by Noga Porat
He shook his head. “I wish I could tell you one way or the other,” he said. “I don’t think so. I think this is more about the information than your personal safety. But for the sake of your sanity—and for the work—I think we should get someone to watch over the lab.”
“Thanks,” I said, laughing for the first time in a while. “You know, I’m still thinking about your offer to fly out of the country for cake. Maybe there, I’d feel safe.”
“As long as I’m around, you can count on being safe.”
I felt so grateful that we had him on our side. He leant new meaning to the term “angel investor.” It was way more than he had signed up for.
In the following weeks, I stayed in the lab as much as possible, practically spending days and nights there. It was the only place I felt secure, now that I knew Roseword had the place watched by one of the good guys. But even though I was safe there, it was like I was locked into four walls through no fault of my own.
I brought a sleeping bag and slept in one of the small offices on the floor. At night, Cole’s words would haunt me: “Find your passion in the darkness, not the light.”
What did he mean by that? Words began to flash in my head. Why was I even thinking about this man?
And there was more going on. For weeks now I had been receiving what seemed like hidden messages in my e-mail: phishing. Advertisements popped up on my computer that correlated to things I’d texted about just minutes before. I knew that it had become a common practice, personalized advertising meant to follow your buying habits, but it felt creepy. Sometimes, I would notice patterns of words that just didn’t belong in the context of the sentence, as if they were put there for me to find. Someone was sending me a code, but was it Cole? Was it real? Was it coincidental?
No, I thought. His comments must have referred to my science. He must have just meant to say that I should concentrate on finding the secret sequence in order to solve the chicks’ riddle and get the method finalized. But how would he know about the secret sequence I was searching for? Perhaps Roseword had confided in him?
I wasn’t sleeping well. I would wake up in the middle of the night, set up another reaction, turn on the machine, and go back to bed. Since a large part of doing molecular biology includes waiting for the incubation times, I could save a lot of time this way. I converted my stress into action.
One day, finally, a breakthrough: I found the sequence. I couldn’t believe it when I saw it, and had to double-check several times. The amplification could truly be done! This meant that, most likely, I would not need to use Joel’s method for amplification of the signal, and that my method would be self-sufficient! I stared at my result the whole night in my little “bedroom” in the small office on the floor, in my sleeping bag. I felt as if no one could possibly be happier than me in the whole wide world—not in the farthest corners or the biggest cities. Something positive had finally come out of what was becoming a stressful, potentially dangerous ordeal.
On the following Tuesday, I met with William and told him about the meeting with Caroline.
“I’ve got some news,” he confided. “I’m doing some digging. I found out that next week, they’re going to convene the board of directors at RICPCom to decide on your technology.”
“Surprisingly, that’s not news to me! Caroline told Roseword.”
William shook his head. “That’s not what the news is. Before that, they’re scheduled to have a meeting with the pharma buyer. They’ve made an offer.”
“What does that mean for us?”
“I read that they conditioned the price of the sale to rise if they bring in your technique. RICPCom is asking for more money if they include the chick sexing in the deal. If the pharma group says yes, they could make you an offer,” said William.
“I hope so,” I said.
He tilted his head and considered my expression.
“You seem a little down today, Scarlet.”
“I’m a little tired,” I admitted. “Some drama going on.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. Turns out you were right about the surveillance. I’m being followed.”
He put his hand on top of mine gently.
“I’m so sorry. I hate that I was right about that.”
“Me too,” I said, and started to get up. “Anyway, I have to get going and get in bed early tonight. I have a meeting with Joel’s investors tomorrow. He’s made extensive progress. Even if we don’t end up needing him for the chick sexing, he’s excited about working together on other applications.”
“That sounds interesting,” he said.
“Yes, we prepared a whole new presentation for it. We even submitted papers for publication on it. He even has patents all set.”
“Sounds like you have good friends,” William said, and I appreciated the encouragement.
“Yeah, I have good friends, who certainly want good things for me, but sometimes a person needs a particular type of friend—one who helps in ways they can’t even imagine. In a way, William,” I said, and sighed, “I think you’re that kind of friend. And I am so grateful for that.”
He tried to act nonchalant and shrugged, but I saw a blush gathering in his cheeks. He looked down at his hands, and I continued my speech.
“Most of the time, people don’t go out of their way to help others, or find excuses as to why they can’t help. They just go about their business and worry about their own survival. You’re not like that.”
William cracked a smile, and I could tell he was going to try to take me off track.
“Should we get some chicken for dinner before you leave? I never asked if you were a vegetarian. I guess it makes sense that you might be,” he said.
“I know it makes sense because I fight for animal rights in the food industry, but I am actually an omnivore,” I admitted. “I used to be veggie for a couple of years, but now I think the fair solution is to lower my consumption of meat. I think the problem is that the industry lost that natural balance between predator and prey.”
He seemed content to listen, so I continued. I wanted to let him in on more of me, on more of my philosophy.
