Miracle Man

by William R. Leibowitz

  With a hand on each side of his face, she said, “Bobby—I’m never going to lose you again.”

  He placed his hands on top of hers and kissed her on the forehead. “I know I scared you and Susan. But you have no idea what I’m up against. I have to go to a whole different place to fight this battle. An alternate state of mind. It’s the only chance I have to win. What I’m fighting is too powerful.”

  Christina pressed her head against Bobby’s chest. She didn’t want to think he was crazy. “You do what you have to do. I’ll be right next to you.”

  For the next fifteen months, every day was a struggle for Bobby as he worked on TB and AA simultaneously. Christina stayed close at hand—her presence being his anchor, the life-line that would pull him back when he drifted too far for too long. It was a daily challenge for her to keep him mentally present and physically healthy. Nights were a terrible ordeal, as Christina tried to navigate him through his frequent night terrors so he could get some sleep. She was grateful that she was able to divert him a few times a week away from the lab, but even then she found him distracted as his mind was constantly working, like a computer that was always processing information. Susan had increased Bobby’s lab staff to over eighty people, most of them working in the Tufts laboratories, as that many hands were needed to keep up with Bobby’s genetic programming of the anti-TB phages.

  A little less than eighteen months after Christina had first returned, she saw a look of contentment come across his face as he sat in front of a large computer monitor. Smiling broadly, his eyes gleamed.

  “Bobby—are you watching porn? Why do you look so happy?” She came over to him and looked over his shoulder. On the monitor were highly magnified pictures of cells in the midst of innumerable tiny particles.

  He pointed to the minute dust-like grains. “That’s all that’s left of the TB bacteria. It’s done, Christina. It works.”

  Calvin Perrone told Susan that things had changed in Washington. He didn’t know why –but they had changed. There was now a contingent of powerful bureaucrats and congressmen who felt that Washington needed to pull-back on its unwavering endorsement of Austin. Perrone’s sources indicated that the Justice Department was about to launch an anti-trust investigation on Bobby’s drug company, Uniserve, and the FDA was going to be more rigid in its approval process on Austin’s discoveries. When Susan relayed this to Bobby, he was crestfallen. After the intensity of his work, he couldn’t allow the TB vaccine to become bogged down in political maneuverings, not when a person dies from TB every second and the disease was just a few years away from becoming the new bubonic plague.

  68

  It was a sparkling spring day in Boston. One of those early May days that’s so unseasonably warm that everyone sheds clothes as they linger outdoors aimlessly. The Tufts campus was ablaze with the raucous blossoms of cherry, pear and magnolia trees. Students were sprawled all over the lawns—eating, playing acoustic guitar, sunning themselves and making out unabashedly. As a gleaming black Suburban SUV with dark tinted windows drove slowly through the pedestrian mall, students begrudgingly got out of its way, wondering why the vehicle was being permitted to invade their space. When its doors opened in front of one of the university buildings, seven people piled out—-the first five were CIA agents, the last two were Christina and Bobby, who were encircled by the agents.

  Bobby knew that to counter the political machinations brewing in Washington he had to get word out about the TB vaccine so that there would be a groundswell of public awareness and excitement. He had decided to do something he had avoided his whole life. Susan made the arrangements, working closely with Dean Walterberg. The presentation would take place in the largest lecture hall of the Tufts Medical School. The chief science correspondents from the New York Times, the Washington Post, the London Times, Reuters, and Associated Press, were invited, with the caveat that no cameras were permitted. Also invited were the heads of the most important world health organizations and the directors of every nation’s leading research hospitals. None of the invited knew who would be in attendance or what the purpose of the meeting was, but they were promised that it would be an event of major significance that warranted their presence. Having reconciled with Perrone, Susan called upon him to arrange security for the event.

  Once all of the invitees passed the security protocols and checked their cell phones and PDAs, the doors to the hall were closed. Always smooth and charming, Dean Walterberg thanked everyone for attending on such short notice and then, almost matter of factly said, “It is my great pleasure to introduce to you a person I’ve been honored to know for over twenty years, Dr. Robert James Austin.”

  A gasp arose from the stunned audience. This was beyond unexpected. It wasn’t even plausible. A public appearance by Bobby, with the media present no less, was unprecedented. None of them had ever even seen a photograph of him. A nervous energy careened through the hall. At first, people craned their necks in anticipation. Then they began to stand. Many left their seats and stood in the aisles. Others crammed forward toward the stage. The hall grew loud. Bobby let go of Christina’s hand. As he left the comfortable anonymity of the back-stage area and walked into the glare of the stage lights, anyone who wasn’t yet standing stood up immediately. An odd silence fell over the room as the esteemed audience stared at the greatest scientist who had ever lived.

  When Bobby reached the podium, he looked out at the standing, silent audience. He shifted nervously from foot to foot. Opening his notes, he cleared his throat and said, “Thank you for coming.”

