"Can you photograph this pattern?"
"I already have. It is a time exposure, without the flash, so there is some blurring. But, yes, I have it."
"Good," Julio said. "Because this is a genetic change. Let's review the visitor log, and see who might have done this."
CHapter 048
Josh."It was his mother, on the phone.
"Yes, Mom."
"I thought you should know. You remember Lois Graham's son, Eric, who was on heroin? There's been a terrible tragedy. He died."
Josh gave a long sigh. He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. "How?"
"In a car crash. But then they did the autopsy or whatever. Eric had a fatal heart attack. He was twenty-one, Josh."
"Was it in the family? Some congenital thing?"
"No. Eric's father lives in Switzerland; he's sixty-four. He climbs mountains. And Lois is fine. Of course she's crushed. We're all crushed."
Josh said nothing.
"Things were going so well for Eric. He was off drugs, he had a new job, he'd applied to go back to school in the fall...he was getting bald, was the only thing. People thought he'd had chemo. He'd lost so much hair. And he walked stooped over. Josh? Are you there?"
"I'm here."
"I saw him last week. He looked like an old man."
Josh said nothing.
"The family's sitting. You ought to go."
"I'll try."
"Josh. Your brother looks old, too."
"I know."
"I tried to tell him it was like his father. To cheer him up. But Adam just looksso old. "
"I know."
"What's going on?" she said. "What have you done to him?"
"What haveI done?"
"Yes, Josh. You gave these people some gene. Or whatever that spray was. And they're getting old."
"Mom. Adam did it to himself. He sucked down the spray himself because he thought it'd get him high. I wasn't even with him at the time. And you asked me to give the spray to Lois Graham's son."
"I don't know how you could think such a thing."
"You called me up."
"Josh, you're being ridiculous. Why would I call? I don't know anything about your work.You calledme , and asked where Eric lived. And you asked me not to tell his mother. That's what I remember."
Josh said nothing. He pressed the tips of his fingers against his closed eyes until he saw bright patterns. He wanted to escape. He wanted to leave this office, this company. He wanted none of this to be true.
"Mom," he said finally. "This could be very serious." He was thinking that he could go to jail.
"Of course it's serious. I'm very frightened now, Josh. What's going to happen? Am I going to lose my son?"
"I don't know, Mom. I hope not."
"I think there's a chance," she said. "Because I called up the Levines in Scarsdale. They're already old, the two of them. Past sixty. And they sounded just fine. Helen said she was never better. George is playing a lot of golf."
"That's good," he said.
"So maybe they're okay."
"I think so."
"Then maybe Adam will be okay, too."
"I really hope so, Mom. I really do."
He got off the phone. Of course the Levines were fine. He had sent sterile saline in the spray tubes. They hadn't gotten the gene. He wasn't about to send his experimental genes to some people in New York he didn't know.
And if this gave his mother hope, then fine. Keep it that way.
Because right now, Josh didn't hold out much hope. Not for his brother. And ultimately not for himself.
He was going to have to tell Rick Diehl. But not now. Not right now.
Chapter 49-53
CHapter 049
Gail Bond'shusband, Richard, the investment banker, often worked late entertaining important clients. And none was more important than the American sitting across the table from him now: Barton Williams, the famous Cleveland investor.
"You want a surprise for your wife, Barton?" Richard Bond said. "I believe I have just the thing."
Hunched down over the dinner table, Williams looked up with only slight interest. Barton Williams was seventy-five, and closely resembled a toad. He had a jowly, droopy face with large pores, a broad, flat nose, and bug eyes. His habit of placing his arms flat on the table and resting his chin on his fingers made him look even more like a toad. In fact, he was resting an arthritic neck, since he disliked wearing a brace. He felt it made him look old.
He could lie flat on the table, as far as Richard Bond was concerned. Williams was old enough and rich enough to do whatever he wanted, and what he had always wanted, all his life, was women. Despite age and appearance, he continued to have them in prodigious quantities, at all times of day. Richard had arranged for several women to drop by the table at the end of the meal. They would be members of his staff, dropping off papers for him. Or old girlfriends, coming by for a kiss and an introduction. A few would be other diners, admirers of the great investor, and so dazzled they had to come and meet him.
None of this fooled Barton Williams, but it amused him, and he expected his business partners to go to a little trouble for him. When you were worth ten billion dollars, people made an effort to keep you happy. That was how it worked. He viewed it as a tribute.
Yet at this particular moment, more than anything else, Barton Williams wanted to placate his wife of forty years. For inexplicable reasons, Evelyn, at age sixty, was suddenly dissatisfied with her marriage and with Barton's endless escapades, as she referred to them.
A present would help. "But it better be damn good," Barton said. "She's accustomed to everything. Villas in France, yachts in Sardinia, jewelry from Winston, chefs flown in from Rome for her dog's birthday. That's the problem. I can't buy her off anymore. She's sixty and jaded."