Geneva, page 2
‘Pizza Friday’ means eating on the couch with an old movie, socks off, legs in a tangle and pillows from the bedroom making a squishy nest. Maddie and I decide to let Mum choose the film and the pizza. So, extra pepperoni and To Catch a Thief it is.
I worried Maddie wouldn’t be into an old Hitchcock, but Cary Grant captivates her from the very beginning up to about ten minutes in: longer than I thought. After a few minutes fidgeting, she wants to go up to her room and read, so I give her a piggyback up the stairs and pop her in the shower. I come back down after she’s all tucked up with her favourite book.
‘Right, she’s promised lights out after she’s finished the next chapter.’ I throw myself back down on the sofa next to Sarah.
‘She’s such a bookworm.’
Sarah smiles up at me, and it hits me: she looks worn out. Her once shining auburn hair is shot through with grey. Her face is lined, and she looks exhausted. It’s not surprising, everything considered, but it’s still a bit of a shock. She used to be one of the most magnificent people I’d ever met, and she still is in lots of ways, but her light is fading, and I’m here to bear witness. I kiss the top of her head.
‘Glass of wine?’
Her eyes light up at the offer. Someone forgot to go to the supermarket, so we got a bottle from the pizza place. It wasn’t cold, so I shoved it in the freezer. As I reach up into the cupboard to retrieve the glasses, I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the darkness of the kitchen window. A paunch has started to form round my middle, and my beard is looking scruffy. I hold my hand to my jowls and prop them up. I just need to smile more, that’s my problem.
I return to the lounge with a determined grin on my face and hand Sarah her drink. I take a long draught of the cheap Pinot Grigio and wince at the vinegar taste.
‘Ah well, the second glass is always better.’
A snort of laughter from Sarah, the light briefly illuminated.
‘My dad used to put Canderel tablets in his crappy wine.’
‘Course he did.’ I chuckle and pull her in closer to me. Then I decide to dive in. We’ve ignored the elephant in the room long enough. ‘So, how are you feeling?’
She sighs and snuggles into the nook of my arm. ‘Hmmm … You know, been better, but at least we’ll get some answers now. I really haven’t been myself lately.’
‘No, you haven’t.’
‘Yeah. Be honest with me, how have I been?’
‘Just different. Less together, less sure. It’s not just the forgetfulness; it’s something else. You were the most dynamic and decisive person I knew. You seem a bit … lost.’
‘I feel lost. It’s not like I don’t have a purpose. People need me: Maddie, Dad. But I’ve lost all my confidence. Why is that?’
‘Well, from where I’m standing, you gave up your job to take care of everyone else, and that job was your life. It gave you confidence and drive, and now it’s gone.’
She snuggles in tighter, and I grip her like a child. I have to say I feel pity for her, and it strikes me that pity is not an attractive emotion to feel for your partner. The road of dwindling respect ends in the cul-de-sac of pity.
‘So, what are we going to do about it?’
‘I don’t know, Dan.’
‘Well, I do. Professor Sarah Collier is not someone who gives up this easily. You need to get out there again and have a bloody adventure, love.’
She stiffens under my arm. ‘Oh, here we go. This isn’t about Geneva again, is it?’
‘Look, just hear me out. I had another phone call from them this morning. Schiller are ready to bite your hand off for an endorsement.’
‘Oh Dan, they just want to be able to use the word “Nobel” in a press release.’
‘And who can blame them? I don’t see what the problem is. A five-star, all-expenses-paid trip to Geneva to attend their conference and push forward some genuinely groundbreaking technology. What they’re developing over there is going to change the world. It’s the future, and we could be a part of that. And I’d love to show you the Schiller Institute; it blows me away every time I visit.’
‘Why don’t you go? Enjoy yourself. Go and do whatever it is you do over there.’
I pause. ‘They want you, not me.’ It’s uncomfortable to admit that.
‘Forget it, Daniel. I can’t go waltzing off to Switzerland and leave Dad in the state he’s in, can I?’
‘It’s not like he has a clue who you are when you visit anyway.’
Shit, I immediately wish I could retract that.
‘Daniel, you really can be a complete cock sometimes, you know that?’ She starts to get up to leave, but I grab her hand.
‘Only sometimes? I’m doing better than I thought then. Sorry, love. It could be a really fun weekend, and God knows we need to let our hair down after the last few years. Mess around on the ski slopes and stuff our faces with cheese fondue, what’s not to like?’
‘It’s a medical conference, Daniel. I think there’s a limit to how much fun it would be.’
‘I’m serious. It would be good for us. Good for me. It would be a great opportunity for me to network with the world’s best.’ In an instant, her eyes darken and her brow furrows, like a cloud has passed over her face.
‘Oh right, I get it. This is your big moment, but you still somehow need me to make it happen for you?’
Wow. That comment stings like a whip.
‘No, you’re right. It’s not my moment.’
‘I’m tired.’ She finishes my thoughts; we are so in sync. I nod and stroke a strand of hair from her face.
‘Won’t you even think about it?’
‘Just leave it, Dan.’ She puts her glass on the coffee table and creaks her body up off the sofa. ‘I’m going to bed.’
