Elixir

by Davis Bunn

  TAYLOR CAUGHT A SECOND WAVE. AND A THIRD. AFTER the fourth wave, the paddle out caused stabbing pains in his shoulders and arms. When he came upright on his board and the adrenaline surge from the last wave and the race for safety diminished, his body could not shake off the water’s chill. He hungered for more, but to stay out when he was growing so fatigued meant risking serious injury.

  He sat through the next set, just reveling in the day. The sun caught each wave and transformed it into a peak of burnished gold. As the wave fell, the feathering lip sent back a sheet of spray that formed earthbound rainbows. The cliffside was packed now with families. Old men leaned and pointed at the breaking waves with their canes. Mothers pushed strollers; young lovers ate sorbet and took in the spectacle. It was an utterly French scene, flavored with the Basque spices of explosive nature and craggy cliffs and Monet’s sunlight.

  The day’s final wave was the largest Taylor had ever ridden. He made long sweeping turns, flying from crest to pit and back again. He rode with his back to the face now, headed for the northern beach. When the inside segment started to form up, the entire wave crested together. A closeout was something to avoid at all costs here. He had no idea what the bottom was like, but he suspected the same boulders that littered the beach were also underwater. He flipped off the back of the wave and slipped onto his board, pointed seaward.

  He came up in the eerie calm between sets. It was tempting to remain where he was and not sever the aquatic umbilical cord tying him to the day. But he knew the calm was a myth. The ocean was not tranquil. The force was merely gathering for the next eruption. He flipped his board around and headed toward shore.

  That was when Taylor saw the attacker.

  Where the surfer’s path jinked in its climb up the cliffside, a rock ledge jutted seaward. The shooter tried to mask himself behind a stunted pine. But the tree was too small, and the shooter’s position left half his body exposed. The rifle barrel looked as big as a cannon.

  The first shot ripped open the water not three feet from him. The boom rolled down just as the man pumped the bolt action.

  Taylor dove hard for the bottom.

  The second bullet struck his board. He heard the crack of fiberglass exploding above his head. The bottom was lost beneath a cloud of silt dislodged by the waves. He found the seabed by colliding with a rock the size of a van. Taylor grabbed a handhold and listened to three more deadly chimes plunking overhead.

  He had to get to shore. His board was demolished. The next set was coming. The attacker would be waiting for him. And he was running out of air.

  Taylor felt the world shift slightly. Just a gentle tug about his body, scarcely enough to pull at his position clutching the rock. But he knew what it signaled. His time was up.

  He reached for his ankle and released the leash connecting him to the remnants of his board. Using the rock as a base, he kicked off shoreward. The seabed came up fast here. He skirted another rock, then made for the surface.

  He exploded into the shooter’s view, gasping hard. Thankfully the shooter was searching over to his right, where the board bobbed in four pieces. Taylor grabbed two quick lungfuls and a single glimpse of the next incoming set. Then he dove, chased by another bullet.

  The next wave tumbled him like he was caught in a gritty washing machine. Taylor smacked an underwater boulder so hard his arm went numb. But when the wave passed, he was able to twist about and find the bottom and stand. His head emerged through the froth. He was in neck-deep water. The next wave bore down with teeth of salt and foam. He could not afford a glance behind. The shooter would just have to wait his turn. He gulped air and ducked, gripping the nearest rock with his good arm.

  The wave dislodged Taylor and shoved him shoreward. The next collision punched the air from his chest. When he came up again, he knew something wasn’t right. Taking a breath stabbed him hard. He glanced shoreward and was cheered to see locals leaning over the cliffside edge and pointing down at the shooter’s perch. A glance seaward was also reassuring, for riding the next wave in was Kenny, the Englishman. He was aiming straight for Taylor, but his gaze was on the shooter. As Taylor ducked under the incoming wave, he decided Kenny’s arrival was both good and bad. Good, because it gave the shooter more to think about.

