Descending the hospital stairs, Kevin felt a little giddy while listening and responding to Candace’s entertaining, nonstop questions and chatter. He couldn’t believe he was going to lunch with such an attractive, engaging female. It seemed to him that more things had happened in the last couple of days than during the previous five years he’d been in Cogo. He was so preoccupied, he didn’t give a thought to the Equatoguinean soldiers as he and Candace crossed the square.
Kevin had not been in the rec center since his initial orientation tour. He’d forgotten its quaintness. He’d also forgotten how blasphemous it was that the church had been recycled to provide worldly diversion. The altar was gone, but the pulpit was still in place off to the left. It was used for lectures and for calling out the numbers on bingo night. In place of the altar was the movie screen: an unintended sign of the times.
The commissary was in the basement and was reached by a stairway in the narthex. Kevin was surprised at how busy it was. A babble of voices echoed off the harsh, concrete ceiling. He and Candace had to stand in a long line before ordering. Then after they’d gotten their food, they had to search in the confusion for a place to sit. The tables were all long and had to be shared. The seats were benches attached like picnic tables.
“There are some seats,” Candace called out over the chatter. She pointed toward the rear of the room with her tray. Kevin nodded.
Kevin glanced furtively at the faces in the crowd as he weaved his way after Candace. He felt self-conscious, given Bertram’s insight into popular opinion, yet no one paid him the slightest attention.
Kevin followed Candace as she squeezed between two tables. He held his tray high to avoid hitting anyone, then put it down at an empty spot. He had to struggle to get his legs over the seat and under the table. By the time he was situated, Candace had already introduced herself to the two people sitting on the aisle. Kevin nodded to them. He didn’t recognize either one.
“Lively place,” Candace said. She reached for catsup. “Do you come here often?”
Before Kevin could respond, someone called out his name. He turned and recognized the lone familiar face. It was Melanie Becket, the reproductive technologist.
“Kevin Marshall!” Melanie exclaimed again. “I’m shocked. What are you doing here?”
Melanie was about the same age as Candace; she’d celebrated her thirtieth birthday the previous month. Where Candace was light, she was dark, with medium-brown hair and coloration that seemed Mediterranean. Her dark brown eyes were nearly black.
Kevin struggled to introduce his lunchmate, and was horrified to realize that for the moment he couldn’t remember her name.
“I’m Candace Brickmann,” Candace said without missing a beat. She reached out a hand. Melanie introduced herself and asked if she could join them.
“By all means,” Candace said.
Candace and Kevin were sitting side by side. Melanie sat opposite.
“Are you responsible for our local genius’s presence at the ptomaine palace?” Melanie asked Candace. Melanie was a sharp-witted, playfully irreverent woman who’d grown up in Manhattan.
“I guess,” Candace said. “Is this unusual for him?”
“That’s the understatement of the year,” Melanie said. “What’s your secret? I’ve asked him to come over here so many times to no avail that I finally gave up, and that was several years ago.”
“You never asked me specifically,” Kevin said in his own defense.
“Oh, really?” Melanie questioned. “What did I have to do—draw you a map? I used to ask if you wanted to grab a burger. Wasn’t that specific enough?”
“Well,” Candace said, straightening up in her seat. “This must be my lucky day.”
Melanie and Candace fell into easy conversation, exchanging job descriptions. Kevin listened but concentrated on his hamburger.
“So we’re all three part of the same project,” Melanie commented when she heard that Candace was the intensive-care nurse of the surgical team from Pittsburgh. “Three peas in a pod.”
“You’re being generous,” Candace said. “I’m just one of the low men on the therapeutic totem pole. I wouldn’t put myself on the same level with you guys. You’re the ones that make it all possible. If you don’t mind my asking, how on earth do you do it?”
“She’s the hero,” Kevin said, speaking up for the first time and nodding toward Melanie.
“Come on, Kevin!” Melanie complained. “I didn’t develop the techniques I use the way you did. There are lots of people who could have done my job, but only you could have done yours. It was your breakthrough that was key.”
