Chromosome 6

CHAPTER 5

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.

Martha Blummer greeted him. “Dr. Edwards is in the chimpanzee wing,” she said. Martha was the veterinary secretary. Her husband was one of the supervisors at the motor pool.

Kevin set off for the chimpanzee wing. It was one of the few areas in the building he was at all acquainted with. He went through a second pair of double doors and walked the length of the central corridor of the veterinary hospital. The facility looked like a regular hospital, down to its employees who were all dressed in surgical scrubs, many with stethoscopes draped over their necks.

A few people nodded, others smiled, and some said hello to Kevin. He returned the greetings self-consciously. He didn’t know any of these people by name.

Another pair of double doors brought him into the main part of the building that housed the primates. The air had a slightly feral odor. Intermittent shrieks and howls reverberated in the corridor. Through doors with windows of wire-embedded glass, Kevin caught glimpses of large cages where monkeys were incarcerated. Outside the cages were men in coveralls and rubber boots, pulling hoses.

The chimpanzee wing was one of the ells that extended from the back of the building into the forest. It, too, was three stories tall. Kevin entered on the first floor. Immediately the sounds changed. Now there was as much hooting as shrieking.

Cracking a door off the central corridor, Kevin got the attention of one of the workers in the coveralls. He asked about Dr. Edwards and was told the vet was in the bonobo unit.

Kevin found a stairwell and climbed to the second floor. He thought it was a coincidence that Dr. Edwards happened to be in the bonobo unit just when Kevin was looking for him. It was through bonobos that Kevin and Dr. Edwards had met.

Six years ago Kevin had never heard of a bonobo. But that changed rapidly when bonobos were selected as the subjects for his GenSys project. He now knew they were exceptional creatures. They were cousins of chimpanzees but had lived in isolation in a twenty-five-thousand-square-mile patch of virginal jungle in central Zaire for one and a half million years. In contrast to chimps, bonobo society was matriarchal with less male aggression. Hence, the bonobos were able to live in larger groups. Some people called them pygmy chimpanzees but the name was a misnomer because some bonobos were actually larger than some chimpanzees, and they were a distinct species.

Kevin found Dr. Edwards in front of a relatively small acclimatization cage. He was reaching through the bars making tentative contact with an adult female bonobo.

Another female bonobo was sitting against the back wall of the cage. Her eyes were nervously darting around her new accommodations. Kevin could sense her terror.

Dr. Edwards was hooting softly in imitation of one of the many bonobo and chimpanzee sounds of communication. He was a relatively tall man, a good three or four inches over Kevin’s five foot ten. His hair was a shocking white which contrasted dramatically with his almost black eyebrows and eyelashes. The sharply demarcated eyebrows combined with a habit of wrinkling his forehead gave him a perpetually surprised look.

Kevin watched for a moment. Dr. Edwards’s obvious rapport with the animals had been something Kevin had appreciated from their first meeting. Kevin sensed it was an intuitive talent and not something learned, and it always impressed him.

“Excuse me,” Kevin said finally.

Dr. Edwards jumped as if he’d been frightened. Even the bonobo shrieked and fled to the back of the cage.

“I’m terribly sorry,” Kevin said.

Dr. Edwards smiled and put a hand to his chest. “No need to be sorry. I was just so intent I didn’t hear you approach.”

“I certainly didn’t mean to frighten you, Dr. Edwards,” Kevin began, “but I…”

“Kevin, please! If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a dozen times: my name is Bertram. I mean, we’ve known each other for five years. Don’t you think first names are more appropriate?”

“Of course,” Kevin said.

“It’s serendipitous you should come,” Bertram said. “Meet our two newest breeding females.” Bertram gestured toward the two apes who’d inched away from the back wall. Kevin’s arrival had frightened them, but they were now curious.

Kevin gazed in at the dramatically anthropomorphic faces of the two primates. Bonobo’s faces were less prognathous than their cousins, the chimpanzees, and hence considerably more human. Kevin always found looking into bonobos’ eyes disconcerting.

“Healthy-appearing animals,” Kevin commented, not knowing how else to respond.

“They were just trucked in from Zaire this morning,” Bertram said. “It’s about a thousand miles as the crow flies. But by the circuitous route they had to take to get across the borders of the Congo and Gabon, they probably traveled three times that.”

“That’s the equivalent of driving across the U.S.,” Kevin said.

“In terms of distance,” Bertram agreed. “But here they probably didn’t see more than short stretches of pavement. It’s an arduous trip no matter how you look at it.”

“They look like they are in good shape,” Kevin said. He wondered how he’d appear if he’d made the journey jammed into wooden boxes and hidden in the back of a truck.

“By this time I’ve got the drivers pretty well trained,” Bertram said. “They treat ’em better than they treat their own wives. They know if the apes die, they don’t get paid. It’s a pretty good incentive.”

“With our demand going up they’ll be put to good use,” Kevin said.

“You’d better believe it,” Bertram said. “These two are already spoken for, as you know. If they pass all the tests, which I’m certain they will, we’ll be over to your lab in the next couple of days. I want to watch again. I think you are a genius. And Melanie… Well, I’ve never seen such hand-eye coordination, even if you include an eye surgeon I used to know back in the States.”

