The Italian waved a hand dismissively. “I don’t mean to sound overly noble, but who am I? A sixty-year-old, chain-smoking scientist of moderately above average abilities. My wife is dead and neither of my children have spoken to me in years. But you, David… You’re a man who can change the world. And as for Jing. There are many things that can happen to a lone woman between here and the road.”

8

NEAR FRANSCHHOEK

SOUTH AFRICA

“IT’S not as nice as mine.”

Rapp glanced over at Anna, who was sitting on an old crate looking unimpressed. The outbuilding they were in probably hadn’t been used in a half century, but with almost two thousand feet of floor space, it looked like he was finally going to get the gym he’d been denied in Virginia. Kind of a long-term plan as the roof was barely intact, the foundation appeared to be sinking, and there was no glass in any of the window frames. But with a lot of work, the potential was there. Like it was for the man standing at the center of it.

“I think those streamers you have coming out of the handlebars might compromise aerodynamics.”

“I don’t even know what that means. Ahmale—my new best friend, you know—has ones just like them. They’re awesome.”

Rapp pulled a set of carbon fiber wheels from a box and began installing a tire. The mountain bike had been custom built for him, but his new road bike was off the shelf and needed upgrades before it was ready to ride.

“Maybe I’ll get a set, then. Do you know how much they weigh?”

Anna shook her head disapprovingly, threw a leg over her new bike, and pedaled off. The dogs joined her just outside the bay doors, ignoring him as they fell in behind. He took that as a sign of progress in their relationship.

There was a group of local racers that did a training ride every Tuesday and he was interested in checking out the level of talent. A few months ago, he’d had some testing done at the human performance lab at Old Dominion University and the news wasn’t entirely bad. His battle with Yemeni Acute Respiratory Syndrome didn’t seem to have done any permanent damage and his ability to consume oxygen had declined only about ten percent from his triathlon years. He figured he could knock that back to six or seven percent with the right training and let his increased capacity to suffer carry the rest.

On the downside, his ability to produce power on a bike had gone to shit from disuse and he had a lot of upper-body muscle that wasn’t going to do him any favors on climbs. With sufficient time—something he appeared to now have—and sufficient determination—something he’d never lacked—all were surmountable problems.