are very much alike then. My chambers are through that door,” Birot said.
He tried to smile. I tried one of the sandwiches with something green sticking out and was glad I had eaten already.
“Isabelle, what can you tell me about the arrangements?” Birot asked.
There was no easy way to say it, but she tried to tell him delicately that they were doing the autopsy that day and that his son’s body would be released in a few days.
“Do they know what happened?” he asked.
She looked at me. I knew what she wanted to say, but instead she told him that they’d asked her not to discuss it until the final results were in.
That answer didn’t sit well with any of us. He got up and went over to his desk. I hadn’t noticed before, but below its glass top were several computer screens facing upward. The top itself was touch-sensitive. He pressed it in a few places, the windows darkened, and a 3-D holographic image appeared in the middle of the room. It was the walkway to the parking garage beside the Hyatt, but it wasn’t just an image. It was a video. Someone in the crowd had taken a video on their phone, and Birot had it, and had made it into a 3-D movie. He let it run until it showed a close-up of his son with Billy saying he didn’t think he’d been shot or stabbed. He froze the image.
“Where did you get that?” I asked.
“From the woman who went to the news media with the story discounted so emphatically by your authorities. I paid well to see the last moments of my son’s life, Mr. Matthews.”
“I’m sorry,” said Izzy. “They asked us not say yet.”
“I simply ask for the truth. Was it Ebola?”
She whispered, “Yes.”
He let go the breath that he looked like he’d been holding in since he first got word of his son’s death. “Do they know how he contracted it?”
Izzy shook her head.
“Are there others?”
She nodded. “The man in the video helping François is one.”
“Billy, my partner,” I said.
“I should have been with him,” said Izzy.
Birot turned off the projector and brought up the light again. “I know of your agreement with my son,” he said. “I also know that he liked the women too much for his own good. I do not blame you, Isabelle. He was not always like that. He took his mother’s death very hard. And now that he is gone, all I have left is my work.”
I’d been waiting for the right time to ask. “What exactly is your line of work, Mr. Birot?”
“Research,” he said.
That was the cocktail party answer.
“What kind of research?”
“Any kind that strikes my fancy, Mr. Matthews. That is the prerogative of being as rich as I am.”
“Do any government work?”
“Not in quite some time.”
“Why’s that? Government research is a gold mine, isn’t it?”
“It is not about the money, Mr. Matthews. Let’s just say we have our philosophical differences. Would you care to see one of our current projects under development?”
“Sure, why not?”
“We don’t want to impose,” Izzy said.
“I welcome the diversion, Isabelle. It will take my mind off my grief.”
Birot led us into the elevator, swiped his ID, and pushed S3. The doors closed and opened again on the second floor, where a couple of twenty-somethings got on. They looked like two high school kids out on a date in lab coats. They exchanged greetings with Birot and nodded politely to us. One of them hit the button for S1 and the doors closed again.
“How were the results of the experiment?” Birot asked them.
“Perfect, Mr. B,” the guy said. “It was just as you thought.”
“Good,” he smiled. “Let me know if there are any changes.”
When the elevator doors opened at S1 and they got off, I caught a glimpse of the place. It was warm and humid, green and filled with row after row of plants in raised beds under low-hanging grow lights. A sprinkler system covered the ceiling and kept the air heavy with the musky smell of the plants. It looked like an industrial pot
He tried to smile. I tried one of the sandwiches with something green sticking out and was glad I had eaten already.
“Isabelle, what can you tell me about the arrangements?” Birot asked.
There was no easy way to say it, but she tried to tell him delicately that they were doing the autopsy that day and that his son’s body would be released in a few days.
“Do they know what happened?” he asked.
She looked at me. I knew what she wanted to say, but instead she told him that they’d asked her not to discuss it until the final results were in.
That answer didn’t sit well with any of us. He got up and went over to his desk. I hadn’t noticed before, but below its glass top were several computer screens facing upward. The top itself was touch-sensitive. He pressed it in a few places, the windows darkened, and a 3-D holographic image appeared in the middle of the room. It was the walkway to the parking garage beside the Hyatt, but it wasn’t just an image. It was a video. Someone in the crowd had taken a video on their phone, and Birot had it, and had made it into a 3-D movie. He let it run until it showed a close-up of his son with Billy saying he didn’t think he’d been shot or stabbed. He froze the image.
“Where did you get that?” I asked.
“From the woman who went to the news media with the story discounted so emphatically by your authorities. I paid well to see the last moments of my son’s life, Mr. Matthews.”
“I’m sorry,” said Izzy. “They asked us not say yet.”
“I simply ask for the truth. Was it Ebola?”
She whispered, “Yes.”
He let go the breath that he looked like he’d been holding in since he first got word of his son’s death. “Do they know how he contracted it?”
Izzy shook her head.
“Are there others?”
She nodded. “The man in the video helping François is one.”
“Billy, my partner,” I said.
“I should have been with him,” said Izzy.
Birot turned off the projector and brought up the light again. “I know of your agreement with my son,” he said. “I also know that he liked the women too much for his own good. I do not blame you, Isabelle. He was not always like that. He took his mother’s death very hard. And now that he is gone, all I have left is my work.”
I’d been waiting for the right time to ask. “What exactly is your line of work, Mr. Birot?”
“Research,” he said.
That was the cocktail party answer.
“What kind of research?”
“Any kind that strikes my fancy, Mr. Matthews. That is the prerogative of being as rich as I am.”
“Do any government work?”
“Not in quite some time.”
“Why’s that? Government research is a gold mine, isn’t it?”
“It is not about the money, Mr. Matthews. Let’s just say we have our philosophical differences. Would you care to see one of our current projects under development?”
“Sure, why not?”
“We don’t want to impose,” Izzy said.
“I welcome the diversion, Isabelle. It will take my mind off my grief.”
Birot led us into the elevator, swiped his ID, and pushed S3. The doors closed and opened again on the second floor, where a couple of twenty-somethings got on. They looked like two high school kids out on a date in lab coats. They exchanged greetings with Birot and nodded politely to us. One of them hit the button for S1 and the doors closed again.
“How were the results of the experiment?” Birot asked them.
“Perfect, Mr. B,” the guy said. “It was just as you thought.”
“Good,” he smiled. “Let me know if there are any changes.”
When the elevator doors opened at S1 and they got off, I caught a glimpse of the place. It was warm and humid, green and filled with row after row of plants in raised beds under low-hanging grow lights. A sprinkler system covered the ceiling and kept the air heavy with the musky smell of the plants. It looked like an industrial pot
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