The Immortalists Page 5

  Richard found himself unable to speak—he just sat there thinking about Chevalier’s young son and the fact that he’d lost both his parents over the course of a week. That at the age of twelve, he was suddenly alone in the world.

  But it wasn’t just Jonny. Richard knew that he was alone now too. Without Troy to tell the police what had happened, they would just think he was a run-of-the-mill thief.

  “I didn’t mean to…” he started, but then fell silent. No one was going to care about his intentions. No one was going to care that he was the only hope Susie and the other kids had. They’d just throw him in prison to rot.

  “Was it Mason, Chris? Was he the one who called the police?”

  “What choice did he have? Do you have any idea what kind of position you put him in?”

  “I guess I didn’t really think about it.”

  “And that’s the problem, isn’t it? You’ve become so obsessed with what you’re doing, you’ve lost sight of everything else.”

  Richard sagged in his chair, feeling the handcuffs pull painfully at his wrists. “Is Carly here?”

  “She’s out in the lobby. But I didn’t come with her. She’s not the one who called me.”

  “Then who?”

  “Mason. He knew that you and I were friends, and he’s not happy about being the guy who had to burn you on this. Oh, and did I mention that I spent the entire drive over here on the phone with the CEO of PharmaTan trying to convince him not to crucify you?”

  “What was I supposed to do?” Richard said. “Throw it in the garbage? Tell Troy I wouldn’t help him a few days after he found his wife hanging from the ceiling?”

  “Considering your current situation, that doesn’t seem like it would have been too bad a choice, does it?”

  Richard nodded, but then leaned in as close as he was able, lowering his voice to the point that it was barely audible. “You should see the stuff she was working on, Chris. It has incredible potential. I mean, you could actually see a day that you could put someone’s genome into a computer and have it spit out a picture of what they look like, what illnesses they would be susceptible to—hell, maybe even their IQ and personality. Can you imagine what that could mean? If we actually understood what every gene does? How they interact? Do you understand what that could do for kids like Susie?”

  “Jesus Christ, Richard. Are you listening to yourself? Do you know where you are?”

  “It’s just that—”

  “How smart is August Mason?”

  “What?” Richard said.

  “It’s a simple question.”

  “I don’t understand what you’re—”

  “Well then let me make it crystal clear. You’re one of the most brilliant biologists alive today. And Annette sure as hell was. But would it be fair to say that Mason’s twice as smart as both of you combined?”

  “Yeah. I suppose.”

  “And he said this was a dead end.”

  “You never know. He could have—”

  “Shut up, Richard. Just shut up, OK? If you keep going on like this…” His voice faded for a moment. “You know, I did what you asked. I figured out a way to get to Andreas Xander’s people. Do you have any idea how hard that is right now? I hear they had to get the paddles out last week to keep what I generously refer to as his heart beating. What do I do now? How does this make me look?”

  He was right, Richard knew. Word of this would spread. Even if he stayed out of jail, he’d become a pariah. He’d never raise another dime as long as he lived.

  “You’ve got to help me fix this, Chris. It just fell into my hands. I wasn’t trying to make money off it.”

  “And that’s the only reason I’m here instead of PharmaTan’s army of lawyers. But Susie’s disease isn’t a free pass, Richard. You can’t do whatever you want and then scream ‘sick children’ when it bites you in the ass.”

  “I know. I—”

  “Do you have copies?”

  “Just the one on my hard drive. But the cops took my computer.”

  “You’re telling me the truth?”

  “I swear.”

  Graden walked to the door and was about to bang on it, but instead turned and looked down at Richard again. “I went to PharmaTan with hat in hand, and they agreed to hold off pressing charges for now as a personal favor to me.”

  “You mean, you can get me out of here?”

  “I don’t know. I really don’t. Do you have any idea how far out on a limb I am?”

  Richard’s gaze fell to his feet, and he stared silently at them.

  “You’ve got to pull it together, son. I love you and Carly like family, but if you’re dead set on going down in flames, you’re going to have to do it without me.”

  8

  Outside Baltimore, Maryland

  April 13

  Richard Draman used a shaking hand to push open the heavy doors leading into his lab. He stood in the threshold for a moment, unsure whether to sprint inside or just get back in the car and drive away. Carly gave him a gentle nudge from behind, and he walked stiffly forward.

  “Richard!” Eric Manning, the Progeria Project’s de facto second in command, said, dropping the stool he’d been righting and looking nervously around the room. “The police were here.”

  Richard felt his wife’s hand on his back again, but this time there was no push, just the reassuring pressure of her touch.

  The lab looked like a pack of wild animals had been set loose in it. The computers were gone, leaving wires hanging limp and useless from the walls. Filing cabinets had been ransacked, refrigerators were empty, and key pieces of heavy equipment had been dragged away, leaving telltale gouges in the floor.

  “I wasn’t sure what you knew,” Eric said, glancing up at a clock that read three o’ clock a.m. “I wanted to be here when you…” His voice trailed off.

  “What happened?” Carly asked when Richard didn’t speak.

  “Some guy named Sands called me and made me come down and let his men in.” He waved a hand around the room. “That’s who did this. They’re responsible for all of it.”

