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Chapter 2
The door to the Oval Office flew open, and the chief of staff leaned into the waiting room. "Dr. Wyatt, please come in."
Alexander Wyatt straightened his 6-foot frame and headed into the Oval Office. He was a little perplexed about this sudden invitation to the White House.
The President rose from behind his teak desk and extended his hand. "Dr. Wyatt, thanks for coming out." He motioned for him to sit, and Alex settled into a wingback chair.
The President rocked back in his seat. "I can't tell you how much the entire family enjoyed the Miracle Christmas Tree we put up in the Roosevelt Room last winter. Still astounds me-pine needles that glow in the dark. I understand that came out of your lab at Eden Enterprises."
"Yes, sir." The trees were a monster success when they hit the market last winter. Eden couldn't keep up with the demand, with kids from Bangor to Beverly Hills pestering their parents for a glow-in-the-dark Christmas tree. "We spliced a gene from firefly tails into the pine's needles. Frankly, we didn't expect such a huge response."
The President began leafing through a yellow binder. "My people tell me you've done some remarkable things. Founded a food biotech firm. Activist in the fight against world hunger. Even won a surfing championship some years back." Alex still liked to shoot the curl a couple of weekends a month. The President slapped the binder shut and leaned forward. "But what I really want to know is: How do you find the time to play bass guitar in a rock band?"
Alex smiled. "It's not much of a band, sir." He and a few friends from his renegade days played '80s covers at a dive down the California coast in Santa Cruz now and then.
The president nodded absently. In the corner, the chief of staff tapped his wristwatch and held up five fingers. The President turned to Alex and searched him with piercing eyes. "I'd like you on my team, Alex." He paused for a heartbeat, raised his voice a notch. "I want you to be my top science adviser."
Good night, that came out of left field. Alex felt his pulse double.
The President mentioned the vacancy created by Dr. Hirsch's recent death. Alex remembered the news accounts. Freaky way for a man to die — in his own bathtub. Coroner ruled it an accidental death, from what he remembered.
"Alex, I want new ideas." The President stood up, brushed aside the gold drapes, and looked out at the magnolia trees. "I want someone with the gift of innovation and entrepreneurship. Someone who's on the cutting edge of the technologies of the future. Genetic engineering, agricultural biotechnology — fields where we still lead the world."
Alex thumbed the lucky keychain in his pocket. "Mr. President, may I ask, why me? I just run a business."
The President waved that off. "I don't want some starched ivory — tower academic from MIT. I've had it up to here with the think tanks. I want a science adviser who's familiar with the rough-and-tumble of the marketplace. A no-bullshit businessman who can cut through the crap and translate policy into action."
Alex didn't know what to say. He never considered himself the public-service type. Who would run Eden if he left? And even if he wanted the job, his ex-wife, Lynn, probably wouldn't let him move the girls out of California.
The President smiled. "You're still a young man, Alex. I know I'm asking you to make a sacrifice. But I need you. Your country needs you." The President strode around his desk and gripped Alex's hand.
In that moment, Alex felt frozen in time. Career paths, the President's blatant patriotic pitch, the practical considerations involved in uprooting his family — Alex let those thoughts flicker away. Instead, he grasped a more elemental question that the President was putting to him: Alex Wyatt, what kind of man are you?
Alex wasn't into long bouts of introspection. Hell, he basically thought of himself as a slacker surfer with a cool day job and two beautiful girls. Public service wasn't his thing. His father was killed in action in Vietnam, so Alex figured he wasn't exactly indebted to the U.S. government. Yes, he cared deeply about his work to reduce world hunger. Truth be told, though, he'd rather shoot a curl at Maverick's and fire up a doobie back stage at a beach club than face a swarm of Beltway lobbyists.
But now, in the grip of that dazzling, electric handshake, Alex Wyatt faced the question he'd been ducking for years: Am I going to keep on partying, or grow up, settle down, and give something back to my country? Framed that way, he already knew the answer.
"Mr. President, I'm honored by your confidence in me. I'll need some time."
"Take a few days," the President said. "Sorry to cut this so short, the Russian ambassador's waiting. We'll talk more next time. I want to hear your ideas." They walked to the door, and the President draped his arm around Alex's shoulder. "There are great things I want us to do together, my friend."
The man sure has that special schmooze gene, Alex thought as he stepped into the outer office.
The chief of staff trailed Alex out. "Call me ASAP so we can get the process moving. The FBI needs time for its background check."
"Background check?"
"Before the Senate confirmation hearings."
"Of course," Alex said. "Just out of curiosity, how far back do they check?"
"Far back as they need to. They're very thorough." He turned to Alex and stopped short. "Let's cut to the chase. Anything we need to be concerned about?"
Alex hesitated. "I was a little messed up in high school. A drunk driving arrest. An incident or two involving demon weed."
And that night. The night he had tried to put out of his mind for half a lifetime. The night of the rape, the killing in the woods, eighteen years ago.
The chief of staff wheeled around. "You mean you're human?" He shot Alex a finger-gun goodbye and breezed down the hallway. "We can live with that. Listen, this isn't the Supreme Court you're up for. We know all about your past."
Alex leaned against the wall and took in a deep breath. No, you don't know. Only one other person knows about that night.
Only her.
Jesus. I've got to find her.
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