to walk on air. And the mallet came down and down.
Jack let out a cry. And the man looked up, his hood casting a sharp shadow over his face. Jack ran back to his room and closed the door and climbed back into his crib.
But the door flew open and the man filled the light, his head a large black bullet, the mallet still gripped in his hand.
Jack heard himself crying so loudly that it felt as if pieces of his throat were breaking loose.
And the man just stood there taking in the screams, watching Jack squirming, cowering in the corner of his crib, clutching Mookie to him, the blanket over his head but with just enough of a hole in the folds to see the man who continued to stand there in the doorway staring at him, his terrible head and slanting shoulders—thinking about what he should do about the baby in the crib eyeing him through his blanket.
Jack could hear himself whimper, wishing he could stop, wishing he could just disappear, blink out of existence.
“Won’t remember a thing.”
And then the room lit up in an electric blue light as a crack of thunder shattered the air.
The man closed the door.
He must have cleaned up the mess in the other room, because Jack could smell something—bleach—as he lay there in the dark waiting for the door to burst open again. But it didn’t.
And some time later he heard the outside door bang shut.
JACK HEARD A WARBLING CRY AND snapped his eyes open.
He had slipped to the floor. His throat felt thick and his chest hollow as if he had been sobbing deeply. His mind was raw. He looked around the room.
All was still, and outside a gentle rain pattered against the roof. The fireplace was a bed of glowing coals and burnt log ends. A soft yellow night-light burned in a lamp on the table. The clock on the wall said 3:35.
Rene was curled up on her couch under an afghan.
Jack must have made sounds as he awoke, because Rene rolled onto her back and sat up. “You okay?”
He nodded. “I saw his face.”
5
83
“DAD, WE HAVE TO BE THERE at six. Might be time to get dressed.”
Louis had just stepped out of the shower. Through the door he could hear her voice calling up the stairs. “Okay,” he said. He could hear the excitement in his daughter’s voice. She had been that way since the invitation came. In fact, since he’d been home on furlough.
Then she added, “Remember, you’re going to be one of the star guests tonight. You excited?”
“Yup.”
Then another voice yelled up the stairs. His wife’s. “And don’t forget to take your pills. The white ones. They’re on your bureau with the water.”
“Okay.” He found the pills. The white ones. The ones that dulled his brain. He dropped them into the toilet.
Then he toweled himself off and looked in the mirror. He raised his arms and flexed his muscles, which bulged up thick and tan from going shirtless under the hot Asian sun. He inspected his teeth—white and straight. Then he smiled at the smooth young face staring out at him. With a comb he slicked back the thick black hair so that it looked like an ebony plate across his head. He had his father’s hair. Unfortunately, Dom had gone bald by the time he was fifty. Louis still had thirty years to worry about that.
On the bed lay the black tuxedo his wife and daughter had gotten him. That would be his cover.
Before he got dressed, he checked the map again and the recon photos, trying to fix in his head the layout of the village center and the entrances to the pavilion. When he had them burned into his brain, he slipped them back into the plain envelope.
He put on his watch: 18:22 hours. All was going according to schedule.
He slipped on his fatigues, then the monkey suit. In the mirror he fixed his bow tie and sent the comb through his hair for the last time. He wished they had some kind of hat to complete the look.
Under his jacket he fixed his weapon, certain that the layers would hide the bulge. He took one last look in the mirror and gave the soldier a stiff salute.
Then he headed out. At last. This time it was the real thing: Operation Buster.
84
FOLLOWING THE ANNOUNCEMENT of the FDA’S approval of Memorine, Alzheimer’s organizations, support groups, caregivers, and allied health-care people everywhere celebrated the good news. And so did the White House.
And on this balmy Saturday evening, a huge victory gala was held at the seaside estate of Gavin E. Moy. In the setting sun, the place glowed like a huge and magnificent jewelry box on the Manchester cliffs overlooking Moon Harbor, where Gavin Moy’s boat the
There must have been two hundred people spread throughout the thirty rooms and out on the patios, but mostly filling the first-floor ballroom, the library, and various parlors. There were executives and scientists from GEM, of course, and medical and health-care folks from all over New England, as well as representatives from different Alzheimer’s organizations, the FDA, the state legislature, Capitol Hill, and, of course, the White House. The president himself could not be there, but he sent a telegram that was read by Gavin Moy over the PA system.
Partway through the evening, Jordan Carr silenced the crowd. The house lights dimmed as monitors positioned around the rooms flickered to life. The videos contained old and new footage of AD success stories, including some of Louis Martinetti, who addressed the camera in a clear and lucid delivery. Louis was then introduced. He was wearing a tuxedo and was flanked by his daughter and wife. He did not give a speech. In fact, he looked overwhelmed, even anxious, mumbling to himself. But through tears of joy, his daughter thanked everybody for making Louis a living miracle.
A thunderous applause arose from the group, many of whom were wiping tears from their own eyes, Rene included.
More video presentations and testimonials followed. Also, a television commercial for Memorine that would begin airing on all major networks and cable on Monday. The spot was mostly visuals, with swelling background music, as happy and focused elderly folks played in grassy green yards with grandchildren, pushed them on swings, sat around dinner tables. And the only words were those of the unseen narrator: “Alzheimer’s: At last a cure. Ask your doctor about the Memorine solution.” And at the bottom of the screen the name GEM Tech and its sparkling diamond logo.
Following the video, Gavin Moy gave a brief speech in which he thanked all those scientists, researchers, physicians, nurses, and others for their dedication and determination to bring to an end the scourge of Alzheimer’s disease.
After the cheering, people formed a line to congratulate Gavin.
WITH A BRIEFCASE IN HAND Jack waited patiently behind people he didn’t know, in front of people he didn’t know. Somewhere in the crowd Rene was talking to the Martinettis. She had told him about Louis and how he had