Nano (3 page)

When they met, despite George’s unfamiliarity with life’s unpleasant underside, he recognized in Burim Grazdani, he couldn’t adjust to Graziani, a very dangerous man. George had left their meeting in a café shaken up, but he had agreed to try to intercede between Burim and Pia. Once again his urge to try to help had got the better of him. When Pia had learned of the meeting she’d become enraged, screaming at George to stay out of her life, saying that this man who said he was her father was dead to her. It was one of the last times George had seen Pia before he left for Los Angeles and she had left for a supposed long sojourn on a beach somewhere, a trip Pia had never talked about to him before coming to L.A. herself.

“I understand you wanted to get away from New York, and maybe it was best for you,” said George, even though he regretted her leaving terribly. “I understand your sudden career confusion and wanting to put off your internal medicine residency and getting a PhD because of Rothman’s death. I understand all that. But Boulder! Why Boulder . . . ?”

“I love it here, George. I love the air. I love my work. I love the mountains. I’ve become a health nut. I started running, mountain biking, even skiing.”

As Pia carried on about Boulder and exactly what she was doing in her current work, George stopped listening. He didn’t care about Boulder; what he really wanted to know was why she had not ended up in L.A., where Pia had said she was going before they had fallen out over her father. The fact that Pia had told him she was going to L.A. to do research for several years was the one and only reason he had turned down the residency at Columbia Medical Center and gone to Los Angeles himself. As he might have predicted, without Pia there, he was not fond of L.A. Pia was still talking.

“. . . and another reason I came here to Boulder was because of Will McKinley’s osteomyelitis infection in his skull. If you haven’t guessed, I feel overwhelmingly guilty about his condition. Indirectly, I was responsible. My hope is that we can use nanotechnology in the form of a microbivore-based antibacterial treatment on him. We’ve got them here at Nano, and they work. What is needed at this point is FDA approval, which is what we’re going to be working for as soon as we finish preliminary safety studies. Ever since I’ve been here I’ve been working with these microbivores. They are amazing.”

“Microbivores? You’ll need to fill me in a little.”

“George, you weren’t listening. Didn’t you hear what I was just telling you about what I’ve been doing here for eighteen months?”

“My mind wandered a bit,” George admitted. His uncertain smile returned. The hoped-for rapprochement with Pia was testing his less-than-perfect diplomatic skills.

“I’m not supposed to be talking about what we are doing before all the patents are formalized, but what the hell. I haven’t breathed a word to anyone. I trust you will keep what I say under your hat.”

“No problem,” George assured her. He wanted to encourage her. Counting on his confidence was a suggestion of intimacy, for which George hungered.

“It’s going to be a new type of antisepsis,” Pia continued. “The antibiotic era of fighting bacteria is near its end. I mean, bacteria are developing resistance faster than new antibiotics can be found. The hope is that medical nanotechnology will come to the rescue and provide rapid cures, particularly for sepsis. Specifically, I’m convinced it could cure Will’s osteomyelitis.”

“How will nanotechnology help Will?”

“As I said: by using the microscopic nanorobots called, appropriately enough, microbivores, which I’ve been working with for almost two years. They are much smaller than red blood cells, and they eat bacteria and other microorganisms when introduced into the bloodstream of a living animal. They’ll even be able to be programmed to seek out, eat, and digest infectious proteins like prions or the tau proteins associated with Alzheimer’s disease, which antibiotics are useless against.”

“I’m sorry to have to admit this, but my knowledge of nanomedicine isn’t the greatest. I mean, I know how it has contributed to sun screens, but that’s about it.”

“Well, you are going to have to catch up or you’re going to be left behind. Medical nanotechnology is the future. It’s going to totally change medicine, probably as much as regenerative stem cell technology. Between the two, five or ten years from now, the practice of medicine is going to be completely different.”

“Microbivores coursing around in the body eating up bacteria. Sounds like that old science-fiction movie
Fantastic Voyage
.”

“I guess. I never saw it. But this is not science fiction.”

“And they are smaller than a red blood cell?”

“Absolutely. The ones I’m working on are ovoid, with their long axis about three micrometers long, which is six times smaller than the width of a human hair.”

“I’m telling you: this sounds like science fiction.”

“They’re real. I’m working with them every day.”

“So, what about L.A.?”

Pia cocked her head to the side and regarded George questioningly. “What do you mean, ‘what about L.A.?’” To her, George’s comment was a total non sequitur.

“I thought you were going to L.A. to do research. You never mentioned Boulder . . .”

