Geneva, page 12
‘I am so sorry to hear of your condition and I realise this must be a very difficult time for you. But really, I must insist: no more surprises please, Professor Collier.’ Schiller’s tone is like a rap on the knuckles from a disappointed teacher and I note we’re no longer on first-name terms. I glance over again at Pavel, whose eyes are glued to the door.
I decide to give him what he asks for. ‘No more surprises,’ I agree, as I push my cup away; any more caffeine and I will be hovering off the floor. I take a deep breath and turn back to my briefing notes.
‘Good.’ He looks down at his own set of papers and we sit, waiting for the appointed time.
Pavel checks his watch again and nods to Mauritz, who leans towards me.
‘Ready?’ I look up from the papers.
‘As I’ll ever be.’ My stomach leaps as the clock ticks down to the whole reason we came here. I’m nervous as hell, but I’ll rise to the occasion. I always do.
‘Well then, let’s go.’ Mauritz manoeuvres his chair towards the door and out onto the pavement, where his dedicated driver is waiting. Pavel ushers me towards the rear door of another car and we move off.
We make the five-minute drive towards the famous Campus Biotech, a place I have seen countless times in brochures and medical literature. The huge gleaming cathedral of science looms over us, a towering glass and steel façade. The evergreen trees encapsulated within the transparent structure give the impression that the Campus is somehow capable of harnessing nature. It is exactly as I expected: high-tech and flawless. As we round the corner, I look through the tinted glass window of the SUV and my heart punches up into my mouth. I can’t believe what I’m seeing. Cast onto the enormous glass façade and wrapping round the building opposite is the projection of a face: my face. I remember that photo being taken after the Nobel Prize nomination. I was exhausted but we had won. That woman is now staring back at me, but she looks different. This improved version of Sarah Collier has an unlined face and sparkling eyes that are sharper and greener than mine. Her perfect hair is gently blowing in a digital breeze as my name, ‘PROFESSOR SARAH M. COLLIER’, fades up from beneath. Like the screens of a stadium rock concert, she appears to the gathering crowd like the Beyoncé of biotech. The animated Sarah seems to look straight at me, and I stare back at her. What have they done to me? How do I live up to that? As we pull into the terrace out front, a gaggle of journalists and photographers spot us and rush over to the entrance. The car slides past the crowd and onto a ramp at the rear, which descends into an underground car park. Pavel opens my door and a small group of assistants flock around me, guiding me across to a holding area where Mauritz is waiting, reading notes. A make-up artist powders my face and someone is smoothing out the wrinkles in the back of my jacket. I smirk to myself; it really should be the other way round: powder the backside and de-wrinkle the face, love.
A sound guy threads a cable through my shirt and down my trouser leg and wraps a mic pack around my ankle. I’m preened and poked from all angles, as I continue to look through the prepared statement and try to steady my nerves. The topic of my diagnosis has been neatly woven into the speech Mauritz is about to make, which will take the pressure off me considerably. It feels as though all I will be expected to do is stand there with a smile and tell the world that I endorse Neurocell.
‘Sarah, I must say, aside from the shock of learning about your diagnosis, I felt … I feel very sorry for you.’ I look up from my notes and see Mauritz watching me.
‘Thank you. It hasn’t been easy.’ An image of Dad asleep in his chair, the last time I saw him, mouth wide open snoring, passes through my mind.
‘It is a terrible disease. Truly. You are coping?’ His voice cracks with concern.
‘I’m getting there.’ The look on his face touches me. I wonder what my dad is doing right now, and my eyes fill with tears. The tissue in my face from one of the panicked assistants reminds me that smudged mascara is not a good look for a Nobel Prize winner and I swallow my emotions back down.
The doors at the end of the corridor open and Daniel and Helen come through, deep in conversation. They are surrounded by several chaperones and ‘hangers-on’ tapping on phones and talking into ‘walkies’. I mean, what do all these people do?
‘Everything’s in place. Are we ready?’ Helen’s authority pierces through the buzzing agitation of the room.
