Authors: Gary Braver
ELIXIR (11 page)
No longer able to stall, he said, “I think you’re both right. Betsy, you raise some troublesome potentials, things we should consider. But unwanted possibilities are no reason to call a halt. Cocaine or heroin are dangerous when abused, but lots of people take them and nobody’s twisting their arms. Should we stop manufacturing them because it’s become a social problem? Of course not, because of all the legitimate uses in medicine. Even nuclear fission: It’s not innately evil, just one of its potential applications.”
“That’s like saying climb the mountain because it’s there: Knowledge for its own sake,” Betsy said.
“Yes, but I see nothing wrong with that.”
“Not all knowledge is good.”
“True, but science shouldn’t be prohibited from extending frontiers, especially in human biology. Like cloning, prolongevity was bound to be discovered, so why not do it right? And we’re the best team there is.”
“Hear, hear!” shouted Quentin and flashed Chris a thumbs-up. The man was a damn fool, and Chris resented the assumption of complicity.
“Then maybe you can tell us what exactly our objective is,” Betsy said, “because I’ve lost sight.”
Iwati’s face rose up in Chris’s mind.
Never grow old
.
Never grow old
.
“Our objective is to continue the headway we’ve made with an eye to moving to clinical. The fact is, the accelerated senescence may stop us before our conscience does.”
Another flashcard image—Sam in the hospital, looking up at Chris, wondering who he was.
“If you’re worried about it being too successful,” Quentin said, “why not modify the compound so that it’s good for, say, for ten or twenty years—chemically fine-tune it, kind of?”
Betsy took a deep breath of exasperation. It was a ludicrous suggestion. “Even if we discovered some built-in timers for molecules, activation would constitute mass murder.”
“Oh hell, you can work out something,” Quentin snapped back. “The point is that if Elixir can add a decade or two to human life, I’m all for it. So is Darby Pharms
and
so is the human race, damn it! We’re not going to have a work stoppage. Period! Besides, we don’t even know if it works on humans.”
and
so is the human race, damn it! We’re not going to have a work stoppage. Period! Besides, we don’t even know if it works on humans.”
“Frankly, I hope it doesn’t,” Betsy said, and picked up her things and left.
The meeting was over, and Derek, Stan, and Vartan exited without a word.
When they were alone, Quentin turned to Chris. “What the hell’s wrong with her? This might be the greatest discovery in all of science, and she’s trying to fucking sabotage it. Jesus! Where the hell did you find that woman in the first place?”
Chris looked at the big pink musk-melon face. The same face that for weeks would mooch into his lab to check on progress, to reiterate how important Elixir was to the company, to remind him how there would be no Elixir project without Quentin. Chris did all he could to keep from whacking that face. “Quentin, I’m sure you have work to do.”
Quentin gave him an offended look then left.
Chris’s insides felt scooped out. Maybe they would talk, but they were not going to shut the project down. No way. He needed Betsy, but if she became a liability, he would ask her to find another lab.
He was about to leave when he looked back at the chalkboard notes and diagrams.
Do we really want to open that door?
Do we really want to open that door?
And a small voice in his head whispered:
Yes, oh yes
.
Yes, oh yes
.
Dexter had messed up—yielded to a crazy nostalgic impulse. A last-ditch effort to bathe in the fires of spring. But when the time came, Chris wouldn’t be so foolish.
No way
.
No way
.
JULY 1
Q
uentin arrived at two-thirty and paced in circles around George Washington and his horse for half an hour. In a shoulder bag he carried unmarked hundred-dollar bills. But not twenty-five thousand of them. Over the week he had raised only $1.5 million—a million shy of what he owed.
uentin arrived at two-thirty and paced in circles around George Washington and his horse for half an hour. In a shoulder bag he carried unmarked hundred-dollar bills. But not twenty-five thousand of them. Over the week he had raised only $1.5 million—a million shy of what he owed.
