Seizure (8 page)

10:05
P
.
M
., Thursday, February 21, 2002

 

The taillights of
Carol Manning's Suburban faded as the vehicle moved down Louisiana Avenue and then merged with the other traffic before disappearing into the general gloom of the night. Stephanie and Daniel had watched them until the point that they were no longer discernable, then looked into each other's faces. Their noses were mere inches apart, since their bodies were pressed together beneath their umbrella. They were once again standing motionless at the curb in front of Union Station, just as they had been an hour earlier when they were waiting to be picked up. Then they had been curious with anticipation. Now they were dumbfounded.

“Tomorrow morning, I'm going to swear this was all a delusion,” Stephanie said, with a shake of her head.

“There's definitely a dreamlike unreality to it all,” Daniel admitted.

“
Bizarre
is a better adjective.”

Daniel lowered his eyes to the senator's business card he had clutched in his free hand. He turned it over. Scribbled in the senator's erratic handwriting was a cell phone number to
be used to contact him directly in the next twelve hours. Daniel stared at the number as if committing it to memory.

A gust of wind erupted and changed the drizzle momentarily from vertical to horizontal. Stephanie shivered as the moisture peppered her face. “It's cold. Let's get back to the hotel! There's no sense standing here and getting soaked.”

As if waking from a trance, Daniel apologized and glanced around the plaza in front of the station. A taxi stand was off to one side, with several cabs conveniently waiting. Angling the umbrella into the wind, he urged Stephanie forward. Arriving at the first taxi in line, Daniel held the umbrella for Stephanie before climbing in himself.

“Four Seasons hotel,” Daniel said to the driver, who was watching his rearview mirror.

“Tonight was ironic as well as bizarre,” Stephanie said suddenly, as the cab pulled away. “The same day I hear a smidgen about your family from you, I hear the whole story from Senator Butler.”

“I find that more irritating than ironic,” Daniel said. “Hell, it's an out-and-out violation of my privacy that he had me investigated by the FBI. It's also appalling that the FBI would do it. I mean, I'm a private citizen under no suspicion of any crime. Such abuse smacks of the days of J. Edgar Hoover.”

“So everything Butler said about you is true?”

“Essentially, I suppose,” Daniel responded vaguely. “Listen, let's talk about the senator's offer.”

“I can tell you my reaction to it right off the top. I think it stinks!”

“You don't see any positive aspects?”

“The only positive aspect I can see is that it has confirmed our impressions of the man as a quintessential demagogue. He's also a detestable hypocrite. He's against HTSR purely for political reasons, and he's willing to ban it and its research despite its potential to save lives and relieve suffering. At the same time, he wants it for himself. That's obscene and inexcusable, and we're certainly not going to be a party to it.” Stephanie gave a short derisive laugh. “I'm sorry I gave my word to keep his illness a secret. This whole thing is a story the media would die for, and I'd love for them to have it.”

“We certainly can't go to the media,” Daniel stated
categorically. “And I don't think we should be rash. I think Butler's offer deserves consideration.”

A surprised Stephanie turned to look at Daniel. She tried to see his face in the dim light. “You're not serious, are you?”

“Let's list the knowns. We're well acquainted with growing dopaminergic neurons from stem cells, so it's not as if we'll be floundering around in the dark in that regard.”

“We've done it with murine stem cells, not human cells.”

“The process is the same. Colleagues have already done it with human stem cells using the same methodology. Making the cells is not going to be a problem. Once we have the cells, we can follow the exact protocol we used for the mice. There's no reason it wouldn't work for a human. After all, every last mouse we've treated has done remarkably well.”

“Except for the ones that died.”

“We know why the ones that didn't make it died. It was before we perfected the injection technique. All the mice that we injected properly have survived and have been cured. With a human volunteer, we would have available a stereotaxic device that doesn't exist for rodents. That will make the injection more exact, infinitely easier, and hence safer. Besides, we wouldn't do the injection ourselves. We'd find a neurosurgeon who'd be willing to lend a hand.”

“I can't believe I'm hearing this,” Stephanie said. “It sounds like you've already talked yourself into doing this crazy, unethical experiment, and that's what it would be: an uncontrolled, risky experiment on a single human subject. No matter what the outcome, it would be devoid of value, except possibly for Butler.”

“I don't agree. By doing this procedure, we will save CURE and HTSR, meaning millions of people will ultimately benefit. It seems to me a minor compromise in ethics is a small up-front price to pay for an enormous back-end payoff.”

“But we'll be doing exactly what Senator Butler accused the biotech industry of doing in his opening statement this morning: using ends to justify means. It would be unethical to experiment on Senator Butler, plain and simple.”

“Yeah, well, perhaps to some degree, but who are we putting at risk? It's the villain! He's the one asking for it. Worse yet,
he's conniving for it by extorting us with information he got by somehow coercing the FBI to do an illegal investigation.”

“That all may be true, but two wrongs don't make a right, and it doesn't absolve us of our complicity.”

“I think it would. We'll make Butler sign a release, and we'll put everything in the release, including the fact that we are fully aware that doing the procedure would be considered unethical by any research advisory board in this country, because it's being done without an appropriately approved protocol. The release will state unequivocally that it was Butler's idea to do the procedure and to do the procedure outside of the country. It will also state that he used extortion to get us to participate.”

“Do you think he'd sign such a release?”

