Just then the phone beside her rang. Alice picked it up. "Dr. Prince," said the voice on the line, "Governor Weiss has arrived."
Pamela Weiss had left most of her election entourage behind. This was a private meeting to discuss delicate matters. So her campaign manager and would-be chief of staff, Todd Sullivan, had adroitly slipped her away like a reclusive rock star from the huddled press battalions and shuttled her down to ViroVector by helicopter.
"We've got fifty-nine minutes before Governor Weiss has to leave for Los Angeles" were Sullivan's first words as Alice Prince greeted them in the foyer and escorted them to the Smart Suite. Two Secret Service men in dark suits and glasses followed behind and stationed themselves outside the closed door. They neither acknowledged nor spoke to the two FBI agents already standing there to escort Director Naylor.
"Relax, will you, Todd?" said Weiss, embracing Alice and Madeline with the same affection as they had shown since college.
Sullivan seemed vaguely discomfited by the obvious closeness of the three women and sat down. He was a lean man of forty-eight with dark hair and a neat face, remarkable only for a small scar on his chin.
When everyone had been offered coffee and drinks, Alice adjusted her eyeglasses and began. "The first thing to say is, we've got FDA approval. So Friday's announcement can go ahead as planned."
"Excellent." Pamela beamed.
Sullivan looked relieved. "We really need this announcement. The national crime figures are scaring voters, and we're seen as too soft. Iraq isn't doing us any favors either."
"And it looks as if it's going to get worse," said Madeline. "I was talking to Mike Clanton at Langley yesterday. His people believe that the Iraqis have definitely got the bioweapon they're bragging about. Probably paying some rogue scientist from Russia. The CIA reckons there's a real danger they'll use it if we stop them from retaking Kuwait."
Pamela Weiss was nodding in agreement. "And although the polls say the people want to vote for us," she said, "it's the same old story: They don't believe a woman has the toughness and vision to handle either Iraq or the crime rate. So anything we can do to change their minds is vital."
"Oh, I think this will help change their minds," said Alice, pressing the console on the desk in front of her. Suddenly the lights dimmed, and all the monitors on the screen wall went dead except for the largest screen in the center. "Project Conscience" appeared across the top in white letters, and below it the line "A Proven Treatment for Crime."
"On the table you'll each find a bound briefing pack we'll be supplying to the press, complete with computer discs, slide show presentations, and summaries. In the front you'll find the crime stats and results from the Project Conscience field tests. In the back you'll find all the details of the formulations and scientific data, including all the preclinical and safety information. The first section should reassure you that Conscience works, and the second that it is completely safe. At the beginning of each section you'll find the summary pages. I suggest you look at those now while Madeline and I go through the presentation."
Alice sat down and gestured to Naylor. "Madeline will take you through the stats, and then I'll take over for the scientific findings. If either of you are unclear about anything, just holler, OK?"
Sullivan and Weiss nodded as Naylor stood and walked to the screen.
"To recap," Madeline Naylor said in her low, professional voice, "every year for the past eight years, two thousand prisoners convicted of a cross section of violent crime have been selected from Folsom, San Quentin, and the other major penal institutions in California. Under the pretense of a flu inoculation, this sample population was unwittingly injected with noninfectious stem cell gene therapy, the Conscience viral vector. Over the last eight years we have amassed and been tracking a total of some sixteen thousand treated men. This tracking has been done with the assistance of four senior members of the bureau, all of whom report directly to a person on my staff. None of them has any knowledge of the treatments or the project's overall objectives." As Naylor spoke, the screen shifted, showing charts and slides that demonstrated her points.
"Since we started the trials, two percent of the treated subjects have since been executed, one percent have died of natural causes, and twenty-one percent are still incarcerated. But even this twenty-four percent performed well in aggression studies, showing significantly reduced testosterone levels and increased frontal lobe activity. More important, of the remaining seventy-six percent who were released, only a tiny percentage has reoffended. Recidivism is down to less than ten percent, against a norm of over sixty. And their repeat crimes tend to be minor felonies.
"But the most interesting finding is that not only have the individuals benefited, but so have the communities to which they returned. Genetic and environmental factors appear to become inextricably entwined, one influencing the other. Watts in South Central Los Angeles is the best example of this." The screen shifted to show black-and-white TV coverage of the Watts riots in 1965; Alice could clearly see the skeletal Watts Towers towering above the mayhem.
The screen shifted to show a color view of the same scene five years ago. The place was relatively quiet, but it still looked run-down with graffiti and boarded-up shops.
The last screen change revealed the same scene taken a week previously. It looked similar except that freshly painted, thriving storefronts had replaced the boarded-up windows daubed in graffiti. And people were walking down the street as if pursuing their normal business.
To Alice the differences were subtle, but the overall contrast was striking.
"You can't see much from this footage," said Naylor, "but when you go there on Friday to make your announcement, you'll notice the difference. And more important, so will the voters. The clincher, though, is that the overall crime rate in the test state of California has defied the national trend of escalating crime. Homicides are down fifteen percent, assaults down five percent, robberies down eighteen percent, rapes down twenty-five percent.
