Authors: Gary Braver
ELIXIR (32 page)
“A goddamn feeding frenzy,” Vince Lucas said.
“And it’s going to get worse.”
They were sitting in the entertainment salon of his estate located on a bluff overlooking Caliogny Bay. Called Vita Nova, the stunning structure in stone and glass enjoyed hundreds of feet of ocean frontage. Out the window spread the Atlantic, behind them a lush garden grotto with flowers in outrageous bloom. Beside the gazebo he had constructed a waterfall that filled the backyard with a cascading rush. The place was his own private little Eden.
Antoine was wearing a green workout suit that he had designed himself for his HealthWays Clubs, a large chain spanning eleven states. He had selected green because it was the color of nature and money.
At sixty-one, he would not go gently into that long night. So, he maintained a vigorous workout schedule and abandoned old eating habits for a miracle Hawaiian diet consisting of taro, poi, and seafood. He had also bought himself an industrial-strength juicer with which he made all sorts of healthful concoctions. At the moment, he was sipping a seaweed-broccoli-mango cocktail.
Vince flicked off the television. “We’ll be stumbling over every law agent in the country.”
“What do we know about the wife’s sister?”
“Divorced, daughter age sixteen. Her ex got out of Marion Federal last year. She moved out of her place in Kalamazoo.”
The Glovers could not have managed to disappear without her help. “But you don’t know where.”
“We’re working on it. We figured it’s the Midwest still.” He picked up a sheet of paper. “We’ve got nearly a hundred Jennifer Kaminskys in a four-state area we’re running down.”
“So are the Feds, if they haven’t already found her.”
And when they did, they’d wring her dry. The difference was that the authorities were bound by democratic measures in arriving at the truth. Antoine wasn’t.
He walked to the sliding glass door and pressed a button so that it hummed open.
Fresh cold sea air rushed into the room before he closed the door again.
He loved the sea. He had lived by it all his life in France, and then in the Caribbean. It was in his blood, which was why he could never settle in Chicago or Las Vegas or any inland locale. He needed that view, its constant rhythm, the fishy brine.
Since the news of Glover had broken, Antoine had played the videotape of the elderly Jamaicans rejuvenating. He almost wished he hadn’t because it heightened his urgency to find the compound. And toward that end he had summoned every resource at his command including technicians who could worm their way into banks and corporate databases.
But the wife’s sister Jennifer had eluded them.
He looked out across the shimmering blue, thinking how he possessed more than any mortal being could make use of in a lifetime. He owned estates on Hilton Head, Jamaica, and Corsica. He owned every mode of transportation. He owned an array of businesses plus a percentage of the cocaine coming into North America from Columbia. At last count his net worth was over 2.8 billion dollars. He had the fortunes and power of King Midas.
There was nothing in the material world that he did not have. Nothing he needed. Nothing he envied in another man, now or ever.
Except one.
It was 6:55, but he checked anyway. “I’d like to meet him face-to-face, this Roger Glover.”
“How come?”
“I want to meet the man who stopped wearing watches.”
T
he media confirmed his parents’ story. But, understandably, Brett was still in shock.
he media confirmed his parents’ story. But, understandably, Brett was still in shock.
For two days he did not talk to them. He felt betrayed, even a little scared. They were not the parents he had thought they were. Not the parents who had brought him up. They were Wendy and Christopher Bacon who were sought by the FBI for mass murder. They had lived a dozen years of make-believe.
At one point Brett asked Roger point-blank, “Did you blow up that plane?”
“No, we did not.”
“Then who did?”
Laura had been through this with him the first night, yet Roger felt compelled to let Brett hear it from him. “I think a guy named Quentin Cross had something to do with it.” He explained who he was and told him about Betsy’s death and the drug connection.
“But why didn’t you tell the police?”
“We never got the chance. We were afraid we’d be next, so we took off. Then they bombed the plane we were supposed to be on and blamed it on us. Now we had the police and bad guys after us, and no one to turn to. You were just a baby, and our only concern was keeping you safe.”
Roger did his best to assure him of the truth of his words. But past truths did little to ensure a future.
What helped Brett come around were the TV news reports. Before his eyes perfect strangers made horrific pronouncements about his parents—pronouncements that had nothing to do with the mother and father who
had raised him lovingly for fourteen years. When Quentin Cross denied reports of an eternal youth drug but claimed that Christopher Bacon had committed murder, Brett exploded. “That’s a lot of crap, you friggin’ idiot.
You
did it.”
had raised him lovingly for fourteen years. When Quentin Cross denied reports of an eternal youth drug but claimed that Christopher Bacon had committed murder, Brett exploded. “That’s a lot of crap, you friggin’ idiot.
You
did it.”
The outburst was music to Roger’s ears.
Brett was also impressed to hear Wendy Bacon described as a “promising new mystery author” and Chris as a “brilliant scientist.”