Kevin blushed at the reference to himself. “Melanie is quite talented,” he said to deflect the conversation. Melanie Becket was a reproductive technologist. GenSys had recruited her mainly for Kevin’s project.

“She’s good,” Bertram said. “But the few of us lucky enough to be associated with your project know that you are the hero.”

Bertram looked up and down the space between the wall of the corridor and the cages to make sure that none of the coverall-clad workers were in earshot.

“You know, when I signed on to come over here I thought my wife and I would do well,” Bertram said. “Moneywise I thought it would be as lucrative as going to Saudi Arabia. But we’re doing better than I’d ever dreamed. Through your project and the stock options that come along with it, we’re going to get rich. Just yesterday I heard from Melanie that we have two more clients from New York City. That will put us over one hundred.”

“I hadn’t heard about the two additional clients,” Kevin said.

“No? Well it’s true,” Bertram said. “Melanie told me last night when I bumped into her at the rec center. She said she spoke with Raymond Lyons. I’m glad she informed me so I could send the drivers back to Zaire for another shipment. All I can say is that I hope our pygmy colleagues in Lomako can keep up their end of the bargain.”

Kevin looked back into the cage at the two females. They returned his stare with pleading expressions that melted Kevin’s heart. He wished he could tell them that they had nothing to fear. All that would happen to them was that they would become pregnant within the month. During their pregnancies they’d be kept indoors and would be treated to special, nutritious diets. After their babies were born, they’d be put in the enormous bonobo outdoor enclosure to rear the infants. When the youngsters reached age three the cycle would be repeated.

“They sure are human-looking,” Bertram said, interrupting Kevin’s musing. “Sometimes you can’t help but wonder what they are thinking.”

“Or worry what their offspring are capable of thinking,” Kevin said.

Bertram glanced at Kevin. His black eyebrows arched more than usual. “I don’t follow,” he said.

“Listen, Bertram,” Kevin said. “I came over here specifically to talk to you about the project.”

“How marvelously convenient,” Bertram said. “I was going to call you today and have you come over to see the progress we’ve made. And here you are. Come on!”

Bertram pulled open the nearest door to the corridor, motioned for Kevin to follow, and set out with long strides. Kevin had to hurry to catch up.

“Progress?” Kevin questioned. Although he admired Bertram, the man’s tendency toward manic behavior was disconcerting. Under the best of circumstances Kevin would have had trouble discussing what was on his mind. Just broaching the issue was difficult, and Bertram was not helping. In fact, he was making it impossible.

“You bet’cha progress!” Bertram said enthusiastically. “We solved the technical problems with the grid on the island. It’s on line now as you’ll see. We can locate any individual animal with the push of a button. It’s just in time, I might add. With twelve square miles and almost a hundred individuals, it was fast becoming impossible with the handheld trackers. Part of the problem is that we didn’t anticipate the creatures would split into two separate sociological groups. We were counting on their being one big happy family.”

“Bertram,” Kevin said between breaths, marshaling his courage. “I wanted to talk to you because I’ve been anxious…”

“It’s no wonder,” Bertram said as Kevin paused. “I’d be anxious, too, if I put in the hours that you put in without any form of relaxation or release. Hell, sometimes I see the light in your lab as late as midnight when the wife and I come out of the rec center after a movie. We’ve even commented on it. We’ve invited you to dinner at our house on several occasions to draw you out a little. How come you never come?”

Kevin groaned inwardly. This was not the conversation he wanted to get into.

“All right, you don’t have to answer,” Bertram said. “I don’t want to add to your anxiety. We’d enjoy having you over, so if you change your mind, give us a call. But what about the gym or the rec center or even the pool? I’ve never seen you in any of those places. Being stuck here in this hothouse part of Africa is bad enough, but making yourself a prisoner of your lab or house just makes it worse.”

“I’m sure you are right,” Kevin said. “But…”

“Of course I’m right,” Bertram said. “But there is another side to this that I should warn you about. People are talking.”

“What do you mean?” Kevin asked. “Talking about what?”

“People are saying that you’re aloof because you think you are superior,” Bertram said. “You know, the academician with all his fancy degrees from Harvard and MIT. It’s easy for people to misinterpret your behavior, especially if they are envious.”

“Why would anybody be envious of me?” Kevin asked. He was shocked.

“Very easy,” Bertram said. “You obviously get special treatment from the home office. You get a new car every two years, and your quarters are as good as Siegfried Spallek’s, the manager for the entire operation. That’s bound to raise some eyebrows, particularly from people like Cameron McIvers who was stupid enough to bring his whole damn family out here. Plus you got that NMR machine. The hospital administrator and I have been lobbying for an MRI since day one.”

“I tried to talk them out of giving me the house,” Kevin said. “I said it was too big.”

“Hey, you don’t have to defend your perks to me,” Bertram said. “I understand because I’m privy to your project. But very few other people are, and some of them aren’t happy. Even Spallek doesn’t quite understand although he definitely likes participating in the bonus your project has brought those of us who are lucky enough to be associated.”