“Well, there was a brief period when I thought I was going to go to L.A. I had found out there was a nanotechnology company in L.A. that was interested in microbivores, but their program is still in the design stage. I applied for a research position, but then I was contacted by a head-hunter who sought me out for the company here in Boulder called Nano, which has far outpaced its competitors in molecular manufacturing.”

“You’ve lost me again. What’s molecular manufacturing?”

“It’s building nano-sized devices essentially atom by atom, molecule by molecule. It is the key to making these nanorobots. The head-hunter told me that Nano had already built some microbivore prototypes and had begun testing them in vivo. At that point it was a no-brainer for me. You’ll have to see scanning electron microscope images we have of these things. They’ll blow you away. Truly. They are incredible.”

“My mind is ready to be blown!” George said, looking at Pia, who returned his stare with more eye contact than usual. He could tell her formidable mind was in high gear. As so often happened, he worried that she could read his mind and realize how little he knew about what she was so passionate about and, if she could, the progress they seemed to be making reconnecting on a personal level would evaporate.

“I guess I’m going to learn a lot about nanotechnology.”

“Wait a second,” Pia commented. “George, you didn’t move to L.A. because I—”

“No, no, of course not.” George desperately wanted to change this particular subject. He
had
moved to L.A. because of Pia for sure, but at the moment he didn’t want to admit it and look weak. He knew Pia hated when he seemed weak and apologetic. “This work with microbivores must be fascinating,” he continued lamely. “Will you be able to show me what you are doing? I’d love to check it out.”

Pia continued to regard George with an intensity that made him look away.

“I really am starved,” George said, needing to say something. He rubbed his hands together nervously and changed the subject. “What about some lunch? You must be hungry yourself.”

Pia glanced over at George’s roller bag, then back to George. “Where are you intending to stay?”

“Actually, I was hoping . . . ” George said, smiling his broadest, albeit insincere smile. It had worked in the past with other women, but he feared it was wasted on Pia.

Pia closed her eyes for a moment and shook her head almost imperceptibly. “How long are you intending to stay in Boulder?”

“Not long,” George added hopefully. “I only got a couple of days free. I told my chief it was a family emergency. I have to go back on Tuesday. I’m hoping to talk you into reciprocating and coming out to L.A. sometime soon.”

“Okay, we’ll talk about that later. Lunch? Sure, but it’ll have to be fast. Then how about we head out to where I work. I can show you some of what I’ve been doing. The fact is, I’ve got a couple of experiments running I need to check on within the hour.”

“Sounds good,” said George. He brightened. It seemed like progress, of a sort.

2.

ABOA
RD A GULFSTREAM G550 JET OVER THE WESTERN PACIFIC OCEAN EN ROUTE TO BOULDER MUNICIPAL AIRPORT

SUNDAY, APRIL 21, 2013

Zachary Berman was happiest when he was flying, and preferably, as he was now, on the Gulfstream jet owned by Nano, LLC, of which he was the majority stockholder, president, and CEO. He loved the feeling of time being suspended as the plane sped on toward its destination at 51,000 feet, currently far above the seemingly limitless expanse of the Pacific Ocean, heading for the North American continent. However hectic and stressful his life was on the ground, in the air he felt detached, safe, maybe even invincible. The plane had communications that rivaled those of Air Force One, but by turning them off, he had plenty of time to plan, strategize, and gloat about Nano’s progress, especially on a long flight like this one: Beijing to Boulder, more than six thousand miles as the crow flies. Of course Zach, as most people called him, knew that his plane’s journey would be less than that, due to the plane’s polar route and the oblate shape of the earth.

As far as Zach was concerned, the trip had been a great success to the point of bringing a smile to his face. Putting his work aside, he lowered the back of his chair and raised the footrest, turning the seat into a comfortable lounger. Cradled in the hand-selected, hand-stitched Moroccan leather, he thought about Nano’s spreadsheets and capital needs. A smile appeared on his stubble encrusted, masculine face. For the moment things seemed to be going swimmingly. He even allowed himself to doze.

About an hour later, as Berman nursed the dregs of what would be his last single-malt scotch of the trip and with the back of his chair in the upright position, he idly looked out of the plane’s small window. His mind turned as it often did to his father and to the question of what he would have made of his son’s enormous recent success and flying home from a business trip to China in a sumptuous private jet that was, for all practical purposes, his. Every day as he looked in the mirror to shave, Zachary flinched at his progressive resemblance to his late father, Eli, especially now that Zach was closing in on fifty.

