Mutation

13 Monday Morning

The atmosphere at breakfast was anything but normal. Marsha had promised herself as she took her morning shower that she would act as if everything was fine, but she found it impossible. When VJ appeared for breakfast about fifteen minutes behind schedule, she told him he’d better hurry since it was a school day. She knew she was baiting him, but she couldn’t help herself.

“Now that the secret is out,” VJ said, “I think it is rather ridiculous for me to go to school and pretend to be interested and absorbed in fifth-grade work.”

“But I thought it was important to maintain your anonymity,” Marsha persisted.

VJ glanced toward his father for support, but Victor calmly drank his coffee. He was staying out of it.

“At this point, going to school or not going to school will in no way affect my anonymity,” VJ said coldly.

“The law says you must go to school,” said Marsha.

“There are higher laws,” VJ retorted.

Marsha wasn’t going to make a stand alone. “Whatever you and Victor decide is fine with me,” she told them. She left for work before learning Victor’s decision.

“She is going to be trouble,” VJ warned once she was gone.

“She needs a little more time,” Victor said. “But you might have to come to some compromise on the school issue.”

“I don’t see why. It’s not going to help my work. If anything, it will slow things down. Aren’t results more important?”

“They’re important,” said Victor, “but they’re not everything. Now, how do you want to get to Chimera today? You want to ride with me?”

“Nope,” said VJ. “I want to take my bike. Is it all right for Philip to use yours?”

“Sure,” Victor said. “I’ll see you in your lab about midmorning. I’ll need the details on the implantation protein for the legal department to start the patent application. I also want to see the rest of your lab as well as the new lab.” Victor didn’t mention the episode with Ramirez earlier that morning.

“Fine,” VJ said. “Just be careful about coming. I don’t want any other visitors.”

Fifteen minutes later, VJ was plunging down Stanhope Street with the wind whistling past his head. Philip was right behind him on Victor’s bike, and behind Philip was Pedro in his Ford Taurus.

VJ told Philip and Pedro to wait for him outside when he went into the bank with his saddlebags. Luckily Mr. Scott was occupied with another customer, and VJ was able to use his safe deposit box for another large deposit without getting a lecture.

Victor’s ride to work was not as carefree. Although he tried to think of other things, his mind was haunted by Marsha’s words: “For an extremely rare cancer, a lot of people seem to be contracting it. People who cross VJ.” Victor was wondering just how he’d feel if Marsha contracted it. Just how was VJ prepared to handle trouble?

Despite his apprehensions, Victor was fueled by enthusiasm for the new implantation protein project. He tackled the laborious administrative details that had accumulated by Monday morning with a good deal more equanimity than usual. He welcomed the busywork; it kept his mind from wandering. Colleen came in with her usual stack of messages and situations needing attention. Victor had her go through them rapidly before making any decisions, half hoping for some kind of communication that would suggest blackmail about the NGF project, but there was nothing.

The most satisfying decision involved the question of whether Victor wanted to press charges against Sharon Carver. He told Colleen to let the parties know that he was willing to drop charges if the groundless sex-discrimination suit was also dropped.

The final item that Victor requested Colleen to do was to schedule a meeting with Ronald so that he could confront the man about the problems associated with the NGF work. If that didn’t turn up anything, which he didn’t expect it would, he would schedule a meeting with Hurst. Hurst had to be the culprit; in fact, Victor prayed as much. More than anything else he wanted to uncover some hard evidence that he could lay in front of Marsha and say: “VJ had nothing to do with this.”

Marsha found work intolerable. As much as she tried, she couldn’t maintain the degree of attention that was required for her therapy sessions. With no explanation, she suddenly told Jean to cancel the rest of the day’s appointments. Jean agreed but was clearly not pleased.

As soon as Marsha finished with the patients already there, she slipped out the back entrance and went down to her car. She took 495 to 93 and turned toward Boston. But she didn’t stop in Boston. She continued on the South East Expressway to Neponset, then on to Mattapan.

With the address slip unfolded on the seat next to her, Marsha searched for Martinez Enterprises. The neighborhood was not good. The buildings were mostly decaying wood-frame three-deckers with occasional burnt-out hulks.

The address for Martinez Enterprises turned out to be an old warehouse with no windows. Undaunted, Marsha pulled over to the curb and got out of her car. There was no bell of any kind. Marsha knocked, timidly at first, but when there was no response, she pounded harder. Still there was no response.