‘Yes.’ Mauritz is looking at me. ‘Professor Collier?’
‘Absolutely,’ I lie, forcing a confident smile.
Daniel detaches himself from Helen and pulls me into a hug. Hands wrap around me and he whispers in my ear, ‘You’ve got this.’ I catch Helen looking at me. Her face is passive but her green eyes seem black. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and tilts her jaw towards me, then mutters something into her radio.
Mauritz glides away towards a side door and I begin to follow, but Helen blocks the way. ‘No. This way.’ Pavel leads me through a door and into a corridor. I can hear the buzz of expectation coming from the auditorium. He gently opens the door that leads to the stage. The sound of the audience flips my stomach. This is it.
The lights dim and the rumble of the crowd subdues. An orchestral soundscape worthy of a Spielberg movie begins to play. A beam of light shoots from the ceiling of the domed amphitheatre, cutting across the stage as a rumble of bass shakes the whole auditorium. The space is plunged into darkness, and a calm, commanding female voice announces:
Ladies and gentlemen, introducing a world exclusive. Neurocell.
A chorus of sound and a burst of light ripples around the hall as something begins to emerge through the floor, centre stage. A seated figure, in black silhouette; Mauritz Schiller rises slowly into view.
A world without sickness, a world without doubt. A doorway to the far reaches of the untapped mind. Neurocell.
Ladies and Gentlemen, please welcome to the stage, Mauritz Schiller.
On a huge wraparound screen enveloping the amphitheatre, multiple high-definition images of Neurocell against a backdrop of some utopian scientific future play on a loop.
Mauritz remains perfectly still in the spotlight, receiving his rapturous applause. The claps and cheers fade and he holds the silence with his signature commanding confidence.
‘Esteemed colleagues, respected reporters, welcome guests: my name is Mauritz Schiller, and today I present to you a new future. A future many thought would never be possible but a future that has arrived.’
Mauritz continues his speech as I stand waiting. I swallow, trying to moisten my dry mouth. What if nothing comes out when I try to speak? Why did I ever agree to do this? Too late now. Bright sharp graphics celebrating the wonders of Neurocell play out across the auditorium, buying me a little more time. As the screen cuts to darkness and the applause subsides, I brace my knees as I hear Mauritz introduce me. The time has come, there is nowhere to hide.
‘Widely regarded as one of the greatest scientists of her generation. My friends, I present: Professor Sarah M. Collier.’
A spotlight hits the door where I’m standing and the sudden thud of entrance music makes me jump with a start. I feel the gentle push of a hand in the small of my back as my legs begin to walk forward against the instincts of everything else in my body. As I step onto the stage, that same doctored image of me emerges on the screen. Neurocell everywhere, Sarah Collier everywhere, all at once. It’s dazzling. This is it, the moment I must face everyone. I stride out and take my place next to Mauritz. The glass screen of an autocue has materialised alongside a microphone, and something, long forgotten in me, kicks in. That part of my brain that is totally capable and totally in control. As I step out of the shadows, the crowd cheer and I can’t help but smile: they are with me. The spotlight follows me over to a lectern and I gather myself. The applause dies down and Mauritz continues.
‘Neurocell presents solutions to problems that have troubled humanity for centuries. I have faced many obstacles in my own life, as this chair will tell you.’ He smacks the arm of his wheelchair and pauses, holding the crowd’s attention. ‘I have used my personal experiences to create tailor-made solutions to specific problems. That is why I am exceptionally proud that Neurocell has won the confidence of Professor Sarah Collier. Yesterday, Professor Collier announced the sad news that she is suffering from Alzheimer’s disease. Her bravery and courage are an inspiration to us all, and her involvement in Neurocell is invaluable.’
The crowd erupts into a burst of applause. It’s unnerving. As the noise dies down, there is a pause. I look over at Mauritz. It’s time to tell the truth. I turn slowly and find the microphone. The autocue rolls but I’m speaking from the heart. No one gets to put words in my mouth. Not today. I look out into the crowd, take a deep breath and begin. My voice is clear but quiet.
