Chapter 3d07
Chapter 3 (Draft 07)
Sally entered her apartment thirty minutes later, trying to make a mental note.
"I owe Kari thirty two dollars, the little taxi brat."
She closed the door behind her, threw the bolt, and slid the chain. She heaved a heavy sigh before setting her purse down on the small table next to the knob.
"Bless that child's heart," she added with a grin, still thinking about her friend's kindness.
She headed into the kitchen and set the rest of her bags down on the table. The pills inside rattled annoyingly.
She looked up and groaned. "So much for God letting me off the hook," she moaned, looking annoyingly at the flies buzzing around a sink full of month-old dirty dishes. She heaved again and rolled up her sleeves.
"Radio news time, eight-thirty four PM. Weather forecast: Rain ending tonight, sixty-five percent chance of showers Tuesday afternoon and into the evening."
Sally looked up from the small pile of mail she was probing to glance over at the clock on her nightstand. She frowned.
"Past eight-thirty?" She looked up at her dresser across the room to think. She wasn't tired at all. Strange: she was always too tired to stand by eight. The ringing phone startled her.
"Hello?"
"Sally?"
"Yes?"
"Hi. It's Kari, Sal. How are you doing?"
"Oh, hello sweetheart. I'm fine. All tucked in and ready for bed."
"Good — good. Any pain? Did you take your meds?"
Sally frowned. Her pills were still in their bag on the kitchen table. "Ah, no… I didn't, but I don't have any pain, dear." There was a pause.
"Are you sure? No pain anywhere?"
"No… in fact…" Sally took a quick inventory of her body. "I think I'm feeling pretty good."
"Oh… okay. Well… that's excellent, right?"
"I think so."
"What about the nausea?"
"No… nothing there."
"Hmmm… you're still amazing us over here, Sal, but you have to take the other meds in the morning, okay? The supplements and the rest?"
"Always fussing over me. All right dear, I will."
"Promise?"
"I'm not in the habit of lying to people, Kari."
"I know that. I just want to make sure you remember."
"And for that, I thank you. When will I see you again?"
"I was hoping to stop by tomorrow before work. Will that be okay?"
"Wonderful. I look forward to it."
"Okay, it's a date. I'll bring the coffee."
"You will not. You'll be my guest for a change."
Kari giggled. "I'll see you tomorrow."
"All right, dear. Thank you for calling. Good bye."
Somebody was knocking on her door before Sally hung up the phone.
"Oh dear. Now what?"
She got up, slipped on her flannel robe, and got to the door by the third round of knuckled clunks. She looked through the peephole and groaned.
Dear Lord. Now what does he want? She opened the door but left the chain in its slide.
"You're home!"
"Hello, Mr. Hirch. What can I do for you?"
"Please, my dear lady, I keep telling you… call me George. I didn't realize you were coming home today."
"Yes, I was released from the hospital just a few hours ago. As you can imagine, I'm very tired…"
"I called the hospital two weeks ago and told them to contact me when they were planning to release you. I could have picked you up and brought you home."
"That really wasn't necessary, but thank you anyway. Well… goodnight then." She started to close the door.
"Oh, all right… yes… good night." The man looked very disappointed.
The door was almost closed when Sally remembered something. She was going to hate herself for doing this - but manners always had their place. She cracked the door a little again.
"Mr. Hirch?" The man spun around and his face immediately brightened.
"Yes?"
"I should have thanked you for calling the ambulance for me that day. That was very neighborly of you. Thank you, Mr. Hirch."
The man leaned in close to the opening. "You're very welcome. Are you sure you're not up for a caring visitor?"
"I… really am tired, Mr. Hirch. Maybe another time."
"I'll hold you to it!" the man said happily.
Sally closed the door and spun the bolt. As she headed back to bed, she suddenly felt very tired.
"Horny old skunk…"
More than a thousand miles away, a car with a single occupant pulled up to an iron gate and stopped. A hand lit by the light of a very full moon reached out to press the intercom button.
"Yes, who is it?" a voice answered back in an eastern accent.
"Doctor Gladwin Howard. I'm here to see Mr. Bezuhov?"
"Thank you for coming, doctor." The gate in front of the car began to open. "Pull up directly to the front of the house and I'll meet you at the front door."
