Miracle Man (35 page)

“What do you have for me?” Varneys asked.

“Based on the previously agreed screening criteria, I’ve narrowed it down to ten people for you to consider, sir,” replied Perrone.

“Re-cap the criteria for me”.

“We employed seven basic filters to initially identify potential candidates:

Age
: 25—31

IQ
: minimum of 145

Education
: minimum of one doctorate in physical sciences or math

Social Status
: heterosexual, single, never married, no serious current relationships, no children

Physical Health
: excellent, with no record of hereditary disease in the last three generations

Psychological Profile
: No mental health impairment or history of same in the last three generations

Physical Appearance
: Above average

“Let me see the files,” said Varneys. Perrone placed the binder containing the ten files on Varney’s desk. “This will take me awhile. Let’s re-convene at 8:30 AM tomorrow.”

As the elevator descended to his office, Perrone smiled. If Project WS were successful, he knew that his relationship with Varneys would be made.

The next morning Perrone was directed into Varneys’ private conference room. All ten files were already laid out on the large oval table. On top of each file was a photograph of the candidate whose personal information was contained in the file. Entering the room, Varneys said, “There are some credible candidates here. Well done, agent.”

Perrone stood at ease. “Thank you, director. It’s taken a great deal of effort. We started with data in the computer banks on all doctoral and post-doctoral government sponsored fellowship recipients in the last three years, and worked on from there. These are the ten females who made the final cut out of almost nine hundred we identified. They’ve been vetted fully.”

“And who do you think is the number one candidate out of the ten?”

Perrone knew that this was his moment to impress. “I think it’s that one,” he replied, pointing to one of the photographs on the table. “She has among the highest IQs of all the prospects we screened—155. She has knock-out looks and she’s not a nerd like most of the others. I think she’s the best match.”

Varneys laughed. It was a low
guttural sound that came from a place deep within him from which few laughs emanated. “I’m inclined to agree with you, but I’m concerned about her background—she could be unstable.”

“You’re referring to the abortion?” Perrone asked.

Varneys shook his head. “It’s more than an abortion don’t you think? She was only 14. It was her step-father. She’d been raped by him for years.”

“Her gynecological reports indicate that the abortion didn’t affect her fertility or her ability to carry to full term,” replied Perrone.

“I read the reports, agent. What I’m referring to is the breakdown she had after the abortion.”

“But she bounced back strong. Her psychiatric records are clear on that.”

Varneys began to pace the room. “She became a wild kid in high school, didn’t she?”

“Wild yes, but brilliant. And she buckled down in college. Her professors still rave about her.”

Staring out the window, Varneys stood in silence, looking pensive. Perrone waited patiently. Finally, Varneys said, “I just hope she’s not a nut case.”

“I think Christina Moore is exactly what we’re looking for,” replied Perrone confidently.

“But will she do it?” asked Varneys.

Perrone wagged his head. “That’s the tough question.”

“It’s down to you Agent Perrone. Make it happen.”

Ten days later, Christina picked up her mail at the graduate student housing facility at Stanford. As usual, there wasn’t much to look at —a few catalogs, a credit card bill and a cell phone bill. But what caught her attention was a letter whose envelope bore the name and address of the NSA. Once inside her small studio apartment, she opened the envelope. The letter on NSA stationary read:

Dear Ms. Moore:

Regarding certain important matters in connection with your current NSA fellowship award, it is important that you meet with the undersigned as soon as possible. The meeting will be arranged to take place on the Stanford campus so as not to inconvenience you. Please contact the undersigned upon your receipt of this letter.

Very truly yours,

Calvin Perrone (819-549-8121)

Concerned that there could be a problem with her fellowship, she dialed the contact number. Perrone picked up after three rings.

“Is this Mr. Perrone of the NSA?” Christina asked
.

“Who’s speaking please?”

“This is Christina Moore. I received your letter asking me to contact you about my NSA fellowship.”