When one geneticist said that Bacon might have discovered “the silver bullet” of human mortality, Brett gave Roger a pat on the shoulder. “Way to go, Pop!”
The center still held, Roger thought, at least for the moment.
On the fifth day, following Roger’s suggestion, Laura called Jenny who now lived in Prairie, Indiana. “Jenny, we need help.”
“Help. What kind of help? I don’t have any money, if that’s what you mean.”
“We need a place to stay for a few days.”
Instantly Jenny was flustered. “A place to stay? You don’t mean here? That’s impossible. Why do you need a place to stay?”
Jenny hadn’t heard the news, which would have been incredible but for the fact that she didn’t own a television or radio, nor, apparently, did she read newspapers. “The police are after us.”
After a pause, Jenny said, “I see, but, frankly you’re asking an awful lot. I mean, really! Besides, it’s far too small here for all of you.”
There were only three of them, but she was afraid of getting involved again, Laura guessed. And that was understandable since she was the single mother of a teenage girl. To harbor known fugitives could send her to jail. “I understand. I’m sorry to even ask, really, Jen. It’s just that things are getting pretty dicey.”
“Well, I really hate to say no,” Jenny added. “Don’t you have any friends someplace?”
“No.”
“I see. Well …”
Jenny was not good at dissembling, nor was she good at thinking fast when confronted with crises. As expected, she was flustered by the revelation, and Laura could hear her struggling.
“If it means that much to you,” she began, then seemed to catch herself.
“But if the police find out you’re here … well, that would be awful. I mean, we’d
all
be caught and sent to prison.”
“But if the police find out you’re here … well, that would be awful. I mean, we’d
all
be caught and sent to prison.”
“You’re right. Forget it,” Laura said, not wanting to put a guilt trip on Jenny. “Really. It’s okay. We’ll be fine, I mean it.” And she said goodbye and hung up.
“So what happens now?” Brett asked.
While the condo complex was fairly anonymous, somebody would soon wonder why the perfectly healthy teenage kid from C7 was running errands and not in school. And where were his parents?
“We’ll hole up here for maybe another week,” Roger said. “In the meantime, we’ll look for a good lawyer. Do you think you can take a few more days?”
“Yeah, but what about you and Mom?”
“What do you mean?”
“You can’t grow old like Mom.”
The Gordian Knot, thought Roger—what lay at the core of it all. The one inevitability they did not want to ponder. Laura would not yield, and Roger’s condition was irreversible. Their heads would not grow old on one pillow. Someday she would die, and he would go on without her indefinitely and unchanged. The prospect tore at him.
The signs were already visible—age lines in her face, loosening flesh, slowing down. And, worse, beneath the skin of things, disaffection had crossed with resentment. They were pulling apart.
Brett sensed none of that. But when Laura came into the room, he asked, “Are you going to take Elixir?”
“No, honey, I’m not.” She said that as if announcing the sky is blue.
Brett’s eyes filled up. “Why not? I don’t want you to die.”
She took his hand. “Brett, I’m not going to die, at least not for a long time. Meanwhile, you’ll grow up and go off on your own like every other kid.”
She had a knack for making things sound so normal. Brett thought about her words. He was not consoled. “How come Dad took it?”
“It was a mistake,” Roger said. “I wish I hadn’t. I wasn’t thinking clearly at the time. I did a stupid thing. What’s important is that we’re still a family, and we’re going to be a family for a lot of years. And right now we need you to be strong so we can beat this rap.”
Brett stared at Roger for a long moment with an unreadable expression. Then he said, “What’s so stupid about living forever?”
Eric Brown had hoped that Sally Johns, the Glovers’ shop assistant, knew of relatives or friends who might put them up.
She didn’t. She also never heard mention of a vacation home or favorite getaway. She had no idea where they went. Nor could she dispel the shock at the claims.
“He tutored kids in the back room. He had a blackboard and used the plants for show-and-tell. The kids loved him. And she was great—friendly and warm—and did fund-raising for the schools. I can’t believe it.”
Brown scribbled on his notepad. It was the same report he had gotten from neighbors: boringly nice people. Not even a fucking parking ticket.
Zazzaro stepped into the room with his cell phone. “Ben,” he said and handed Eric the phone.
Brown moved to the far side of the room.
Four days ago, Ben Friedman had requested a priority cross-check of files at the Center for Disease Control in Atlanta regarding the death of Walter Olafsson. An extensive autopsy revealed no odd biologies. However, the CDC did have in its files a similar case of death by accelerated senescence dating from 1986 in Canton, Ohio.
“A sixty-two-year-old male named Dexter Quinn,” Friedman said. “You’ll be interested to know that, according to the Office of Social Security, Mr. Dexter Quinn from 1970 to 1986 worked as a biologist for Darby Pharmaceuticals of Lexington, Massachusetts.”
“Oh my.”
