Mercy aka The keeper of lost causes

7

No calendar was big enough to hold all the appointments for the vice-chair of the Democrats’ parliamentary group. From seven in the morning until five in the afternoon Merete Lynggaard had fourteen meetings with special-interest groups. At least forty new people would be introduced to her in her position as chairperson of the Health Committee, and most of them would expect her to know their backgrounds and positions, their hopes for the future, and their professional support base. If she’d still had Marianne to provide assistance, she would have had a reasonable chance of managing it all, but her new secretary, Søs Norup, wasn’t as sharp. On the other hand, she was discreet. Not once over the course of the past month since Søs had been hired as secretary had she broached any subject of a personal nature. She was a born robot, although lacking in RAM.

The organization representatives now sitting in front of Merete had been making the rounds. First with the ruling parties and after that with the largest of the opposition parties, which meant it was Merete’s turn. The reps seemed pretty desperate, and rightfully so, since not many in the government were concerned with anything other than the scandal in Farum and the mayor’s diatribe against various ministers.

The delegation did its utmost to inform Merete about the possible negative health effects of nanoparticles, magnetic guidance of particle transport in the body, immune defenses, tracking molecules, and placenta studies. The latter, in particular, was their key issue.

“We’re fully aware of the ethical questions that need to be addressed,” said the head of the delegation. “For that reason we also know that the government parties represent population groups that are particularly opposed to wholesale collection of placentas, but we still need to discuss the matter.” The spokesperson was an elegant man who had long since earned millions in the field. He was the founder of the renowned pharmaceutical company Basic-Gen, which primarily conducted basic research for other, larger pharmaceutical corporations. Every time he had a new idea, he appeared at the offices of the Health Committee. Merete didn’t know the rest of the delegates, but she noticed a young man standing behind the spokesman, staring at her. He wasn’t supplying his boss with very much data, so maybe he was merely there to observe.

“Oh yes, this is Daniel Hale, our best collaborative partner on the laboratory front. His name may sound English, but Daniel is Danish, through and through,” the spokesman said afterward, as Merete greeted each delegate in turn.

She shook Hale’s hand, noticing at once the blazing heat of his touch.

“Daniel Hale, is that right?” she asked.

He smiled. For a moment her gaze wavered. How embarrassing.

She glanced over at her secretary, a neutral entity in the office. If Marianne had been there, she would have hidden a gleeful smile behind the papers she was always holding. There was not a hint of a smile from the new secretary.

“You work in a laboratory?” Merete asked.

At that point the spokesman broke in. He needed to make use of the few precious seconds allocated to him. The next delegation was already waiting outside Merete Lynggaard’s office, and no one ever knew when there’d be another chance. It was a matter of money and a costly investment of time.

“Daniel owns the finest little laboratory in all of Scandinavia. Well, it’s not really little anymore, since you acquired the new buildings,” he said, turning to speak to his colleague, who shook his head with a smile. It was a delicious smile. “We’d like to be allowed to submit this report,” the spokesman continued, turning back to Merete. “Perhaps as chair of the Health Committee you’d be willing to study it in depth when time permits. It’s tremendously important for posterity that the issue be given the most serious consideration at once.”

She hadn’t expected to see Daniel Hale down in the Snapstinget restaurant. She was even more surprised to see that he seemed to be waiting for her. On every other day of the week she ate lunch in her office, but each Friday over the past few years, she would join the chairpersons from the health committees of the Socialist and Radical Center parties. All three of them were feisty women who could make the members of the Denmark Party see red. The mere fact that they so openly cultivated their coffee klatch didn’t sit well with a lot of people.

He was alone, half hidden behind a pillar, perched on the very edge of his Kasper Salto chair, with a cup of coffee in front of him. Their eyes met for a second as she came through the glass doors, and it was all Merete could think about the whole time she was there.

When the women got up after finishing their conversation, he came over to her.

She saw people looking at her and murmuring to each other, but she felt mesmerized by his gaze.