Perrone smiled. He could tell from her voice that she was nervous, afraid her fellowship was being terminated or reduced. He thought of the beautiful young woman on the other end of the phone line holding his letter. She had so easily fallen in line with his plan. He mused about the power of a piece of stationary. “Oh yes, Ms. Moore. I’ll be on the Stanford campus tomorrow taking care of a few matters. Is it possible for us to meet then?”

“Is there some problem with my fellowship? I was quite alarmed by your letter.”

“I’ll explain everything when we meet, Ms. Moore. Shall we say tomorrow at three in the afternoon in room 129 of Berringer Hall?”

When Christina walked into room 129, Perrone and two other agents were already there. Her eyebrows rose when she saw
three people and immediately noticed that the size of the men and their dress and demeanor didn’t look like that of NSA fellowship admin personnel. Perrone smiled broadly as he stepped forward extending his hand, “Hello Ms. Moore. I’m Calvin Perrone. And these are my two associates,” said Perrone, without introducing them. “Why don’t we make ourselves comfortable and sit around the conference table.” As they all sat down, Christina placed the NSA letter on the table in front of her.

“So, Mr. Perrone. Please tell me what this letter is all about.”

Perrone blushed as he folded his hands on the table and leaned toward Christina. “Ms. Moore, there’s no problem with your fellowship.”

“So then—what’s the issue? Why did I get this letter?”

Perrone shifted uneasily in his chair. “Let me be frank with you, Ms. Moore. The letter was a discreet device to get you here for a meeting without alarming you. We need to speak to you about a matter of significant national security.”

“Are you with the NSA or not?”

“No.”

“Then the letter was a lie.” Christina was red faced as she began to get up from the table.

“I
am
Calvin Perrone, but I’m with the CIA not the NSA.” Calvin pulled out his ID and showed it to Christina. He motioned to the two other men at the table who
pulled out their IDs.

Christina settled back into her chair. “So what’s going on?”

Perrone tried to sound matter of fact. “Ms. Moore—we’re here to talk about Dr. Robert James Austin. We trust you know the name.”

“Who doesn’t know that name? What about him?”

“As best we can guess, Austin’s intellect is the result of some kind of genetic mutation. We don’t know that for sure, but it’s all we can surmise. The bottom-line is that his intelligence is a perishable resource, the likes of which may never be seen again.”

“And your point?”

“Like any of us—he can die at any moment,” replied Perrone somberly.

A small smile parted Christina’s lips. “Was that an epiphany you had recently?”

Perrone frowned. “My point is that when he dies, this extraordinary resource—a resource that has drastically changed the world for the better—will be extinguished. The resource is irreplaceable. And I’ll tell you— there are a bunch of nut cases out there who want to kill him— so his life expectancy is anyone’s guess.”

“All of this is fascinating, Mr. Perrone, but how does it concern me?”

Perrone inched his chair closer to hers. “Austin is a very peculiar guy. He’s single. He doesn’t date in any normal sense. He’s so obsessed with his work that he swears off any possibility of a real relationship with a woman. In short—he’s not likely to have any children. We don’t know if his intelligence might be capable of being passed down or not. But the possibility exists. We need this guy to have kids.”

“Who’s we?”

Perrone leaned back in his chair and spread his arms out expansively. “The world, Ms. Moore. The world needs him to have kids.”

“So why don’t you get some sperm samples from him and impregnate some female volunteers. I’m sure there wouldn’t be a shortage of them.”

Perrone shook his head dramatically as if he were beyond the point of exasperation. “That would make sense if Austin would cooperate. But he won’t. He has a pathological aversion to the government.” He leaned in close to Christina. “He’s very suspicious.”

Christina raised her eyebrows. “Really? I wonder why?”

Perrone stood up and began to walk slowly around the room as he continued to speak. “So—the only way it’s going to happen is the ‘old fashioned way.’ The Agency’s view is that the quality of Austin’s genetic material will be diluted by any female—because obviously, there’s no one in his league. However, the dilution will be minimized to the extent that the female is as intellectually potent as possible.”

