Gary Braver - Elixir

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 cc's 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 your 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 mic 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.

"I don't give a damn about your word. It stays with me until I see Nathan David in person." Roger could feel Laura nudge him toward the car.

Parrish's face flushed in anger, but he was also aware of the wall of cameras humming at them. He made his best conciliatory smile. "Fine." And he backed away to allow them to get inside the Hummer.

Brett jumped in with Laura.

But Roger did not follow. Instead he walked across the yard by himself to the media people. He found the TV 4 woman with the red hair. While the feds stood waiting by the cars, he pretended to shake her hand while slipping her the audiotape of his conversation with the president.

Discretely she closed her hand around it. She pressed toward his ear. "What's this?"

"Protection for my wife and son."

"Gotcha," she said.

Then Roger went back to the Hummer and got in the back seat between Laura and Brett, the two carriers in hand.

Brown took the front seat beside the driver. Zazzaro, Pike, and another agent took to the rear.

Outside Parrish and his men stood stonefaced as they pulled away. Laura took Roger's hand. "If looks could kill," she whispered.

Roger nodded.

He was sitting directly behind Brown with the other agents behind them. Nobody said anything, but all he could think about was the firepower under the jackets of the men in back, and the naked vulnerability of their own three heads.

The Hummer fell behind police motorcycles and three escort vehicles. Behind them pulled two more FBI vehicles, and tailing the procession were several press vans forming an extensive caravan. Roger wondered how far the authorities would allow the press to dog them.

With the escorts, the trip to the heliport on the Vermont side of the Crown Point Bridge would take less than an hour.

Outside, the blanket of snow had already begun to melt.

As they proceeded to Route 10, Roger considered his gut instincts: What if, when they arrived in New York, the Feds decided to prosecute in spite of the promise? Who would stop them even with the news footage about an agreement? All they had to say was that such matters would be determined in a court of law, which had outstanding warrants for their arrest on a battery of charges beyond murder and sabotage.

What if Janet Jamal and associates apply for a patent of some production process and market Elixir?

Or if some sleazeball creep like the late Quentin Cross decides to process a few hundred ccs of his own on the side?

Or if the stuff got out like Laura's renegade Russian nukes scenario? The Antoine Ducharmes of the world were a dime a dozen.

Where was the control? Where were the watchdogs? Who would prevent the horrors from becoming global?

Then he began to raise some hard questions regarding their own future. He knew in some primitive way that he was a liability. The Feds would have to monitor a sustaining supply for him indefinitely. That was inelegant. And it was risky. It made the three of them vulnerable. And him expendable.

What if the Feds had a.38-caliber slug with his name on it-one to be put through his brain one evening while walking to his car? The papers would momentarily lament just-another-senseless-act-of-violence.

Worse-and the question he kept coming back to, the one that had been snapping at him for days: What if somebody decided to go after Brett and Laura to get at his dole?