The Immortality Factor (14 page)

We drove in gloomy silence up Riverside Drive, past the piers where the cruise liners dock and the floating museum of the aircraft carrier
Intrepid
. At last the limo cut back into the city streets and pulled up to a gray stone apartment building.

Jesse immediately opened the door on his side, before the chauffeur could get around to it.

“Call me tomorrow and let me know when you can come up to see Momma,” I said to him.

“Right,” said Jesse as he ducked out the door.

“I'll see that he does,” said Julia. She kissed me lightly on the cheek and then she, too, left the limo. I watched them walk up the steps hand in hand. Jesse tapped out their security code on the electronic pad built into the wall next to the front door. The glass door was reinforced with cast-iron scrollwork; meant to look decorative, but actually there to keep thugs from breaking in.

Jess waved nonchalantly as their front door popped open and the limo pulled away from the curb.

“You're really worried about them,” Pat said.

“Jesse's a damned fool to take such risks.”

“I suppose that's how you get to be Humanitarian of the Year.”

I guess I gave her a sour glance. “He can be all the humanitarian he wants to be. But he shouldn't drag her along with him.”

“It doesn't look to me as if he's dragging her, exactly,” said Pat.

I fumed inwardly, but said nothing. There was nothing I could say. Julia had made that clear.

“She is his wife, after all.”

“That doesn't give him the right to risk her life.”

“She seems very determined.”

I wanted to yell at her, to roar out my fear and anger and hurt, scream to the heavens about my brother's stupid insensitivity. Jesse was taking advantage of her. He knew Julia would go wherever he did. She enjoyed the challenge, she was excited by the idea of living dangerously. It never occurred to her that she could get hurt, get sick, be raped or killed. Those kinds of things did not happen to her. Other people might be blown up by terrorists or murdered in the streets in a senseless drive-by shooting, but that sort of thing never happened to anyone you knew, anyone close to you. How could it happen to you?

But I saw it happening to Julia, and when it did, it would be Jesse's fault. He'd have killed her just as surely as if he'd put a bullet in her brain.

I smoldered in silence while the limo purred softly through the quiet streets, heading for the midtown condo building where the corporation maintained its VIP quarters. Pat said nothing for several blocks. I think she must have sensed how distressed I was.

But after a while she asked softly, “Do you really think you could grow new organs for people?”

It took me a moment or two to mentally shift gears. “Maybe,” I said. “It might be possible. In theory, at least.”

“Jesse seemed terrifically excited about the idea.”

“Sure he is. Why not? He's like a kid with a new toy,” I grumbled. But then I had to admit, “It really is an exciting idea.”

She laughed. “You seem to be containing your excitement pretty well, though.”

I looked at her. In the shadowy interior of the limo her face was dimly lit by the passing streetlamps, like a speeded-up version of the moon's monthly cycle, waxing, waning, waxing again.

“It's always been that way,” I said. “I'm the practical brother; Jesse's the romantic.”

And that's when the limousine stopped and the chauffeur hustled around to open the door next to Pat.

“This is it, I guess,” she said.

Without thinking, I slid across the seat after her and got out of the limo. We were standing on the sidewalk in front of a modern glass-and-steel high-rise. Through the glass double doors I could see a concierge sitting at an ornate little desk. A uniformed doorman was hurrying across the lobby to open the front door for us.

“The condo ought to have a toothbrush and whatever else you need,” I said. “If there are any problems, the concierge will take care of them.”

“My car?”

“Tell the concierge when you want it. The garage will have somebody drive it up here for you.”

Pat nodded. “You've taken care of everything, I guess.”

“I think so,” I said. My mind was still on Julia and Jesse. I understood that what really bothered me was not Africa and the danger that they might be heading into. It was the fact that Julia would follow Jesse off the edge of a cliff, that she
wanted
to be with Jesse, go where he went, be a part of his life, merge her being completely with his.

Not with me, I told myself. She doesn't want to be with me.

“Well, thanks for a fascinating evening.”

It took an effort to focus my attention on Pat. The expression on her face was strange, part expectation, part puzzlement. With hindsight, I guess she was expecting me to suggest that I come up to her suite with her. But my mind was thousands of miles away.

“No,” I said. “I thank you. I couldn't have made it through dinner without you.”

And before she could say anything more I turned and went back to the limo, leaving her standing on the sidewalk with the doorman expectantly holding the door open for her and the concierge staring at our little tableau from behind his precious desk.

Jesse's the romantic brother; I'm the practical one. I certainly wasn't romantic that night with Pat Hayward. Not very practical, either.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

M
y workday didn't end at five o'clock. Never does. It didn't even end after I had ushered out the last of my dinner guests from my home in Larchmont. While the caterer's people cleaned up the kitchen and my wife headed upstairs for bed and her latest romance novel, I went to my study, checked the nautical clock on my desk, and phoned Tokyo.

I had to go through several secretaries and underlings, of course. They all seemed shocked that the CEO of Omnitech Corporation was putting through this call himself, with no flunkies doing the up-front work for him. What the hell? I didn't want anybody listening in to this conversation; nobody on my side, leastways. So I sat on the edge of my desk and waited with the cordless phone clamped to my ear. Looking out through the den's windows at the darkened water of Long Island Sound, I wondered when the hell I would
ever
get the chance to sail the ketch before I had to pull the boat out of the water for the winter. Two million bucks for that beauty and she sits at the end of the pier like a goddamned monument.

Finally a man's voice said, “Mr. Nakata will speak to you now, sir.” Perfect English, no accent at all.

“Mr. Johnston, what a pleasure to have you call.” Ichiro Nakata's voice sounded crisp and friendly.

