Code Zero by Jonathan Maberry

he removed a package of Nilla wafers, opened it, selected a cookie, bit off a corner, and munched quietly. He placed the package on the table but did not offer a cookie to anyone else. No one asked him for one.
    Artemisia waited. She didn’t know who he or the woman was, but it was clear from Hu’s demeanor that they were his superiors. Hu’s manner had become immediately deferential when they’d entered this conference room, particularly to the white man. The big man looked sixtyish, but it was the kind of middle age that came with no diminution of personal power. He wore a very expensive Italian suit, an understated hand-painted silk tie, and tinted sunglasses that effectively hid any expression in his eyes. The lenses looked flat and did not appear to have any corrective curves, so she guessed that their sole purpose was to keep people from reading his eyes. That was interesting. Either he was the most closed-in person in the world, or he was aware that his eyes were the only weak link in otherwise impervious armor. Whoever he was, Artemisia was certain that he was in charge of this place. He had a natural authority and sense of power that was palpable, and yet he did not appear to be deliberately projecting an alpha dog vibe. He simply was the alpha. Here and, she thought, probably in most situations in which he found himself. She was certain she’d never met anyone quite like him.
    His vibe was extremely scary. And sexy.
    She doubted he would have showed off by making a comment about her name and the connection to the artist, as Hu had done. While with Hu that was mildly flattering, the doctor’s energy was more earthy and real. This man was far more aloof, and probably didn’t need the ego stroke of wanting to appear hyperintelligent and well-informed.
    Artemisia realized that she feared him for reasons she could not adequately understand. She was in the presence of power on a level she’d never previously encountered.
    And the woman, the Whoopi Goldberg with ’tude, had a lot of power, too. But it wasn’t quite on the same level.
    After the cookie was gone, the big man took a handkerchief—a real one, not a tissue—and dabbed at the corners of his mouth. He folded the handkerchief neatly and placed it on the table beside the box of cookies.
    “My name is Church,” he said, then nodded to the black woman. “This is Aunt Sallie.”
    “‘Aunt Sallie’?” echoed Artemisia.
    “You can call me Auntie. Call me ‘ma’am’ and I’ll kneecap you.” She wasn’t smiling when she said it.
    “Noted,” said Artemisia.
    “Dr. Hu speaks very highly of you,” said Church.
    Artemisia nodded. She was letting her instincts guide her, and the remark did not seem to warrant a verbal reply. The man was stating a fact, not asking for agreement.
    “Your profile suggests that you would be a good fit for us.”
    “May I ask who ‘us’ is, exactly?”
    “We’ll get to that.” Church studied her for a long time. A longer time than was comfortable, and she began to fidget. She hated that, because she never fidgeted. It was a point of pride for her. The big man ate another cookie. Slow bites, a lot of measured chewing. A dab of the handkerchief. Without consulting any paperwork or computer, he said, “You were first in science and math in every school you’ve attended. You graduated from high school at age fourteen, you received special consideration that allowed you to earn a doctorate at twenty. You don’t appear to have much in the way of personal politics.”
    She resisted the urge to give a dismissive shrug. Instinct told her that a reaction like that would cast her in a poor light. Probably in the black woman’s eyes and definitely in the big man’s eyes.
    “I care more about people than political parties,” she said.
    “Oh, jeez,” sighed Aunt Sallie.
    Mr. Church gave a faint smile. “Would you mind elaborating on that?”
    Artemisia felt her face growing hot. Despite her best effort she’d put