“And your point?” said Christina, her words clipped.

Perrone was now standing next to her chair, looking down at her. “We’ve gone to great pains to identify potential candidates and you’re our #1 choice,” he said smiling broadly, as if he were telling Christina she had just won a lottery.

Christina’s face flushed scarlet and her voice rose as she looked up at him. “You’re kidding right? This is all some crazy practical joke?” Shaking her head vigorously, she said, “You’re good, Perrone. Real good. But I actually have some lab experiments I have to get done.” She began to stand up. Towering over her, he gently motioned her down and then sat next to her.

His voice was stern. “This project of ours can change the course of human history for the better.”

Her eyes wide, she said, “Project? You guys have a name for this?”

Perrone leaned in so his face was only inches from hers. “Yes. It’s classified, but I’ll divulge it to you. It’s Project WS.”

Christina laughed. “Does that stand for “we’re sickos?””

Perrone frowned. “It stands for “World Save.””

Christina rested her face against her palm and closed her eyes. “Does Austin know you’re out here trying to run a stud service?”

Perrone shook his head emphatically. “He has no idea—and can’t know. He
would flip out.”

“Well, at least he’s sane. Goodbye Mr. Perrone.” Christina stood up, crumpled the NSA letter, threw it on the table and began to leave.

“You’re a selfish person, Ms. Moore. A very selfish person,” said Perrone as he trailed after her.

Just a few steps from the door, Christina whirled around, her face red with anger. “You have a hell of a nerve, Perrone. You get me in here under false pretenses and outline a hair-brained scheme that only an outfit as crazy as yours could conjure up—and then when I don’t agree, all of a sudden I’m a selfish person. Do you think I went to school all these years, earned honors, a Ph.D and fellowship, just so I could be bred like a bitch at a kennel? What do you think I am?”

Perrone inhaled quickly. “That’s not it—calm down—that’s not it at all.”

“Like hell it’s not,” Christina said, reaching for the door knob.

Perrone pleaded. “Please—wait a minute. Look- I’ve screwed this up. I shouldn’t have handled it this way. But please—just sit down—give me ten more minutes—just ten minutes—that’s all I ask. Please.”

Christina shook her head but then sat back down at the conference table as she tried to regain her composure. Perrone turned off the lights in the room, lowered a projection screen from the ceiling and began to run a dramatic compilation video that the Agency had put together highlighting Bobby’s accomplishments and the impact that he already had on the lives of hundreds of millions of people throughout the world. The video showed the extent of human suffering that existed before his discoveries and the difference he had made. The screen was filled with the faces of the grateful from all walks of life, all ages and many nations, who expressed, often with tears of gratitude in their eyes, the respect, admiration and love that they felt for him. The contribution which he had already made, at not even 40 years of age, was overwhelming in its magnitude, and the spirit of hope and renewal that he had engendered was heartwarming and uplifting. Renowned scientists expounded on Austin’s brilliance and selfless devotion, and echoed the same thought –“Robert Austin is much more than a genius—we don’t have a word for what he is—but thank God for it.”

At the video’s end, Christina Moore, Calvin Perrone and the other two CIA agents sat in silence in the dark, a heavy residue of human emotion in the air. Even one of the hardened agents flicked his eyes. Nothing was said. Perrone turned the lights on. Christina stood up, straightened the impeccable black suit that she wore only for interviews, and headed for the door. Perrone stared down at the table and looked defeated. When Christina reached the door, she turned around. Her eyes swollen and red, she said, “OK. Here are the ground rules. I’ll meet him. That’s all—nothing else. I’ll consent to meet him once.”

Perrone bounded over to her. “That’s great. That’s all we ask. No strings. Just check him out. You’ll see—he’s even a pretty good looking guy.”

“Where’s the meeting going to take place?” she asked.

“Leave that to us.”

Perrone’s walk down memory lane was interrupted by the director’s heavy hand on his shoulder. “I see you have a glass of champagne. That’s a good start. Are you enjoying yourself, Agent Perrone?”