  Someone yelled out loudly, “Bravo Maestro.”

  That was all that was needed for decorum to break-down and pandemonium to break out. The audience erupted into frenetic applause and shout-outs. The attendees’ faces beamed like those of young children at Disneyland first encountering life-size Mickeys and Donalds. Bobby blushed a deep red and shifted uneasily, looking anxiously to the off-side of the stage where Christina stood. Several times, he tried to quiet the audience down and begin his presentation, but the audience wasn’t having it. It took a full ten minutes for them to wear themselves out and sit down.

  When a large projection screen was lowered and time-lapse videos were shown of the phages Bobby had created, the presentation reached its dramatic climax. The audience saw the entire process of destruction unfold. First Bobby’s phages identified the TB cells, ignoring human cells. Then they injected their DNA into them. Next, the TB cells began to swell, looking increasingly distorted and grotesque, until they finally burst into countless tiny fragments, thereby releasing thousands of new predatory phages, each of which went on to continue the assault on the disease. The videos showed the process repeatedly, and the faces of the audience registered their amazement.

  A powerfully built figure reached out from the recesses of the back stage area and grasped Christina’s arm from behind. Startled, she swung around.

  “Ms. Moore, I want to thank you.”

  “Who are you?” Christina asked as she looked into the coal black eyes bearing down on her.

  “Orin Varneys.”

  Christina caught her breath as she realized that the architect of so many things stood inches from her. “What are you thanking me for, Mr. Varneys?” she asked uneasily.

  He pointed to the stage. “For rescuing our boy. For making today possible.”

  As they both looked outward to the stage as Bobby proceeded with a question and answer session, Christina noticed the subtle smile on Varneys face.

  “He is so spectacular,” she said, unconsciously emphasizing each word as she gazed at Bobby.

  “He always was. Right from the beginning,” replied Varneys.

  They watched Bobby dazzle the audience. After a few minutes, Varneys said, “It’s important to me that you know I never intended to hurt either of you.”

  “I’m over all of that. What matt
ers is that we found each other. Without you, that never would have happened.” Christina turned to face Varneys.

  He was already gone.

  The presentation had exactly the effect that Bobby hoped for. The world press was effusive and the heads of the disease control centers and the hospital directors pledged that getting the vaccine approved and into the field would be their top priority. The Washington politicians that McAlister had muscled were in an untenable position. Bobby had checkmated them. McAlister was livid. Bushings stock plunged fourteen percent on the news of the TB vaccine.

  69

  “I can’t believe that freak came out from hiding. Those reporters wrote about him like they were teeny boppers gushing over a pop star,” said McAlister, breathing hard as he rode the exercise bicycle in his office gym, sweat pouring down his face.

  “Look at the bright side,” Turnbull replied. “Over the last year and a half, you’ve been able to dump a third of your stock so you beat the hit that the share price took from the TB announcement.”

  “But now the Board told me I can’t sell anymore—I’m locked in.”

  “Colum, you got lucky. If the TB discovery had come as early as you originally thought, it would have been harder to get out.”

  McAlister’s irritation was evident in his voice. “That’s not how I look at it, Marty. What I keep thinking about is what the stock was worth before Austin started destroying our business. Do you remember? And what about all those options we had that became worthless? He’s already cost me over a hundred million dollars. And I’m not even out of the woods yet on most of my shares. He’s killing us. Absolutely killing us.”

  Turnbull shook his head, frowning. “At least you got some money out.”

  McAlister waved his hand. “What I’m thinking about is what happens next. What the hell happens next?”

  Six months later, rumors began to circulate in the scientific community that Bobby had completed synthesizing an organic solvent, which in the course of a ninety day treatment period could dissolve even severe cases of arterial plaque, with no adverse side-effects. The same treatment, taken daily, would prevent further build-up from occurring.

  Unlike statins, which suppress the liver’s natural production of cholesterol, Bobby’s solvent didn’t obstruct normal body chemistry, and while statins couldn’t destroy arterial plaque already present, Bobby’s organic solvent could. It could do everything statins could do and more, with none of statins’ side-effects and at minimal cost to the public. The use of Bobby’s formula would also drastically reduce the need for coronary bypass surgery and angioplasty.

  In the year in which Bobby invented his solvent, over seventy-five million people took statins every day, and annual revenues from them were over fifty billion dollars. Statins were the number one worldwide revenue generating product for the major pharmaceutical companies. And as McAlister loved to point out at the annual Bushings shareholder meeting— once a person was prescribed statins, the regimen dictated that the patient remain on them for life. “Is there anything more beautiful in the entire universe than a customer for life?” This comment, delivered by McAlister as he dramatically held his arms up to the sky in gratitude, was guaranteed to bring the house down.

  The expanding use of statins, even as a preventative to be prescribed for healthy people, was being promoted by the industry. Supported by ‘independent researchers,’ whom the drug companies funded, and pliable government regulators —the growing use of statins was a seemingly unstoppable juggernaut.

