CHAPTER 4

Agarwal Rakesh

The death rattle of the hotel room’s refrigerator provides Agarwal with an unwelcome wakeup call at 5:30 am. He pushes back the comforter in frustration and rotates carefully into a sitting position on the edge of the bed, but even so, his mildly arthritic hip is complaining. He slips into the beige slippers that he has brought from home. He is uneasy about placing bare feet on hotel carpet rendered insanitary by detritus transferred from the streets by the previous occupants’ shoes. In recent years he has become more preoccupied with carpets, or rather, their undesirable properties.

He begins a few shuffling laps around the room, knowing it will only take a few minutes to alleviate the hip’s stiffness and dull ache. There is no point in opening the curtains yet. Sunrise is still an hour away. Instead, as he repeatedly loops around the room, he becomes over familiar with the indoor scenery: a uselessly small desk, a wall mounted TV, and a couple of black and white photographs of unknown African-American musicians. At least, unknown to him.

A scowl is reserved for each amble past the irksome refrigerator. It is squeezed into wooden cabinetry, preventing him from accessing the power cord which he desperately wants to yank out of the wall. 

His mobility improves, so he detours to the bathroom, and pulls down his loose fitting boxers (the clothing is a nighttime precaution when traveling: so a fire alarm will not provoke him into running naked from the room). He thinks it is easier to urinate while sitting, but it is a hesitant stream due to an enlarged prostate. A recent 64th birthday is silently scolded. Getting old sucks. Which is a declaration that, in a way, explains why he is here. 

This is the first day of his participation in a conference organized by the American Academy of Gerontologists. The delegates will discuss various biological aspects of aging, and new ideas to extend healthy lifespan. Agarwal has a speaking slot because of his lab’s kinase studies. Inhibitors of these enzymes may eventually be developed into drugs that might slow down the aging process. Or so he argues in grant applications, and at conferences such as this. He even made this claim at home while he packed his carry-on, the evening before he had flown out.

It had been an unusual conversation. It is not often that Agarwal and his wife spend much time talking shop at home. Agarwal will make a brief announcement if there is good news. Perhaps if one of his papers is accepted by a top journal, or he receives a speaking invitation at an impressive conference. But when problems arise, he leaves them in the lab before driving home. In any case, Agarwal has always considered that Myra’s career as a business analyst is not a qualification for advising him on how he might better manage his livelihood as a protein biochemist. And vice versa. He does not encourage his wife to share her own office dilemmas.  

That particular exchange, over a half-filled suitcase, had begun with Myra commenting on his cheerful mood. “You seem upbeat this evening. You’re typically a little jaded about the thought of traveling.”

“You’re right,” Agarwal had agreed. "It's different being one of the organizers. I'll be in the limelight." 

“I’m also very excited about my own presentation,” he had continued. “I’m going to show some of Steve’s unpublished kinase data. He’s been working with a new inhibitor. It’s a candidate anti-aging drug because it slows metabolism and reduces inflammation in cultured cells.” 

“Really?” she had queried. “I thought you never show unpublished data at a conference.

“Didn’t you once tell me that academic symposia aren’t actually about freely sharing new results? You said it’s too risky, because a competing lab might take advantage, or even repeat the experiment, publish it first, and steal all of the credit.”

Agarwal had agreed that had been his mantra. He knows that secret data represent proactive knowledge, information that helps you stay ahead in a research race. He also recognizes that the disclosure of unpublished data does not generate currency to cash in for tenure and promotion, grant funding, and invitations to speak at meetings. Those awards require publication of research studies.

Nevertheless, on this occasion he had been more motivated by the short-term admiration he could receive from a big reveal into his presentation. It boasts of productivity. It is an opportunity to radiate confidence: I am too important to fear disclosing our unpublished data. In this case, there is even a good reason not to be reticent. He had said to Myra, “we don’t think there’s any chance of being scooped.” 

“Why not?” Myra had asked.

