cup of coffee, the vet sighed and said, “Well, I don’t see how this can be put
off any longer.” From an inner pocket of his old, well-worn corduroy jacket, he
withdrew a folded sheet of paper and put it on the table in front of Travis.
For a moment, Nora thought it-was the bill for his services. But when Travis
unfolded the paper, she saw that it was a wanted flyer put out by the people
looking for Einstein.
Travis’s shoulders sagged.
Feeling as if her heart had begun to sink down through her body, Nora moved
closer to Travis so they could read the bulletin together. It was dated last
week. In addition to a description of Einstein that included the three-number
tattoo in his ear, the flyer stated the dog would most likely be found in the
possession of a man named Travis Cornell and his wife, Nora, who might be living
under different names. Descriptions—and photographs—of Nora and Travis were at
the bottom of the sheet.
“How long have you known?” Travis asked.
Jim Keene said, “Within an hour after I first saw him, Thursday morning. I’ve
been getting weekly updates of that bulletin for six months—and I’ve had three
follow-up calls from the Federal Cancer Institute to make sure I’ll remember to
examine any golden retriever for a lab tattoo and report it at
Once.”
“And have you reported him?” Nora asked.
“Not yet. Didn’t seem any point arguing about it until we saw whether he was
going to pull through.”
Travis said, “Will you report him now?”
His hound-dog face settling into an expression that was even more glum than
usual, Jim Keene said, “According to the Cancer Institute, this dog was at the
very center of extremely important experiments that might lead to a cancer cure.
Says there that millions of dollars of research money will have been spent for
nothing if the dog isn’t found and returned to the lab to complete their
studies.”
“It’s all lies,” Travis said.
“Let me make one thing very clear to you,” Jim said, leaning forward in his
chair and folding his large hands around his coffee cup. “I’m an animal lover to
the bone. I’ve dedicated my life to animals. And I love dogs more than anything
else. But I’m afraid I don’t have a lot of sympathy for people who believe that
we should stop all animal experimentation, people who think medical advancements
that help save human lives are not worth harming one guinea pig, one cat, one
dog. People who raid labs and steal animals, ruining years of important research
. . . they make me want to spit. It’s good and right to love life, to dearly
love it in all its most humble forms. But these people don’t love life—they
revere it, which is a pagan and ignorant and perhaps even savage attitude.”
“This isn’t like that,” Nora said. “Einstein was never used in cancer research.
That’s just a cover story. The Cancer Institute isn’t hunting for Einstein. It’s
the National Security Agency that wants him.” She looked at Travis and said,
“Well, what do we do now?”
Travis smiled grimly, and said, “Well, I sure can’t kill Jim here to stop him—”
The vet looked startled.
“—so I guess we’ve got to persuade him,” Travis finished.
“The truth?” Nora asked.
Travis stared at Jim Keene for a long time, and at last said, “Yeah. The truth.
It’s the only thing that might convince him to throw that damn wanted poster in
the trash.”
Taking a deep breath, Nora said, “Jim, Einstein is as smart as you or me or
Travis.”
“Smarter, I sometimes think,” Travis said.
The vet stared at them, uncomprehending.
“Let’s make another pot of coffee,” Nora said. “This is going to be a long, long
afternoon.”
Hours later, at ten minutes past five, Saturday afternoon, Nora and Travis and
Jim Keene crowded in front of the mattress on which Einstein lay.
The dog had just taken a few more ounces of water. He looked at them with
interest, too.
Travis tried to decide if those large brown eyes still had the strange depth,
uncanny alertness, and undoglike awareness that he had seen in them so many