Transhuman (29 page)

“You're threatening me?”

“I'm asking for your voluntary cooperation.”

Fisk went silent, looking grim. But at last he asked, “I'd have a monopoly on the treatment?”

“For as long as the patents allow.”

“And we bring the new therapies to the marketplace gradually.”

Rossov nodded again.

“But we do bring the therapies to the marketplace,” Fisk insisted.

“Of course. In time.”

“I'll probably need cancer therapy myself in a few years,” Fisk murmured. “It runs in my family.”

“You'll get it,” Rossov promised.

Fisk drew in a big breath, then let it sigh out of him. “All right. I'll go along with you. I'll tell my legal people to start work on a patent application.”

“I'll see to it that it's given top priority by the Patent Office.”

“And I want a legal piece of paper about this agreement between us.”

“It'll have to be classified secret, of course.”

“With the President's signature on it.”

Rossov hesitated a moment, then said, “That can be arranged.”

Fisk nodded back at him. “Now all you have to do is get Abramson to go along with you.”

“That can be arranged, too,” said Rossov.

 

Bartram Research Laboratories

“
I
DAHO?” LUKE BLURTED.
“Why Idaho?”

Paul Rossov smiled at him. “It's a secure facility. You'll be able to work there without being bothered.”

It was four days after Del's “accident.” Luke's son-in-law was almost fully recovered and itching to get out of bed. Hightower seemed to be standing watch over them all, a massive presence, silent but seemingly omnipresent. Novack had faded into the background; Luke thought that Hightower felt better off with Fisk's man some distance away.

Luke had left Angela speaking through Skype with her mother, who was still back in Boston. Angie was looking better, good enough so that her appearance didn't seem to unsettle Norrie. At least she didn't look upset. She was all smiles and happiness to be talking with her daughter.

Leaving Angie in Tamara's care, Luke had gone out to the lone tennis court behind the main laboratory building for a game with one of the lab's staff researchers. They couldn't round up two more people, so they played singles, the first time Luke had done that in years. Decades, actually.

The White House executive had appeared unannounced at the tennis court. Luke had broken off the game he'd been playing to talk with him. Just as well, he thought: The guy's beating me damned easily. Should have stuck to doubles.

Now Rossov and Luke were walking down the hallway that led to Del's room, Luke in shorts and a sweat-stained T-shirt, Rossov in his usual precise three-piece gray suit.

Shaking his head, Luke said, “I don't know of any facility in Idaho that has the equipment or the staff that I need.”

“It's there, believe me. And whatever equipment or staff you need, I'll see to it that you get them.”

“Idaho,” Luke muttered.

“Good ski country,” Rossov coaxed.

“Good way to break a leg,” Luke grumbled.

Rossov laughed. “I thought you'd be interested in skiing, considering how much your physical condition has improved.”

“Not me. Tennis is challenge enough.”

They came to Del's room. Luke rapped once on the door and opened it. His son-in-law was sitting up in bed, with Angela beside him, both of them bent over a laptop. Tamara was standing at the foot of the bed. As Luke entered, she turned and smiled at him. Luke could hear Norrie's voice coming from the computer.

*   *   *

“
I
DAHO?” TAMARA LOOKED
totally surprised.

“That's what Rossov tells me,” said Luke.

They had left Del's room and gone to the cafeteria. Now they were sitting at a small table, heads bent together so they could talk low and still hear each other over the babble and clatter.

“Me, too?” she asked.

“For the first few weeks,” he said.

Tamara's green eyes shifted away. Luke knew what she was thinking: She'd put her entire career in jeopardy by following him on this desperate trek across the country; now he was asking her to stay with him a while longer, keep her career on hold to continue taking care of Angela.

“I know it's a lot to ask,” he said.

Tamara shrugged. “Like I've got a lot to go back to in Massachusetts.”

“Think of it this way,” he coaxed. “You'll be the only physician in the world who's actually participated in this new therapy. You're the attending physician in a case where glioblastoma multiforme's been cured.”

