Tremont leaned forward. “The beauty of this symbiosis is that no matter how the virus mutates, the mutation always appears in the monkeys first, which means antibodies are always available for any mutation. Isn’t that an exquisite bit of nature?”
“Stunning,” Haldane said drily. “But I see no avenue to profit in your anecdote. Does this virus exist elsewhere where there’s no natural cure?”
“Absolutely nowhere as far as we’ve been able to ascertain. That’s the key to the Hades Project.”
“Enlighten me. Please. I can’t wait.”
Tremont laughed. “Sarcasm. One step at a time, Mercer.” He stood up and walked to the bar. He poured more of the chairman’s fine cognac. Seated again, he crossed his knees. “Of course, we couldn’t very well import millions of monkeys and kill them for their blood. Not to mention that not all monkeys carried the antibodies, and that blood would deteriorate rapidly anyway. So first we had to isolate the virus and the antibodies in the blood. Then we had to establish methods of large-scale production and provide a broad enough spectrum to accommodate some of the spontaneous mutations over time.”
“I suppose you’re going to tell me you did all this.”
“Absolutely. We isolated the virus and were capable of production within the first year. The rest took varying lengths of time, and we finalized the recombinant antiserum only last year. Now we have millions of units ready to ship. It’s been patented as a cure for the monkey virus, without mentioning the human virus, of course. That’s going to appear to be a bit of luck. Our costs have been inflated and well tabulated, so we can claim a higher price to the public, and we’ve applied for FDA approval.”
Haldane was incredulous. “You don’t have FDA approval?”
“When the pandemic starts, we’ll get instant approval.”
“When it starts?” It was Haldane’s turn to laugh. A derisive laugh. “What pandemic? You mean there’s no epidemic of the virus to use your serum on? My God, Victor—”
Tremont smiled. “There will be.”
Haldane stared. “Will be?”
“There have been six recent cases in the United States, three of which we secretly cured with our serum. More victims here are coming down with it, plus there have already been over a thousand deaths overseas. In a few days, the globe will know what it’s facing. It won’t be pretty.”
Mercer Haldane sat motionless at his desk. Cognac forgotten. Cigar burning the desktop where the stub had fallen from the ashtray. Tremont waited, the smile never leaving his smooth face. His iron-gray hair and tan skin glowed in the lamplight. When Haldane finally spoke, his rigidity was painful to witness, even for Tremont.
But Haldane’s voice was controlled. “There’s some part of this scheme you aren’t telling me.”
“Probably,” Tremont said.
“What is it?”
“You don’t want to know.”
Haldane thought that over for a time. “No, it won’t play. You’re going to prison, Victor. You’ll never work again.”
“Give me some credit. Besides, you’re in as deep as I am.”
Haldane’s white eyebrows shot up in surprise. “There’s no way—!”
Tremont chuckled. “Hell, you’re in deeper. My ass is covered. Every order, every requisition, and every expenditure was approved and signed by you. Everything we did has your authorization in writing. Most of it’s real because when you get in an irritable mood, you sign papers just to get them off your desk. I put them there, you scribbled your signature and shooed me out of the office like a schoolboy. The rest are forgeries no one’s going to spot. One of my people has an expert.”
Like a wary old lion, Haldane repressed his outrage at Tremont’s underhandedness. Instead, he studied his protegé, assessing the potential value of what he had revealed. Grudgingly, Haldane had to agree the profits could be astronomical, and he would see to it that he got his share. At the same time, he tried to detect a flaw, a mistake that could lead to all their downfalls.
Then Haldane saw it: “The government’s going to want to mass-produce your cure. Give it to the world. They’ll take it away from you. National interest.”
