The Loyalty Gene - Prequel

Institute of Molecular Genetics, Moscow, Russia

Nikolai Vavilov D.Sc., Nobel laureate for "Advancements in Genetic Editing" waited by the elevators. Down the hall, a glass paneled door led into the soundproofed conference room. The email which summoned him here specified he was to meet a prospective patron. An elevator dinged, and the head of the facility stepped through the opening doors. Nicolai closed the distance and spoke on a low voice. "Administrator Popov, I recognize the man in the conference room. He is Pavlo Mogilevich, a common Ukrainian criminal, you cannot be serious about this meeting!"

"Nikolai, my friend," Popov kept his voice soothing. "I understand your concern, but my concern is for the continued existence of this entire facility." He waved at the walls with the cracked and peeling paint. "The government grants are gone. Without outside funding, we will soon have to close. If you wish to continue your work with the human genome...." The administrator waved at the closed conference room door and the man seated within.

For this meeting he spent ten years earning his post graduate degree. Would the

"Come, let us do our best, Mogilevich may be a criminal, but he is a wealthy criminal."

They entered the conference room to find their prospective patron seated on the opposite side of the table. That he sat facing the door did not go unnoticed. Of course, a beast like this man would also have an animal's cunning.

After taking their seats, Popov gestured to Nikolai. "This is Academician Nikolai Vavilov, he is our preeminent expert in human genetics. Please tell him of your requirements."

While the administrator spoke, Nikolai studied their guest. Mogilevich appeared to be a young man, perhaps in his middle twenties. Far younger than Nikolai's own fifty-six years.

The gangster smiled, although not without a small amount of embarrassment, and this slight weakness allowed a small crack to appear in his tough appearance. From an inside coat pocket, Pavlo produced several folded sheets of lined paper. He laid them on the table but kept a hand on top of the stack. His intelligent eyes studied Nikolai. "Can you truly create a woman to my specifications?"

"There are certain practical limits," Nikolai qualified. Underneath the table, Popov kicked his ankle. He covered his surprise with a cough. "But I may be able to come very close." Next to Nikolai, Popov nodded.

"Good, I want you to create the perfect woman." Pavlo slid the folded sheets of paper across.

As he reached for the papers, Nikolai cringed. What will top the list, huge breasts or an unquenchable thirst for semen?

The pages appeared to have seen use as beverage coasters. The first requirement remained as originally written, many of the other had seen multiple edits. He scanned the list to categorize the possible from the insane. The first item took him by surprise as did the next dozen. Almost against his will he found the project intriguing. After reviewing the list, he spread the papers out on the table and looked at his new patron. "Many of your requirements, for example, the physical attributes are attainable. Some of the others will require discussion and study. However, your desired primary characteristic, that of loyalty, is a problem. You see, there is no loyalty gene."

Twenty-four years later - Kyiv, Ukraine:

Yevgeny Timofeyev forced himself to remain indifferent while the bodyguard searched him for weapons. The bodyguard, or byk, "bull" in Ukrainian, took pains to make the search as unpleasant as possible. While Ukraine and Russia had once been part of the Soviet Union, its peoples did not always get along. Disappointed at the lack of response from his Russian "comrade," the byk gestured, and Yevgeny entered the warehouse.

The doorway led into a large open room that may once have held office cubicles. Along the far wall, near the left corner, a large man sat behind one of the few remaining intact desks. From his appearance, the man could only be Pavlo Mogilevich, the Pakhan, head of the Solntsevskaia Bratva, the most powerful crime syndicate in this part of the world. Next to Mogilevich stood a slight, balding man. Yevgeny recognized him as the sovietnik, the counselor or advisor to the Pakhan. Across the desk from the Pakhan, stood a tall thin man. Scattered around the entry area sat a dozen or so mismatched office chairs. Other men, probably also here to speak with the Pakhan, occupied many of the chairs.

At Yevgeny's entrance, everyone in the room turned to examine the newcomer. The Pakhan gestured to his sovietnik who scurried over to greet the latest arrival.

"Ya Yevhen Tymofeiev, vy povynni chekaty mene." I am Yevgeny Timofeyev, you should be expecting me." Yevgeny prided himself on his fluent Ukrainian.

"Tak. Do you have the information?"

From an inside coat pocket, Yevgeny produced a large envelope and handed it to the advisor. He followed it with a second envelope containing a stack of Ukrainian hryvnia banknotes. "I dislike waiting," nodding towards the men ahead of him.

