Robin Cook: Chromosome 6

The fact that the call was from overseas did not surprise Kevin. With the satellite communications GenSys had installed in the Zone, it was far easier to call Europe or the U.S. than Bata, a mere sixty miles to the north. Calls to Malabo were almost impossible.

Kevin started for the living room. The phone was on a desk in the corner.

“Will you be eating lunch?” Esmeralda asked.

“Yes,” Kevin said. He still wasn’t hungry but he didn’t want to hurt Esmeralda’s feelings.

Kevin sat down at his desk. With his hand on the phone he quickly calculated it was about eight o’clock in the morning in New York. He pondered what Dr. Lyons had called about but guessed it had something to do with his brief conversation with Taylor Cabot. Kevin did not like the idea of an autopsy on Carlo Franconi, and he didn’t imagine that Raymond Lyons would either.

Kevin had first met Raymond six years previously. It was during a meeting in New York of the American Association for the Advancement of Science where Kevin presented a paper. Kevin hated giving papers and rarely did, but on this occasion he’d been forced to do so by the chief of his department at Harvard. Dating back to his Ph.D. thesis his interest was the transposition of chromosomes: a process by which chromosomes exchanged bits and pieces to enhance species adaption and hence evolution. This phenomenon happened particularly frequently during the generation of sex cells: a process known as meiosis.

By coincidence, during the same meeting and at the same time Kevin was scheduled to present, James Watson and Francis Crick gave an immensely popular talk on the anniversary of their discovery of the structure of DNA. Consequently, very few people came to hear Kevin. One of the attendees had been Raymond. It was after this talk that Raymond first approached Kevin. The conversation resulted in Kevin’s leaving Harvard and coming to work for GenSys.

With a slightly shaky hand Kevin picked up the receiver and dialed. Raymond answered on the first ring, suggesting he’d been hovering over the phone. The connection was crystal clear as if he were in the next room.

“I’ve got good news,” Raymond said as soon as he knew it was Kevin. “There’s to be no autopsy.”

Kevin didn’t respond. His mind was a jumble.

“Aren’t you relieved?” Raymond asked. “I know Cabot called you last night.”

“I’m relieved to an extent,” Kevin said. “But autopsy or no autopsy, I’m having second thoughts about this whole operation.”

Now it was Raymond’s turn to be silent. No sooner had he solved one potential problem than another was rearing its unwelcome head.

“Maybe we’ve made a mistake,” Kevin said. “What I mean is, maybe I’ve made a mistake. My conscience is starting to bother me, and I’m getting a little scared. I’m really a basic science person. This applied science is not my thing.”

“Oh, please!” Raymond said irritably. “Don’t complicate things! Not now. I mean, you’ve got that lab you’ve always wanted. I’ve beat my brains out getting you every damn piece of equipment that you’ve asked for. And on top of that, things are going so well, especially with my recruiting. Hell, with all the stock options you’re amassing, you’ll be a rich man.”

“I’ve never intended on being rich,” Kevin said.

“Worse things could happen,” Raymond said. “Come on, Kevin! Don’t do this to me.”

“And what good is being rich when I have to be out here in the heart of darkness?” Kevin said. Unwittingly his mind conjured up the image of the manager, Siegfried Spallek. Kevin shuddered. He was terrified of the man.

“It’s not forever,” Raymond said. “You told me yourself, you’re almost there, that the system is nearly perfect. When it is and you’ve trained someone to take your place, you can come back here. With your money you’ll be able to build the lab of your dreams.”

“I’ve seen more smoke coming from the island,” Kevin said. “Just like last week.”

“Forget the smoke!” Raymond said. “You’re letting your imagination run wild. Instead of working yourself up into a frenzy over nothing, concentrate on your work so you can finish. If you’ve got some free time, start fantasizing about the lab you’ll be building back here state-side.”

Kevin nodded. Raymond had a point. Part of Kevin’s concern was that if what he’d been involved with in Africa became common knowledge, he might never be able to go back to academia. No one would hire him much less give him tenure. But if he had his own lab and an independent income, he wouldn’t have to worry.

“Listen,” Raymond said. “I’ll be coming to pick up the last patient when he’s ready, which should be soon. We’ll talk again then. Meanwhile just remember that we’re almost there and money is pouring into our offshore coffers.”

“All right,” Kevin said reluctantly.

“Just don’t do anything rash,” Raymond said. “Promise me!”

“All right,” Kevin repeated with slightly more enthusiasm.

Kevin hung up the phone. Raymond was a persuasive person, and whenever Kevin spoke to him, Kevin inevitably felt better.

Kevin pushed back from the desk and walked back to the dining room. Following Raymond’s advice he tried to think of where he’d build his lab. There were some strong arguments for Cambridge, Massachusetts, because of the associations Kevin had with both Harvard and MIT. But then again maybe it would be better to be out in the countryside like up in New Hampshire.

Lunch was a white fish that Kevin didn’t recognize. When he inquired about it, Esmeralda gave him only the name in Fang, which meant nothing to Kevin. He surprised himself by eating more than he’d expected. The conversation with Raymond had had a positive effect on his appetite. The idea of having his own lab still held inordinate appeal.

After eating, Kevin changed his damp shirt for a clean, freshly ironed one. He was eager to get back to work. As he was about to descend the stairs, Esmeralda inquired when he wanted dinner. He told her seven, the usual time.

While Kevin had been lunching a leaden group of gray lavender clouds had rolled in from the ocean. By the time he emerged from his front door, it was pouring, and the street in front of his house was a cascade as the runoff raced down to the waterfront. Looking south over the Estuario del Muni, Kevin could see a line of bright sunshine as well as the arch of a complete rainbow. The weather in Gabon was still clear. Kevin was not surprised. There had been times when it had rained on one side of the street and not the other.

Guessing the rain would continue for at least the next hour, Kevin skirted his house beneath the protection of the arcade and climbed into his black Toyota utility vehicle. Although it was a ridiculously short drive back to the hospital, Kevin felt it was better to ride than be wet for the rest of the afternoon.

MARCH 4, 1997

8:45 A.M.

NEW YORK CITY

“WELL, what do you want to do?” Franco Ponti asked while looking at his boss, Vinnie Dominick, in the rearview mirror. They were in Vinnie’s Lincoln Town-car. Vinnie was in the backseat, leaning forward with his right hand holding onto the overhead strap. He was looking out at 126 East 64th Street. It was a brownstone built in a French rococo style with high-arched, multipaned windows. The first-floor windows were heavily barred for protection.

“Looks like pretty posh digs,” Vinnie said. “The good doctor is doing okay for himself.”

“Should I park?” Franco asked. The car was in the middle of the street, and the taxi behind them was honking insistently.

“Park!” Vinnie said.

Franco drove ahead until he came to a fire hydrant. He pulled to the curb. The taxi went past, the driver frantically giving them the finger. Angelo Facciolo shook his head and made a disparaging comment about expatriate Russian taxi drivers. Angelo was sitting in the front passenger seat.