Miracle Man (33 page)

“Did you bring me complete transcripts of the tapes?”

Perrone pursed his lips as he handed a second envelope to Varneys.

Varneys drummed his fingers on his desk. “Did you listen to the tapes?”

“Yes.”

Varneys eyebrows raised. “And your opinion?”

“A worthwhile read for you, sir.”

“The surveillance will continue for the duration of the trip?”

“Of course.”

A miniscule smile appeared on Varneys’ face as he said, “Well, it looks like our boy is getting the rest and relaxation he needed. And how do things stand overall?”

Perrone’s brow furrowed. “We’re picking up an escalated danger level. His malaria cure is the final straw for some of the fanatics. And there’s other information we’re coming across which is disturbing.”

Varneys resumed his finger drumming. “Like what?”

“The pharmaceutical industry.”

“Anything concrete?”

“No.”

Varneys pointed his right forefinger at Perrone like it was a gun. “Watch that one. There’s been trouble with them before. Are you satisfied with his safety in St. Thomas?”

“He hasn’t been out of our sight for a moment.”

“And you implemented our discussions?”

Perrone nodded emphatically. “With him and the Corwin lady out of the way, we were able to get the Prides Crossing facility and his Boston apartment totally covered.”

52

“S
o, Christina, I understand you had an unusual dual major in college,” Susan said, as she, Bobby, Christina and Anna enjoyed lunch on the mansion’s veranda overlooking the ocean.

“I love dancing and playing piano, so I had an opportunity to really develop those skills, but at the end of the day, I’m more talented at math and science so that’s what I pursued in grad school.”

Bobby said, “I’ve seen Christina dance. So if she’s better in the sciences –it’s time for me to hang it up.”

“Yeah right,” said Christina.

“I bet she’s poetry in motion,” said Anna smiling as she looked at Christina.

“Why did you do your Ph.D in math and not—was it chem—that you also studied at Stanford?” asked Susan.

“Math is my favorite. It’s always given me a sense of order. It grounds me. I actually find it calming.”

“What was your thesis about?” asked Susan.

Bobby interrupted. “Christina—please excuse the interrogation. Susan’s been reading, ‘Gestapo for Dummies’ and it’s having an effect on her.”

Christina laughed. “My NSA fellowship assigned me to Professor Wilem Berkenthal. I worked with him at Stanford on his negative sequential gravitation theory, which was a major breakthrough and my thesis dealt with aspects of that.”

“His theory doesn’t work,” said Bobby.

“What? What do you mean?” said Christina.

“His theory breaks down. If he’d extrapolated it the way he should have, he’d see this.”

“Why didn’t you tell him? He’s devoted his life to this.”

“That’s not what I do.”

Christina glared at Bobby, her mouth pressed into a straight line. Seeing this, Susan came to his rescue.

“You have to understand how Bobby spends his time. He doesn’t do any work in the pure or theoretical sciences. Everything has to be directly applicable to disease research. He never digresses.”

“That’s right,” said Bobby, eager to add to the damage control. “So even if I happen to come across something that someone is doing in the theoretical area which I realize is wrong, I can’t get engaged. One distraction leads to another. I made my choices long ago on what I do.”

“And the results speak for themselves,” Susan said.

Christina smiled as she put her hand on Bobby’s. “I get it. That makes sense. I was just surprised about Dr. Berkenthal, that’s all. I killed myself working for him. I was putting in fourteen hour days.”

“Are you close with your mom?” asked Anna, changing the subject.

“We’re very close now. You’d love her. She’s this wonderfully warm and artsy lady. She’s so full of life. She’s like a gypsy.”

“Did she every remarry?” Susan asked. “Bobby mentioned that your father died when you were very young. I’m sorry—am I getting too personal?”

Christina looked away and then stared down at her plate. “She did remarry—when I was nine. But she finally left him when I was fourteen and then things got a lot better between us.”

“Not a good choice she made in number two, I gather?” asked Susan.