The car rolled forward and up the winding road lined with olive trees. There were no lamps to light his way, so the visitor moved slowly as he turned left and right up the grade.
"Oh my God!"
The man slammed on the brakes and the care screeched to a stop. Another man was standing in the middle of the road with what looked like a small machine gun strapped to his shoulder. He was shielding his eyes from the headlights, but motioned the car to continue on. Turning the wheel sharply, the driver cautiously moved ahead and watched as the man disappeared into the darkness behind him.
"For Christ's sake; was he carrying a gun? What is this place… and how do I get the hell out of here?" A second man suddenly appeared in his path again.
"Jesus!" Howard hit the brakes once more. Although the machine gun on the second man wasn't in plain sight this time, he could clearly see the strap across his shoulder and chest. With a sharp-jerking gesture, the man motioned the car to move on.
Back and forth, the car moved along the winding road and up the hill, following the directions of several more sentinels around every other turn. Finally, a large mansion loomed into view before him and the driver was reminded of his trip to see the Whitehouse on his last family vacation. The front was lit with spotlights, which gave the white façade a fake, almost virtual glow to it. As his headlights bathed the entranceway, the doctor could see several more men scurrying quickly to get out of sight. They looked like roaches trying to escape into their cracks and hidey-holes. A large marble fountain sat in the drive's center, its cascading water looked ridiculously gaudy as the man pulled around to finally park at the base of the ascending steps.
The doctor shut off the engine and peered watchfully through the window at his surroundings. Nobody was in sight. Deciding that if he turned around and tried to leave, the men on the road would undoubtedly try to stop him, so the visitor warily got out. The reflecting green light from the fountain threw his mind back to his first college bonfire while his imagination began to create the shadows of little demons dancing around its base. One of the double doors at the top of the steps opened.
"Doctor Howard, thank you for coming. Leave your keys in your car. "
The doctor was surprised at how the man's voice so closely matched the voice from the intercom. Whoever Mr. Bezuhov was, he spared no expense for even the most trivial devices in his service. Howard opened the car door again and threw his keys onto the seat. As he mounted the steps, he caught himself counting them one by one as they rose between the massive white columns framing the entranceway. Even if he tried to make a run for it two steps at a time, it would take at least ten seconds to get back to his vehicle. He was almost at the top when he heard his car's engine start again. He looked back and watched his white Volvo pulling away; so much for his escape.
"Doctor Howard, your reputation and status herald your arrival. It is an honor to finally meet you."
The man at the door looked much bigger now that Howard was standing in front of him. He was a full six inches taller and his perfect suit did not hide a frame with nearly zero body fat stuffed within. His English was impeccable even though his accent gave away the fact it was not his mother's tongue.
"My reputation?" Howard replied unthinkingly.
The man smiled to reveal his newly straightened but badly tarnished teeth and stuck out his hand. The doctor shook it and could feel the calloused bumps scraping against his flesh as they pulled apart. He was directed inside a massive foyer that looked much too dark for its obvious stateliness.
"Can I take your hat and coat, doctor? You may keep the bag."
The doctor was startled. It never occurred to him that he might not be allowed to carry his medical bag with him. He quickly removed his coat and hat and handed them over to the muscled man.
"If you would like to remove your jacket, I can take that too, if you like," his host offered him.
Howard looked around them and into the darkest places across the room. "It's rather cold in here."
The man nodded. "Very well; your comfort during your visit, Doctor Howard, is paramount."
Howard could see the man examining his fedora; it was his charcoal gray favorite that went with his navy suit. He watched the man run his fingers appreciatively over the fine felt before carefully setting it on a shelf above his now hanging coat. He closed the hidden closet and the doctor found himself wondering how it might be opened again.
"Follow me, doctor. Mr. Bezuhov is waiting for you in his bedroom. It's just up these stairs."
Once again, Howard was unconsciously counting the steps up the spiral staircase and he couldn't help noticing the quality of the wood making up its railings. It was wonderfully thin, almost delicate at a glance, but as he slid his hand up its smooth, white surface, he tried pushing out against the curve. It wouldn't budge. Impressive.
