“Mr. Dawkins, Darius Milani of Raytheon,” the man said with a slight foreign accent, extending a hand. “This is a colleague of mine, Dr. Naomi Nikasa, professor of physics at St. Andrews University.”
“An inspiring speech, Mr. Dawkins,” she said, extending her hand. She seemed young to be a professor, with high cheekbones, smooth amber skin, and a sweet dimpled smile.
“Thank you,” he responded, feeling a bit overwhelmed.
Mr. Milani spoke quickly, his words skimming off the surface of Dawkins’s consciousness like stones across a lake. He said that he represented an exclusive group of scientists and wealthy men and women named AVAN, derived from the ancient Greek word for “solution.” He and Dr. Nikasa were members of the acquisitions committee, and were interested in funding practical solutions to global problems exactly like the one Dawkins had outlined in his speech.
Dawkins had never heard of AVAN, but his attention was pulled away from the smooth arc of Dr. Nikasa’s neck, the gentle indentation where her collarbones met at the top of her chest. He had immediately made an association with Puccini’s Madame Butterfly and the beautiful love aria “Un bel dì, vedremo.”
Milani said, “I know this is somewhat off the cuff, but if you’re free, Dr. Nikasa and I would like to invite you to dinner and introduce you to some of our colleagues.”
Dawkins was remembering the time he’d heard that aria sung by Renata Scotto at Wolf Trap, where he sat on a blanket with his then girlfriend, Nan. The memory of the ripe, heartbreaking humanity of it under the stars, and how it had touched him then, brought a tear to his eye.
“Dinner? Uh…the three of us?” He inhaled heavily and glanced at his watch. It was 6:34 local time. Nan, now his wife, was expecting him to call at around seven, which corresponded to 1 p.m. in DC, where she worked at the National Archives as a curator of historical documents. He was going to tell her about his presentation and remind her that his SwissAir Flight tomorrow was scheduled to arrive at Dulles at 5:45 p.m. Since it would be Friday and Nan was Catholic, she’d likely be preparing fish for dinner. Afterward, after he put their adopted eight-year-old daughter to bed, he imagined they’d watch the new season of House of Cards on Netflix. Then she’d undress in the bathroom, slip into her side of the bed, and read. Dawkins thought he might suggest his interest in physical intimacy with a mild remark like, “You want us to hold each other?” Usually he wasn’t confident enough or sexually compelled to take action on his own, but this time he thought he would.
It emboldened him that Dr. Nikasa smiled at him and let her arm brush his elbow. There were no accidents. Even if the gesture wasn’t premeditated, it hadn’t happened by chance. Not in Dawkins’s mind.
Inhaling the floral aroma of Dr. Nikasa’s French perfume, he stammered, “Uh… Well… I-I don’t have time for dinner, but maybe a drink.”
“Delighted. Of course,” Milani offered, “we’ll keep it brief, so as not to waste your time.”
Dawkins smiled at that, thinking to himself, If they only knew how pedestrian my life is.
Clutching his briefcase, he took long strides to the elevator with Dr. Nikasa by his side asking about his scientific background. Milani punched the button to the penthouse.
“Actually, I’m not formally trained in atmospheric chemistry, physics, or even climatology,” he explained to her. “My field is aerospace engineering, specifically as an inertial navigation engineer for UTC Aerospace Systems. Do you know it?”
“No.”
“Why would you? Stupid question,” he muttered under his breath, his head cast down.
“That makes you a true scientist,” Dr. Nikasa remarked. “Someone who crosses disciplines in search of practical solutions.”
Said so generously and gracefully, he thought. He imagined he saw a sparkle in her eyes. “I like to think so, yes.”
Milani led them down a beige, teal-green, and sepia-patterned hallway. The thick carpet hugged the soles of Dawkins’s Florsheims. For a moment he felt underdressed and ill-groomed, things he normally didn’t care about. But the occasion seemed auspicious. AVAN sounded important.
Milani ushered them into the Da Vinci Suite. A large imitation of the great artist’s Leda and the Swan hung on the entrance wall. Her glowing nude figure stopped Dawkins in his tracks. Female nudity had had a powerful effect on him since he’d first glanced at pictures in Playboy. Furthermore, he knew the lurid mythology behind the painting, which had fueled his fantasies. He froze and lowered his head in embarrassment.
His condition grew more acute when Dr. Nikasa touched his shoulder. His whole body trembled as she pointed to two men sitting in the recessed dining area. They rose together and turned to greet him, an Asian man and another who looked elegant and European, and sported a salt-and-pepper goatee.
He carefully descended the three steps as Milani made the introductions. “Dr. Dawkins, this is David Lee of the South Korea Ministry of Technology, and Dr. Luigi Zucarella, a member of our board of directors. Another one of our directors, Elon Musk, CEO of SpaceX, has been delayed and will join us shortly.”
The name Elon Musk pulled him out of himself and into the moment. Instinctively, he reached for his iPhone, which he usually kept in his back pocket. His intention was to text his wife to tell her who he was about to meet. But he didn’t have his cell with him, because he’d never purchased the international data feature that would have allowed him to text from Geneva.
Dr. Nikasa touched his arm. “Please have a seat.”
“Oh. Of course.”
The sofa was covered with light-blue-and-purple silk. He was imagining Dr. Nikasa standing in front of him in a kimono when a tall, fit-looking waiter asked him what he would like to drink.
“Iced tea with lemon, please.”
As he oriented himself to his surroundings, Milani told the two other men about the brilliance of his idea for restoring the ozone layer and the skill with which he had delivered his speech. The two men nodded and kneaded their brows as they listened. They sat opposite him on a blue-and-purple brocade sofa identical to the one he now shared with Dr. Nikasa. A glass coffee table with a vase of white orchids occupied the space between them. Milani sat in an armchair to his right.
When the drinks arrived, David Lee asked Dawkins about his interest in atmospheric chemistry, but Dr. Nikasa’s proximity continued to distract him. An awkward silence followed. The men seemed to look at him more intently.
As Dawkins opened his mouth to answer, an aide in a dark suit interrupted with the news that Musk had just called from Geneva Airport. “He apologizes for being late, and will be here in ten minutes.”
“Thank you,” Milani said. “Before we ask Mr. Dawkins any more questions, maybe we should tell him a little about AVAN and our mission.”
“Of course,” said Lee.
Dawkins nodded, eased back into the sofa, sipped the tart drink, and concentrated hard on what Lee was saying, in an effort to ignore the effect Dr. Nikasa was having on him. AVAN had been created to address global problems-problems so large and complicated that they taxed the capacities of individual governments and bureaucracies.
“Time is our most precious commodity,” Lee explained. “When we look at things like the scarcity of natural resources and global warming, we have to admit that we’re running out of it.”
Dawkins nodded and realized that his head felt heavy. His eyes wanted to shut. He reminded himself that he was jet-lagged and hadn’t slept well since arriving in Switzerland. But when he forced his eyes open, he couldn’t focus, and saw only a swirl of light and color.