Weighing the envelope, the sovietnik nodded. "I will speak to the Don," and turned away.

"Wait," Yevgeny asked, and the shorter man turned back. "Who is 'The Don?'"

"The Pakhan prefers to be called 'Don Mogilevich, or Don Pavlo by those he considers family. It is his way of honoring an ancestor."

"Ah, thank you. Is there anything else I should know?" Just then, an angry shout came from the man currently standing before Don Mogilevich.

The sovietnik replied, "Yes, do not argue with the Don." The advisor turned and, in his haste, almost tripped returning to his master's side.

Yevgeny took a chair that gave him a view of the entrance and that of the developing argument. Opposite the Pakhan and his advisor, the tall, well-dressed man waved his arms to emphasize some point.

The Don shook his head and issued a single word, "Nemaie!" No!

The tall man pointed a finger and said something that sounded Polish and insulting. He slammed his palms against the desk. Pavlo stared unflinching at the man and pointed towards the door. "Leave now!"

Straightening, the man took two steps back, gathered himself and strode to the door. His face remained flat, masking any remaining anger. On his way out, he tried to slam the door, but the mechanical door closer prevented it. Yevgeny turned back to the desk to see the sovietnik and his master in deep discussion. Whatever the decision, Mogilevich made it quickly. His advisor gestured to two of the men apparently waiting, and they left as a group. So, Yevgeny nodded, were all these men guards?

Behind the desk, Pavlo stood, he fixed his eyes on Yevgeny and gestured. "Come."

Yevgeny stood before the desk while the Don opened his large envelope. The smaller envelope containing the tip sat unopened on the desk. While he browsed through the spec sheets, Pavlo waved towards the unopened envelope. "Is this all you feel my counselor is worth?"

"I paid what I felt appropriate to jump ahead of the queue. I am certain the loyalty of your advisor would cost much more."

This earned Yevgeny a brief chuckle before the Don glanced up and met his eyes. "What is the price of yours?"

"My pardon, Don Mogilevich, I am selling arms, not loyalty. Unless, of course, you wish to be my exclusive customer."

From outside the building came the sound of a gunshot, then a flurry of gunfire. Behind Yevgeny, the chairs fell back as the waiting men stood and produced handguns from inside their coats. The sovietnik dashed inside, blood streaming down the side of his face. Close behind, came only one of the two guards. The men inside sought what cover they could find. Pavlo stood and flipped the desk forward and crouched behind it. Yevgeny felt very exposed and naked without a weapon.

The wounded advisor made it to the desk before collapsing. Shouts rang out from outside, and the front door burst open. A stream of men poured in; one of them clearly the tall man who had argued with Pavlo. Pavlo glanced at Yevgeny. "Choose," he said. Yevgeny jumped behind the desk and crouched. Next to him, Pavlo produced a large bore automatic pistol. He gestured towards his former advisor, "Take his weapon."

Splinters flew from the floor as Yevgeny reached for the sovietnik's body. He found the pistol and took aim from around the side of the desk. Crack! He fired and one of the attackers fell clutching a leg. Mogilevich fired from his side as well. Someone killed the tall man, and the attacking men ceased their advance. With a cry, a wave of Pavlo's bodyguards streamed in from a rear door and routed the remaining attackers. Two of the bodyguards stopped at the desk and helped Pavlo to his feet. They fell back towards the rear door, and Yevgeny followed.

Three days later, he received an invitation to supper at the Don's Kyiv residence.

The simple, private supper consisted of deruny, salo, and horilka. Potato pancakes, sliced pork fat on rye bread, and Ukrainian vodka. The Don seemed in good spirits, and waved away Yevgeny's attempt to discuss business, saying only "Later." After their meal, they retired to a large billiard room where they took seats near the fireplace. Pavlo poured more horilka. "Now," he said, "we shall have some entertainment."

Unsure what to expect, Yevgeny sipped the barbaric Ukrainian vodka and tried to relax.

Exotic, hypnotic music began to play. A woman stepped into the room wearing a traditional Egyptian bedlah and began to dance.

A man seeing this could say he watched a beautiful woman perform an Arabic belly dance. He would be correct, but at the same time, wrong. That night, Yevgeny watched a goddess dance, and through her dance, she stole his soul.

Within minutes, Yevgeny knew he had to have her. Never had he seen a woman as beautiful. Firelight glinted in her eyes and her dark red hair glowed. Every movement seemed to highlight another part of her perfect form.

