by Speiser, Zvi
Wrapped up in his own thoughts, Tom didn’t notice the gray vehicle that had been tracking him since shortly after he had left his home. He also failed to register the gaze of the attractive female driver, which focused upon him at the traffic light before the entrance to the lab building.
His back bent and face flushed, he walked into the lab. Much to his surprise, he saw the conference table laid out as it was every Friday morning, with the entire team assembled around it.
“We decided to go back to our work routine as soon as possible,” Lise said.
Tom, who didn’t even try to hide his surprise, smiled and said, “I didn’t know we were studying telepathy genes, and that we were the guinea pigs. You managed to precisely read my mind. We’ll get back to the matter of the murder next week. But for now, on to the weekly summaries. Mike, get us started, please.”
“We’ve identified several control sequences near genes producing blood vessels. We’re looking into which of them is responsible for increased production of blood vessels. We’re very optimistic about attaining a positive identification for at least one of them. A positive result here would be an important breakthrough.”
The lively technical discussion developing in response to Mike’s statement was exactly what they needed in order to get back to the atmosphere of the days preceding the murder. Lynn provided a detailed description of the Sisyphean work required to examine the effect of each control sequence on the gene’s function, the environmental data in the experiments, and the anguish of each failure. Tom’s thoughts couldn’t help but drift to the not-so-distant days in which researchers had to physically examine the effect of each sequence. The number of options was astronomical, and each study of this kind lasted years and employed numerous researchers. Today there were computers capable of eliminating most of the improbable options within a short time, thus leaving researchers with only a tiny portion of the original ocean of possibilities.
The discussion and the snacking continued until Tom put a stop to them. “It’s noon. We have to leave for the funeral. I’d be happy if someone would accompany me. We don’t need more than two people, so as not to burden the family.”
The change of atmosphere was a tough one. The alert, lively crew in which everyone offered contributions and opinions instantly became unanimously silent and morose.
On their way to the parking lot, Tom and Lise passed through the administrative offices. Once he heard of their destination, Steve asked to join them in his capacity as Oleg’s direct manager. Tom’s personal assistant guided him among the cars in the parking lot until he found the university vehicle allocated to him. He didn’t need a key; the assistant communicated with the car, allowing him access to it.
The funeral procession departed from the clearing in front of the lab building. A short caravan of cars accompanied the vehicle bearing the coffin all the way to Oak Woods Cemetery. The ceremony was understated and brief. Eddie, Oleg’s brother, spoke on behalf of the family. With a distinct Russian accent, yet in eloquent English that surprised the funeral-goers, Eddie portrayed his brother as loyal and dedicated to his family. He described how hard it had been for him to support his family after he had been forced to leave his home, his job, and his assets in Ukraine and arrive penniless in the United States. He expressed his hope that Oleg’s employer would take on the care of his family and children.
Tom, who eulogized Oleg on behalf of the employees of the lab building in which the murder had taken place, aimed his comments at law enforcement authorities and expressed his certainty that they would do everything in their power to catch the killer. The last speaker, university dean Professor Paul Longstrom, promised a full scholarship at the university for both of Oleg’s sons, in whichever faculty they chose to study.
Once the ceremony was over, as they were headed for their vehicles, Eddie approached Tom, thanking him warmly for taking part in the funeral and for what he had said in his eulogy.
“All of us at the lab will do whatever we can to help Oleg’s sons. It’s the least we could do,” Tom promised. “I didn’t know a thing about you before this. What do you do?”
“Like many others, you were probably surprised by my fluent English.”
“I was,” Tom replied.
“I was head of the English department at Odessa University in Ukraine, where I was also a professor of linguistics.”
“Very impressive,” Tom said. “And what do you do here in the States?”
“I’m a linguistics lecturer at Loyola University. I’m also a member of NASA’s think tank on communication with extraterrestrial life forms, which is preparing for the time when such contact materializes.”
“Definitely impressive,” Tom responded, and parted from Eddie with a friendly handshake. There was no point in going back to the university after such a barrage of events; nothing would happen if he cut his workday short today and returned home earlier than usual.
On his way home, after the funeral and after saying goodbye to Steve and Lise, he found himself envisioning the faces of Oleg’s two small children as they realized their father would never return from work. It was undoubtedly the hardest moment in that long, exhausting 24-hour period.
As he approached his home, he noticed that the entrance to the garage was blocked by a supermarket delivery truck, which was unloading cartons at the entrance to the house. For a moment, he couldn’t understand what they were doing here, until he recalled that Kate was hosting a garden party at their home on Saturday afternoon. Having no other choice, he was parking his car on the other side of the road when the assistant rang. Lise was on the other end of the line.
“I sent you a news item from CNN. It’s important that you read it.”
“What is it exactly? I just got home. I’ll read it when I have the time,” Tom replied.