  Richard pulled away from his wife and walked unsteadily to a stool in the middle of the room. He sat, propping his elbows on his knees and taking long, even breaths.

  “What’s going on?” Eric said. “The cops had a lot of questions. And I’m not the only one they talked to. I think pretty much everyone has already either gotten a call or a visit.”

  And it wouldn’t be just his employees, Richard knew. By tomorrow, it would be everyone involved in the Progeria Project—the parents, the donors, the press.

  “It’s nothing,” Richard managed to get out. “A misunderstanding.”

  “They aren’t just asking questions,” Eric pressed. “They’re making threats and talking about us being involved in stealing intellectual property. Everyone’s pretty freaked out.”

  Richard raised his head and looked at Eric, who had backed up against an empty countertop. He seemed to be trying to get as far away as possible. “I’m going to fix this. I swear to you I’m going to fix it.”

  “Richard, the people working here have reputations and careers to worry about. A lot of us are just starting out. Some of us have families to support.” He paused for a moment, obviously choosing his words carefully. “Look, we all care deeply about this project. About the kids. And about you. You’re the most talented and dedicated man I’ve ever met, and you’ve always treated everyone here like family. But…”

  When Richard fixed his stare on the floor again, Carly spoke for him. “But what?”

  Silence.

  “If you have something to say, Eric, say it.”

  “OK. You’ve been laying people off, and a lot of us are already working for less than we’d make in other places, on projects that are just as important. And now this.”

  Richard pushed himself straight on the stool again. “I told you I’d make it right.”

  Eric nodded miserably. “I’ve got another offer,
Richard. I didn’t go looking. It just landed in my lap a week ago. I’m sorry, but I have to take it.”

  The sensation of someone jabbing a knife into his chest suddenly flared, and Richard wondered if he was having a heart attack. His vision stayed clear, though, and he was still perched solidly on his stool. The slight twinge of disappointment he felt worried him more than the pain.

  “I understand,” he heard himself say. “I’m grateful for everything you’ve done. Good luck.”

  The concern etched on Eric’s face deepened. “I’m so sorry, Richard. I really am.”

  “I know.”

  Carly hugged him as he passed, and Richard could see her tears glinting in the harsh fluorescent light.

  When they were alone, she crossed the lab and knelt next to him. “Are you all right?”

  He wasn’t sure how to answer. The unwavering sense of purpose—the hope—that kept him going, was turning to smoke. And now he found himself wondering if that’s all it ever was. Smoke.

  “I’ve killed them. Susie. The others. They’re the ones who are going to pay for me being so stupid.”

  “It’s not over, Richard. Susie’s still with us, and so are the rest of the kids.”

  “Are you kidding? Look around you. There’s nothing left.”

  “So this is it? You have no problem fighting God, nature, and the laws of physics, but some Baltimore cop in a bad suit is completely insurmountable?”

  He laughed bitterly. “I have no equipment, barely any money, no employees… And by this time next week, I’ll probably be in jail. You make it sound like we just found a parking ticket on our windshield.”

  “For God’s sake, Richard. When one of your teachers kept you a half hour after school, you reprogrammed the entire town’s phones to forward to a sex chat line. This isn’t about having to clean a few chalkboards. The kids are relying on you. Your daughter is relying on you. Now take a deep breath and use that famous brain of yours to figure a way out of this.”

  He stood and began pacing around the ransacked lab, picking up speed as despondency turned to anger. She was right. He hadn’t let the cops get the better of him when he was fourteen, and he wasn’t going to start now. Screw Sands. And screw PharmaTan.

  “You told me the research you got from Troy was mostly theoretical,” Carly said. “Why would they even care about it?”

  “Because it’s theirs. The truth is, it’s probably already collecting dust in their basement.”

  “God forbid they let someone use it to help a man deal with his wife’s suicide. Or to cure a bunch of sick kids.”

  Richard stopped next to an overturned table.

  “What?” his wife said.

  “You’re right. That’s all I could do with Annette’s work. They know damn well that I could never legally profit from it. Everyone would know exactly where it came from.”

  “So why go through all this trouble? Why wouldn’t they just call you and keep the police out of it?”

  “That’s the problem—it’s not any trouble. They can make their point about intellectual property rights with a bunch of lawyers who are already on their payroll and a bunch of cops who are paid by the state. It’s easy, so why not hold me up as a warning to others?”

  “I’m not following.”

  “What if we made it so it wasn’t easy? What if we made it hurt?”

  “Sure, that’d be great. But how do you hurt a huge multinational corporation?”

  “Simple. Big companies hate bad publicity. Why can’t we go to the papers? It’s a great story: Annette tragically commits suicide after devoting her life to a theory that could help a bunch of kids survive a horrible childhood disease.”

  “But if it’s just a bunch of theories, can you really use it?”

  “I only got through about a quarter of it before Sands took it, so the answer is maybe. And maybe is plenty for a good headline.”

  “Sure…” Carly said. “Hell, what if the reason Troy gave it to you wasn’t some conspiracy theory? Who’s left to call you a liar if you say it was because Annette thought you could use the data to help the kids?”

