Retiring to their separate offices, Laurie phoned the Equatoguinean Embassy about the visas, while Jack called the airlines. She quickly learned that Esteban had been right about the ease of getting a visa and that it could be done that morning. Jack found Air France happy to make all the arrangements, and he agreed to stop by their office that afternoon to pick up the tickets.
Laurie appeared in Jack’s office. She was beaming. “I’m beginning to think this is really going to happen,” she said excitedly. “How’d you do?”
“Fine,” Jack said. “We leave tonight at seven-fifty.”
“I can’t believe this,” Laurie said. “I feel like a teenager going on my first trip.”
After making arrangements with the travel and immunization office at the Manhattan General Hospital, they called Warren. He agreed to get in touch with Natalie and meet them at the hospital.
The nurse practitioner gave each of them a battery of shots as well as prescriptions for antimalarial drugs. She also urged them to wait a full week before exposure. Jack explained that was impossible. The nurse’s response was to say that she was glad they were going and not she.
In the hall outside the travel office, Warren asked Jack what the woman meant.
“It takes up to a week for these shots to take effect,” Jack explained. “That is, except for the gamma globulin.”
“Are we taking a risk, then?” Warren asked.
“Life’s a risk,” Jack quipped. “Seriously, there’s some risk, but each day our immune systems will be better prepared. The main problem is the malaria, but I intend to take a hell of a lot of insect repellant.”
“So you’re not concerned?” Warren asked.
“Not enough to keep me home,” Jack said.
After leaving the hospital, they all went to a passport photo place and had snapshots taken. With those in hand, Laurie, Warren, and Natalie left to visit the Equatoguinean Embassy.
Jack caught a taxi and directed it to the University Hospital. Once there, he went directly up to Dr. Peter Malovar’s lab. As usual he found the aged pathologist bent over his microscope. Jack waited respectfully until the professor had finished studying his current slide.
“Ahhh, Dr. Stapleton,” Dr. Malovar said, catching sight of Jack. “I’m glad you came. Now, where is that slide of yours?”
Dr. Malovar’s lab was a dusty clutter of books, journals, and hundreds of slide trays. The wastebaskets were perennially overflowing. The professor steadfastly refused to allow anybody into his work space to clean lest they disturb his structured disorder.
With surprising speed, the professor located Jack’s slide on top of a veterinary pathology book. His nimble fingers picked it up and slipped it under the microscope’s objective.
“Dr. Osgood’s suggestion to have this reviewed by Dr. Hammersmith was crackerjack,” Dr. Malovar said as he focused. When he was satisfied, he sat back, picked up the book, and opened it to the page indicated by a clean microscope slide. He handed the book to Jack.
Jack looked at the page Dr. Malovar indicated. It was a photomicrograph of a section of liver. There was a granuloma similar to the one on Jack’s slide.
“It’s the same,” Dr. Malovar said. He motioned for Jack to compare by looking into the microscope.
Jack leaned forward and studied the slide. The images did seem identical.
“This is certainly one of the more interesting slides you have brought to me,” Dr. Malovar said. He pushed a lock of his wild, gray hair out of his eyes. “As you can read from the book, the offending organism is called hepatocystis.”
Jack straightened up from looking at his slide to glance back at the book. He’d never heard of hepatocystis.
“Is it rare?” Jack asked.
“In the New York City morgue I’d have to say yes,” Dr. Malovar said. “Extremely rare! You see, it is only found in primates. And not only that, but it is only found in Old World primates, meaning primates found in Africa and Southeast Asia. It’s never been seen in the New World and never in humans.”
“Never?” Jack questioned.
“Put it this way,” Dr. Malovar said. “I’ve never seen it, and I’ve seen a lot of liver parasites. More important, Dr. Osgood has never seen it, and he has seen more liver parasites than I. With that kind of combined experience, I’d have to say it does not exist in humans. Of course, in the endemic areas, it might be a different story, but even there it would have to be rare. Otherwise we’d have seen a case or two.”