Marsha stepped back, eyeing the building’s door, then the façade. She jumped when she realized that at the left-hand corner of the building a man in a dark suit and white tie was watching her. He was leaning against the building with a slightly amused expression. A cigarette was tucked between his first and second fingers. When he noticed that Marsha had spotted him, he spoke to her in Spanish.

“I don’t speak Spanish,” Marsha said.

“What do you want?” the man asked with a heavy accent.

“I want to talk with Orlando Martinez.”

At first the man didn’t respond. He smoked his cigarette, then tossed it into the gutter. “Come with me,” he said and disappeared from sight.

Marsha walked to the edge of the building and glanced down a litter-filled alleyway. She hesitated while her better judgment told her to go back and get into her car, but she wanted to see this through. She followed the man. Halfway down the alley was another door. This one was ajar.

The inside of the building looked the same as the outside. The major difference was the interior had a damp, moldy smell. The walls were unpainted concrete. Bare light bulbs were held in ceramic ceiling fixtures. Near the back of the cavernous room was a desk surrounded by a group of mismatched, threadbare couches. There were about ten men in the room, all in various states of repose, all dressed in dark suits like the man who had brought Marsha inside. The only man dressed differently was the man at the desk. He had on a lacy white shirt that was worn outside his pants.

“What do you want?” asked the man at the desk. He also had a Spanish accent, but not nearly as heavy as the others’.

“I’m looking for Orlando Martinez,” Marsha said. She walked directly up to the desk.

“What for?” the man asked.

“I’m concerned about my child,” Marsha said. “His name is VJ, and I’d been told that he has some association with Orlando Martinez of Mattapan.”

Marsha became aware of a stir of conversation among the men on the couches. She shot a look at them, then back to the man at the desk.

“Are you Orlando Martinez?” Marsha asked.

“I could be,” the man said.

Marsha looked more closely at the man. He was in his forties, with dark skin, dark eyes, and almost black hair. He was festooned with all manner of gold jewelry and wore diamond cuff links. “I wanted to ask you what business you have with my son.”

“Lady, I think I should give you some advice. If I were you, I’d go home and enjoy life. Don’t interfere in what you don’t understand. It will cause trouble for everyone.” Then he raised his hand and pointed at one of the other men. “José, show this lady out before she gets herself hurt.”

José came forward and gently pulled Marsha toward the door. She kept staring at Orlando, trying to think of what else she could say. But it seemed useless. Turning her head, she happened to catch a glimpse of a dark man on one of the couches with one eyelid drooping over his eye. Marsha recognized him. She’d seen him in VJ’s lab when Victor took her there.

José didn’t say anything. He accompanied Marsha to the door, then closed it in her face. Marsha stood facing the blank door, not sure if she should be thankful or irritated.

Returning to the street, she got into her car and started it up. She got halfway down the block when she saw a policeman. Pulling to the curb, Marsha rolled her window down.

“Excuse me,” she said, then pointed back to the warehouse. “Do you have any idea what those people do in that building?”

The policeman stepped off the curb and bent down to see exactly where Marsha was pointing. “Oh, there,” he said. He straightened. “I don’t know for sure, but I was told a group of Colombians are setting up some kind of furniture business.”

As soon as Victor had the opportunity, he phoned Chad Newhouse, the director of security and safety. Victor asked the man about Ramirez.

“Sure, he’s a member of the force,” Chad said. “He’s been on the payroll for a number of years. Is there a problem?”

“Was he hired through normal channels?” Victor inquired.

Chad laughed. “Are you trying to pull my leg, Dr. Frank? You hired Ramirez along with the rest of that special industrial espionage team. He’s responsible directly to you.”

Victor hung up the phone. He would have to talk with VJ about Ramirez.

After the administrative work was done and the meeting with Ronald scheduled for eleven-fifteen, Victor left for VJ’s lab. Before he got to the clock tower building, he stepped into the shadow of one of the other deserted buildings and made certain he was not being observed. Only then did he run across the street into the clock tower building.

One knock brought up the trapdoor. Victor scampered down. Several of the guards in the Chimera uniforms were sitting around, entertaining themselves with cards and magazines. VJ came into the room through the door that Victor had tried to enter on his last visit, wiping his hands on a towel. His eyes had a more intense look than usual.

“Did you come here to the lab last night?” VJ demanded.

“I did—” Victor said.

“I don’t want you to do that,” VJ interrupted sternly. “Not unless I authorize it. Understand? I need a little respect and privacy.”

Victor regarded his son. For a moment he was speechless. Victor had planned on being angry about the episode, but suddenly he was on the defensive. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean any harm. I was curious about what other facilities you had down here.”

