by Tim Tigner
This was it.
Time for the speech of my life.
My half-sample of Brillyanc was fading, but I hoped my jurors were still fully endowed. I needed them sharp and savvy. Modern murder trials lasted for months, but I’d only have minutes. Wild West rules, with the hangman present.
Vondreesen gestured my way, and I began. Since politicians were all professional bullshit artists, I went with the direct approach. No introduction. No small talk. “I understand you’ve been told that Brillyanc derives, in part, from the gallbladders of sun bears. An endangered species. Is that accurate?”
My opening hit them like an arctic breeze. Expressions turned sour, and the atmosphere morphed from convivial to grim.
I took that as a yes.
“I see you’re all well aware of the implications. This makes Brillyanc a big secret. A secret my family was killed to protect.” I paused in an attempt to meet each face for a second or two. Most eyes looked away, but a couple had gone wide at the mention of my family’s death.
“The use of sun bear gallbladders explains why Brillyanc is not approved by the Food and Drug Administration. It also helps to justify an exorbitant price tag, while ensuring that you, its elite users, have a vested interest in keeping Brillyanc a secret.” I began walking the semi-circle, addressing each audience member individually for a second or two like trial lawyers did when they were allowed to approach the jury box.
“It wouldn’t do much for your reelection prospects if word of your habit got out. You’d get skewered from both sides. The tree huggers would condemn you for killing Winnie the Pooh. The bible thumpers would crucify you for using illegal drugs.” All eyes were frigid now. The politicians’ bonhomie replaced by steely stares.
Casey retained the serious demeanor befitting a sergeant-at-arms, but I was glad to see by the bulge in his robe that he’d shifted his aim from Katya to me.
Vaughn, suddenly looking no less nervous than Katya did beside him, extracted the tablet from the pocket of his robe and began swiping. If he was summoning the goon squad, I didn’t have much time.
I returned to center stage and stood facing Senator Collins, holding her unflinching eyes. “It’s all bullshit. Brillyanc is entirely synthetic. There are no animal products involved. To borrow Vaughn’s phrase, you’ve all been duped.”
I paused as a murmur broke out.
Casey tensed.
Vondreesen jumped into the gap. “Don’t be silly. What would be the point of such a silly deception? There are plenty of other reasons to keep Brillyanc a secret. Everyone here benefits from our keeping it exclusive, and limiting its use to the elite alone. Am I right?”
A few congressional heads nodded. Others seemed less convinced. “Are you a chemist, Mr. Achilles? Or a physician?” The speaker had a rugged, weathered face. The Marlboro Man in his heyday, with a Texan twang.
“He’s unemployed,” Vondreesen said. “He used to be a spy. I thought he might be useful to us, but apparently I need to reconsider. I’m sorry to have wasted your time. Please forgive the interruption.” Vondreesen turned to usher them back downstairs, but nobody moved.
I stood my ground.
Senator Collins said, “What was the point, Mr. Achilles? Why would Vaughn devise and propagate such an abstruse story?”
I needed to draw the other congressmen into the conversation, so I answered her question with a question. “When does a magician use his right hand to produce fire and smoke?”
That evoked thin smiles.
Collins said, “Were you up to something left-handed, Vaughn?”
Vondreesen said, “You’ve been benefitting from Brillyanc for over a year now. You know it works wonders. Your stars are all rising. As advertised. You of all people should know that talk is cheap and accusations are easy. It’s actions that count, and you’ve all benefitted from mine. Forgive me for this interruption with its spurious allegations. Let’s get you back down to the flight zone.”
As if on cue, Boris and Ivan entered through the doorway on the right. Seeing the crowd, they paused a few steps in.
While they looked inquisitively at Vondreesen, Casey spoke up for the first time that day. “I’d like to hear Achilles out.”
“I too would like to know what he meant by you’ve all been duped,” said a bald, bespectacled congressman, his voice a good fifty pounds heavier than his frail frame.
Boris and Ivan inched closer, rearing to be let off the leash.
