“Not really. So far you’re just making sure they are immunologically inert. That doesn’t mean they are safe, necessarily. What if they begin doing something you don’t expect, like chewing through capillaries or eating red blood cells? I mean, the way you have described these things, they might turn out to be insatiable, miniature great white sharks.” George chuckled at what he thought was a humorous metaphor. He vigorously dried his hair, pretending to be unaware of his nakedness.
“As I already told you, they will be specifically targeted to bacteria, viruses, fungi, and hopefully bad proteins. They are not going to go wild. Each microbivore has multiple backup systems like a jet plane, and they can be turned on and turned off from outside the body using ultrasound signals. You have an overactive imagination. You’ve seen too many bad disaster movies.”
“What about these buckyballs and nanotubes just wafting out of Nano’s labs and floating off with the wind. Has anybody thought of that?”
“All the labs at Nano involved with medical nanotechnology are the equivalent of level-three biosafety labs, the same as those at Columbia when we were working with the salmonella grown in space. Actually the equipment here is newer than what we had at Columbia. Look, we are at the beginning of safety studies for microbivores, and they are going to be exhaustive. Otherwise, we won’t get FDA approval. Rest assured, when microbivores are made available as a treatment, they will have been proven beyond any doubt to be perfectly safe.”
Pia’s mention of the lab at Columbia did little to reassure George. Pia’s mentor had died as a result of radiation poisoning in his level-three lab. In George’s mind, labs doing cutting-edge research were dangerous. He watched as Pia returned her attention to the papers she was holding. It was amazing to him that she could look so good despite still being dressed in her jogging clothes with her hair having been blown around in the car. For the first time, he noticed that she had cut off a few inches. As he stood there admiring her, he could barely stand being so close and not touching her. Just when he was considering walking over to the couch, Pia’s iPhone buzzed, claiming her attention and yanking George back to reality.
“Why don’t you finish up in the bathroom and get dressed,” said Pia without looking up. It was yet another text message from Zachary Berman. “I want to shower, too, and change out of my running gear.” Berman had already sent three messages in the last twenty minutes, each a permutation of the other, asking her to call ASAP. Pia sighed. George’s presence was not going to deter Berman as she’d hoped but rather inflame him. Each text message was progressively more demanding.
Pia regretted anew having those few dinners with Berman. She should have known better because she had heard rumors about his reputation and that he was married. She thought the rumors were sour grapes on behalf of some women who saw him as a spectacular catch. Dining with him several times, she had enjoyed herself. He had been all business, talking about his wish to succeed with medical nanotechnology and its promise of dealing with cancer and Alzheimer’s disease. Although he didn’t elaborate, nor did Pia question, he alluded to the fact that his interests had sprung from personal experience.
During those first casual dinners, Pia thought he seemed different from other men she’d had to deal with. There had been no come-on whatsoever. The closest he’d come to anything personal was to talk about her interest in research and how appreciative he was that she had been willing to put off her residency training and getting her PhD to come to Boulder and help with their microbivores program, which he thought was going to put Nano on the map.
A couple of more friendly dinners followed, but then, out of the blue, the presents started coming. First flowers, then expensive wine, chocolates and jewelry, culminating in the car. Other than the flowers, which couldn’t be returned, the only gift Pia kept was the VW she’d talked herself into accepting, and even that, she recognized, would have to go. The last time they had met privately, Pia had to fend off her boss, who told her how smitten he was with her, after trying to push his way into her apartment. Pia had managed to extricate herself without having to resort to her expertise in martial arts.
She was more than adept at tae kwon do, which she had learned at the Hudson Valley Academy for Girls, a derelict institution where she had been incarcerated in the name of foster care. That last evening with Berman, she was proud of the way she’d handled the situation while leaving her inebriated boss’s dignity intact. That had been a week before he had left on his trip to China, and now he was back, trying to contact her, whether she had a gentleman visitor or not.
“What do you want to do this afternoon?”
“I was going to take a nap,” Pia said. She was suddenly exhausted after her near all-nighter that had only ended that morning. She resolved to ignore Berman’s text, as she had the three previous ones. Pia was sure Berman wanted to quiz her about George. And she knew George was dying to ask her more about Berman. Perhaps it was best to let them both think what they wanted, and allow both of their imaginations to run wild. And a couple of hours’ sleep really would do her a world of good and give her a bit of perspective. Sunday was a day that was meant to be taken a little easy.
CHAPTER 6
The man had been in this strange place only a few hours when he was hauled out of a deep sleep, given athletic gear to put on, and led to the room he was standing in now. A countryman of his, but not one who had accompanied the four of them on the plane ride, was reassuring him that everything was fine; they just needed him to run a couple of tests on a stationary bicycle. The man in the suit seemed friendly enough but didn’t offer any explanations of where they were. His accent suggested he was from a different province from his own.
The cyclist looked around the brightly lit room, at the bike, and at the shelves lined with banks of equipment with flashing lights. Where he was exactly, he had no idea. All he knew is that it was somewhere in the United States. Four Westerners in medical scrubs, hoods, and face masks stood around checking the equipment. They looked like the man who had given the four of them an injection soon after they arrived. One of the masked figures said something, and it was time to get on the bike.
“We have the bike set to the same parameters as this morning’s ride,” a Westerner said.
“That’s right. This is the control. We need to see if this morning’s incident was an anomaly or whether there is a systemic issue,” said another. He was the leader, so he indicated to the Chinese official that it was time to start. Through a translator, the official explained to the cyclist that he would feel the bike speed up and slow down and he had to keep up with it, that was all. They were monitoring the effects of the exercise on his body.
“Tell him he has nothing to worry about,” the leader said, and one of the other masked figures in the room shot him a look.
“Let’s hope not,” the leader said under his breath.
The cyclist started pedaling. He had noticed that the bike’s rear wheel was encased in equipment, and now he knew why. The machine was speeding up and he exerted himself to keep up with it. He had cycled before, but this seemed easier than he remembered. If this was to be the extent of the work they were going to have to do, he could cope with it easily. He wasn’t out of breath in the slightest.
“Okay, where are we on the run?” the leader asked after a few minutes.
“Coming up to the crisis point.” The translator had been asked to leave the room before the test began. The cyclist’s vital signs looked good. Perhaps this morning was just an accident, after all.