“Fine,” Daniel said agreeably, although his bewilderment was deepening. He leaned back in his chair, lifted his feet onto his desk, and switched the phone to his left hand so he could use his right to drum a pencil on his desk. He’d been caught totally unawares by Spencer Wingate’s response to his call and felt a twinge of anxiety. He kept hearing Stephanie’s admonitions about getting involved with these infamous infertility mavericks.
A minute dragged on to five. Just when Daniel had recovered his equilibrium enough to question if he’d been inadvertently disconnected, Spencer popped back on the line. He was slightly out of breath. “Okay, I’m back! How about you, Paul? Are you on?”
“I’m here,” Paul said, apparently using an extension in another room. In contrast to Spencer’s voice, Paul’s was rather deep, with a distinct Midwestern nasal twang. “I’m pleased to talk with you, Daniel, if I may call you that.”
“If you wish,” Daniel said. “Whatever suits you.”
“Thank you. And please call me Paul. No need for formalities between friends and colleagues. Let me say right off how much I am looking forward to working with you.”
“That’s my sentiment as well,” Spencer declared. “Heck! The whole clinic is eager. How soon can we expect you?”
“Well, that’s one of the reasons I’m calling,” Daniel said vaguely, struggling to be diplomatic, but intensely curious. “But first I’d like to ask how it is that you expected me to call?”
“From your scout or whatever his job title might be,” Spencer answered. “What was his name again, Paul?”
“Marlowe,” Paul said.
“Right! Bob Marlowe,” Spencer said. “After he finished checking out our facility, he said you’d be contacting us the following week. Needless to say, we were disappointed when we didn’t hear from you. But that’s water under the bridge now that you have called.”
“We’re delighted you want to use our facility,” Paul said. “It will be an honor to work with you. Now I hope you don’t mind me speculating about what you have in mind, because Bob Marlowe was vague, but I’m assuming you want to try your ingenious HTSR on a patient. I mean, why else would you want to forsake your own lab and those great hospitals you have in Boston. Am I correct in this assumption?”
“How do you know about HTSR?” Daniel asked. He wasn’t sure he wanted to admit to his motivations so early in the conversation.
“We read your outstanding paper in Nature,” Paul said. “It was brilliant, simply brilliant. Its overall importance to bioscience reminded me of my own paper, “In Vitro Maturation of Human Oocytes.” Did you happen to read it?”
“Not yet,” Daniel responded, forcing himself to continue to be tactful. “What journal was it in?”
“The Journal of Twenty-first Century Reproductive Technology,” Spencer said.
“That’s a journal I’m not familiar with,” Daniel responded. “Who publishes it?”
“We do,” Paul said proudly. “Right here at the Wingate Clinic. We’re as committed to research as we are to clinical services.”
Daniel rolled his eyes. Lacking peer review, scientific self-publishing was an oxymoron, and he was impressed with the accuracy of Butler’s capsule description of these two men.
“HTSR has never been used on a human,” Daniel said, still avoiding answering Paul’s question.
“We understand that,” Spencer interjected. “And that’s one of many reasons why we would be thrilled to have it done here first. Being on the cutting edge is precisely the kind of reputation Wingate Clinic is striving to establish.”
“The FDA would frown on performing an experimental procedure outside of an approved protocol,” Daniel said. “They would never give approval.”
“Of course they wouldn’t approve,” Spencer agreed. “And we should know.” He laughed, and Paul chimed in as well. “But here in the Bahamas, there’s no need for the FDA to know, since they have no jurisdiction.”
“If I were to do HTSR on a human, it would have to be in absolute secrecy,” Daniel said, finally indirectly acknowledging his plans. “It cannot be divulged and obviously could not be used for your promotional purposes.”
“We are fully aware of that,” Paul said. “Spencer was not implying we would use it right away.”
“Heavens, no!” Spencer chirped. “I was thinking of using it only after it became mainstream.”