Agarwal had described how they had identified their main rivals among the conference delegates. Additionally, they had taken into account that the results are included in a manuscript that had recently been peer-reviewed. The journal’s referees had requested one additional experiment and minor changes to the text. One week to do that, Steve had said. Within another two weeks, they had guessed, the journal editor would allow the paper to be posted online. This is too short a time-line to be scooped by a competing lab. 

Myra had offered him a disarming smile. “You’ve always been scornful of the corporate world’s methods and constraints. And yet, here you are, borrowing techniques from the business sector. Scenario analysis, competitive profiling and risk assessment.

“Maybe our two careers are more aligned than you thought?”

Agarwal had almost retorted that, unlike academia, science in the private sector is all about generating income for the corporation. But he had checked himself because only minutes earlier, acting as a salesman, he had claimed that his research may lead to improved therapy for ageing. That is precisely how he justifies his applications for research funding. Because science in academia is all about generating income for the lab. 

Nevertheless, he had been too proud to agree with Myra's conclusion. So he had not said anything. He now wonders if his silence explains why she had become more truculent. She had mentioned Agarwal’s interest in drug therapy, but only in order to segue into the topic of his dodgy hip. He had been informed he could work on that problem without waiting for any scientific advances. He could simply lose ten pounds right away. She had followed up that initial volley by accusing him of going from stocky to flabby, and warned that the extra weight was not attractive. She had not been smiling.

He had not been too perturbed by the thinly veiled threat of less frequent sex. He feels it is his fate anyway: an inevitable consequence of being married for 35 years. As for the accusation that he carries too much fat? No, he had told himself that Myra’s elfin physique is the outlier. She is forever altering her clothing purchases to fit a double zero anatomy. That, he had decided, is a biased reference point for determining what qualifies as being overweight. Everyone she knows is bulkier than her.

Agarwal winces at the thunderous nature of the toilet flush. He does not appreciate  his bathroom usage being made apparent to adjacent rooms, but he also knows some toilet science. He had shared this information with Myra one time they had shared a hotel room. Domestic toilets rely on gravity and siphoning, but hotels reduce the possibility of clogging by utilizing pressure-assisted flushing. Trapped within a sealed tank is air that compresses as it accumulates water. When a flush is triggered, the compressed air increases the water pressure to push out the waste. Myra had responded to his trivia dump - those had been her words - by joking about his unusual capacity to retain so much random knowledge. 

As he washes his hands, he catches the reflection of his bare torso in the mirror. He turns sideways so there is no uncertainty concerning the nature of his abdominal profile. After all, he is a doctor – that is, he trained as one before redirecting his career into full-time research. He wonders if he is becoming one of those physicians that ignore their own symptoms. Maybe I should stop pairing Netflix with wine and cheese? But without letting on to Myra.

While Agarwal contemplates the implications of his body mass index and loss of libido, a thirtysomething pharmaceutical sales rep expresses her appreciation for Nick Robbin’s muscular physique and sexual prowess. Following an eight-hour overnight adventure in his hotel room, she leaves with a polite smile for a morning flight. 

Through his window, Nick hears the occasional truck rumble by on Route 61. It is a Saturday, so traffic is still light. The aircraft engines are louder; Louis Armstrong Airport, less than a mile away, is waking up. 

Nick had planned this trip only three weeks ago, after his conversation with Agarwal Rakesh while at Gunn University. At that point, it had been too late to book accommodation in the city. The rooms had been swallowed up by a number of downtown events, particularly Tulane’s popular, annual book fair. So he had reluctantly booked an airport hotel. Yesterday's late arrival due to a delayed flight, and the effort he would have to put in to arrange for taxis, had taken away his appetite for venturing downtown. Which is how he ended up in the hotel bar, where he had met Emily. That is not the only reason Nick is in an upbeat mood. Today he plans to expose Lydia Goode. Or whoever she is.

He checks the bedside clock: almost six am. He decides to spend an hour or so in the hotel gym. He pictures himself as the US Marshal played by George Clooney in Burn After Reading: the guy who feels compelled to work out after sexual encounters. Nick escapes the twisted sheets and marches to the bathroom. He effortlessly voids his bladder, brushes his teeth, and downs the contents of a plastic water bottle. He recognizes the value of hydration before exercise. 