She smiled wanly. “I'm also the physician of record in the first case of human age reversal.”

“You'll be able to write your own ticket.”

“I wonder.”

“Of course you will!”

“Luke…” She hesitated.

“What?”

“What about us?”

“Us?”

“You and me,” she said, her voice low. Barely looking at him across the table, Tamara said, “Is there a future for the two of us? Together?”

There it is, Luke thought. Out in the open. With a shake of his head, he replied, “I hope so.”

“So do I.”

He reached across the table and took both her hands in his. “Tamara … I'm an old man, you know. Old enough to be your father.”

She smiled impishly. “Yes, Daddy.”

Luke wanted to reach across the table and kiss her. But instead he simply sat in place, holding her hands, staring into her gleaming green eyes.

At last he said, “It might not be so bad in Idaho. The two of us, I mean.”

Tamara nodded, but her smile faded. “What about this place in Idaho? It sounds almost like a federal prison.”

“No,” he said. “Rossov assured me we'd have a top-flight staff and all the equipment we want.”

“Would we be able to leave?”

He shrugged. “You want to go skiing?”

“I don't want to be kept under lock and key in some federal facility in the middle of nowhere.”

Luke's brows knit. So much for romance, he thought.

“Look, Tamara,” he said, “we've got the opportunity to carry Angie's treatment to its conclusion. And my own. Top staff, no interference from asses like Wexler. You'll be coauthor on all the papers I'll write.”

Looking askance, she asked, “They'll allow you to publish?”

Luke felt shocked. “They can't stop me from publishing! For God's sake, that's what science is all about: to do experiments and publish them.”

Tamara nodded. But she did not look convinced.

*   *   *

N
OVACK WAS SITTING
in his motel room, making his daily report to Fisk. On his laptop's screen, Fisk looked calm, almost pleasant. But Novack knew that was only skin deep.

“The arrangements for transferring them to Idaho are almost complete,” Fisk told him. “Another couple of days and off they all go.”

“The kid's father, too?”

Fisk replied, “I've talked that over with Rossov. Yes, bring the father along with you. Hightower is going to fly out to Boston and offer Mrs. Villanueva the opportunity to be reunited with her daughter.”

Novack grunted. “Family reunion, huh?”

“Yes. One big, happy family: grandpa, daddy, mommy, and baby.”

“Maybe we can get them a puppy.”

Fisk smirked. “Not an altogether bad idea.”

“What happens when Poppa finds out that he can't leave until we're ready to let him go?”

“You contain him. Treat him with kindness. Make sure he's not lacking for any creature comfort.” Fisk's expression hardened. “But he won't be allowed to have any communication with the outside world. Once his wife gets there, the whole kit and caboodle of them are going to
stay
there until we're damned good and ready to let them go.”

Novack understood. “Which might be a long time.”

“It might be a very long time indeed,” Fisk agreed.

Novack said to himself, So I'll take them to Nowheresville, Idaho, me and Hightower and a team of federal marshals.

And that Dr. Minteer, he thought. Might not be so bad in Nowheresville with her around.

 

Moving Day

“
Y
OU JUST PASSED
the turnoff for the airport,” Tamara said.

She and Angela, Del, and Luke, plus their luggage, were bundled into a government-issue black Ford Expedition SUV.

Before the federal marshal who was driving could reply, Hightower, sitting beside him, turned slightly and said over his shoulder, “We're not going to the commercial airport.”

“We're not?” Luke asked.

“Air Force base,” said Hightower. “A plane will take us direct to Spokane; from there we go to the Idaho facility.”

“Huh.” Luke settled back in his chair. Angela sat beside him, Tamara on the child's other side. Del sat behind them, grumbling as the SUV thrummed along the highway. Rossov and Novack were in the white Chrysler 300 sedan following them.

Those two make a good combination, Luke thought. Glad they're not in this wagon with us.

“I want to file assault-and-battery charges against that Novack guy,” Del said loudly.