‘When I heard about brain implants, I was … scared. It struck me as Orwellian, you know, the thought police. Let’s be honest, it’s like Putin had a wet dream.’ There is a smattering of laughter from the audience and I see Mauritz scowling at me. I’m going off script; too right I am. ‘But the more I read, the more I realised that Neurocell could be the key to unlocking so many answers. As you heard, I was recently diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. It is a cruel disease, a death sentence for many people. It is a lot to come to terms with, but Neurocell gives me hope. Some of you may be sceptical of my involvement. And yes, it’s true I have a very personal stake in Neurocell’s success. I am now a patient, but from that perspective, I can tell you, science and medicine are personal. Tell the woman who dies of breast cancer for want of better screening that it is not personal. Tell the man with motor neurone disease who loses increasing control of his body each day that it is not personal. Tell the parents who look on helplessly as their three-year-old dies of leukaemia that it is not personal.’ My voice cracks under the weight of my words but I swallow and breathe in the silence of the crowd. I look into the lights and continue. ‘From my perspective as a scientist, I depend on facts and data to get to the truth. Well, here are three important facts. One: I have Alzheimer’s disease. Two: I don’t know how much longer I have left to live. Three: if Neurocell is a success, then … maybe hundreds of lives could be saved from this dreadful disease. I’m prepared to take a leap of faith for the sake of others. I believe Neurocell is the future. We just have to use it wisely. Thank you.’
The combined roar of hundreds of voices raises the roof as the audience erupts. The stamping of feet shakes the floor and the ovation continues for what feels like minutes. Mauritz Schiller is grinning from ear to ear with a look of gratitude. I smile back at him. The sound from the crowd seems to travel into the distance and I shrink inside my own body.
I’ve done what they wanted. It’s in their hands now. I turn, searching for a way out. As I scan the room looking for Daniel, a sea of faces glazed in smiling adoration surges towards the stage. I back away, eyeballing the exit door, passing beneath the enormous projected image of Sarah Collier, ‘The Face of Neurocell’.
I’ve delivered Schiller’s future and now I can go home.
Chapter 29
‘Mauritz, that was outstanding.’ Helen intercepts him as he arrives at the entrance to the vast forum full of medical trade booths and licensing stands. The post-launch party is in full swing and Mauritz is ready to take his victory lap, before heading to a more intimate gathering of investors and financiers who will take Neurocell from prototype to the marketplace within a few months.
‘It was magnificent, Helen. You certainly know how to put on a show. I couldn’t have done it without you.’ Mauritz smiles. ‘I’m grateful to you. For your professionalism but more importantly for your loyalty.’
‘Mauritz …’ Helen smiles knowingly at him. She did this, she’ll take the compliment and own it. The room is filling with excited delegates pouring out of the auditorium, all eager to discuss marketing strategy and celebrity endorsement and no mention of ‘the cautious restraint of ethics’. Helen places her hand on Mauritz’s shoulder as they continue to move through the crowd. ‘I just had a very interesting conversation with one of the Chinese investors. They want to get ahead of the game. Their very generous advance will be in the company account by midnight tonight.’
Mauritz slows and turns to look at Helen. For a second, a flicker of doubt crosses his face: is this the Pandora’s box that he feared it might be? He buries those thoughts with a thin smile.
‘This is your legacy, Mauritz.’ She’s right. The future of the Institute is secure and the name Schiller will live on long after he takes his last breath. She leans in and Mauritz plants a kiss on her cheek.
From the corner of the room, hovering in the shadow of the doorway, Pavel Osinov scans the room. Out of the corner of his eye he watches Mauritz Schiller in deep conversation with Helen Alder. For months he has been gathering the information he needs but now it’s time to apply some moderate pressure. Nothing too obvious, but he must step up his game. He sees Helen leave the atrium and watches her weave her way through the melee, her blonde hair towering above the crowd. He lets a few seconds pass and then he follows her out, striding behind, keeping her in his sights. As he turns the corner, he sees her slip through the entrance to the stage. He sprints forward and catches the door before it closes behind her. Silently, he slides through. There is no one here. He waits for a second in silence, then moves into the first row of seats. The whole place is in darkness.