“You’ll see them soon enough,” VJ said, his voice softening. “First I want you to see the new lab.”

“Fine,” Victor said, relieved to have the ill feelings dissipate so quickly.

They used Victor’s car, left Chimera, and crossed the bridge over the Merrimack. While Victor was driving he brought up the question of Ramirez.

“I inserted a number of security people into the Chimera payroll,” VJ said. “If you are concerned about the expense, just remember the enormous benefit Chimera is about to accrue from such a small investment.”

“I wasn’t concerned about the payroll,” Victor said. It was the ease with which VJ was able to do whatever he wanted that bothered him.

With VJ’s directions, they soon pulled up to one of the old mills across the river from Chimera. VJ was out of the car first, eager to show Victor his creation.

The building was set right on the river. The clock tower building was in clear view on the other bank. But unlike VJ’s previous quarters, the new lab was modern in every respect, including its decor. It had three floors and was the most impressive setup Victor had ever seen. In the basement were animal rooms, operating theaters, huge stainless-steel fermentors, and a cyclotron for making radioactive substances. On the first floor was an NMR scanner, a PET scanner, and a whole microbiology laboratory. The second floor had most of the general laboratory space and most of the sophisticated equipment necessary for gene manipulation and fabrication. The third and top floor was devoted to computer space, library, and administrative offices.

“What do you think?” VJ asked proudly as they stood in the hall on the third floor. They had to move frequently as there were workmen everywhere, installing the most recently delivered equipment, doing last-minute painting and carpentry.

“Like everything you’ve done, I’m simply astounded,” Victor said. “But this has cost a fortune. Where did the money come from?”

“One of my side projects was to develop a marketable product from recombinant DNA technology,” VJ said. “Obviously it succeeded.”

“What’s the product?” Victor asked eagerly.

VJ grinned. “It’s a trade secret!”

VJ then went to a closed door, opened it a crack, glanced inside, then turned back to Victor. “I’ve got one more surprise for you. There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

VJ threw the door open and gestured for Victor to go inside. A young woman bent over a desk straightened up, saying, “Dr. Frank! What a surprise!”

For a moment Victor didn’t know what to say. He was looking at someone he’d never expected to see again: Mary Millman, the surrogate who’d carried VJ.

VJ reveled in his father’s shock. “I needed a good secretary,” he explained, “so I brought her in from Detroit. I have to admit I was curious to meet the woman who gave birth to me.”

Victor shook Mary’s hand, which she’d put out to him. “Nice to see you again,” he said, somewhat dazed.

“Likewise,” Mary said.

“Well,” VJ said with a laugh, “I really should get back to my lab.”

Victor self-consciously looked at his watch. “I’ve got to go myself.”

The meeting with Ronald Beekman was a waste of time. Victor had tried to be confrontational about the NGF project to find out whether Ronald knew anything about it. But Ronald had said neither yes nor no, cleverly sensing this was an issue that might provide him with some leverage. When Victor had reminded him that at their last meeting Ronald had threatened to get even and make Victor’s life miserable, Ronald had just brushed it off as being a figure of speech. So Victor left the man’s office not knowing any more than he had when he’d entered.

The only possible potential benefit of the meeting was that Ronald had indicated a sharp interest in the implantation project, and Victor had promised to put something together for him to read.

Leaving Ronald’s office, Victor headed back to his own. He’d ask Colleen to arrange a meeting with Hurst. Victor wasn’t looking forward to it.

“Robert Grimes called you from your lab,” Colleen said as soon as Victor entered the office. “He said he has something very interesting for you. He wants you to call him immediately.”

Victor sat down heavily at his desk. Under normal circumstances such a message from his head technician would have made him tingle with anticipation. It would have heralded some breakthrough on one of the experiments. But now it had to be something else. It had to involve the special work that Victor had given Robert, and Victor wasn’t sure he wanted to hear “something very interesting.”

Fortifying himself as best he could, Victor made the call and waited for Robert to be located. While Victor waited he thought about his own experiments and realized that they now held very little interest for him. After all, VJ had solved most of the questions involved. It was humbling for Victor to be so far behind his ten-year-old son. But the good side was what they would be able to accomplish together. That was thrilling indeed.

“Dr. Frank!” Robert said suddenly into the phone, waking Victor from his musings. “I’m glad I found you. I’ve pretty well sequenced the DNA fragment in the two tumors, and I wanted to make sure you wanted me to go ahead and reproduce the sequence with recombinant techniques. It will take me some time to do, but it is the only way we’ll be able to ascertain exactly what it codes for.”

