Elixir. Part 41

"We now have confirmed reports that the victims were a middle-age divorced couple, Theodore Kaminsky, age sixty-three, and his wife, Jennifer, age fifty. Jennifer Kaminsky is the sister of Wendy Bacon, alias Laura Glover, wife of biologist Christopher Bacon who..." The announcer went on to explain the bizarre twist that linked the crime scene to them.

But what summoned a gasp from Laura was the end of the report.

"...As reported, there was a third victim who had died later at County Memorial Hospital, but authorities have still not been able to determine the age or ident.i.ty because of unusual condition of the victim's body. According to Prairie police, it appeared to be a very elderly woman dressed in children's clothing."

"Oh, G.o.d!"

"What happened?" Brett asked, waking up. Laura looked toward Roger, her face bloodless. She tried to talk but couldn't.

"A news report about Jenny," Roger explained. Then he took a deep breath. "What Mom didn't tell you was that Jenny had given the stuff to her daughter to keep her a child."

"What? How come?"

"I'm not sure, but I guess she felt like a failure with Kelly. Whatever, when Abigail died she must have aged."

"You mean she turned really old?"

"Yes."

"Is that right, Mom?"

But she didn't answer him. "Pull over," she said to Roger. "I want you to pull over."

They were on a country road of farms. It was mid-morning and traffic was spa.r.s.e, and a cold rain fell. "Why?"

"I want you to take what you need, and dump the rest. Please."

She had that wild, desperate look in her eye that for a moment made Roger think he was looking at Jenny.

"Mom, calm down."

"Stop here."

"Laura, I think we better talk this over first."

"Roger, I beg you. Take what you need and destroy the rest."

"And what will that do?"

"It will spare others." Her voice was oddly flat, her manner controlled. But he knew she was at the edge, that if he refused her she would crack. "There's a clearing there," she pointed.

Roger pulled onto a soft shoulder by a field of corn.

"Let's talk this over," he said.

"There's nothing to talk over."

He knew what she was thinking: The substance had killed everything in her life. The world was threatening to explode. She wanted it eliminated. She didn't care how he did it-dump it off the next bridge, smash the vials with a rock. She just wanted the stuff to be gone from existence.

At the moment, Roger cared nothing about the world or even going on indefinitely any more. What was certain was that he could not ask her to hole up for a few weeks in the cabin. Either she would go mad or take Brett to the police herself.

He stared through windshield, the only sound filling the car was that of the rain pattering dismally on the roof. He thought for a moment.

"Okay, but give me twenty-four hours. Then I'll get rid of it. I promise, no matter what. You can do it yourself."

She turned her head toward him. "Twenty-four hours? Who knows where we'll be in twenty-four hours, or who might get hold of it?" She took his arm. "Roger, please do this for me." Her eyes were pooled with tears again. "Please."

"Give me a moment," he said and from his jacket he pulled out the cell phone and a portable tape recorder from the glove compartment. When he was properly connected, he called Information in Washington, D.C. When he got that, he said, "The White House, please."

"What are you doing?" Laura asked.

"Cutting a deal."

"What kind of a deal? What are you talking about?"

"Trust me."

Laura looked at him blankly.

"Dad, don't do anything dumb."

"I've already done that."

Several transfers later and minutes of waiting for a live operator, he announced who he was and asked to speak to the president.

"I'm sorry, the president is busy. If you would like to leave a message, one of his aides will get back to you." She said that as if common citizens called all the time to be put through to the Oval Office.

"Listen to me," he growled. "This is Roger Glover, formerly Christopher Bacon, aka Jesus or Satan depending upon your spiritual persuasion. If you don't recognize the name, turn on your G.o.dd.a.m.n television."

There was a long pause. Then, "One moment, please."

Two more transfers and he was switched to man who claimed to be the Deputy Chief of White House Security and who asked, "Why exactly do you want to speak to the president, Mr. Glover?"

Exasperated, Roger said: "Because he's the biggest man in the world, and I have the biggest drug in the world. Now do you want to continue haggling, or should I call AARP?"

Two more clicks, and another long wait, then Roger heard the familiar voice. And his heart jogged in his chest.

"This is John Markarian."

Roger nodded to say he got through.

While Laura just stared at him in numbed disbelief, Brett's eyes saucered. "Friggin' cool, Dad," he whispered.

"Mr. President, this is Roger Glover."

"How do I know you're Roger Glover?"

"Because anybody else would have given up trying to get through." To convince him, he outlined some details about Elixir that only the president had been made privy to, including Ross Darby's friendship with Ronald Reagan.

"Okay, what can I do for you?"

"It's what we can do for each other."

Roger explained that he, his wife, and son were ready to turn themselves in and release to the proper authorities the entire supply of Elixir and the scientific notebooks on its manufacture.

The president listened, then said he was pleased to hear that. Then Roger proclaimed his innocence in the murder of Betsy Watkins and the sabotage of Eastern flight 219.