It was a cool drizzly day, and only a few people were in the Garden. Quentin’s stomach was a cauldron of acid. He chewed Turns, thinking that Antoine was being cagey, probably waiting to see if he had brought police or narcs. The thought had never crossed his mind. About three o’clock a kid in jeans and a slicker approached him. “He’s waiting for you in the lounge across the street.” He pointed to the Ritz-Carlton Hotel then took off in the opposite direction.
Quentin crossed Arlington Street, feeling relief they were meeting in a civilized place. The lounge was dim and only a couple of businessmen sat by the window. A waiter directed Quentin to a table in the far corner where a man sat, but it was not Antoine Ducharme.
“How’s the finger?” asked Vince Lucas.
Instantly, Quentin’s hand began to throb. The finger had a permanent crook which made Vince smile.
“Where’s Antoine?”
“Let’s just say it’s inconvenient for Antoine to travel.”
Quentin sat and the waiter took their orders—a Chivas on the rocks for Quentin, a second Perrier for Vince. Quentin clenched the bag of money between his feet. He could not stop trembling. All he could think of was his daughter, Robyn.
“You got a problem?” Vince asked. “You seem a bit jumpy.”
“It’s just I’m out of breath from running over,” he stammered and mopped his face with the napkins.
The waiter brought the drinks. Lucas’s eyes were deep black and totally unreadable. He wore a gray suit, blue shirt, and paisley tie like a stockbroker. Quentin’s heart pounded so hard that he wondered if Lucas could hear it. He called the waiter back to bring some nuts. When the waiter left, Lucas said, “Do you have the money, Mr. Cross?
“Oh, sure.” He shoved a handful of nuts into his mouth.
Lucas reached over and pulled the bag over. Quentin started to protest, but choked it back. It took Lucas a few seconds to estimate the contents. “Where’s the rest?”
“That’s what I want to talk to Antoine about.”
Lucas sighed. “Mr. Cross, I told you a long time ago that I speak for Antoine, understand? And he’s not happy.” His eyes had hardened into flat onyx marbles.
Suddenly a thought occurred to Quentin—an interesting one that sent a ripple through his bowels. He finished his drink and flagged the waiter for a refill. Meanwhile, Lucas watched him squirm and gobble down nuts—his face an uncompromising blank.
“We’re both businessmen, correct?” Quentin began. “And you’re successful I assume. I mean, you’re well dressed and all …” He tapered off.
More gaping silence as Lucas tried to read Quentin.
“As you may recall, I’m the Chief Financial Officer of a very reputable pharmaceutical company—”
“Cut the blah-blah and get to the point.”
“Okay, there’s nearly a million and a half dollars in there. I know it’s short, and I have every intention of paying the balance, but frankly, I simply can’t raise that kind of money without serious consequences. But Darby Pharms is on the verge of something with cosmic potential.”
The waiter came with more nuts and Quentin’s drink.
“How old are you, Mr. Lucas?”
Lucas narrowed his eyes at Quentin without response then checked his watch.
“I’d guess thirty-five.” Quentin removed a half-eaten roll of Turns from his pocket and placed it on the table. “What would you pay for a compound that could freeze you at thirty-five for another hundred years?”
Lucas glanced at the Turns then gave Quentin the same menacingly blank look. “You asking me real questions, or is this your idea of conversation? By the way, you’ve got three minutes.”
Quentin felt a burst of panic. “For what?”
“To settle the rest of your debt.”
Quentin’s mind flooded with all sorts of horrors—being dragged to a waiting car outside, or maybe even shot dead right here with a silencer, fast when nobody was looking. He glanced desperately to the table of businessmen at the window.
“They’re with me,” Lucas said. “You were saying?”
Oh, God
. Quentin thought. There was no compromising these people. No extensions. No second chances. It was all he had left. “Look, please. I’m serious. I’m … I’m talking about something historic … . Something we’re developing while we speak, in fact. It’s for real. What if those weren’t antacids but pills that prevented you from aging?”