Tremont shook his head. “No. They couldn’t produce the serum unless we gave them the details, and no one else has the production facilities in place. They won’t try to take it anyway. First, because we’ll have enough on hand to do the job. Second, no American government is going to deny us a reasonable profit. That’s the name of the game we preach to the world, isn’t it? This is a capitalist society, and we’re simply practicing good capitalism. Besides, the spin is we’re working around the clock to save humanity, so we deserve our reward. Of course, as I said, we’ve inflated our research costs, but they won’t look too deep. The profits will be stupendous.”
Haldane grimaced. “So there’s going to be a pandemic. I suppose the only good thing about that is you’ve got the cure. Perhaps not so many lives will be lost.”
Tremont noted the cynicism that Haldane had used to convince himself to capitulate. As always, Tremont had anticipated Haldane correctly. Now he looked slowly around the chairman’s office as if memorizing every detail.
He focused on his former mentor again, and his face grew cool and remote. “But to make it all work, I need to be in charge. So at the board meeting tomorrow, you’re going to step down. You’re going to turn the company over to me. I’ll be CEO, chairman of the executive committee, full control. You can stay on as chairman of the board, if you like. You can even have more contact with daily operations than any other board member. But in a year you’ll retire with a very fat separation bonus and pension, and I’ll take over the board, too.”
Haldane stared. The combative old lion was fraying around the edges. He had not anticipated this, and he was shocked. He had underestimated Tremont. “If I refuse?”
“You can’t. The patent is in the name of my incorporated group, with me as principal stockholder, and licensed to Blanchard for a large percentage fee. You, by the way, approved that arrangement years ago, so it’s quite legal. But don’t worry. There’ll be plenty for Blanchard, and a big bonus for you. The board and stockholders will be ecstatic at the profits, not to mention the public-relations coup. We’ll be the heroes riding to rescue the world from an apocalyptic disaster worse than the Black Plague.”
“You keep stressing how much money I’m going to make. In or out. I see no reason to leave. I’ll just run it myself and make sure you are financially rewarded.”
Tremont chuckled, enjoying the vision of being a savior and making a fortune worthy of Midas at the same time. Then he turned his gaze grimly onto Haldane. “The Hades Project will be a stunning success, the biggest Blanchard has ever had. But even though on paper you approved it all, you really know nothing about it. If you tried to take over, you’d look like a fool at best. At worst, you’d reveal your incompetence. Everyone would suspect you were trying to take credit for my work. At that point, I could get the board and stockholders to kick you out in five minutes.”
Haldane inhaled sharply. In his most terrifying nightmares, he had never expected this could happen. Events had him in an iron grip, and he had lost control. A sense of helplessness, of being a fish that thrashed inside an impenetrable net, swept over him. He could think of nothing to say. Tremont was right. Only a fool would fight now. Better to play the game and walk away with the loot. As soon as he decided that, he felt better. Not well, but better.
He shrugged. “Well, let’s go and have dinner, then.”
Tremont laughed. “That’s the Mercer I know. Cheer up. You’ll be rich and famous.”
“I’m already rich. I never gave a damn about being famous.”
“Get used to it. You’re going to like it. Think of all the former presidents you can play golf with.”
___________________
CHAPTER
TWENTY ONE
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4:21 P.M.
San Francisco, California
Using Marty Zellerbach’s credit card, Smith and Marty arrived in a rented jet at San Francisco International Airport late Friday afternoon. Worried about Marty’s need to refill his prescription, Smith immediately rented a car, drove them downtown, and found a pharmacy. The druggist called Marty’s Washington doctor at home for authorization, but the doctor insisted on speaking directly with Marty. As Marty talked, Smith listened on an extension.
The doctor was stiff and strained, and he asked irrelevant questions. Finally he wanted to know whether Colonel Smith was with Marty.
With a jolt of adrenaline, Smith grabbed the receiver from Marty’s hand and hung up both phones.
As the pharmacist gave a puzzled frown from behind the glassed-in counter, Smith explained to Marty in a low voice, “Your doctor was trying to hold you here. Probably for the FBI or army intelligence to arrive and arrest me. Maybe for the killers at the bungalow, and we both know what they’d do.”