Gabriel's Stand

by Jay B. Gaskill

Gosli Jr. scowled. “Things must get really bad before they can get better,” he finally pronounced.

  “Can’t make an omelet without breaking an egg?”

  “That’s a good one.”

  “Not original. I’d be careful what you ask for…you might just get it,” Loud Owl said. He drained his coffee and stood. “Sorry to intrude on your meeting.”

  “No problem,” said Gosli Jr.

  “Funny thing,” Fred added as he slipped on his worn denim jacket. “Without some of the things invented within the last two hundred years, you kids wouldn’t even be here.” He pointed at their insulated vests and coffee cups. “Starving, freezing, and dying of curable diseases are really overrated.”

  Loud Owl smiled and slipped out of the shop into the rain, shaking his head in bemused wonder.

  Chapter 4

  The next spring, months after their boat trip, Dr. John Owen and Rachael were packing for another trip to India. John had a new energy in his walk and a twinkle in his eye. Elisabeth had just finished her residency, and announced to her parents: “We’re getting pregnant soon.” Owen’s businesses, Edge Medical and Vector Pharmaceutical, continued to lead the industry in cutting edge epidemiology. When John and Rachael left for New Delhi, Josh who was COO of Vector Pharmaceutical, was left in charge of the Seattle plant.

  The Indian subcontinent had been falling victim to a plague that was running rampant among the population and Owen had insisted on having a physical presence there to help move along some of the research and to assist in treatments. Things went well their first week in India. On their first full day in, Rachael, also a physician, was busy attending to patients in New Delhi hospitals. John was equally occupied solving a problem in the distribution chain of Edge Medical’s latest antibiotic helping to treat victims.

  But on Tuesday of their second week, Dr. John Owen took a call. Moments later, he put the phone down in shock. In spite of all the precautions and warnings, he had been totally blindsided.

  The Great India Plague had just infected his wife.

  Before rushing to a car, John ordered an Edge Medical company jet quickly modified to accommodate a bio-containment space. John had Rachael evacuated within two days. She was admitted to a private, quarantined room in a Seattle hospital on arrival.

  Gabriel, Alice and Snowfeather wanted to visit, but John advised them to wait. For twenty-one days, John stayed by Rachael in her isolation chamber wearing a containment suit. During that time, Rachael held on by a thread, trusting in her husband and his research teams. For these weeks, she hovered between sleep and the vague awareness of John’s stolid presence, occasionally awakening to squeeze his gloved hand.

  When he wasn’t with Rachael, John threw himself into his work, and checked in with their daughter. In these visits, he tried to project resilience and optimism, but he felt deep dread. He had known from the moment Rachael had been admitted to the quarantine ward that there was no cure.

  In India, the mortality rate was running at ninety-six percent.

  It was Friday night. John was standing in the dim, rainy twilight on the walkway outside his Bellevue, Washington home. He sheltered beneath an old cedar tree, fighting the despair that seeped into his psyche like the fog. The last weeks had passed in a blur.

  Fleeting images of Rachael still played across his mind: Rachael with coffee and sleepy hair, Rachael next to him on the boat, Rachael with baby Elisabeth. Rachael was a fine physician, with the kindest eyes of any human being he had ever known and a consuming interest in children’s diseases. When he tried to imagine her standing next to him by the tree, he felt the tears sting again.

  Then his phone beeped. All calls these days carried a background of dread, like a grinding noise in the floor that never stopped. The call was from Edge Medical’s research facility.

  John answered, tapping his tiny headset with the tip of one finger. “Hello?”

  “Dr. Owen? Hello. Dr. Owen? It is Heinrich, reporting for Dr. Christoph Fischer.”

  “Yes, it’s me, Heinrich. You dialed the right number.” John smiled in spite of his mood. Heinrich was a very competent assistant with the appeal of a puppy. It was impossible to dislike the man.

  “I am so happy to reach you.”

  “If you’re happy, Heinrich, I’m happy. What’s on your mind? What are you still doing at work, anyway?”