Before Kevin could respond, Bertram was stopped for a series of corridor consultations. He and Bertram had been traversing the veterinary hospital. Kevin used the interruption to ponder Bertram’s comments. Kevin had always thought of himself as being rather invisible. The idea that he’d engendered animosities was hard to comprehend.

“Sorry,” Bertram offered after the final consult. He pushed through the last of the double doors. Kevin followed.

Passing his secretary, Martha, he picked up a small stack of phone messages. He leafed through them as he waved Kevin into his inner office. He closed his door.

“You’re going to love this,” Bertram said, tossing the messages aside. He sat down in front of his computer and showed Kevin how to bring up a graphic of Isla Francesca. It was divided into a grid. “Now give me the number of whatever creature you want to locate.”

“Mine,” Kevin said. “Number one.”

“Coming up,” Bertram said. He entered the information and clicked. Suddenly a red blinking light appeared on the map of the island. It was north of the limestone escarpment but south of the stream that had been humorously dubbed Rio Diviso. The stream bisected the six-by-two-mile island lengthwise, flowing east to west. In the center of the island was a pond they’d called Lago Hippo for obvious reasons.

“Pretty slick, huh?” Bertram said proudly.

Kevin was captivated. It wasn’t so much by the technology, although that interested him. It was more because the red light was blinking exactly where he would have imagined the smoke to have been coming from.

Bertram got up and pulled open a file drawer. It was filled with small handheld electronic devices that looked like miniature notepads with small LCD screens. An extendable antenna protruded from each.

“These work in a similar fashion,” Bertram said. He handed one to Kevin. “We call them locators. Of course, they are portable and can be taken into the field. It makes retrieval a snap compared to the struggles we had initially.”

Kevin played with the keyboard. With Bertram’s help, he soon had the island graphic with the red blinking light displayed. Bertram showed how to go from successive maps with smaller and smaller scales until the entire screen represented a square fifty feet by fifty feet.

“Once you are that close, you use this,” Bertram said. He handed Kevin an instrument that looked like a flashlight with a keypad. “On this you type in the same information. What it does is function as a directional beacon. It pings louder the closer it comes to pointing at the animal you’re looking for. When there is a clear visual sighting, it emits a continuous sound. Then all you have to do is use the dart gun.”

“How does this tracking system operate?” Kevin asked. Having been immersed in the biomolecular aspects of the project, he’d not paid any attention to the logistics. He’d toured the island five years previously at the commencement of the venture, but that had been it. He’d never inquired about the nuts and bolts of everyday operation.

“It’s a satellite system,” Bertram said. “I don’t pretend to know the details. Of course each animal has a small microchip with a long-lasting nickel cadmium battery embedded just under the derma. The afferent signal from the microchip is minuscule, but it’s picked up by the grid, magnified, and transmitted by microwave.”

Kevin started to give the devices back to Bertram, but Bertram waved them away. “Keep them,” he said. “We’ve got plenty of others.”

“But I don’t need them,” Kevin protested.

“Come on, Kevin,” Bertram chided playfully while thumping Kevin on the back. The blow was hard enough to knock Kevin forward. “Loosen up! You’re much too serious.” Bertram sat at his desk, picked up his phone messages, and absently began to arrange them in order of importance.

Kevin glanced at the electronic devices in his hands and wondered what he’d do with them. They were obviously costly instruments.

“What was it about your project that you wanted to discuss with me?” Bertram asked. He looked up from his phone messages. “People are always complaining I don’t allow them to get a word in edgewise. What’s on your mind?”

“I’m concerned,” Kevin stammered.

“About what?” Bertram asked. “Things couldn’t be going any better.”

“I’ve seen the smoke again,” Kevin managed.

“What? You mean like that wisp of smoke you mentioned to me last week?” Bertram asked.

“Exactly,” Kevin said. “And from the same spot on the island.”

“Ah, it’s nothing,” Bertram declared, with a wave of his hand. “We’ve been having electrical storms just about every other night. Lightning starts fires; everybody knows that.”

“As wet as everything is?” Kevin said. “I thought lightning starts fires in savannas during the dry season, not in dank, equatorial rain forests.”

“Lightning can start a fire anyplace,” Bertram said. “Think of the heat it generates. Remember, thunder is nothing but expansion of air from the heat. It’s unbelievable.”

“Well, maybe,” Kevin said. He was unconvinced. “But even if it were to start a fire, would it last?”

“You’re like a dog with a bone,” Bertram commented. “Have you mentioned this crazy idea to anybody else?”

“Only to Raymond Lyons,” Kevin said. “He called me yesterday about another problem.”

“And what was his response?” Bertram asked.

“He told me not to let my imagination run wild,” Kevin said.

“I’d say that was good advice,” Bertram said. “I second the motion.”

“I don’t know,” Kevin said. “Maybe we should go out there and check.”

