Chemystery, by Karin Bishop

Part 7

June 21: Evening

“You’re taking medical records? Wait a minute,” Dr. Paulson said. “What about doctor-patient confidentiality?”

“Sorry, Dr. Paulson,” Turner shrugged. “That, I’m afraid, takes a back seat to national security.”

Dr. Warren asked, “What happens to the records?”

“They will be evaluated and then destroyed,” Turner said calmly.

“How exactly is national security involved?” asked the male lawyer.

“You are not required or even allowed to know exactly, but I can tell you that national security has been compromised by the break-in of these three boys.”

Mr. Wesson said, “Excuse me. You’re telling us that three kids sneaking into a video game place somehow compromises national security?”

“Mr. Wesson,” Turner addressed the video camera, “there are matters here that you are unaware of. I know the boys were not intentionally attacking our nation, but their actions have quite possibly endangered America.”

“Oh! Sorry! God, I’m so clumsy!” shouted the lady lawyer.

She’d dropped her water glass and it had fallen off the table and splashed Sgt. Rodriguez, who bent over and retrieved the glass.

“Did any of it get on you?” the lawyer asked.

Sgt. Rodriguez shook her head, but …something seemed to pass between them; then I thought it was my imagination, as once the glass was replaced and filled with fresh water, they both sat with their hands on the table, quietly listening.

Everybody was still reacting to the absurdity of Turner’s statement. Lisa’s voice cut through the din.

“Excuse me; excuse me!” she was saying. “I’m sorry, with the commotion there. Didn’t hear everything. Special Agent Turner, you were saying that Homeland Security wants to–what did you say?–destroy all the information about us three? Our medical records, even? I mean, for Chris and Tommy and me? Why, again?”

“National security. The three of you have compromised national security,” he said a little testily. “And it’s not Special Agent; that’s something the …F.B.I. uses.” His tone was disdainful.

Lisa said, “So it’s just ‘Agent Jim Turner’? No rank or anything?”

Turner was almost testy. “That’s John Turner, and ‘Agent’ with Homeland Security is all you need to know.”

“Sorry; the audio connection was a little fuzzy. You were saying …did I hear that right? Agent Turner, you were saying that my two friends and I compromised national security? We’re only fourteen-years-old!”

“Nevertheless, your actions endangered America.” Turner was back in control

“Just for sneaking into Intellia?” Lisa said incredulously. “We just wanted to find out about their new video game, Omega Chronicles Two or whatever they’re going to call it!”

“It was criminal trespass, Craig,” Turner reminded us. Then his voice turned snarky. “And I understand that there’s really no point in referring to you as Craig anymore, but as Lisa.”

“That’s because of whatever stuff you put in our drinks!” Lisa shot back.

“Was it the same stuff in all three?” I asked Turner.

“Not relevant,” Turner smiled at me like a snake. “And classified, anyway.”

Lisa said, “Is Intellia in on this with you, or were you using them as a front? Do they have any idea what you’re doing?”

Turner merely smiled, saying nothing.

I wanted to push Turner a little, to get him off Lisa, and I thought of the line that Tommy had said. “You were working on some way of turning males into females to do what …make terrorists drop their guns and start baking cookies?”

He turned his grin on me and it was an ugly thing. It was blandly superior and dismissive, and yet I felt like a bug under a microscope.

“That’s a sexist thing to say, Mr. Hanson, and I’m surprised at you. Especially because you’re very nearly Miss Hanson.” The grin widened.

“About that,” Dr. Paulson said. “I can probably understand Homeland Security needing to quarantine the data, but as one of the doctors involved, the health and welfare of my patient–of all of our patients–requires that we know what’s going on, medically. Are these temporary symptoms or permanent? At what point do the symptoms cease?”

Dr. Warren jumped in. “Are there any factors compromising our patients’ health? We need to know!” He’d said the last with some force.

