by Shain Carter
Dawson was halfway across the lobby when Burt burst in.
"Professor Jones, great to see you,” he grinned, reaching out with his right hand.
Dawson jerked his right thumb back towards the ticket counter before Burt could grab his hand and shake it. "Looks like we won’t be going after all,” Dawson said. "The agent couldn't find either of our names in her computer, and the flight’s booked full up. Looks like the trip is off."
Burt laughed. "We’re not flying commercial. Becker had me take his private jet here. I was just out talking to the pilot and everything is ready. If we get moving we can take off before the SouthAir flight."
Dawson followed Burt out a side door and onto the tarmac. Burt pointed to a long, sleek twin-engine jet a hundred yards away. “An Airbus 319,” he shouted above the runway noise. “It’s like a corporate jet on steroids. I think you’ll enjoy the ride.”
As they approached, a man in a blue uniform ran out to them and, taking Dawson's bag, motioned them up the stairs. At the top Burt put one hand on Dawson’s shoulder and gestured with the other down towards the man.
"That's John Metz. He's our pilot."
Dawson nodded and ducked through the cabin door. The inside was surprisingly spacious and quite ornate, the walls covered with highly polished wood paneling and appointed with gold fixtures. Fine carpeting covered the floor. The front section of the plane consisted of five rows of four oversize, leather covered chairs, two on either side of a wide aisle. Beyond that was an open area, with couches arranged around three small tables. A partial divider separated the open area from a cramped galley and bar at the very back of the plane.
Dawson took a window seat on the right and Burt sat in the chair across the aisle. The pilot followed the men in and pulled the door closed behind him. With a quick wave he disappeared into the cockpit. A few minutes later they were in the air high above the University, a full fifteen minutes ahead of the SouthAir flight.
After another twenty minutes of climbing Metz leveled the plane and throttled back the engines, making the cabin quiet enough for conversing. Dawson, who had been looking around the cabin, turned to Singleton.
"I take it this Becker guy is pretty well off."
Burt giggled. "That's putting it mildly. Fortune magazine has his net worth at about 4.6 billion, although I imagine there’s some more rainy-day money stashed away in offshore accounts somewhere."
Dawson continued to take in the surroundings. He noted the paneling was trimmed with hand carved oak and the carpet looked hand woven. "What exactly does Becker do that makes him so rich?"
Burt chuckled again. "Mainly have the right family. His great-great grandfather came to America from Ireland in the middle part of the 1800’s. After a couple of business failures he got gold fever and headed out to Colorado. When he didn’t find any gold, he changed tactics. He set up an assay shop to analyze ore that the miners were bringing in. It was a great deal for him - everyone paid whether they actually found gold or not. Business was great, and he, then his son and later his grandson-in-law, expanded into the analytical instruments business. The company grew and was eventually sold off in the mid 1950’s for a small fortune. Becker’s dad was a shrewd businessman and turned that small fortune into a huge one. Business savvy must run in the family - Derek himself is pretty well known in high level financial circles as a guy who makes amazingly good stock picks. He has quite a following, in fact. He’s practically a celebrity in the investment community. And, as far as his fortune goes, it also helped that along the way his forebears had small families - just one kid each, until Derek, who has two. That kept the money from getting diluted each generation.”
“So he’s basically a rich guy who sits just around doing nothing?”
“Rich? Very. Sits around doing nothing? Only if you mean he doesn’t have a paying job. He spends his time taking up all sorts of social causes. He bankrolled a lot of the dolphin-free tuna campaign and has been a part of other environmental protests - everything from making his own documentary on global warming, to chaining himself to a tree in British Columbia, to single handedly saving the Yapship snail. He’s also an amateur paleontologist, as you’ll see this afternoon. If we have time you should ask him to show you his fossils from the Jurassic period. It’s quite a collection.”
“You seem to be pretty chummy with the guy. How’d you get to be working for him?”
Burt shook his head. “Oh, I’m not actually working for him, I’m still with the EPA. I’m on loan to Becker as sort of a personal favor from Seymour Jackson, Becker’s senator. They seem to be on very good terms, and when Becker asked Jackson for some scientific help, Jackson sent him to me. We know each other from some Superfund work I did in Jackson’s district a few years back.”
Burt spent the next twenty minutes baiting Dawson with little bits of information about the program, hoping, apparently, to arouse Jones’ interest. Dawson was told that there would be a total of seven people involved. First, and most obviously, was Derek himself. He was funding the program and so would be its official leader. However, his scientific background was limited at best, so the actual technical direction would come from two advisors. Burt was one - his main responsibility was to assemble the right team. The other was a geologist from Turkey. He would provide the team with a place to work and outfit them with any equipment they would need. The actual research itself would be done by four scientists: Dawson; an astrophysicist from the Keck astronomical observatory in Hawaii; a recently retired NASA aerospace engineer; and a nuclear engineer from a large engineering school on the West Coast.
If Burt was hoping he could tease some interest into Dawson, he was wrong. Dawson quickly grew weary of him and walked back to the service counter for some breakfast. Burt followed him back, and the two had a few croissants. Before returning to their seats Dawson poured a tumbler full of twenty-year-old scotch from the bar.