“No. This is very urgent!” Lise was almost shouting, her voice loud and tense. “You have to drop everything and read it immediately.”
“Murder in Academia” and “The Life of Methuselah, Available to All” were only two of the prominent headers in the story. “The pharmaceutical industry, in cooperation with various academic partners, is developing a process that will double the human lifespan,” read the sub-header in a story that opened with a description of the murder that had taken place at the University of Chicago and immediately proceeded to describe the far-reaching repercussions of research to expand human longevity. The story was by Robert Collins, the Chicago Tribune’s science writer, and did not include any clue to the source of the information. Neither did it mention the University of Chicago by name in the context of the scientific research, leaving any connection to be made by the reader, rather than the reporter.
Tom leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes. The story did not mention any names. It seemed informative, and other than a few words regarding the murder of the security guard, did not appear related to the break-in, other than its timing. Should he inform Detective Heller of this? Interrogate the reporter himself regarding his sources? Do both?
Kate’s loud address drew him out of his thoughts, returning him to reality. “Hey, Tommy, what’s going on? You look upset, and you’ve barely said hi to me. Did another terrible thing happen?”
“There’s an item on CNN about the murder at the university. They wrote about a study aimed to significantly enhance human longevity being carried out in various labs. There are no names mentioned, no technical details, and no reference to us,” Tom concluded.
The topic did not come up again throughout the evening or the next day.
Chapter 11
Gerry at the Hospital
Chicago, Friday, July 18, 2036
No doubt about it—no one must know about his new abilities, Gerry decided. This included Elaine, his beloved daughter, although if he continued to act confused, it would cause her much pain. But he had no other choice. Later, when he felt his life and perha
ps the lives of his loved ones as well were no longer in danger, he would tell her. He justified his actions to himself, thinking that the bottom line was that he was also protecting her. This was it. He had to start constructing his image as someone who was brain damaged.
Tell me sings, he scrawled on the sheet of paper.
“When they called me from the hospital, I left a conference at work and got here as soon as I could. They didn’t tell me what your condition was, only that you’d been injured in a car accident, and that they couldn’t yet determine the extent of the long-term damage.”
He didn’t have to make an effort to scrawl illegibly. His condition after the accident, in combination with writing from a prone position while unable to see the page, was enough. Only the spelling and style errors were intentional, meant to demonstrate the damage his brain had sustained.
Were I m? The truth was that he had soon grown accustomed to his writing pose, but had to keep up the pretense that he could not think clearly. Therefore, he wrote slowly. Although he could not see what or how he was writing, he could still sense when he was writing over a previously written word. In short, he adopted the sort of confused writing appropriate for the kind of condition he wanted to impersonate.
Right hopsital wich?
“You’re at the new Johns Hopkins Hospital. Everything’s shiny and new here. The doctors are young, too, talented and up-to-date on everything. You’re getting excellent treatment, Dad.”
Gerry continued to scrawl out words without acknowledging her. Cantremember nothin always care, he jotted.
“Dad, you’re tired. You should probably rest and not overdo it. You’re still disoriented from the accident and from the sedatives they gave you. I’m staying at the hospital, but please try to get some rest.”
He would continue to play dumb, he resolved.
Wanthom home, he scribbled.
The doctor had warned her of the most awful of possibilities, that her father, the smartest man she knew, the astronomy professor whose sharp mind was admired by all of his students, might lie here, injured and helpless, scribbling confused words. But perhaps things might get better. He was still under the influence of the anesthesia. It was a good idea to wait a bit, and see how he behaved in a day or two. In the meantime, he should continue to have company, and be encouraged to interact with his surroundings as much as possible, considering his limitations.
“Dad, what do you remember about the accident and what happened right before it?”
This time, the scrawl was a bit clearer. Apparently, he was getting accustomed to writing despite being unable to see the written words.
Acident alwayscareful hohome.
Her heart contracted painfully within her. Her elderly father behaving like a little boy. Although some of this was expected, she found the reality itself very hard to handle. She was flooded by childhood memories. She was holding the hand of her big, strong father, who towered high, high above her as he took her to nursery school. How she had been startled when the neighbor’s dog from across the street barked at her, causing her to burst into tears, and then her big daddy had swept her up in the air, hugged and kissed her until she calmed down. In his sturdy arms, she was not afraid of the dog. She was protected by this big, strong man.
And now, the man she so admired, the smartest man in the world, was covered in bandages, unable to move, and scrawling muddled words, while she, the little one, was playing the part of the responsible adult. She found the role reversal hard to handle. Even as her father grew older and even a bit aged, and while she herself gained knowledge, working in the company of brilliant people, her father was still one of the smartest people she knew, and she continued to admire him for his wisdom and the unconditional support he provided her. He was always there for her. Always listening attentively to what she had to say, always willing to advise and explain and persuade. He never imposed his opinion on her. When he disagreed with her, he always tried to convince her, and even when he was unsuccessful, he never withheld his support or his encouragement.