“No!” Bertram snapped. For a fleeting moment his mouth formed a hard line and his blue eyes blazed. Then his face relaxed. “I don’t want to go to the island except for a retrieval. That was the original plan and by golly we’re sticking with it. As well as everything is going, I don’t want to take any chances. The animals are to remain isolated and undisturbed. The only person who goes there is the pygmy, Alphonse Kimba, and he goes only to pull supplementary food across to the island.”

“Maybe I could go by myself,” Kevin suggested. “It wouldn’t take me long, and then I can stop worrying.”

“Absolutely not!” Bertram said emphatically. “I’m in charge of this part of the project, and I forbid you or anyone else to go on the island.”

“I don’t see that it would make that much difference,” Kevin said. “I wouldn’t bother the animals.”

“No!” Bertram said. “There are to be no exceptions. We want these to be wild animals. That means minimal contact. Besides, with as small as this enclave is, visits will provoke talk, and we don’t want that. And on top of that it could be dangerous.”

“Dangerous?” Kevin questioned. “I’d stay away from the hippos and the crocs. The bonobos certainly aren’t dangerous.”

“One of the pygmy bearers was killed on the last retrieval,” Bertram said. “We’ve kept that very quiet for obvious reasons.”

“How was he killed?” Kevin asked.

“By a rock,” Bertram said. “One of the bonobos threw a rock.”

“Isn’t that unusual?” Kevin asked.

Bertram shrugged. “Chimps are known to throw sticks on occasion when they are stressed or scared. No, I don’t think it’s unusual. It was probably just a reflex gesture. The rock was there so he threw it.”

“But it’s also aggressive,” Kevin said. “That’s unusual for a bonobo, especially one of ours.”

“All apes will defend their group when attacked,” Bertram said.

“But why should they have felt they were being attacked?” Kevin asked.

“That was the fourth retrieval,” Bertram said. He shrugged again. “Maybe they’re learning what to expect. But whatever the reason, we don’t want anyone going to the island. Spallek and I have discussed this, and he’s in full agreement.”

Bertram got up from the desk and draped an arm over Kevin’s shoulders. Kevin tried to ease himself away, but Bertram held on. “Come on, Kevin! Relax! This kind of wild flight of imagination of yours is exactly what I was talking about earlier. You’ve got to get out of your lab and do something to divert that overactive mind of yours. You’re going stir-crazy and you’re obsessing. I mean, this fire crap is ridiculous. The irony is that the project is going splendidly. How about reconsidering that offer for coming over for dinner? Trish and I would be delighted.”

“I’ll give it serious thought,” Kevin said. He felt distinctly uncomfortable with Bertram’s arm around his neck.

“Good,” Bertram said. He gave Kevin a final pat on his back. “Maybe the three of us could take in a movie as well. There’s a terrific double-feature scheduled for this week. I mean, you ought to take advantage of the fact that we get the latest movies. It’s a big effort on GenSys’s part to fly them in here on a weekly basis. What do you say?”

“I guess,” Kevin said evasively.

“Good,” Bertram said. “I’ll mention it to Trish, she’ll give you a call. Okay?”

“Okay,” Kevin said. He smiled weakly.

Five minutes later, Kevin climbed back into his vehicle more confused than before he’d come to see Bertram Edwards. He didn’t know what to think. Maybe his imagination was working overtime. It was possible, but short of visiting Isla Francesca there was no way of knowing for sure. And on top of that was this new worry that people were feeling resentful towards him.

Braking at the exit of the parking area, Kevin glanced up and down the road in front of the animal complex. He waited for a large truck to rumble by. As he was about to pull out, his eye caught the sight of a man standing motionlessly in the window of the Moroccan headquarters. Kevin couldn’t see him well because of the sunlight reflecting off the glass, but he could tell it was one of the mustached guards. He could also tell the man was watching him intently.

Kevin shivered without exactly knowing why.

The ride back to the hospital was uneventful and quick, but the seemingly impenetrable walls of dark green vegetation gave Kevin an uncomfortable claustrophobic feeling. Kevin’s response was to press down on the accelerator. He was relieved to reach the edge of town.

Kevin parked in his spot. He opened his door, but hesitated. It was close to noon, and he debated heading home for lunch or going up to his lab for an hour or so. The lab won out. Esmeralda never expected him before one.

Just with the short walk from the car to the hospital, Kevin could appreciate the intensity of the noontime sun. It was like an oppressive blanket that made all movement more difficult, even breathing. Until he’d come to Africa, he’d never experienced true tropical heat. Once inside, enveloped with cool, air-conditioned air, Kevin grasped the edge of his collar and pulled his shirt away from his back.

He started up the stairs, but he didn’t get far.

“Dr. Marshall!” a voice called.

Kevin looked behind him. He wasn’t accustomed to being accosted in the stairwell.

“Shame on you, Dr. Marshall,” a woman said, standing at the base of the stairs. Her voice had a lilting quality that suggested she was being less than serious. She was clad in surgical scrubs and a white coat. The sleeves of the coat were rolled up to her mid-forearms.

“Excuse me?” Kevin said. The woman looked familiar, but he couldn’t place her.

“You haven’t been to see the patient,” the woman said. “With other cases you came each day.”