I’m losing her. ‘Don’t be like this. I’m sorry. Look, I just wanted us to go away for a weekend and have a bit of fun, that’s all. Come on, sit down—’
‘No, Dan. I’ve had a shit day, and now you’re making it worse. I’m knackered and I want to sleep, not listen to you going on and on like a spoilt kid who isn’t getting his way.’ Her voice is raised; the outburst is out of proportion. She sways a little from the wine and slumps back onto the couch.
‘Here, come on. Let’s get you up to bed.’
‘I’m not an INVALID!’ Her fury strikes me like a punch in the face. The word ‘invalid’ hangs in the air between us, and I feel like we’re both thinking the same thing: ‘Not yet.’
She heads for the stairs in silence. I watch her leave and then go back into the kitchen to rinse my glass. As I stand at the sink, head spinning, wondering what we’re doing, I return to the reflection in the kitchen window. I look like shit. There’s a painting that has always stuck in my mind: Nebuchadnezzar by William Blake. It depicts a great ruler who lost his sanity and was reduced to a kind of animal madness, crawling on his hands and knees, eyes bloodshot and haunted. It might be the drink and the stress of dealing with Sarah, but I see those same eyes staring right back at me now. I have the same look in my eyes, but I pray my destiny will be different. I am mid-descent, but whether I rise again or fall is yet to be seen.
Chapter 3
The Landau Report
TEN MILLION FOLLOWERS –
WE COULDN’T HAVE DONE IT WITHOUT YOU
Wow! When I began writing for my local rag, The Hamilton Gazette, I would never have dreamed that one day I’d have such a massive audience of my own. Back then, I was a mom and housewife, regularly contributing to the paper about the progress of my darling daughter, who had been diagnosed with autism. I was determined to do everything I could to help her and find out answers from the medical community. A year later, after my marriage broke down, I felt like I had nowhere left to turn, and I started this blog to bring you the truth about the healthcare and pharmaceutical industry. I have always been so grateful for those early days; that’s when this community became a family. For those of you who have stayed with me blogging away for the last couple of years, you will be excited to learn that this little Torontonian ‘engine who could’ has just hit ten million followers.
I have never hidden who I am, and at times, I’ve paid a high price for that. I don’t write under a pseudonym. I am who I say I am. My head is well and truly above the parapet, ready to be lopped off by big pharmaceutical companies for what I have to say about them. I don’t wrap my views in fancy talk or big words; I’m one of you. I say it how it is, in simple terms so we can all understand what’s going on and what the medical community don’t want you to know.
So, What the F … Is Going On?
You may remember from the last entry that I was looking into a well-known pharmaceutical company who had price-hiked one of their controversial products: Allergapen. It just so happens that this same pharma giant produces an oil-like cleaning fluid made from nuts, used to sterilize and clean hospital equipment, STILL IN USE in Canada. This cleaning fluid has been proven to cause extreme nut allergies in infants, and where better than a hospital to get access to a constant conveyor belt of newborns? The same company then goes on to sell us the Allergapen to counteract the anaphylactic immune response. Oh, and they have recently hiked the price by 400%. See anything nuts (sorry) about this conflict of interest? I sent my report to the Canadian government and am yet to receive a response, but just by speaking out, I am at risk of being sued for defamation. I’m a tiny fish in a huge ocean BUT I refuse to be crushed and am prepared to suffer the consequences. Bankrupt me, exile me, take away my family, but I will speak the truth.
Fan Girling
So, my all-time hero and woman of mystery Professor Sarah Collier is still proving hard to pin down, but my net might be closing in at long last. Through her pioneering work on the Ebola virus, Professor Collier has saved countless lives and was awarded the Nobel Prize in Physiology or Medicine in 2021. She famously shunned the ceremony, which only made her more appealing in my eyes. Anyone anti-establishment gets extra cool points from me, and those of you who follow my blog will know how much I admire this kick-ass woman. I have pestered, gushed and fawned rather too much for her to consider me legit. The chances of that are as likely as me regaining my revoked Canadian citizenship and being reunited with the daughter who was stolen from me. NOT HAPPENING ANY TIME SOON. But I’m just a girl who can’t take no for an answer. I’m pushy. I’m like a dog with a bone, and this bone needs picking.
I have those feelers out to Professor Collier because I’m just desperate to get the inside scoop into such an incredible mind. And I may just be in luck because rumour has it, she’s attending the much-publicized Schiller Conference in Geneva, a place where yours truly will be on the ground, giving you all the latest information from the titans of the Swiss medical community. Word is, the Schiller Institute are looking to announce something MIND-BLOWING (quite literally), and I intend to be on the front line, cutting through the crap and giving it to you straight. I am excited to see behind the curtain and investigate the inner workings of the Schiller Institute, and if I can snatch an interview with my press-shy idol, it would be the sweetest cherry on top. I promise I will not let my followers down. And you should know by now, I always keep my promises.
Check out Landauleaks.com in the coming days.
I’ll keep you posted.