“I would have to retain the right to determine when that might be,” Daniel said. “I will not even be using the episode to promote HTSR.”
“No?” Paul questioned. “Then why do you want to do it?”
“For purely personal reasons,” Daniel said. “I’m confident HTSR will work just as well with humans as it has with mice. But I need to prove it to myself with a patient to give me the fortitude to deal with the backlash I’m facing from the political right. I don’t know if you are aware, but I’m fighting a potential congressional ban on my procedure.”
There was an awkward pause in the conversation. By demanding secrecy and taking away any potential advertising windfalls in the near future, Daniel was certain he’d negated one of the Wingate Clinic’s reasons to be cooperative. Frantically, he tried to think of a way to cushion the disappointment, and just a moment before he spoke up and possibly made things worse, Spencer broke the silence: “I suppose we can respect your need for secrecy. But if we were to get no promotional value from your collaboration with us in the near term, what kind of compensation do you have in mind for using our facility and services?”
“We expect to pay,” Daniel said.
There was another silence. Daniel felt a twinge of panic that the negotiations were not going well, raising the specter of losing the opportunity of using the Wingate Clinic for Butler’s treatment. Considering the time constraints, such a loss could be the death knell for the project. Daniel sensed he had to offer more. Remembering Butler’s assessment of Spencer and Paul’s vanities, he gritted his teeth and said: “Then, down the road, after the FDA approves HTSR for general use, we could all coauthor a paper on the case.”
Daniel winced. The idea of coauthoring a paper with such bozos was a painful thought, even though he rationalized he could delay it indefinitely. But despite the offer, the silence persisted, and Daniel’s panic grew. Remembering his own response to Butler’s demand to use blood from the Shroud of Turin for the HTSR, he threw in that tidbit as well, explaining the patient had insisted on it. Daniel even proposed the same title he’d jokingly suggested to Stephanie.
“Now that sounds like one hell of a paper!” Paul responded suddenly. “I love it! Where would we publish it?”
“Wherever,” Daniel said vaguely. “Science or Nature. Wherever you’d like. I don’t imagine it would be difficult to place.”
“Would HTSR work with blood from the Shroud of Turin?” Spencer asked. “As I recall, that thing is about five hundred years old.”
“How about around two thousand years old,” Paul said.
“Wasn’t it proved to be a medieval forgery?” Spencer questioned.
“We’re not going to get involved in argument about its authenticity,” Daniel said. “For our purposes, it doesn’t matter. If the patient wants to believe it’s real, it’s fine with us.”
“But would it work, as a practical matter?” Spencer asked again.
“The DNA would be fragmented, whether it’s five hundred or two thousand years old,” Daniel said. “But that shouldn’t be a problem. We only need fragments, which our HTSR probes will seek out after PCR amplification. We’ll enzymatically patch together what we need for whole genes. It will work fine.”
“What about The New England Journal of Medicine?” Paul suggested. “That would be a coup for the clinic! I’d love to get something into that highfalutin publication.”
“Sure,” Daniel said, cringing at the idea. “Why not?”
“I’m beginning to like it too,” Spencer said. “That’s the kind of article that would get picked up by the media like it w
as pure gold! It would be all over the newspapers. Hell, I can even see all the network anchors talking about it on the evening news.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” Daniel said. “But remember, until the article comes out, there’s got to be absolute secrecy about the whole affair.”
“We understand,” Spencer said.
“How are you going to get a sample from the Shroud of Turin?” Paul asked. “I understand the Catholic Church has it locked up in a kind of space-age vault over there in Italy.”
“We’re looking into that as we speak,” Daniel said. “We have been promised high-level clerical assistance.”
“I’d think you’d have to know the Pope!” Paul commented.
“Perhaps we should talk about costs,” Daniel said, eager to change the subject now that the crisis had been averted. “We don’t want any misunderstandings.”
“What kind of services are we talking about?” Paul asked.