"Furthermore, from a financial point of view, the results are just as dramatic. If the positive trend in California is maintained, the state will reap hundreds of millions of dollars from keeping crime off the streets. More people at work plus fewer jail, policing, hospital, and urban rebuilding costs will all contribute. Each percentage point drop in violent crime as a whole releases over thirty million dollars. On a national basis a conservative estimate puts the savings at over two billion--per year."
As Alice Prince listened to Madeline Naylor's steady, authoritative voice recite the facts Alice knew by heart, her mind drifted back in time to Vassar College, where she and Madeline had first met the glamorous Pamela Weiss.
Vassar was a revelation. Madeline with her tall, powerful physique excelled at sports and soon became a key player on the college track and field team. For the first time in her life she was not only accepted but also admired. Alice found she was similarly nurtured. Her teachers recognized her intellect and pushed her hard. Socially, Madeline and Alice still kept to themselves.
Alice didn't want to go to the party at West Point Military Academy, but everyone was going and some of the women from Madeline's team had space in their van. The party was in full swing when they arrived, and both of them hated it. It was packed with students drinking, dancing, and making out. Alice couldn't see the point of it. The music was so loud she couldn't even talk to anyone.
Then she saw the woman standing in a quieter corner encircled by people hanging on her words. Amid the hellish chaos there was this radiant, poised creature holding court. She was laughing and drinking, but she was in control. Everyone was drawn to her as to some brilliant sun, rotating in her orbit like lesser planets needing her light and warmth. Seeing her made Alice yearn to be one of those planets, to belong. Turning to Madeline, she saw that she was equally enthralled.
An hour later, after drinking too much and talking to Madeline's teammates, Alice and Madeline went outside to walk in the grounds, waiting for the oth
er women to take them back to Vassar. It was a dark night with the moon making only brief appearances from behind the clouds, so they stayed close to the main buildings and the well-lit paths.
They heard the commotion before they saw it. The sound of a struggle came from the bushes at the dark end of the grounds. At first Alice thought it was an animal. Then she heard the scream. Madeline immediately ran toward the noise, and Alice followed behind. In the shadows she saw two men holding a woman down; one had his hand over her mouth, and the other was pulling up her dress. An open bottle of Jack Daniel's lay on its side, spilling its contents on the soil, its smell heavy in the warm air. Bile rose in Alice's throat, and her left leg began to tremble. The woman was struggling, but the men were too strong. Suddenly the moon broke through, and Alice saw that it was the beautiful woman who had been holding court only an hour before. Her blue eyes were angry more than scared, and her courage helped Alice find hers.
Alice began to shout for help as she saw Madeline run up to the man who was covering the woman's mouth. Madeline made no noise; she just steadied herself for a moment and kicked the man as hard as she could in the face. She was wearing spiked heels, and Alice heard the man's nose break. Like a ballerina, Madeline turned then and kneed the stunned second man in the temple, rolling him over. Alice reached for the woman and pulled her up. But Madeline wasn't finished. Her face was white with rage; her eyes were as dark and cold as midnight lakes. Methodically, she stood over the two dazed men and proceeded to kick them in the genitals until Alice and the woman pulled her back.
Both men were charged, and one had to have a crushed testicle removed. That single act of saving Pamela Weiss from rape opened up a whole new world for Alice and Madeline. Pamela Weiss had connections and friendships that made Alice and Madeline popular simply for being her friend. Madeline in particular blossomed at that time. She idolized Pamela and learned from her social ease, acquiring a public poise that Alice could never emulate.
Alice never understood why the gilded Pamela became their friend just because they had helped her once. It was almost as if Pamela felt guilty for all her privilege and found others like herself too shallow. She was from a powerful banking family and never tired of listening to Madeline and Alice's accounts of their childhood experiences. She seemed to be ashamed of the fact that both her parents were alive, wealthy, and happily married and loved her. As if it had starved her of a perspective on the world and disqualified her from being taken seriously as someone who wanted to make a difference.
"Alice, do you agree that it's empirically proved that the gene treatment calms violent men?" Pamela Weiss said, reading through the briefing pack notes.
Alice sat forward in her chair, looking at Pamela, Madeline, and Todd Sullivan, quickly regaining her bearings. "Absolutely. The overall benefits will still take time to come through, but the proof that it works is irrefutable. These data are more than enough to make your announcement."
"And we're sure safety isn't an issue?" asked Pamela, turning to the back of the briefing pack.
Alice smiled. "Pam, we've been testing the treatment over the last eight years with no ill effects at all. We've just undergone successful safety trials on human volunteers. The FDA have approved these and given us their blessing to go to the next step of efficacy trials. For good measure we've also shown Conscience Version Nine to the National Institutes of Health and got their approval too. This means that as far as the two most stringent bodies in the United States are concerned, the treatment won't harm anyone. And since our secret tests already prove its efficacy, we are in an unassailable position. Any concern over the timing of the premature criminal trials will be forgotten once everyone realizes this. I've spoken to Calvin Briggs at the FDA and asked a few hypothetical questions. Basically, for all its bureaucracy, the FDA is there to facilitate progress, not to stop it. As long as the treatment is safe and it works, that is all it and anyone else care about."