Turner thought for a moment. “I will address certain questions but you understand that others will not be answered. In the emails exchanged between Craig Wesson and Chris Hanson comparing their …changes, Chris came up with the term ‘girl-bomb’, like a bug-bomb. A cute nickname, and you two might be proud to know that we’ve adopted the term, in-house.” He gave his awful grin. “Girl-bomb …yes, I like that very much. As you’ve already speculated, it evolved out of a desire to, shall we say, pacify anti-American militants. I leave you to think about who or what that would entail.”

I said, “Is the girl-bomb the end result? I mean, is it done and tested and you know the results? Like what Lisa and Tommy and I can expect?” It came so easily to me to say Lisa now.

“A valid question. You’re surprisingly sharp,” he nodded at me with a crooked smile that chilled me. “Your question is out of my original sequence, and I’ll tell you that of course we’re working on further methods and fine-tuning, so to speak, but yes, we essentially know the effects of the girl-bomb. But it was a wonderful opportunity to field-test it with a certain demographic under random circumstances when the three of you broke in.”

“We snuck in,” Lisa said. “We didn’t break anything; we walked in through an open door.”

“Yes, well, their security was lax that night,” he sniffed with derision.

Dr. Sarkisian said, “I have not examined Chris here or the Donohue boy, but I’m assuming the effects of your …girl-bomb are similar or identical for all three boys?” There was a quiet anger to her words.

“Yes, Dr. Sarkisian.”

I noticed how he always used people’s names, as if to show that he knew everything and everybody and held all the cards.

Dr. Paulson said, “Well, can you enlighten us? We were just speculating on a DNA …” He waved his hand.

“Flipper?” I said.

Turner smiled at me again and I really didn’t like that much attention. “Well put again, Miss Hanson. You really do have a way with expressive words. First you came up with ‘girl-bomb’ and now …yes. A DNA flipper …not as cute as a girl-bomb, but fairly accurate. Yes, that’s largely what it does and don’t expect me to explain further. The subject contains X and Y chromosomes–male subjects, obviously, otherwise what’s the point?–and the girl-bomb works at the cellular level to …flip the Y–thank you for the terminology–which essentially renders it an X.” He waved a hand. “Not scientifically accurate, but an easy-to-grasp explanation.”

“Because we all start out with the X chromosome; we sort of start out as females, or at least half of every embryo …sort of,” I said as a thought came to me. “Easier to double the X?” Like he’d said, not scientifically accurate but easy-to-grasp.

“Again, not scientifically accurate, but essentially right, Miss Hanson. And have you chosen a name yet, by the way?”

I slumped down in my seat from the intensity of his gaze and my mother, God bless her, took my hand and squeezed it and said, “Her name is Christina …or will be.” She looked at me and smiled and then turned back to face Turner defiantly and firmly said, “No, it is. My daughter is Christina. Christina Hanson.”

Turner nodded. “It suits her. And Mr. and Mrs. Donohue, I imagine with all the excitement today you haven’t come up with a name for your new daughter?” There was a sneer to his words.

Mrs. Donohue said, “No, we haven’t, as you well know. We’ve only just discovered …” She looked at me and smiled sadly before looking back to Turner. “We’ve only just discovered what’s going on. What you’ve done to my Tommy.”

Turner sniffed with derision. “Actually, your Patrick was what was done to your Tommy, today, anyway. I’ve already been to the police station and spoken with him.”

“My Patrick?” Mr. Donohue finally roused. “What have you done to him?”

“Nothing, Mr. Donohue. I explained to the officers and Patrick that this matter was now under the control of Homeland Security. I can tell you a few things, though. The charges against Patrick will be dropped.”

“Thank God!” Mr. Donohue slumped back in his chair, looking at the ceiling.

“And?” Mrs. Donohue said. “There’s always a catch with your type. What else?”

“My type?” Turner chuckled coldly, then nodded. “Yes, perhaps. I wanted to tell you were that you’re going to have to accept the fact that Tommy Donohue is now becoming a girl. Totally and completely. Accept that fact and get on with your lives. Stop being a stupid Irish cliché.”