This was one reason he kept his thick, slightly salt-and-pepper hair considerably longer than his father’s closely cropped style. Zachary’s expensive cut would have made the older man blanch. Growing up in a middle-class home in a strongly blue-collar neighborhood in Palisades Park, New Jersey, Zachary often saw flecks of paint in his dad’s hair, an occupational hazard for a painting contractor, and he wondered why his father took so little interest in his appearance and what it implied. When Zach worked summers for his dad, from the time he was fourteen through college and grad school, he always wore a baseball cap as protection against such paint splatters. He’d worried their presence would mark him as a mere day laborer. From an early age, Zach had set his sights high.

A more profound disconnect between father and son was over what Zachary saw as Eli’s contentment and fundamental lack of ambition. Even as Zachary excelled at Yale as an undergraduate and at Harvard Law School, Eli plodded along in the paint business without any concern to make it grow. Still, his father felt entitled to deride his son’s inability to play baseball as well as he had, and had railed at his decision not to go into medicine as Eli had so vociferously voiced.

As the years passed, Eli’s contempt for his son’s career choices only increased as Zachary abruptly abandoned his rather well-paid corporate law job in Manhattan to enter the financial world, and then, after ten years, quit his extremely lucrative job as an analyst on Wall Street. Zachary had tried to explain to an uncomprehending Eli that he had become bored and thought of Wall Street as a big con, believing there was much better money to be made and certainly more satisfaction in actually creating something, not just playing around with paper, betting on a rigged market with other people’s money.

Zachary’s watch sounded a single soft chime, reminding him of the time and hence the proximity of their destination, and he swiveled in his seat to face the back of the plane. Halfway down sat Berman’s private assistant cum secretary, Whitney Jones. She looked right at Berman, ready for his instruction. In one of her straight-line Chanel suits, she was exquisite. Her black hair was pulled back from her face to show off her striking features, which combined the best of her African American father and Singaporean Chinese mother. For Zach, seeing her profile never failed to remind him of the famous bust of Nefertiti housed in the Neues Museum in Berlin. Berman merely tipped his head very slightly, and Jones, ever attentive, unclipped her seat belt. With an equivalent return nod, she stood. From previous instructions, she knew it was time to wake up their guests.

Confident that everything was being taken care of, Berman turned his attention back to the view and to his reverie. “A day’s hard work is its own reward,” Eli Berman had probably said once a week over the course of his whole adult life. He was distressed that his son couldn’t seem to settle on anything and failed to appreciate what Eli had learned in the decades he had given to his paint business. Berman smiled. He far preferred being at 51,000 feet in a Gulfstream jet to any satisfaction gained from a day’s manual labor.

Zachary absentmindedly played with his wedding band. The coming weeks were vitally important to his enterprise and billions of dollars were at stake, yet his wife and children, who should have been more involved in his triumph, were in New York City, barely aware of Zachary’s work and the role he was playing in the fantastic evolution of nanotechnology. Zachary had wanted children, or so he thought, but he found domestic life as humdrum as he’d found corporate law. Ever since he’d been a child he’d been addicted to challenge and creativity. He couldn’t stand status quo and predictability. He’d broken his wedding vows many times, even with Whitney Jones on a few occasions, and he’d come to think of his own family with little sentiment above and beyond the need to provide for them in an appropriate manner.

“Work is its own reward,” Zachary silently mouthed contemptuously. It had been another, similar one of his father’s dictums. “Somebody should have told that to Jonathan,” Zach added. Jonathan had been Zachary’s beloved younger brother, the one who could play baseball, and Eli’s obvious favorite, who had died in agony from bone cancer, the failed treatment proving to be even worse torture than the disease.

“No, Dad, the reward is whatever you can take, whenever you can.”

Zachary changed when Jonathan died. He’d always pushed himself, but after his brother’s demise he had become supercharged, and had started to be reckless. He left Wall Street when Jonathan had been diagnosed, and Zachary helped Jonathan run their father’s firm while Jonathan was being treated.

Unfortunately Jonathan’s aggressive cancer was not to be denied, and he died within four months. As if from a broken heart, Eli, who had developed rapid-onset dementia, followed quickly, leaving Zachary, a cynical and ambitious man, in charge of a moderately successful company that was poking along with seemingly little upside.