Agarwal is also trying to satisfy a thirst. He makes what he considers a reasonable attempt to coerce his room's espresso machine into yielding some coffee, but eventually he concedes defeat. 

He locates his reading glasses on the bedside table, and opens up his computer to check email. He sees that Steve had sent a message from the lab late the previous evening. It concerns the manuscript that only requires slight revision in order to be accepted for publication. Steve had performed the work required to satisfy the referee’s requests. The postdoc also explained that he had repeated one of the study's control experiments. Unfortunately, he had obtained results that differ from those in the original manuscript. Their unpublished work is no longer consistent. 

Agarwal breathes out a lengthy sigh. He has endured many exhausting, drawn-out battles when commanding manuscripts to the point of publication. He has fought the triage system: journal editors can reject a study without it being sent for peer review. Their defensive ploy may be to label the study as too broad in scope for the journal’s specialized readership. Or too specialized for a journal’s multidisciplinary readers. After that, there is a duel with the journal over their choice of referees. Agarwal has won some of those, through maneuvers that had excluded rivals (by inferring they are biased competitors), and recruited friendly colleagues (by heavily citing them in the manuscript, to advertise their expertise to journal editors). Finally, the referee’s ultimatums must be resolved. It is easy to satisfy requests for simple, additional experiments. Other demands can be repulsed by arguing they are excessive, or illegitimate; preparation of a long and technically dense rebuttal letter can help to wear down the opposition. Such tactics of attrition explain why publishing a research study is often a protracted process. But this manuscript had been an exception. The journal had loved it. It had been a walk-over. Until Steve’s email had cancelled the victory parade at the very last minute. 

For the next hour, Agarwal reworks the talk. He removes the data that Steve has questioned, along with the other exciting information in the unpublished manuscript. In its place, Agarwal inserts PowerPoint slides that summarize his group's older work that has been published during the last three years. Agarwal accepts the price he pays is a rather staid and unoriginal presentation. But he feels he has no choice; he will no longer risk showing unpublished results. 

Afterwards, he takes a long, hot shower. The heat stimulates endorphin release, and reduces levels of his stress hormones. He meditates in the rhythmic water flow. It is therapy that erodes the rough edges of his discontent.  

He dresses in a light blue shirt, a plain navy tie, and the charcoal suit he had worn at his last conference in Texas. He sacrifices breakfast in order to practice the new version of his talk. The delivery might as well be polished, even if the content is dull. He is not in a rush; it is only a couple of minutes’ walk to the ballroom in which the conference is being held.

While Agarwal’s stomach rumbles, Nick finishes his workout, he takes fruit, yogurt and scrambled eggs from the breakfast buffet, and returns to his room to eat his meal. 

Nick sits at a desk that conveniently allows him to face a mirror. He puts on newly purchased GigaGlasses and wraps a human-computer interaction device around his wrist. A ten megapixel camera, hidden within the frame, is operated by hand gestures that are sensed through surface electrodes within the wristband. 

GigantoPharm had acquired a manufacturing facility for these glasses by buying up an innovative microelectronics startup. The company considers that this eyewear represents a giant leap forward in electronic record keeping. Corporate research scientists are required to maintain secure and accurate, time-stamped records of all of their actions. The glasses will assist with this statutory requirement, by tracking the hands-on activities of the lab staff, through videos which download to a lab server. More recently, GigantoPharm have understood consumer interest in smart glasses. They had released them to the public the previous Thanksgiving, in time to capitalize on the Christmas shopping season. It has proved to be a profitable decision. 

Nick practices switching the video on and off with a subtle wave of his hand, and checks the recordings are transferred to his cell phone. Nick is confident that anyone being monitored in this manner would not notice. An LED illuminates when the camera is in use, but it is tiny. The frame of the glasses is a little thicker than normal, but not enough to attract attention. Much more efficient than waving around a smart phone. 

