Robin Cook - Acceptable Risk

Edward exhaled noisily and visibly relaxed a degree. “Asking about what we will be doing in the lab is a far different question than bursting in here and demanding a date for FDA approval,” he said.

“I’m sorry I’m not more diplomatic,” Stanton said. “Give me an idea of your plan of attack.”

“As soon as possible we’ll be launching a crash course to learn everything there is to know about Ultra,” Edward said. “First we must complete our knowledge of its basic chemistry, such as its solubility in various solvents, and its reactivity with other compounds. Then we have to commence controlled biological studies to understand metabolism, excretion, and toxicity. The toxicological studies will have to be done in vitro as well as in vivo on individual cells, groups of cells, and intact organisms. We’ll have to start with viruses, then bacteria, and finally higher animals. We’ll have to formulate assays. On a molecular level we’ll have to determine binding sites and methods of action. We’ll have to test under all sorts of conditions of temperature and pH. We’ll have to do all this before we file an investigational new drug application with the FDA, which is what you have to do before you can even start the clinical phase.”

“Good Lord.” Stanton moaned. “You’re making me dizzy. This sounds like decades of work.”

“It’s not decades,” Edward said. “But it is years. I told you that already. At the same time I told you that it would be significantly shorter than the twelve-year average development time for a drug.”

“How about six years?” Stanton questioned.

“I can’t say until we begin work and start getting some data,” Edward said. “All I can say is that it will be more than three years and less than twelve.”

“There’s a chance it could be three years?” Stanton asked hopefully.

“It would be a miracle,” Edward admitted. “But it is possible. But there is another factor you have to consider. The rapid spending of capital has been for the lab, and now that the lab is almost done, spending will drop considerably.”

“I wish I could count on that,” Stanton said. “But I can’t. Soon we will be paying the enormous salaries you promised your Ultra team.”

“Hey, I had to give big salaries to get the best people,” Edward said. “Also, I preferred giving higher salaries rather than more stock. I didn’t want to give away too much equity.”

“The equity isn’t going to be worth anything if we go bankrupt.”

“But we’re ahead of the game,” Edward said. “Most biotech and pharmaceutical companies are formed with no drug on the horizon. We’ve already got the drug.”

“I’m aware of that,” Stanton said. “But I have the jitters. I’ve never invested all my money in one company and then watched it being spent so quickly.”

“You’ve invested it wisely,” Edward said. “We’re both going to be billionaires. Ultra is that good, I’m sure of it. Come on. Let me show you the lab. It will reassure you.”

Kim breathed a sigh of relief as she watched the two men walk toward the lab. Stanton even had his hand draped on Edward’s shoulder.

Once they were gone, Kim surveyed the room. To her surprise her thoughts were not on the ungodly mess the moving had created. Instead the sudden silence brought an intense sense of Elizabeth’s presence and a strong recurrence of her feeling that Elizabeth was trying to communicate with her. But try as she might, Kim could hear no words. Nevertheless, at that moment, Kim was acutely aware that some of Elizabeth existed in the core of her being. And what was now Kim’s home was still in some way Elizabeth’s.

Kim was not entirely comfortable with these thoughts. Somehow she detected an element of distress and urgency in Elizabeth’s message.

Turning her back on what should have been more pressing tasks, Kim hastily unwrapped the newly restored portrait of Elizabeth and hung it over the fireplace. With the repainting of the walls, the portrait’s silhouette had vanished. Kim had to guess how high it had hung. She was following an urge to replace the painting in the exact position it had occupied three hundred years previously.

Kim stepped away and turned to face the mantel. When she did, she was shocked by how lifelike the painting appeared. In better light Kim had thought it was rather primitive. Hanging in the afternoon twilight of the cottage gave a completely different effect. Elizabeth’s green eyes were hauntingly penetrating as they shone through the shadows.

For a few mesmerizing minutes Kim stood rooted in the center of the room, staring at a picture that in some respects was like looking into a mirror. Gazing into Elizabeth’s eyes, Kim felt even stronger the sense that her ancestor was trying to communicate with her across the centuries. Kim again strained to hear the words, but there was only silence.

The mystical feeling radiating from the painting sent Kim back to the castle. Despite the many boxes to unpack, and despite having spent so many frustratingly fruitless hours searching through the castle’s papers, Kim had a sudden irresistible urge to return. Elizabeth’s portrait had renewed her motivation to learn what she could about her mysterious ancestor.

As if driven by a preternatural force, Kim mounted the stairs and headed for the attic. Once inside, she didn’t hesitate nor did she take the time to open the windows. Instead she marched directly to what looked like an old sea trunk. Opening the lid, she found the usual mix of papers, envelopes, and a few ledgers.

The first book was an inventory of ships’ stores. The date was 1862. Directly beneath it was a larger, primitively bound notebook with a letter tied to it. Kim gulped. She could see that the letter was addressed to Ronald Stewart.

Kim reached into the trunk and lifted out the notebook. After untying the string, she opened the envelope and slid out the letter. Recalling how carefully the Harvard archivists handled the Mather letter, Kim tried to do the same. The aged paper resisted being unfolded. It was a short note. Kim looked at the date and her anticipation lessened. It was from the eighteenth century.

16th April 1726

Boston Dearest father,

In response to your query I esteem it to be in the meete interests of the family and the business to forebear transposing mother’s grave to the family plot since the required permit would cause much disquietude in Salem town and awaken the whole affair which you suppressed with great diligence and effort.

Your loving son, Jonathan.

Kim carefully folded the note and replaced it in its envelope. Thirty-four years after the witchcraft affair Ronald and his son were still concerned about its effect on the family despite a public apology and a day of mourning ordered by the colonial government.

Turning her attention to the notebook, whose binding was crumbling, Kim folded back the cloth cover only to have it detach in her hand. Then her heart skipped a beat. On the flyleaf was written: Elizabeth Flanagan, her book, December 1678.

Kim carefully leafed through the book and realized to her utter joy that it was Elizabeth’s diary! The fact that the entries she saw were short and not consecutive didn’t lessen her excitement.

Clasping the book with both hands for fear of its coming apart, Kim hurried over to a dormered window for better light. Starting from the back, she noticed that there were a number of blank pages. Coming to the last entry, Kim noticed that the diary stopped prior to what she would have preferred. The date was Friday 26th February 1692.

There is no end to this cold. More snow on this day. The Wooleston River is now thick with ice-to support a person to the Royal Side. I am much distracted. A sickness has weakened my spirit with cruel fits and convulsions as described by Sarah and Jonathan in like manner as those I have observed with poor Rebecca, Mary, and Joanna and the same that Ann Putnam suffered on her visit.