pulled around her eyes and mouth. She nodded to me, motioned for Renshaw to sit, and curled into a corner of the sofa, drawing
her bare feet up. The pose was not relaxed, however; she seemed coiled tight, ready to spring.
“Gage tells me he’s hired you to look into the mismanagement of our ransom delivery,” she said.
If her choice of words bothered Renshaw, he didn’t betray it. I said, “I plan to fly to San Diego tonight and begin an investigation
into the whereabouts of your husband, the letter of credit, and the man who was to make the drop.”
“You mean the whereabouts of my husband’s
body
.”
“We have no proof he’s dead.”
Diane Mourning brushed the statement aside with a flick of her hand. “The kidnappers have the L.C. They must, because there’ve
been no further demands from them. Do you really think they’d let Timothy live?”
“We also have no proof that they have the letter of credit.”
“Then why haven’t we heard from them?”
“Protracted silences are a common tactic with kidnappers; it’s their way of working on your nerves.”
“Well, they’re doing a damned good job of it. I hate this, I hate the waiting. I can’t make any assumptions. I don’t know
how to proceed.”
“Proceed with what?”
Abruptly she uncoiled her body and placed her feet flat on the floor, leaning toward me. “How much has Gage told you about
the situation here? The professional, as opposed to the personal?”
“Not a great deal. I know that the new drug Phoenix Labs is developing has angered animal-rights activists, and that you suspect
a radical group of having kidnapped your husband. I know that you’ve withdrawn your initial public offering of stock.”
Renshaw said, “I’ve given Sharon a file on the biotech industry.”
Diane Mourning didn’t bother to look at him. “Forget the file. Most of it will be superfluous. I can tell you all you’ll ever
need to know.”
I glanced at Renshaw. He slouched in the chair, seemingly as relaxed as before, but his fingers were laced together as they
would have been if he were strangling someone.
“Our industry is a relatively new one,” Diane Mourning began. “Ten or twelve years ago there were only two biotech companies
whose stock was offered publicly, now there are around two hundred and fifty, with a combined market value of over forty billion
dollars. Most people still think of us as genetic engineers, but that’s only one of a whole range of avant-garde techniques—including
rational drug design, which Phoenix Labs employs. Is this clear so far?”
“So far,” I said, not thrilled with her patronizing tone.
“Financing has always been a problem for the industry. We’re on a ten-year product cycle—meaning that’s how long it takes
on the average to bring a drug to market. This doesn’t mesh with the stock market’s quarterly profit cycle; investors are
wary of firms that don’t produce those regular dividends. At Phoenix we’ve been fortunate; a couple of major venture capitalists
got interested in us early on and helped to privately raise most of the fifty million we needed for the initial phases of
development. Now we’re beginning on the final phase, and those sources have dried up, so we need to raise an additional fifty
million.”
“Okay, I understand the financial problems involved, but what about the environmental—or animal-rights—issue?”
“The drug we’re developing, Enterferon-One, belongs to a group called tat inhibitors. They have the potential to destroy the
HIV virus’s ability to reproduce. We’re about two years away from knowing conclusively whether it works on humans, and the
next phase is very critical. It’s also controversial because of the requirements for the experimentation. You see, the production
of Enterferon-One relies on the use of a substance called Delphol, which is extracted from the cartilage of dolphins. And
that’s what’s got
her bare feet up. The pose was not relaxed, however; she seemed coiled tight, ready to spring.
“Gage tells me he’s hired you to look into the mismanagement of our ransom delivery,” she said.
If her choice of words bothered Renshaw, he didn’t betray it. I said, “I plan to fly to San Diego tonight and begin an investigation
into the whereabouts of your husband, the letter of credit, and the man who was to make the drop.”
“You mean the whereabouts of my husband’s
body
.”
“We have no proof he’s dead.”
Diane Mourning brushed the statement aside with a flick of her hand. “The kidnappers have the L.C. They must, because there’ve
been no further demands from them. Do you really think they’d let Timothy live?”
“We also have no proof that they have the letter of credit.”
“Then why haven’t we heard from them?”
“Protracted silences are a common tactic with kidnappers; it’s their way of working on your nerves.”
“Well, they’re doing a damned good job of it. I hate this, I hate the waiting. I can’t make any assumptions. I don’t know
how to proceed.”
“Proceed with what?”
Abruptly she uncoiled her body and placed her feet flat on the floor, leaning toward me. “How much has Gage told you about
the situation here? The professional, as opposed to the personal?”
“Not a great deal. I know that the new drug Phoenix Labs is developing has angered animal-rights activists, and that you suspect
a radical group of having kidnapped your husband. I know that you’ve withdrawn your initial public offering of stock.”
Renshaw said, “I’ve given Sharon a file on the biotech industry.”
Diane Mourning didn’t bother to look at him. “Forget the file. Most of it will be superfluous. I can tell you all you’ll ever
need to know.”
I glanced at Renshaw. He slouched in the chair, seemingly as relaxed as before, but his fingers were laced together as they
would have been if he were strangling someone.
“Our industry is a relatively new one,” Diane Mourning began. “Ten or twelve years ago there were only two biotech companies
whose stock was offered publicly, now there are around two hundred and fifty, with a combined market value of over forty billion
dollars. Most people still think of us as genetic engineers, but that’s only one of a whole range of avant-garde techniques—including
rational drug design, which Phoenix Labs employs. Is this clear so far?”
“So far,” I said, not thrilled with her patronizing tone.
“Financing has always been a problem for the industry. We’re on a ten-year product cycle—meaning that’s how long it takes
on the average to bring a drug to market. This doesn’t mesh with the stock market’s quarterly profit cycle; investors are
wary of firms that don’t produce those regular dividends. At Phoenix we’ve been fortunate; a couple of major venture capitalists
got interested in us early on and helped to privately raise most of the fifty million we needed for the initial phases of
development. Now we’re beginning on the final phase, and those sources have dried up, so we need to raise an additional fifty
million.”
“Okay, I understand the financial problems involved, but what about the environmental—or animal-rights—issue?”
“The drug we’re developing, Enterferon-One, belongs to a group called tat inhibitors. They have the potential to destroy the
HIV virus’s ability to reproduce. We’re about two years away from knowing conclusively whether it works on humans, and the
next phase is very critical. It’s also controversial because of the requirements for the experimentation. You see, the production
of Enterferon-One relies on the use of a substance called Delphol, which is extracted from the cartilage of dolphins. And
that’s what’s got
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