ELIXIR (39 page)

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Authors: Gary Braver

BOOK: ELIXIR
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“Louder.
”
“And me!”
The crowd exploded, reporters jabbering all at once. Brett looked over to his father and for a second he flashed his father a smile.
“Friggin’ cool,” Roger said.
Ducharme ignored the questions and looked over to Roger. “So you have a boy do your bidding for you.”
“Like his dad, he’s older than he looks.”
T
he FBI was humming to get its hands on the compound. But the crowd was restless for Roger to come to the mike.
After Brett surrendered the guns and the police took away Antoine Ducharme and his men, Brown and his agents tried to corral the Glovers into the house to retrieve the last of the Elixir, wherever it was. But that was not the deal.
Roger had promised a news briefing, and they were going to get one. And live cameras guaranteed that.
Roger moved onto the porch with Brett and Laura by his side. Behind them stood several uniformed police, Brown, and his agents. Brown held a hand radio that kept him in moment-to-moment communication with unseen superiors.
That bothered Roger. He sensed conflicting lines of awareness. This was not protocol. It was sloppy. It had gone public. It set forth conditions the Feds were reluctant to address.
Shortly Brown moved to the top step and waved his hands to quiet down the crowd.
“I’m Eric Brown of the FBI, Madison, Wisconsin Field Office. Mr. Glover has agreed to make a few brief statements before we leave. When he’s through, we ask that you please return to your vehicles and depart the premises.”
“What about questions?”
“This is not a press conference.”
There were shouts of disapproval. Roger turned to Brown. “I can take a few questions.”
Brown cocked his head to hear whoever was in his earpiece. He muttered something into his phone. “Just a brief statement,” he said flatly.
Roger moved to the mike. “I had originally intended to give a statement of our innocence of the charges, but fortunately that’s been established.
“I don’t know who those men were, but the fact that they intended to kill more people underscores the dangers inherent in the substance, including some misconceptions the media’s latched onto.
“In spite of all the claims, I am not immortal. If you cut me I’ll bleed. If you shoot me I’ll die. There’s no way of knowing how long I’ll go on, but it’s not indefinitely because eventually my internal organs will give out. Whenever is anybody’s guess.”
People tried to stop him with questions, but he held his hands up and continued.
“Second, for all its appeal, Elixir is fraught with terrible dangers—personally, medically, socially, and morally. I need not go into details, but I cannot stress enough that the substance presents more problems than it solves. And I speak from experience.”
“What kinds of medical problems?”
Brown tried to cut in, but Roger took the questions. “You’ve seen videos of animals fast-forward aging. That’s the consequence of withdrawal.”
“Is that what would happen to you?” shouted a red-haired woman.
Brown who was back-and-forth on his radio phone cut in. “There will be no more questions. Otherwise we will terminate this briefing.”
The crowd did not like that, but quieted down.
Roger continued. “A key term of our agreement is that the entire supply of Elixir be turned over to Public Citizen for research into its cancerfighting properties exclusively. Second, that research protocol and data be closely monitored to prevent application to human prolongevity.
“For the record, the government understands and agreed to those conditions.”
“Finally, contrary to reports, there are no hidden caches of the substance. The world’s entire supply is at this site.”
Another stir rippled through the crowd.
“Where?” somebody shouted.
Brown and his men closed around the Glovers.
“Where’s the rest of it?”
“How much is left?”
Suddenly the crowd was restive and firing questions.
The police started to push back the reporters, until a tumult rose up and people began shoving. A line of uniforms pressed against the crowd.
Things were nearly out of hand. In a moment batons would start swinging and heads would be bloodied.
“I’ll take questions,” Roger said to Brown.
“No, you won’t.” Brown’s men began corralling them inside.
Roger didn’t like that. They were doing all they could to separate them from the media, to get their hands on the compound and haul them to headquarters in Manhattan. Another agenda had taken over.
Roger grabbed the microphone from a uniformed cop. “Hold it. I’ll take your questions.”
Brown made a move for the mike. But somebody squawked something in his ear. Whoever was calling the shots wanted this over with peacefully.
Brown pulled Roger aside. “Those aren’t my orders.”
“You’ve got a hundred million people in those lenses.
They
are your orders.”
Brown’s resolve cracked as he motioned the police captain to pull his men off the crowd.
When the place settled, Roger spoke: “I’ll take your questions, but orderly and with a show of hands, please.”
The crowd pressed to the porch again.
When they calmed down, Roger said, “Okay.”
The place erupted, hands flapping like cornstalks in a wind. A wall of directional mike and camera lenses poised on him.
“Dr. Glover, you said you may not live indefinitely, but is it true you haven’t experienced any effects of aging since you began taking Elixir?”
“True.”
“How old are you?” another shouted.
“Fifty-six.”
A stir of amazement passed through the crowd.
“What about Mrs. Glover?”
Roger took the question. Laura had wanted no part of this. “We’re the same age, but only I’ve taken the serum.”
“Mrs. Glover,” another reporter shouted. “Can you tell us why you decided against it?”
Again Roger took the question. “Just that she did.”
But the reporter persisted in his attempt to engage Laura. “Do you regret that decision?”
“No,” Laura answered.
“Has it caused problems for you as a family?” shouted the woman with the red hair and a TV 4 cameraman.
“Yes,” Roger said without explanation.