Christina was silent as she pushed her food around on the plate.

The remaining few days of Christina’s stay in St. Thomas were dreamily relaxing, with she and Bobby exploring the Island and sampling its many beaches. On her last night, before dinner, she and Bobby joined Susan and Anna for cocktails at Azur Reve. As Bobby and Christina walked into the outdoor living room, both of them dressed for the evening, they were a stunningly attractive couple. Bobby held Christina lightly around the waist. He was beaming and Christina glowed. It was obvious that there was a magic between them.

“My my,” Anna said. “You two look like movie stars.”

“You certainly are a beautiful couple,” said Susan.

As they all sipped on cocktails and nibbled on the delicious canapés that the staff had put out, Susan asked Christina, “So what are you working on in Rhode Island?”

“I have a grant to work at Brown on topology and number theory with Dieter Dierks. He’s a visiting professor from the University of Bonn.”

“Are you excited about it?”

Christina nodded as she reached for a stuffed mushroom. “It should be interesting.”

Susan
inhaled the rest of her rum cocktail through the small straw. “I have a better idea. Why don’t you move to Boston and come work at the lab?”

The color drained out of Christina’s face. “You mean Bobby’s lab?”

“Exactly,” said Susan, grinning. Bobby looked panicked. Christina saw his uneasiness. Bobby glared at Susan and nodded in the direction of the kitchen.

“Would you excuse us for a moment please?” said Bobby.

Once inside the kitchen, Bobby pounced on Susan. “Are you crazy? Why did you do that?”

Susan stepped close to him, whispering so she wouldn’t be overheard. “Because, I know you. Once you get back to Boston, you’ll fall into your old routine. She lives in Rhode Island. You live in the lab. You’ll land up never seeing her, and it will all just slip away.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” replied Bobby. But one thing that will really kill it, is if she comes to work at the lab and sees me in that environment. She doesn’t know that side of me.”

Susan shook her head. “Bobby—you are who you are. You can’t hide it. But I’m telling you—if she’s not physically present, you’ll blow this. I know what I’m doing.”

As soon as Bobby and Susan sat down again, Christina said, “Susan—that was an extremely generous idea you had, but I don’t think it would work.”

Bobby
said nothing.

As midnight approached, Bobby and Christina sat together under a blanket on a large catamaran that sped through Magens Bay. Only five other passengers were onboard, and the boat was large enough so that everyone had their own private space. Bobby and Christina were unabashedly making out like teenagers. “This has been so wonderful. I wish I didn’t have to go back tomorrow,” she said.

Bobby held her close. “Would you like to work in my lab?”

“Who wouldn’t want to? Professionally I mean,” she replied.

“Forgetting the ‘professional’ thing?”

Christina didn’t answer, but she didn’t have to. She snuggled closer to Bobby, her head cradled under his chin. “Would you want to have me around that much?” she asked.

Bobby squeezed her shoulder. “Are you kidding? I’d love it, but it worries me. The guy you’ve spent the last week with isn’t the person I really am. You’ve seen the best of me. I’m not really like this.”

Christina laughed. “You mean you are the child eating nerdy ogre that lives in a cave, like the legends say?”

Bobby lowered his voice. “Well—almost. I’m obsessive. I work constantly. I’m reclusive, in my own world, absent, prone to trances, plagued by nightmares, I drink too much, I’m short tempered —and the list goes on.”

“You haven’t accomplished what you have by being a laid-back bon vivant. I know that.”

Bobby stood up and leaned against the boat’s railing as he gazed at the moonlight reflecting on the water. After awhile, he faced her, his eyes watery. “I don’t want to lose you, Christina. I’m afraid that if you’re around me too much, that’s what will happen.”

“So by keeping me at a distance—you can maintain a façade, and we can have a superficial relationship? Is that what you want?”

