"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 retarded, 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 Nobel 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 assistant 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 shit," Brown said. "Very bad shit."
Brown could not get his eyes off the autopsy photos of the Kaminsky girl. "Christ, she looks like one of those Egyptian mummies in a Little Bo Peep dress."
35
They arrived at Black Eagle Lake around six that night.
Roger did not head directly to the cottage but for the dirt access road across the lake to a sheltered spot in the trees.
He didn't think the authorities could trace the property to them. Twelve years ago, Roger had purchased the place under an alias and took over paying the taxes by cashier's checks. Unless Jenny had leaked, there was no way the feds could know. Nonetheless, he insisted they watched for signs of a stakeout.
The weather was cold, and this far north there was snow on the ground and more in the forecast.
They waited until sunset, watching the cabin through field glasses. An elderly couple, probably renters from one of the other waterfront places, was fishing from a boat on the lake. But that was the only movement. No planes or helicopters. No SWAT team vehicles.
Night fell, and the only lights came from a summer place half a mile down shore. Otherwise, the lake was an opaque black.