“It's good of you to take the time to speak with me,” I said, feeling relieved that he actually accepted my call. I went around my desk and dropped into my big leather swivel chair.

“It must be close to midnight in New York,” said Nakata.

“No rest for the wicked.”

Nakata laughed.

“I see that Kyushu Industries is doing very well,” I said. “Your stock continues to climb.” The compulsory flattery bit.

There was a barely noticeable delay as our words were relayed to a communications satellite and back again. “We have been very fortunate,” Nakata said. “Our people work very hard to make us successful.”

A dig at American workers. I let it pass. “Success begins with good leadership. You are to be congratulated.” There! I can sling the shit with any of these oh-so-polite slopes.

“I understand that Omnitech is also quite successful,” Nakata replied.

“We're keeping our heads above the water.”

Again the annoying little delay. Then Nakata said, “I remember with great fondness your visit to Japan last year. Perhaps I will visit America this winter.”

“Great! I'd like to show you some of our facilities and return the wonderful hospitality you showed me.” But I was thinking, Fucking Nip wants to steal whatever he can grab from us.

“That would be most enjoyable.”

“You know,” I said, easing into the reason why I had made the call, “Omnitech is doing so well that we've become attractive to other corporations.”

The delay was longer than normal this time. Finally Nakata said, “I have heard rumors that a European consortium is interested in buying your company.”

“Our board is not interested in selling.”

“Oh so? Do you expect a hostile takeover attempt?”

This time I hesitated just a little bit before answering. “Could be.”

“That could drive up the price of your stock. You could make a considerable fortune.”

“A wise investor might buy a block of our stock now,” I told him, “and do very well for himself over the next few months.”

Nakata said, “That would remove a block of stock from the Europeans' grasp.”

“Yes, it would.”

“From my slight understanding of your company's position, you seem to be somewhat vulnerable to a takeover.”

“Somewhat,” I admitted.

Nakata said nothing. I waited as long as I could, but the Jap kept silent.

Finally, I said, “It would help if we were in a better financial position. I'm thinking of getting rid of some of our less profitable divisions, consolidate, tighten the ship all the way up and down the line.”

“Always a wise strategy.”

“If I can sell off a couple of our divisions it'll improve our cash flow, as well.”

“Yes, of course.”

The bastard's going to make me ask him, I fumed to myself. “I thought I would give you the first opportunity to consider buying one of our divisions.”

The delay, then, “I see. But there is a difficulty. Why would someone wish to buy a division that is not profitable?”

He's interested! I bounced so hard in my chair I made it creak. “Well, some of our divisions are heavily engaged in research, you know. They don't make a profit, but they produce the new product lines that make profits for our other divisions.”

“Ahhh. And which divisions might those be?”

“Well, there's our Tulsa Aerospace Division. They've been involved in developing new lightweight materials for airplanes and rockets . . .” I went on and mentioned three other Omnitech divisions.

Before I could finish, though, Nakata broke in, “And what of your Grenford Laboratory? Are you considering selling it?”

I acted surprised. “Grenford? No. We couldn't sell Grenford Lab. Why, it's the future of our corporation.”

“It is very good to see an American executive who thinks about the future. You are not afflicted with the notorious ninety-day syndrome.”

“I learned a lot from my visit to Japan,” I replied. I knew how to butter up people, too. “We have five-, ten-, and twenty-year plans now, just as you do.” But they're not worth the paper they're written on unless we show a profit every goddamned quarter, I thought.

“It might be possible,” Nakata said slowly, cautiously, “for us to acquire Grenford Laboratory and then license all the discoveries they make to Omnitech for a nominal fee.”

“License their discoveries to us?”

“You could have license to market their products in North America. We would have what remains of the global market.”

“I don't think my board would go for that.”

“Perhaps not. It was merely a thought.”

“Although,” I said, leaning back in my chair, “if the price for Grenford was right, it sure would help our cash position.”

“And help you to stave off the greedy Europeans.”

“Tell you what,” I said briskly. “I'll bounce the idea off a few of my board members. Privately, of course. Get their reaction. Then I'll get back to you.”

“Very good. In the meantime, I will ask my financial people to make an assessment of Grenford's worth.”

“Fine. I'll call you in a few days.”

“I will anticipate your call with great pleasure.”

I'll bet you will, I thought as I put the phone down. I heaved a big sigh. Well, it's done. Nakata's hot to trot, that comes through clear enough. Hate to sell Grenford to him, but that's better than having those fucking Krauts and Frenchmen take over the whole corporation.

Then I thought of Arthur Marshak. Arthur. He comes up with brilliant ideas, but we can't afford 'em right now. He won't mind working for the Japs. As long as he can do his research he really doesn't mind who the hell is paying his salary.

That's what I told myself.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I
didn't tell corporate management that we were aiming at regenerating limbs and organs,” said Arthur.

“You didn't? Why not?”

“Because I didn't know it myself. Not at first.”

“Are you trying to tell me—”

“The first time I mentioned the regeneration work to the CEO, my brother and I had just had one luncheon conversation about the idea and we were still thinking in terms of paraplegics.”

“And you immediately informed Omnitech's corporate management?”

“I mentioned it to the CEO, yes.”

“Why did you do that if you could fund this low-level effort out of your own discretionary monies?”

Arthur made a little shrug. “He asked me.”

“He knew about it?”

“He did after I told him.”

Rosen looked puzzled briefly. But he regrouped and asked, “What effect did this have on the price of Omnitech stock?”

“None whatsoever.”

“None? It had no effect at all? No effect on the European bid to take over Omnitech Corporation?”

Arthur looked up at the judges. “Are we going to get into international business deals now? What's this got to do with the scientific issue?”