ordeal when she was kidnapped,” Berman said, before turning back to look directly at George. “She’s not interested in talking about it. I know you were involved, what can you tell me?”
As George tried to shift his mind into high gear, he realized he’d drunk more than he thought. He’d vaguely noticed that the level in his drink never went down thanks to the attentive staff, but hadn’t thought much of it. Despite his buzz, he remembered how strongly Pia felt about the kidnapping episode and how adverse she was to talking about it, even to him. He knew he had to be careful to stay in her good graces.
“I don’t know much,” George said, stumbling over his words.
“Oh, come on!” Berman said with a touch of irritation. “I can understand Pia’s reticence but not yours. Was it traumatic for you as well?”
“It was, but mostly because Pia was in physical danger.”
“I’m sure Mr. Berman doesn’t want to hear about any of that,” Pia said, speaking up for the first time.
“No, I do. I’d like to hear about the whole episode. Actually, I’m most interested in the use of polonium-210 to kill the doctors. I’d heard about that case in London like everyone else. Did they ever figure out where the stuff came from? My understanding is that polonium-210 is hard to come by.”
“It’s very difficult,” George said, thinking that it was a safe subject as far as Pia’s sensitivities were concerned. “It is involved with triggering nuclear weapons.”
“Well, I don’t know why you two are so secretive about it. It was big news out here for several days. My understanding is that you, Pia, were given full credit for uncovering the role that polonium-210 played.”
“It was the only solution that fit all the symptoms.”
“You’re not giving yourself enough credit. I read that the deductive reasoning was brilliant in the minds of several analysts. You see, Dr. Wilson, that’s the quality of scientists we have here at Nano.”
Berman was talking as if he were recruiting Pia, which confused George, since he knew Nano already had her loyalty. Before anyone could respond, Whitney Jones announced that dinner was ready.
The dinner was predictably excellent. Berman didn’t mention the Rothman affair. Instead he took great pride in pointing out that all the food was locally sourced. He was especially loquacious about the elk tenderloin, which was the centerpiece of the dinner. Despite George’s general discomfort of being in such a foreign, elegant environment, he thought Berman was entitled to brag about the meat, which was slightly gamy, but not intensely so, and superbly tender.
Without giving it a lot of thought, George proceeded to knock back several glasses of red wine he knew was far superior to the one he had brought. By the end of the meal, the buzz that he’d felt earlier had intensified. When Berman and Pia got up to return to the deck to look at the abundant stars through his impressive electronically controlled telescope, George concentrated his attention on Whitney, who remained behind as the epitome of the charming, endlessly indulgent hostess.
“So what’s the story here?” George asked, leaning in to talk to Whitney conspiratorially. He had become inebriated enough to lose all appropriate restraint. He still had one burning question, and he had the mistaken notion that Whitney was taken with him.
“The story?” said Whitney, lowering her voice, playing along, suppressing a smile. “What do you mean?”
“Listen, I know I’ve had too much to drink and God knows I’d never normally ask a question like this.” George took another swig of wine.
“Like what, Dr. Wilson?”
“Is Berman sleeping with Pia?”
Whitney laughed softly. “You’re asking the wrong person. I wouldn’t know either way. And isn’t that a question you should be asking Pia?”
“Yes, yes, of course. But . . . well, she wouldn’t necessarily tell me.”
“And why’s
As George tried to shift his mind into high gear, he realized he’d drunk more than he thought. He’d vaguely noticed that the level in his drink never went down thanks to the attentive staff, but hadn’t thought much of it. Despite his buzz, he remembered how strongly Pia felt about the kidnapping episode and how adverse she was to talking about it, even to him. He knew he had to be careful to stay in her good graces.
“I don’t know much,” George said, stumbling over his words.
“Oh, come on!” Berman said with a touch of irritation. “I can understand Pia’s reticence but not yours. Was it traumatic for you as well?”
“It was, but mostly because Pia was in physical danger.”
“I’m sure Mr. Berman doesn’t want to hear about any of that,” Pia said, speaking up for the first time.
“No, I do. I’d like to hear about the whole episode. Actually, I’m most interested in the use of polonium-210 to kill the doctors. I’d heard about that case in London like everyone else. Did they ever figure out where the stuff came from? My understanding is that polonium-210 is hard to come by.”
“It’s very difficult,” George said, thinking that it was a safe subject as far as Pia’s sensitivities were concerned. “It is involved with triggering nuclear weapons.”
“Well, I don’t know why you two are so secretive about it. It was big news out here for several days. My understanding is that you, Pia, were given full credit for uncovering the role that polonium-210 played.”
“It was the only solution that fit all the symptoms.”
“You’re not giving yourself enough credit. I read that the deductive reasoning was brilliant in the minds of several analysts. You see, Dr. Wilson, that’s the quality of scientists we have here at Nano.”
Berman was talking as if he were recruiting Pia, which confused George, since he knew Nano already had her loyalty. Before anyone could respond, Whitney Jones announced that dinner was ready.
The dinner was predictably excellent. Berman didn’t mention the Rothman affair. Instead he took great pride in pointing out that all the food was locally sourced. He was especially loquacious about the elk tenderloin, which was the centerpiece of the dinner. Despite George’s general discomfort of being in such a foreign, elegant environment, he thought Berman was entitled to brag about the meat, which was slightly gamy, but not intensely so, and superbly tender.
Without giving it a lot of thought, George proceeded to knock back several glasses of red wine he knew was far superior to the one he had brought. By the end of the meal, the buzz that he’d felt earlier had intensified. When Berman and Pia got up to return to the deck to look at the abundant stars through his impressive electronically controlled telescope, George concentrated his attention on Whitney, who remained behind as the epitome of the charming, endlessly indulgent hostess.
“So what’s the story here?” George asked, leaning in to talk to Whitney conspiratorially. He had become inebriated enough to lose all appropriate restraint. He still had one burning question, and he had the mistaken notion that Whitney was taken with him.
“The story?” said Whitney, lowering her voice, playing along, suppressing a smile. “What do you mean?”
“Listen, I know I’ve had too much to drink and God knows I’d never normally ask a question like this.” George took another swig of wine.
“Like what, Dr. Wilson?”
“Is Berman sleeping with Pia?”
Whitney laughed softly. “You’re asking the wrong person. I wouldn’t know either way. And isn’t that a question you should be asking Pia?”
“Yes, yes, of course. But . . . well, she wouldn’t necessarily tell me.”
“And why’s
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