. Quentin thought. There was no compromising these people. No extensions. No second chances. It was all he had left. “Look, please. I’m serious. I’m … I’m talking about something historic … . Something we’re developing while we speak, in fact. It’s for real. What if those weren’t antacids but pills that prevented you from aging?”
“What’s the catch?”
“There is no catch.”
“Sounds like bullshit.”
“It’s not. It works. The stuff exists. I’m telling you, it’s for real.”
“How many people have you tried it on?”
“Nobody yet, but it works on lab animals—mice and monkeys.”
“Maybe you should think about moving to people, because I wouldn’t give you a dime till I was certain.”
“But suppose it worked? What do you think such a compound would be worth to the company manufacturing it?”
“Sky’s the limit, I guess. Why, you people making this stuff?”
Quentin felt a rush of relief. He had captured Lucas’s interest. “Yes.” Quentin did not mention the accelerated senescence. “We’ve still got some testing left and FDA approval, then we’re rolling.”
Suddenly Betsy Watkins’s pointy little self-righteous face rose up in his mind. He pushed it down when another face shot up. Ross Darby’s.
“I need not remind you that this is supremely confidential.”
But they didn’t get it. None of them did. His back was against the wall with a professional killer glowering at him point-blank. He had no choice, so he told Vince Lucas about the mice and rhesus monkeys in detail. And Lucas listened intently.
“I need not remind you that this is supremely confidential.”
But they didn’t get it. None of them did. His back was against the wall with a professional killer glowering at him point-blank. He had no choice, so he told Vince Lucas about the mice and rhesus monkeys in detail. And Lucas listened intently.
“You’re talking months if not years to get this marketed. Antoine wants his money today.”
“Vince, you’re a successful businessman—”
Vince reached across the table and grabbed Quentin’s index finger. “Get to your point or I’m going to snap these off one by one.”
“M-my point is I am offering you a percentage of Elixir. We can work
out the details later, but I am offering you a piece of Darby stock in return for a capital investment that would cover our debt to Mr. Ducharme.”
out the details later, but I am offering you a piece of Darby stock in return for a capital investment that would cover our debt to Mr. Ducharme.”
Vince Lucas stared at him incredulously. “You want me to lend you a million dollars to pay off Antoine?”
“No, not a loan. An investment in Elixir.”
Lucas smiled. “That’s a new one.”
“We’re talking about the ultimate miracle drug, a little pill that would prolong life indefinitely. And I’m offering you an opportunity to be part of it—part of untold fortunes. It’s a chance of a lifetime, literally.”
Quentin continued in his smoothest entrepreneurial manner. He produced the capital-raising literature Ross had presented to the small coterie of investors, a video of the lab animals, and legal financial documents should Lucas agree to come aboard. All the stuff he had intended to unload on Antoine Ducharme.
Lucas studied the material, fingering through the figures and graphs. “Looks interesting.”
“Interesting! Mr. Lucas, these are road maps to the Garden of Eden!”
“No, Mr. Cross, these are pieces of paper You could have made up all this stuff and had it printed.”
“Then what can I do to convince you?”
“Show me your hundred-year-old monkeys.”
“You mean you want to visit the labs?”
“Unless you brought them with you.”
Quentin hadn’t expected this. He said he could bring him in on Monday after hours. But Vince insisted on today.
“There’re too many people around today.”
“What time do they go home?”
Of course, he could bring him in after the place closed up. “Tonight at nine.”
“You still haven’t said anything about money.”
“For forgiving my debt, I guarantee you that your million dollars will turn into two and a half million dollars in two years. An increase of 250 percent.”
“What if your Elixir doesn’t work on people?”
“Then I’ll pay you out of my own pocket, even if it means selling my home. That’s how much I believe in this.” Lucas studied him in more opaque silence. “So, what do you think?
“I think you’re going to need this Elixir yourself, the way you’re packing in the nuts and booze.”
Quentin made a nervous chuckle. “I’d like to add, that this deal must be held in the utmost confidence.