They finally reached the top of the staircase and there were several more men standing guard in the hallway. This time, however, they weren't even trying to hide the armory they were carrying. Getting this close to their boss allowed them the opportunity to show their strength and numbers. They were clearly here to make a statement.
"Through here, doctor."
The muscled man motioned him through a door to the side of the dark hallway. Inside was another armed man and an appliance Howard immediately recognized. It was one of those airport x-ray machines complete with walk-through metal detector.
"They would like to scan your bag, sir."
"Oh… no problem," Howard replied openly, handing his bag to the other man.
Once again, the doctor was impressed with the careful manner in which his guide chose his words. 'They would like to scan your bag' was entirely different than 'we would like to scan your bag'. The distinction was meant to convey the feeling that his escort was on his side, a friend sent to steer him on his journey through this labyrinth of untrusting gargoyles.
"You don't have to remove your shoes, sir," his escort said smiling, as Howard reached for his waxed laces.
After close examination of his bag and person, the two men reentered the hallway again through a second door and turned right. They turned left at the bend and finally arrived at another set of double doors flanked by two more guards. One of the men slid his gun around to his back before turning to knock gently one time. He then opened the door to the approaching visitors. Howard could hear his escort whisper something that sounded like Russian to the guard as they entered.
Once again, the space inside was very dark, lit only by the candles set randomly but with practiced design throughout the room. Another man came forward carrying a brown, pleated folder with an elastic wrap. He was wearing what looked like a black lab coat and a stethoscope. Howard was still looking at the man's strange attire when he was handed the folder.
"Doctor Gladwin Ailwin Howard. Welcome," came a voice from across the room.
Howard looked up at his escort who was motioning him forward toward a hearth where a quiet fire burned low, looking almost too frightened to bring forth the heat necessary to warm the immense space. Two winged backed chairs sat facing the fire with a braided rug between them.
The doctor came forward to find a very old man, looking frail and crumpled in the folds of the chair containing him. The man was almost colorless under his oxygen mask and Howard unconsciously moved forward to check his pulse. Always a doctor without caution is how his wife liked described him. The old man rattled as he breathed, but his eyes were a sparkling blue and followed the lines of his mouth as he smiled.
"You won't like what you find, doctor," the old man told him, knowingly.
"I'd like to check your blood pressure, if you don't mind," Howard told him.
"By all means; do what you do. You will find every test result imaginable in that folder my doctors have put together in expectation of your arrival tonight. Do your good doctor-deed and then sit. I'd like you to review my file and share your opinion."
Howard immediately opened his bag to remove a cuff and stethoscope. He quickly wrapped the man's arm and began inflating. The doctor listened to the heartbeats as he watched the needle slowly drop down. Concerned about the old man's appearance, he wanted an accurate reading. The old man watched him as he worked, entertained by the simple processes unchanged in more than a hundred years of practiced medicine. The doctor pumped up the cuff again to confirm his first count.
"Is this why you asked me to come here?" the doctor asked the man, this time he was counting with his eyes closed. "To read over your medical records?"
"Not entirely; we do have other matters to discuss," the man replied. "But since it's so rare for a doctor to make a house call in this country, I thought I'd let you show me the value of your presence."
The cuff hissed loudly as the doctor released the pressure.
"Not too bad. Ninety over sixty," the doctor reported, as he ripped open the Velcro under the man's arm.
"One of my better days, I should think, and I'm glad you could come on a good day. It'll make our discussions much easier. Please… make yourself comfortable, doctor." He motioned to the chair next to him with a gnarled finger.
Howard sat down and opened the file given to him.
"Earl Gray?"
"Yes, thank you."
The old man gave a wave and a cup of tea was immediate set on the table next to the doctor.
"Thanks," Howard said, unconsciously, to the hand retreating back into the darkness. He was already on the second medical report within the folder, and the old man smiled as he watched his manner of study.
An hour later, Doctor Howard removed his glasses and fell back. He had already removed his jacket fifteen minutes into his assessment.
"A very complete medical workup, Mr. Bezuhov."
"The best money could buy, I assure you," the old man answered back.
Howard looked around and refocused his eyes on the opulence residing within the room. "Yes… I have no doubt."
The old man chuckled and then coughed. "And… your conclusions?"