“We won't give him any choice. Either he signs it or he doesn't get the benefit of HTSR. I'm comfortable with the idea that we'll be doing the procedure in the Bahamas, so we won't be violating any FDA rules, and we'll have a rock-solid release in case we need it. The onus will be squarely on Butler's shoulders.”

“Let me think about it for a few minutes.”

“Take your time, but I really think the moral weight favors our doing it. It would be different if we were forcing him in any way, shape, or form. But we're not. It's the other way around.”

“But it could be argued that he's uninformed. He's a politician, not a doctor. He doesn't truly know the risks. He could die.”

“He's not going to die,” Daniel said emphatically. “We'll err on the conservative side, meaning the worse-case scenario is that we won't give him enough cells to get his dopamine concentration high enough to get rid of all his symptoms. If that happens, he'll be begging us to do it again, which will be easy, since we'll maintain the treating cells in culture.”

“Let me mull it over.”

“Sure,” Daniel said.

They rode the rest of the way in silence. It wasn't until they were going up in the hotel elevator that Stephanie spoke up: “Do you honestly think we would be able to find an appropriate place to do the procedure?”

“Butler spent a good deal of effort on all this,” Daniel said. “He wasn't leaving anything to chance. Frankly, I'd be shocked if he didn't have the clinic he mentioned investigated for appropriateness at the same time he had me investigated.”

“I suppose that's possible. Actually, I remember reading about the Wingate Clinic about a year ago. It was a popular, unaffiliated infertility clinic out in Bookford, Massachusetts, before it moved under pressure to the Bahamas. It was quite a scandal.”

“I remember it too. It was run by a couple of maverick infertility guys. Their research department was doing unethical reproductive cloning experiments.”

“Unconscionable is a better description, like trying to get human fetuses to gestate in pigs. I remember they were also implicated in the disappearance of a couple of Harvard coed egg donors. The principals had to flee the country and barely managed to avoid extradition back to the States. All in all, it sounds like the absolute opposite of the kind of place and people we should get involved with.”

“We wouldn't be getting involved with them. We'd do the procedure, wash our hands, and leave.”

The elevator doors opened. They started down the hall toward their suite.

“What about a neurosurgeon?” Stephanie asked. “Do you honestly think we'd be able to find someone to take part in this shenanigan? He or she will know there's something fishy about it.”

“With the proper incentive, that shouldn't be a problem. Same with the clinic.”

“You mean money.”

“Of course! The universal motivator.”

“What about Butler's demand for secrecy? How would we handle that?”

“Secrecy is more his issue than ours. We won't use his real name. Without those glasses and dark suit, I imagine he's a rather nondescript, nebbish sort of guy. With a splashy short-sleeved shirt and a pair of sunglasses, maybe no one will recognize him.”

Stephanie used her keycard to open their door. They took off their jackets and went into the sitting room.

“What about something from the minibar?” Daniel suggested. “I'm in the mood to celebrate. A couple of hours ago, I thought we were stuck beneath a black cloud. Now there's a ray of sunshine.”

“I could use some wine,” Stephanie responded. She rubbed her hands together to warm them before curling up in the corner of the couch.

Daniel popped the cork on a half bottle of cabernet and poured a hefty portion into a balloon goblet. He handed it to Stephanie before getting himself a neat Scotch. He sat down in the opposite corner of the couch. They touched glasses and took sips from their respective drinks.

“So, you want to go ahead with this crazy plan?” Stephanie said.

“I do, unless you can come up with some compelling reason not to.”

“What about this Shroud of Turin nonsense? I mean,
divine intervention!
What a preposterous and presumptuous idea!”

“I disagree. I think it is a stroke of genius.”

“You have to be joking!”

“Absolutely not! It would be the ultimate placebo, and we know how powerful placebos can be. If he wants to believe he's getting some of Jesus Christ's DNA, it's fine by me. It would give him a powerful incentive to believe in his cure. I think it is a brilliant idea. I'm not suggesting we have to get DNA from the shroud. We could just tell him we have, and it would afford the same result. But we can look into it. If there is blood on the shroud like he contends and we can get access to it like he suggests, it would work.”

“Even if the bloodstain is from the thirteenth century?”

“The age shouldn't make any difference. The DNA would be in fragments, but that wouldn't be a problem. We'd still use the same probe we'd use on a fresh DNA sample to form the segment we need, and then augment it by PCR. In a lot of ways, it would add a bit of challenge and excitement. The hardest part will be resisting the temptation to write the procedure up for
Nature
or
Science
after the fact. Can you imagine the title: ‘HTSR and the Shroud of Turin Combine to Produce the First Cure of Human Parkinson's Disease.' ”

“We're not going to be able to publish this affair,” Stephanie said.

“I know! It's just fun to think about it being a harbinger of things to come. The next step will be a controlled experiment, and we'll certainly be able to publish that. At that point, CURE will be in the limelight, and our funding miseries will be long gone.”

“I wish I could share your enthusiasm.”

“I think you will, once things start falling into place. Even though timing wasn't mentioned tonight, I'm going to assume the senator would be eager to do it sooner rather than later. That means we should start with the preliminaries tomorrow when we get back to Boston. I'll look into making the arrangements with the Wingate Clinic and lining up the neurosurgeon. How about you take on the Shroud of Turin portion.”

“That should at least be interesting,” Stephanie said, trying to generate some eagerness about the thought of treating Butler, despite what her intuition was telling her. “I'll be curious to find out why the church still considers it a relic after it was proved to be a fake.”

“The senator obviously thinks it's real.”