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Blood List(56)

By:Patrick Freivald


A minute later she knocked at room 806. A placard on the door read Dr. Agrawal, PhD, MD. A rich voice responded in a charming Indian accent.

"Come on in, Sam!"

Sam smiled and opened the door. Govind stood behind an enormous desk. Every inch was covered with journals, newspapers, notebooks, papers, and at least three laptops. It looked like a strong wind would set the poor man back fifty years. Sam smiled as she saw the speckling of gray in the black hair around his temples, standing out like a beacon against his chocolate-colored skin.

He came around the table and gave her a full bear hug, which she returned. Without asking, he poured her a cup of coffee: black, one sugar, just the way she liked it. Sam sat in the chair offered, took a sip, and smiled. They exchanged pleasantries for a few minutes, caught up on a few old friends, then Govind's face turned serious.

"Of course, you did not come here just to reminisce, and I must be going at five o'clock. What is this 'sticky business?' It must be quite a doozy to pry Samantha Greene from her fortress at the FBI and bring her all the way to Atlanta."

Sam's smile faded. She replied as she opened the briefcase, pulled out a stack of papers, and reflexively shoved the end of a blue Bic pen into her mouth. "We're not sure what to make of it, Govey. But we're sure you probably can." She handed over the critical papers and let him read.

After a few minutes he looked up. "I am not certain I can make heads or tails of this in a single sitting, Sam. If you could come back tomorrow, I will have some of my postdocs analyze it and see what is what." He saw the uncomfortable look on her face, smiled, and patted her hand. "Do not worry, these people are as trustworthy as they come. There is no medical secret that they are not cleared to know, and they are experts at keeping their work to themselves."

"I think that's fine. Just don't tell them the source."

Govind narrowed his eyes. "You haven't even told me the source, Sam. Or do you mean that it came from the FBI, or from the great Samantha Greene herself?"

"Yes, Govind," she said. "All of the above. Just ask them to take a look at it."

Dr. Agrawal clasped his hands together. "Come back tomorrow at seven, and I will take you to dinner. Arti and the children are with her mother in India for another week, and I would appreciate the company. We can talk about it then."

"Deal." They shook hands, hugged, and Sam turned to leave. She paused.

"Hey, Govey?"

"Yes, Sam?"

"It goes without saying that your team can't talk about any of this with anyone but me, all right? No one."

"I would not reveal what I learn here should the president himself demand that I do so."

Sam turned and walked out. She called back down the hallway, "Thanks, babe!"



* * *



January 29th, 7:37 PM EST; Hal's on Old Ivy; Atlanta, Georgia.



Sam was ravenous. She'd had a little McDonald's on the way back to the CDC, but that was a while ago. The Oysters Bordelaise made for a delicious appetizer, but they barely took the edge off when shared with a friend. She'd ordered the Steak Oscar. How can you beat lump crab meat on top of a medium-rare steak? She'd worried when she realized she was dining with a Hindu. Govind ordered the Veal Piccata, so he was either a bad Hindu or a good gastronome.

The food arrived and was every bit as delicious as promised. They barely spoke as they inhaled their meals. For a small man, Govind could put it away. A satisfied ten minutes later, talk turned to shop.

Their smiles disappeared. Govind kept his voice low. "To quote my lead technician Miranda, the stuff you gave us is 'freaking science fiction.'"

"What do you mean?" Sam used a roll to sop up some of the juices from the steak, then shoved it whole into her mouth. She chewed while he replied.

"Well, it details some kind of recombinant virus therapy we've never seen before, and if we've never seen it here, it doesn't exist. This appears to block mu-opiod receptors in the brain so that a person cannot ever again get high from narcotics or opiates, but my professional opinion is that what you have here is most likely a load of fanciful gibberish."

"Why is that?" she asked around the roll.

Govind's eyes bored into her own as he ticked off reasons on his fingers. "First, because we have yet to get this kind of therapy to work. Second, because someone would have had to do human testing to perfect it. Third, because there is no way that mu-opiod receptors can be so easily blocked by a single drug. We simply do not know enough about brain chemistry. Fourth, there is no mention of side effects, and there are always side effects. Fifth, and this is the most compelling, is that if this were real, there would be no reason not to market it. The inventor would be a billionaire." He looked at his hand, all five fingers open and accounted for. "I seem to be out of fingers, but you get the idea. May I ask where you got it?"