The man, who carried an attache case and wore a very expensive blue silk suit and red tie, slipped the attendant a bill while the woman hurried inside, clutching her jacket around her shoulders. The evening air was chilly with a breeze coming off the water. The attendant was pleased when he had the chance to look down at his hand; the bill was a fifty. He hurried after them, to see if there was anything else he could do.
The DMH is located on Manhattan's East River, and provides its users with breathtaking views of the New York and New Jersey skylines. The heliport's main terminal contains an operations control center, pilot and VIP lounges, and a passenger waiting area. Because of its proximity to Wall Street, it is often used to transport documents for investment and law firms and large banks, and the occasional high-powered business meeting is held in a pair of private rooms above the lounge, overlooking the water.
The man's name was Steven Berger, and the woman was Philippa Cruz. Berger, as the head of business development for Helix Pharmaceuticals, was the fund-raiser, the salesman. Cruz was the brains. At the tender age of forty-two, she was the lead investigator and head of the project team, with an M.D. from Harvard Medical and a Ph.D. in biology from Duke. But she did not fit the stereotype of a geeky researcher; today she wore a pin-striped Brooks Brothers power suit, impeccably tailored, with clean lines and the timeless look of quality. Her straw-colored hair was cropped short and groomed in a rake-fingered, mussed style.
Berger might have been accused of trying a bit too hard to project money and importance. To Cruz, it was effortless.
They arrived at one of the private function rooms and were shown inside, the first of their party to appear. Berger and Cruz had met others here on several different occasions, so they were familiar with the layout. This time, a table had been set for six, though there would be only two other guests.
"Something smells delicious," Cruz said. The air held the scent of curry and wine. She removed her jacket and draped it over one of the mission-style wooden chairs, and then drifted over to the wide stretch of windows and stood next to one of three lush, potted Boston ferns. Lights blinked on in the deepening dusk. It was a hauntingly lonely, breathtaking scene, one that she rarely had the time to appreciate properly. She rubbed at the goose bumps on her arms.
A waiter knocked on the door and then entered, asking them what they would like for drinks. Berger ordered a Bombay, while Cruz ordered a Manhattan. "How appropriate," Berger said when the waiter had gone. Cruz smiled.
"Only one," she said. "I want to make sure we remain focused. This promises to be an interesting evening."
Steven Berger placed his attache' case on the table. He removed his wire-rimmed spectacles and rubbed at the indentations in his nose, then set them back again. "An interesting
evening," he said quietly, almost to himself. And then, "You really think we've got things moving in the right direction again, eh?"
"I'm sure of it."
"So you can assure all of us that there won't be any more . . . accidents?"
Instead of answering immediately, the blonde woman turned and stared back out at the water. "Did you know that when a person breaks his neck," she said finally, "the severed nerves don't actually die? They form this scab called a growth cone, and that cone pushes ahead like a blind man trying to find his way in the dark, fumbling around with these tiny strands called philipodia. Eventually these strands come up against a barrier and just stop. They're at a dead end, and so it goes. Our friend remains in a wheelchair, drooling across his lap. But the potential is always there, waiting to be tapped."
"So how do scientists help give the philipodia a helping hand?"
"They've recently discovered that the key is very likely a group of proteins called EPH."
"Always proteins," Berger muttered. "You'd think we could just eat a steak dinner and be done with it."
Cruz didn't seem to notice him as she continued. "Different EPH proteins either attract or repel nerve strands, and in that way they help guide the philipodia along. So what if you could get rid of the particular version of EPH protein that repels or blocks nerves? Well, scientists at Melbourne have tried it, and guess what? Mice with broken backs are jumping up and down five weeks later. Nerves have completely regrown. It's a miracle."
"Yes, yes," Berger said. "A miracle indeed!" He often got caught up in the woman's enthusiasm in spite of himself; she was breathtaking in her passion for science and the infinite possibility of mankind.
"Jesus healed the sick, walked on water, rose from the dead," she said, turning back with her sharp predator's eyes gleaming. "At the same time, a giant ball of flame rose each day in the east, and then fell again in the west. Who's to say which is the more significant event? Why is one considered miraculous, the other accepted as scientific just because we understand the mechanics of it? My point is, it's possible to perform many so-called miracles, if we understand the mechanism of action."
"Ah, I see. But some might say that the intentions of God are not for man to discover these things. That we are going down a path that can only mean our ruin."
"Small minds," Cruz said.
Berger chuckled. "Perhaps they possess too much of the bad sort of EPH. You're not going to get too philosophical with our guests when they arrive? I don't think my heart can take the suspense."
A knock on the door and the drinks were brought in on a silver tray, along with bread and a bottle of chilled wine.
They held their tongues for the waiter to leave. "No," Cruz said, after the door had closed with a soft click. "I'll try to keep it as straightforward as possible. Small minds, as you say."
"Let me ask this once more. If we begin the testing again, you'll have total control?"
"This is the tightest molecule we've ever designed. Think of it like a thermostat, giving us the ability to dial things up from zero to a hundred, and back down again. It's an excellent candidate. I believe we're starting some extensive testing tonight, perhaps even as we speak."
"That's good enough for me," Berger said. "Now, the key elements here are to make them understand what we've discovered, the data we already have, and the breakthrough we've experienced recently. I want them to see the potential. So don't get preachy. These people are simply interested in the bottom line."
"You're the expert in that," Cruz said. She picked up a small loaf of dark bread and ripped it in half, dipping a chunk into a bowl of garlic oil. The smell was delicious. She hadn't eaten since that morning, and now she attacked the bread like piranha in blood-threaded water.
A few minutes later the others in the party arrived; first an older man with Nordic features and a slight limp, then an Asian carrying a small, wrapped gift, which he handed to Berger with a nod and a smart bow. They all made small talk while the two waiters took drink orders, and then they sat down for dinner.
The meal began with a mesclun salad with grilled fruit and edible flowers, and then a small pumpkin-curry soup, followed by a very rare filet served with a garlic butter sauce, asparagus almondine and wild rice, and finally a black plum sorbet. The party ate with enthusiasm, remarking on the weather in this part of the country, and the situation in the Middle East, and the state of airline travel. The waiters came and went, bringing fresh drinks.
Finally the meal was complete. "Please excuse me," Berger said to the others.
He got up and went to the waiter at the door. "We're about to engage in something more confidential now," he said. "Please, do not disturb us until I call you. And lock the door."
After the waiter had left, Berger went to his attache' case and removed a small black device. He scanned the table and chair legs, moving carefully around the personal spaces of his guests, then went to the window and traced a pattern around the edges. Finally he examined the potted plants, and the door frame.