As the meeting had now transformed into a more serious briefing by the intelligence experts, Nicasio was beginning to feel a bit dizzy from this new barrage of information, and its possible future ramifications for Daniela. He was particularly concerned in hearing that a young grad student working with the secret society had been killed or disappeared.

"But despite diplomatic efforts to locate Nihal Sawyer . . . including a cooperative campaign by Yale University and the Turkish authorities," Mr. Helms added, "she was never seen again. According to her colleagues, she simply disappeared one night from a field tent near the ancient archaeological site of Troy, on the western coast of Turkey."

"So, Mr. Helms . . . do you have reason to believe this young woman may still be alive?" It was the only female in the room, Caitlin O' Farrell, who posed the question.

"At this point, we are open to all conjectures, Ms. O'Farrell. Regarding the original group of women . . . who seem to be at the organization's core of activities, we are still pursuing any and all leads in this case."

Again, Mr. Helms clicked the hand-held devise toward the laptop accessing a new set of photos on the screen.

"The three women you see here are the remaining compliment of Vasiliou's ad hoc international group a decade ago. They worked in conjunction with her and the missing grad student those two summers at the American School of Classical Studies in Athens. And they were all with her on the second, tragic dig in Turkey.

The group again scrutinized the faces before them.

"So from left to right we have . . . Kate Sumner, a British national from Cambridge . . . Helene Tormis, a Finish grad student . . . and Anneliese Kappel from Germany. These women were, at the time, all top international grad students of archaeology or classical studies. Only the German, Miss Kappel, has not remained in contact with the others over time. Nor does she have, as far as we can detect, any ongoing affiliation with the activities of the Penthesilea Sisterhood. At least . . . not detected by any of our electronic surveillance."

Mr. Helms then clicked the device again and the screen went dark.

"Ladies and gentlemen, this concludes my portion of the briefing today."

Dr. Williamson stood in response to Mr. Helms' final comment and took the floor once more.

"Thank you, David . . . So at this time, I would like to ask Mr. Stuttman of the FBI to give us his update on operations and activities being monitored within the United States. . . Mr. Stuttman?"

The heavy man got to his feet slowly, as if the action was painful. He walked to the front of the room methodically, heavily. And like Mr. Helms, he handed Dr. Williamson a portable digital storage device.

The first of Mr. Stuttman's images to occupy the screen was a spacious gray, one level architectural structure. Appearing to be located on the outskirts of a town in an industrial area, it covered the better half of a block. The conservative jade green sign outside the trimmed lawn entry read: Labrys Gene Research Center. Below these words was a sculptural double-headed axe, obviously the emblem of the firm.

"Good morning, people. What we're looking at here is a gene science facility. You can find it down in San Diego's NorthCounty. A lovely city. As it turns out, this privately funded outfit has been in operation for a while. In fact, it's been humming along down there for the past thirteen years, if you count the year it took to construct it. Now, this research center has published none of its work or projects, and the private owners, well . . . they allow no interviews or tours of its facilities. Our surveillance of the center has indicated nineteen employees work there. Regular full timers. And it's not surprising to us . . . that they happen to be . . . all women. Surprised?"

Mr. Helms, who had just taken his seat, smiled at Mr. Stuntman's ironic delivery.

"We've determined this about the work force from their license plates in the employee parking lot. And well, a few other interesting bits of trivia have come up about them. Turns out, this center recruited these ladies years ago. They're a handful of the most promising women scientists in the field of re-combinative genetics and four of them are full medical post-doc research physicians."

Mr. Stuttman aimed and fired the remote devise toward at the laptop once more. Displayed on the screen in rapid order were a dozen photos of the outside of the massive, well-groomed genetics facility.

"So these central researchers . . . along with the female laboratory techs they hired, come from China, the Czech Republic, Sweden, Japan, England and Canada. The remainder of the staff are home-grown American girls."

It was obvious to Nicasio that Caitlin O'Farrell was not amused by Mr. Taylor's whimsical tone.

"We further checked and found that all the foreign nationals working for the lab . . . a total of thirteen . . . have up-to-date documentation and completely legal status to live and work in the U.S. The rest, as I say, are clearly American citizens.

"So, what's the connection here, Mr. Stuttman?" asked the Lieutenant Colonel, gruffly and leaning forward in his chair. "I mean between our cell of women archaeologists over there in Turkey . . . and this . . . high-tech lab installation?"