For Dawson, the remainder of the trip was unexpectedly pleasant. After returning to their seats, the two said very little. Burt pulled out some papers he had brought along and read through them while Dawson stared out the window at the clouds below. Despite himself, Dawson found his thoughts kept coming back to the eclectic combination of scientists that Becker was pulling together. He couldn’t imagine what sort of program they would all be working on, nor how he was expected to contribute to it.
Dawson soon dozed off and didn’t wake again until the plane had landed and taxied to a stop. Burt shook him, and as Dawson roused himself he took a quick look out the windows on either side of the plane. He found that they were in a long, narrow valley. The runway went straight through the valley center, and a quarter mile away on either side were low, forest covered hills. In the distance a range of snow covered mountains shimmered in the midday sun.
In the time it took Dawson to stand and stretch, Metz had opened the door and a van had pulled onto the tarmac next to them. The driver loaded Burt’s and Dawson’s luggage into the back of the van and ushered the men inside. Already the jet was beginning to taxi to the far end of the runway.
“Metz is going to the Helena airport,” Burt shouted above the roar of the jet engines. “He’ll be picking up two of the scientists who came in on commercial flights. The fourth scientist came in last night.”
For twenty minutes the van took them on a windy route up and over the tree covered hills. At last they pulled out of a tight grove of spruce, and a wide, grass covered plain opened before them. The mountain range Jones had seen from the plane rose spectacularly in the distance.
Before them, a half mile away, stood a small compound dominated by a large central U-shaped building. As they got closer Dawson could see that the central section was three stories high, with large columns and ornate brickwork. Coming out on one side was a four car garage, and on the other a glass enclosed indoor swimming pool with a twenty foot high ceiling. A large pool and fountain, surrounded by a beautifully landscaped flower and shrub garden, occupied the central courtyard.
The van pulled through a wrought iron entrance and circled around the courtyard garden on a cobblestone drive, stopping at to the front entrance to the building. An authentic English butler, complete with a dark suit, white gloves and prim accent, stiffly welcomed the two men and ushered them through the front door. He walked them through the foyer and into a large dining room. A maid was busily clearing lunch dishes, but when Burt and Dawson came in she quickly put out two place settings and brought them a platter of sandwiches and some soup. The men eagerly helped themselves to the food.
When they were done Burt folded his hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair. “We have a little time to kill before the others arrive. How about a swim?”
Dawson shrugged, and Burt led him down a long hallway to a changing room next to the indoor pool. Once inside Burt grabbed a black suit from a hook on the wall. Dawson noticed that Burt’s initials were monogrammed in gold across the right leg.
“You can get a pair of trunks from there.” Burt pointed to a wooden cabinet on the wall. Inside Dawson found a collection of variously sized swimsuits neatly arranged in labeled compartments. Each one was wrapped in plastic and appeared to be unused. Dawson chose one that fit and changed, and the two walked out to the pool deck together.
Dawson saw surprised to find that two men were already there. One lounged motionlessly in a hot tub immediately to their left; the other man stood at the far end of the Olympic sized swimming pool. On seeing Dawson and Burt, he gave a shout and a quick wave, then dove into the water and began swimming towards them.
Burt motioned towards the man in the hot tub. The man’s most striking feature was his color - or lack thereof. His face was sickly white, and the rest of his body showed the same pallor, as if he’d never seen the sun. His head was tipped back, resting on the side of the tub rim, his eyes were closed. He had short, mostly white hair that showed evidence of once having been red. He wore black, thick-framed glasses that, Dawson noted with amusement, were held together at the bridge with electrical tape. Dawson guessed that the man was in his early 70’s.
“That’s Alec McPherson,” Burt said. “He’s the proverbial rocket scientist. He began his career building solid rocket boosters at Morton Thiokol, then moved over to the military, designing missile delivery motors. He worked there for thirty-five years, until health problems forced him to retire earlier this year. Something to do with an imbalance in his blood chemistry.”
With a great deal of splashing the other man reached the near end of the pool and hauled himself out of the water. He was a small, dark, athletic man. His eyes, like his skin, were dark brown. Jet-black hair hung in disheveled wet strands across his face. His thick black mustache had the neglected look of an overgrown garden. Something was oddly asymmetric about the man's face, and when he pushed his hair back from his face Dawson saw that his right eyebrow was missing. In its place was a jagged, angry looking scar.
The man walked the few steps over to the two men and thrust his hand out to Dawson, bowing slightly. “This is Ghazi Akbar,” Burt told Dawson.
“Please,” Akbar said as he lifted his head, “just call me George. And you must be Professor Jones, the chemist we’ve heard so much about.”
“Yes,” Dawson replied dryly, “I must be.”
George let out a loud, deep laugh. “Very well, then! It must be my genuine pleasure to be working with you.”
With another laugh he turned, stepped to the edge of the pool and dove in.
“George is the other advisor,” Burt explained as Akbar surfaced and breast stroked towards the far side of the pool. “He’s the one in charge of getting your labs and equipment.”
Burt motioned to the pool. “Shall we?” he asked.