“No arguing, you two,” Candace said. “Just tell me how it’s done. I’ve been curious from day one, but everything has been so hush-hush. Kevin’s explained the science to me, but I still don’t understand the logistics.”
“Kevin gets a bone-marrow sample from a client,” Melanie said. “From that, he isolates a cell preparing to divide so that the chromosomes are condensed, preferably a stem cell if I’m correct.”
“It’s pretty rare to find a stem cell,” Kevin said.
“Well, then you tell her what you do,” Melanie said to Kevin, with a dismissive wave of her hand. “I’ll get it all balled up.”
“I work with a transponase that I discovered almost seven years ago,” Kevin said. “It catalyzes the homolygous transposition or crossing over of the short arms of chromosome six.”
“What’s the short arm of chromosome six?” Candace asked.
“Chromosomes have what’s called a centromere that divides them into two segments,” Melanie explained. “Chromosome six has particularly unequal segments. The little ones are called the short arms.”
“Thank you,” Candace said.
“So . . .” Kevin said, trying to organize his thoughts. “What I do is add my secret transponase to a client’s cell that is preparing to divide. But I don’t let the crossing-over go to completion. I halt it with the two short arms detached from their respective chromosomes. Then I extract them.”
“Wow!” Candace remarked. “You actually take these tiny, tiny strands out of the nucleus. How on earth can you do that!”
“That’s another story,” Kevin said. “Actually I use a monoclonal antibody system that recognizes the backside of the transponase.”
“This is getting over my head,” Candace said.
“Well, forget how he gets the short arms out,” Melanie said. “Just accept it.”
“Okay,” Candace said. “What do you do with these detached short arms?”
Kevin pointed toward Melanie. “I wait for her to work her magic.”
“It’s not magic,” Melanie said. “I’m just a technician. I apply in vitro fertilization techniques to the bonobos, the same techniques that were developed to increase the fertility of captive mountain gorillas. Actually, Kevin and I have to coordinate our efforts because what he wants is a fertilized egg that has yet to divide. Timing is important.”
“I want it just ready to divide,” Kevin said. “So it’s Melanie’s schedule that determines mine. I don’t start my part until she gives me the green light. When she delivers the zygote, I repeat exactly the same procedure that I’d just done with the client’s cell. After removing the bonobo short arms, I inject the client’s short arms into the zygote. Thanks to the transponase they hook right up exactly where they are supposed to be.”
“And that’s it?” Candace said.
“Well, no,” Kevin admitted. “Actually I introduce four transponases, not one. The short arm of chromosome six is the major segment that we’re transferring, but we also transfer a relatively small part of chromosomes nine, twelve, and fourteen. These carry the genes for the ABO blood groups and a few other minor histocompatibility antigens like CD-31 adhesion molecules. But that gets too complicated. Just think about chromosome six. It’s the most important part.”
“That’s because chromosome six contains the genes that make up the major histocompatib
ility complex,” Candace said knowledgeably.
“Exactly,” Kevin said. He was impressed and smitten. Not only was Candace socially adept, she was also smart and informed.
“Would this protocol work with other animals?” Candace asked.
“What kind would you have in mind?” Kevin asked.
“Pigs,” Candace said. “I know other centers in the U.S. and England have been trying to reduce the destructive effect of complement in transplantation with pig organs by inserting a human gene.”
“Compared with what we are doing that’s like using leaches,” Melanie said. “It’s so old-fashioned because it is treating the symptom, not eliminating its cause.”
“It’s true,” Kevin said. “In our protocol there is no immunological reaction to worry about. Histocompatibility-wise we’re offering an immunological double, especially if I can incorporate a few more of the minor antigens.”
“I don’t know why you are agonizing over them,” Melanie said. “In our first three transplants the clients haven’t had any rejection reaction at all. Zilch!”
“I want it perfect,” Kevin said.
“I’m asking about pigs for several reasons,” Candace said. “First, I think using bonobos may offend some people. Second, I understand there aren’t very many of them.”
“That’s true,” Kevin said. “The total world population of bonobos is only about twenty thousand.”
