Miracle Man (29 page)

“I want to know everything. Spare no details.”

Perrone told the director the minutiae of the fake shooting, bombings and food poisoning, and how that ultimately resulted in an agreement for the design and implementation of a security system for the Prides Crossing premises. The director was silent throughout Perrone’s recitation.

“And how did he look? Did he seem healthy?”

Perrone responded with agent learned exactitude. “Since I had never met him previously, I have no prior to compare his current appearance to, but he looked okay. Perhaps a little tired around the eyes, but he’s trim and his overall appearance is healthy, although I can tell you that he’s not a particularly strong man.”

“Oh really—and how can you tell that?”

“He’s too thin, and when I grabbed his forearm, he had no real muscle mass or tone there.”

“And how was his frame of mind?”

“He’s
cut from a different piece of cloth, sir. He’s very intense, but at the same time, there’s something detached about him, like not all of him is present. Sometimes when he’d look at me, it was as if his eyes were searing right through me. I never had anyone look at me the same way. It was definitely odd.”

“So why aren’t we installing the security system. How did you let that slip by?”

Perrone felt the jab of criticism as if it had been a hard right to his jaw.
So this wasn’t a congratulatory, ‘job well done’ kind of meeting. My first and probably only contact with the director and he’s going to tell me I fucked up.
Perrone shifted uneasily on his feet and his posture became rigid. “It wasn’t an option, sir. Austin was emphatic about there being no government involvement in his operation. It took a huge effort on my part to get him to agree that the Agency could design the security system and that he’d use a firm on our recommended list to install it and patrol his grounds. Believe me, he has a deep felt suspicion about government. He’s very negative on the subject.”

Orin Varneys stared at Perrone with his shark eyes for what seemed like an eternity to Perrone. Finally, he nodded
in acknowledgment that it could be possible for Austin to hold such a view. “It is what it is. We’ll put our people into whatever firm he selects. We need to have control of the situation.”

“Understood, director. Any way I can help, please consider me. I think I have a relationship of sorts with Austin at this point.”

When Perrone got back to his office, he loosened his tie, took off his jacket and Googled “CIA director’s Senate Confirmation Hearings.” He then read the transcripts and learned that Orin Varneys, then director of the OSSIS, had garnered appointment and confirmation as CIA director six months earlier, predominantly on the strength of his connection to Robert James Austin. As Varneys said in the course of his testimony before the Senate, “I can say, without hesitation or qualification, that by virtue of the programs and procedures that I established and executed at the OSSIS, Robert James Austin was discovered, recruited, nurtured, developed and educated, and that without this, Dr. Austin would simply not exist as we know him today.”

In the history of the CIA, no prior director candidate had ever been able to associate himself with anything even beginning to approach the appeal and visceral impact of claiming personal responsibility for giving the world an asset like Bobby. The fact that Varneys was responsible for cutting-off Bobby from the Institute’s resources because Varneys opposed medical research, was an irony that didn’t come to light in the confirmation proceedings. The Senate quickly and unanimously approved him as CIA director, and praised him in the Congressional Record for his “extraordinary service to a grateful nation during his tenure as director of the OSSIS.”

45

S
everal months before the results were published in the medical journals, rumors were already sweeping through the academic community. Bobby’s “Sentry Virus,” as he had named it because it was always ‘on guard and ready to act,’ was said to do exactly what it was designed to. The scourge of malaria would soon come to an end. But when Bobby’s analysis and lab reports were published, the reality was much bigger than vanquishing this age-old killer. The methodology behind the “Sentry Virus” was also applicable to any “vector” transmitted disease—meaning any disease that is spread to humans by mosquitoes, ticks, lice, fleas or other insects. Bobby’s formulas and solutions were there in detail, just awaiting application to diseases such as encephalitis, typhus, sleeping sickness, plague, dengue and leishmaniosis. Additionally, the “Sentry Virus” could be engineered to combat other diseases, such as amoebic dysentery that infect the human body by way of protozoa and other one-celled parasitic organisms. The implications were staggering in scope. As had been the case with Bobby’s other breakthroughs, his findings were tested and verified in scores of hospitals worldwide and then in the field.

These discoveries, more than any of his prior achievements, embedded the name Robert James Austin into the vocabulary of tens of millions of people throughout the most populous and economically underprivileged places in the world.

For Bobby, however, the struggle to reach this breakthrough had taken its toll on both his physical and mental health. He was in a severe state of exhaustion that he couldn’t pull himself out from under. He looked haggard and beat-up, he was alarmingly thin, and his facile wit had dimmed.

The world media was apoplectic in their determination to find him. They descended on Tufts, but were not satisfied with what they got so they fanned out, frantically looking for the Manzini lab. Susan holed up Bobby, moving him around like a fugitive between the Prides Crossing guest house and his city apartment. But she realized that he was burned-out and needed a complete change of environment, so when Calvin Perrone showed up on the doorstep of the Prides Crossing lab and offered a secure and private “safe house” vacation escape for Bobby to any destination desired, she made the decision that this was an offer that needed to be accepted.