“Well, that’s true,” Kevin said self-consciously. He’d finally recognized the woman. It was the nurse, Candace Brickmann. She was part of the surgical team that flew in with the patient. This was her fourth trip to Cogo. Kevin had met her briefly on all three previous visits.

“You’ve hurt Mr. Winchester’s feelings,” Candace said, wagging her finger at Kevin. She was a vivacious gamine in her late twenties. With fine, light-blond hair done up in a French twist. Kevin couldn’t remember a time he’d seen her that she wasn’t smiling.

“I didn’t think he’d notice,” Kevin stammered.

Candace threw back her head and laughed. Then she covered her mouth with her hand to suppress further giggles when she saw Kevin’s confused expression.

“I’m only teasing,” she said. “I’m not even sure Mr. Winchester remembers meeting you on that hectic day of arrival.”

“Well, I meant to come and see how he was doing,” Kevin said. “I’ve just been too busy.”

“Too busy in this place in the middle of nowhere?” Candace asked.

“Well, I guess it’s more that I’ve been preoccupied,” Kevin admitted. “A lot has been happening.”

“Like what?” Candace asked, suppressing a smile. She liked this shy, unassuming researcher.

Kevin made some fumbling gestures with his hands while his face flushed. “All sorts of things,” he said finally.

“You academic types crack me up,” Candace said. “But, teasing aside, I’m happy to report that Mr. Winchester is doing just fine, and I understand from the surgeon that’s largely thanks to you.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Kevin said.

“Oh, modest, too!” Candace commented. “Smart, cute, and humble. That’s a killing combination.”

Kevin stuttered but no words came out.

“Would it be out of bounds for me to invite you to join me for lunch?” Candace said. “I thought I’d walk over and get a hamburger. I’m a little tired of the hospital cafeteria food, and it would be nice to get a little air now that the sun is out. What do you say?”

Kevin’s mind whirled. The invitation was unexpected, and under normal circumstances he would have found reason to decline for that reason alone. But with Bertram’s comments fresh in his mind, he wavered.

“Cat got your tongue?” Candace asked. She lowered her head and flirtatiously peered at him beneath arched eyebrows.

Kevin gestured up toward his lab, then mumbled words to the effect that Esmeralda was expecting him.

“Can’t you give her a call?” Candace asked. She had the intuitive feeling Kevin wanted to join her, so she persisted.

“I guess,” Kevin said. “I suppose I could call from my lab.”

“Fine,” Candace said. “Do you want me to wait here or come with you?”

Kevin had never met such a forward female, not that he had a lot of opportunity or experience. His last and only love other than a couple of high school crushes had been a fellow doctorate candidate, Jacqueline Morton. That relationship had taken months to develop out of long hours working together; she’d been as shy as Kevin.

Candace came up the five stairs to stand next to Kevin. She was about five-three in her Nikes. “If you can’t decide, and it’s all the same to you, why don’t I come up.”

“Okay,” Kevin said.

Kevin’s nervousness quickly abated. Usually what bothered him in social circumstances with females was the stress of trying to think of things to talk about. With Candace, he didn’t have time to think. She maintained a running conversation. During the ascent of the two flights of stairs she managed to bring up the weather, the town, the hospital, and how the surgery had gone.

“This is my lab,” Kevin said, after opening the door.

“Fantastic!” Candace said with sincerity.

Kevin smiled. He could tell she was truly impressed.

“You go ahead and make your call,” Candace said. “I’ll just look around if it’s okay.”

“If you’d like,” Kevin said.

Although Kevin was concerned about giving Esmeralda so little warning he’d not be there for lunch, she surprised him with her equanimity. Her only response was to ask when Kevin wanted dinner.

“At the usual time,” Kevin said. Then after a brief hesitation, he surprised himself by adding: “I might have company. Would that be a problem?”

“Not at all,” Esmeralda said. “How many persons?”

“Just one,” Kevin said. He hung up the phone and wiped his palms together. They were a little damp.

“Are we on for lunch?” Candace called from across the room.

“Let’s go!” Kevin said.

“This is some lab!” she commented. “I never would have expected to find it here in the heart of tropical Africa. Tell me, what is it that you’re doing with all this fantastic equipment?”

“I’m trying to perfect the protocol,” Kevin said.

“Can’t you be more specific?” Candace asked.

“You really want to know?” Kevin asked.

“Yes,” Candace said. “I’m interested.”

“At this stage I’m dealing with minor histocompatibility antigens. You? know, proteins that define you as a unique, separate individual.”

“And what do you do with them?”

“Well, I locate their genes on the proper chromosome,” Kevin said. “Then I search for the transponase that’s associated with the genes, if there’s any, so I can move the genes.”

Candace let out a little laugh. “You’ve lost me already,” she admitted. “I haven’t the foggiest notion what a transponase is. In fact, I’m afraid a lot of this molecular biology is over my head.”

“It really isn’t,” Kevin said. “The principles aren’t that complicated. The critical fact few people realize is that some genes can move around on their chromosome. This happens particularly in B lymphocytes to increase the diversity of antibodies. Other genes are even more mobile and can change places with their twins. You do remember that there are two copies of every gene.”