"What I can do for you is help dispel all the mystical garbage that's been flying. And beginning with the fact that I'm still mortal.

"But the important thing, Mr. President, is that Elixir stops cancer cells from growing. It turns off their genetic switches. And one of the side effects is prolongevity." Briefly he explained that and the senescence limitations.

The president listened intently. "A chemical that prevents cancer while prolonging life indefinitely has astounding implications for health care and the economy, I need not tell you."

"I'm familiar with the hysteria," Roger said. "That's another reason why the compound must be monitored." Then Roger listed his conditions for the surrender of themselves and the serum.

So far, it was their word against the authorities' that they were innocent of the charges. But Roger did request a presidential pardon for fleeing prosecution and immunity for Laura and Brett. The president agreed. As for his defense against the charges of murder and sabotage, Roger requested the best legal representation. He also asked for witness protection for Laura and Brett. The president agreed again.

Finally, he asked that the entire supply of Elixir and scientific notebooks be turned over to the medical research arm of Public Citizen with the caveat that it be used exclusively in oncology studies, not human prolongevity. Roger did not personalize, but he warned that the potential dangers were unimaginable.

He glanced at Laura who nodded approval.

"But that's what all the excitement is all about," Markarian responded.

"Mr. President, the nightmare possibilities far exceed those for human cloning which, as you know, is also banned. I must have your consent to nongovernmental regulation, or I will destroy the substance."

"Oh, don't do that."

"I need your word."

"Well, I'll do what I can to aid your requests."

"Including a federal ban on prolongevity studies." He had phrased that as a statement not a question.

Markarian sounded hesitant. He no doubt viewed Elixir as the centerpiece to the economic salvation of the republic.

"Mr. President, imagine your grandchildren growing older than you. Or a child six years old forever."

There was a pause as the president pondered the scenarios. "I see. Well, it will have to meet with the approval of the House and Senate, of course, but I'll do what I can. I give you my word." Then he said that he would turn their surrender over to Kenneth Parrish, Director of the FBI. "So where are you?" the president asked.

"I'm as anxious to end this as you are, sir, but I can't tell you that just yet."

Roger said that he wanted another twenty-four hours before surrendering themselves and Elixir. They did not want the authorities storming their quarters on their last night together for a while. Around 8 A.M. tomorrow, Roger would call to name the exact time and place. And he insisted that it take place in an orderly fashion.

"After I hang up, Mr. President, I'm calling the editorial offices of the New York Times, the Washington Post, and the Boston Globe, as well as the editorial headquarters of all the news networks."

"Mr. Glover, I see no point in turning this into a media circus. This is a matter of national security."

"Something about keeping democracy honest."

The president chuckled. "You've been listening."

"Yes, and two more things. First, I'm taping this conversation. Secondly, I'm calling from a phone that cannot be tracked."

"You've thought of everything."

Roger then asked the president for a direct number to reach him tomorrow. Markarian rattled off the telephone numbers of Ken Parrish and the Oval Office.

Roger repeated them as Laura jotted them down.

He then thanked the president.

When he hung up, Brett slapped him a fiver. "Awesome, Dad. Friggin' awesome."

He looked to Laura for a response. Her face had softened. "That was smart," she said and squeezed his hand. "I just pray it works."

Me too, he thought.

As they drove on, Roger played the tape he had made.

When he got to his request for a ban on the substance, he thought he heard something hiding in the hedges just behind the president's pledge-a shadowy speculation that Roger recalled had once danced for him many years ago.

Eric Brown was thinking about bed when the fax came through from the Indianapolis field office. It was the Medical Examiner's report on Abigail Kaminsky. He made a copy for Zazzaro, and they read it over another pot of coffee.

It was seventeen pages long and thick with medical lingo, but he absorbed the essentials-and they made his skin stipple.

She was small like a child, dressed as a child, but looked like an aged woman.

After pages discussing discrepancies between photographs of the child at the scene and her condition, the report concluded that the victim was physically and mentally r.e.t.a.r.ded, and, thus, had been treated as a young child by her parents. As for the condition of her corpse, medical examiners drew a blank. Abigail Kaminsky Phoenix had died three hours after being shot through the chest, but in that time she had experienced an anomalous mutation of genetic material that resulted in hyper-accelerated senescence. "Causes, unknown. Pathology, unknown."

For a long moment Brown stared at the concluding paragraph.

"You thinking what I'm thinking?"

"Walter Olafsson," Zazzaro said.

"Yeah."

You didn't need to be a n.o.bel laureate to connect the three cases. Jennifer Whitehead Kaminsky Phoenix was the sister-in-law of the man who invented Elixir; Walter Olafsson was the man who first reported him; and Dexter Quinn once served as his a.s.sistant at Darby Pharms years back.

"But why give it to a kid?"

"Beats me."

So far they had seen photos of four individuals on Elixir-the three who died had turned into genetic monsters. The other had rejuvenated.

"This is bad s.h.i.t," Brown said. "Very bad s.h.i.t."