Tarnished Image (6 page)

“Actually, I hadn’t. I was trying to take in all he was saying and formulate some plan of action. I was preoccupied.”

“That’s understandable. All the decisions fall on your shoulders now. I have less pressure and, therefore, more freedom to notice these things.”

“So you think something has him scared?”

Kristen nodded. “I suspect something has happened to him, something he doesn’t talk about.”

“Do you think I should be concerned that he may crumble under the stress?”

“No, but he might need a friend. Just like you needed A.J. when you came here.”

David looked out over the moonlit water. A small boat cruised slowly through the harbor. “I’ll be sensitive to the situation,” he promised. “Thanks for the advice.”

“The pleasure is all mine. Just one of my many skills.”

“Yeah, but can you fill a coffee cup?”

“What? You want me to refill our cups? I’m the one with a bum leg.” Kristen had been born with her right leg shorter than her left, requiring that she wear a custom thick-soled shoe. She walked with a slight limp.

“Bum leg, huh. You forget. I watched you traipse all over Ethiopia a year ago. I couldn’t keep up with you.”

“You still have to get the coffee.”

David sighed and then smiled. “I think I’m being taken advantage of.”

“You love it,” Kristen countered.

He did.

“Nice acceptance speech,” Jack LaBohm said as he turned to face his boss. The light of a dozen chandeliers that hung from the ceiling of the reception room in the five-star Walston Higgins Hotel in New York City reflected off her long, thick mahogany hair. Her brown eyes sparkled attractively. Her lips, brightened by a barely red lipstick, parted to reveal immaculate teeth. He had never seen her so beautiful. She was dressed in a long, clinging, yellow evening dress that rippled in effortless, fluid motion when she walked.

Jack had watched as she mingled among a roomful of reporters and scientists. She beamed a smile at each person who caught her eye, politely shook any hand offered, listened to idle chat, and received buckets of praise. She was the consummate
guest. Few would guess that she possessed a fierce determination and explosive temper that had left many who angered her quaking like a leaf in a tornado.

“It served its purpose,” Dr. Elaine Aberdene replied, flashing the well-rehearsed, disingenuous smile. “It seemed to go over as planned.”

“Better than planned, I would say. You had them eating out of your hand. May I get you some more champagne?”

“No. I just want to get out of here.”

“I would think you would want to eat up all this praise. Being named Scientist of the Year by
Science Review
magazine is pretty heady stuff. Great food, other scientists, an awards presentation, not to mention the big write-up in next month’s issue. Enjoy it. You deserve it all.”

“I’ve won honors and awards before,” Aberdene answered coolly, her voice low so as not to be overheard. “This is just another one. An important one to the company, granted, but it’s just another award. How do you think it will impact the market?”

Jack shrugged, then said, “Hard to predict. It will be good, no doubt about that. We should pick up half a point on Wall Street, maybe more, depending on how the news media handle it.”

“They should be favorable.”

“I think so. Finding an effective treatment for dengue fever is the kind of stuff that makes news.”

“But not front-page news,” Aberdene said quickly.

“True. Dengue isn’t much of a problem in this country, so the true impact of the work will be wasted on many. Pity.”

“It is a pity,” she agreed.

“Shame we can’t do something about that.”

Aberdene made direct eye contact with her aide but said nothing. An unspoken message was conveyed in the simple glance. He was tall, with dark hair, hazel eyes, and a perpetual five-o’clock shadow. He was her facilitator. When something needed to be done in this country or on foreign soil, Jack LaBohm got it done. He was the man with contacts, the mover and shaker. He never questioned an order, never backed down from a confrontation, and never betrayed a loyalty—especially when it came to Dr. Elaine Aberdene and Aberdene Pharmaceuticals.

“Are things going according to design?” she asked.

“Everything and everyone is in place. It’s just a matter of time.” He raised the champagne glass to his lips and took a sip. “Actually, it’s been easier than hoped. All we need is a little more time, and our problem should be resolved.”

“Hopefully, not too long. If we’re not careful, everything could go up in smoke. I haven’t worked this hard to let that happen now.”

“There’s nothing to worry about,” Jack said soothingly. “I have done everything you’ve asked. All you need to do tonight is look glamorous and be charming.”

“It’s hard to be charming in these shoes,” Aberdene complained, shifting her weight. “Why do they let men design women’s shoes? Has there been any more mention of Belize?”

“Not much. He mentioned it in a phone call but didn’t say anything other than a short reference to the new outbreak. He doesn’t suspect anything.”

“He will, though. He will.”

“How can you be sure?”

“I’ve encountered the Barringston people before. They do more than provide Band-Aid relief. They try to change
things. They also have one of the finest medical research teams in the world. They can afford to hire the leaders in any biological field. I’ll bet you that they have folks working on this thing right now. We should be doing our own work instead of sipping champagne in a ballroom. When do we leave?”

“I still think you should stay in New York for a day or two. Catch a Broadway show, eat at fancy restaurants—”

“I don’t want to stay,” she snapped bitterly. “I want to get back to my work. When do we leave for San Diego?”

“The limo is waiting; the jet is fueled and ready. All you have to do is give the word and we’re gone.”

“Consider it given.”

