Robin Cook - Shock

"I've already made arrangements to head into Boston," Kurt said. He stood up, and as he did so he made sure Paul caught sight of the silenced Clock automatic pistol he pulled from the desk's center drawer. He wanted to get the credit for the seriousness he considered the situation to be. But Paul's response was different than Kurt expected. Instead of pretending he didn't see it, Paul asked if there was another one around he could borrow for the night. Kurt was happy to oblige. He was hoping Paul would solve the Spencer Wingate problem himself. After all, having two potential commanders-in-chief at odds with each other could be a messy situation.

JOANNA WAS STILL TREMBLING FROM THE INITIAL of the reality she was facing, and she had the sense that Deborah shared her feelings with equal intensity. Mrs. Sard had invited them into their living room and insisted on giving them coffee. But Joanna didn't touch the cup. The house was so filthy, she was afraid to. Food that resembled week-old yogurt was smeared on the couch next to where Joanna was sitting. Toys and dirty clothes were strewn about haphazardly. The smell of dirty diapers permeated the air. The kitchen, which Joanna had caught a glimpse of when they'd first come in, was piled high with dirty dishes.

Mrs. Sard had maintained nonstop chatter which mostly involved the baby who clung to her for most of the visit like a marsupial. She was manifestly pleased by the unexpected visit, giving Joanna the impression she was starved for company.

"So the baby has been healthy?" Deborah asked when Mrs. Sard paused for breath.

"Quite healthy," Mrs. Sard said. "Although just recently we've been told he has some mild, senorineuronal hearing loss."

Joanna had no idea what senorineuronal hearing loss was, and although she'd not opened her mouth during the whole visit, she managed to ask.

"It's deafness caused by a problem with the auditory nerve," Deborah explained.

Joanna nodded but still was unsure. But she didn't pursue it. Instead she looked down at her hands. They were trembling. Quickly she covered one with the other. That helped considerably. What she really wanted to do was to leave.

"What else can I tell you about this little pumpkin?" Mrs. Sard said. Proudly she lifted the baby off her shoulder and bounced him on her knee.

Joanna thought he was cute like any baby but she thought he would have been cuter if he'd been cleaner. The footed pajamas he was wearing were soiled in the front, his hair was dirty and some dried cereal was tenaciously clinging to his cheek.

"Well, I think we've gotten the information we need," Deborah said. She stood and an appreciative Joanna immediately did the same.

"How about some more coffee?" Mrs. Sard asked with an echo of desperation in her voice.

"I think we've overstayed our welcome," Deborah said.

Mrs. Sard tried to protest, but Deborah was insistent. Reluctantly Mrs. Sard walked her guests out the front door and stood on the porch while they descended the walkway. When they got to the car only Deborah looked back, and when she did, Mrs. Sard was waving the baby's hand to say good-bye.

"Let's get out of here," Joanna said as soon as the doors were closed. Purposefully she avoided looking back at the child.

"I'm trying," Deborah said. She got the car started and backed out of the driveway.

They drove for a few minutes before speaking. Both were glad to be away.

"I'm horrified," Joanna said, finally breaking the silence.

"I can't imagine anyone who wouldn't be," Deborah said.

"What amazes me is that that woman acts like she hasn't a clue." Joanna said.

"Maybe she doesn't. But even if she does, she's probably wanted a child for so long she doesn't care. Infertile couples have been known to be desperate."

"Did you know immediately?" Joanna asked.

"Obviously," Deborah said. "I almost fell off the damn porch."

"What was it that made the association for you?"

"It was the whole package," Deborah said. "But if I had to narrow it down I suppose I'd have to say the baby's white forelock was the giveaway. I mean, that's pretty dramatic, especially on a six-month-old child."

"Did you notice the child's eyes?" Joanna shuddered as if chilled.

"Certainly," Deborah said. "They reminded me of a husky one of my uncles had, although the dog's were even more shockingly different colors."

"What bothers me so much is that what's probably the first human clone had to be cloned from one of my eggs."

"I can appreciate your feelings," Deborah said. "But I have to say what bothers me so much is who did it and whom he cloned. Paul Saunders is not the kind of person the world needs another copy of. Cloning himself means he's more egocentric and conceited and arrogant than I could have ever imagined, although I'll wager he'd try to argue he did it for science or mankind or some other ridiculous justification."

"At least there's none of me in that child," Joanna said. For the moment, she couldn't see beyond the personal aspect of the calamity.

"I hate to tell you this, but that's probably not true," Deborah said. "The egg contributes the mitochondrial DNA. The child has your mitochondria."

"I'm not even going to ask what mitochondria is," Joanna said.

"I don't want to know because I don't want to believe there's anything of me in that child."

"Well, we now have an explanation why the success rate with your eggs was so low. Cloning by nuclear transfer is like that. On the positive side, it was better than the people got who cloned the sheep, Dolly. I think they went through two hundred attempts or so before getting one positive. You've got four positives in less than three hundred."

"Are you trying to make a sick joke?" Joanna questioned. "If you are, I'm not finding it funny."

"I'm being serious," Deborah said. "They must be doing something right. Their statistic is more than twice as good."

"I'm certainly not going to give them any kudos," Joanna commented. "The whole affair makes me sick. I wish I hadn't gone in there, that's how terrible I feel."

"I would never tell you I told you so," Deborah teased. "I'd never do something like that. It would be too cruel."

Joanna smiled in spite of her distress. It was amazing how Deborah could always buoy her up no matter what the circumstance.

"But I do have another suggestion if you think you're capable."

"I hate to ask what you have in mind," Joanna said.

"I think we should visit the second child to see if our fears are justified."

They drove in silence for a while as Joanna considered the suggestion.

"It's not going to make it any worse," Deborah said eventually. "We've already experienced the shock. It might help us to decide what we're going to do about all this, if anything. That's a conundrum we've studiously avoided."

Joanna nodded. In that regard Deborah was totally correct. Not only had they not discussed what they were going to do, Joanna herself had purposefully avoided even thinking about it. Short of just turning it over to the media who would undoubtedly implicate them, whom could they tell? The problem was, they'd gotten the information by committing a felony. Joanna didn't know a lot about the law, but she knew that obtaining evidence criminally affected its utility. On top of that she didn't even know if human cloning carried out by a private clinic was against the law in the state of Massachusetts.

"All right," Joanna said impulsively. "Let's try to see the second child. But if it's the same situation, let's not go in." She reached for the second sheet of paper and pulled out her cell phone.

The surname of the second child was Webster, and the Websters lived in a town a number of miles closer in toward Boston than Bookford. Joanna placed the call. The phone rang more than five times. She was about to disconnect when the call was answered by a woman who was out of breath.