“Just tell me where the good doctor wants to go, and we can provide a perfect absolutely private setting,” Perrone said.

“Bobby told me about you, Calvin, and you know his feelings. We’re not looking for any freebies from the government. The foundation is perfectly capable of paying for this. Dr. Austin hasn’t had a holiday in years and I don’t think anyone would begrudge him that.”

“Completely understood. We’ll work that out later. But no one can give you the privacy and security that we can. Just tell me where.”

“You understand that he can’t be disturbed or intruded upon in any way by anyone —including you guys?” said Susan.

“That’s the whole point, isn’t it?”

“And why is your organization doing this?”

“It comes from the very top—it’s bigger than my firm. People are concerned about the doctor.”

Susan went to Bobby’s apartment and began to pack his suitcase. “Where are your bathing suits, shorts and casual clothing for the summer?”

“All I have is what’s in the closet and drawers.”

“Forget it. We’ll do some shopping in St. Thomas. ”

“St. Thomas?” asked Bobby.

“Yes, We’re leaving tomorrow morning. It’s all arranged. It’ll be totally private. You’ll love it. I’m bringing Anna. She’s the best security you’ll ever have.”

“How private can it be when the check-in people see my ticket and passport, and we go through customs in St. Thomas?”

“We’re not flying that way. We’re hitching a ride. Trust me. Just relax.”

The next morning a taxi swung by to pick up Bobby. Susan and Anna were already inside.

“What time’s our flight?” Bobby asked.

Susan ignored his question and instructed the driver to take them to Hanscom Field in Bedford.

“That’s an odd place to leave from,” said Bobby. “What time’s our flight?”

“Whenever we get there,” responded Susan.

Bobby looked at her. “What’s the airline?”

Susan raised her eyebrows as she glared at him. “Bobby, please just sit back and relax and stop with the questions. Leave it to me. Take a nap or something.”

When the taxi pulled into the small airport, Susan called the cell phone number she had been given by Perrone and got further instructions. She told the taxi driver that he could drive on to the tarmac directly in front of runway seven. The taxi pulled up to the side of a gleaming white Learjet 45XR. It had no airline name or any other markings on it, other than a registration number. Two tall well-built men in dark blue suits and sunglasses were standing outside the plane, together with a uniformed crew member.

“Now that’s what I call traveling in style,” the taxi driver said.

Bobby’s eyes narrowed. “Susan, what’s going on? The Foundation can’t afford private planes, and those two guys standing there don’t look like flight attendants.”

“Bobby, please. For once, just relax. I’ve made these arrangements and I’ve covered all the bases, and it’s fine. Don’t micromanage. You’re not in the lab. Your vacation starts now.”

The plane landed on a military airstrip in St. Thomas. It taxied right up to a black SUV that was waiting. After a thirty minute bumpy ride that seemed to traverse the entire island, the SUV approached the gatehouse of what was obviously a large estate. Credentials cleared, the vehicle drove along a winding drive majestically lined with Royal Palms on both sides that led to a circular driveway fronting a palatial coral stone mansion in the Mediterranean style. As they disembarked, they were cheerily greeted by a staff member of the property who was casually dressed in white slacks and a red and white flower print shirt.

“Welcome to Villa Azur Reve. I’m George Harkens and I’m in charge of this wonderful home. I hope your journey was pleasant. Don’t worry about your bags, they will be attended to. Please come with me.”

It was only when they walked up the carved coral staircase and entered the columned open-air reception atrium, that they realized the house was beachfront. The only thing standing between their weary Boston bones and the sun baked sands, was a series of beautiful terraced gardens which led passed the mosaic tiled swimming pool to the healing waters of the aqua blue Caribbean Sea.

“This is drop dead gorgeous,” Susan said.

“I’m never going home,” proclaimed Anna.

“I’ll show you around Azur Reve later. You’ll see that we have every amenity you could desire including a chef, of course. But first, you must be thirsty.”

Seemingly out of nowhere, a very attractive young lady appeared holding a tray with three festive looking cocktails.

Smiling broadly, Bobby said, “I’m beginning to feel relaxed already.”

Azur Reve proved to be exactly what Bobby needed. He spent hours a day on the beach, staring out at the ocean and walking for miles. When he got hot, he plunged in to the purifying froth and body surfed. Susan and Anna were great companions, but he enjoyed just zoning out and falling asleep on a bed sheet he’d place on the hot sand, his head hard pressed against it, hearing the surf as he drifted off while his body replenished its supply of vitamin D. In the late afternoon, he went to the pool and did scores of laps. Throughout the day, he ate well and refreshed himself with a steady stream of island cocktails. In the evening, he enjoyed walking in the illuminated gardens of the estate, listening to the sounds, and breathing deeply of the scents, gifted by the Caribbean night. His nightmares ceased and he didn’t think about work. He began to grow stronger physically and restore himself mentally. His appearance improved markedly as his rejuvenation proceeded. “You’re beginning to look like some kind of tanned Greek god,” said Susan.