“Stupid?” Mr. Donohue automatically reacted.

“Yes, stupid,” Turner spit out in a commanding voice that immediately stifled Mr. Donohue. “To be so public in your prejudices …” He shook his head. “I’m not known for my kindnesses, so this is quite rare and you should pay attention. Mr. Donohue, I’m going to give you three pieces of advice and you’d do well to listen. First, your son Patrick is dangerous. Whether it’s your own doing or just something always within him, he’s a killer waiting to emerge.” Another evil grin. “And I do recognize the type. The homophobic nature of his attack …well, you might want to look into anything he’s repressing.”

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” Dr. Sarkisian said with bile.

“Not actually, no, Dr. Sarkisian. Just agreeing to answer some questions.” Back to Mr. Donohue, he said. “Second piece of advice. Through no fault of his own–well, criminal trespass, of course–your other son Tommy is no longer male. She is female and you must get that through your head. Treat her as a female, as your daughter, and I hope you do a damned better job with her than you did with her brother. The third piece of advice is, well, I heard your wife’s comments from our command station outside as we monitored your video feeds. She’s a strong, smart, loving woman and you should count yourself lucky that she bothers herself with you. So my advice is to let her raise your daughter and you both try to undo the damage you’ve done to Patrick. End of advice.”

There was stunned silence all around; he seemed smug.

“Can we please ask some medical questions?” Dr. Warren said, partly to take the spotlight off the Donohues, who were squirming in their shame.

“Not too many. But I’ll tell you the gist of what you probably want to know, and then we’ll wrap up here. All three of your patients have been thoroughly dosed and are responding quite well within known parameters. To use Christina’s vernacular, the girl-bomb has flipped their DNA. Over the weeks, all traces of and effects of Y chromosomes are being removed from their bodies. This is a permanent condition, as there’s nothing productive by introducing a Y chromosome to females and once gone the Y doesn’t regenerate or reproduce. Instead, the cells go on their way, happily reproducing as if they’d always been XX.”

“Permanent?” Lisa said. “So I’m a girl for the rest of my life? Tommy and Chris, too?”

“Yes, Lisa,” Turner said.

“Thank God!” Lisa sighed. “I …I just couldn’t go back.”

“Nor will you. Or you, Christina,” Turner said to me. “And whatever name the Donohues come up with for their new daughter.”

“What about …well, genitalia?” Dr. Paulson said.

“The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away,” Turner did the evil grin again. “As the girls–for that’s what they are now–as the girls are in puberty, their breasts are growing. And their male genitalia is shrinking, reforming into what will eventually become vaginas.”

There seemed to be a strange …joy in how he’d said that last part. Involuntarily, I shivered.

“The diarrhea that Chris and I had?” Lisa asked.

“Your internal male organs that are no longer needed, as you assumed. Expect more of it, I’m afraid.” Again with the ugly grin. He almost breathed the last word: “Chunks …”

“So …Vaginas?” I asked, wondering if I’d push him too hard.

Turner spun to me and for a split-second I saw a change in his blithely confident face, the tiniest of narrowed eyes. It was just for a moment and then his face slid into placid superiority. He’d paused slightly and I realized he’d been about to say something but had changed his mind at the last minute as he’d regained control.

“Yes, vaginas, Miss Hanson. At one point in your email you referred to the Hollywood special effect known as ‘morphing’. Fairly accurate, as most of your conjectures have been, Miss Hanson. Your genitalia is morphing into the state it would have been had you been born female. With the Y influence gone, your body is returning to its embryonic, female state–only one that is thirteen or fourteen years along, as the cells …‘catch up’, you might say. To restate the point, you three are becoming the females you would have been if you had been born XX.”

“When is the process concluded?” Dr. Paulson said.

He waved a hand airily. “Probably the first time your patients menstruate, you can pretty much determine that the girl-bomb has run its course.”

Teresa Wesson could be heard chuckling. “She’s gonna get periods, too?”

“Geez! Don’t get so excited, Terry,” Lisa playfully grumbled.