  “I’m just so excited. I couldn’t wait to share the information. I think Dr. Fischer has actually solved it.” John’s stomach fluttered. “We are almost positive this time. The Beta-amine series is producing consistent results in New Delhi. Fifty-five terminal patients, all still alive. Dr. Fischer was jubilant when he got the report. He told me to tell you, ‘John, after four weeks, half of them seem to be actually recovering!’ I am so happy.”

  Dr. Owen grinned. Thank God. “And where is Christoph?”

  “I suppose he is celebrating.”

  “Of course he is. You please give him my best.” A beat later he asked, “How soon can we get Rachael included in the trials?”

  “I made the calls right away, John. We’ve set aside an entire course left over from the experimental batch. They’ll start her within the hour if that’s agreeable.”

  “Absolutely. Thank you. Thank you. You were right to call. Tell Christoph I am so very proud of him…and of you…of the whole team…and so grateful. Now get home to your island and celebrate. Or did you miss the ferry again?”

  “It is a hotel for me, tonight, Dr. Owen.”

  “Well, congratulations to all.” For a fleeting second, John’s eyes brightened with tears. “And thank you.”

  ——

  Meanwhile, a fusillade of raindrops struck the heated windshield of the BMW convertible as it rolled into the passenger loading zone outside the Edge Medical Research facility in South Seattle. Except for the guard in the lobby and a man in a hat and overcoat who was walking across the boulevard toward the parking garage, the complex was dark and quiet. A BMW convertible was parked near the pedestrian entrance to the garage. An extremely pretty woman with very short blond hair rolled down the window.

  “Going my way, stranger?”

  “Karen?” The man in the overcoat looked up from under his gray hat. He had a distinguished, almost handsome face, and smiled immediately at the sight of the woman he was dating. Dr. Christoph Fischer, Nobel laureate in molecular biology and head of research at Edge Medical, pulled the brim of the old fashioned felt hat down against the wind and walked towards the car. The woman reached over and opened the passenger door, smiling like a child with a new toy.

  “Karen Kanst, you never cease to surprise me. How on earth did you get your hands on one of these?” Fischer slid into the leather bucket seat, and closed the door.

  “Hang on, guy,” she said, as full throttle and deft steering moved the car effortlessly into the deserted roads. Tires hissed on wet pavement and headlights snaked through the industrial park, catching raindrops in mid-flight.

  Fischer regarded her carefully. “Karen, where have you been? It’s been two weeks.” The brightly-lit boulevard rolled past them.

  “Almost as busy as you were, dear. We are going to celebrate tonight, Chris.”

  “Outstanding,” Fischer said. “Now?”

  “Now. I have seen your latest research,” the woman said, suddenly turning the vehicle into an empty parking lot near a dimly lit warehouse. “The new treatment model could save millions of lives.” The wind gusted, stirring damp leaves and paper, while the car steamed. Karen grinned seductively.

  “You have? How—”

  “Never mind how. We are going to a very expensive restaurant,” she interrupted gaily, but first…” She leaned over and planted a fierce kiss on Fischer’s mouth, gripping him on either side of his neck. He hardly noticed the stinging sensation over his carotid. Karen held the kiss, fiercely holding the palm syringe in place against Fischer’s neck, until his heart and respiration ceased forty-three seconds later. She let go, and Christoph Fischer slumpe
d against the door.

  “From Gaia, to Gaia,” she said. Cold, moist air rushed in as she opened the passenger door. Dr. Fischer, a workaholic who had been living alone for the last year, would probably not be missed until Monday. Karen deftly released Fischer’s shoulder harness and gave his body a shove. The sound of the gunning engine obscured the crack of the man’s head against the concrete. Smiling, the woman closed the door.

  Gaia’s Kiss. She pulled a fire-red lipstick out of her purse and expertly applied it in the rearview mirror, touching the side of her mouth with her baby finger. I have just eliminated the chief scientist at the world’s foremost medical research center. Those fools are dedicated to saving human lives. But lives are not to be saved. Lives are the problem.

  Karen would report to Berker later.

  —

  Saturday night, John found himself outside again beneath the old cedar tree. The rain had stopped, but a wet mist drifted through the air. He had left Rachael sleeping comfortably for the first time in days.