“The patient we’ll be treating has Parkinson’s disease,” Daniel explained. “We will need a staffed OR and stereotaxic equipment for the implantation.”
“We have the OR,” Paul said. “But not stereotaxic equipment.”
“That’s not a problem,” Spencer said. “We can borrow it from Princess Margaret Hospital. The Bahamian government and the medical community on the island have been very supportive of our relocation. I’m sure they will be happy to help. We just won’t tell them what we’re going to do with it.”
“We’ll need the services of a neurosurgeon,” Daniel said. “One who is capable of being discreet.”
“I don’t think that will be a problem either,” Spencer said. “There are several on the island who are, in my opinion, un-derutilized. I’m sure we could make arrangements with one of them. I don’t know exactly how much he’d charge, but I can assure you, it will be a lot less than it would be in the States. My guess would be in the neighborhood of two or three hundred dollars.”
“You don’t think the confidentiality issue will be problematic?” Daniel asked.
“I don’t,” Spencer said. “They are all looking for work. With fewer tourists renting mopeds, head trauma has dropped off precipitously. I know, because two surgeons have come out to the clinic to leave their business cards.”
“Sounds serendipitous,” Daniel said. “Other than that, all we need is space in your lab. I assume you have a lab to do your reproductive work.”
“You will be amazed at our lab,” Paul said proudly. “It is state-of-the-art and a lot more than just an infertility lab! And in addition to myself, we have several talented technicians at your disposal who are experienced at nuclear transfer and who are eager to learn HTSR.”
“We won’t need the assistance of any lab personnel,” Daniel said. “We’ll do our own cellular work. What we do need are human oocytes. Is it possible for you to supply them?”
“Of course!” Paul said. “Oocytes are our specialty and soon to be our bread and butter. We’re intending to supply them for all of North America in the future. What is your time frame?”
“As soon as possible,” Daniel said. “This might sound overly optimistic, but we’d like to be ready to implant in a month. We’re under a time constraint, with a short window of opportunity imposed by the patient volunteer.”
“No problem on this end,” Paul said. “We can supply you with oocytes tomorrow!”
“Really?” Daniel questioned. It seemed too good to be true.
“We can get you oocytes whenever you want,” Paul said. Then he added with a laugh, “Even on holidays!”
“I’m impressed,” Daniel said sincerely. “And relieved. I was worried that procuring oocytes might hold us up. But that brings us back to costs.”
“Except for the oocytes, we have no experience what to charge,” Spencer said. “To tell you the truth, we never anticipated someone using our clinic. Let’s make it simple: How about twenty thousand for using the operating room, including its staff, and twenty thousand for the lab flat rate.”
“Fine,” Daniel said. “What about the oocytes?”
“Five hundred a pop,” Paul said. “And we guarantee at least five divisions with each one or we replace it.”
“That sounds fair,” Daniel said. “But they have to be fresh!”
“They will be as fresh as a daisy,” Paul said. “When can we expect you?”
“I’ll get back to you either later today or tonight,” Daniel said. “Or, at the latest, by tomorrow. We really have to get moving on this.”
“We’ll be here,” Spencer said.
Daniel slowly replaced the telephone receiver. When it was safely in its cradle, he let out a whoop. He had a strong feeling, despite the recent setbacks, that CURE, HTSR, and his own destiny were back on track!
Dr. Spencer Wingate had left his tanned hand on the telephone receiver after hanging up while his mind mulled over the conversation he’d just had with Dr. Daniel Lowell. It had not gone as he’d imagined or hoped, and he was disappointed. When the issue of the famous researcher wanting to use the Wingate Clinic had unexpectedly surfaced two weeks previously, he’d thought it providential since they’d just opened their doors after eight months of construction and confusion. In his mind, a professional association with a man who Paul said might win a Nobel Prize would have been a superb way to announce to the world that the Wingate was back in business after the regrettable fracas in Massachusetts the previous May. But as things stood, there could be no announcement. Forty thousand dollars might be nice, but it was a mere pittance in comparison to the money they had just spent getting the clinic built and equipped.
