scientists around the world working on artificial photosynthesis typically focus on a single component of the process.”
“Yourself included?” Loren asked.
“Myself included. The research at our lab has focused on the ability of plants to break down water molecules into their individual elements. If we can duplicate the process efficiently, and we’ll get there someday, then we’ll have an unlimited source of cheap hydrogen fuel at our disposal.”
“Your breakthrough is in another direction?” Loren asked.
“My focus has been on a reaction called Photosystem I, and the breakdown of carbon dioxide that occurs in the process.”
“What are the primary challenges?” Pitt asked.
Lisa tore into a second crab, sucking the meat out of a hind claw.
“These are delicious, by the way. The basic problem has been in developing an efficient means of triggering a chemical breakdown. Chlorophyll plays that role in nature, but it decomposes too quickly in the lab. The trick I pursued was to find an artificial catalyst that could break down carbon dioxide molecules.”
Lisa set down her food, then spoke in a low voice again. “That’s where I came up with a solution. Blundered upon it, actually. I left a rhodium sample in the test chamber by mistake and added to it another element called ruthenium. When combined with a light charge, the reaction was an immediate dimerization of the CO2 molecules into oxalate.”
Loren wiped the crab juice off her hands and took a sip of beer. “All of this chemistry is starting to make my head spin,” she complained.
“You sure it’s not the beer and the Bay Seasoning?” Pitt asked with a grin.
“I’m sorry,” Lisa said. “Most of my friends are biochemists, so I sometimes forget to take off my verbal lab coat.”
“Loren has a much better head for public policy than for science,” Pitt kidded. “You were mentioning the outcome of your experiment? ”
“In other words, the catalytic reaction converted the carbon dioxide into a simple compound. With further processing, we can get to a carbon-based fuel, such as ethanol. But the critical reaction was the actual breakdown of the carbon dioxide.”
The pile of crabs had been transformed into a mass of broken claws and empty shells. The middle-aged waitress deftly cleared away the mess and returned a short time later with coffee and key lime pie for the table.
“Forgive me, but I’m not sure I understand what you are saying,” Loren said between bites.
Lisa gazed out the window at some twinkling lights on the far side of the river.
“I’m quite certain that the application of my catalyst can be used to construct a high-output artificial- photosynthesis device.”
“Could it be expanded to industrial proportions?” Pitt asked.
Lisa nodded with a humble look. “I’m sure of it. All that is needed is some light, rhodium, and ruthenium to make it tick.”
Loren shook her head. “So what you’re saying is that we’ll be able to construct a facility that can filter carbon dioxide into a harmless substance? And the process can be applied to power plants and other industrial polluters?”
“Yes, that’s the prospect. But even more than that.”
“What do you mean?”
“
“So you’re talking about actually reducing the existing levels of carbon dioxide in the atmosphere,” Pitt stated.
Lisa nodded again, her lips pursed tight.
Loren grabbed Lisa’s hand and squeezed it hard. “Then… you’ve found a genuine solution to global warming.” The words came out in a whisper.
Lisa looked sheepishly at her pie and nodded. “The process is sound. There’s still work ahead, but I see no reason why we can’t have a large-scale artificial-photosynthesis facility designed and built in a matter of months. All it will take is money and political support,” she said, looking at Loren.
Loren was too startled to eat her dessert. “But the hearings today,” she said. “Why didn’t Dr. Maxwell mention it?”
Lisa stared up at the fern. “I haven’t told him yet,” she replied quietly. “I only just made the discovery a few days ago. To be honest, I was a little overwhelmed at the findings. My research assistant convinced me not to tell Dr. Maxwell before the hearings, until we were sure about the results. We were both afraid of the potential media frenzy.”
“You would have been right about that,” Pitt agreed.
“So do you still have doubts about the results?” Loren asked.
Lisa shook her head. “We’ve duplicated the results at least a dozen times, consistently. There is no question in my mind that the catalyst works.”
“Then it is time to act,” Loren urged. “Brief Maxwell tomorrow, and I’ll follow up with an innocuous hearing question. Then I’ll try and get us in to see the President.”
“The President?” Lisa blushed.
“Absolutely. We’ll need an Executive Order to put a crash production program into place until an emergency funding bill can be authorized. The President clearly understands the carbon problem. If the solution is within our grasp, I’m sure he will act immediately.”
Lisa fell silent, overcome by the ramifications. Finally, she nodded her head.
“You are right, of course. I’ll do it. Tomorrow.”
Pitt paid the bill, and the trio drifted out to the car. They drove home in relative silence, their thoughts absorbed with the magnitude of Lisa’s discovery. When Pitt pulled up in front of Lisa’s town house in Alexandria, Loren jumped out and gave her old friend a hug.
“I’m so proud of what you’ve done,” she said. “We used to joke about changing the world. Now you really have.” She smiled.
“Thanks for giving me the courage to go forward,” Lisa replied. “Good night, Dirk,” she said, waving at Pitt.
“Don’t forget. I’ll see you in the morning with the ocean carbon report.”
After Loren climbed back into the car, Pitt slid the gearshift into first and sped down the street.
“Georgetown or the hangar?” he asked Loren.
She snuggled close to him. “The hangar tonight.”
Pitt smiled as he steered the Auburn toward Reagan National Airport. Though married, they still kept separate residences. Loren maintained a fashionable town house in Georgetown but spent most of her time at Pitt’s eclectic home.
Reaching the grounds of the airport, he drove down a dusty side road toward a dark, vacant section of the field. Passing through an electric gate, he pulled up in front of a dimly lit hangar that looked as if it had been collecting dust for several decades. Pitt pressed the security code on a wireless transmitter and watched as a side door to the hangar slid open. A bank of overhead lights popped on, revealing a glistening interior that resembled a transportation museum. Dozens of brightly polished antique cars were neatly aligned in the center of the building. Along one wall, a majestic Pullman railroad car sat parked on a set of steel tracks embedded in the floor. A rusty bathtub with an ancient outboard motor bolted to the side and a weathered and dilapidated semi-inflatable boat sat incongruously nearby. As Pitt pulled into the hangar, the Auburn’s headlights flashed on a pair of aircraft parked at the back of the building. One was an old Ford Tri-Motor and the other a sleek World War II Messerschmitt ME-162 jet. The planes, like many of the cars in the collection, were relics of past adventures. Even the bathtub and raft told a tale of peril and lost love that Pitt retained as sentimental reminders of life’s frailty.
Pitt parked the Auburn next to a 1921 Rolls-Royce Silver Ghost that was undergoing restoration and turned off the motor. As the garage door closed behind them, Loren turned to Pitt and asked, “What would my constituents think if they knew I was living in an abandoned aircraft hangar?”
