Kathy Reichs - Grave Secrets

“Really.” I pressed the button and the disc slid out.

“You get sick in the highlands, I don’t want to be rinsing out your panties.”

I considered flinging the disc at him. Instead, I held it out.

He raised his eyebrows. “Why don’t you take that home, cruise through it, and give me a synopsis during our flight tomorrow.”

“Hot damn. There’s an idea.” I slid the disc into my briefcase.

“Pick you up at eleven?”

“I’ll pack lots of panties.”

A truck had overturned in the tunnel, and the trip home took almost an hour. After dumping my briefcase and purse, I dug a frozen delight from the freezer and popped it into the microwave.

While I waited, I cranked up my laptop and opened the PDF reader. The microwave beeped as I clicked on the fullrptstem file.

When I returned, a surrealistic tableau filled the monitor. I stared at the blobs and squiggles exploding from a central mass, then scrolled upward and read the title.

It made no sense at all.

24

“ FRIGGIN’ STEM CELLS?”

Ryan had been in a rotten mood since picking me up at eleven. A forty-minute flight delay was not improving his disposition.

“Yes.”

“The little buggers your moron fundamentalists are pissing their shorts to protect?”

“They are not my moron fundamentalists.”

“That’s it?”

“Two hundred and twenty-two pages’ worth.”

“Is it some kind of progress report?”

“And a discussion of future research directions.”

Ryan was in a snit because he couldn’t smoke.

“What genius prepared it?”

“The National Institutes of Health.”

“How come Nordstern had the report on disk?”

“He probably downloaded it from the Net.”

“Why?”

“Excellent question, Detective.”

Ryan checked his watch for the billionth time. At that exact moment the digits on the screen behind the Delta agent changed again. We would now be departing an hour behind schedule.

“Sonovabitch.”

“Relax. We’ll make the connection.”

“Thank you, Pollyanna.”

I dug a journal from my briefcase and began leafing through it. Ryan got up, crossed the waiting area, recrossed it, returned to his seat.

“So what did you learn?”

“About?”

“Stem cells.”

“More than I ever wanted to know. I was up until two.”

A man the size of South Dakota dropped a bag on the floor and flopped into the seat to my right. A tsunami of sweat and hair oil rolled my way. Ryan’s eyes met mine, then shifted toward the windows. Wordlessly, he got up and changed location. I followed a compassionate thirty seconds later.

“Stem cells are taken from embryos?” Ryan.

“Stem cells can come from embryonic, fetal, or adult tissue.”

“It’s the non-adult forms that have the Christian zealots in a frenzy.”

“The religious right is strongly opposed to any use of embryonic stem cells.”

“The usual sanctity of life crap?”

Ryan did have a way of cutting to the chase.

“That’s the argument.”

“And G. W. Bush bought in.”

“Only partly. He’s trying to sit on the fence. He’s limited federal funding to research using existing stem cell lines only.”

“So scientists needing government grants are only allowed to experiment with cells already growing in labs?”

“Or with stem cells derived from adult tissue.”

“Will that do the job?”

“In my opinion?”

“No. Give me the thinking in the Politburo.”

Nope. That’s it. Back to my journal.

After a few moments, “O.K. Give me the stem cell basic course, condensed version.”

“We’re agreed on courteous listening as a protocol?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Every one of the two hundred cell types in the human body arises from one of three germ layers, endoderm, mesoderm, or ectoderm.

“Inner, middle, and outer layers.”

“That’s excellent, Andrew.”

“Thank you, Ms. Brennan.”

“An embryonic stem cell, or ES cell, is what’s termed pluripotent. That means it has the ability to give rise to cell types deriving from any of the three layers. Stem cells reproduce themselves throughout the life of an organism, but remain uncommitted until signaled to develop into something specific—pancreas, heart, bone, skin.”

“Flexible little dudes.”

“The term ‘embryonic stem cell’ really includes two types: those that come from embryos, and those that come from fetal tissue.”

“The only two sources?”

“To date, yes. To be perfectly correct, embryonic stem cells are derived from eggs just a few days after fertilization.”

“And before the egg is implanted in the mother’s uterus.”

“Right. At that point the embryo is a hollow sphere called a blastocyst. Embryonic stem cells are taken from the inner layer of that sphere. Embryonic germ cells are derived from five- to ten- week-old fetuses.”

“And the grown-ups?”

“Adult stem cells are unspecialized cells that occur in specialized tissues. They have the ability to renew themselves, and to differentiate into all of the specialized cell types of the tissues in which they originate.”

“Which are?”

“Bone marrow, blood, the cornea and retina of the eye, brain, skeletal muscle, dental pulp, liver, skin—”

“Don’t we already use those?”

“We do. Adult stem cells isolated from bone marrow and blood have been studied extensively and are used therapeutically.”

“Why not simply use the big guys and leave embryos and fetuses alone?”

I enumerated points on my fingers.

“Adult stem cells are rare. They are difficult to identify, isolate, and purify. There are way too few of them. They do not replicate indefinitely in culture the way embryonic stem and germ cells do. And, to date, there is no population of adult stem cells that is pluripotent.”

“So embryonic stem and germ cells are the name of the game.”

Ryan fell silent for a moment. Then, “What’s the potential payoff in having lots of them available?”

“Parkinson’s disease, diabetes, chronic heart disease, end-stage kidney disease, liver failure, cancer, spinal cord injury, multiple sclerosis, Alzheimer’s disease—”

“The sky’s the limit.”

“Exactly. I can’t fathom why anyone would want to block that kind of research.”

The baby blues went wide, the voice went preachy, and one long finger pointed at my nose.

“It’s a first step, Sister Temperance, toward a slide down the slippery slope of pregnancies conceived only for use of the embryos, resulting in an Aryan nation dedicated to the propagation of muscular, blond, blue-eyed men and slinky, long-legged women with big breasts.”

With that, they called our flight.

On the way to Guatemala we talked about mutual friends, and about times and experiences we’d shared. I told Ryan about Katy’s psych project with the Cheez Whiz rats, and about her quest for summer employment.

Ryan asked about my sister, Harry. We laughed as I described her latest romance with a rodeo clown from Wichita Falls. He filled me in on his niece, Danielle, who’d run off to sell jewelry on the streets of Vancouver. We agreed the two had a lot in common.

Eventually, fatigue sucked me in. I fell asleep with my head on Ryan’s shoulder. Though rough on my neck, it was a warm and reassuring place to be.

By the time we collected our baggage in Guatemala City, worked our way through the throng of porters pleading to carry it, and found a taxi, it was nine-thirty. I gave the driver my destination. He turned to Ryan for directions. I provided them.

We pulled up at my hotel at ten-fifteen. While I paid the fare, Ryan unloaded the luggage. When I asked for a receipt, the driver regarded me as though I’d requested a urine sample. Muttering, he dug a scrap of paper from the seat crack, scrawled something on it, and thrust it at me.