The other two turned their attention to the monitor. "Can you increase the magnification at your end? I think I've seen something."
Elizabeth looked appraisingly at the young man. She reinserted the photo into the scanner and selected a higher resolution scan. Wade's face was shrunk to a small window while the bulk of the screen displayed the building-up image, now at ten times the previous resolution.
"There," Wade exclaimed. "Look, on the left-hand side of the thermos flask. About an inch from the tabletop."
Elizabeth and Will scrutinized the higher-resolution image. Will was the first to speak. "That looks like a paper clip. So that means …" he looked questioningly at his boss.
"That means the flask is magnetized," she said quietly.
"Which means that the flask is not for temperature maintenance but is actually a magnetic bottle," Wade finished.
Du caught on quickly. "So JT-3 can only be contained in a magnetic bottle? Which means that it must be highly dangerous! God, it's not anti-matter is it?" he looked alarmed.
A flash of something resembling fear crossed Elizabeth's brow before Wade intervened.
"It's not anti-matter."
The GJ duo gazed at him. "How do you know?" Elizabeth ventured.
Wade gave a grim smile.
"Because the Chinese blew up the manufacturing facility. If there had been anti-matter on the site, the resulting explosion would have been seen on the moon."
Dr. Director looked relieved. "So, whatever is in there is dangerous but not nuclear, and may well have got loose in Xingiang necessitating the sterilization of the site."
"A biological agent perhaps?" Will proposed. A shiver went through Wade as he thought of the possibility of a plague being deliberately released.
Elizabeth looked calm. "I doubt it. Dementor is a madman but not a terrorist. He wants world domination not mass murder. Besides, containment would not have required a magnetic bottle."
"So what, then," Wade questioned.
A thought occurred to Dr. Director. She looked up at the image of Wade.
"Wade, do you recall the Priority Triple-Alpha incident with Dr. Drakken and Anne Possible last year? The one on the train?"
Wade went silent as he pulled up the mission file on his computer.
"Self-replicating synthoplasm!" he breathed.
Du looked mystified.
"Need to know only, Will," his boss explained. "At the time that didn't include you. Now it does."
Elizabeth rapidly brought Will Du up to speed on the near-disastrous release of the absorbing material that threatened to turn the entire planet into a gelatinous mass. Will's face paled as he learned of the margin by which catastrophe was averted.
She finished. "As far as we were aware, no other samples of this material existed beyond the one that Drakken tried to steal."
Wade interjected. "Synthoplasm would certainly need to be contained in a magnetic bottle – anything it touches turns to goo. So if JT-3 and synthoplasm are one and the same, then that would explain why the Chinese obliterated the facility – there must have been a release."
Will was puzzled. "But why would Dementor want such a substance? It would be even worse than a plague virus."
"Unless … " and here Elizabeth paused. "Unless he has found a way to stabilize JT-3. If it were usable in small quantities, unable to grow beyond a certain volume – say that of a military base – it would be a fearsome weapon."
Wade sounded doubtful. "But surely this would only be possible if he had a way to direct the nanites in the synthoplasm? Otherwise even if it was stabilized, it would just sit still, growing to its limit."
The silence was broken by the ringing of Elizabeth's phone. Irritated, she picked up the receiver to tell her secretary that she was not to be disturbed.
"I'm sorry, Ma'am, but Dr. Du says she needs to speak to you urgently," came the apologetic voice.
"Tell Candace I'll call her back shortly." Dr. Director put down the receiver, thoughtfully.
Candace Du. The Moodulator Mark II. Oh my god!
She spoke aloud. "The nanites are programmable. And Dementor now has a tool to give them emotional motivation. That's how he'll direct them. He's creating an artificial intelligence army that absorbs its opponents."
The others fell silent as each pondered the revelation.
Dr. Director looked grim. "Finding Dementor is now the number one priority for this organization."
"And Wade," she added. "I'm afraid that Kim and Ron are going to have to wave goodbye to any more break time. I need them more than ever now."
Author's note: We are approaching the crunch in this story. Just over two weeks to Junior Prom. Drakken has some loose ends to tie up, but the essence of the plot is coming together nicely. And one made-to-measure hottie is soon to make his appearance. Hope you'll join the team for the roughest ride of their lives.