‘Following me, Osinov?’
Her voice makes him turn on his heel. His heart stops for a second. Helen has stepped onto the stage and is watching him in a pool of half-light.
‘Just tying up some loose ends.’
‘Hmm. I have a few of those to sort out myself.’ She watches him, her mouth and chin brushed with light, her eyes in darkness.
‘Yes, I know all about them.’
‘And what exactly do you think you know?’
Helen has chosen to take centre stage. It’s time for Pavel to find out more about the performance he’s been watching for some time now. Remaining in the darkness, he begins to move silently around the perimeter of the amphitheatre.
‘I know something that is worth a lot to you. Something that you would rather keep secret.’
Helen laughs. ‘How fantastically vague. I really don’t have time for this.’
‘I know about you and Daniel Collier.’
She spins, following the direction of his voice, her face now blinded by a stark spotlight.
‘I will tell his wife everything, unless you do as I say.’
Helen raises her hand to her eyes, against the glare, and holds her ground. ‘How clever of you. Now listen to me.’ The fury is rising within her as her fingernails dig into her palms.
‘I’m all ears.’ Pavel’s voice is now suddenly close behind her. She feels his breath on her neck.
She raises a hand to strike but Pavel catches it by the wrist before it lands. ‘Be careful.’ He holds her and feels her body strain against his grasp. She moves her body closer to his and they come eye to eye.
She speaks slowly. ‘If you want to tell Sarah Collier that I’m fucking her husband, then be my guest.’ She leans in, her mouth close enough to bite his ear off. ‘But if you ever threaten me again, I will take you down.’ Closer still, her tongue almost burrowing into his ear canal like a serpent. ‘I know all about you. I know what you have done. I know who you are. And I know why you are here. So stay the fuck out of my business, and I will grant you the same courtesy.’
Pavel holds Helen’s gaze as she backs away and bathes in his discomfort. There is a flicker of admiration between them; the recognition that you are only as good as your opponent.
Finally, with a satisfied smile, she walks away. As she reaches the door, she turns to study him. Now it’s his turn in the spotlight. It’s a shame. Maybe he could have been an ally, two like-minded souls. Two damaged people. Too late for that. She pushes the door. Light from the corridor casts a long ominous shadow across the stage as she makes her exit.
The dance is over. For now.
Chapter 30
Sarah
It’s over. It’s done. Now we can go home, back to Maddie and Dad and our quiet, uneventful lives. I want our garden, our kitchen, the peace and quiet. I can hear the echo of the post-launch party, reverberating around that enormous cavern of glass. The music is still pumping, that image of me is still plastered everywhere. I feel like I have done something worthwhile here, but I can’t take the scrutiny any more. The pitiful looks, the kindly smiles and taps on the shoulder. I pull my hands away from my face as I perch in a silent cubicle of the bathroom, grateful for a moment of solitude. As I reach into my bag for my pills, I hear the bathroom door open. Heels click across the tiles, slowly and intentionally. I pause for a second in silence. The person on the other side of the door is waiting. I remain still and inaudible, trying to pretend I’m not here. I open the cubicle door and find Helen Alder, leaning against the sink, smiling, with two glasses of champagne in her hands.
‘I thought I might find you in here. You were amazing out there.’ She offers one of the glasses to me. ‘Neurocell has been given the green light by the investors, thanks to you.’
The glass hovers between us but I’m not taking it.
I smile politely and move to the sink to wash my hands.
‘Oh, I didn’t do anything.’
She steps to my side and places the glass down next me. She looks at herself in the mirror and adjusts her hair. I watch her manicured nails and glance down to her waist and the curve of her hips. ‘Well, your endorsement was all we needed. And now that’s done, we can celebrate … right?’ Her eyes shine at me through the mirror and her glass is lifted in a friendly toast.
‘I’m just glad it’s all over, to be honest.’ I pick up the glass and take a sip of the champagne.