Mom squeezed my hand again. I cleared my throat. “Can I …will I be able to bear children?”

“A wonderful question, Miss Hanson. You really are right on top of things. So far none of our test subjects has become pregnant, but it’s been only a very short testing time.” He grinned wickedly. “You’ll find out!”

There was a shocked moment around the table and I spoke again. “It seems like …like my mind is changing. My brain, I mean. Like I’m being rewired how I feel and think about things.”

Turner nodded. “As already proven, you have an admirable ability to define concepts in a single word, Miss Hanson. ‘Rewired’ is an apt term, another would be ‘chemically altered’. Male and female brains have different neural pathways and yours is reconfiguring along female lines. If you are subjected to a brain scan, your brain activity will be squarely within female parameters. So, yes, in a nutshell, you will find thoughts and feelings and emotions that you haven’t perhaps experienced before.” An ugly grin. “Including, I daresay, how you feel about the opposite sex. Which for each of you three is now the male sex. So you may be heterosexual females, drawn towards males, or you might be lesbians, drawn towards girls.” He shrugged. “It’s however you were wired long ago, in your XX stage as embryos.”

“So Tommy will be a fairy?” Mr. Donohue blurted out.

“Hush! Weren’t you listening?” Mrs. Donohue hissed at him.

Turner spun to Mr. Donohue. “Tommy isn’t Tommy any more, you stupid man. He’ll be whatever–well, I should say she’ll be whoever you name her.”

“Kathleen,” Mrs. Donohue said softly. “My daughter’s name is Kathleen.”

“An excellent choice,” Turner said casually, as if he really didn’t care..

“Kathleen?” Mr. Donohue gasped. “Shouldn’t we talk about this? Shouldn’t I have a say?”

“I don’t see why, the way you’ve been,” Mrs. Donohue snapped. “But in case you’ve forgotten, Michael Donohue, when I was pregnant we decided on Thomas or Kathleen. Well, however the good Lord fashioned it, we’ll be using both names for our child.”

“Kathleen?” he repeated to himself and then shrugged. “If it has to be …”

Turner snorted. “I’d say you don’t have any choice in the matter. So are we clear on this, everybody? Christopher Hanson, Craig Wesson, and Thomas Donohue cease to exist as of this day. That’s arbitrary, by the way, but as good a date as any. But no matter what stage they’re at, when the girl-bomb has completed its work, they will be Christina, Lisa, and Kathleen. And parents, your children are girls, they’re females, and treat them accordingly.”

He startled everyone by clapping his hands together in a loud smack. “I want to wrap things up fairly quickly. That concerns everyone’s documentation–and yes, doctors, that means you, too. First of all, as I said at the start, all documents here and on file will be gathered up by us. None of you are to speak about anything we’ve talked about, in part or in whole, or you will be punished to the full extent of the law under the Patriot Act.”

“What about school records, church records, all that?” Mrs. Donohue asked.

“It’ll be taken care of by us. We already know where everything is; it’s just a matter of changing things here and there.”

“You can’t just invent a whole new person!” Mom said. “Or obliterate another!”

“Actually, we can, Mrs. Hanson. It’s something we do. Be glad that it’s the records that disappear and not the individuals.”

The threat hung in the air, silencing us. Then there was a little commotion going on from the video feed between the Wesson parents.

“Ask him!” Mrs. Wesson said.

“It’s not important right now,” Mr. Wesson said, placating.

Turner turned to face the camera setup. “What is it?” he said with an annoyed tone.

Mrs. Wesson blurted out, “I know the cost of a daughter and the cost of a son. We’ve had both and paid the bills. Now suddenly I have another daughter, but she’s got nothing to wear, her room is a boy’s room–”

Mr. Wesson tried to calm her. “Honey–”

“You don’t deal with it! I know how much shopping for Teresa costs, and now it’s doubled with Lisa, and after the move things are tight and the other families are going to have to spend more, too, for–”

Turner barked, “Enough! Thank you for your input. I was hoping I could appeal to your patriotism but there’s always that one among you …” He sighed. “Each family will receive the sum of ten thousand dollars. That is the total amount you will ever receive; no future claims will be honored. And it’s generous, under the circumstances.”