“That’s my point,” Candace said. “Whereas pigs are slaughtered for bacon by the hundred of thousands.”
“I don’t think my system would work with pigs,” Kevin said. “I don’t know for sure, but I doubt it. The reason it works so well in bonobos, or chimps for that matter, is that their genomes and ours are so similar. In fact, they differ by only one and a half percent.”
“That’s all?” Candace questioned. She was amazed.
“It’s kind of humbling, isn’t it,” Kevin said.
“It’s more than humbling,” Candace said.
“It’s indicative of how close bonobos, chimps, and humans are evolutionarily,” Melanie said. “It’s thought we and our primate cousins have descended from a common ancestor who lived around seven million years ago.”
“That underscores the ethical question about using them,” Candace said, “and why some people might be offended by their use. They look so human. I mean, doesn’t it bother you guys when one of them has to be sacrificed?”
“This liver transplant with Mr. Winchester is only the second that required a sacrifice,” Melanie said. “The other two were kidneys, and the animals are fine.”
“Well, how did this case make you feel?” Candace asked. “Most of us on the surgical team were more upset this time even though we thought we were prepared, especially since it was the second sacrifice.”
Kevin looked at Melanie. His mouth had gone dry. Candace was forcing him to face an issue he’d struggled to avoid. It was part of the reason the smoke coming from Isla Francesca upset him so much.
“Yeah, it bothers me,” Melanie said. “But I guess I’m so thrilled with the involved science and what it can do for a patient, that I try not to think about it. Besides, we never expect to have to use many of them. They are more like insurance in case the clients might need them. We don’t accept people who already need transplant organs unless they can wait the three plus years it takes for their double to come of age. And we don’t have to interact with these creatures. They live off on an island by themselves. That’s by design so that no one here has the chance to form emotional bonds of any sort.”
Kevin swallowed with difficulty. In his mind’s eye he could see the smoke lazily snaking its way into the dull, leaden sky. He could also imagine the stressed bonobo picking up a rock and throwing it with deadly accuracy at the pygmy during the retrieval process.
“What’s the term when animals have human genes incorporated into them?” Candace asked.
“Transgenic,” Melanie said.
“Right,” Candace said. “I just wish we could be using transgenic pigs instead of bonobos. This procedure bothers me. As much as I like the money and the GenSys stock, I’m not so sure I’m going to stick with the program.”
“They’re not going to like that,” Melanie said. “Remember, you signed a contract. I understand they are sticklers about holding people to their original agreements.”
Candace shrugged. “I’ll give them back all the stock, options included. I can live without it. I’ll just have to see how I feel. I’d be much happier if we were using pigs. When we put that last bonobo under anesthesia, I could have sworn he was trying to communicate with us. We had to use a ton of sedative.”
“Oh, come on!” Kevin snapped, suddenly furious. His face was flushed.
Melanie’s eyes opened wide. “What in heaven’s name has gotten into you?”
Kevin instantly regretted his outburst. “Sorry,” he said. His heart was still pounding. He hated the fact that he was always so transparent, or felt he was.
Melanie rolled her eyes for Candace’s benefit, but Candace didn’t catch it. She was watching Kevin.
“I have a feeling you were as bummed out as I was,” she said to him.
Kevin breathed out noisily then took a bite of hamburger to avoid saying anything he’d later regret.
“Why don’t you want to talk about it?” Candace asked.
Kevin shook his head while he chewed. He guessed his face was still beet-red.
“Don’t worry about him,” Melanie said. “He’ll recover.”
Candace faced Melanie. “The bonobos are just so human,” she commented, going back to one of her original points, “so I guess we shouldn’t be shocked that their genomes differ by only one and a half percent. But something just occurred to me. If you guys are replacing the short arms of chromosome six as well as some other smaller segments of the bonobo genome with human DNA, what percentage do you think you’re dealing with?”
Melanie looked at Kevin while she made a mental calculation. She arched her eyebrows. “Hmmm,” she said. “That’s a curious point. That would be over two percent.”