“I appreciate your help,” Jack said distractedly. He was already wrestling with the implications of this surprising bit of information. It was a much stronger suggestion that Franconi had had a xenotransplant than the mere fact that he’d gone to Africa.
“This would be an interesting case to present at our grand rounds,” Dr. Malovar said. “If you are interested, let me know.”
“Of course,” Jack said noncommittally. His mind was in a whirl.
Jack left the professor, took the hospital elevator down to the ground floor, and started toward the medical examiner’s office. Finding an Old World primate parasite in a liver sample was very telling evidence. But then there were the confusing results that Ted Lynch had gotten on the DNA analysis to contend with. And on top of that was the fact there was no inflammation in the liver with no immunosuppressant drugs. The only thing that was certain was that it all didn’t make sense.
Arriving back at the morgue, Jack went directly up to the DNA lab with the intention of grilling Ted in the hope that he could come up with some hypothesis to explain what was going on. The problem as Jack saw it was that Jack didn’t know enough about current DNA science to come up with an idea on his own. The field was changing too rapidly.
“Jesus, Stapleton, where the hell have you been!” Ted snapped the moment he saw Jack. “I’ve been calling all over creation and nobody’s seen you.”
“I’ve been out,” Jack said defensively. He thought for a second about explaining what was going on then changed his mind. Too much had happened in the previous twelve hours.
“Sit down!” Ted commanded.
Jack sat.
Ted searched around on his desktop until he located a particular sheet of developed film covered with hundreds of minute dark bands. He handed it to Jack.
“Ted, why do you do this to me?” Jack complained. “You know perfectly well I have no idea what I’m looking at with these things.”
Ted ignored Jack, while he searched for another similar piece of celluloid. He found it under a laboratory budget he was working on. He handed the second one to Jack.
“Hold them up to the light,” Ted said.
Jack did as he was told. He looked at the two sheets. Even he could tell they were different.
Ted pointed to the first sheet of celluloid. “This is a study of the region of the DNA that codes for ribosomal protein of a human being. I just picked a case at random to show you what it looks like.”
“It’s gorgeous,” Jack said.
“Let’s not be sarcastic,” Ted said.
“I’ll try,” Jack said.
“Now, this other one is a study of Franconi’s liver sample,” Ted said. “It’s the same region using the same enzymes as the first study. Can you see how different it is?”
“That’s the only thing I can see,” Jack said.
Ted snatched away the human study and tossed it aside. Then he pointed at the film Jack was still holding. “As I told you yesterday this information is on CD-ROM so I was able to let the computer make a match of the pattern. It came back that it was most consistent with a chimpanzee.”
“Not definitely a chimpanzee?” Jack asked. Nothing seemed to be definite about this case.
“No, but close,” Ted said. “Kind of like a cousin of a chimpanzee. Something like that.”
“Do chimps have cousins?” Jack asked.
“You got me,” Ted said with a shrug. “But I’ve been dying to give you this information. You have to admit it’s rather impressi
ve.”
“So from your perspective it was a xenograft,” Jack said.
Ted shrugged again. “If you made me guess, I’d have to say yes. But taking the DQ alpha results into consideration, I don’t know what to say. Also I’ve taken it upon myself to run the DNA for the ABO blood groups. So far that’s coming up just like the DQ alpha. I think it’s going to be a perfect match for Franconi, which only confuses things further. It’s a weird case.”
“Tell me about it!” Jack said. He then related to Ted the discovery of an Old World primate parasite.
Ted made an expression of confusion. “I’m glad this is your case and not mine,” he said.
Jack placed the sheet of celluloid on Ted’s desk. “If I’m lucky, I might have some answers in the next few days,” he said. “Tonight I’m off to Africa to visit the same country Franconi did.”
“Is the office sending you?” Ted asked with surprise.
“Nope,” Jack said. “I’m going on my own. Well, that’s not quite true. I mean, I’m paying for it, but Laurie is going, too.”