“Hush money,” Mr. Donohue spat.

“It’s your money to do with as you see fit. Consider it a bribe, if you want, Mr. Donohue. But it’s wiser to consider what Mrs. Wesson has, quite practically, pointed out. We’ve found that rather than a bribe, the money offered will ease the financial burden imposed upon you, a burden that might cause you to seek additional compensation or try to, quite bluntly, sell your story. There are documents to sign–”

Turner broke off because there was some noise outside and a knock and the door quickly opened. A smiling face stuck around the edge of the door.

“Hi, folks, sorry to interrupt. Is there a guy with a gray suit here? He was walking down the …” He’d turned his head and saw Turner. “Oh, hi, I guess it’s you.”

The smiling guy came in and there was a momentary look between the Bully Boy and Turner, who looked irritated but then nodded and the Bully Boy stood back.

“Can I help you?” Turner asked the smiling guy.

The smiling guy was in a dark blue suit and his tie was out; he tucked it back in and his hand came out of his jacket with a folded paper that he handed to Turner. “Somebody saw you drop this. Hope it’s not too important. I was just heading down and she gave it to me to return to you …” He shrugged.

As he spoke, Turner had automatically taken the paper and casually glanced at it, then stiffened.

The smiling guy suddenly stood straighter, dropped the smile, and his voice was instantly professional and firm. “Franklin T. Adams, you have just been served and witnessed. You are to cease and desist any and all operations as of this moment and immediately report to Judge Arthur Stanfield.”

Color had drained from Turner’s face and his jaw was twitching. In a tight voice he said, “There’s been a mistake. I’m not Franklin Adams, I’m Agent John Turner. This Adams person must look a bit like me. An easy mistake for a process server to make,” he added disdainfully and then his voice hardened. “And you’re interfering with matters of Homeland Security.”

“Yes, well, mistakes …” The no-longer-smiling guy said dismissively. “You haven’t read further down. You’ll also find your aliases, including John Turner, Walter Davidson, and several of your other names, Frank.” He smiled now, but like a shark. “And I’m not a process server. I’m Jack Allen, an attorney and officer of the court of Judge Arthur Stanfield. Judge Stanfield happens to be deeply concerned about the security of our nation, and was displeased that required notification was not issued in this matter. He would like to see you immediately to clear it up. I’m sure you simply overlooked the notification process required by Article Sixty-Four, Paragraph D, Subpara–”

“Alright, Allen! Let’s go see your judge.” Turner looked like he’d swallowed something sour. Turning to the room, he raised a warning finger and snarled, “This matter is not concluded. Everything said remains classified, and any attempts by any of you to hide or disseminate this information will be treated as we discussed, until I return after clearing up this …” he sneered at Mr. Allen. “…bureaucratic garbage. Am I clear?”

Everybody nodded, heads kind of down. I looked up and Mr. Allen, Jenny’s dad, gave me a quick wink. Then he said, “I’m sure you have all the proper authority, but let’s just go satisfy the judge and you and I can go back to what we were doing.”

He maneuvered the Bully Boy out the door first and then Turner, following quickly and closing the door–but not before we saw the doorway lit up with strobe lights and heard shouts from a crowd and a bellow of rage from Turner before the door closed.

“Media,” Dr. Warren said, grinning. “He had the press out there ready and waiting!”

Mom said, “Secret activities by unknown groups, people like Turner or whatever his name is …they can’t stand the light of exposure.”

“His name really is Frank Adams,” Lisa said from the TV. “God, Frank Adams!” She said it with awe, like saying a rock star’s name.

“Is he somebody, Lisa?” I asked. I thought the name was rather bland, but maybe that was the point.

“Chris, he’s like a legend among the Men In Black! Like the guy said–was that Jenny’s dad?–old Frank’s got a million names, but …wow! We met Frank Adams!”