“Dr. Glover, I’m wondering about the long-range effects of Elixir,” shouted another. “If it doubles or triples the lifespan, wouldn’t that mean you’ve invented a higher order of the human species—a kind of superman?”
Before he could answer, two other reporters blurted out questions. When they calmed down to hear his answer, more questions followed. Brown flapped his hands to tell them one at a time.
Roger was beginning to regret this. “You’re missing the point. The compound will not be researched for longevity. Even if the side effects can be eliminated, it’s dangerous and wrong—like human cloning, which is also banned … .”
But nobody was listening.
He looked at Laura. She looked frightened. Brett stood beside her, numbed by the spectacle.
“If someone were to have a transfusion of your blood, would they live forever too?”
“Is it true the Elixir will prevent diseases?”
“Would the substance make anybody younger?”
Roger suddenly understood what Jesus must have felt like after raising Lazarus. Probably everybody in the village came after him with a laundry list of dead relatives.
He tried to answer, but the questions were coming rapid-fire. And the answers weren’t registering. It was impossible.
“How much do you have to take for it to work?”
“Does it work on children, too?”
“What about very old people?”
They weren’t getting it. They didn’t have a bloody clue. And the millions catching it all would heard only
eternal youth.
And tomorrow Larry King would call, and Barbara and Oprah. And he would be hounded by publicists and agents. And movie and book offers would come flooding in. And pharmaceutical companies would be calling with fabulous contract offers. And telephone calls in the middle of the night:
“Hey,
Rog, it’s Charlie from Swanson’s
Steak House.
Whaddya say, just a little eternity juice for your favorite
waiter?”
As he stood there before the foaming crowd, the future lay its lurid self
out in front of him. Laura was right. They would hound them like jackals. No matter if he didn’t have more than two ccs in his possession, they would be after him for samples.
Worse, they would go after Brett because he was young and vulnerable. Kids cornering him in the schoolyard.
Mom’s
getting really old and depressed, can you
help me
out?
Steal a
little of his old
man
’
s
stash. He’d
never know.
And, if you don’t, we’ll blow your head off.
They’d be on the run again. New names, new IDs, new escape plans.
He glanced at Laura and Brett looking in fright at the crowd. People were screaming at once.
How much would it cost?
Could it come in tablet form?
Would it work on the family dog?
What about population problems?
Does it bother you that some people view you as the devil?
What if it gets out?
They’re
not going to live like that, Roger thought. Not on his life.
“That’s it,” Roger said to Brown.
Brown nodded and took the mike and announced the press conference was over.
A roar rose up, but the uniforms poured out from the sidelines to clear the area. Brown and his agents started to move the Glovers inside when Roger shouted, “It’s not in there. Out here.”
Brown turned to the state police captain. “Clear them out of here. All of them.”
The captain was about to pass the order on to his men when Roger grabbed Brown. “Clear the place of the cameras, and rumors will fly that you’re holding back on the stuff. Just move them back.”
“You’re not calling the shots,” Brown snapped.
“How badly do you want it?”
Brown stared at him for a moment. “What’s your problem, Glover?”
“The people in your ear.”
Frustrated, Brown snapped around and told the captain that the media would stay, just push them back to make a path.
Then with Laura and Brett by his side and three dozen cameras locked on them, Roger moved down the steps and across the open yard to the snow-covered fountain which had stood there unnoticed and undisturbed by the mob.
Beneath the skim of ice and melting snow lay 204 ampules of Elixir, cool and safe.
Brown looked at him to ask if he was joking—the fountain?
“Pun intended,” Roger said.
And he poked his hands through and removed a clutch of glass ampules.
A wave of dismay rose from the crowd as they watched Brett and Roger load the ampules into two black plastic containers, then seal and affix the locks.
As they walked away, reporters scribbled notes and jabbered away into their microphones as the cameras zoomed after them and the federal agents on their way to the Hummer. The Hummer would take them to helicopters, which would transport them to FBI headquarters in New York City for processing.
When they got to the vehicle, a man in a dark suit appeared from nowhere. He was surrounded by several others, including FBI jackets.
“Mr. Glover, I’m Ken Parrish, Director of the FBI. And this is Dr. Janet Jamal of Gordon Medical School and Dr. Warren Castleman.”
Castleman held out his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you finally, Dr. Glover.”
Parrish had left out Castleman’s affiliation because Roger would recognize the name. He was the FDA commissioner. Roger did not release his grip on the carriers.
“We’ll unburden you of those,” Parrish said.
Zazzaro stepped forward, but Roger pulled back. “That was not the agreement. It’s going to Doctor Nathan David of Public Citizen.”
Parrish’s face hardened. “What agreement?”
Roger felt as if a tremor had passed underfoot. “The agreement I made yesterday with President Markarian.”
Parrish’s face did not crack. “I can assure you that they will be in safe hands.”
“I give you my word,” Castleman added. Jamal agreed.
They were trying to pull a fast one, Roger thought. Like most medical research universities, Jamal’s lab at Gordon Medical was funded almost entirely by the federal government and overseen by the FDA whose commissioner, Warren Castleman, had been personally appointed by the president. They had no intention of turning Elixir over to the Public Citizen. They didn’t give a rat’s ass about determining the enzymes that prevented cancer cells from replicating. What they were thinking was social security and demographics and avoiding huge tax increases for younger voters, and
who knew what else. Maybe the foreign crazies were right about genetic imperialism.

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