“Do you have any idea what it codes for?” Victor asked hesitantly.

“Oh, yeah,” Robert said. “It’s undoubtedly some kind of unique polypeptide growth factor.”

“So it’s not some kind of retro virus,” Victor said with a ray of hope, thinking that a retro virus could have been an infectious particle artificially disseminated.

“Nope, it’s certainly not a retro virus,” Robert said. “In fact, it’s some kind of artificially fabricated gene.” Then with a laugh he added, “I’d have to call it a Chimera gene. Within the sequence is an internal promoter that I’ve used myself on a number of occasions — one taken from the SV40 simian virus. But the rest of the gene had to come from some other microorganism, either a bacterium or a virus.”

There was a pause.

“Are you still there, Dr. Frank?” Robert asked, thinking the connection had broken.

“You’re sure about all this?” Victor asked, his voice wavering. The implications were becoming all too clear.

“Absolutely,” Robert said. “I was surprised myself. I’ve never heard of such a thing. My first guess was that these people picked up some kind of DNA vector and it got into their bloodstreams. That seemed so strange that I gave it a lot more thought. The only possible mechanism that I could come up with involves red-blood-cell bags filled with this infective gene. As soon as the Kupffer cells in the liver picked them up, the infective particles inserted themselves into the cell’s genome. The new genes then turned proto-oncogenes into oncogenes, and bingo: liver cancer. But there’s only one problem with this scenario. You know what it is?”

“No, what?”

“There’s only one way that RBC membrane bags could get into somebody’s bloodstream,” Robert said, oblivious to the effect all this was having on Victor. “They would have to be injected. I know that—”

Robert never had a chance to finish his sentence. Victor had hung up.

The mounting evidence was incontrovertible. There was no denying it: David and Janice had died of liver cancer caused by a piece of foreign DNA inserting itself into their chromosomes. And on top of that, there was the instructor from Pendleton Marsha had told him about. All these people were intimately related to VJ. And VJ was a scientific genius with an ultramodern, sophisticated laboratory at his disposal.

Colleen poked her head in. “I was waiting for you to get off the phone,” she said brightly. “Your wife is here. Can I send her in?”

Victor nodded. Suddenly he felt extremely tired.

Marsha came into the room and closed the door forcibly. The wind rustled the papers on Victor’s desk. She walked directly over to Victor and leaned forward over his blotter, looking him directly in the eye.

“I know you would rather not do anything,” she said. “I know you don’t want to upset VJ, and I know you are excited about his accomplishments, but you are going to have to face the reality that the boy is not playing by the rules. Let me tell you about my latest discovery. VJ is involved with a group of Colombians who are supposedly opening a furniture import business in Mattapan. I met these men and let me tell you, they don’t look like furniture merchants to me.”

Marsha stopped abruptly. Victor wasn’t reacting. “Victor?” Marsha said questioningly. His eyes had a dazed, unfocused look.

“Marsha, sit down,” Victor said, shaking his head with sad, slow deliberation. He cradled his head in his hands and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk. Then he ran his fingers through his hair, rubbed his neck, and straightened up. Marsha sat down, studying her husband intently. Her pulse began to race.

“I’ve just learned something worse,” Victor said. “A few days ago I got samples of David’s and Janice’s tumors. Robert has been working on them. He just called to tell me that their cancers had been artificially induced. A foreign cancer-causing gene was put into their bloodstreams.”

Marsha cried out, bringing her hands to her mouth in dismay. Even though she had begun to suspect as much, the confirmation was as horrifying as if she’d been given the news cold. Coming from Victor, who’d fought her tooth and nail when it came to hear fears and apprehensions, made it all the more damning. She bit her lower lip while she quivered with a combination of anger, sadness, and fear. “It had to be VJ!” she whispered.

Victor slammed his palm on top of his desk, sending papers flying. “We don’t know that for sure!” he shouted.

“All these people knew VJ intimately,” Marsha said, echoing Victor’s own thoughts. “And he wanted them out of the way.”

Victor shook his head in grim resignation. How much blame lay at his door, and how much lay at VJ’s? He was the one who’d ensured the boy’s brilliance. But did he stop for one second to think what might go hand in hand with that genius? If David and Janice and that teacher had died by VJ’s hand, Victor wasn’t sure he could live with his conscience.

Marsha began hesitantly, but her conviction made her strong. “I think we have to know exactly what VJ is doing in the rest of that lab of his.”

Victor let his arms fall limply to his side and stared out the window. He looked at the clock tower, knowing that VJ was working there right now. He turned to Marsha and said, “Let’s go find out.”