Robin Cook - Seizure

Stephanie exhaled forcibly while shaking her head. Instead of looking over at Daniel, she turned and looked out her passenger-side window. She had her arms tightly folded over her chest. “Just being there and talking with these people, much less working there, makes me feel like an accomplice.”

They drove in silence for a few minutes. Daniel spoke up as they reached the outskirts of Nassau and had to slow because of traffic. “Everything you are saying is true. But it is also true that we had a pretty damn good idea of what these people were like before we got here. You’re the one who checked them out on the Internet, and to quote you, you said, ‘These people are definitely not nice, and we should limit our interaction with them.’ Do you remember saying that?”

“Of course I do,” Stephanie snapped. “It was at the Rialto restaurant in Cambridge, not even a week ago.” She sighed. “My word! So much has happened in the last six days, it seems like a year has gone by.”

“But you get my point,” Daniel persisted.

“I suppose, but I also said I wanted to be sure that by working at their clinic, we wouldn’t be supporting something unconscionable.”

“At the expense of being ridiculously redundant, we’re here to treat Butler, and nothing else. We agreed on it, and that’s what we are going to do. We’re not on a social crusade to expose the Wingate Clinic, not now and not even after we treat Butler, because if the FDA finds out what we’ve done, there could be trouble.”

Stephanie turned around to face Daniel. “When I initially agreed to participate in treating Butler, I thought the only compromise we would be making was in regard to experimental ethics. Unfortunately, it seems as if we find ourselves on the proverbial slippery slope. I’m worried where this is going to take us, conscience-wise.”

“You could always go home,” Daniel said. “You’re better at the cellular work, but I suppose I could muddle through it.”

“Do you mean that?”

“I do. You have a far better technique with nuclear transfer than I.”

“No, I’m asking if you would mind if I leave.”

“If the ethical compromises we have to make are going to make you miserable, morose, and unpleasant to be with, then no, I don’t mind if you leave.”

“Would you miss me?”

“Is this a trick question? I already implied that I’d much prefer you to stay. Compared with you, I have two thumbs on each hand when I’m working with oocytes and blastocysts under a dissecting microscope.”

“I mean miss me emotionally.”

“Of course! That’s a given.”

“It’s never a given, especially since you’ve never said as much. But don’t get me wrong; I appreciate you saying it now, and I appreciate your willingness to let me leave. It means a lot to me.” Stephanie sighed. “But as much as I’m conflicted about working with these morons, I don’t think I could leave you here to carry on by yourself. But I’ll think about it. It makes me feel better to know it is an option, and such feelings are appreciated. After all, from day one, this whole affair has been against my intuition and better judgment, and this morning’s experience hasn’t helped.”

“I’m aware of your misgivings,” Daniel said. “And knowing them makes me even more appreciative of your support. But enough is enough! We know they are bad news, and what we’ve seen this morning just confirms it. Let’s move on to another subject! What was your take on the Pakistani neurosurgeon?”

“What can I say? I liked his English accent, but he’s kind of short. On the other hand, he’s cute.”

“I’m trying to be serious,” Daniel said, with an edge returning to his voice.

“Well, I’m trying to be humorous. I mean, how can you evaluate a professional after meeting him for lunch? At least he’s had good training at recognized academic centers in London, but whether he’s a good surgeon, who’s to say? At least he’s personable.” Stephanie shrugged. “What do you think?”

“I think he’s terrific, and I think we’re lucky to have him on board. The fact that he had experience doing fetal cell implants for Parkinson’s disease as a resident is an extraordinary plus. I mean, he’s going to be doing the same procedure for us. Implanting our cloned dopaminergic neural cells will merely be a rerun, with the exception that it will work. I sensed a true frustration on his part that the results of the fetal cell study he was involved in were so poor.”

“He is enthusiastic,” Stephanie agreed. “I have to give him credit for that, but I wasn’t totally convinced it wasn’t because he needs the work. One thing that surprised me was that he thought it would only take him an hour or so.”

“I’m not,” Daniel said. “Setting the stereotaxic headgear in place is the only step that’s time-consuming. The burr hole and the injection will be quick.”

“I suppose we should be thankful to have found him so easily.”

Daniel nodded.

“I know one other reason you were upset this morning,” Daniel said suddenly, after a short break in their conversation.

“Oh?” Stephanie questioned, feeling herself tense up after finally relaxing to a degree. The last thing she wanted to hear was another upsetting detail.

“Your faith in the medical profession must now be at a new nadir.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Spencer Wingate is hardly the short, fat, and warted individual you’d hoped, although, as I already said, he could still be a chain-smoker and have bad breath.”

Stephanie gave Daniel several playful swats on the shoulder. “After all the things I’ve said lately, it’s just like you to remember that.”

In an equally playful fashion, Daniel pretended to be terrified and pressed himself up against his window to get out of her reach. At that moment, they were stopped at a traffic light just short of the bridge to Paradise Island.

“Now, Paul Saunders is another story,” Daniel said, righting himself. “So maybe your faith hasn’t suffered an irreversible blow, since his appearance certainly makes up for Spencer’s matinee-idol good looks.”

“Paul is not that bad-looking,” Stephanie said. “He certainly has interesting hair, with such a striking white forelock.”

“I know you have trouble saying anything bad about someone’s person,” Daniel said. “Not that I understand it, particularly in this instance, considering how you feel about these people, but let’s at least admit that the man is an odd-looking duck.”

“People are born with their faces and their bodies; they don’t choose them. I’ll say Paul Saunders is unique. I’ve never seen anyone with two different-colored irises.”

“He has an eponymous genetic syndrome,” Daniel explained. “It’s fairly rare, if I remember correctly, but I don’t recall its name. It was one of those arcane diseases that would occasionally get tossed out during internal medicine rounds.”

“A hereditary disease!” Stephanie remarked. “Well, that’s exactly why I don’t like to criticize people’s basic appearances. Does this syndrome have any serious health consequences?”

“I can’t remember,” Daniel admitted.

The light changed, and they motored over the bridge. The view of the Nassau harbor was engaging, and neither spoke until they got to the other side.

“Hey!” Daniel blurted. He veered into a lane for making a right-hand turn across traffic and came to a stop. “What about heading over to this shopping plaza to get ourselves some more clothes? At the very least, we need bathing suits so we can visit the beach. After the FedEx package gets here, there’s not going to be much opportunity to take advantage of Nassau’s pleasures.”