  Bad, because Kenny seemed unsurprised by the shooter. Which meant he was on to Taylor and his mission.

  Taylor tried to wedge himself between two smallish rocks. But the wave was too much for him in his present state. The wash dislodged him and tumbled him further inland. His head struck a stone. He felt a blinding pain and saw a sweeping wash of stars. The last sound Taylor heard was the music of bullets drilling into the water about him. His final thought was how sad it seemed to finally want to learn, only to have it all come too late.

  Then he was struck yet again, and the entire world went away for good.

  chapter 2

  ELEVEN DAYS EARLIER, TAYLOR KNOX HAD ARRIVED at the Annapolis lab where he worked to discover that the rumors were indeed true. His nightmare was about to begin.

  The front glass door sighed open to reveal the receptionist crying so hard she could not answer the phone. His coworkers walked aimlessly and spoke in muted tones, clearly awaiting news of their own demise. Taylor skipped the morning crush by the elevator and took the stairs. He had no interest in being doused in others’ misery on a Monday morning.

  Annapolis had two very distinct faces. The red-brick streets of the harbor region and historic old town were collectively known as Millionaire’s Row. The city’s western side was a different story. Western Annapolis was gradually spreading to merge with Crofton. And Crofton was dangerously close to northeast Washington. Northeast Washington was gang territory. Northeast Washington was why the capital had the nation’s highest murder rate. Taylor’s company, a medium-sized producer of specialty eye medicines, was located in an industrial park in Annapolis’s western borderlands.

  Taylor stood by his office window, looking out beyond the new high-tech buildings to where the sprawl began. He could walk out the front door, go five blocks west, and buy a fully automatic Uzi with explosive bullets. He found the prospect tempting. Five minutes past nine and the day was already that bad. There was a knock on his open door. The division’s lone secretary asked, “Did you hear?”

  “I heard.”

  “You don’t look surprised.”

  “Why should I be?” Taylor remained focused on the smoggy sunlight beyond his window. “The buzz has been going around for weeks.”

  “They’ve called a confab downstairs in the auditorium. Five minutes.”

  “You go ahead.”

  “This was more in the way of a direct command.”

  Each lab team was assigned one secretary. On paper, Allison Wright was supposed to work for everybody. But the division’s lab techies had no idea how to deal with someone as stunningly beautiful as Allison. Her first two weeks in the office, they hounded her every movement. Allison responded with a laser glare and an arctic tone. Allison Wright clearly had a problem with male tribal habits. But she was also an excellent secretary, one Taylor had no interest in losing. So Taylor had intervened, letting it be known that techies were easier to replace than this particular secretary. He had eventually overcome Allison’s distrust by ignoring it. She was a single mom raising a gorgeous four-year-old and trying hard to forget a man who had never been satisfied with what he had at home. The techies didn’t know any of this because Allison didn’t want sympathy. She wanted a chance. Taylor made no objections when the child needed her. He arranged training funds so Allison could attend university night classes. In return, Allison ignored the way the techies tracked her every move, flooded her e-mail with illicit suggestions, and referred to her as the division’s ice goddess.

  The chief scientist of Taylor’s team met him in the hallway. “You heard?”

  “Too much.”

  “You know them?”

  “Not the company. The family.”

  “Is the
lady as bad as they say?”

  Taylor only accelerated. The scientist called after him, “Should I be dusting off my résumé?”

  Inside the auditorium, he chose to isolate himself among strangers. But the talk among them was the same as he had been hearing from his own team.

  The lights died and the chatter with it. Gerald Gowers, the company chairman, entered the spot over the podium. “I guess there’s no need to tell you yesterday’s news. You folks are just too sharp for me. Which I suppose is why we’re such an outstanding team.”