Hightower said, “That's not a federal matter. You'll have to talk to the local police about that.”

“But we're leaving the area.”

With a shrug, the FBI agent said, “Well, maybe you'll be able to call them from where we're going.”

Luke asked, “You don't know where we're going?”

“Not the final destination. Our orders are to get you aboard that Air Force jet.”

“Babysitters,” muttered the marshal driving the car. He was a youthful-looking African American.

Luke leaned back and tried to enjoy the ride. Their route down the Columbia River basin was spectacular, even in midwinter. Some of the trees were bare, but there were plenty of firs standing dark green against the distant snow-capped mountains. The sun was shining brightly, for a change, and the river sparkled as it coursed toward the sea.

Luke didn't see the name of the Air Force base as they drove up to a guard gate. Funny, he thought: They usually have a big sign telling you the base's name.

Their driver showed the white-helmeted Air Policeman his identification papers, and the guard handed him a little map.

“Stay on the route indicated in red, sir,” the AP warned. “Otherwise you'll be stopped.”

The marshal nodded his understanding, and they drove past several rows of nondescript barracks, finally arriving at the airfield, with Novack and Rossov close behind them.

They pulled up in front of a hangar where a sleek, low-winged, twin-engine jet stood waiting. Luke got out of the car, hunching against the cold wind, and helped Angela out. He zipped up her wool coat and made sure her hat was snug and covered her ears. Hightower popped out of the front seat and opened Tamara's door, then gave her a hand getting down from the SUV.

“Thank you,” she said, smiling at him.

“De nada,” he replied, smiling back at her.

It was cold but dry, and the sunshine felt good. The wind was blustery, though. Looking down at Angela, Luke saw that she didn't seem to mind the weather at all. She looked happy to be out in the open.

Rossov and Novack pulled up behind them. A pair of Air Force enlisted men toted the baggage from the SUV to the plane, and the whole group of them went to the stairway built into the hatch at the front of the plane. Novack clambered up the steps first.

Luke could feel the tension as soon as his son-in-law climbed into the plane's cabin. He glared at Novack, who had taken the first seat by the hatch. Novack returned the angry look with an amused smile.

“I'm filing assault-and-battery charges against you,” Del said, leaning over Novack's seated form.

“It's a free country,” said Novack.

Del stared at him for another moment, then stomped down the plane's narrow aisle and took a seat behind Luke and Angela. Luke let Angie have the window seat and helped her click her safety belt in place. Tamara sat across the aisle from him.

“Will we be flying real high, Grandpa?” Angela asked.

“Over the clouds,” Luke replied.

“Wow.”

Angie didn't look frightened about flying. She's been on planes before, Luke remembered. She'll be okay.

When Hightower ducked through the hatch, Luke thought he felt the plane tilt from his weight. The FBI man sat across the aisle from Novack without saying a word to him. Or anyone else. Rossov came aboard last, looked up the aisle, then came down and sat himself beside Del.

As the plane's engines whined to life, Rossov said to Del, “I can understand that you're upset about Novack—”

“Upset?” Del snapped. “I'm going to get him thrown in jail!”

“For assault and battery? Not likely. Besides, if you got before a judge it would boil down to an I-said and he-said case. There weren't any witnesses.”

Luke half-turned in his seat and pointed out, “There's the MRI showing injury to Del's kidney.”

Rossov nodded. “Yes, I know. Those records are on board with us.”

“You took them out of the Bartram labs?”

“Of course. You'll want them with you when we get to the facility in Idaho, won't you?”

“We could have phoned the labs and asked them to e-mail the scans to us. No need to carry them along.”

Rossov pursed his lips. “That might not be so easy. The base where we're going is buttoned up pretty tight. They don't want e-mails coming in from unauthorized senders.”

“Base?” Luke asked. “I thought it was a medical facility.”

“Oh, it's a medical facility, all right. On an Army base.”

The pilot's voice crackled over the intercom. “We're ready for takeoff. Please make sure your seat belts are fastened.”