  Yet his anxiety had not diminished. Why does hope seem so cruel? Rachael’s new course of drugs had started, and she seemed to have responded. So had some of the terminal cases in New Delhi. And where is Christoph? Why haven’t I heard from him?

  Eventually John went inside. An hour later he was sprawled in his favorite chair, one hand holding a short glass of scotch. When his headset beeped, he flinched. Putting the scotch on the table by the lamp, he checked the number. John relaxed. It was Gabriel’s private line in DC. His old friend had made it a project to stay on John’s case, and his constant calls, the jokes, the challenges—and the proposed fishing trips—had been a lifeline during the worst days of Rachael’s illness.

  John picked up. “Okay, Gabriel, exactly why should I cover that brunch meeting of yours?”

  “Hi, John. Where are you?”

  “Home of course.”

  “Good for you. Alice just got your message about Rachael. She called me right away. Is it true? Is she getting better?”

  “Maybe. At least today. They’ve started her on a new course of drugs, something that our bio-tech genius, Christoph Fischer, thought showed real promise. But not everybody responds this late. I hope to God, Gabriel, that it isn’t too late for Rachael. Anyway, she was sleeping well for once, and they kicked me out of her room.”

  “Good. You have the invitation, right?”

  “So why should I go to a Sunday brunch in LA with that crowd?”

  “You need to get away. It’s just a day trip. You’ll be back later the same evening.”

  “But Gabriel…why me?”

  “Because I can’t make it and these guys are very generous to my campaign.”

  “So am I.”

  “Okay. Think of them as your co-contributors. Part of the Standing Bear Fan Club.”

  “But I discovered you.”

  “That’s why you need to go.”

  “You and I, my friend, are reasonable environmentalist types. This crowd is something else.”

  “Knight Fowler has the money and they hang around like fruit flies. Takes all kinds, John. It’ll do you good. Hey. I hear the sun is shining in LA.”

  “You know what? Your friend, Fowler, is a real ass.”

  Gabriel laughed. “But Fowler’s a very generous ass, John. And he’s a friend as long as he acts like one. He’ll be glad to meet one of my real friends, after all this time.”

  “Gabriel, I really can’t stand Fowler’s little sidekick.”

  “The famous environmental lawyah, Rex, puleeze-bow-to-me, Longworthy?”

  “Yes. That slick sonofabitch.”

  “So, why aren’t you going, Gabriel?”

  “Well…”

  “Out with it.”

  “Okay, okay…I confess. I don’t want to make any deals with that bunch. I don’t want to be pressed and I can’t afford to have to openly disagree with some of those radicals, especially when Fowler is hosting. Actually, I’ve never been to one of those Platinum Brunches myself.”

  “NEVER? So you are kind enough to send me?”

  “Right.”

  “Gabriel, if I do go to this damn thing, you owe me a fishing trip.”

  “Agreed, John…and you don’t have make this Platinum Brunch a regular thing.”

  John laughed. “I hope not.”

  “And you’re on for that fishing trip as soon as the next recess—Idaho trout from the North fork of the Snake River.”

  “As soon as Rachael is better.”

  “Good enough.”

  “Hey. At least Fowler has the sense to contribute to a good Senator or two.”

  “I have no illusions, John. He thinks I’m a good guy just because I’m an Injun.”

  “And I know better, right?”

  Gabriel laughed. “Just remember Standing Bear’s rule of politics,” he said.

  “Which is?”

  “Only the pricks have the big money, so get used to it. Present company excepted, of course.”

  John ended the call with a belly laugh that startled Elisabeth in the next room.

  “You’ll wake the baby,” she said.

  “He hasn’t even been conceived yet.”

  “You can’t be sure of that, Dad.” Elisabeth looked in on her father. She was grinning.

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “It’s just a few days before I’ll know for sure.” Elisabeth had taken to her old room during the long evenings when Josh worked late hours. Their newly purchased home was only a short walk away. “Was that Gabriel?”

  “Yes.”

