“Please confine yourself to the specific question, Doctor. Just tell the jury how AV/AS overcomes the obstacles that Dr. Kaplan describes in his report.”
Judge Farnsworth leaned forward on the bench, her eyes moving between lawyer and witness. She knew that Seeley was scrambling, that something had gone wrong with his case. Two or three jurors picked up on the judge's interest. But Seeley was not going to let Steinhardt implicate him in perjury by taking credit for being the first to discover AV/AS.
Steinhardt adjusted his tie and looked over to the reporters' section of the gallery, his eyes revealing the profound confusion of a man who was not often confused. He didn't know why Seeley's questions had taken this turn, and this meant that Seeley would need to direct each of his answers.
“How does AV/AS resolve the problem that HIV mutates so rapidly?”
“There is no perfect solution, but I concluded-”
“Not what you concluded, Doctor, just how the vaccine works.”
“The vaccine employs a second-best solution.” Steinhardt's tone was injured, petulant. “Since it is impossible to neutralize the virus completely, the vaccine works instead to contain it.”
“How does that solve the mutation problem?”
“There is in all forms of HIV a genetically conserved region, a portion of the virion-the virus particle-that does not mutate.”
Seeley felt as if he was binding the witness with rope. “If the conserved region of the virion can be neutralized, is that the same as if the entire virion has been neutralized?”
“Effectively, yes. If we can get”-Steinhardt saw Seeley's warning look, and gave the first sign that he understood what Seeley was doing-“if it is possible to get an antibody to bind to just one isolate-one part of the conserved region-that can be enough to block the virus's ability to infect a cell.”
“But there is an obstacle here, too?”
“The forest of mushrooms. With the mushrooms flopping around, and the envelope surrounding the core of the virion constantly slipping and sliding, the conserved region is the hardest part to reach. It doesn't mutate, but what good can you do if you can't reach it?”
“And how does AV/AS reach the conserved region?” Here was the elegant arc of the invention, and for a brief moment Seeley regretted depriving this miscreant, this would-be perjurer, of his shower of glory.
“To reach the conserved region,” Steinhardt again drew himself up in the witness chair, “AV/AS employs a human antibody, specifically a monoclonal antibody, that does not exist in nature but has been synthesized in the laboratory expressly for this purpose. This antibody can specifically target a receptor in the conserved region of the virus envelope, bind to it, neutralize it, and prevent it from infecting cells.”
“Would you say that AV/AS works like an arrow, piercing through this mushroom forest until it reaches its target?”
“Yes, Mr. Seeley”-the familiar arrogance replaced the confusion in his voice-“it works like an arrow, and when it reaches the targeted part of the virus it disables it.”
Seeley imagined the picture in Steinhardt's mind of that arrow piercing his lawyer's heart.
“Thank you, Dr. Steinhardt.” The rhythm of the questions had so far subdued Seeley's rage, but now it rose like a gorge in his throat, making it difficult to speak. “We have no more questions, Judge.” He didn't trust his voice. “May we have a recess?”
Pushing through the courtroom's double doors, Seeley evaded Barnum's reach and, grabbing the man's elbow instead, steered the general counsel to the alcove at the end of the long corridor. Leonard trailed, trading looks with Barnum. Leonard had lied when he told Seeley there was only one set of lab notebooks. Seeley dropped Barnum's arm. “Where's Steinhardt?”
Leonard said, “I've got a plane to catch, Mike. I have to be in Washington tonight.” He looked back down the corridor. “He went to the men's room.”
“You can wait until I finish with your general counsel.” To Barnum, Seeley said, “Your scientist wasn't in his lab when his notebooks say he was, and Thorpe knows that. He's going to chew him up on cross.”
“Maybe Alan got some of his dates mixed up. Thorpe's not going to call him on it.”
Leonard, his back to them, was studying the black-and-white photographs of old-time San Francisco that hung on the alcove wall. The styled, too-blond hair was like a taunt to Seeley, the sum of his brother's contrived innocence. Golden boy.
“The only way the dates got mixed up is if there were two sets of books. Steinhardt wasn't the first inventor.”
“You're forgetting that St. Gall already stipulated priority. Thorpe won't be able-”
Behind them, the double doors of a courtroom opened and the broad black face of a bailiff emerged. The man smiled at them gently and placed a finger to his lips before disappearing behind the doors.
“Bob Pearsall knew about the second set of books, didn't he?” Steinhardt arrived at Barnum's side. “What are you talking about?”
“Your resume puts you in Berlin, Geneva, and Bologna on the dates your notebooks have you in your laboratory.”
Steinhardt drew his lips into a grim line and dropped his head. On the stand, he must have suspected Seeley's discovery of the amateurish deceit. “You have to understand-”
Seeley said, “I don't want to hear anything from you. The less you say from now on, the less harm you're going to do to your employer's case. Right now, I don't give the case much of a chance.”
Leonard wandered down the corridor, still looking at photographs. How deep is his shame, Seeley wondered. If he knew his brother, Steinhardt's lies had barely made a dent.
Steinhardt glanced at Barnum, but got no response, then turned to Seeley. “What should I say if Thorpe asks me about the notebooks? The dates?”
“First,” Seeley said, “make sure you understand his question. If you don't understand it, ask him to repeat it.”
“And, then?”
“Tell him the truth.”
An unhealthy reek came off the scientist; his breath had turned rank.
“Look at this as your Miranda warning, doctor. People go to jail for perjury.” Seeley gestured at Barnum to take Steinhardt back to the courtroom. “I'll catch up with you in a minute. Remember what I told you. Pause before you answer, no matter how innocent the question sounds. Give me the chance to object if I need to.”
Leonard was back in the alcove, examining a San Francisco harbor scene as intently as if he might find the words there that could win over his brother. Seeley spoke to Leonard's back. Neither wanted to see the other's face. “You knew about the second set of notebooks when you came to see me in Buffalo.”
“Would you have taken the case if I'd told you?”
“That's why you needed me. Pearsall found out about the notebooks, and wouldn't go along. You figured that even if I discovered Steinhardt's fraud, I'd stick with the case out of loyalty to you.”
“Pearsall didn't know. If he knew, Barnum would've told me.” Leonard turned to face him. “You've got to give us cover on this, Mike.”
“If this comes out in Thorpe's cross-examination, there's nothing I can do.”
“It won't come out.”
His brother was deceiving himself. “You should be proud of yourself, Len. All these years, and you haven't changed at all.”
Leonard immediately understood what his brother meant. The events of thirty-two years ago remained fresh for him, too.
“You're forgetting,” Leonard said, “I was the one who stole the gun from his dresser. I was going to throw it in the sewer.”
“And when you lost your nerve, you got me to cover for you.”
“You haven't changed, either.” Leonard's smile was tentative, his eyes worried. “You'll find a way to fix it.”
The leather-clad doors of the neighboring courtroom burst open in a din of voices and a crush of people swept by. Seeley recognized a Silicon Valley CEO whose picture was in that morning's Chronicle over an article about a stock option scandal. The crowd disappeared and the corridor returned to silence.