Robin Cook - Seizure

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.”

“As I recall, the carbon dating was confirmed by three independent labs. It would be hard for that to be debunked.”

“Well, let’s see what you find out,” Daniel said. “In the meantime, we better start planning some serious travel.”

“You mean Nassau?”

“Nassau and probably Turin, Italy, depending on what you find out.”

“Where are we going to get the money for such travel?”

“From Ashley Butler.”

Stephanie’s eyebrows lifted. “Maybe this escapade isn’t going to be so bad after all.”

“So, are you with me on this?” Daniel questioned.

“Yeah, I suppose.”

“That’s not very positive.”

“It’s the best I can do at the moment. But I imagine I’ll come around as things progress, like you suggested.”

“I’ll take what I can get,” Daniel announced. He got up from the couch and gave Stephanie’s shoulder a squeeze in the process. “I’m going to have another Scotch. Let me fill your glass.”

Daniel poured the additional drinks, then sat back down. After glancing at his watch, he put Butler’s business card down in front of him and lifted the phone onto the coffee table. “Let’s tell the senator the news. I’m sure he’ll be irritatingly smug, but to borrow his phrase, Such is life. ” Daniel used the speakerphone button to get a dial tone. The call went through and was picked up quickly. Ashley Butler’s baritone Southern drawl inundated the room.

“Senator,” Daniel called out, interrupting Ashley’s verbose hello. “I don’t mean to be rude, but it’s late and I just wanted to let you know that I have decided to take you up on your offer.”

“Well, glory be!” Ashley intoned. “And so soon! I was afraid you were going to let this simple decision spoil your slumber and that you would not be calling until the morning. Well, I am pleased as punch! Can I assume Dr. D’Agostino has agreed to participate as well?”

“I have agreed,” Stephanie said, trying to sound positive.

“Excellent, excellent!” Ashley echoed. “Not that I am surprised, since this affair is to all our benefit. But I most sincerely do believe that being of the same mind and having unanimity of purpose is key to success, and we most certainly want success in this endeavor.”

“We assume you would like to do this straightaway,” Daniel said.

“Most assuredly, my dear friends. Most assuredly. I’m on borrowed time in terms of concealing my infirmity,” Ashley explained. “There is no time to lose. Conveniently for our purposes, a Senate recess is coming up. It commences about a month from now on March twenty-second and runs through April eighth. Normally I head home to politick, but instead it is the period of time I have had my heart set upon for my treatment. Is a month an adequate amount of time for you scientists to formulate the appropriate curative cells?”

Daniel glanced at Stephanie and spoke to her softly, just above a whisper: “That’s quicker than I thought he’d have in mind. What do you think? Could we do it?”

“It’s a long shot,” Stephanie whispered with a shrug. “First, we’d need a few days to culture his fibroblasts. Then, assuming a successful nuclear transfer creating a viable pre-embryo, we’d need five or six days for the blastocyst to form. After that, we’d need a couple of weeks of culturing on feeder cells after harvesting the stem cells.”

“Is there a problem?” Ashley questioned. “I cannot for the life of me hear what you good folks are discussing.”

“Just a second, Senator!” Daniel said into the speakerphone. “I’m talking with Dr. D’Agostino about timing. She would be doing most of the actual hands-on work.”