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undercover operations; the hard part was going to be passing herself off as an up-and-coming Ph.D. for as long as it took to attract the right (or wrong, depending on your perspective) kind of interest.
    The weight of her suitcase tugged relentlessly on her arm and shoulders. Besides three days’ worth of clothes and toiletries, the overstuffed bag also bulged with the latest scientific journals, along with a couple of weighty tomes on the theoretical applications of genetic engineering. She had started reading up on the subject after that eventful visit to Berlin, but she’d still brought along plenty of homework to keep her busy in her spare time, the better to impersonate a topflight biological whiz kid.
    No moonlight excursions to the Fountain of Trevi this trip, she thought, sighing wistfully. No time for sight-seeing while the fate of the world hangs in the balance. Unlocking the door to Room 11-G, she stumbled inside. Her suitcase landed with a thud on the carpeted floor, giving her tired arm a break, but she couldn’t help wishing that she were in Rome as a tourist, not a secret agent. So what else is new? she mused, liberating Isis from the confines of the plastic carrier. Without so much as a meow of thanks, or even a backward glance, the jet-black feline scurried away to check out the bathroom. A few seconds later, the door to the bathroom closed behind the cat.
    At least she’s housebroken, Roberta thought. Heck, Isis didn’t even need a litter box; human facilities more than suited her needs, for reasons Roberta knew only too well. “Don’t take all day in there,” she called irritably to Gary Seven’s so-called pet. “You’re not the only one who wants to freshen up.”
    Roberta heard the toilet flush, followed by the sound of water pouring into the sink. Isis seemed to take her own sweet time washing up, but eventually the bathroom door swung open and the cat padded out onto the carpeted floor. Ignoring Roberta completely, Isis sprang onto the windowsill and settled down to watch the city streets below. Fine, Roberta thought. She didn’t feel like sparring with the cat anyway. ...
    Shortly, after kicking off her shoes and making herself comfortable, [33] Roberta retrieved a sheaf of folded papers from her carry-on bag, then stretched out on the queen-size bed to give them a closer look. No doubt the exact schedule for the conference had changed since this tentative itinerary had been mailed out, but there was time enough to look into that later this evening. Right now she just wanted to refamiliarize herself with the programming options available to her.
    Even the titles of the various panels and symposia were fairly daunting: “Replication of Chromosomal Segments by Means of Enzymes derived from Escherichia coli ,” “Further Applications of Prokaryotic Bacteriophages as Transgenic Vectors,” “The Use of Recombinant DNA in Multiclonal Antibodies” ...
    Let’s see, Roberta thought, underlining some of indicated seminars with a colored pencil. Traffic noises drifted upward from the busy streets outside. If I was a brilliant scientific genius on the cutting edge of the genetic frontier, where would I go?
     
    The ten A.M. presentation on “Tomorrow’s Medicine: The Genetics of Health” was being held in a crowded lecture hall on the hotel’s mezzanine. Roberta arrived early to get a good seat, right up front where she could be nice and visible. The better to attract attention she had also worn a stylish polyester shirtdress in a cheerfully bright red-and-white print. A bit more conservative than her usual style—she felt like Florence Henderson on The Brady Bunch —but, then again, she wasn’t attending the conference as herself. Isis, thankfully, had been left behind in their hotel room, to watch Italian TV, call for room service, or do whatever insufferable alien kitties did to amuse themselves. Roberta couldn’t care less; she had bigger things to worry about.
    As discreetly as she