“According to biologists, humans are carnivores, so we shouldn’t apologize for wanting to eat meat; that’s not the problem. Instead, the problem is the meat industry and its requirements. If people chose to eat less meat, the industry would have less reason to practice violent, inhumane practices.”
“Interesting,” he said. “So it’s a matter of balance.”
I nodded. He was getting me!
I went on: “I believe that chicken eggs are one of the most energy-rich natural resources we have, and that not consuming them is a shame. Eggs have got a really bad rap, but consider that no chick will develop from the eggs we eat; there is no sperm in them! So in that respect, it’s not even meat. If it’s about the cholesterol, then don’t eat them every day. But not to consume them at all, as vegans choose to do? The female chicken goes through the energy-consuming process of producing them with or without us and they have all the required nutrients in them. Can we really afford that energy to be wasted? Isn’t that hubris? If you see a soy field, would you choose to not eat from the soy because the farm workers put in energy and hard work to farm it, straining their bodies to do so?”
“I see your point, Scar, and I think you are right. Vegans have an issue with the industry probably more so than the food itself. It’s the processing that needs to be regulated more humanely, and simply choosing to not eat it, won’t make the problem go away because there will always be enough people who will eat it, and lots of it.”
“So to answer your question William, thank you, I would love to eat some chicken before I head home, because if I eat any more pie today, I will break the cross-trainer the minute I get on it.”
“Great!” he signaled to the waiter to put in an order and added some pie too, just to be on the safe side.
“If I didn’t know better, I would think you are trying to fatten me up
and then roast me.”
“I look beyond the obvious Scar, a person’s character is worth more than flashiness and glitter. Besides, I like my women big and beautiful, so eat up. I like a woman who appreciates the simple things in life, like eating; then I know she will be dreaming about food instead of other men.”
“Very funny,” I said.
I was knee-deep in a daydream about what it would be like when this mess was all over, when Todd came into the lab, clearly excited.
“I got a phone call from Debauchee!” he exclaimed. “He wants to meet with us in person. In France.”
I smiled from ear to ear.
“How exciting is that? I was wondering why he was being so shy about committing when he’d said they had three projects they were looking for. What about Caroline, though? Shouldn’t we postpone until we get a reply from her, one way or the other?” I asked Todd.
“Definitely not! We need to take every opportunity we get. This is business, and in business, you take every opportunity.”
“What will we show them? We already went over our presentation on the conference call.”
“They want to get into more detail. Who knows, perhaps they’ll ask us for a demonstration.”
I hesitated. “I do have a draft I’ve been writing together with Professor Frolev. We’re hoping to publish on the work,” I said.
“Publishing is always good for business. But are you ready to show it?” Todd asked.
“I think it could be ready. I’ll ask Frolow.”
“Sounds like a plan. I’ll work on preparing any necessary nondisclosure forms,” he said.
I rolled my eyes. “I’m more than happy to let you handle that.”
A few days later, everything was ready for the meeting. Todd had scheduled the flights, bought the tickets, and even booked a taxi to take us to the airport. It was a relief to be getting out of town for a while, away from the bogeymen, who may or may not be following my every move. I was packing the final few items in my suitcase when I got a call from a breathless Roseword. I knew something was wrong as soon as I picked up the phone; I’d never heard him sound anything but completely confident before.
“Scarlet, drop what you’re doing and meet me at the hospital,” he said.
My heart clenched up and rose into my throat. What could it be?
“Something happened to Joel,” he said. “Meet me in the emergency room.”
When Todd and I got there, Roseword was sitting in the waiting room. He pointed to a closed door and said that Joel was in there with an ophthalmologist.
“What happened?”
“I’m not sure,” Roseword said, shaking his head. “We had a meeting scheduled today at Joel’s lab. When I got there, he was writhing on the floor screaming, holding his hands over his eyes, saying that he’d been burned by a laser from one of his machines.”
My heart sank. That kind of equipment is powerful stuff; I had no doubt that Joel had been blinded. And he was too much of an expert to be fooling around with the equipment, so that meant it probably had been tampered with.
“Did anyone check out the machine?” I asked.
“One of his lab mates just called to confirm that the laser had been repositioned,” said Roseword. “It doesn’t seem to be accidental, unfortunately.”
I kept thinking about what William had said, about our safety, particularly Joel’s. But how could I have known exactly how this would happen, and when? How could I have prevented it? And how had William known? What was going on?
I was praying for Joel to be all right. I felt that I might die if I heard he’d become permanently blind—his whole career, gone. I tried to choke back my tears, but they began to fall. I told Todd through sobs that we needed to call NavoLogic and tell them we couldn’t make it there on time, that we’d had an emergency.
We waited, and it felt like an eternity. Then the doctor came out and said, much to our relief, that he felt optimistic that Joel would regain sight. He said that ocular flashes might remain, and that it was too soon to tell the extent of the damage, but it seemed as if this might have been a warning shot more than anything else.