"Will you have more horilka, Yevgeny?" Pavlo asked. Yevgeny's attention, however, lay on the woman. Her waist-length hair hung in lush, gleaming curls, and each twitch of her hips made his heart pound harder.

A sudden slap on his arm shocked him back to awareness. Embarrassed he turned to his host. "My apologies, Don Mogilevich, but I've never seen such a woman."

"Few have." Gesturing with his empty glass, he said, "That, my friend, is the perfect woman."

"I agree, she is breathtaking, but how is she the perfect woman?" If the woman overheard their conversation, she gave no sign.

"Unlike other beautiful women, my Natali is loyal and obedient."

Yevgeny smiled a worldly smile. "No woman is completely obedient or loyal. Beautiful women are even less so."

Pavlo clapped his hands, and Natali stopped dancing. "Natali," Pavlo gestured, and she ran to him and fell to her knees. "This man," Pavlo gestured to Yevgeny, "desires you."

This close, her green eyes appeared to glow. Their intensity froze him in place. He felt she could read his every thought. After her study, she turned back to Pavlo. "Mii pane, tsei moskalskyi kozak nikoly ne pokatayetsia na tvoyii Natali." My lord, this moskal cossak will never ride your Natali.

So, she calls me an arrogant muscovite and a troublemaker. He smiled at her cleverness and after a moment, decided to take a risk and speak to her directly. "What makes you so perfect?"

After receiving a nod of permission from her lord, Natali stood and turned to face Yevgeny. She extended one leg and cocked her hip. The gossamer fabric of her bedlah parted enough to display not only her charms but also a small tattoo on her upper thigh, the outline of a Persian oil lamp.

The sight of the tattoo and her nudity made him gasp. This beautiful woman, a dzhinn? What the Westerners called genies, the dzhinn were genetic constructs designed to fulfil their owners needs.

Her intelligent eyes tracked his, and when she recognized his comprehension, Natali backed up to perch on Pavlo's knee.

"Did you see?" Pavlo asked.

"I did. Tell me, are there others like her?" Yevgeny still found it difficult to tear his eyes away from the dzhinn.

"My Natali is unique, but I have great hopes for our daughters."

"Daughters?"

"All quite young." Meaning too young to be sold or bartered for.

After Pavlo tired of taunting Yevgeny with his perfect woman, he dismissed Natali. The business discussions began in earnest. The Ukrainian mob boss wanted access to the Russian made arms Yevgeny could provide.

Months passed, arms made their way into Kyiv and from there to the west. With the successful shipments, Pavlo and Yevgeny became close allies. He became a frequent visitor to Pavlo's Kyiv residence, the same residence where Natali lived.

Their dealings had gone well, and a munificent Pavlo invited Yevgeny to supper. Instead of the formal dining room they always used, Yevgeny followed his host to a table in the kitchen. There, wearing pearls and a little black dress, Natali served them borsch with sour cream and freshly baked pirozhki.

After their meal, Natali asked if they might play durak, and Pavlo smiled. "Do you know how to play Yevgeny?"

"I do," Yevgeny nodded. Natali dashed to a cupboard and returned with a deck of cards.

During the first two hands, it became apparent Natali could easily outplay both men. She played a vicious game against Yevgeny, stacking attacks whenever possible. Yet she always lost to Pavlo. Oh, she'd stage valiant defenses and make her lord work for each victory. Once again, Yevgeny found himself impressed with the dzhinn's cleverness and even more envious of Pavlo.

A buzzing signaled an incoming phone call, and one of the bodyguards stepped into the room. "My apologies, Don Pavlo, but there is a problem."

Pavlo laid his cards face down and stood. "Pardon me," he said and stepped to the doorway.

Across from Yevgeny, Natali's eyes tracked Don Pavlo's every move. It seemed even this small measure of separation caused her some discomfort.

"Why so sad, lisichka?" Yevgeny used Pavlo's own term of endearment, little fox.

"I do not feel whole without Pavlo."

"What a strange thing. I've never known any woman who felt such for a man."

Green eyes that sparkled with hidden delights met his. "But I am not any woman."

Yevgeny leaned forward. "No, you are unique, and the most beautiful woman I've ever known." When Natalya didn't reply, he continued. "Is it true you cannot desire another man."

"It is true. I...I am bonded to Pavlo. He is my world."

