Mark of the Beast by Adolphus A. Anekwe Page B

which could be seen clearly from the café, slipped behind two thin clouds.
    â€œThat setting sun is something, isn’t it?” Abramhoff agreed.
    The Grande Lakes could be seen from the various walkways surrounding the circular pool. The water in the pool itself flowed in a continuous motion, circulating around a central bar area.
    Beyond these beautiful outdoor areas, and the Grande Lakes, was a sixteen-hole golf course, meticulously maintained. The water, sprinkling off the golf course, created a miniaturized rainbow across the manicured lawn.
    â€œI knew I should have brought my golf clubs,” Abramhoff said, “but I was in such a rush.”
    Dickerson was not as disappointed in her surroundings as she had been when she had arrived. She knew she should have taken a walk around this vast hotel yesterday, but she had chosen, instead, to remain in her room and use the time to put a finishing touch to her presentation.
    â€œThat was some session, Dr. Dickerson,” Abramhoff said when both finally sat down to dinner at the Quench Poolside Bar & Grill.
    â€œPlease call me Regina.”
    Dr. Abramhoff nodded.
    â€œI didn’t expect that many hostile questions,” Abramhoff said with a wrinkled forehead. “I was really surprised.”
    â€œOn the contrary, I was not surprised, Dr. Abramhoff,” Dr. Dickerson said, shrugging her shoulders.
    â€œDavid, please.”
    â€œOkay.”
    â€œYou realize that we are on the verge of something that may revolutionize the entire judicial system,” Abramhoff said, sounding like a judge.
    â€œI’m acutely aware of that, but why can’t some people see that?”
    â€œPart of it is jealousy, part ignorance, and the rest is simply obstructionism.”
    After a momentary reflection, Dr. Abramhoff continued, “In Chicago, I met with the governor and the state health commissioner, and there was a consensus on moving forward.”
    â€œYou’ve really gone further than I have. I only had the help of our local chief detective and the superintendent of a correctional institute.”
    â€œCan I get you something to drink?” the waitress interrupted.
    â€œYes, please, club soda,” Dr. Abramhoff responded.
    â€œWhat can I get you, madam?”
    â€œLate harvest white Riesling,” Dickerson answered, looking at the wine list.
    â€œThank you. I’ll be back to take your orders.” The waitress headed toward the bar.
    â€œHow did the five-percent solution of dextrose ethylene benzoic acid come up?” Abramhoff asked.
    â€œActually, we used it previously to clarify and accurately define the genes responsible for the galactosamine disorders.”
    â€œVery interesting, but how did you think of using it here?”
    â€œOne of my research assistants suggested using it to wash out the impurities in the solution. Guess what? It worked.”
    â€œI can’t wait to get back to Chicago. The governor will be thrilled.”
    â€œHow did you get the governor in on this?” Dickerson asked.
    â€œWell, he ran his campaign on a crime reduction theme, and I enthusiastically supported him. In any event, I knew him from his days in Congress.”
    â€œThat’s a nice connection. It may come in handy.”
    â€œHe’s actually given us his blessing and has allocated state funding for more research at the Kankakee Federal Prison.”
    â€œThat’s great,” Dickerson said with some envy. “How did you pull that off?”
    â€œAre you ready to order?” the waitress interrupted, while serving the drinks.
    â€œWhat do you seriously think about these HLA B66 findings?” Abramhoff asked when the waitress finally left after taking their orders.
    â€œI believe we’re onto something, and neither of us currently is aware of the implications; what do you think?”
    â€œI do believe that with the proper legislative action, we might be on the verge of ridding