Elixir. Part 47

Roger didn't like that. They were doing all they could to separate them from the media, to get their hands on the compound and haul them to headquarters in Manhattan. Another agenda had taken over.

Roger grabbed the microphone from a uniformed cop. "Hold it. I'll take your questions."

Brown made a move for the mic. But somebody squawked something in his ear. Whoever was calling the shots wanted this over with peacefully.

Brown pulled Roger aside. "Those aren't my orders."

"You've got a hundred million people in those lenses. They are your orders."

Brown's resolve cracked as he motioned the police captain to pull his men off the crowd.

When the place settled, Roger spoke: "I'll take your questions, but orderly and with a show of hands, please."

The crowd pressed to the porch again.

When they calmed down, Roger said, "Okay."

The place erupted, hands flapping like cornstalks in a wind. A wall of directional mics and camera lenses poised on him.

"Dr. Glover, you said you may not live indefinitely, but is it true you haven't experienced any effects of aging since you began taking Elixir?"

"True."

"How old are you?" another shouted.

"Fifty-six."

A stir of amazement pa.s.sed through the crowd.

"What about Mrs. Glover?"

Roger took the question. Laura had wanted no part of this. "We're the same age, but only I've taken the serum."

"Mrs. Glover," another reporter shouted. "Can you tell us why you decided against it?"

Again Roger took the question. "Just that she did."

But the reporter persisted in his attempt to engage Laura. "Do you regret that decision?"

"No," Laura answered.

"Has it caused problems for you as a family?" shouted the woman with the red hair and a TV 4 cameraman.

"Yes," Roger said without explanation.

"Dr. Glover, I'm wondering about the long-range effects of Elixir," shouted another. "If it doubles or triples the lifespan, wouldn't that mean you've invented a higher order of the human species-a kind of superman?"

Before he could answer, two other reporters blurted out questions. When they calmed down to hear his answer, more questions followed. Brown flapped his hands to tell them one at a time.

Roger was beginning to regret this. "You're missing the point. The compound will not be researched for longevity. Even if the side effects can be eliminated, it's dangerous and wrong-like human cloning, which is also banned...."

But n.o.body was listening.

He looked at Laura. She looked frightened. Brett stood beside her, numbed by the spectacle.

"If someone were to have a transfusion of your blood, would they live forever too?"

"Is it true the Elixir will prevent diseases?"

"Would the substance make anybody younger?"

Roger suddenly understood what Jesus must have felt like after raising Lazarus. Probably everybody in the village came after him with a laundry list of dead relatives.

He tried to answer, but the questions were coming rapid-fire. And the answers weren't registering. It was impossible.

"How much do you have to take for it to work?"

"Does it work on children, too?"

"What about very old people?"

They weren't getting it. They didn't have a b.l.o.o.d.y clue. And the millions catching it all would hear only eternal youth.

And tomorrow Larry King would call, and Barbara and Oprah. And he would be hounded by publicists and agents. And movie and book offers would come flooding in. And pharmaceutical companies would be calling with fabulous contract offers. And telephone calls in the middle of the night: "Hey, Rog, it's Charlie from Swanson's Steak House. Whaddya say, just a little eternity juice for your favorite waiter?"

As he stood there before the foaming crowd, the future lay its lurid self out in front of him. Laura was right. They would hound them like jackals. No matter if he didn't have more than two cc's in his possession, they would be after him for samples.

Worse, they would go after Brett because he was young and vulnerable. Kids cornering him in the schoolyard. Mom's getting really old and depressed, can you help me out? Steal a little of your old man's stash. He'd never know.

And, if you don't, we'll blow your head off.

They'd be on the run again. New names, new IDs, new escape plans.

He glanced at Laura and Brett looking in fright at the crowd. People were screaming at once.

How much would it cost?

Could it come in tablet form?

Would it work on the family dog?

What about population problems?

Does it bother you that some people view you as the devil?

What if it gets out?

They're not going to live like that, Roger thought. Not on his life.

"That's it," Roger said to Brown.

Brown nodded and took the mic and announced the press conference was over.

A roar rose up, but the uniforms poured out from the sidelines to clear the area. Brown and his agents started to move the Glovers inside when Roger shouted, "It's not in there. Out here."

Brown turned to the state police captain. "Clear them out of here. All of them."

The captain was about to pa.s.s the order on to his men when Roger grabbed Brown. "Clear the place of the cameras, and rumors will fly that you're holding back on the stuff. Just move them back."

"You're not calling the shots," Brown snapped.

"How badly do you want it?"

Brown stared at him for a moment. "What's your problem, Glover?"

"The people in your ear."

Frustrated, Brown snapped around and told the captain that the media would stay, just push them back to make a path.