  “I took his call earlier. I say, go to that brunch! Mom would want you to. It’ll do you good.”

  “I am thinking about it.”

  John went outside again. As he stood alone, the fog had turned again to a wet blanket of light rain. A wind kicked up and large drops began to splatter against the living room window.

  When he eventually went back in the house, he found Elisabeth dozing in the easy chair by the fire. Waiting for Josh again. His daughter had married a workaholic. Like her father.

  Chapter 5

  At Sea-Tac Airport early the next morning, John stood in line to board the first flight to LA, arms folded, staring straight ahead. Such a waste of time, he thought: The annual brunch gathering of the Platinum Level contributors to the Fowler’s Earth Fund. Gabriel, what the hell was I thinking?

  “Are you all right?” The gate attendant was staring at him with concern. Dr. Owen quickly pulled out his phone to display the boarding code, and watched, bemused, as the invitation from Knight Fowler fluttered to the floor. “Damn,” he said, hesitating to pick it up. When the young man next in line deftly scooped it up, John smiled. “Thanks!” he said, while privately wondering if he had subconsciously dropped the damned thing on purpose.

  When the plane had finished its taxi, John sank back in his seat to the familiar, comfortable G-force of a takeoff. He crumpled Fowler’s invitation and shoved it deep into the seat webbing. Screw it. Maybe they’ll turn me away. Puget Sound fell away below, and John Owen closed his eyes, thinking of Rachael.

  ——

  Fowler’s event was held in the Los Angeles Hilton. The private dining room accommodated twenty top donors, none of whom had written checks below the mid-six-figure level. The meal itself, was uneventful: a couple of speakers, the usual congratulations and thanks. Then the atmosphere sharply chilled when Rex Longworthy, the lawyer for the Greenspike Coalition, began to monopolize the conversation at John’s end of the table. Fowler, a bored billionaire, had embraced environmentalism with all the enthusiasm of a late convert. As a result, his foundation, the Earth Fund, had quickly been taken over by ideologues so radical that their rhetoric had to be kept within a trusted circle. This radical element was toxic to ordinary politicians like Gabriel, who had kept his distance for good reason. The Greenspike Coalition operated on the fringe of the law by providing free legal defense services for environmental activists who were arrested for vandali
sm and violence, while pretending to oppose their methods.

  Rex Longworthy picked up a glass of wine. “The human race has completely failed,” he said. “A toast to our comeuppance!”

  John smiled, assuming it was a joke. “Seriously, Rex. I think we humans have been doing pretty well lately. The greenhouse load in the atmosphere is now lower than it was ten years ago. All greenhouse emissions are actually going down across the board, even in the new industrial economies like China.”

  “At the expense of coal strip-mining, nuclear power, and those bird-killing windmills!”

  “What would you have people do? Shiver in the cold? Swelter in the heat? Technology is solving each problem as it comes up.”

  “Technology doesn’t ever solve the problems technology creates. Global climate change hasn’t stopped.”

  “Are you talking about warming, cooling or both? Maybe, just maybe there are natural forces at work.” John could hear the phantom Rachael at his side, saying, “Slow down, tiger, it’s just a meal.”

  “We finally agree. Gaia was wounded and now there is an immune response.”

  John was momentarily stunned into silence. My God, did he just say Gaia? Surely Rex Longworthy is just spouting this New Age rhetoric for fun. “Seriously, what kind of crap is that? Are you suggesting that the core problem is humanity?”

  “Exactly.”

  “You’re kidding. You are kidding, right?”

  “I’m very serious Dr. Owen. The core problem is that there are far too many people on this planet, present company excepted, of course,” Rex said.

  “Hear, hear,” someone else said.

  “The real question is what to do about it,” Knight Fowler added. Longworthy affected a kind of tweedy aristocracy and Fowler reeked of unearned money; the two men were sitting next to each other. John Owen was acutely uncomfortable. He vastly preferred the intelligent, common sense company and easy banter of the engineers and scientists who worked for Vector Pharmaceutical. John began looking at these two with his best poker face.

  “Let me be the first to propose the unthinkable,” Rex Longworthy said.