“Dad, you’re always careful. I’m sure you were driving carefully this time, too. The police investigators are still looking into the circumstances of the accident. I’m sure they’ll discover it wasn’t your fault at all. But unfortunately, accidents happen because of other, less cautious drivers. You’re still under the influence of sedatives and painkillers. It’s important for the doctors to monitor you at the hospital for a day or two until your condition stabilizes. And as I’ve said, I’ll be by your side until they release you from the hospital, so you’ll feel almost like you’re home anyway. The way it used to be, a long time ago, when I was little and the entire family was home together.”
The mention of family reminded her that she had yet to inform her mother and her brother of the accident. She had to let them know immediately. Her level-headed, calm mother asked a few questions about Gerry’s condition and immediately let her know that she was on her way to pick up her brother, and would go from there to the hospital.
Her father’s slow, steady breathing indicated that he had fallen asleep. Good, she thought. Let him rest until her mother and brother arrived. He would need plenty of energy in order to deal with them.
***
She was awakened by the low murmur of speech. Her mother and Ben were standing next to her father’s bed, whispering to each other. For a moment, she considered feigning sleep, so she would not be required to explain everything she knew and withstand her inquisitive mother’s cross-examination. However, this option faded away once her brother noticed she had opened her eyes.
Slowly and quietly, they left the room for the corridor, where she told them everything she knew. About the accident, the injuries, the doctors’ uncertainty about the extent of the damage to his brain, and particularly about his confused state, which she believed and hoped was a result of the anesthetics that were still affecting his system. Uncharacteristically, her mother asked no questions. Apparently, the shock she had suffered was still affecting her.
Without exchanging another word, the three of them returned quietly to the hospital room, standing opposite her father’s bed. About ten minutes later, a tall, dark-skinned doctor entered the room, wearing a suit under his white lab coat. He nodded at them, skimmed through the chart affixed to the bed, checked the flow in the IV, and left without saying a word.
Elaine’s mother, Ramona, was the first to react. “What kind of attitude is that? A doctor comes in, examines the patient, sees his family members standing there waiting upon his every word, doesn’t say a thing, and just takes off?”
“How do you know he’s a doctor?” Ben whispered slowly. The two women’s eyes flitted to him briefly.
“Of course, he’s a doctor.” Her mother raised her voice somewhat. “He has to be a doctor. Why would just anyone be examining Dad at the hospital? He’s also old enough, wearing a suit and a white lab coat. Of course, he’s a doctor. I don’t think an orderly or a male nurse would wear a suit to work. He must be your dad’s attending physician,” she concluded. This was probably more in order to convince herself than out of actual certainty, Elaine thought.
“His ID badge was upside down. You couldn’t read his name or his position,” Ben said, emphasizing every word.
“What do you mean?” Ramona asked.
“I don’t mean anything. I’m just listing the facts.”
“Let’s all ask to talk to the attending physician. We’ll learn a lot that way,” Elaine urged her family.
“You’ll have to wait about half an hour,” a nurse at the nurses’ station informed them. “No, there’s no tall, dark-skinned doctor in this unit. There’s also no reason for a doctor from a different unit to go into one of our patients’ rooms without coordinating with us.”
“That’s very strange. What could all this be about?” Ramona asked, but received no reply. Both her children were uncommunicat
ive, concerned about their father and now also apprehensive about this new unclear development. Who was the man? Was he even a doctor? If so, who had sent him, and why? And perhaps he was not a doctor at all? What, then, had he been checking? Had he wanted to harm their father, and only their presence had saved him?
“This is really weird,” Ben told the nurse. “A few minutes ago, that man entered my father’s room wearing a white lab coat, with his ID tag turned the wrong way. He checked the patient chart and the IV, then left. He never said a word.”
“Wait here. I’ll call Security.”
“Dad has to be watched constantly until we know what’s going on here,” Ben said, turning back toward his father’s room.
Elaine and her mother sat down in the soft seats of the waiting room adjacent to the nurses’ station. A few minutes later, the hospital’s head of security arrived, introducing himself as Larry. Ramona described the odd visit in her husband’s room to him, and conveyed the family’s concern regarding a possible assault.
“Is there anyone in his room right now?” he asked.
“My son is there.”
“Okay, he should stay there for now. Meanwhile, I’ll set up constant monitoring of his room and raise his security level.”
Following a few keystrokes on the assistant, a hologram of Gerry’s room appeared in front of their eyes. Elaine could be seen entering the room. Gerry was writing something with considerable effort, to which Elaine was replying.
“You can move back and forth in time until we see the strange doctor,” Larry said.