“Yup,” Candace said. “Just like there are two copies of each chromosome. Our cells have twenty-three chromosome pairs.”

“Exactly,” Kevin said. “When genes exchange places on their chromosome pairs it’s called homologous transposition. It’s a particularly important process in the generation of sex cells, both eggs and sperms. What it does is help increase genetic shuffling, and hence the ability of species to evolve.”

“So this homologous transposition plays a role in evolution,” Candace said.

“Absolutely,” Kevin agreed. “Anyway, the gene segments that move are called transposons, and the enzymes that catalyze their movement are called transponases.”

“Okay,” Candace said. “I follow you so far.”

“Well, right now I’m interested in transposons that contain the genes for minor histocompatibility antigens,” Kevin said.

“I see,” Candace said, nodding her head. “I’m getting the picture. You’re goal is to move the gene for a minor histocompatibility antigen from one chromosome to another.”

“Exactly!” Kevin said. “The trick, of course, is finding and isolating the transponase. That’s the difficult step. But once I’ve found the transponase, it’s relatively easy to locate its gene. And once I’ve located and isolated the gene, I can use standard recombinant DNA technology to produce it.”

“Meaning getting bacteria to make it for you,” Candace said.

“Bacteria or mammalian tissue culture,” Kevin said. “Whatever works best.”

“Phew!” Candace commented. “This brain game is reminding me how hungry I am. Let’s get some hamburgers before my blood sugar bottoms out.”

Kevin smiled. He liked this woman. He was even starting to relax.

Descending the hospital stairs, Kevin felt a little giddy while listening and responding to Candace’s entertaining, nonstop questions and chatter. He couldn’t believe he was going to lunch with such an attractive, engaging female. It seemed to him that more things had happened in the last couple of days than during the previous five years he’d been in Cogo. He was so preoccupied, he didn’t give a thought to the Equatoguinean soldiers as he and Candace crossed the square.

Kevin had not been in the rec center since his initial orientation tour. He’d forgotten its quaintness. He’d also forgotten how blasphemous it was that the church had been recycled to provide worldly diversion. The altar was gone, but the pulpit was still in place off to the left. It was used for lectures and for calling out the numbers on bingo night. In place of the altar was the movie screen: an unintended sign of the times.

The commissary was in the basement and was reached by a stairway in the narthex. Kevin was surprised at how busy it was. A babble of voices echoed off the harsh, concrete ceiling. He and Candace had to stand in a long line before ordering. Then after they’d gotten their food, they had to search in the confusion for a place to sit. The tables were all long and had to be shared. The seats were benches attached like picnic tables.

“There are some seats,” Candace called out over the chatter. She pointed toward the rear of the room with her tray. Kevin nodded.

Kevin glanced furtively at the faces in the crowd as he weaved his way after Candace. He felt self-conscious, given Bertram’s insight into popular opinion, yet no one paid him the slightest attention.

Kevin followed Candace as she squeezed between two tables. He held his tray high to avoid hitting anyone, then put it down at an empty spot. He had to struggle to get his legs over the seat and under the table. By the time he was situated, Candace had already introduced herself to the two people sitting on the aisle. Kevin nodded to them. He didn’t recognize either one.

“Lively place,” Candace said. She reached for catsup. “Do you come here often?”

Before Kevin could respond, someone called out his name. He turned and recognized the lone familiar face. It was Melanie Becket, the reproductive technologist.

“Kevin Marshall!” Melanie exclaimed again. “I’m shocked. What are you doing here?”

Melanie was about the same age as Candace; she’d celebrated her thirtieth birthday the previous month. Where Candace was light, she was dark, with medium-brown hair and coloration that seemed Mediterranean. Her dark brown eyes were nearly black.

Kevin struggled to introduce his lunchmate, and was horrified to realize that for the moment he couldn’t remember her name.

“I’m Candace Brickmann,” Candace said without missing a beat. She reached out a hand. Melanie introduced herself and asked if she could join them.

“By all means,” Candace said.

Candace and Kevin were sitting side by side. Melanie sat opposite.

“Are you responsible for our local genius’s presence at the ptomaine palace?” Melanie asked Candace. Melanie was a sharp-witted, playfully irreverent woman who’d grown up in Manhattan.

“I guess,” Candace said. “Is this unusual for him?”

“That’s the understatement of the year,” Melanie said. “What’s your secret? I’ve asked him to come over here so many times to no avail that I finally gave up, and that was several years ago.”

“You never asked me specifically,” Kevin said in his own defense.

“Oh, really?” Melanie questioned. “What did I have to do-draw you a map? I used to ask if you wanted to grab a burger. Wasn’t that specific enough?”

“Well,” Candace said, straightening up in her seat. “This must be my lucky day.”

Melanie and Candace fell into easy conversation, exchanging job descriptions. Kevin listened but concentrated on his hamburger.

“So we’re all three part of the same project,” Melanie commented when she heard that Candace was the intensive-care nurse of the surgical team from Pittsburgh. “Three peas in a pod.”