Terri Landau
Chapter 4
The road from Montreux into the canton of Vaud tapers from autobahn to narrow mountain road. The ascent makes the heart race; the thrilling climb into thinner, clearer air that will eventually come to a dead stop at the summit. The descent, by contrast, delivers that sinking feeling in the pit of the stomach. A literal comedown from an addictive high. Nestled halfway up the mountain road, about a mile before Château d’Oex, an un-signposted turn-off winds tight around the side of a sheer drop. Cut off from the world through a narrow tunnel carved into the mountain, the single-track road emerges and climbs towards two enormous grey pillars framing a solid steel gate. The Schiller Institute is a place of utmost secrecy. Behind the pristine steel, a snow-laden driveway leads down to a white structure half buried in the rock face. A seamless sweep of rendered outer wall encases a mirrored glass hexagon, which reflects the landscape, making it virtually disappear from all angles. A hidden crystal kingdom bursting with dreams and ideas and heralding the future.
Looking out across his frozen dominion, Professor Mauritz Schiller manoeuvres his Meyra Orbit wheelchair a little closer to the wall of glass so he can watch the black SUV pull into the driveway. He watches the car door open and sees the familiar figure of Helen Alder step out. Mauritz is fascinated by Helen. Her stride is confident, like an athlete at the top of their game. As she exits the vehicle, her eyes glance up at him over the fur collar of her knee-length designer puffer coat, and he smiles in acknowledgement.
For the last few years, Helen’s aggressive approach to public relations has kept the Schiller Institute in the spotlight. Mauritz’s family business has overreached itself in recent times, funding too many failed projects to count. Always attempting to be on the cutting edge but often meandering down pathways that dropped off a precipice. The result is that the deep pockets of the Schiller Institute are slowly being emptied; and reaching the bottom is not an option.
As Helen enters the foyer, she looks across to Mauritz through the infinite panes of honeycomb glass. The Schiller Institute is a place of absolute transparency: everyone on show, nothing to hide. Helen has learned to take poker-faced phone calls and converse like a ventriloquist. She is a solo player; she likes to keep her cards close to her chest – tricky when there is always an observer looking over your shoulder. It is new territory for Mauritz Schiller, who is universally admired and obeyed, but not by Helen. Entering through the main door, Helen turns expressionless towards Jan Pager, the security guard on the desk, knowing her image is being recorded for posterity. Her face is scanned, and the bulletproof glass security door grants her entry.
‘Well?’ Mauritz asks from the doorway of his office, the general requesting news from the front line.
‘We almost have her.’ She throws the words back over her shoulder as she strides past him down the corridor towards her office, shrugging off her coat as she goes. He accelerates in step with her.
‘Excellent. How can we secure it?’
‘She’s a tough nut to crack, but it will be worth all the effort. I’m getting close, particularly now her husband’s on board. Dangle something shiny in front of Daniel Collier and he swoops like a magpie to grab it.’
‘I need to know if we have her. I can’t afford another humiliation. You know the logistics of getting all these high-profile people together; their diaries alone are planned years in advance.’
They reach Helen’s office, a chaos of paperwork, Post-it notes and tech strewn across her glass desk. Helen falls back into a chair and removes her snow-encrusted Prada hiking boots. She ties her shoulder-length blonde hair into a ponytail, then pulls herself up to her desk and turns her attention to her computer screen.
‘Mauritz, relax, I told you I will get her, but it’s delicate.’ Her tone is dismissive, and underneath his neatly trimmed beard, his chin juts forward in irritation.
‘Sarah Collier was your idea, Helen; we have designed the whole event around the endorsement of a single celebrity of the science world and she’s not even a neurologist. We could have had any number of high-profile scientists, but you wanted her. Why?’
‘Because she can’t be bought. True she’s not a neurologist but she’s the most famous scientist in the world right now and her endorsement of this new product will be bulletproof. It’s exactly what we need. And tell me this: have I ever let you down before?’ Helen raises her head from her screen, finally makes eye contact and flashes a confident smile. ‘Let me deal with this my way, Mauritz.’ She turns her back to him, reaching into her bag, but in the never-ending reflections of the faceted glass, he clocks her face, and on it is a look he rarely sees in the unshakeable Helen Alder. In this moment, she is unsure – he sees multiple faces of doubt.
‘What is it? What’s bothering you, Helen?’
She is losing patience and turns to reply, but then she pauses, her face softening as she sees the old man. In her first interactions with Mauritz, she had assumed this research was a personal quest for rehabilitation, but the more she learned about his world, the more she realised it was greater than that; he had no children, he wanted to leave something behind. He wanted the name Schiller to echo through time.
‘I’ll get her for you, don’t worry, and she’ll be as amazed by what you’ve achieved as we all are.’
Over the top of Mauritz’s head, out of the corner of her eye, Helen sees something move. A quick flash in the corridor behind one of the pillars of concrete. She fixes her eyes on the spot, a couple of metres from her open office door. Her mind races.
‘Just make sure you do, Helen. If this falls through, then the future of the Institute hangs in the balance.’
Her attention returns to the pillar, and her suspicions are confirmed. It is the white hair of someone hiding, someone listening. She knows exactly who it is. Someone she has not allowed herself to trust – and her instincts have been proven right. She decides to end the conversation before any sensitive information is shared.