"Well, according to the telephone and email records of these women inside, there's been a lot of chatter connecting them with your . . . Dr. Vasiliou over there in Greece. Ever since the lab was up and running, we've seen a pretty steady flow of friendly chitchat back and forth on the Net. And something was telling us it wasn't just gossip."

One of the men at the table laughed at his derisive comment.

"And that includes several of the women you've introduced us to today . . . and over a period of about twelve years."

"That's very interesting," the colonel commented. "And if it's as you state, Mr. Stuttman . . . over this amount of time . . . it also seems pretty suspicious."

"Trust me, Colonel . . . our Intel on this is very credible. And as it's after all a bio-med operation, well . . . our folks just don't like the smell of it."

Everyone could now see Ms O'Farrell was silently bristling at the speaker.

"So . . . any idea what they're doing down there? I mean working with genetics?" It was now the casual Mr. Taylor from DHS.

"So far, Mr. Taylor . . . no. But it's now our top priority to find out. You guys over at DHS will be kept abreast of any developments we uncover. The potential for this lab to be working on some kind of WMD . . . possibly germ warfare is now pretty real."

"Jesus men!" was the response by the military attaché.

"You see gentlemen . . . right now from their coded messages . . . to and from the outside, we've deciphered that they're doing a lot of follow-up work on some sort of cloning project. Something they may have initiated back when the facility became active. We have no idea what that is or was. . . but one of their highest volumes of chatter was going on about that time."

"So right now you expect their work to be . . . what then?"

"Not sure. Could be a real threat . . . or just pretty marginal cutting edge science. But make no mistake about this . . . cloning is a topic that makes everyone nervous."

Some of the men began to make quiet comments among themselves. Nicasio had difficulty believing all he was hearing, as probably several of the others did being appraised of this element for the first time.

"The colonel again sounded off, going on the offensive.

"So just who actually is responsible for this unit, gentlemen? Who's at its central command? And where is its funding come from? Anybody asking those type of questions?"

"Right. Well we suspect there are more top level, senior suspects within Penthesilea working in that capacity, colonel. And right here in California. From our analysis it could be possibly within the Bay Area . . . or maybe just down the coast. Somewhere south of Big Sur. Anyway . . . we're on the case with that."

"Well the fact that their leadership has eluded you so far is a tribute to their sophistication. Is it not, Mr. Stuttman? This is a formative foe we are talking about here, gentlemen!"

"Look Sir. All our efforts are out there to locate these ladies, OK? To gain what we can from their movements . . . tailing their contacts."

Nicasio's fears were once again jump-started and put on high alert.

The next image Mr. Stuttman shared with the group was what appeared to be a three-storied office building located in congested small city.

"This little building you see, folks, is in Davidson, North Carolina. It's a busy lakeside college town. Not too far away is the financial center for many national and multi-national banks . . . operating out of Charlotte."

Again, Mr. Stuntman's photos gave a rapid-fire visual overview of the premises and surroundings, obviously taken from a low altitude drone and at the street level.

"OK. So located in this building is the office headquarters of a non-profit organization called Antiope's Daughters. It was established five years ago to serve as an NGO. Its purpose is to send aid and assistance to women internationally. Today they're super active with a number of causes. Violence against women . . . setting up counseling centers . . . crash-houses to take in and protect females . . . intervention for abuse and exploitation. And it's all been gloriously funded these past years by women from all over the globe. Most notably high-recognition women in the entertainment biz. So this organization is not hurting for cash. Their tax documents, mostly avoided due to NGO status. . . speak pretty clearly of their wealth."

"But . . . are these activities necessarily a bad thing, Mr. Stuttman?" It was the President himself, Dr. Williamson, who made the fair inquiry."

"Yeah, well it would seem not . . . But we're constantly perplexed by this organization, Sir. There are elements of it we feel are legitimate . . . no doubt beneficial to women's needs. But there are other activities which . . . well if they're linked up . . . as we believe they are . . . they're responsible for some pretty wicked acts out there against . . . men."

"Would you please explain that further, Mr. Stuttman?" It was again the military attaché who asked.

"Well . . . these are the cases we're looking into closely now internationally. The violence could be from a splinter group . . . or a part of the organized whole which is involved in taking the law into its own hands."

