“Her deterioration is a result of her augment,” Yuri continued. “We don’t completely understand why. The device’s microelectrodes are composed of carbon-platinum nanotubules. We believe that the more a subject utilizes their talents, the faster they deteriorate. Has Sasha been drawing while you’ve had her in your custody?”
Painter remembered all her feverish sketches: the safe house, the Taj Mahal, a picture of Monk. He slowly nodded. “Exactly what is she doing when she draws?”
Mapplethorpe lifted a hand. There was an oiliness to his voice, well suited to slide around the truth. “You know that is beyond the scope of discussion here. You’re treading on thin ice, Director Crowe.”
Yuri spoke over Mapplethorpe’s objection, which Painter found interesting. “She is a prodigious savant,” he said, ignoring glares from either side. “Her natural talents blend keen spatial dynamics with artistic talent, and when augmented, these abilities cross to—”
“That’s enough,” Mapplethorpe barked. “Or we end matters here and walk away. You can send us the girl’s body after she’s dead.”
Yuri’s face darkened, but he went silent.
Lisa encouraged him back on track. “Why does utilizing her abilities accelerate Sasha’s deterioration?”
Yuri spoke softly, with a trace of guilt. “When stimulated, the interface between the organic and inorganic begins to leak.”
Malcolm stirred. “What do you mean by ‘leak’?”
“Our researchers believe that nanoparticles break away from the ends of the microelectrodes and contaminate the cerebral spinal fluid.”
Lisa stirred. “No wonder our cultures came back negative. The meningitis wasn’t bacterial or viral, but a contamination of foreign particles.”
Yuri nodded.
“And to cure her, we must treat that contamination?” she asked.
“Yes. It has taken us many years to devise a system of preventative medicine. At the core, we employ a modified version of a chemotherapeutic drug used to treat bladder cancer. Cis-platinum. The monoatomic platinum acts as a binder for the stray nanoparticles and helps flush them out. The exact cocktail and dosage of drugs necessary to facilitate such a treatment will require an examination of the girl and immediate access to fresh blood tests.”
Painter noted the corners of McBride’s lips harden. It seemed there was some dissatisfaction with this dependency on Dr. Raev. But if the Russian was telling the truth, he was vital to the girl’s survival.
Under the table, Lisa’s hand rested on Painter’s knee. The long linen tablecloth hid her attention. They were seated in the Fabric Room of the Capital Grille steakhouse, neutral ground, a restaurant known for the number of deals struck across the fine china and linen. They had the private dining hall to themselves. The rest of the restaurant was notably empty. Most likely arranged by Mapplethorpe to assure further privacy.
Lisa’s fingers tightened on his knee, signaling that she believed Dr. Raev. Painter also noted the division between the Russian and the other two men. Was there a way of utilizing that to his advantage?
McBride spoke. “We have Dr. Raev’s pharmacy of medicines. If you’ll bring the girl to a hospital, we can get her treatment started immediately. Perhaps Walter Reed Army Medical Center.”
Painter shook his head.
Nice try, bud.
Lisa supported him. “She’s too fragile to move. We’re barely managing her D.I.C. as it is. Any additional stress could destabilize her beyond recovery.”
“Then I must go to her,” Yuri said.
Painter knew they’d come to the prickly point of these negotiations. The child was a political and scientific hot potato. He had left her in the care of Kat and Sean. Sean, as the director of DARPA, was also wielding his skill behind the scenes. The roundtable here was just the tip of the political iceberg.
Painter had no choice but to bring Yuri to the girl, breaching Sigma security—but unfortunately, Mapplethorpe knew this, too. And from their reactions here and the obvious friction between them, Mapplethorpe would never allow Yuri to go alone.
“I will allow one person to accompany Dr. Raev,” Painter said.
Mapplethorpe misinterpreted his restriction. “We know where Sigma command is located, if that’s what you fear revealing. Beneath the Smithsonian Castle.”
Though Painter shouldn’t have been startled, his gut still clenched. Mapplethorpe had his fingers tangled throughout the intelligence web of Washington. Sean had warned that it would not take the man long to determine who was involved and where they were located. Still, with all his political power, Mapplethorpe could not gain access to Sigma’s inner sanctum. Behind the scenes, the man was surely still attempting to storm their gates. Sean’s goal was to keep those gates barred tightly.
Painter kept his features stoic. “Be that as it may, I’ll allow only one person to accompany Dr. Raev.” He glanced between the two men.
McBride lifted a hand. “I’ll go. I can be of use to Yuri.”
From the Russian’s slight roll of his eyes, it seemed Dr. Raev did not agree.
Mapplethorpe stared hard at Painter, then slowly nodded. “But we’ll want a concession for our cooperation,” he said.
“What’s that?”
“You may keep the girl—but from here on out, you’ll grant free access to her once she’s recovered. She is a resource we’ll not let slip away. Our national security is at stake.”
“Don’t wave the flag at me,” Painter said. “What you cooperated in to produce this girl is beyond all conventions of human decency.”
“We only financed and offered scientific counsel at the end. The project was already well established. If we hadn’t cooperated, as you say, our country would be at serious risk.”
“What a crock! When you cross such a line, you damage all of us. What nation are we trying to protect, if that nation advocates the brutality necessary to produce this girl?”
“Are you truly that naive, Crowe? It’s a new world out there.”
“No, it’s not. Last I checked, it’s the same planet circling the same sun. The only thing that’s changed is how we’re reacting, what lines we’re willing to cross. We have the ability to stop that.”
Mapplethorpe glowered at him. Painter saw the resolution in the man’s eyes. The man truly believed what he was doing was necessary, saw no fault in it. Here was a level of zealotry that brooked no argument. Painter wondered where such certainty came from—was it just patriotism or did he wrap himself in such dogma to protect himself from the atrocities he committed, crimes he knew in his heart were too horrible to justify any other way?