“You’re being generous,” Candace said. “I’m just one of the low men on the therapeutic totem pole. I wouldn’t put myself on the same level with you guys. You’re the ones that make it all possible. If you don’t mind my asking, how on earth do you do it?”

“She’s the hero,” Kevin said, speaking up for the first time and nodding toward Melanie.

“Come on, Kevin!” Melanie complained. “I didn’t develop the techniques I use the way you did. There are lots of people who could have done my job, but only you could have done yours. It was your breakthrough that was key.”

“No arguing you two,” Candace said. “Just tell me how it’s done. I’ve been curious from day one, but everything has been so hush-hush. Kevin’s explained the science to me, but I still don’t understand the logistics.”

“Kevin gets a bone-marrow sample from a client,” Melanie said. “From that, he isolates a cell preparing to divide so that the chromosomes are condensed, preferably a stem cell if I’m correct.”

“It’s pretty rare to find a stem cell,” Kevin said.

“Well, then you tell her what you do,” Melanie said to Kevin, with a dismissive wave of her hand. “I’ll get it all balled up.”

“I work with a transponase that I discovered almost seven years ago,” Kevin said. “It catalyzes the homologous transposition or crossing over of the short arms of chromosome six.”

“What’s the short arm of chromosome six?” Candace asked.

“Chromosomes have what’s called a centromere that divides them into two segments,” Melanie explained. “Chromosome six has particularly unequal segments. The little ones are called the short arms.”

“Thank you,” Candace said.

“So…” Kevin said, trying to organize his thoughts. “What I do is add my secret transponase to a client’s cell that is preparing to divide. But I don’t let the crossing-over go to completion. I halt it with the two short arms detached from their respective chromosomes. Then I extract them.”

“Wow!” Candace remarked. “You actually take these tiny, tiny strands out of the nucleus. How on earth can you do that!”

“That’s another story,” Kevin said. “Actually I use a monoclonal antibody system that recognizes the backside of the transponase.”

“This is getting over my head,” Candace said.

“Well, forget how he gets the short arms out,” Melanie said. “Just accept it.”

“Okay,” Candace said. “What do you do with these detached short arms?”

Kevin pointed toward Melanie. “I wait for her to work her magic.”

“It’s not magic,” Melanie said. “I’m just a technician. I apply in vitro fertilization techniques to the bonobos, the same techniques that were developed to increase the fertility of captive mountain gorillas. Actually, Kevin and I have to coordinate our efforts because what he wants is a fertilized egg that has yet to divide. Timing is important.”

“I want it just ready to divide,” Kevin said. “So it’s Melanie’s schedule that determines mine. I don’t start my part until she gives me the green light. When she delivers the zygote, I repeat exactly the same procedure that I’d just done with the client’s cell. After removing the bonobo short arms, I inject the client’s short arms into the zygote. Thanks to the transponase they hook right up exactly where they are supposed to be.”

“And that’s it?” Candace said.

“Well, no,” Kevin admitted. “Actually I introduce four transponases, not one. The short arm of chromosome six is the major segment that we’re transferring, but we also transfer a relatively small part of chromosomes nine, twelve, and fourteen. These carry the genes for the ABO blood groups and a few other minor histocompatibility antigens like CD-31 adhesion molecules. But that gets too complicated. Just think about chromosome six. It’s the most important part.”

“That’s because chromosome six contains the genes that make up the major histocompatibility complex,” Candace said knowledgeably.

“Exactly,” Kevin said. He was impressed and smitten. Not only was Candace socially adept, she was also smart and informed.

“Would this protocol work with other animals?” Candace asked.

“What kind would you have in mind?” Kevin asked.

“Pigs,” Candace said. “I know other centers in the U.S. and England have been trying to reduce the destructive effect of complement in transplantation with pig organs by inserting a human gene.”

“Compared with what we are doing that’s like using leeches,” Melanie said. “It’s so old-fashioned because it is treating the symptom, not eliminating its cause.”

“It’s true,” Kevin said. “In our protocol there is no immunological reaction to worry about. Histocompatibility-wise we’re offering an immunological double, especially if I can incorporate a few more of the minor antigens.”

“I don’t know why you are agonizing over them,” Melanie said. “In our first three transplants the clients haven’t had any rejection reaction at all. Zilch!”

“I want it perfect,” Kevin said.

“I’m asking about pigs for several reasons,” Candace said. “First, I think using bonobos may offend some people. Second, I understand there aren’t very many of them.”

“That’s true,” Kevin said. “The total world population of bonobos is only about twenty thousand.”

“That’s my point,” Candace said. “Whereas pigs are slaughtered for bacon by the hundred of thousands.”

“I don’t think my system would work with pigs,” Kevin said. “I don’t know for sure, but I doubt it. The reason it works so well in bonobos, or chimps for that matter, is that their genomes and ours are so similar. In fact, they differ by only one and a half percent.”

“That’s all?” Candace questioned. She was amazed.

“It’s kind of humbling, isn’t it,” Kevin said.

“It’s more than humbling,” Candace said.

“It’s indicative of how close bonobos, chimps, and humans are evolutionarily,” Melanie said. “It’s thought we and our primate cousins have descended from a common ancestor who lived around seven million years ago.”