“Yeah, but the one and a half percent is not all on the short arm of chromosome six,” Kevin snapped again.
“Hey, calm down, bucko,” Melanie said. She put down her soft drink, reached across the table and put her hand on Kevin’s shoulder. “You’re out of control. All we’re doing is having a conversation. You know, it’s sort of normal for people to sit and talk. I know you find that weird since you’d rather interact with your centrifuge tubes, but what’s wrong?”
Kevin sighed. It went against his nature, but he decided to confide in these two bright, confident women. He admitted he was upset.
“As if we didn’t know!” Melanie said with another roll of her eyes. “Can’t you be more specific? What’s bugging you?”
“Just what Candace is talking about,” Kevin said.
“She’s said a lot of things,” Melanie said.
“Yeah, and they’re all making me feel like I’ve made a monumental mistake.”
Melanie took her hand away and stared into the depths of Kevin’s topaz-colored eyes. “In what regard?” she questioned.
“By adding so much human DNA,” Kevin said. “The short arm of chromosome six has millions of base pairs and hundreds of genes that have nothing to do with the major histocompatibility complex. I should have isolated the complex instead of taking the easy route.”
“So the creatures have a few more human proteins,” Melanie said. “Big deal!”
“That’s exactly how I felt at first,” Kevin said. “At least until I put an inquiry out over the Internet, asking if anyone knew what other kinds of genes were on the short arm of chromosome six. Unfortunately, one of the responders informed me there was a large segment of developmental genes. Now I have no idea what I’ve created.”
“Of course you do,” Candace said. “You’ve created a transgenic bonobo.”
“I know,” Kevin said with his eyes blazi
ng. He was breathing rapidly and perspiration had appeared on his forehead. “And by doing so I’m terrified I’ve overstepped the bounds.”
CHAPTER 6
March 5, 1997
1:00 P.M.
Cogo, Equatorial Guinea
Bertram pulled his three-year-old Jeep Cherokee into the parking area behind the town hall and yanked on the brake. The car had been giving him trouble and had spent innumerable days being repaired in the motor pool. But the problem had persisted, and that fact made him particularly irritated when Kevin Marshall pretended not to know how lucky he was to get a new Toyota every two years. Bertram wasn’t scheduled for a new car for another year.
Bertram took the stairs that rose up behind the first-floor arcade to reach the veranda that ringed the building. From there he walked into the central office. By Siegfried Spallek’s choice, it had not been air-conditioned. A large ceiling fan lazily rotated with a particular wavering hum. The long, flat blades kept the sizable room’s warm, moist air on the move.
Bertram had called ahead, so Siegfried’s secretary, a broad-faced black man named Aurielo from the island of Bioko, was expecting him and waved him into the inner office. Aurielo had been trained in France as a schoolteacher, but had been unemployed until GenSys founded the Zone.
The inner office was larger than the outer and extended the entire width of the building. It had shuttered windows overlooking the parking lot in the back and the town square in the front. The front windows yielded the impressive view of the new hospital/laboratory complex. From where Bertram was standing, he could even see Kevin’s laboratory windows.
“Sit down,” Siegfried said, without looking up. His voice had a harsh, guttural quality, with a slight Germanic accent. It was commandingly authoritarian. He was signing a stack of correspondence. “I’ll be finished in a moment.”
Bertram’s eyes wandered around the cluttered office. It was a place that never made him feel comfortable. As a veterinarian and moderate environmentalist, he did not appreciate the decor. Covering the walls and every available horizontal surface were glassy-eyed, stuffed heads of animals, many of which were endangered species. There were cats such as lions, leopards, and cheetahs. There was a bewildering variety of antelope, more than Bertram knew existed. Several enormous rhino heads peered blankly down from positions of prominence on the wall behind Spallek. On top of the bookcase were snakes, including a rearing cobra. On the floor was an enormous crocodile with its mouth partially ajar to reveal its fearsome teeth. The table next to Bertram’s chair was an elephant’s foot topped with a slab of mahogany. In the corners stood crossed elephant tusks.