Howard looked again at the pile of paper and stapled reports he had left haphazardly on the table next to him. He watched the other doctor in black slowly working to put them back into their folder. He looked at the old man and shrugged.
"Nothing you don't already know, Mr. Bezuhov. You are a very old man, and… you're dying."
His host laughed again and then started to cough badly. The other doctor wordlessly moved toward him, but was waved off by the gnarled, old hand again.
After he had recovered, "You are indeed very brash and forthright. My reports on you warned me about this flaw in your character."
"Reports? You've had people investigating me?"
"Oh yes, quite a few in fact. Enough to pay your salary three times over, I should think."
Howard was stunned. "Why? What's so important about me that you should care about my opinion? Surely, you have the best doctors in the world to assist you. Why would my examination of your case mean anything?"
"It is not your medical opinion I seek, Doctor Howard. As you say, I have an army of doctors far superior in skill and talent than yourself that see to my needs as they exist today. No… it is your work I desire, not your opinion of my medical history."
"My… my work? I don't understand."
The old man's eyes twinkled in the fire. "I find your work at the university on healthy-aging quite intriguing."
Doctor Howard frowned.
"I am very close to your mentor on the subject, Doctor Wetzler."
Howard's expression fell; he suddenly looked grieving. "I'm very sorry to tell you this… but… Doctor Wetzler died two weeks ago; a traffic accident."
"And you would be next in line for Wetzler's job, or so I'm told."
Howard was stunned again. "I… ah… I wouldn't say that. The trustees haven't made their decision on John's replacement."
"Oh… but now I am disappointed, doctor. This modesty does not fit the forthright, straightforwardness I had come to expect from you."
Howard scowled back at the old man. "If I've disappointed you by not publicly crowing my abilities for the sake of taking my best friend's job, I have to say I'm not hurt about that," he replied angrily. "I'm not that ambitious."
"Ah… but you do like the finer things in life. I think you proved that with the purchase of your new boat last week. Are you sure you're not… expectant of the promotion?"
"I… don't think a boat says anything about…"
The gnarled hand was already waving his protests off. "There is nothing whatsoever wrong with wanting nice things, doctor. After all… you work very hard. Setting aside whatever modesty you think you might have, you are a leader in your field. An expert on the aging process in that healthy aging research center where you work. You desire nice things and comforts… the best for your family, who complain far too much about the lack of time shared with them."
Anger flushed Howard's face. "I beg your pardon? Have you also researched the members of my family?"
The old man cocked his head. "You didn't think all the money I spent was on you alone, did you?" He chuckled. "Your life has been impressive, doctor, but it lacks anything requiring a deep dive into your past. Your daughter Julie is at Princeton, but Janice's academic prowess at Brown has shown itself to be outstanding." He leaned back to settle himself into his chair again. "And then there's Benjamin. I should think he'll turn down Juilliard if Eastman accepts him."
"My… God," Howard whispered aloud. He was unable to stop himself from displaying his shock.
His host was waving off his startled reaction. "Not to worry, doctor. Young Benny will receive his letter of acceptance by the twentieth. You may set his mind at ease. His audition tape was outstanding, but I should think a young man with dreams of screaming fans would be better suited in New York City rather than Rochester."
A loud pop from the fire gave the old man a moment of pause.
"I like you, Doctor Howard. You're old school. From your hard-nosed work ethic right down to that gray fedora you wore into my home tonight. Nobody wears hats anymore, doctor. Especially of the quality you buy at that shop on Park Avenue. But the psychologists I hired to review your file tell me your greatest wish is to stand apart from your peers. You've been waiting a very long time for the opportunity to shine, doctor, and with the untimely death of our friend John Wetzler you will now have that opportunity. Forgive me, but your ambitions… are rather obvious."
Howard was worried. He hadn't expected any of this. Thinking back, he marveled at how something this complex could have started so simply. He had taken a call from the President of the university, a man who up to that moment had never spoken to him directly. That was when he was told about this man, a huge contributor to the research under John Wetzler. The President said there was to be a meeting with Bezuhov tonight and that Howard was to take his medical kit to do a physical examination. Most importantly, he was told the funding for Wetzler's research was clearly at risk now that John was gone, and the university was counting on him to insure the financial support given by Bezuhov continued. His parting words to him were simple and direct: "Do whatever it takes to instill the confidence necessary to keep the money coming in, Howard. Without it, thirty eight people will lose their jobs."