This was the crucial moment. My life was in the balance. Would Vondreesen go with diplomacy, or war?
Chapter 92
Call a Friend
VONDREESEN KNEW he was in a pickle. A sour one, judging by his face. His nature won the struggle. Ever the diplomat, he smiled and halted the black suits with the palm of his hand.
The room exhaled.
Boris and Ivan assumed an observation stance with their weapons still holstered.
All eyes turned to me.
With guns on both sides of me and the inferno behind, I returned my full attention to the congressmen before me. “The trick to telling a convincing lie is to stick close to the truth. I’m sure you’ve all heard that a time or two from political strategists.”
A few nods, but only a few.
“It’s true that Brillyanc will never gain regulatory approval. Vaughn was honest with you about that. But he lied when he told you it’s because of the drug’s provenance.” I turned to look directly at Vondreesen. “The FDA would never approve Brillyanc because of its side effects.”
Fear built on Vondreesen’s face as I paused to let the revelation sink in and imaginations run wild.
Vaughn’s reaction told me part of what I needed to know.
Up until that point, I hadn’t been sure if he’d been among those duped by the sun bear story, or if he was one of the deceivers.
Now I knew.
Vondreesen was in on it.
That was bad news. If Vondreesen had been among the duped, then there was a chance I could have turned him into an ally — enemy of my enemy, and all that. Instead, I was looking at a winner-take-all battle. Normally I wouldn’t mind that proposition, but Vondreesen had the benefit of knowledge, whereas I had only speculation.
I returned my attention to the jurors. Their expressions had shifted from anger to a mixture of concern and fear.
“What side effects?” the bespectacled congressman with the heavy voice asked. All eyes shifted from me to him to me again.
Casey moved a step closer to me and said, “Congressman Neblett is a neurologist.”
Having an authority other than Vondreesen in the room was a bit of good luck. Neblett would be the one to sway opinions on medical matters. If I could convince him, he would convince the rest.
I was comfortable in medical discussions after growing up as the son of a physician. I’d also gone through extensive medical consultation during my Olympic-training years. Unfortunately, physicians worked from data, and I had none. I had to bet all my chips on the next hand — before I saw the last card.
I turned back to Vondreesen. I needed to see his eyes for this. They’d give me the read on that final card. I’d be gauging his reactions using the same biofeedback clues favored by psychics and fortune-tellers. With raised voice, I said, “Vaughn can tell you that, doctor. He’s been experiencing those side effects.”
And there it was.
The telltale flash of panic.
Vondreesen’s upper eyelids rose fractionally while the lower ones tensed, the edges of his mouth pulling back ever so slightly. With those micro-expressions as confirmation, I jumped in before Vondreesen composed his retort. “He’s in the early stages of Alzheimer’s.”
“This is complete nonsense,” Vondreesen blurted. “My mental faculties have never been better. Brillyanc has no side effects. None.”
Perma-tan jumped into the discussion. “Wouldn’t our doctors have detected any side effects? I just had a thorough annual physical last month, and everything came out norma
l.”
“Me too,” emanated from around the semi-circle.
Neblett’s head shake threw cold water on the crowd. “Neurological disorders like dementia and Alzheimer’s are detected by comparative performance evaluations, rather than blood work. Those aren’t routine yet.”
“Could Brillyanc cause Alzheimer’s?” Senator Collins asked. “Is that even possible?”
Again all eyes returned to the neurologist. “There’s too much we don’t know to say one way or another for certain. We do know that Brillyanc improves cognitive function. It’s quite possible that it could be doing damage as well.”
An idea struck me as murmuring broke out. I felt a fool for not thinking of it earlier. While the crowd digested Doctor Neblett’s revelation, I walked to his side and whispered in his ear. Then I grabbed a phone off an end table, dialed, and handed it to Neblett with the speaker on.
Vondreesen dropped his diplomatic veil. “What the hell are you doing? You can’t make a call. That’s Rule One.”
“Rules are made to be broken,” I said, as the international double-ring commenced.