Spencer’s office door, which had been slightly ajar from when Spencer had recently rushed back in from locating his second-in-command, was pushed open to its full extent. Filling the doorway was Dr. Paul Saunders’s short, square frame. A broad smile displayed his equally square, widely spaced teeth. He obviously did not share Spencer’s disappointment.
“Can you imagine?” Paul blurted. “We’re going to have a paper in the New England Journal of Medicine!” He threw himself into a chair facing Spencer’s desk and punched the air with upraised fists like he’d just won a stage of the Tour de France. “And what a paper: ‘The Wingate Clinic, the Shroud of Turin, and HTSR Combine for the First Cure of Parkinson’s Disease.’ It’s going to be fantastic! People will be beating a path to our door!”
Spencer leaned back and put his hands with fingers intertwined behind his head. He regarded the head of research, a title Paul had insisted upon, with a degree of condescension. Paul was a hard worker with vision, but he could be overly enthusiastic, and he lacked the practicality necessary to run a business properly. In the clinic’s previous incarnation in Massachusetts, he’d practically run it into the ground financially. Had Spencer not mortgaged the clinic to the hilt and socked away most of the clinic’s assets offshore, they wouldn’t have survived.
“What makes you so sure there will be a paper?” Spencer asked.
Paul’s face clouded over. “What are you talking about? We just discussed it on the phone, title and all, with Daniel. He’s the one who suggested it.”
“He suggested it, but how can we be sure it will happen? I agree, it would be great if it did, but he could just put it off indefinitely.”
“Why the hell would he do that?”
“I don’t know, but for some reason secrecy’s high on his list, and a paper would destroy that. He’s not going to want to write a paper, at least not soon enough for us, and if we went ahead and did it without him, he’d probably just deny any involvement in the case. If that happened, no one would publish it.”
“You’ve got a point,” Paul agreed.
The two men eyed each other across the expanse of Spencer’s desk. A jet on its final approach to Nassau International Airport thundered overhead. The clinic was sited just west of the airport, on dry, scrubby land. It was the only place they could reasonably buy adequate acreage and fence it in appropriately.
&nb
sp; “Do you think he was being straight about using the Shroud of Turin?” Paul asked.
“I don’t know that either,” Spencer said. “It sounds a bit fishy to me, if you know what I mean.”
“On the contrary, the concept sounded intriguing to me.”
“Don’t get me wrong,” Spencer said. “The idea is interesting and certainly would make a damn good scientific paper and international news story, but when you put it all together, including the secrecy issue, there’s something decidedly dubious involved. I mean, did you buy his explanation when you asked him why he was going to all this trouble?”
“You mean about his wanting to prove HTSR to himself?”
“Precisely.”
“Not completely, although it is true that the U.S. Congress is thinking of banning HTSR. And now that you’ve got me thinking, he did accept the fees you suggested a bit too quickly, as if the price didn’t matter.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Spencer said. “I had no idea how much to ask to use our facilities, and I just pulled some figures out of the air and expected him to come back with a counteroffer. Hell, I should have asked for twice as much, as quickly as he agreed.”
“So, what is your take?”
“I think the identity of the patient is the issue,” Spencer said. “That’s the only thing that comes to mind that makes sense.”
“Like who?”
“I don’t know,” Spencer said. “But if I were forced to guess, my first thought would be a family member. My second guess would be someone wealthy, someone very wealthy and possibly famous and wealthy, which is where I’d put my money!”
“Wealthy!” Paul repeated. A slight smile appeared on his face. “A cure could be worth millions.”
“Exactly, which is why I think we should proceed with the rich-and-famous hypothesis. After all, why should Daniel Lowell potentially get millions while we get a paltry forty thousand!”
“Which means we have to find out the identity of this patient volunteer.”
“I was hoping you’d see this affair from my perspective. I was afraid you might feel it was worth it just to work with this renowned researcher.”