Bobby slowly shook his head. “I want you, Christina. That’s all I know. ”

She walked over to him and stood just inches away, her eyes probing his. “What makes you think that the woman you’ve been with this week—is the way I am all the time? Have you thought about that? I’m a damn hard worker too. And I care about what I do, just like you. But we’re on holiday—so, of course, we’re relaxed. And by the way—don’t think I look like this all the time, because I don’t, so don’t get used to it.” A faint smile crossed Bobby’s face. “Now, I’m pretty perceptive when it comes to men. I’m not afraid of who you are. I think I know. And I think I’ll just get to love you more.”

Bobby’s face brightened. “Did you say ‘more’?” Christina smiled and cut him off as she brought her lips to his. “That’s right, silly.”

53

C
olum McAlister was in a
foul mood when he called Turnbull into his office. Standing in front of his wall of windows almost ninety stories above the streets of New York City, McAlister looked lost in thought as he stared out at what usually was an awesome view. But today, all he saw were sheets of rain slamming against the panes, as storm force winds relentlessly pummeled the skyscraper.

Turnbull entered the room and then stood patiently waiting for McAlister to acknowledge his presence. The other two executives already there, the Heads of Bushings’ Information Technology and Public Relations departments, were still reeling from McAlister’s tirade against them. They now sat quietly, waiting for the next salvo, and hoping they would escape the room without losing their jobs. McAlister turned around and faced them again, “So let me be sure I understand this. You’re telling me that you can’t get any traction in disseminating our viral internet campaign against Austin because it’s being blocked?”

“Someone’s detecting it and sabotaging the proliferation. They’re worming it into oblivion.”

“Who could do that?” asked McAlister.

“Only someone with extremely sophisticated monitoring capability and programming resources.”

“Who would have that? Someone in Austin’s office?”

“No way.”

“And it doesn’t matter who sends it off? You tried using our outside people?”

“Of course. It’s the content that’s detected. The interception is content based.”

With a wave of his hand, McAlister motioned them to leave, which they did as quickly as possible without appearing to run out of the room.

Turnbull stayed. “The Austin problem’s only getting worse, Marty. Nothing’s working to derail him. So far, none of the authorities will cooperate with us, and you just heard that he’s being shielded on the smear campaign—which is troubling for a variety of reasons.”

Turnbull’s red face was indicative of his blood pressure problem, which had grown worse in recent months. He mopped his oily forehead with a crumpled tissue that he pulled out of his pants pocket. “It’s not good, Colum. His malaria cure is vetting out perfectly in field tests, and now every scientist is glomming on to the methodology he laid out for them. All vector transmitted diseases will be a thing of the past within three years. He made it so easy for them it’s like shooting ducks in a barrel. Our share price is diving
and the formal announcements haven’t even been made yet.”

McAlister nodded. “It’s only going to get worse. Austin’s been on a tear since returning from his little Caribbean holiday a few months ago. He’s working on tuberculosis now. That’s a big ticket item for us.”

“TB’s currently worth two billion in revenue. And that’s just to us. To the industry, we’re talking at least six. A third of the world’s infected, two million deaths a year,” said Turnbull.

McAlister looked out at the rain pelting his windows. “It’s much bigger than that
.
If new strains of drug resistant TB become the pandemic that the CDC and WHO are predicting, that’ll be the jackpot we’ve been waiting for. It’ll be a license to print money. It’ll be worth more than AIDS.”

Turnbull wagged his head. “Unless Austin ruins it.”

McAlister glared at Turnbull. “You mean until Austin ruins it. With that guy, it’s not a question of ‘if,’ it’s a question of when.”

Turnbull shook his head. “I can’t believe we haven’t been able to get anything of value from him. We’ve been hacking his computers for how long?”

McAlister waved his hand as if shooing away a fly. “All his data is incomprehensible to our guys. No one can figure out what the hell he’s doing.”

Turnbull said, “He probably realized he was being hacked ages ago and he’s just playing with us.” The scowl on McAlister’s face was reprimand enough for the crack. “So—what’s next Colum?” “Do we just lay down and die?”

“You know me better than that,” replied McAlister.