  Taylor had met the CEO a few times. Most of the techies spoke of Gowers with respect. He was a nice enough guy for somebody holding the corporate ax. “A team,” the chairman repeated. “That’s what we are and what we will remain. The Revell Corporation is not acquiring us to cut out our heart. Revell wants us because we are the best at what we do. And we’re the best for one reason only. That reason is you. So don’t treat this as a threat, either to your positions or your projects. Revell needs you. Revell wants you.

  “You know the situation we’re facing. We’re minnows swimming with the sharks. For us to survive in today’s pharmaceutical market, we need size we don’t have. We need to ally ourselves with a giant. My team has spent over a year searching for the perfect fit. We are convinced this partner should be Revell.” He turned and nodded at a woman seated behind him. “Let me introduce Harriet Waters, senior vice president of Revell. I ask that you pay careful attention to what she has to say.”

  Gowers was replaced at the podium by a middle-aged woman with a perky bounce to her every movement. Even before she opened her mouth, Taylor knew that sending her as the company rep had been a bad mistake. She might work as a conduit to the executives. But techies were a peculiar breed. They could smell corporate doublespeak a mile away.

  “We within the Revell family are just so happy to welcome you on board.” She paused for a huge smile. Harriet Waters wore a shiny lavender suit, a white shirt, and an oversized crimson bow tie. She looked like a leftover Christmas package. “We like to think of ourselves as a great big happy clan, everyone pulling together to further the company aim. Which is to supply the best possible product each time, every time.”

  The entire row in front of Taylor sank lower in their seats. Harriet Waters began a glitzy show and tell projected on the big screen at the back of the stage, complete with a soundtrack of happy-sappy music and video tours of all nine Revell factories. The smallest Revell lab was twice the size of Taylor’s entire company. Which of course left everyone swallowing hard over the realization of just how easy it would be for Revell to absorb, digest, and expel.

  Taylor was approaching thirty years old, far too young to be stamped as expendable. He was the only guy on his team who was not a scientist. Taylor’s title was project manager, a fancy name for a bean counter. His job was to keep tabs on the company’s dime. His team liked Taylor because he was square with them, and because he watched their backs with the execs on the top floors.

  The video presentation shifted to a head shot of Revell’s chairman, Amanda Revell, daughter of the company’s founder. Taylor could not hide his wince. The woman gave the camera as close to a smile as she could muster and said, “My name is Amanda Revell. Let me take this opportunity to welcome you to our company. Revell has a long and proud history of leading the way in numerous fields of pharmaceutical research. We currently sell a number of best-selling products, including the two most prescribed drugs in the world.”

  The smile slowly slipped away, as though the effort of holding it in place was too much. Or perhaps it was simply that she did not care enough to try. “I am confident that your group will help us bring to market the newest and the best. And you will do so on time and on budget.”

  The auditorium gave a collective shudder as the screen went blank. They knew the score. The scientists had been trading e-mails with their counterparts at Revell’s labs. Revell’s lab rats and techies all loathed Amanda Revell. She was a spiteful, rapacious executive with a reputation for cutting off projects that did not perform on time. She dressed in mannish dark suits and talked with a low burr. Revell’s lab staff called her the Drag King.

  Harriet Waters returned to the podium with a cheerleader’s excited little hop. “Isn’t she the greatest?” She paused, as though waiting for the gathering to rise and give a Japanese-style company cheer. “Well, I for one am thrilled to be working for such a dynamic executive. Because of her, Revell remains a cuttingedge corporate leader that goes from strength to strength in a highly competitive field. And I am certain that once you are a member of the Revell team, you will feel exactly the same.”

  Taylor doubted that sincerely. He for one would not be given the time. As soon as Amanda Revell was in charge, Taylor’s career was toast. Amanda had loathed him for years.

  THE SECRETARY’S STATION WAS SUPPOSED TO BE AT THE base of the glass wall separating the administrative section from the lab. But work had tended to suffer whenever Allison was visible. So the chief scientist had semivolunteered to take the public desk and give Allison the office next to Taylor’s. Taylor had merely pointed out that the alternatives, either missing project due dates or losing Allison, were equally unthinkable.