“Hang up! Hang up now!” Vondreesen walked our way, clearly intent on physically stopping Neblett, but Tex’s hand reached out and stopped him instead.
The phone stopped ringing, and we heard, “Da, slooshayou,” from the speaker.
“Max, it’s Achilles. I’ve got you on speaker with a neurologist and some other Brillyanc users. Really quickly, tell us who you are and what you’ve learned about Brillyanc.”
“Ah, hello. I’m a doctoral candidate in biochemistry at Moscow State University. I’ve also been participating in the Brillyanc clinical trial for the past eighteen months,” he paused there, his voice cracking.
“Are you okay, Max?”
“No, Achilles, I’m not. I’ve run more tests and calculations since we spoke. I discovered that Brillyanc exposes the brain to extreme levels of oxidative stress, which is the primary exogenous cause of dementia, Alzheimer’s, Parkinson’s, and other neurological disorders. While it’s impossible to predict individual reactions, I’d estimate that an individual’s odds of developing a serious neurological disorder quadruple with every infusion. I’ve had six, which increases my odds four-thousand fold. So no, I’m afraid I’m not alright.”
The room sat still in stunned silence. We could even hear the whooshing flames through the glass. Max’s tone had been as convincing as his words.
I looked at Neblett. His face was grim. “I’m afraid that oxidative stress makes sense. It’s reasonable to conclude that as our minds burn brighter, so to speak, they’ll generate more ‘pollution.’ Furthermore, there are no routine tests for oxidative stress, so it would go undetected.”
“Thank you, Max,” I said. “Hang in there. I’ll call you back a little later, my friend.”
Neblett hung up.
Vondreesen yelled, “This is crazy! One student’s tests aside, you haven’t seen a shred of evidence. Real doctors get things wrong all the time. Believe me. As a venture capitalist, I know. This one’s talking about conditions that can’t be predicted and a pathology that can’t be tested. It’s poppycock. Ask yourself, whom are you going to trust? Some student six thousand miles away, or your own bodies? You feel great, right? Your minds have never been sharper, right?”
Nine chins bobbed up and down. Vondreesen had personal experience on his side, and theory rarely trumped that.
Chapter 93
Destiny
I LOOKED AROUND Vondreesen’s study, meeting every gaze. Some were glowering, some closer to weeping. All verged on hysteria. The jury was still up in the air. Probably leaning against me. They all desperately wanted to believe Vondreesen. Their very lives depended on my being mistaken.
Vondreesen pressed his advantage. He spread his arms wide — a man with nothing to hide. “If what you say were true, then I’d be a victim as well. I’ve been taking Brillyanc longer than anyone. But it’s not true.”
A concurring murmur broke out.
I still had a card to play — or rather, a hunch. I took a deep breath, and did my best to speak with conviction. “Tell me, Vaughn, if it’s not true, then why did you stop taking Brillyanc?”
Vondreesen’s jaw slackened, but he recovered quickly and spoke confidently. “I haven’t stopped taking it.”
“Sure you have. It’s in your eyes. They’ve lost their glow. At first I thought it was retirement, but looking at the gleaming eyes of all the users in this room, I know better.”
“Now you’re claiming to know what medicine I take? This is ridiculous.”
“It’s easy enough to test, Vaughn. You really want to take that path?”
Vondreesen didn’t answer.
“Everybody, what’s the value of Pi squared, out to ten significant figures? Raise your hand when you have it.”
Neblett’s hand went up after about forty seconds. Others began raising their hands ten seconds later. Within another minute all nine were up, as was Casey’s.
“Time to speak up, Vaughn.”
Vondreesen remained silent. He just stood there blinking.
“It’s true.” Collins’ voice was now strained and weak. “We’re all headed for the long goodbye. How could you, Vaughn?”
A room full of outraged eyes burned into the shrinking host like so many lasers.
“I ... but ... there was ... You have to understand, I–” Vondreesen turned to me. “It doesn’t matter. So what if it’s true? It wouldn’t have changed anyone’s mind. You of all people should appreciate that, Achilles.” He stepped closer and poked me in the chest with his index and ring fingers, hard enough to hurt.