“My God, you are thorough,” Ted said.
“Dogged is probably a better word,” Jack said.
Jack got up to go. When he reached the door, Ted called out to him: “I did get the results of the mitochondrial DNA back. There was a match with Mrs. Franconi, so at least your identification was right.”
“Finally something definitive,” Jack said.
Jack was again about to leave when Ted called out again.
“I just had a crazy idea,” Ted said. “The only way I could explain the results I’ve been getting is if the liver was transgenic.”
“What the hell does that mean?” Jack asked.
“It means the liver contains DNA from two separate organisms,” Ted said.
“Hmmmm,” Jack said. “I’ll have to think about that one.”
Cogo, Equatorial Guinea
Bertram looked at his watch. It was four o’clock in the afternoon. Raising his eyes to look out the window, he noticed that the sudden, violent tropical rainstorm which had totally darkened the sky only fifteen minutes earlier had already vanished. In its place was a steamy sunny African afternoon.
With sudden resolve Bertram reached for his phone and called up to the fertility center. The evening tech by the name of Shirley Cartwright answered.
“Have the two new breeding bonobo females got their hormone shots today?” Bertram asked.
“Not yet,” Shirley said.
“I thought the protocol called for them to get the shots at two P.M.,” Bertram said.
“That’s the usual schedule,” Shirley said hesitantly.
“Why the delay?” Bertram asked.
“Miss Becket hasn’t arrived yet,” Shirley explained reluctantly. The last thing she wanted to do was get her immediate boss in trouble, but she knew she couldn’t lie.
“When was she due?” Bertram asked.
“No particular time,” Shirley said. “She’d told the day staff she’d be busy all morning in her lab over at the hospital. I imagine she got tied up.”
“She didn’t leave instructions for the hormones to be given by someone else if she didn’t arrive by two?” Bertram asked.
“Apparently not,” Shirley said. “So I expect her at any minute.”
“If she doesn’t come in the next half hour, go ahead and give the scheduled doses,” Bertram said. “Will that be a problem?”
“No problem whatsoever, Doctor,” Shirley said.
Bertram disconnected and then dialed Melanie’s lab in the hospital complex. He was less familiar with the staff and didn’t know the person who answered. But the person knew Bertram and told him a disturbing story. Melanie hadn’t been in that day because she’d been tied up at the animal center.
Bertram hung up and nervously tapped the top of the phone with the nail of his index finger. Despite Siegfried’s assertions that he’d taken care of the potential problem with Kevin and his reputed girlfriends, Bertram was skeptical. Melanie was a conscientious worker. It certainly wasn’t like her to miss a scheduled injection.
Snapping up the phone again, Bertram tried calling Kevin, but there was no answer.
With his suspicions rising, Bertram got up from his desk and informed Martha, his secretary, that he’d be back in an hour. Outside, he climbed into his Cherokee and headed for town.
As he drove Bertram became increasingly certain that Kevin and the women had managed to go to the island, and it angered him. He berated himself for allowing Siegfried to lull him into a false sense of security. Bertram had a growing premonition that Kevin’s curiosity was going to cause major trouble.
At the point of transition from asphalt to cobblestones at the edge of town, Bertram had to brake abruptly. In his mounting vexation, he’d been unaware of his speed. The wet cobblestones from the recent downpour were as slick as ice, so Bertram’s car skidded several yards before coming to a complete stop.
Bertram parked in the hospital parking lot. He climbed to the third floor of the lab and pounded on Kevin’s door. There was no response. Bertram tried the door. It was locked.
Returning to his car, Bertram drove around the town square and parked behind the town hall. He nodded to the lazy group of soldiers lounging in broken rattan chairs in the shade of the arcade.
Taking the stairs by twos, Bertram presented himself to Aurielo and said he had to speak to Siegfried.
“He’s with the chief of security at the moment,” Aurielo said.
“Let him know I’m here,” Bertram said, as he began to pace the outer office. His irritation was mounting.
