Nano by Robin Cook Page A

extraordinarily competitive man, Zachary Berman needed little sleep. Sometimes after four hours, but usually after five or six, he woke up and was out of bed. For him there was no lying around, not ever. After some fruit, he was on the exercise bike, watching Bloomberg financial news. Then it was into the office at Nano usually well before anyone else, except for Mariel. She was the institution’s primary workaholic. Sitting at his desk on this particular morning, he wasn’t in the best of moods. Besides his mother’s condition, there were several other bothersome items on his mind.
    After leaving his mother’s assisted-living facility, Berman had driven directly back to Nano to meet with his senior scientist, Allan Stevens, and had been briefed on the fate of the second cyclist, subject number 5. Berman had been furious that the team had allowed the first subject to overexert himself on his ride outside the facility in such a way as to cause his death, but Stevens had defended his people, saying that his instructions had been very specific and it was the cyclist who had chosen to ignore them. When they repeated the run and proved they had an issue with the program, and not the riders, Berman asked that a detailed report on the incidents be on his desk within twenty-four hours. He wanted to know how these deaths differed from, or was similar to, any of the others the program had experienced.
    “What are your thoughts on what happened on a cellular level?” Berman had asked Stevens before they split up.
    “We’re not certain,” Stevens had admitted. “Light microscopic evidence shows congestive blockage in the spleen and the lungs in both men.”
    “And the cause?”
    “We’re assuming it’s immunologic again.”
    “Are we taking advantage of what we have learned recently with the microbivores?”
    “We have a new crop being delivered today, so the answer is most definitely. The new subjects will be infused with the new agents.”
    “It’s ironic. We thought that the endurance program was going to help the microbivores program, not vice versa.”
    “It is ironic,” Stevens had agreed.
    After going through most of the snail mail that had accumulated during his trip to Beijing, Berman leaned back in his ergonomic executive chair and stared out at the mountain scenery with unseeing eyes. He was thinking of what to say to his recently arrived guests, thankfully none of whom had witnessed the setback. It was implicit in the arrangement that the subjects of the testing program were expendable, but clearly deaths meant that something had not gone according to plan. He decided it would be counterproductive to tell them. Berman knew the current dignitaries would be severely jet-lagged on their first day in the United States. Everyone knew that flying east was harder than flying west, and there was no need to get them perturbed on top of that. Instead Berman composed a text to Whitney, asking her to arrange a lunch for the visiting dignitaries in Nano’s executive dining room, which he would attend, along with a few senior staff. She should also inform them that for the evening they would be at their leisure. Berman wanted the evening kept free for a more interesting purpose.
    Berman quickly typed out another text, this one to Mariel, that said simply: “Come see me!” Berman was confident Mariel would be somewhere in the bio labs, as she always was. Whitney Jones he didn’t expect would show her face for at least another hour.
    Precisely three minutes later, Mariel arrived in his office. She was one of only three people with access through the iris scanner outside his suite. The other two were Berman himself and Whitney Jones.
    “We lost another rider yesterday,” said Berman. “That’s two in the same day.”
    “I know. It’s unfortunate.” Mariel sat in one of the two chairs facing Berman’s desk. She crossed her legs. She wore slacks as she always did, and a silk blouse under her immaculate and heavily