“Why me? Appreciate what?”
“Your namesake. Achilles. Besides his heel, what’s he most famous for?”
“His choice,” Collins said.
“That’s right,” Vondreesen said, whirling about. “Achilles chose to live a short life of glory, rather than a long life of obscurity. His personality is the archetype of everyone in this room. Nobody here would have chosen different if they’d known the truth. It’s a lock. A glorious life versus an obscure chance of some disease. No contest. Hell, look at cigarettes. No glory in those, and the warning’s crystal clear. Smoke these, get cancer. Yet people pay big taxes and slink off into corners to light up by the millions. I made you geniuses!”
Tex glared at his host. “You didn’t give us the choice.”
Vondreesen shook his head. “Don’t you see? You never had a choice. Not really. It’s in your nature. It’s destiny.” He spread his hands like a preacher.
Casey withdrew his hand from his pocket in a quick fluid move, exposing the silenced Springfield and surprising the guests. He pointed it at Vondreesen’s heart.
Boris and Ivan reacted as one, leveling their sidearms on Casey.
Casey ignored them. “I want the truth. I want all of it. And I want it now.”
I saw the calculation cross Vondreesen’s face. Then I saw him begin to move. If he could take Casey out, Boris and Ivan would have the only other weapons in the room.
I had no great desire to save Casey. At the very least, he’d been complicit in my situation. But he was my attorney — and at the moment, one of just two people on the planet who both knew me to be innocent and had the ability to prove it. Bottom line, I needed him alive.
There’s no secret to shooting accurately indoors. Outdoors, where distances are much greater and weather factors in, you need to make all kinds of adjustments for wind, and gravity, and drag. But indoors, it’s simple trigonometry.
If a true barrel is pointed directly at a target, you’ll hit it. How perfect the pointing needs to be, and how steady the barrel needs to remain during the firing sequence depends on the distance to the target. The shorter the distance, the more forgiving the requirements.
There were only a few feet separating Casey from Vondreesen. It would almost be harder to miss than to hit at that distance — even if Vaughn was shooting from a tiny weapon concea
led up a sleeve.
Vondreesen was already raising his hands from the palms-up position he’d assumed while pleading his case. He was just a flick of the wrist and a squeeze of the finger away from hitting Casey with the last surprise of his life.
And I couldn’t stop him. I couldn’t get to Vaughn in time.
I yelled, “Semper Fi!” to shock the crowd and alert Casey while spinning in a counterclockwise move. My right arm snatched up the moon rock from the table as I began a full-body side-arm pitch. I put everything I had into the throw — legs, back, shoulders, and arm — building momentum and transferring power as if I needed the rock to reach orbit. I whipped around until I was facing the inferno, and then released it as the Russians drew their guns.
Chapter 94
Royal Flush
THE HEAVY HUNK of moon rock shot from my grip as if released from a giant sling. It hurtled through a few feet of open space and transferred all its momentum into the enormous pane of curved glass at the point closest to the Russians.
An ominous cracking crunch rang from the glass wall as the rock’s high-velocity crystalline structure overpowered the glass’s static amorphous one, sending shock waves and breaking bonds. Then the rock breached the distal plane, releasing the vacuum and putting a whole other set of forces into play.
The vacuum’s implosion sent shards of glass shooting out of the new hole like a plume of water after a cannonball strike. Shock waves rippled across the wall’s remaining surface, shattering it like the world’s largest lightbulb, with a pop loud enough to shake books off shelves.
I continued swinging around, propelled by the momentum I’d generated. I hit the deck in the fetal position, while a barrage of glass shrapnel blew past me and into the Russians. Not all of it. My back felt as if it had been lit on fire. But Boris and Ivan took the blast like straw scarecrows in a tornado. Their clothes were shredded. Their skin was scratched and sliced and punctured and scraped. I couldn’t tell immediately if anything was lethal, and I never got the chance to find out. Casey’s Springfield coughed twice and both Russians dropped.