Robin Cook: Chromosome 6

Laurie turned around and headed back to the elevator. Jack dutifully followed.

“What do you think?” Laurie asked.

“It’s getting harder and harder for me to think the closer it gets to midnight,” Jack said. “But I wouldn’t make anything of those two peeking at the body.”

“But Mike didn’t mention it,” Laurie said.

“True,” Jack said. “But they all know they were bending the rules. It’s human nature in such a situation not to be completely forthcoming.”

“Maybe so,” Laurie said with a sigh.

“Where to now?” Jack asked as they boarded the elevator.

“I’m running out of ideas,” Laurie said.

“Thank God,” Jack said.

“Don’t you think I should ask Mike why he didn’t tell us about the van drivers looking at Franconi?” Laurie asked.

“You could, but I think you’re just spinning your wheels,” Jack said. “Truly, I can’t imagine it was anything but harmless curiosity.”

“Then let’s call it a night,” Laurie said. “Bed is sounding good to me, too.”

MARCH 5, 1997

10:15 A.M.

COGO, EQUATORIAL GUINEA

KEVIN replaced the tissue culture flasks in the incubator and closed the door. He’d been working since before dawn. His current quest was to find a transponase to handle a minor histocompatibility gene on the Y chromosome. It had been eluding him for over a month despite his use of the technique that had resulted in his finding and isolating the transponases associated with the short arm of chromosome 6.

Kevin’s usual schedule was to arrive at the lab around eight-thirty, but that morning he’d awakened at four a.m. and had not been able to fall back to sleep. After tossing and turning for three-quarters of an hour, he’d decided he might as well use the time for good purpose. He’d arrived at his lab at five a.m. while it was still pitch dark.

What was troubling Kevin’s sleep was his conscience. The nagging notion that he’d made a Promethean mistake resurfaced with a vengeance. Although Dr. Lyons’s mention of building his own lab had assuaged him at the time, it didn’t last. Lab of his dreams or no, he couldn’t deny the horror he feared was evolving on Isla Francesca.

Kevin’s feelings had nothing to do with seeing more smoke. He hadn’t, but as dawn broke, he’d also consciously avoided looking out the window much less in the direction of the island.

Kevin realized he couldn’t go on like this. He decided that the most rational course of action would be to find out if his fears were justified. The best way to do it, he surmised, was to approach someone close to the situation who might be able to shed some light on Kevin’s area of concern. But Kevin didn’t feel comfortable talking with many people in the Zone. He’d never been very social, especially in Cogo, where he was the sole academician. But there was one working in the Zone with whom he felt slightly more comfortable, mainly because he admired his work: Bertram Edwards, the chief veterinarian.

Impulsively Kevin removed his lab coat, draped it over his chair, and headed out of his office. Descending to the first floor, he exited into the steamy heat of the parking area north of the hospital. The morning weather was clear, with white, puffy cumuli clouds overhead. There were some dark rain clouds looming, but they were out over the ocean in a clump along the western horizon; if they brought rain, it wouldn’t be before the afternoon.

Kevin climbed into his Toyota four-wheel drive and turned right out of the hospital parking lot. Traversing the north side of the town square, he passed the old Catholic church. GenSys had renovated the building to function as the recreational center. On Friday and Saturday nights they showed movies. Monday nights they had bingo. In the basement was a commissary serving American hamburgers.

Bertram Edwards’s office was at the veterinary center that was part of the far larger animal unit. The entire complex was bigger than Cogo itself. It was situated north of the town in a dense equatorial rain forest and separated from the town by a stretch of virgin jungle.

Kevin’s route took him east as far as the motor-pool facility, where he turned north. The traffic, which was considerable for such a remote spot, reflected the difficult logistics of running an operation the size of the Zone. Everything from toilet paper to centrifuge tubes had to be imported, which necessitated moving a lot of goods. Most supplies came by truck from Bata, where there was a crude deep-water port and an airport capable of handling large jet aircraft. The Estuario del Muni with access to Libreville, Gabon, was only served by motorized canoes.

At the edge of town the granite cobblestone street gave way to newly laid asphalt. Kevin let out a sigh of relief. The sound and the vibration that came up the steering column from the cobblestones was intense.

After fifteen minutes of driving through a canyon of dark green vegetation, Kevin could see the first buildings of the state-of-the-art animal complex. They were constructed of prestressed concrete and cinder block that was stuccoed and painted white. The design had a Spanish flare to complement the Colonial architecture of the town.

The enormous main building looked more like an airport terminal than a primate housing facility. Its front facade was three stories tall and perhaps five hundred feet long. From the back of the structure projected multiple wings that literally disappeared into the canopy of vegetation. Several smaller buildings faced the main one. Kevin wasn’t sure of their purpose except for two buildings in the center. One housed the complex’s contingent of Equatoguinean soldiers. Just like their comrades in the town square, these soldiers were aimlessly sprawled about with their rifles, cigarettes, and Cameroonean beer. The other building was the headquarters of a group that Kevin found even more disturbing than the teenage soldiers. These were Moroccan mercenaries who were part of the Equatoguinean presidential guard. The local president didn’t trust his own army.

These foreign special-forces commandos dressed in inappropriate and ill-fitting dark suits and ties, with obvious bulges from their shoulder holsters. Every one of them had dark skin, piercing eyes, and a heavy mustache. Unlike the soldiers they were rarely seen, but their presence was felt like a sinister evil force.

The sheer size of the GenSys animal center was a tribute to its success. Recognizing the difficulties attached to primate biomedical research, GenSys had sited their facility in Equatorial Africa where the animals were indigenous. This move cleverly sidestepped the industrialized West’s inconvenient web of import/export restrictions associated with primates, as well as the disruptive influence of animal-rights zealots. As an added incentive, the foreign exchange-starved local government and its venal leaders were inordinately receptive to all a company like GenSys had to offer. Obstructive laws were conveniently overlooked or abolished. The legislature was so accommodating that it even passed a law making interference with GenSys a capital offense.

The operation proved to be extraordinarily successful so quickly that GenSys expanded it to serve as a convenient spot for other biotechnology companies, especially pharmaceutical giants, to out-source their primate testing. The growth shocked the GenSys economic forecasters. From every point of view, the Zone was an impressive financial success.

Kevin parked next to another four-wheel-drive vehicle. He knew it was Dr. Edwards’s from the bumper sticker that said: Man is an Ape. He pushed through the double doors with “Veterinary Center” stenciled on the glass. Dr. Edwards’s office and examining rooms were just inside the door.