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.You can’t go running around the country like a maniac.Think of your granddaughter’s well-being!”“Take her back and let her die? Hell no.”“Then what?”“Let me think.”Tamara puffed out a disgusted sigh, then unbuckled her seat belt and clambered back toward Angela.Luke was thinking furiously as he drove through the heavy Beltway traffic.Don’t go over the speed limit, he told himself.Don’t give them an excuse for stopping you.That’s all they’ll need.He wondered if the two rent-a-cops at the clinic got his license plate number.Probably not.I was starting to turn the corner when they came out of the building.Maybe they could make out what state the plate’s from, but I doubt it.Then he realized, Security cameras! Could they read the license plate?Got to find help! But who? If the FBI got to Yolanda, they’ll be contacting everybody else I know.I need to get Angie into a safe facility.But where? How?By the time Tamara scrambled back into the seat beside him, Luke had hit on the one person he could think of that could help him: Quenton Fisk.Without being asked, Tamara reported, “Angie’s okay.Sleeping again.”“Is she warm enough back there?”Nodding, she said, “I tucked the blankets around her.She’ll be all right.” Then she added, “For now.”“I need to call Quenton Fisk,” Luke said.“Who’s he?”“Big-shot industrialist.Financier.He’s funding my work on telomerase.”“You think he can help you?”Luke nodded.“He’s got money, connections.Owns factories, research labs.And I don’t think the FBI would connect him with me.Not right away, at least.”“But will he help you?”With a shrug, Luke replied, “We’ll find out.”He knew that he couldn’t use his own cell phone: The FBI would track any calls he made.Probably Tamara’s, too, Luke reasoned.At a rest stop along the highway he pulled in to the minimart and bought another throwaway cell phone and a hundred minutes of calling time.He didn’t have enough cash in his trouser pocket and had to sprint back to the SUV, unzip his suitcase, and pull a handful of bills from the wad he had stuffed inside the suitcase’s lid.Tamara’s eyes widened.“You shouldn’t be carrying all that cash.It’s dangerous.”He shook his head.“I can’t use credit cards or traveler’s checks.Too easy to trace.”“But still … if anybody knew how much cash you’ve got in there…”Tightly, he said, “That’s a chance I have to take.”He left Tamara and Angela in the van, the motor still running to keep the heater going, and bought the cell phone.Opening Tamara’s door, Luke said, “You drive.I’ve got to call Fisk.”“Do you know his phone number?”Luke replied, “It’s in my laptop.” Almost grinning, he added, “Right beside my money stash.”She got out of the van, went around, and climbed into the driver’s seat.Luke pulled out his laptop and, after a quick glance at his sleeping granddaughter, climbed in beside Tamara.Off they drove.Fisk Tower, ManhattanQUENTON FISK WAS dictating a letter to his computer’s voice-recognition program when his desk phone blinked.Gritting his teeth in irritation at the interruption, he killed the dictation program, then tapped the intercom button.“What?” he demanded.“Professor Abramson calling, Mr.Fisk,” said his assistant.“Abramson? I’ll take the call.”“On line one, sir.” Before Fisk could react, his assistant added, “Should I notify that FBI man?”“No,” he said sharply.“Not yet.”Then he lifted the phone from its cradle and leaned back in his comfortably yielding chair.“Professor Abramson.How are you?”Abramson’s voice sounded strained, gritty.“I need your help, Mr.Fisk.”“What can I do for you?”For several minutes Abramson poured out his troubles.Dying granddaughter.He could cure the child.Parents don’t understand.The FBI is after him.“I need a medical facility where I can treat Angie without the FBI grabbing me.”Fisk wished he could see the man.It was always so much easier dealing with someone face-to-face, rather than a disembodied voice.Reading a man’s facial expressions often told more than listening to his words.“Where are you now?” he asked.Abramson replied, “On the road.South of Washington, D.C.”“Heading where?”“I don’t know!” Abramson’s voice rose a notch.“I don’t know where we can be safe.We need a facility for Angie.I can’t keep her in this van forever!”“Calm down, Professor.I’ll be glad to help you.”“You’ll be saving my granddaughter’s life.”“Of course.Now, exactly where are you? I need to know which highway you’re on, and which mile marker you are passing.”Abramson replied, “Interstate 95, heading south.Twenty miles before Richmond.”Smiling to himself, Fisk thought, It all goes so much more easily when you have money and connections.He told Abramson, “I’ll set you up with a hotel for the night.I’ll call you back in ten minutes or less.”The professor was reluctant to hang up on nothing more than that promise, but the poor chump had no choice.Clicking his intercom again, Fisk told his assistant to make the necessary hotel reservation.“Then call Professor Abramson with the information,” he ordered.“Yes, sir.Should I call Agent Hightower now, sir?”“No.No need to bring him into this.Not yet.”“Yes, sir.”“And when you talk to Abramson, tell him to call me back once he’s in the hotel.On Skype.I want to see his face.”“Yes, sir.”* * *LUKE FIDGETED NERVOUSLY in the van while he waited for Fisk to call back.“You think he’s calling the feds?” Tamara asked, her eyes focused on the road.“He wouldn’t do that.”“Neither would your friend Petrone.”Before Luke could reply, the cell phone buzzed.He snatched it.“This is Mr.Fisk’s personal assistant,” said a smooth female voice.“I have made the following hotel reservation for you and your party.”* * *THE HOTEL WAS an upscale Marriott, with its own restaurant and room service.Fisk had reserved them a two-bedroom suite on the top floor.Angela woke up as Luke lifted her out of the van.“Hi, Grandpa,” she said, blinking sleep out of her eyes.Looking around as Luke carried her through the lobby, she said, “Wow, this is super.”Tamara, holding the IV bag as she walked beside them, agreed smilingly.“Top-flight place.I hope you can afford it.”“Fisk’s paying for it,” Luke replied
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