Lucas reached into an inner pocket of his jacket and pulled out a portable phone. He tapped some numbers. “It’s me. Something’s come up. Yeah, everything’s fine. Stay low. Yeah. Catch you later.” Then he clicked off. He handed the phone to Quentin. “Tell your wife you won’t be coming home for supper.”
“But she’s not home.”
“She’s home, and so is your daughter.”
Jesus! people were watching his family while they were here. “Did you think I’d bring the police?”
“It’s your track record on payment.” He pushed the phone into his hand. “Call your wife.”
Shaking, Quentin called his wife to say he’d not be home until late. Then Vince slung the bag of money on his shoulder and led Quentin to the elevator in the lobby. They rode to the top floor alone. “Tell me this,” Vince said halfway up. “Can your Elixir keep you from dying? Say, if somebody put a bullet through your head?”
Quentin flinched. “Well, n-no, not really.”
“Then here’s how this works. I want 400 percent, not 250.”
“That’s four million dollars!”
“Correct.”
“That’s an awful lot of money … .”
“How much is your daughter’s life worth to you?”
“Okay, okay. Four million.”
“And I want half next year at this time—two million next July first. Another two the following July. And if you don’t deliver, you take a bullet in the head—end of story.”
The elevator door opened onto an empty floor.
Vince nudged him out. “And you deliver it yourself in front of me.” The door closed with a loud crack.
Vince Lucas led them down the hall to his suite. He unlocked the door and opened it. “So far, your Elixir seems to work.”
Two days later Vince flew to Puerto Rico where in a villa on a bluff overlooking the ocean he delivered $2.5 million in cash to Antoine. He did not let on that a million was his own money. Nor did he mention Elixir or the video Quentin had given him or what he had seen in the Darby labs that
night. This was his own private investment. If it didn’t work out, he could always recoup. Quentin had equity—a fancy house, a summer place, and ownership in the company which he’d take over in January.
night. This was his own private investment. If it didn’t work out, he could always recoup. Quentin had equity—a fancy house, a summer place, and ownership in the company which he’d take over in January.
But if it worked out, it could be one monster bonanza.
August came and, once again, Chris postponed their Caribbean trip. Things were just too crazy at the lab to get away, he told Wendy. Understandably, she was disappointed.
Then on August 5 Jenny called to say that Kelly had been readmitted to the hospital. She didn’t explain why. In fact, she purposely talked down the matter, saying simply that everybody thought it was best. But Jenny’s evasiveness bothered Wendy so much that she decided to go out there herself. Jenny protested that everything was fine, but she finally gave in since she was having a first-birthday party for Abigail the following week and Wendy could join them.
“It was so strange,” Wendy said the night she returned from Kalamazoo. “Kelly had had another nervous breakdown, yet Jenny pretended she was at a retreat.”
“Did you get to see her?” Chris asked as they drove back from the airport.
“Only after I insisted. Not only did she not want to take me to the hospital, she didn’t even want to go into the conference room with me. And when she did, she chattered away about the pictures on the walls and how superior the food was to the usual hospital fare.”
“Talk about denial!” Chris said. “How was Kelly?”
Wendy shook her head woefully. “Like a zombie. Maybe it’s all the medication, but I couldn’t believe how she looked. You remember what a big and strong kid she used to be. Well, she was all skin and bones and stooped over. She looked elderly. It was frightening. When I asked how she felt, she looked at me with dead eyes and said, ‘Crazy.’
“Jenny heard her and blurted out something about what lovely doctors she had, when Kelly cut her off. ‘I was in a coma for three days,’ she said. ‘I took forty tabs of her Lithium, but they found me and pumped it out.’
“What struck me, Chris, was that she sounded disappointed they had gotten to her in time. All I could think was how she was sixteen years old with so much life ahead of her and she wanted to die. It’s so sad, at only sixteen,” she said, thinking that Ricky had never made it to six.
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