Then with Laura and Brett by his side and three dozen cameras locked on them, Roger moved down the steps and across the open yard to the snow-covered fountain which had stood there unnoticed and undisturbed by the mob.

Beneath the skim of ice and melting snow lay 204 ampules of Elixir, cool and safe.

Brown looked at him to ask if he was joking-the fountain?

"Pun intended," Roger said.

And he poked his hands through and removed a clutch of gla.s.s ampules.

A wave of dismay rose from the crowd as they watched Brett and Roger load the ampules into two black plastic containers, then seal and affix the locks.

As they walked away, reporters scribbled notes and jabbered away into their microphones as the cameras zoomed after them and the federal agents on their way to the Hummer. The Hummer would take them to helicopters, which would transport them to FBI headquarters in New York City for processing.

When they got to the vehicle, a man in a dark suit appeared from nowhere. He was surrounded by several others, including FBI jackets.

"Mr. Glover, I'm Ken Parrish, Director of the FBI. And this is Dr. Janet Jamal of Gordon Medical School and Dr. Warren Castleman."

Castleman held out his hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you finally, Dr. Glover."

Parrish had left out Castleman's affiliation because Roger would recognize the name. He was the FDA commissioner. Roger did not release his grip on the carriers.

"We'll unburden you of those," Parrish said.

Zazzaro stepped forward, but Roger pulled back. "That was not the agreement. It's going to Doctor Nathan David of Public Citizen."

Parrish's face hardened. "What agreement?"

Roger felt as if a tremor had pa.s.sed underfoot. "The agreement I made yesterday with President Markarian."

Parrish's face did not crack. "I can a.s.sure you that they will be in safe hands."

"I give you my word," Castleman added. Jamal agreed.

They were trying to pull a fast one, Roger thought. Like most medical research universities, Jamal's lab at Gordon Medical was funded almost entirely by the federal government and overseen by the FDA whose commissioner, Warren Castleman, had been personally appointed by the president. They had no intention of turning Elixir over to the Public Citizen. They didn't give a rat's a.s.s about determining the enzymes that prevented cancer cells from replicating. What they were thinking was social security and demographics and avoiding huge tax increases for younger voters, and who knew what else. Maybe the foreign crazies were right about genetic imperialism.

"I don't give a d.a.m.n about your word. It stays with me until I see Nathan David in person." Roger could feel Laura nudge him toward the car.

Parrish's face flushed in anger, but he was also aware of the wall of cameras humming at them. He made his best conciliatory smile. "Fine." And he backed away to allow them to get inside the Hummer.

Brett jumped in with Laura.

But Roger did not follow. Instead he walked across the yard by himself to the media people. He found the TV 4 woman with the red hair. While the feds stood waiting by the cars, he pretended to shake her hand while slipping her the audiotape of his conversation with the president.

Discretely she closed her hand around it. She pressed toward his ear. "What's this?"

"Protection for my wife and son."

"Gotcha," she said.

Then Roger went back to the Hummer and got in the back seat between Laura and Brett, the two carriers in hand.

Brown took the front seat beside the driver. Zazzaro, Pike, and another agent took to the rear.

Outside Parrish and his men stood stonefaced as they pulled away. Laura took Roger's hand. "If looks could kill," she whispered.

Roger nodded.

He was sitting directly behind Brown with the other agents behind them. n.o.body said anything, but all he could think about was the firepower under the jackets of the men in back, and the naked vulnerability of their own three heads.

The Hummer fell behind police motorcycles and three escort vehicles. Behind them pulled two more FBI vehicles, and tailing the procession were several press vans forming an extensive caravan. Roger wondered how far the authorities would allow the press to dog them.

With the escorts, the trip to the heliport on the Vermont side of the Crown Point Bridge would take less than an hour.

Outside, the blanket of snow had already begun to melt.

As they proceeded to Route 10, Roger considered his gut instincts: What if, when they arrived in New York, the Feds decided to prosecute in spite of the promise? Who would stop them even with the news footage about an agreement? All they had to say was that such matters would be determined in a court of law, which had outstanding warrants for their arrest on a battery of charges beyond murder and sabotage.

What if Janet Jamal and a.s.sociates apply for a patent of some production process and market Elixir?

Or if some sleazeball creep like the late Quentin Cross decides to process a few hundred ccs of his own on the side?

Or if the stuff got out like Laura's renegade Russian nukes scenario? The Antoine Ducharmes of the world were a dime a dozen.

Where was the control? Where were the watchdogs? Who would prevent the horrors from becoming global?

Then he began to raise some hard questions regarding their own future. He knew in some primitive way that he was a liability. The Feds would have to monitor a sustaining supply for him indefinitely. That was inelegant. And it was risky. It made the three of them vulnerable. And him expendable.