He knows his mission would be easier if he had been allowed to register for the conference that Lydia is attending. However, he does not anticipate it will be much of a problem to encroach on the proceedings. From his previous experiences participating in small meetings, he anticipates lax security. He has also memorized the layout of the conference facility from the information that the hotel has conveniently posted on-line. He has in hand the symposium schedule, which he obtained from the sponsor’s web site.

He is still in his workout clothes. But he has plenty of time to get ready. He has booked a taxi to pick him up from the hotel in forty-five minutes. Right now, it is only a quarter to eight. 

At about the same time, Lydia leaves her hotel room. The conference ballroom is situated two floors below. She plans to arrive early and introduce herself to Agarwal before the meeting begins on the hour. 

The interview with Agarwal, scheduled for this coming evening, is not the only reason she is attending this conference. The American Academy of Gerontologists is set to announce the start of an annual competition for an academic sabbatical position. The organization wishes to raise its profile. It hopes publicity surrounding this conference will contribute to its campaign. The AAG wants to better position itself for tapping into the last decade’s ten-fold increase in philanthropic funding for anti-aging research. Growing old with dignity is the one human health condition that everyone can identify with. And in greater numbers, as the demographic expands. 

Lydia is proud of having played both sides against the middle. She has negotiated with a highly popular on-line journal, Sickspan Compressed. They are paying her a commission (plus travel expenses) to write a layperson's summary of current hot topics in aging research, within a narrative arc of AAG's illustrious 75-year history. Separately, Lydia struck a bargain with the AAG to waive her registration fee, in return for the publicity the organization will receive when her report is published at Sickspancompressed.com. That in turn involves Lydia participating in a separate meeting in which Agarwal will be joined by his two co-organizers. She has made it clear in email exchanges she is not familiar with the scientists at this meeting. Consequently, the three of them should identify the most important speakers, and explain the significance of their new discoveries for a lay readership. In other words, they are to be unwitting authors of much of her article. She said it would be in the AAG's best interests.

An elevator takes Lydia to the lobby on the first floor, which connects to a wide hallway that pays homage to 1930’s Hollywood Regency décor. The corridor stretches the entire, city block length of the building. Lydia passes under coffered, plasterwork ceilings and tiered, crystal chandeliers. Bulky wooden beams, garnished with dental molding, rest on an honor guard of square pillars. She passes tall ferns in bronze-glazed urns. Tucked between each pair of columns are alcoves, each individually staged with either New Deal murals, period furniture, or historical photographs. The marble floor is interspaced with squares of mosaic patterning.

A phone call interrupts her saunter through a century-old era. She knows it is unlikely to be spam, because she is using a recently purchased burner. The call might be important. 

Nevertheless, she still answers cautiously. “This is Lydia.”

A timid, hesitant voice identifies herself. “Hi, this is Susan, from the Robbins lab.” Lydia hears an echo on the call, and guesses that Susan is in hands-free mode, while driving.

“We met a couple of months ago.” 

Lydia remembers that back in January she had given her contact information to Robbins’ technician. In order to continue the conversation with some privacy, Lydia steps into an alcove where a short cabinet is flanked by two walnut chairs with velvet upholstery. On the wall is a black-and-white photo of a bespectacled Tommy Dorsey with his trumpet. 

“Yes, I remember. How can I help?” 

Susan does not directly answer the question. Instead, she explains that life in the lab has become more difficult since Lydia’s visit. “He completely lost it after your visit. We’ve never seen him so hostile. It was because you challenged his authority – in front of us.” 

“Because I’m a woman.” It’s not a question. She is angry that her confrontation has caused problems for Susan and her lab mates.

“Yes,” Susan agrees. “He’s definitely not used to that. Since then, he’s been over-compensating. Making damn sure we know he is still in control. He’s become meaner and more demanding.” 

Lydia isn’t going to apologize for standing up to Robbins, but she does want to show empathy. “I’m so sorry for your situation.”

“It’s not your fault. It’s who Robbins is.”

