Robin Cook - Acceptable Risk

“That’s fine and dandy,” Stanton said. “I’m happy you have such lofty goals. But why not have both? I’m talking about you making some serious money.”

“I’m not concerned about becoming a millionaire,” Edward said. “You should know that by now.”

“Millionaire?” Stanton questioned with a derisive chortle. “If this new line of drugs is efficacious for depression or anxiety or some combination, you could be looking at a billion-dollar molecule.”

Edward started to remind Stanton that they had different value systems, but he stopped in midsentence. His face went slack. He asked Stanton if he’d said billion.

“I said billion-dollar molecule!” Stanton repeated. “I’m not exaggerating. Experience with Librium, then Valium, and now with Prozac has proved society’s insatiable appetite for clinically effective psychotropic drugs.”

Edward assumed a thousand-yard stare out across the Harvard Medical School quad. When he spoke his voice had a flat, trancelike quality. “From your point of view and experience, what would have to be done to take advantage of such a discovery?”

“Not much,” Stanton said. “All you’d have to do is form a company and patent the drug. It’s that simple. But until you do that, secrecy is paramount.”

“There’s been secrecy,” Edward said. He was still acting distracted. “It’s only been a few days that we’ve known we were dealing with something new. Eleanor and I are the only ones involved.” He didn’t mention Kim’s name for fear of the conversation reverting to her.

“I’d say the fewer people you tell the better,” Stanton said. “Also, I could just go ahead and form a company just in case things begin to look promising.”

Edward massaged his eye sockets and then his face. He took a deep breath and appeared to awaken from a trance. “I think we are jumping the gun,” he said. “Eleanor and I have a lot of work to do before we have any idea of what we might have stumbled on.”

“What’s the next step?” Stanton asked.

“I’m glad you asked,” Edward said. He pushed away from the counter and walked over to a glassware cabinet. “Eleanor and I were just talking about that. The first thing we have to do is determine which of these compounds is psychotropic.” Edward brought three flasks back to where they were sitting. He then placed a minuscule amount of each new alkaloid in each flask and filled them all with a liter of distilled water. He shook each briskly.

“How will you do that?” Stanton asked even though from Edward’s story he had an idea.

Edward took three one-milliliter pipettes out of a drawer. “Anybody care to join me?” he asked. Neither Eleanor nor Stanton said a word.

“Such chickens,” Edward said with a laugh. Then he added: “I’m only kidding. Actually I want you around just in case. This is my party.”

Stanton looked at Eleanor. “Is this guy nuts or what?”

Eleanor eyed Edward. She knew he was not foolhardy, and she’d never met anyone as smart as he was, especially when it came to biochemistry. “You’re convinced this is safe, aren’t you?” she said.

“No worse than taking a few tokes on a joint,” he said. “At best a milliliter will contain a few millionths of a gram. Besides, I took a comparatively crude extract with no ill effect whatsoever. In fact it was mildly enjoyable. These are relatively pure samples.”

“All right!” Eleanor said. “Give me one of those pipettes.”

“Are you sure?” Edward questioned. “There’s no coercion here. I don’t mind taking all three.”

“I’m sure,” Eleanor said. She took a pipette.

“What about you, Stanton?” Edward asked. “Here’s your chance to participate in some real science. Plus if you really want me to read that damn prospectus, you can do me a favor as well.”

“I suppose if you two screwballs think it is safe enough, I can do it,” Stanton said reluctantly. “But you’d better read that prospectus or you’ll be hearing from some of my North End mafia friends.” Stanton took a pipette.

“Each can choose his own poison,” Edward said, motioning toward the flasks.

“Reword that or I’m backing out,” Stanton said.

Edward laughed. He was enjoying Stanton’s discomfiture. Too often it had been the other way around.

Stanton let Eleanor choose first, then he took one of the two remaining flasks. “This strikes me as a kind of pharmacological Russian roulette,” he said.

Eleanor laughed. She told Stanton he was too clever for his own good.

“Not clever enough to keep myself from getting involved with you two oddballs,” he said.

“Ladies first,” Edward said.

Eleanor filled the pipette and placed a milliliter on her tongue. Edward encouraged her to follow it with a glass of water.

The two men watched her. No one spoke. Several minutes went by. Finally Eleanor shrugged. “Nothing,” she said. “Except my pulse rate went up slightly.”

“That’s from pure terror,” Stanton said.

“You’re next,” Edward said, motioning to Stanton.

Stanton filled his pipette. “It’s a crime what I have to go through to get you on a scientific advisory board,” he complained to Edward. He deposited the tiny amount of liquid on his tongue, then chased it with a glass of water.

“It’s bitter,” he said. “But I don’t feel anything.”

“Wait another few seconds for circulation time,” Edward said. Edward filled his own pipette. He began to have doubts, wondering if there could have been some other water-soluble compound in the crude extract that had caused his psychedelic reaction.

“I think I’m feeling slightly dizzy,” Stanton said.

“Good,” Edward said. His doubts faded. He remembered dizziness had been his first symptom with the crude extract. “Anything else?”

Stanton suddenly tensed and then made a grimace as his eyes darted around the room.

“What are you seeing?” Edward asked.

“Colors!” Stanton said. “I’m seeing moving colors.” He started to describe the colors in more detail, but then he interrupted himself with a cry of fear. Leaping to his feet, he began to frantically wipe off his arms.

“What’s the matter?” Edward asked.

“I’m being bitten by insects,” Stanton said. He continued to try to brush away imaginary pests until he began to choke.

“What’s happening now?” Edward asked.

“My chest is tight!” Stanton croaked. “I can’t swallow.”

Edward reached out and gripped Stanton’s arm. Eleanor picked up the phone and started dialing, but Edward told her it was okay. Stanton had instantly calmed down. His eyes closed and a smile spread across his face. Edward backed him up a step and sat him back down in his chair.

Stanton responded to questions slowly and reluctantly. He said he was busy and didn’t want to be bothered. When asked what he was busy doing, he merely said: “Things.”

After twenty minutes Stanton’s smile waned. For a few minutes it appeared as if he were asleep, then his eyes slowly opened.

The first thing he did was swallow. “My mouth feels like the Gobi Desert,” he said. “I need a drink.”

Edward poured a glass of water and gave it to him. He drank it with gusto and had a second.

“I’d say that was a busy couple of minutes,” Stanton said. “It was also kind of fun.”

“It was more like twenty minutes,” Edward said.

“Are you serious?” Stanton questioned.

“How do you feel generally?” Edward asked.

“Wonderfully calm,” Stanton said.

“How about clairvoyant?” Edward asked.

“That’s a good way to describe it,” Stanton said. “I feel as if I can remember all sorts of things with startling clarity.”