"Don't forget," added Madeline, "with all the press interest in California's improved crime figures you and Bob Burbank are going to be seen as heroes, visionaries. And let's face it, Pamela, our guinea pigs weren't children or defenseless old ladies. They were violent criminals, hated and feared by society."
Pamela leaned forward in her chair. "So, Ali, the treatment we used is the same as the one approved by the FDA?"
Alice paused and caught Madeline's eye. Madeline just gave the smallest nod. Alice disliked lying to Pamela, but she had no choice. "Yes," she replied. Alice smiled then, allowing her genuine excitement to shine through. "Trust me, Pamela," she said, "Project Conscience is both safe and effective. Politically, scientifically, socially, and morally you have every reason to make your announcement."
Pamela Weiss smiled but said nothing for a moment. She looked down at her notes, then up at Madeline, and finally back to Alice. Her clear blue eyes rested on each of them for some seconds. Alice thought she was going to ask one of her difficult questions. For a horrible moment she wondered if Pamela had somehow found out about Crime Zero or the San Quentin deaths. But she needn't have worried. A beaming smile suddenly lit up Pamela's face. "Well done," she said. "We've all taken some risks, I know, but I promise that if I become President--"
"You mean when you become President," corrected Todd Sullivan with a smile.
Pamela laughed. "Then I will make sure we realize this vision of a gentler society, a society with a conscience."
Todd Sullivan stood up. "Sorry about this, but we're going to have to run."
"I'll see you both at the dinner tonight in L.A. with Bob Burbank," said Pamela. "It's a celebration of the Conscience announcement tomorrow and a chance for me to brief the President on the latest. It's going to be a good evening."
Chapter 14.
San Bruno Mountains, San Francisco Bay Area. Thursday, October 30, 5:25 P.M.
Alice Prince loved the way the afternoon sun filtered through the tall branches of the surrounding trees, dappling the grass and earth of the broad forest clearing. This was a private enchanted place full of happy memories. She often came here, only a brisk fifteen-minute walk away from home, with her two golden Labradors. She liked to smell the sweet air, watch the sun move over the swaying treetops in the valley below, and be alone with her thoughts.
After the meeting at ViroVector with Pamela Weiss she had been driven the eight miles home. She'd gone straight out into the garden and called the dogs, put on their leashes, and walked them over here for a quick walk before taking the company Gulfstream to LAX and dinner with Pamela and the President.
Alice wished that they could have persuaded Kathy to see their point of view. In many ways their objectives were the same. Alice admired the fact that Kathy had stood up to Madeline. But she was frightened that Madeline would do more than just keep Kathy quiet until the election. She knew how far Madeline could go. Alice loved her friend, but Madeline was never happy with doing only what was necessary. She always had to go further.
Alice sat on a tree stump in the middle of the thirty-yard clearing and tilted her face to the sun, enjoying the warmth on her skin. Around her she could hear the trees whispering in the breeze and the dogs barking as they played together. If she closed her eyes, she could even hear Libby's voice.
Alice used to come here often with Libby. Her husband, John, and Madeline would sometimes come too. Even Pamela Weiss had come once or twice with her husband, Alan, and their three boys.
After Vassar College Pamela had become a successful lawyer in the Los Angeles district attorney's office and then married one of the partners of the law firm she most often opposed in court. Her marriage had remained strong, and she now had three sons; the youngest, thirteen-year-old Sam, was Alice's godson. Pamela's husband, Alan, was one of the few men Alice was genuinely fond of.
Madeline, who had also gone on to study law before joining the FBI, married next--despite her increasingly obvious ambivalence toward men. She said it would be good for her career, and she wanted children. Unsurprisingly
the marriage failed, and there were no kids. Still, divorce aided her real marriage, the one to the FBI, which blossomed spectacularly.
Alice's marriage had been a disaster. After a Ph.D. at Stanford and a spell with GeneCell Industries she started up ViroVector. It was then that she met John Prince, and at first he seemed to live up to his name, especially compared with her father. She soon learned that John was far from being a prince, but he did contribute to the single most wonderful thing in her life, Libby.
Even now, if Alice squeezed her eyes shut and listened hard to the wind, she could hear Libby's laughter in the clearing from happier times.
Of course she was no longer there. Plucked away as if she had never even been here.
As Alice sat there, she allowed her mind to fold in on itself. The present no longer existed, only the past and the future. An acid pain burned in her chest, the anger and grief as intense as when Libby was first taken. What had the monster done with her? How had she died? If only Alice knew these answers, she could bury her daughter and grieve for her properly.
But her anger and grief were no longer impotent. Madeline had seen to that. Soon no other Libby would ever again fall prey to the evil that stalked every street in the land.
Suddenly the warmth left Alice's face, and through her closed eyelids she could tell the sun had disappeared behind a cloud. The dogs barked. She shivered involuntarily and opened her eyes.
Then she saw the tall man standing at the edge of the clearing, his car parked on the dirt track. He was looking directly at her.
Crime Zero (aka the Crime Code) (1999) Page 12