Now he finds he's been secretly investigated, his family explored, physiological profiles completed; all by a man nearing the end of his life, who's only interest seems to lie in John Wetzler's work on aging.
"Who are you, Mr. Bezuhov? And what do you want really from me?"
"Who am I? Well… I am glad to see your predecessor obeyed the only demand I made of him in all the years of financial support given to his team of researchers. Who am I? You said it yourself: I am a very old man about to die a natural death. But, like yourself, and as you can plainly see from the way I live," he motioned to the furnishings around them, "I too like the finer things in life. The problem is… I have already lived a very long time, one hundred and three years next month, to be exact. And like you, doctor, I have worked very, very hard to acquire the wealth I have today, to be one of the richest men in the world." The old man started coughing again.
After he recovered, "It is a sad truth that men have to work hard in life to find solace and peace, and their only reward is to die in their comfortable bed. What recompense is that?"
"But it is our mortality that defines us," Howard answer him.
"Ah… accurately read from that placard you keep on your office wall." The old man smiled again. "If you truly believe that quote… that mortality is a part of our definition, a finite component of our distinctness as human beings… then, doctor, we shall part tonight and never speak again. And the ample funding I give to your university will go to another team with greater ambition.
"No, Doctor Howard, mortality does not define me, and despite the invention of purpose behind your own ambitions, you should know that I have greater aspirations for the both of us.
"I have worked a lifetime to acquire the wealth that keeps your university projects in the black, doctor. You are looking for the ways that I may extend my life. Surely, you would not find fault with an old man wanting to live longer still; not after all the work I've put into living."
Howard looked incredulous. "Am I to understand then, that you have been funding our research on aging with the hope of benefiting directly from that work?"
"Yes… benefiting directly… and it has been agreed that I should be the first recipient of your research."
Howard was stunned. "But… that's highly unethical! You can't expect…"
"What can't I expect, doctor? Should I not expect what was promised to me by your predecessor? Although our friend Doctor Wetzler died tragically, and far too early, he did die a very comfortable man thanks to my generosity. I am willing to do the same for you, Doctor Howard. My contract with your mentor will now be extended to you, his most trusted peer. I too believe Wetzler's trust and confidence in you was well placed. We spoke about it several times. You are, by every measure, the right man for the job; the best man to finish his research and find a cure… for aging."
"But it could be years before we enter into human trials, certainly too late to be of any significant help to somebody in your position. And besides, even if we were successful, why would you want to continue living this way — an old man always on the verge of dying? What kind of existence is that?"
"Ah — now there's that forthright manner I was expecting out of you, doctor; very good. However, what your timeline lacks is the scope of my agreement with Doctor Wetzler. While he earned every penny I paid him for his research, it was what I had waiting for him after his success that mattered more." The old man smiled again. "One hundred million dollars… in cash."
Howard was dumbfounded.
"Just think of the people you could help with that kind of money… Doctor Howard."
"All that money… just to keep you alive? Just to keep you… like this?"
"Don't be silly; of course not. I'm not looking to you to stop the aging process, doctor, I'm looking… for its reversal."
Howard frowned. "But… that's not even in our line of sight. You cannot expect, even in my lifetime, for us to find…"
The old man raised his hand to stop him again. "Doctor, I'm afraid Wetzler did not share all of his data with you. The fact is… he was quite successful in his research on many levels that I am sure, and by my insistence, that you were purposely made unaware."
"What?" Howard was shocked again. "I… find that hard to believe. That John… I mean… Doctor Wetzler… wouldn't tell me…?"
"Wouldn't tell you about his experiments with sermorelin?"
Howard's jaw dropped and then closed immediately. He suddenly smiled and shook his head. "I don't know what John's been telling you, Mr. Bezuhov, but the growth hormone Sermorelin…"
"Is a somatotroph," the old man interrupted, "a receptor specific secretagogue that has been shown to be very effective in promoting pituitary gland recrudescence in older animals."
Howard was still smiling. "Yes, it restores pituitary reserve of hGH. So what?"
Now the old man was grinning too. "You disappoint me, doctor. High doses of sermorelin have shown to be as effective as hGH in restoring some youthful properties in the aged."