On the evening of the sixth day the cell phone rang.
Brett was in the shower while Laura and Roger were going through attorney names from photocopies of the Boston directory Brett had made at the local library. It made sense to seek counsel at the epicenter of their case.
They looked at each other anxiously. Only two other people in the world knew that number. And Wally was dead. Roger picked up.
It was Jenny. Thankfully, she remembered to use a nontraceable phone they had bought her years ago.
“I’ve thought over your request to stay,” she announced with odd formality, “And I think we can help you.”
“Well, that’s very nice of you, but are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure.”
“You know that the authorities are looking for us,” Roger cautioned.
She must have bought a newspaper because she said, “I know that. But you’ll be careful not to get caught driving down.”
“We’ll do our best.”
“You have to,” she said with forced solicitude. There was a long pause as she muttered something to herself. “It’s just that I need a favor in return.”
“What’s that?”
No sooner were his words out, when like a half-glimpsed premonition he heard her say, “The orchid medicine. I want you to bring me some when you come.”
Christ! She had reduced it to barter. “Jenny, we’ve been through this before. You know I can’t do that.” He tried to be gentle with her so as not to scare away her offer.
“You can do it if you want to.”
“But I’m not going to.”
“Then you can’t stay here!”
“Then so be it.”
He heard her voice change pitch. “Don’t you hang up on me, Christopher!”
He didn’t know if she had called him that out of hostility or if she was just out of it.
“If you don’t bring me some, I’m going to call the police. And I know where you are.”
Roger took a deep breath. They didn’t need this. He looked over to Laura. “She’s threatening to call the cops unless we bring her some Elixir.”
“Shit!” Laura grabbed the phone from him. “Jennifer, what the hell is this all about?”
There was a long gaping silence. For a moment she thought Jenny had hung up, except she could hear some odd sound in the background. A tinkling, like broken glass. “Hello?”
Then in a strange girlish voice Jenny said, “Laura, I need my medicine. And I’m not taking no for an answer.”
She sounded crazy. “Jenny, we’ve been through this—”
But Jenny cut her off. “I know where you are, and if you don’t bring it, I’ll have to tell them. I have their number right here. Minneapolis Police Department.” And she rattled off the number.
“I don’t believe you’re doing this, Jen. I don’t believe you’d betray us.”
“It’s you who’s betraying me,” she said in that weird singsongy voice.
Laura had never heard her sound so desperate. She had obsessed so much that she had pushed herself over the edge. “Jenny, listen to me, you haven’t called them yet, have you?”
“No, but I will. So you better be here tomorrow with it. I’m not fooling.”
“Please wait a moment, and don’t hang up.” Laura put her hand on the mouthpiece and glared at Roger. “We’ll have to bring her some. She means it.”
Roger nodded and threw his hands in the air to say “promise her anything.”
“Okay, we’ll be there,” Laura said. “But, Jennifer, don’t you dare call anybody, or we’ll be arrested and you’ll never get it. Do you understand?”
“Yes, but you better be here, or else I will.” Then she gave her address. “It’s a pink house with green shutters.” And she hung up.
Laura dialed her number, but the power had been turned off. “What do we do? She sounds nuts.”
“We don’t have much of a choice.”
All Roger could think was that Jenny would be the last person in the world to entrust Brett with.
Jenny lived five hundred miles from Minneapolis by Interstate. Under normal circumstances, the trip would take about ten hours.
But circumstances were anything but normal. Roger Glover alias Christopher Bacon was everybody’s prime fugitive, which meant he’d have to take back roads and drive at night to play safe. The round trip would take days, and there was no way he would put that distance and time between him and Laura and Brett. They were in this as a family. They’d go together as a family.
The plan was to stay with Jenny for a night or two and give her a few ampules and a syringe.
Of course, they didn’t know what a safe dosage was; nor would they know what to do should she have a toxic reaction. Too much could kill her; too little could cause her severe damage. And Jenny was damaged enough. Laura could not live with that. The only solution was to fake it.
So, before they left, she filled six ampules with saline solution. Jenny would never know, and when she caught on weeks later, they’d be working out their defense. Besides keeping her quiet for a few weeks, the visit would
give Jenny the opportunity to meet Brett in the event their defense failed. They made no mention of this to Brett. It was too unthinkable.
give Jenny the opportunity to meet Brett in the event their defense failed. They made no mention of this to Brett. It was too unthinkable.
After leaving Jenny’s place, they would continue east and find the best lawyers they could buy.
“It’s hard to believe anybody would take us on,” Laura said when they were alone.
“Even Timothy McVeigh had a lawyer,” Roger said. “Besides, we have a bargaining chip.” He patted the emergency vial under his shirt.
“Going to try to bribe a judge like Wally?”
“Laura, I didn’t bribe him, and you know it. He had the option not to go on it.” Then he added, “Like you.”
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