Prescott cruised north on I-93, the top of his sports car down, wind and sun in his face. He was looking forward to delivering his lecture that evening. His keynote address would be the highlight of this summer’s Gordon Conference on Neurodegenerative Disorders. Fitting recognition of his status in the field.

And then there was Holly Singer. Would she be the key to learning about Weller’s results?

He couldn’t ask for a better setting to find out. The Gordon Conferences featured a relaxed and informal atmosphere designed to promote an open exchange of ideas among colleagues. There were lecture sessions in the mornings and evenings, with afternoons left open for the participants to relax and mingle. The perfect opportunity for some discrete conversation.

He pulled off the interstate at the exit for Plymouth, New Hampshire, and drove past the private high school where the conference would take place. Although Gordon Conference participants were encouraged to stay in the student dorms, otherwise empty during the summer, Prescott had little interest in boarding school accommodations. He’d instead booked a room at a luxury country inn on Squam Lake, about a fifteen-minute drive from the conference site. Much more comfortable. And he’d have the flexibility to attend only those parts of the conference he was interested in, rather than being part of a captive audience.

Having separate accommodations at the inn would also give him some privacy for pursuing another of his interests. One of the benefits of being a leading scientist was that the young women at conferences like this were often responsive to his fame and fortune. And willing to make some small sacrifices for his help in advancing their careers. So he liked to have somewhere to go other than a dormitory in case the opportunity arose to pursue more intimate pleasures with some of his admirers. Unfortunately there would probably be little chance for fun and games this week. He had to focus his attention on Holly Singer and learning what Pam Weller was up to.

And finding a way to derail whatever it was.

• • •

Holly arrived at the conference site on a bus together with a couple dozen other participants. She checked in at the registration desk in the main hall and was assigned a double room in one of the dorms. She followed the signs to the right building and wound her way through dimly lit halls until she reached her room on the second floor, where she found her new roommate sitting on one of two uncomfortable-looking beds. The bed squeaked when the woman got up.

“Hi, I’m Jane. A grad student at the University of Chicago.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Holly Singer, a postdoc at the Langmere in Boston.”

“Oh, interesting! My boyfriend just found a job in Boston, and I’m looking for a postdoc there. Whose lab are you in? There are a couple of people at the Langmere I’ve been thinking about.”

May as well take the opportunity to bad-mouth Pam. “I’m in Pam Weller’s lab. But I wouldn’t recommend it. She hasn’t turned out to be much of a mentor. Seems to spend most of her time worrying about getting tenure, which she probably won’t even manage to do. If I were you, I’d find someone more established to work with. I can give you the names of some better people.”

“Thanks, that’d be great. I’ll cross Weller off my list.” Jane looked at her watch. “Do you want to get some dinner? We have about an hour before the lecture tonight.”

Holly followed Jane to the dining hall, where they joined a table that was occupied by several other young people. They turned out to be a mix of graduate students and postdocs from universities around the country, but Holly wasn’t interested in their idle chatter.

Is Prescott here?

Scanning the room, she noticed a table nearby that was taken by several older men. Probably some of the senior scientists attending the conference. One of them might be Prescott. She’d found his picture earlier on the web—yes, there he was. Laughing it up and acting like he enjoyed being the center of attention in a group of good old boys.

Will he be open to my plan? She’d soon find out. She planned to introduce herself after his lecture this evening.

• • •

From the edge of the stage, Prescott scanned the packed lecture hall while the conference organizer gave a flattering and effusive introduction. The second row was filled with young people, probably graduate students or postdocs eager to absorb his wisdom. One of the women, with fair skin and long blond hair, was staring at him intently. Just my type, he thought. Perhaps later.

He smoothed his white linen shirt as the organizer concluded, Prescott thought appropriately, that “Professor Prescott’s contributions have laid the foundation for all of our efforts to understand and eventually treat Alzheimer’s disease. Without Eric’s work, we would be far behind where we are now. His discoveries have set the stage for our conquest of this dread disease, and I believe will be ultimately responsible for its cure. Ladies and gentlemen, please join me in welcoming Eric Prescott!”

Prescott strode to the podium as the audience applauded, shook the organizer’s hand, and thanked him for his very kind invitation and generous introduction. He then held up his hand and grinned broadly at the audience, thanking them for the warm welcome.

He began with the usual joke expected at conferences on Alzheimer’s disease, saying that he was lucky to have remembered he was supposed to be here. The audience gave a half-hearted chuckle, as anticipated, and Prescott moved into his standard performance. He was known as an entertaining and dynamic speaker, and he was up to par this evening. He punctuated the science with humor and wit, keeping the audience entertained, while he summarized current progress in understanding the basis of Alzheimer’s disease. As appropriate for a leader of the field, he talked not only about the work of his own laboratory, but also gave credit to others. He even mentioned Pam Weller’s work, putting it in a context where it appeared to be derivative of his own studies. It was an impressive performance, designed to convince listeners that everything hinged on his discoveries. Just as the organizer had said, Prescott’s work was fundamental to the field, forming the basis for everything else being done in the world of Alzheimer’s research. He concluded to a standing ovation.

Nice. The kind of response I like.

Most of the audience headed off to the bar after Prescott’s talk, but a dozen or so people crowded around with congratulations or questions. He enjoyed the attention and chatted with the well-wishers, gradually working his way through the crowd. When he finished speaking with the last of the group, he saw that the young blond woman he’d noticed in the second row was waiting in the back of the room.

He went over to her and unnecessarily introduced himself. “Hi, I’m Eric Prescott.”

She smiled engagingly. “Yes, I know who you are. I just heard you give an absolutely fabulous talk!”

“Thank you.” He smiled in return. “But you have me at a disadvantage.”

“I’m Holly Singer, a postdoc in Pam Weller’s lab. I sent you an email.”

“Yes, of course. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”

“I’m flattered that you remember, as busy as you must be.”

“Not at all. I’d love to hear about the work you’re doing with Pam. Why don’t we plan to get together during the afternoon break tomorrow? If you’re not busy after lunch, we could go for a walk and chat.”

“That’d be great,” Holly said.

“Excellent. Let’s meet outside the dining hall at two and we’ll go from there.”

He was pleased at this initial encounter. She was even attractive. Maybe there’d be some fun in this after all. Just as long as it didn’t interfere with using her to find out about Weller’s research.