While Justice Sleeps(8)
Indira stumbled and grabbed at the nearest wall to steady herself. She waited for the tremble of palsy that shook her limb to cease. More and more, the arthritis competed with nerve damage to topple the body she religiously disciplined into fighting form. Ropes of muscle snaked along arms that today wore sapphire silk crepe.
Her weight never fluctuated, never crept above or below the physician-recommended standard. The thirty-eight-year-old face and soul of genetic engineering—the engine of India’s emergence into the next wave of technological advancement—could not risk distractions. No silly gossip about bulimia or a fascination with samosas when the Wall Street Journal featured her penned likeness above the fold as the next Bill Gates.
The intricate knot she had twisted into her hair that morning bobbed cunningly as she neared her office. She calculated the opening share price Advar would need to reach on the stock exchange to soothe the shareholder anxiety that peppered her emails. A grimace twisted the long, dark mouth as the office door swung on mute hinges. As she passed through, the door shut behind her, locking out every thought but the one that had occupied her for too long.
The U.S. Supreme Court continued to fritter away time as her destiny hung in the balance. Her company’s acquisition of GenWorks, a closely held biotech company in Chapel Hill, North Carolina, now relied entirely on the whims of nine men and women who knew little of genomics, epistasis, or bioinformatics. While she awaited their decision, her stock price continued to drift toward junk status. If the Advar share price fell too low, the collection of chauvinists and harbingers who populated the board of directors would also be plotting her demise.
The merger of a century and a cunning masterstroke of economic and biogenetic genius—felled by a vindictive American president facing a tough reelection. He’d called the denial of their merger an act of national security, but she knew his actions for what they were. Revenge and self-preservation.
Fear.
The same fear gripped her. She’d taken another risk before this, a favor to another president at Chairman Krishnakamur’s urging. Take over a rival and absorb its secrets, and she’d reclaim her full life. She’d own the world and all of its sins.
Now Advar stood at risk, and she had no way to redeem herself without telling the truth. A truth as damning as the lies she told now.
Moving to the slab of desk that consumed the center of the office, she lowered her trembling body gently down to sit. Spasms jerked muscle into tight knots. She closed her eyes, breathing deeply. Too much to accomplish. Too much in motion to cavil with a broken body. She had mere days until triumph or defeat. Her body would damned well hold until then.
As the microprocessors whirred through their exercises, booting up her computer, her private line jangled imperiously. She yanked it to her ear, impatient with the interruption.
“Srinivasan.”
“Good morning, sunshine.”
Indira relaxed her scowl into a mild frown. “Nigel, it is the afternoon here, as you well know. However, it is barely dawn there. What do you want?”
On the other end of the line, Nigel Cooper, founder and president of GenWorks Labs, jogged lightly on a treadmill, his breathing even and steady. He was in his last year before forty pushed him into a new demographic, but he refused to age like the pale wunderkinds he’d studied with in grad school. The early-morning runs kept his body toned and fit, perfect for candid shots of him frolicking on beaches or entering movie premieres with his latest starlet. A thick shock of dark blond hair draped charmingly over his forehead, and he pushed it away.
Nigel was renowned as much for his financial expertise as for his model-perfect looks—which made him equally popular with CNBC and E! But this morning’s call had more to do with what would be broadcast on PoliticsNOW. “Thanks for the warm greeting. I can’t imagine why we stopped seeing one another.”
“You proved to have a singular inability to grasp the concept of fidelity,” she reminded him blandly. She slid a stack of contracts across the desk. “But a rehash of our wasted youth is not the point. Why are you calling me? We’re scheduled for a conference call in a few hours.”
“Because I have news now.” News that would soon whisper along the tangled channels of medicine, money, and power, made juicier because of how hard someone had tried to bury the story. There were armed guards at a private room at the Bethesda Naval Hospital, and a patient brought in by military chopper. The arrival of a premier neurologist and a medical team that could revive Lazarus had only ginned up the rumor mill.
“The story will break across the international wires as soon as one network gets confirmation, but I’ve got my intel on good authority.” He paused dramatically. “Supreme Court justice Howard Wynn has been hospitalized.”
Indira hissed out a breath, her stomach clutching. “I saw headlines about a rant at a university commencement, but I did not hear details. When did this happen? What is wrong with him?”
“There was an incident last night. The word is that he’s fallen into a coma. Conveniently, right after he accused President Stokes of being in league with the Devil and of trying to kill everyone. Sound familiar?”
“Tigris.” The revelation ricocheted through her, sent curses flying through her mind. Though she didn’t believe in any of the Hindu gods, she felt certain several conspired against her. “Are you sure?”