  As Taylor was leaving for lunch, Allison hung up her phone and waved him over. “You’re wanted in the sponsor’s box.”

  The sponsor’s box was what the techies called the top-floor executive suites. “Did they say why?”

  “They don’t tell the help anything. You should know that by now. You want me to call around?”

  “I guess not.”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing.” He just hadn’t expected his dismissal to come this fast.

  Allison tended to wear office outfits as severe as her expression. Today’s suit was a midnight blue of modest cut. A creamy silk blouse flickered into view as she shifted behind her desk. She often hid such feminine traces beneath dark armor. Taylor was the only office male on whom Allison did not turn the chilling edge of her voice and gaze. Taylor had no intention of ever trying to make time with Allison, which of course was why she trusted him even a little. Taylor already knew too much about beautiful women forced to barricade themselves against further wounds.

  Allison said, “If the bad stuff is about to start, I’d rather hear about it from you than some top-floor hangman with his silk noose.”

  “I’m not being called upstairs because of you or the team.” Taylor pulled his jacket off the hanger and slipped it on. “They’re gunning for me.”

  “That’s insane.” When Taylor did not respond, she added, “You run the highest performing team in the company.”

  “Doesn’t change a thing. Wish me luck.”

  Allison waited until he was at the door to reply. “I’ll go one better. Come by tonight and I’ll fix you dinner.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You strike me as a serious meat eater.” Her normally steady gaze flittered about the room like a captured bird. “I cook a very mean steak.”

  Allison was a year or so older than him, and lovely as a rose in the final flush of full bloom. But now that her features had thawed, her eyes held a world of experience, the kind that left her wounded even when she tried to smile.

  Taylor replied, “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

  She lowered her voice. “We’re not talking commitment here, Taylor. I left those expectations behind a long time ago.”

  Today her chestnut hair was worn loose and spilling over one shoulder. The strands beckoned him to brush them away from her ivory neck. But the absence of hope in both her eyes and her voice stabbed deep. “Which is why I shouldn’t stop by.”

  “Is that a definite?”

  “I’m afraid so. But thanks.”

  “Not even for a drink?”

  “I’m just flesh and blood, Allison. We both know it wouldn’t end there.”

  Her expression held the sadness of a billion lies and lonely nights, and all
the mistakes other guys like him had already made. “You always were too good to be true.”

  Taylor rolled off the door and headed out. Shame he couldn’t live up to what she thought of him. But there was no reason to burst another lady’s bubble by saying so.

  TAYLOR USED THE ELEVATOR’S MIRRORED WALLS TO TAKE stock. He had been described as handsome and charming and magnetic often enough to accept them as true. His features were Mediterranean in a darkly balanced manner. He stared back at eyes lit by a slight and unfocused fire and asked the inevitable question. Why had he refused Allison’s invitation? The answer was as poorly hidden as his scars. He had been down that road too often. The next morning’s dust was already gathered in his mouth.

  To Taylor’s surprise, the secretary ushered him straight into the chairman’s private office. The goodwill Gowers had shown from the podium was gone. Instead he was tight, nervous, and suspicious. “You Taylor Knox?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Thought I recognized you.” He pointed Taylor to a chair. “You’ve got thirty seconds to tell me exactly what your connection is to the merger.”

  “None.”

  “Don’t give me that.” Gowers’s out-of-season tan was stretched white around his eyes and mouth. “I should’ve known Revell would plant spies in my staff.”

  “Sir, that’s not how things are.”

  “You have to do better than that.”

  Gowers’s secretary knocked and announced, “They’re ready for you.”

  “Right.” Gowers bolted to his feet, waving Taylor to follow. “Let’s go.”

  Taylor ignored the pair of mid-level corporate types who swung in behind them. “The first definite word I had about the merger was this morning’s announcement.”

  The chairman took the stairs and headed up. “So you won’t even do me the courtesy of an honest answer.”