was, ‘Good luck, my friend, and may your young patient’s troubles disappear.’”
“My God!” she finally blurted out. “So you think this may be the same guy?” She pointed to the computer screen.
“Might be,” he said. “He’s the only one who ever called me Dr.
G. If it is, maybe he’s trying to reach out to us.” “Who else knows about this?”
“No one but us, I guess. Besides the government. The project has
never been declassified. It was coded S.S.” “What does this S.S. mean?” she asked. “I don’t know.”
“So you’re telling me there is a seventy-something-year-old man walking around somewhere with the formula to stop cancer.”
“I can’t prove that.”
“I can’t believe you’ve never said anything this whole time. We are sticking our necks out and working our asses off trying to make this search for a cure a success. All the work Nick has done, all this time wasted …” She began to tear up, betrayed by the man to whom she had dedicated her life for saving it.
“I thought about telling you, but if I can’t prove it, it’s just a theory.”
“We have to find this guy,” she said.
“That’s another thing.” He furrowed his brow. “We can’t.” “Why not?”
“According to the Feds, he died eight years ago in Amsterdam.”
“Then how did he send a message to Barry?”
“You think the government always tells you the truth? So, if he is alive and watching what we’re doing, he will find a way to get in touch with us. This message may be just a start.”
“I don’t believe this!” Shelly said, rubbing her temples and rising from her chair. “There is someone out there who may have the cure for cancer and to top it off, he may look like a seventy-year-old clown. Is that about right?”
Wall nodded.
“Does this guy have a name?” she pressed. “Hans. Hans Bextal.”
“Do you think he sent the message because he wants the money?”