As a gesture of respect to his brother and his father, Zachary gave himself six months to make something of Berman Painting and Contracting, taking on the challenge at sixty miles per hour. He cut prices aggressively, hired more crews, and immersed himself in the details of the business, looking for some angle that might persuade him that it was worth his time. When Zachary found an article about the possible uses of nanotechnology in paint he almost didn’t bother to read it. Paint was paint was paint. What relevance could it have for him when he was busting a gut trying to establish a foothold over the competition in northern New Jersey?

But Zach did read the article, particularly a section about research into the use of carbon nanotubes in paint that could block cell phone signals in a concert hall. He read the piece again and quickly went on to read all he could find on nanotechnology. Zach was convinced this was fertile ground that was virtually unexplored and certainly underexploited. There was so much about nanotechnology that he didn’t understand, but the potential was obvious, exciting, and challenging. In college he’d steered clear of chemistry, math, physics, and even biology. He now regretted it. He had a lot to learn, and he applied himself with the zeal of a starving man having stumbled into a grocery store.

Within weeks, he had sold the business at a healthy profit and given all the proceeds to Jonathan’s widow, and with that he felt he had fulfilled his obligation to his brother’s family. When his mother was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s some months later, and Zachary realized nanotechnology might possibly offer some hope, he felt thoroughly vindicated. Suddenly he was consumed by the promise of nanotechnology in the medical realm. What if he could cure bone cancer as a fitting tribute to his late brother? And what about his mother? Could he help her? Why not? With nanotechnology the sky was the limit.

Zachary felt a light pressure on his arm. It was Whitney. As she leaned in to whisper, Zachary smelled the fetching perfume she wore as well as her personal pheromones, and the scents conjured up a brief but welcome image of her long, toned body stretched out on a bed.

“They’re all set,” Whitney whispered. “We’re landing in forty-five minutes.”

Zachary nodded and stood up and stretched his arms, shoulders, and legs. His clothes—black T-shirt and blue jeans—fit tightly over a muscular body. Zachary was health conscious, particularly after Jonathan’s sudden illness and demise and his parents’ dementia. Even when he was busy, which he always was, he found time to work out and eat healthfully.

Berman freely admitted he’d become something of a hypochondriac, and he regularly took advantage of the fact that Nano employed a number of doctors. What consumed Zachary was the fear that he would suffer the same Alzheimer’s dementia he witnessed in both his parents as they descended relentlessly into total helplessness. Hoping to reassure himself, he had himself tested for the apolipoprotein E4 gene associated with an increased risk of the disease. To his horror, the test had the opposite effect. He’d learned that he was homozygous for the gene, a factor that increased his risk, as did the fact that both his parents had had it. For Zach, his interest in medical nanotechnology became a personal obsession.

“Time for our little speech,” said Zachary, and he followed Whitney toward the rear of the plane. Seated in leather armchairs similar to his were three Chinese men attired in carefully tailored Western-style suits. In a jump seat in the very rear of the plane was a large and serious-looking Caucasian man whose bulky jacket concealed a variety of airplane-safe weapons: a Taser, knives, and a rubber truncheon. He had never had cause to use any of these on a trip such as this because the main cargo was very secure. Four figures in shapeless brown jumpsuits slumped in the facing banquettes. The plane’s manufacturers may have designed the seats and table for a card game or a meal on a long flight, but Zachary had found the arrangement perfect for his purposes. The four, three men and a woman, were shackled together and chained to the table. They were unconscious, having been tranquilized when they had reached altitude.

Berman and Jones stood side by side. Zachary spoke and Whitney translated into her perfect Mandarin for their Chinese guests. Her fluency in the language was one of the reasons she was paid more than a million dollars a year.

“We will be landing at our destination shortly,” Berman said. “Please follow our representative into the vehicle that will meet the plane. We will proceed directly to the research plant, where you will be staying in very comfortable accommodations. Our luggage will follow us to the facility.” Berman motioned to the four passengers with his head, including them as part of the plane’s designated cargo.

“We are entering a very exciting phase of our partnership. As we advance together toward our common goal we must focus on the end objective that we have all identified, toward which we have been working so hard.” Berman paused and waited for Jones to finish. He finished in Mandarin.

“Welcome to Nano.”

The men nodded and muttered a greeting of their own. They seemed nervous, aware of the responsibility the secret branch of their government had placed upon them.

Berman resumed his seat, steepled his fingers together, leaned back in his chair, and closed his eyes. For the last few minutes of the trip home, he wanted to think of the best reason he could for getting back to Boulder. On the trip out to China and even as he was conducting his vital business, his mind had been preoccupied by the same thoughts . . . Pia Grazdani.