  But when Bobby’s full report, with all supporting data, was published in a special edition of the New England Journal of Medicine all hell broke loose on Wall Street. Bushings stock fell thirty- one percent in one day before the New York Stock Exchange suspended trading in its shares. The stock of the other five major pharmaceutical companies fell in similar amounts on the exchanges on which they were traded.

  70

  The sunlight streamed through the windows of the Prides Crossing guest house and illuminated the bedroom as brightly as if it were being lit for a photo shoot. It was a radiant Saturday morning in late June and Christina and Bobby sipped from their coffee mugs as they lay in bed. She was reading the Bulletin of the American Mathematical Society and he was reading, The Astrophysical Journal. “Hon, I think we should take a little vacation. Are you up for it?” Bobby asked.

  Christina put down her magazine and cozied up against him. “Up for it—I’d love it. Are you kidding me?”

  “Let’s get dressed I want to show you something.”

  They drove south in the direction of Boston, but veered east to North Quincy. Navigating the narrow streets, they drove through a wide entranceway in a chain link fence and pulled up to a one-story building covered in white aluminum siding.

  Christina hadn’t taken note of any signs. “What are we doing here?”

  “Come with me. You’ll see.” Entering, Bobby stepped up to the reception counter. “I’m here to see Mike Allen. He’s expecting me— Bob Austin.”

  Two minutes later, Mike Allen, a portly man with a short beard, bounded into the room, hand outstretched. “Mr. Austin. Finally, we meet—after all the phone calls.” He shook hands with Bobby and Christina and then led them out of the building on what seemed like an endless walk through the huge outdoor facility.

  As they approached the water, Christina gazed out at the biggest marina she had ever seen. Pointing directly in front of him, Allen said, “There she is. Isn’t she beautiful?”

  It had been over twenty years since Bobby had laid eyes on Dreamweaver. He almost gasped.

  Christina asked, “What’s that?” Bobby ignored her question as Allen led them on to the vessel. The mahogany deck was gleaming, as were the nickel fixtures. It was as if time had stood still.

  “Mike, you guys did a beautiful job. She looks perfect.”

  “Sails perfect, too. We took her out for a few trips to get the kinks out. Made some adjustments. She’s fantastic. You’d never know she was in storage for two decades. We had her wrapped up like a baby. The way we had her, she could have lasted a thousand years.” Bobby made his way to the steering wheel. He ran his hands over it admiringly.

  “You did great. Just fabulous.”

  “Bobby—what’s this all about?” asked Christina.

  “This is my boat. Dreamweaver.”

  “You never told me you had a boat. When did you get it?”

  “Joe Manzini left it to me in his will. His estate paid for the storage and upkeep all these years.”

  Christina walked along the deck and looked up at the huge masts. “It’s gorgeous. It looks classic.”

  “It is classic. Just like you,” said Bobby as he kissed her.

  “He must have been a wealthy guy.”

  Bobby laughed. “He was. He left everything else to charity. I think he was afraid I’d become one of the idle rich if he left me a bundle.”

  “So how come you’ve had this gorgeous thing in mothballs for all these years?”

  “I wasn’t ready to use it. And I had no one to use it with. I needed a first-mate.”

  “So when do we take it out for a spin?”

  “Real soon. This is going to be our vacation.”

  When Bobby told Susan that he and Christina would be sailing off for a few weeks, her face reddened. “Bobby—I don’t think that’s safe. Someone out there wants you dead. They tried once, and there’s no reason to think you’ve gotten more popular since then. You know what Perrone said.”

  Bobby waved Susan off. “No one even knows that Dreamweaver exists. Christina and I will just disappear for awhile.”

  Susan’s face paled. “I have to tell Perrone.”

  Bobby glared at her. “I’m sick of living in a bubble.”

  “I’m sorry, Bobby, but it is what it is. You can�
�t make it different just by wishing it.”

  As Bobby left Susan’s office, he turned at the door. “I’m going. It’s that simple. Tell Perrone what you want, but I’m going and I don’t want to see some aircraft carrier trailing me.”

  Over the next two weeks, Christina stocked Dreamweaver with all of the provisions needed for the trip. She’d never seen Bobby this excited. When she asked him where they were going, he told her it didn’t really matter because sailing was a destination in itself.

  “If we can’t take care of number one, we mean nothing. We shouldn’t even exist.” This entry on a RASI blog attracted Perrone’s attention. The CIA analysts agreed that it was a mandate for Bobby’s assassination. Internet chatter had grown progressively more vehement after the TB vaccine, but the arteriosclerosis and atherosclerosis cures had escalated the outrage of the fringe groups to another level.

  Having requested a meeting, Perrone sat in front of Varneys’ imposing desk and said, “I think we need to get Austin out of town for awhile. There are too many outfits that hate this guy. And some of them have the wherewithal to do something about it.”