  “It could be that it was her dying wish.”

  “Yes! That’s exactly what it was. Look at you—living in a tiny house, sacrificing everything to cure your daughter and children like her. And what’s your reward? Not only does PharmaTan withhold critical research, but they have the police vandalize your lab and run off your people. They might as well have put a gun to a bunch of kids’ heads. And over what? A thumb drive full of crap they’re not even interested in.”

  “PharmaTan Dooms Sick Children to Certain Death,” he said, imagining the headline.

  She nodded approvingly, a malevolent smile spreading across her face. “You tell them to give you all your stuff back including the drive with Annette’s research. And while they’re at it, tell them you’d appreciate a million-dollar research grant.”

  “That might be pushing it, Carly…”

  “And I think you’re selling yourself short. You always have. You’re one of the top people in the field. Hell, with Annette gone, you may be the top person in the field. Just tell them that they can have the patents on anything you come up with. Why wouldn’t they agree?”

  He jammed his hands in his pockets and took another look around the devastated lab, feeling his anger slowly transform to hope. She was right. Pharmaceutical companies’ decisions revolved entirely around dollars and cents. And based on that, PharmaTan had everything to gain by making a deal and absolutely nothing to lose.

  9

  Outside Baltimore, Maryland

  April 18

  It was two in the morning, and the only sound in the street was the rattle of a collapsing gutter on the house next to him. Light was courtesy of a full moon, occasionally supplemented by a street lamp that had escaped being vandalized by the local kids.

  It was the second time Richard had run home that week. He was putting in brutal hours at the lab to try to revive his work, and unfortunately they only had one car. Or maybe it wasn’t so unfortunate. He’d been a pretty decent athlete in college, and the six miles of lung-searing torture was getting him back in touch with his physical side.

  So far the long days and late nights were paying off more than he could have reasonably hoped. He’d managed to recover most of his data from offsite backups, and an embarrassing amount of groveling had allowed him to hold onto about half his staff. Mostly the youngest and least experienced—the ones who didn’t care much for authority and still had the luxury of defying it—but all were capable, dedicated people.

  He pulled the sleeves of his sweatshirt down to protect his arms from the cold as he cut through a trash-strewn lot a few blocks from his house. He’d promised Carly he’d be home by one thirty, and she tended to worry when he missed his self-imposed curfews.

  He’d made his offer to PharmaTan almost a week ago through Chris Graden—everything he and Carly had discussed, plus a sweetener that he hadn’t yet told her about: an offer to sign a ten-year employment contract with very few stipulations. Graden thought it amounted to indentured servitude, but there wasn’t time to screw around with negotiations.

  Despite being an offer that no company in its right mind would refuse, though, there was still no word. What the hell were they waiting for?

  The light on his sinking front porch came into view, and Richard picked up his pace to the degree his cramping thighs would allow. No point in courting any more of Carly’s wrath than necessary.

  His stride faltered when he saw a shadow cross from his neighbor’s yard through the large hole in the fence that he’d been meaning to fix for months. He bent at the waist and put his hands on his knees, breathing hard from exertion and a sudden flair of anger.

  That was it—the last goddamn time that dog was going to take a horse-sized dump in the grass where his daughter played. No more friendly reminders. No more reasoning. And sure as hell no more pleading. That mutt was going to the pound.

 
; He crept onto the grass, trying to quiet his panting and stay in the shadows. The dog was nearly as old and fat as its owner, but he wasn’t exactly Speedy Gonzales either anymore.

  The fit was tight, but he managed to get through the hole and slip into his backyard. Empty.

  Endless years in school, countless academic awards, two PhDs…and he’d been outsmarted by a dog. Again.

  Richard started to skirt the house on the way to the front door but stopped when he noticed the screen from Susie’s open window lying in the dirt. Yet another thing that needed fixing.

  He padded over and was about to reach for it when he saw something move in his daughter’s room. At first, he thought he might have woken her up, but the shadow moving toward her bed was far too big to be either her or Carly.

  The windowsill was probably five feet off the ground, and Richard was shocked when his attempt to vault through it succeeded and he found himself slamming down painfully on top of Susie’s open toy chest. The loud crash caused the man hovering over her to spin around, an object in his hand glinting briefly in the dim light before it dropped and he reached for something at his side.

  Richard rolled gracelessly off the chest, managing to land on his feet and launch himself toward the figure. Susie shrieked as he and the man collided, and Richard felt something impact the top of his skull. The butt of a pistol. He had a gun!

  The blow was hard enough to collapse his knees but not hard enough to stop him from swinging a fist upward toward the man’s stomach. At the last moment, though, a more effective target presented itself, and he drove his knuckles into the man’s groin with the same adrenaline-fueled power that had gotten him through the window.

  A satisfying grunt filled the room, but the gun barrel kept swinging inevitably toward his face.

  Then he was blind. For a moment, he thought the gun had gone off, but there was no sound. It took another split second to realize that Carly had turned on the lights and that the gun was still coming at him. He got hold of the man’s arm but then took a blow to the side of the head that drove him the rest of the way to the ground.