Five minutes later, Cameron McIvers emerged from the inner office. He said hello to Bertram, but Bertram ignored him in his haste to get in to see Siegfried.
“We’ve got a problem,” Bertram said. “Melanie Becket didn’t show up for a scheduled injection this afternoon, and Kevin Marshall is not in his lab.”
“I’m not surprised,” Siegfried said calmly. He sat back and stretched with his good arm. “They were both seen leaving early this morning with the nurse. The ménage-à-trois seems to be blossoming. They even had a dinner party late into the night at Kevin’s house, and then the women stayed over.”
“Truly?” Bertram questioned. That the nerdy researcher could be involved in such a liaison seemed impossible.
“I should know,” Siegfried said. “I live across the green from Kevin. Besides, I met the women earlier at the Chickee Bar. They were already tipsy and told me they were on their way to Kevin’s.”
“Where did they go this morning?” Bertram asked.
“I assume to Acalayong,” Siegfried said. “They were seen leaving in a pirogue before dawn by a member of the janitorial staff.”
“Then they have gone to the island by water,” Bertram snapped.
“They were seen going west, not east,” Siegfried said.
“It could have been a ruse,” Bertram said.
“It could have,” Siegfried agreed. “And I thought of the possibility. I even discussed it with Cameron. But both of us are of the opinion that the only way to visit the island by water is to land at the staging area. The rest of the island is surrounded by a virtual wall of mangroves and marsh.”
Bertram’s eyes rose up to stare at the huge rhino heads on the wall behind Siegfried. Their brainless carcasses reminded him of the site manager, yet Bertram had to admit in this instance he had a point. In fact, when the island was initially considered for the bonobo project its inaccessibility by water had been one of its attractions.
“And they couldn’t have landed at the staging area,” Siegfried continued, “because the soldiers are still out there itching to have an excuse to use their AK-47’s.” Siegfried laughed. “It tickles me every time I think of their shooting out Melanie’s car windows.”
“Maybe you’re right,” Bertram said grudgingly.
“Of course I’m right,” Siegfried said.
“But I’m still concerned,” Bertram sai
d. “And suspicious. I want to get into Kevin’s office.”
“For what reason?” Siegfried asked.
“I was stupid enough to show him how to tap into the software we’d developed for locating the bonobos,” Bertram said. “Unfortunately, he’s been taking advantage of it. I know because he’s accessed it on several occasions for long periods of time. I’d like to see if I can find out what he’d been up to.”
“I’d say that sounds quite reasonable,” Siegfried said. He called out to Aurielo to see to it that Bertram had an entrance card for the lab. Then he said to Bertram: “Let me know if you find anything interesting.”
“Don’t worry,” Bertram said.
Armed with the magnetic pass card, Bertram returned to the lab and entered Kevin’s space. Locking the door behind him, he first went through Kevin’s desk. Finding nothing, he made a quick tour of the room. The first sign of trouble was a stack of computer paper next to the printer that Bertram recognized as printouts of the island graphic.
Bertram examined each page. He could tell that they represented varying scales. What he couldn’t figure out was the meaning of all the surcharged geometric shapes.
Putting the pages aside, Bertram went to Kevin’s computer and began to search through his directories. It wasn’t long before he found what he was looking for: the source of the information on the printouts.
For the next half hour, Bertram was transfixed by what he found: Kevin had devised a way to follow individual animals in real time. After Bertram played with this capability for a while, he came across Kevin’s stored information documenting the animals’ movement over a period of several hours. From this information, Bertram was able to reproduce the geometric shapes.
“You are too clever for your own good,” Bertram said out loud as he allowed the computer to run sequentially through the movements of each animal. By the time the program had run its course, Bertram had seen the problem with bonobo numbers sixty and sixty-seven.
With mounting anxiety, Bertram tried to get the indicators for the two animals to move. When he couldn’t, he went back to real time and displayed the two animals’ current position. They’d not changed one iota.