David found Osborn seated at his desk, holding a small stack of papers and staring at his computer screen. David stood silently in the doorway and watched the man who had yet to notice him. Osborn’s brow was furrowed, his lips pulled tight. Every few moments he would type something with his free hand and then frown. Kristen’s words came back to David. Was something else bothering Osborn Scott? Or was he just an intense man intent on doing his job the best he could?

“Can’t get the station you want, Oz?” David said.

Osborn jumped, startled by David’s words. “You frightened me. I was lost in my thoughts.”

“So I see.” David smiled. “It happens to me all the time. Sorry to sneak up on you.”

“No apology is necessary. We did have a meeting.” David had set the evening meeting after receiving the readiness reports. “Have you had dinner yet?”

“No, I’m not hungry.”

“Well, be sure you eat when you are. We need you on top of your game. You’re the brains behind this situation.”

“I don’t know about that, but I’ll do what I can.”

“Anything new?” David walked to Osborn’s desk and peered at his computer screen. A spreadsheet filled with numbers and formulas filled the monitor.

“Not really. I’ve been on the phone to several hurricane monitoring groups gathering all the information I can. I have also been asking their opinions.”

“And …?” David prompted.

“They’re concerned. It’s not unusual to have tropical storms and hurricanes in the area, but this is shaping up to be a monster. It will be a full-fledged hurricane by sunup on the East Coast. I’ve been running some calculations on potential track and force. It’s difficult without hard data, but using what I have, I’ve verified my best-guess scenario.”

“Will there be more hard data coming?”

“Yes. A satellite is watching this thing right now. In addition, weather monitoring stations will give us key factors like barometric pressure, size, and direction. The Fifty-third Weather Reconnaissance Squadron of the U.S. Air Force Reserve flew one of their WC-130 planes through it late today. The information is relayed to the National Hurricane Center for evaluation. I hope to have that information soon. Tomorrow, members of the NOAA’s aircraft operations center will send out one of their P-3 Orion aircraft. They carry a little more instrumentation. After that we will have a good picture of Claudia.”

“They actually fly into these things? Isn’t that rather hazardous duty?”

“Absolutely. I got to do it once. That was enough for me.
The information is, however, invaluable to prediction and research.”

“So you’ll be able to update us frequently?”

“Yes, my whole team is on it right now.”

“That’s good,” David said. He paused, then asked, “Are you OK with all of this?”

“What do you mean?”

“It seems to weigh pretty heavy on you. Kristen thought that maybe there was something about this storm that’s bothering you.”

“I’m OK, David. Really. I just take all this very seriously.”

“We all do,” David added.

“Perhaps, but I know what one of these things can do. I’ve studied them up close several times. Hurricanes, tropical storms, all of it. I’ve lived through dozens of them gathering information, making observations.” Osborn softened his voice. “They’re beautiful, David, filled with might and energy. I used to love them as an artist loves a painting, or as a director loves films. I thought they were to be admired, appreciated.”

“But now you feel differently?” David prompted gently.

Osborn nodded. “Somewhat. I still think they are things of wonder. But what they leave behind is ugly.”

David studied Osborn for a moment. He could see a memory, a recollection of pain, in the scientist’s distant gaze. “Do you feel like talking about it?”

Osborn shook his head. “Nothing to talk about, and nothing would change if I did.”

“Excuse me, Dr. Scott,” a voice said behind David. David turned to see a young woman, maybe twenty-five years of age, with long, straight blond hair. She was one of the five people Osborn had brought with him to form his team. “I’m sorry
to interrupt, but we just received the data from the Fifty-third’s reconnaissance of Claudia.” She stepped in and handed a single piece of paper to Osborn. David could see that her face was drawn.

“Thank you,” Osborn said. He glanced at the paper. Seconds later he looked up at her and asked, “You wrote these down correctly? You’re sure these are the numbers?”

“Yes.” There was no hesitation.

Osborn returned his attention to the paper and shook his head. “It looks like science wins and the Gulf of Mexico loses. Thank you, Betty.” The young woman nodded and left.

“What do you mean?” David asked.

“Claudia is going to be a great storm to study. It’s also going to be one of the worst to strike the area.” He began to read numbers off the page: “Eight hundred eighty millibars, closed cyclonic system, surface winds thirty meters per second and climbing …”

“Meaning?” David asked.

“It’s bad, David. The atmospheric pressure is very low at 880 millibars. Standard pressure at sea level is 1,016 millibars. The lower the pressure the worse the storm. Back in 1988, Hurricane Gilbert was measured at 888 millibars and Typhoon Tip in the Pacific came in at 870 millibars—the lowest ever.”

“You said it was a closed system.”

“Yes, convection and the earth’s rotation have caused the storm to spin and to feed on itself. This baby is already a hurricane, and as the convection continues over the warm waters it will increase the wind speed. The storm will pull tighter and become more powerful.”

“So your gut feeling was right,” David said.

“Yeah, I guess so. Somehow, I don’t feel very good about that.”

A ringing filled the room. Osborn turned and answered the phone then handed it to David. “It’s Gail in communications for you.”

David took the phone. “Yes, Gail.” He listened, and closed his eyes. He lowered his head. “When?” Listening. “What about our people?” More listening. “Stay with it, Gail. I want to know where every worker is.” He hung up.

“That wasn’t good, was it?”

“No,” David said softly. “A tsunami hit the coastline in the Bay of Bengal. We don’t have details, but our workers in India and Bangladesh have reported it.”