The conversation pauses. Lydia senses that Susan is reluctant to elaborate further. Is she holding back a description of sexual harassment? Lydia encourages Susan to continue. “Is there something else he’s done to upset you?” 

“He wants us wear GigaGlasses in the lab.” 

“Smart specs?” Lydia struggles to construct a mental image of how Susan wearing thick-rimmed glasses might serve Robbins’ lecherous tendencies.

“Spot on. He's giving control freak. He told us the GigantoPharm researchers find them really useful for taking videos, for record-keeping. It's, like, dead creepy."

Lydia wants to offer more sympathy, but Susan’s peevish vent becomes a little irritating. Why does Susan think a journalist can be of assistance with this particular problem? Lydia checks her watch; the symposium is about to start. She wants the conversation to move along. It is an example of being careful what you wish for. Because there is an abrupt change in Susan’s tone. It becomes foreboding. “But that’s not why I called you. I wanted to let you know Robbins is heading your way. I think he may have flown down last night.”

Lydia’s first thought is that he might be staying in the same hotel. Her stomach flutters, like a flag in a breeze. 

“Does he know where I am?” Lydia is seeing conference delegates pass by in twos and threes. Their superficial, happy gossip sharpens Lydia’s dread that Robbins might already be among them. She drops into one of the chairs, lowers her voice, and rotates her body towards the bookcase. One hand cups her mouth.

“He knows you are at a conference in New Orleans. He told me he found out from a colleague, Professor Rakesh. Do you know him?”

"Yes, I do. I'm meeting him here." As Lydia speaks, she also silently curses Rakesh.

“For the last few days, he’s been bragging about getting back at you,” Susan continues. “It’s a bad vibe."

Lydia's apprehension tightens, as she constructs one worst-case scenario after another. She had made her plans to attend knowing that Robbins was not in the list of delegates. She wonders if he is planning to gatecrash the meeting? But he doesn’t need to. He could still accost her in public areas of the hotel. Or maybe a direct confrontation isn’t his motive? Perhaps Robbins has brought his lab's GigaGlasses with him? He could photograph her from a discreet distance. Maybe that’s the idea? Is her carefully-crafted anonymity endangered? She fears the secrets that could be uncovered by using the internet's facial recognition to probe her previous life. Her hands suddenly feel cold.

“I just thought you might appreciate the heads-up,” Susan is saying. “But now I have to go. I’m running late for my son’s toddler-tumbling class. I just pulled into their carpark.” And then she is gone.

Lydia remains seated for a couple of minutes to assess her situation. She refuses to run from Robbins. She just needs a little help from Agarwal. He is the one who told Robbins she would be here. Maybe she can guilt him into fixing this problem? Perhaps she can persuade him to intercept Robbins before he sees her? To at least make sure Robbins cannot get into the conference.

She takes precautionary looks up and down the corridor, before hurrying towards the exit into an annex with elevators and a wide stairway to the second floor. Now she slows her pace, climbing the steps cautiously as the floor above comes into view. Straight ahead, at the top of the stairs, she sees the restroom entrance. To her right, there is a staging area, with a trestle table. Two middle-aged women, seated on the far side, are talking to a young man in a suit. She recognizes the man as a hotel employee. The two women are Academy office staff. She had spoken to them the previous evening. This registration desk had been in the hotel lobby, and like most of the other delegates, that was when she had picked up a conference booklet and her lanyard. The name tag states: Lydia Goode, Journalist.

Lydia walks towards large double doors through which chattering escapes from the ballroom. She is displeased with the apparent lack of security; no-one is validating entry. She cautiously steps inside, and recognizes Agarwal from the photograph his university has posted on-line. He is making an announcement from the front stage. Shit! I've lost my chance to talk to him before the the conference begins. 

She takes a minute to survey the room. She is searching for Robbin's black curly hair and above-average height. Six-six? At least. He should stick out even when seated. She thinks he is not here, but she still keeps checking, as she walks towards an empty seat about halfway into the room. Her posture slumps into the chair as she wonders how she might cope when Robbins turns up.

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