With that, the doctor left us, saying that we could go in and see Joel. We slowly trod into the room, dreading what we were going to see. Even though the damage might not be permanent, it was still heartbreaking to think of Joel in this position. All he was trying to do was the work we had asked him to do, and here we were.
Joel was sitting on the bed, drinking from a straw. Occasionally, he’d lose track of the straw and would have to go groping for it with one hand.
“How are you feeling?” I asked. “Can you see us? Anything?”
“I can sort of see you,” he said with a grimace. “It’s all fuzzy. And black-and-white. The doc thinks I’ll be OK. We just have to run a few more tests and see what happens.”
“We heard,” I said, taking his hand. “Are you in any pain?” I took a chocolate bar out of my purse, the kind he said was his favorite, and pressed it into his other hand.
“No, they gave me painkillers, so my eyes feel better,” he said. “They were burning before, though. It felt like explosions were going off in my skull.”
We sat quietly for a moment, mostly staring at the floor. We weren’t sure how much eye contact to make with Joel. How much could he see? Thankfully, he closed his eyes and leaned back against his pillow, breathing deeply and trying to calm down. His adrenaline must have been pumping like crazy.
“I hate to ask you this, Joel,” started Roseword, “but is there any chance at all that you could have moved the laser by accident?”
Joel shook his head. “None. None whatsoever.”
“That’s what I was afraid of,” said Roseword, before telling us that he was going to leave to check the security logs with his watchmen.
“Maybe it could have been someone you share the space with,” I suggested.
“I really don’t think so, Scarlet,” said Joel.
I nodded. I had gone through all the same worries and machinations when my lab had been tampered with. I hadn’t wanted to accept the truth, but it seemed that Joel was more ready to do so.
To my surprise, Todd broke in with what I felt was a horribly inappropriate question.
“Joel,” he said, “do you mind terribly if we took a flight out today? We have a meeting with NavoLogic in France.”
It took all my restraint not to elbow him in the ribs.
“We can’t leave him alone like this!” I exclaimed.
Joel shook his head. “Scarlet, don’t be silly. You have to go. If anything happens, I’ll give you a call. And I’ve got our angel, Roseword.”
We said our good-byes, each giving Joel a big hug, and left for the airport in a hurry.
I hoped that Joel would, indeed, be in good hands. Luckily, we had insurance that would pay for the best treatment—whatever he needed. I thought of William again. How could he have known?
On the flight to Paris, I asked Todd about the logistics of getting to the company headquarters in Nancy. I smiled, thinking to myself that I’d always liked the name Nancy.
“We’ll take the TGV high-speed train. Their manufacturing plant is just outside Nancy, actually, although we’ll be staying there,” Todd answered.
“I heard that Nancy is a wonderful place,” I said, thinking about the quick daydreaming I was able to do once we found out we’d be going to see the NavoLogic execs in person.
“I think anywhere you go in France is beautiful,” said Todd. “And let’s not even start talking about the food! There is nothing like it in the world.”
“I can’t wait,” I said, and then started to feel guilty about my excitement. I closed my eyes and tried to relax after the crazy morning we’d had. Todd wanted to talk and make plans, of course, and I entertained him for a little while, but while he was talking, I couldn’t help but doze off. I was exhausted.
The trip was not meant to go off without a hitch, it turned out. If the day had started out t
he way it had, something else was bound to go wrong, and, indeed, when we got off the plane, we found out that my luggage had been lost. By the time we had made the arrangements at the lost-luggage counter, the last TGV train had left for the night. The men at the counter told us we would need to come pick up the luggage tomorrow morning, and so we would have to remain in Paris for the night.
Todd could tell I was crestfallen, but he told me not to worry. Todd, ever the world business traveler, knew an inexpensive hotel where he had stayed a few times before. We took a cab to a place by Paris-Gare de Lyon and knocked loudly to wake up the hotel keeper. The sign read, No entry after midnight, but we were still hoping to get in. After all the commotion we’d made, a middle-aged man came out with nightcaps—the hat and the drink, both. Todd managed to explain to him in halting French that if he had two rooms available, we would really appreciate it. He explained that we had come from afar.
The man said he only had one vacant room, and as if to underscore the point, drunkenly waggled a single finger in our faces. What were we going to do: search for another hotel? I tried to explain that we weren’t a couple, but the hotel keeper just kept shaking his head, finally saying in heavily accented English: “One room or no room.” So, we took it.
We climbed up five flights of rickety stairs until we reached the room, there being no elevator in sight. Just then, I was somewhat relieved that I did not have my suitcase with me. The room was small with a double bed and bathroom with a toilet, a bidet, and a tiny closet. There was a nice, big window, but in the dark, there was no view to be enjoyed.
Todd was kind enough to offer to sleep on the floor. Even though we had absolutely no romantic feelings toward one another, we’d never shared a space before, and being in the same hotel room with him, in a strange city, with his kids thousands of miles away, it felt awkward. He was also kind enough to let me use an extra pair of shorts and a shirt he brought, and he slept shirtless. Luckily, it was summer, and he would be warm enough even with a window open to allow in a breeze.