“That underscores the ethical question about using them,” Candace said, “and why some people might be offended by their use. They look so human. I mean, doesn’t it bother you guys when one of them has to be sacrificed?”

“This liver transplant with Mr. Winchester is only the second that required a sacrifice,” Melanie said. “The other two were kidneys, and the animals are fine.”

“Well, how did this case make you feel?” Candace asked. “Most of us on the surgical team were more upset this time even though we thought we were prepared, especially since it was the second sacrifice.”

Kevin looked at Melanie. His mouth had gone dry. Candace was forcing him to face an issue he’d struggled to avoid. It was part of the reason the smoke coming from Isla Francesca upset him so much.

“Yeah, it bothers me,” Melanie said. “But I guess I’m so thrilled with the involved science and what it can do for a patient, that I try not to think about it. Besides, we never expect to have to use many of them. They are more like insurance in case the clients might need them. We don’t accept people who already need transplant organs unless they can wait the three plus years it takes for their double to come of age. And we don’t have to interact with these creatures. They live off on an island by themselves. That’s by design so that no one here has the chance to form emotional bonds of any sort.”

Kevin swallowed with difficulty. In his mind’s eye he could see the smoke lazily snaking its way into the dull, leaden sky. He could also imagine the stressed bonobo picking up a rock and throwing it with deadly accuracy at the pygmy during the retrieval process.

“What’s the term when animals have human genes incorporated into them?” Candace asked.

“Transgenic,” Melanie said.

“Right,” Candace said. “I just wish we could be using transgenic pigs instead of bonobos. This procedure bothers me. As much as I like the money and the GenSys stock, I’m not so sure I’m going to stick with the program.”

“They’re not going to like that,” Melanie said. “Remember, you signed a contract. I understand they are sticklers about holding people to their original agreements.”

Candace shrugged. “I’ll give them back all the stock, options included. I can live without it. I’ll just have to see how I feel. I’d be much happier if we were using pigs. When we put that last bonobo under anesthesia, I could have sworn he was trying to communicate with us. We had to use a ton of sedative.”

“Oh, come on!” Kevin snapped, suddenly furious. His face was flushed.

Melanie’s eyes opened wide. “What in heaven’s name has gotten into you?”

Kevin instantly regretted his outburst. “Sorry,” he said. His heart was still pounding. He hated the fact that he was always so transparent, or felt he was.

Melanie rolled her eyes for Candace’s benefit, but Candace didn’t catch it. She was watching Kevin.

“I have a feeling you were as bummed out as I was,” she said to him.

Kevin breathed out noisily then took a bite of hamburger to avoid saying anything he’d later regret.

“Why don’t you want to talk about it?” Candace asked.

Kevin shook his head while he chewed. He guessed his face was still beet-red.

“Don’t worry about him,” Melanie said. “He’ll recover.”

Candace faced Melanie. “The bonobos are just so human,” she commented, going back to one of her original points, “so I guess we shouldn’t be shocked that their genomes differ by only one and a half percent. But something just occurred to me. If you guys are replacing the short arms of chromosome six as well as some other smaller segments of the bonobo genome with human DNA, what percentage do you think you’re dealing with?”

Melanie looked at Kevin while she made a mental calculation. She arched her eyebrows. “Hmmm,” she said. “That’s a curious point. That would be over two percent.”

“Yeah, but the one and a half percent is not all on the short arm of chromosome six,” Kevin snapped again.

“Hey, calm down, bucko,” Melanie said. She put down her soft drink, reached across the table and put her hand on Kevin’s shoulder. “You’re out of control. All we’re doing is having a conversation. You know, it’s sort of normal for people to sit and talk. I know you find that weird since you’d rather interact with your centrifuge tubes, but what’s wrong?”

Kevin sighed. It went against his nature, but he decided to confide in these two bright, confident women. He admitted he was upset.

“As if we didn’t know!” Melanie said with another roll of her eyes. “Can’t you be more specific? What’s bugging you?”

“Just what Candace is talking about,” Kevin said.

“She’s said a lot of things,” Melanie said.

“Yeah, and they’re all making me feel like I’ve made a monumental mistake.”

Melanie took her hand away and stared into the depths of Kevin’s topaz-colored eyes. “In what regard?” she questioned.

“By adding so much human DNA,” Kevin said. “The short arm of chromosome six has millions of base pairs and hundreds of genes that have nothing to do with the major histocompatibility complex. I should have isolated the complex instead of taking the easy route.”

“So the creatures have a few more human proteins,” Melanie said. “Big deal!”

“That’s exactly how I felt at first,” Kevin said. “At least until I put an inquiry out over the Internet, asking if anyone knew what other kinds of genes were on the short arm of chromosome six. Unfortunately, one of the responders informed me there was a large segment of developmental genes. Now I have no idea what I’ve created.”

“Of course you do,” Candace said. “You’ve created a transgenic bonobo.”

“I know,” Kevin said with his eyes blazing. He was breathing rapidly and perspiration had appeared on his forehead. “And by doing so I’m terrified I’ve overstepped the bounds.”