Dawson shook his head. “The hot tub is more my speed. Especially after eating.” Burt nodded and stepped over to the pool as Dawson climbed into the tub. Alec stirred as he did so, then opened one eye and gazed lazily at Dawson. With effort he pulled a hand from the water and gave a half wave.
“Alec McPherson,” the man said. He had an Irish accent, and said the words so softly that they nearly disappeared in the cavernous room. Dawson replied with his name as Alec’s hand dropped limply into the water. Alec tipped his head back against the tub edge and closed his eyes again.
For the next two hours Dawson was content to sit in the hot tub with the sleeping Alec while George and Burt alternated between swimming laps and resting in the tub. Dawson noticed with some surprise that Burt, like George, was in excellent shape, and watched amused at one point as the two men held an impromptu race. Burt had never impressed Dawson as being competitive, but he took the contest very seriously, as did George. They swam at full speed for several laps until George finally pulled up exhausted to the side of the pool and conceded defeat to Burt with a weak smile.
Being surrounded on three sides by glass, the pool had the feeling of being more outside than in. From where he was sitting, Dawson had an excellent view of the open valley and mountains beyond in one direction, and the central courtyard and the garage in the other. Just as Dawson was beginning to wonder whether they would spend the entire day doing nothing, the van pulled up the cobblestone driveway and stopped at the front door, only twenty yards from where Jones sat. The van side-door slid open, and a man and a woman spilled out.
The man was young, perhaps in his late twenties. He was average height, with long brown hair parted in the center. He wore dark sunglasses and when he smiled looked quite handsome - practically movie star material, Dawson thought, except that he lacked any grace or poise. He was so eager to exit the van that he nearly lost his balance, but recovered with an unexpected quickness just in time to avoid a spill.
The woman was a good fifteen years older than the man. She wore her blond, shoulder length hair pushed back behind her ears, and a pleasant smile shone on her face. Large hoop earrings poked through her hair, but otherwise she didn’t seem to be wearing any jewelry or make-up. Overall, she was what many people would consider plain, although to Dawson she had a subtle, natural attractiveness.
Burt had just climbed out of the pool and was walking to the hot tub. He followed Dawson’s gaze out the window.
“Ahh, the others are here at last,” he said, more to himself than to Dawson. He reached down and gently shook Alec’s shoulder. “Time to get up. We’ll be meeting with Becker shortly.”
Alec looked from Burt to Dawson and back again, then nodded and slowly climbed out of the tub. As Alec shuffled off, Burt called to George. George hopped out of the pool and followed Alec to the changing room.
Dawson looked back out the window at the two newcomers. By now they had come around to the front door and the butler was greeting them. After a short exchange the butler turned and walked towards the front door. The man and woman stood awkwardly for a moment as they both motioned for the other to go first. Finally, the man broke the impasse. Smiling broadly, he bounded after the butler. The woman followed more slowly, taking a quick look around before entering.
Dawson pulled himself out of the hot tub and nodded towards the window. “The astronomer and the nuclear engineer?” he asked Burt.
“Right. The man is Professor Ted Krezler, from the University of Hawaii astrophysics department. Their youngest faculty member, in fact. He did his Ph.D. thesis on navigational mechanics for interplanetary spacecraft. For the last two years he’s been calculating optimal trajectories for several interplanetary probes that NASA will use to intercept comets and asteroids. He has tricks for getting probes where they need to be, when they need to be, using the absolutely least amount of fuel possible.
“The woman is Professor Meredith Nelson from the California Institute of Engineering. Her specialty is nuclear reactor design, and Becker brought her here because she’s the world’s leading authority on reactor fuel configuration. You tell her the types and amounts of radioactive materials you have, and she’ll tell you what shapes to form them into and how to arrange the pieces to optimize safe energy productio
n.”
Dawson and Burt walked to the changing room. Alec was still there, slowly pulling on his clothes, but George was already gone. Burt and Dawson showered quickly and changed. Dawson followed Burt back past the dining room, then down another long hallway to a large library on a back corner of the house. Picture windows filled two of the walls; floor-to-ceiling bookshelves covered the other two.
Chapter Four
As they entered a screen was unrolling from the ceiling. As it did so, it suddenly flickered and then turned blue. Dawson realized that it was a flexible LED monitor, the largest he had ever seen.
The others were already seated at a long table in the center of the room. Alec was on the near side of the table, slouching so low that Dawson could only see the top of his head above the chair back. Ted Krezler and Meredith Nelson, the newcomers, sat across from Alec, at roughly the midpoint of the table. Meredith was prettier up close than from a distance, Dawson noticed. She glanced up and smiled good naturedly to Burt and Dawson as they entered, her bright white teeth nicely complemented by a few light brown freckles on her pale face. Ted was turned, looking past Meredith and toward the head of the table, where George was sitting. A tall, hulky man stood next to George, hunched over a notebook computer. He was busy connecting and disconnecting cables from the back of the laptop. Every few seconds he looked back at a blue screen against the wall behind him, swore, then rerouted the cables. George tried to help him at one point, but the man only scowled at him.
“Becker?” Dawson whispered to Burt, motioning towards the man. Burt nodded.
