Robin Cook - Fever

“Dr. Ibanez,” began Charles, “I…”

“Just a minute, Charles,” interrupted Ibanez. “Let me get rid of Jules here. Now you think you’ve got all that, Jules?”

“Dr. Ibanez,” Charles broke in. “I really want to say something.”

“In a minute, Charles. Listen, Jules, I want you to make Charles here sound like Louis Pasteur reincarnated, understand?”

“You got it,” said Bellman excitedly. “Now, Dr. Martel. Can you tell me your latest publications.”

“Goddammit,” shouted Charles, slamming his lab books down on Ibanez’s desk. “This is a ridiculous conversation. You know I haven’t published anything recently, mostly because I didn’t want to take the time. But papers or no papers, I’ve been making extraordinary progress. And it’s all here in these books. Let me show you something.”

Charles reached over to open one of the lab books but Dr. Ibanez restrained his arm. “Charles, calm down. You’re not on trial here, for God’s sake. Actually it’s probably better you haven’t published. Right now interest as well as funding for immunological cancer research has slackened. It probably wouldn’t be good for Jules to have to admit you’ve been working exclusively in this area because the press might suggest you were unqualified to take over Canceran.”

“Give me strength,” groaned Charles to himself through clenched teeth. He stared at Ibanez, breathing heavily. “Let me tell you something! The whole medical community is approaching cancer from the wrong perspective. All this work on chemotherapeutic agents like Canceran is only for palliative purposes. A real cure can only come from better understanding of the chemical communication among cells of which the immune system is a direct descendant. Immunology is the answer!” Charles’s voice had built to a crescendo, and the last sentence held the fervor of a religious fanatic.

Bellman looked down and shuffled his feet. Ibanez took a long drag on his cigar, blowing the smoke in a long, thin stream.

“Well,” said Dr. Ibanez, breaking the embarrassing silence. “That’s an interesting point, Charles, but I’m afraid not everybody would agree with you. The fact of the matter is that while there is plenty of funding for chemotherapy research, there is very little for immunological studies…”

“That’s because chemotherapy agents like Canceran can be patented whereas immunological processes, for the most part, cannot be,” said Charles, impulsively interrupting Dr. Ibanez.

“It seems to me,” said Ibanez, “that the old phrase, ‘don’t bite the hand that feeds you,’ applies here. The cancer community has supported you, Dr. Martel.”

“And I’m thankful,” said Charles. “I’m not a rebel or a revolutionary. Far from it. All I want is to be left alone to do my work. In fact, that’s why I came up here in the first place: to tell you that I don’t feel capable of taking on the Canceran project.”

“Nonsense!” said Ibanez. “You’re more than capable. Obviously the board of directors thinks so.”

“I’m not talking about my intellectual capabilities,” snapped Charles. “I’m talking about my lack of interest. I don’t believe in Canceran and the approach to cancer it represents.”

“Dr. Martel,” said Dr. Ibanez slowly, his eyes boring into Charles’s face. “Are you aware that we are in the midst of a crisis? Are you going to sit there and tell me you cannot help because of a lack of interest? What do you think I’m running here, a federally endowed college? If we lose the grant for Canceran the whole institute is in financial jeopardy. You’re the only person who is not already working under a National Cancer Institute grant and whose stature in the research community is such that this whole unfortunate brouhaha will be defused when you take over.”

“But I’m at a critical point in my own research,” pleaded Charles. “I know I haven’t published and I know that I’ve been somewhat secretive. Maybe that was wrong. But I’ve been getting results and I think I have made an astounding breakthrough. It’s right here.” Charles tapped the cover of one of his lab books. “Listen, I can take a cancer cell, any cancer cell, and isolate the chemical difference between that cell and a normal cell from the same individual.”

“In what animals?” asked Dr. Ibanez.

“Mice, rats, and monkeys,” said Charles.

“What about humans?” asked Dr. Ibanez.

“I haven’t tried it yet, but I’m sure it will work. It’s worked flawlessly in all the species I’ve tried.”

“Is this chemical difference antigenic in the host animal?”

“It should be. In all cases the protein seems to be sufficiently different to be antigenic but unfortunately I have not yet been able to sensitize a cancerous animal. There seems to be some kind of blocking mechanism or what I call a blocking factor. And that’s where I am in my work, trying to isolate this blocking factor. Once I do, I intend to use the hybridoma technique to make an antibody to the blocking factor. If I can eliminate the blocking factor, I’m hoping the animal will then respond immunologically to its tumor.”

“Whew!” whistled Bellman, not sure what to write in his pad.

“The most exciting thing,” said Charles with enthusiasm, “is that it all makes scientific sense. Cancer today is a vestigial aspect of an ancient system whereby organisms could accept new cellular components.”

“I give up,” said Bellman. He closed his pad with a snap.

“What you are also saying, Dr. Martel,” said Dr. Ibanez, “is that you have a long way to go in this work of yours.”

“Absolutely,” said Charles. “But the pace has been quickening.”

“But there’s no reason, except your preference, that you couldn’t put this work aside for a period of time.”

“Only that it appears so promising. If it turns out to be as fruitful as I expect, then it would be tragic, if not criminal, not to have it available as soon as possible.”

“But it is only in your opinion that it appears so promising. I must admit it sounds interesting and I can assure you the Weinburger will support you as it has in the past. But first you are going to have to help the Weinburger. Your own interests must be postponed; you must take over the Canceran project immediately. If you refuse, Dr. Martel, you will have to take your research elsewhere. I want no more discussion. The issue is closed.”

For a moment Charles sat there with a blank face reflecting his inner uncertainty. The enthusiasm he’d built up in presenting his work had elevated his expectations so that Ibanez’s dismissal had a paralyzing effect, especially combined with the threat of being turned out of his lab. The suggestion of being fired was far more terrifying coming from Ibanez than from Morrison. Work and Charles’s sense of self had been so closely connected that he could not imagine them severed. He gathered up his lab books with an effort.

“You’re not the most popular man on the staff,” added Ibanez gently, “but you can change that now by pitching in. I want you to tell me, Dr. Martel: Are you with us?”

Charles nodded his head without looking up, suffering the final indignity of unconditional surrender. He turned and left without uttering another word.

After the door closed, Bellman looked back at Ibanez. “What a strange reaction. I hope he’s not going to be trouble. That evangelistic attitude scares me to death.”

“I feel the same way,” said Ibanez pensively. “Unfortunately he’s become a scientific fanatic, and like all fanatics, he can be difficult. It’s too bad because he’s such a first-rate researcher, maybe our best. But people like that can put us right out of business, especially in this era of reduced funding. I wonder where Charles thinks the money to run this place comes from. If the people down at the National Cancer Institute heard that monologue of his about chemotherapy, they’d throw a fit.”