"Where did Pavlo find you?"

While The Don raged at some unfortunate underling, Natali told Yevgeny what she knew of her origin. How a much younger Pavlo met with a great Russian genetic researcher and presented him with a laundry list of characteristics. After much discussion, a large sum of money changed hands, and the design work began. It took three failed pregnancies before her host mother could carry a fetus to term. "After that, I grew up in Pavlo's household. His wife raised me with their children. On my fifteenth birthday, I became his kokhanka.

Later, after Yevgeny left Pavlo's residence, he considered the Ukrainian word, "kokhanka." Besides meaning paramour, it also meant toy or doll.

***

On his next trip to Moscow, Yevgeny sought out the great Russian genetic researcher. He located the man in a tenement on the third floor of the old Tsentralnyi Universalnyi Magazin building. The former Tsum department store remained in good condition although the many escalators no longer functioned.

He rapped on the wooden door. A few moments later, it opened and an old man, thin with age, stared out.

"Gospodin, Nikolai Vavilov?" Yevgeny asked with a smile.

Vavilov's eyes widened when he heard his name. "Da?"

"My name is Yevgeny Timofeyev, I wish to discuss your work for Pavlo Mogilevich."

Frightened, the old man shook his head. "I'm sorry, but I have nothing to tell you." He backed up and swung the door shut. Ready for it, Yevgeny blocked the closing door with his foot and shoved against the wooden panel. The door flew open, throwing the old man back.

After he secured the small apartment, Yevgeny sat Vavilov at his table. From inside a leather satchel, he produced a bottle of vodka, several stacks of currency, and a hammer. "The money is yours if you tell me what I want to know. The hammer is if you do not. I'll drink the vodka in either case.

"But, Don Pavlo...."

"The don is not here." Yevgeny placed two tumblers of the table and poured two fingers of vodka into each glass. He smiled as warmly as possible. "Nikolai Ivanovich, take the money, tell me your tale, and drink vodka with me. If you fear Pavlo Mogilevich, Vladivostok would be a fine place for you in the future."

With a shaking hand, Nikolai reached for a glass and downed the vodka. "What do you know of genetics?"

They had consumed two-thirds of the vodka. Either the alcohol, pride, or a combination of both had long since loosened Nikolai's tongue. "Tell me, Yevgeny, have you seen Natali move?"

"I have seen her dance if that is what you mean?"

"Wait here, I have something to show you." Nikolai stood and turned on unsteady legs. One hand reached out to the wall for stability before he staggered out of the kitchen.

Yevgeny almost followed the old man but instead, he drew his taser and held it ready.

When Nikolai returned, he bore an old, worn expanding file folder, its flap held down with a cord wrapped around a plastic button. Relieved, Yevgeny pocketed his weapon The old man's hands shook slightly as he opened the folder and produced a thick stack of papers. "This, my friend, is Natali's design document." He thumbed through the stack until he found several pages, clearly torn from a notebook. Some lines held single words, others full sentences. In some places, the text had been heavily crossed out and rewritten. Nikolai scanned the pages until he found one item. "Here, read this." He spun the page around to face Yevgeny.

The line read, "In case of emergency, she should be capable of defending her master."

While Yevgeny read, Nikolai explained, "Pavlo didn't think about how I was to accomplish his wishes, nor did he care as long as they were met. I cheated and gave Natali an exceptional proprioceptive sense. This sense, you might know it as kinesthesia?" He looked up, and Yevgeny shook his head. "No, well, let me say that Natali always knows the position of her limbs. This sense, coupled with her strength and reflexes," The old man tapped the hand-written pages. "would make her formidable in a fight." Nikolai reached out and helped himself to Yevgeny's pack of western cigarettes. He lit one and took a long draw before exhaling the smoke with a cough. "It would also help to make her a delight in bed. Natali excels at all physical activities."

Yevgeny pointed to the first item on the list, "What of this? How did you make her loyal?"

"I cheated again and made her predisposed to oxytocin addiction." The old scientist noticed Yevgeny's confusion and smiled. "What is love? It is nothing more than simple brain chemistry. When a man and a woman have sexual relations, the brain releases oxytocin, and other hormones. These hormones are why sex is so pleasurable. Natali is an oxytocin addict. Every time her owner has relations with her, she gets her fix. With the physical addiction comes psychological addiction, and Natali's mind rationalizes her addiction into feelings similar to love. She will do whatever she must to satisfy her addiction."