"That's frightening."

Yes, Sir, it is. And we're just not firm on that. Granted the male victims are always the perpetrators of some pretty horrid acts themselves against females. But I'd rather not expound upon those elements here today until we have more compiled data."

Mr. Stuttman looked directly at Professor Simons.

"Dr Simons, I understand earlier you sat through a presentation by the CIA and State Department regarding these matters of attacks. Did they not outline some of those brutal events I'm speaking of internationally here?"

Nicasio quickly looked over at the professor for verification if it was so. His mentor just closed his eyes and nodded.

"Well then, Dr. Simons . . . Am I correct, sir?"

"Yes, that's right," the professor acknowledged out loud in a clear voice. "It was not a pretty sight what these women are doing," he added more quietly.

"Unfortunately, ladies and gentlemen, we may be starting to witness a very violent arm of this organization which is getting bolder and growing daily. And asymmetrically, I might add. Most of our information here is coming from abroad. But I will have to now defer to Ms. O'Farrell and her State Department's division on that for clearance to discuss it today."

"But why not here and now, Mr. Stuttman?"

The lieutenant colonel was obviously angered by this evasion of the discussion.

"Don't you have some specifics of those crimes, sir?"

"Yes. Plenty."

"Well, isn't that what we're here for today, Mr. Stuttman?"

The President intervened.

"Perhaps. . . Mr. Stuttman . . . you could just briefly comply with that request? Possibly inform this committee a bit . . . about these assaults?"

Mr. Stuttman looked over at Ms. O'Farrell for some sign of approval. She remained motionless but obviously non-compliant. There was no agreement in her eyes.

He continued, surprisingly, despite her subtle unwillingness to grant him that authority.

Well . . . OK. Calling themselves Aristomache's Strike Force and through deciphered messages we have hacked . . . we've been able to trace some of the movements of this shadier, well organized operation.

Ms. O'Farrell was noticeably disturbed that he was going forward with this apparently still-classified information.

"You see, gentlemen, when captured on rare occasions . . . and pressed through interrogation, these women deny any connection to the Penthesilea Sisterhood. They insist they are independent from any overarching group. However, our surveillance of them both physically and through cyberspace has detected in some cases a different picture.

Ms O'Farrell just glared at the speaker in anger.

"And iIn my personal estimation . . . I would have to say these armed vigilantes most likely are an elite wing of the sisterhood in question."

"Christ! Are these women really so organized? So tactical?" exclaimed the colonel.

"Yes, colonel. I would say they are. Of course, we see this violence primarily in areas where women are plagued by violence themselves . . . honor killings . . . torture. . . rape. Places where females may be brutally punished for acts deemed taboo by local extremist religions or regimes."

"OK. Understood. But nevertheless . . ."

"However, we're beginning to see an alarming number of these assaults against men show up in Western societies now. Again, where a woman has been brutalized, incarcerated or sexually assaulted."

"Go on sir. . ."

Suddenly Caitlin O'Farrell stood and walked unannounced to the front of the room. She took a position next to the current speaker, Mr. Stuttman, from the FBI. He seemed surprised by this impromptu action.

She spoke loudly and clearly to the group.

"So just possibly, gentlemen . . . this new violent phenomenon we're seeing by certain women . . . is evolving into an effective deterrent in some places of the world. And aren't there, in fact, areas where male-dominant crimes against women are super prevalent? Egregious acts . . . which often go unpunished?"

The group of men was silent. They all seemed stupefied by the tone and directness of her position. It was seen as an unexpected and bold show of support for the behaviors discussed."

"Yes, Ms. O'Farrell," a surprised Stuttman, replied, facing her. "But there's been a disturbing spike in these . . .vendetta attacks recently. Are you asking us to condone them? They're happening now against men in America and Western Europe, as well."

"Mr. Stuttman . . . my agency has seen the work of Aristomache's Strike Force particularly over the past year. Both abroad and here, domestically. Yes, it is brutal. Out of bounds of the law in many cases and unprecedented. But we are not acknowledging yet that this group is even associated or officially sanctioned by the Penthesilea's Sisterhood. PS is a group my agency has been monitoring over the past five years."

The men seemed additionally stunned by this revelation.

Ms. O'Farrell turned to the group—open-faced, signaling that it was now her turn to take the floor.

* * *