“And lived to tell about it,” the female lawyer said. “Don’t count on them being able to restrain him, but I’d guess that the public exposure will pretty much limit any further damage he can do to you.” She turned to Sgt. Rodriguez. “Did you get it?”

Sgt. Rodriguez nodded. “Got it all,” she said, reaching up and clicking the black plastic thing on her shoulder.

“Omigod!” Lisa burst out. “You were recording all that? How didn’t he notice?”

Sgt. Rodriguez smiled and nodded at the lady lawyer. “She made a little note on her Blackberrry, showed it to me, then wiped it.”

“The dropped glass,” I said.

Sgt. Rodriguez smiled and me and nodded. “I leaned over and grabbed the glass with one hand and turned on my recorder with the other. I made sure my hands were in plain sight after that. This new model,” she turned and sort of looked at the gadget next to her face, “is a real beauty. I put it on Silent Mode so we didn’t get talkback. But it recorded audio and video directly into the server at the police station, and a backup on a thumb drive in my utility belt.”

Dr. Paulson said, “I noticed how you sometimes turned stiffly and I idly wondered if it was a job-related injury.”

She grinned. “I was worried about being too obvious about it, but I had to get the video feed on, although I have no idea how well they photographed. So,” she shrugged. “We have a record of everything that was said in here.”

“Actually,” Lisa said with a tone that I remembered Craig used to have, when he had some incredible news bursting out of him. “Actually, Sergeant, we have more than that! Right from the start when he showed up–God, Frank Adams! –I set up a program that recorded everything.”

“Brilliant, Lisa!” I said. “But won’t they just seize your hard drive?”

“Oh, they could seize it,” she grinned in the monitor. “But I also set it up to stream the broadcast to several websites and vlogs I know.” Her grin widened. “It’ll also hit YouTube!”

“God, then it’ll be all over the internet!” I blanched. “Our names, and–oh, God! And us talking about our shrinking penises and everything!”

“No worries. I set it up for those guys to hold the footage so I can edit out the parts about us. Names and penises,” she grinned. “Gonna start as soon as we log off here, and it should be edited and posted in a couple of hours. Probably be online about the time Frank’s finally back on the street, after seeing that judge.” Her grin widened.

I said, “Lisa, are you sure that we’re not going to be splashed all over the internet?”

Lisa smiled warmly. “I know you’re worried, Chris; I get it. I’m really happy now and I don’t want to turn my life into a media circus, or yours or Tom–Kathleen’s. Great name for her, too, Mrs. Dononue!” she called out. Back to me, she said, “Look, these websites don’t care about us, they want to fry Frank Adams. The main thing is that he experimented on American citizens without their knowledge–and I’ll bet without consent of higher authority, or Congress, or whoever he answers to. It’s what he did that’s criminal and of interest, not who he did it to. And there’s no sense trashing Intellia if they’re innocent, too, which is how it seems.”

“How did you set all this up so fast?” Mom asked. “Did you know Turner was going to appear?”

“It’s always been a possibility, Mrs. Hanson; Chris and I have discussed it. By the way, is she really Christina now? To you, I mean?”

“Absolutely,” Mom smiled confidently, hugging me.

“Yep,” I said happily and proudly and putting my hand on Mom’s. I smiled at Lisa in the monitor. “But my friends call me Chrissie.”

Lisa nodded. “He was right; it suits you. So, yeah, Mrs. Hanson, back to your question. Did you notice there were stretches where you didn’t hear from us?”

Mom smiled, “Probably because Turner was so pleased with himself and the sound of his own voice!”

“Yeah, that too,” Lisa grinned. “Well, I muted our audio feed, only opening it when we had something to say. That way they couldn’t hear the clack of my keyboard. And my keyboard’s not on camera, so they couldn’t see me typing. I’m a pretty good touch-typist so I didn’t have to look. So I was frantically writing all that stuff and getting the other guys online.” She giggled. “It was actually more fun than any video game!”

End of Part 7