"But, you don't understand, the costs of such a therapy would be…"
"WOULD BE WHAT?" The old man snapped back. "Prohibitive? To whom? Certainly not to me!"
Howard found himself speechless. Bezuhov looked like a man suddenly able to leap from his chair and physically throttle him, but he was unexpectedly coughing again. He settled himself back in his chair, clutching is oxygen mask and the doctor in black was by his side, whispering into his ear. The gnarled hand slapped him gently on the chin and the doctor moved away without another word.
Howard's comprehension was moving fast. "Have you been taking sermorelin?"
The man took another deep breath from his mask and then moved it aside. "Under the watchful care of John Wetzler, yes," he replied, his blue eyes were probing Howard eagerly for his reaction to this news.
Howard was staggered. I don't believe this. He stood and moved to lean against the fire's mantel to think. He still found it hard to believe what he was hearing. His best friend had been experimenting on a patient outside the university. It was absurd. It was unethical. It couldn't be true.
"You asked me what I wanted from you, Doctor Howard." The old man leaned forward. "I want nothing less than your wildest dreams… and every one of your deepest ambitions. I crave them; and not just for myself, but for all of humanity." He slowly fell back again.
"You see… while I have been greatly successful in my life's work, it has come at the expense of my soul, I should think. I am Russian, and even before openness came to my country, I was a very powerful and rich man. Glasnost was meant to end corruption at the top of the Communist Party and the Soviet government, but in fact it only opened the doors to… how do you Americans like to say it? More of the same." He looked away to stare into the darkness across the room.
"In my old age, I am haunted by the ghosts of those whose lives were ended early by my ambitions."
Howard quietly sat in his chair again as he listened to the old man, feeling more like a priest than the physician he thought himself to be. Bezuhov looked back at him.
"Finish Wetzler's work, doctor. Find the cure for this disease we know as… aging death. Take the position your university president will call to offer you tomorrow morning. I will triple your current salary and make ready the reward we discussed upon your success. Allow an old man to make up for the sins of his life, and give to all men the ultimate gift that up to now they only dared to request from God. Find Wetzler's cure."
Finally, there was silence and Howard stared at the old man as something completely new before turning to the fire to probe his own deepest desires. He finally looked up.
"But sermorelin…" he started to say.
"Wetzler's research has found several more hormones of much greater promise than sermorelin, doctor. Would you like me to share them with you?"
Howard's stare returned to the fire once again. He wasn't sure of anything anymore. His best friend he thought he knew so well had done so much without his knowledge. He thought John to be of the highest moral character. Was his friend wrong to pursue what man has undoubtedly been seeking for the last ten thousand years? All of his work, of John's work, and the work of every other doctor in the world were meant to bring comfort and the greatest longevity to man here on earth. Isn't this what they were really striving for? Comfort, peace and longevity, but the ultimate goal was simply to live.
He looked again at the old man and then stood. "I'll need to think about all of this. Can I call you tomorrow with my answer?"
Bezuhov studied him. "You do not call me, doctor. You will be informed when we need to speak. If you accept your president's offer tomorrow morning, then I shall have my answer. Good night, Doctor. My servants will show you the way out."
Howard stood and then slowly made his way back to the door, and as he opened it to leave he heard the old man's voice again.
"And… doctor?"
Howard turned.
"If you do not accept the position tomorrow, you already know I will end my support of your university and your facility." He turned in his chair to look back at him from across the room. "But if you ever speak to anyone about our discussions tonight, you will regret that decision more."
A heavy hand suddenly slammed its steel-like grip onto his shoulder and Howard gasped. He looked around to find his muscled escort standing there with a look of terrifying menace etched upon his face. Howard looked back at the chair near the fire again but the old man was out of sight. His escort shoved his fedora roughly into his chest and handed him his coat.
Howard was lead out of the house where he found his Volvo already running and waiting for him outside. As he drove down the hill through the winding trees, he never saw any armed guards. He could only imagine them peering out from between the dark trees and watching him as he finally passed through the open gate. He turned right and never looked back. He would be up all night contemplating his options, but in the end… Doctor Gladwin Howard accepted the job offered to him the next day.
26
