Gary Braver - Elixir

But a warming trend was in the forecast. In a few hours the world would be green again. In a few hours the place would also be swarming with police and media people with vans surmounted by radio dishes. And by early afternoon it would be all over, Laura told herself. There was a strange roundness to it all. The saga had been born in the wilderness half a world away, and it would end in the wilderness of her old backyard.

Laura had gotten up before Roger and Brett. She made some coffee to get her heart going. She felt lousy and she looked it in the mirror. The skin of her face was a loose gray dough and her eyes were puffy. She had slept soundly until about four o'clock when she woke up with a bolt of panic at the bargain Roger had cut with the president.

It had crossed her mind yesterday, but she was so wracked with horror and grief that the realization had not registered. But two hours ago it hit her. In the effort to save her and Brett, Roger had signed his own death warrant.

He came down a little before seven.

Laura gave him a mug of coffee. On the television in the living room the "Elixir Unrest" story continued. Over the last few days it had become so prominent and widespread that CNN created its own graphics and crash chords.

Laura sat next to Roger and took his hand.

The news was worse than last night. Another rash of bombings of American corporations in foreign countries. More cries for a holy war. "An Elixir Jihad," someone had called it.

What particularly shocked them was the story of the torching of Darby Pharms and the death of its president. Some lunatic fundamentalist group had claimed responsibility. The same group that proclaimed Christopher Bacon a false prophet attempting to conjure the devil.

Meanwhile, a huge rally was scheduled in Washington that day at noon in protest of the government coverup. All efforts by the White House to downplay Elixir had failed miserably. A whirlwind of madness was whipping across the world, and it had Roger's name on it.

Laura turned off the set. "What's going to happen to you when you turn it over?"

"I guess I'll be given a regular supply to keep me going. Probably administered by some medical clinic wherever we end up."

She knew that even without the notebook protocol, the compound could be broken down into its molecular constituents which meant that it could be duplicated. All one needed was a lab and good organic chemists. "You won't be safe."

"Why not?"

"People will be after you as long as you live."

He had used the compound as a bargaining chip, but she knew it meant more anxiety. As long as he was on the stuff, they would remain forever prey to every maniac wanting a sample. Just as bad, he would be the number-one infidel on top of every religious crazy's hit list.

She squeezed his hand. "It scares me."

"But we'll have federal protection."

His answer was too pat and resolve was missing in his voice. It would be the first time the compound was out of their hands. The agreement was for Public Citizen to assume full responsibility for the compound. But who knew where that could lead? If some got out, it could be like one of those renegade nukes from the old USSR floating around on the black market.

"I pray we're not making a mistake."

"We're not," he said.

But she didn't believe him.

About seven-thirty Laura woke Brett. While he got dressed, Roger put the call to the White House.

They were expecting him, and instantly he was transferred to the office of Kenneth Parrish. The rendezvous was to be one o'clock at the Black Eagle Lake lodge. Roger gave the location. Then he placed calls to the major television networks as well as The New York Times, the Associated Press, UPI, Reuters, and CNN.

One o'clock. That gave all parties over five hours to assemble. The last remaining step was unearthing the solitary backup stash of Elixir.

They packed a few things into a duffel bag. Roger stuffed his pistol inside his jacket.

When Brett came down, he asked, "So, what are we doing?"

"First, you're going to have a good breakfast," Roger said. "Then we're going to visit a cave."

The call to Eric Brown's home phone came while he was in the middle of his morning shower.

His wife handed him the portable. It was Assistant Deputy Director Richard Coleman in Washington. Brown dried his hands and face and took the phone.

"We got him," Coleman said. "He's in upstate New York."

"What was the break?"

"He called the White House direct to cut a deal."

"Shit."

"Yeah, well, can't always corner them at the 7-Eleven. The legal stuff will be worked out, but the long and short is that they're turning themselves and the Elixir in for immunity."

"Couldn't get better leverage."

"Yeah, the fountain of youth."

Coleman said that an agency jet was waiting for Brown and his men at the Madison airport. They should be airborne within the hour. The rendezvous was at one P.M. and it would take three and a half hours to touch down at Lake Placid, New York, where a car would be waiting.

"And what happens to the stuff?"

"That's what we've got to talk about, Eric. We're up to our earlobes in religious crazies, so we're asking you to act as liaison to the FDA."

"You mean courier the stuff to Washington?"

"We'll have a chopper waiting for you in New York."

He knew it was out of line to ask but he did anyway. "Why exactly do you need agency courier service?"

There was a slight hesitation before Coleman responded. "It's possible there may be a conflict with Glover over the exact disposition of the stuff. His stipulation is that it goes directly to Public Citizen."

"What's that?"

"One of those consumer medical advocacy groups. I guess he's trying to keep it out of federal control."

"But that's not the plan."

"Eric, I'm only reporting the news, not making it."

"Sure." It was not Eric's place to dispute government agenda. "Dick, I don't know if you saw the autopsy photos of Olafsson and the Kaminsky kid. The meddies don't know if the victims overdosed, underdosed, or what, but the stuff did a number on them."

"I saw them, and the old animal videos," Coleman said.

"Then you know what I'm saying."

Elixir wasn't exactly the Ebola virus, but what bothered Brown was that Glover knew the downside of the stuff better than anybody else. He wanted it quarantined even though it had turned him into some kind of modern-day Methuselah.

"Yeah, I know," Coleman said. "I also saw the shots of Glover. He looks like an Olympic athlete."

"Right."

"One more thing," Coleman added before hanging up. "The Glovers are carrying an audio tape he made of his conversation with the president. Retrieve it and any backups."

"You mean unofficially."

"Correct."

When they clicked off Brown finished his shower, trying to dispel the uneasy flutter in his gut.

Andrea's Cave was located in the hills on the far side of the lake about a mile from the cabin. Roger parked the car in a clearing in the woods and the three of them hiked for maybe twenty minutes to the cave.

Although its interior was commodious in places, the entrance was no gaping mouth but a passage constricted by boulders and covered with scrub that made it invisible until you were on top of it.

The cave was known to the locals, and was listed in spelunker's guides. Because of its remoteness and lack of distinguished formations, the place was not a draw. But to the Whitehead girls who came up every summer from Albany, it was a magical place-the entrance to Middle Earth, a Kraken's den, the home of one-eyed giants-a great hideaway just a bike ride from their family cabin. It was also where, nine years ago, Laura and Roger buried the Elixir notebooks and a two-liter container of the serum.