Seizure

two

9:51 A.M., Thursday, February 21, 2002

The door to Senator Ashley Butler’s inner office burst open, and the senator emerged with his chief of staff in tow. He snapped up the paper proffered by his office manager, Dawn, who was seated at her desk.

“It’s your opening statement for your subcommittee hearing,” she called after the senator, who was already rounding the turn into the main corridor and heading toward the front door of his senate office. She was accustomed to being ignored and didn’t take it personally. Since she was the one who typed the senator’s daily schedule, she knew he was already behind. He was supposed to have been at the hearing already so it could begin at ten sharp.

Ashley merely grunted after he’d read the first few lines on the paper and handed the sheet behind him to Carol for her to take a peek. Carol was more than Ashley’s chief of staff who hired and fired personnel. When the two of them reached the waiting room for his office complex and he paused to say hello and shake hands with the half-dozen or so people waiting to see various staffers, Carol had to herd him toward the door, lest they be later than they already were.

Out in the Senate Office Building’s marbled hall, they picked up the pace. It was difficult for Ashley, whose stiffness had returned despite the medication prescribed by Doctor Whitman. Ashley had described the stiffness as a feeling like trying to walk through molasses.

“How does that opening statement look to you?” Ashley asked.

“Fine, as much as I’ve read,” Carol answered. “Do you think Rob had Phil take a look at it?”

“I should hope so,” Ashley snapped. They walked for a short distance in silence before Ashley added, “Who the hell is Rob?”

“He’s your relatively new head aide for the Health Policy Subcommittee,” Carol explained. “I’m sure you remember him. He literally sticks out in a crowd. He’s the tall redhead who came over from Kennedy’s staff.”

Ashley merely nodded. Although he prided himself on having a facility for remembering names, he could no longer keep up with all the names of the people who worked for him since his staff had ballooned to more than seventy people, and there was inevitable turnover. Phil, however, was a familiar name, since he’d been around almost as long as Carol. As Ashley’s chief political analyst, Phil was a key player, and it was important for everything that was going into a hearing transcript or the Congressional Record to be run by him.

“What about your medication?” Carol questioned. Her heels rang out like gunshots as they hit the marble floor.

“I took it,” Ashley clipped irritably. To be one hundred percent certain, his hand surreptitiously slipped into the side pocket of his jacket and felt around. As he suspected, the pill he’d put in earlier was no longer there, meaning he’d taken it just before leaving his private office. He wanted a good high level of the drug in his blood for the hearing. The last thing he wanted was for someone in the media to notice any symptoms, like his hand shaking during the proceedings, particularly not now that he had a plan to obviate the problem.

Rounding a turn in the corridor, they bumped into several particularly liberal senatorial colleagues heading in the opposite direction. Ashley paused and slipped easily back into his signature, syrupy, Southern drawl while complimenting his fellow politicians’ hairstyles, modish contemporary suits, and flamboyant ties. In a humorously self-deprecatory style, he compared their dapper attire with his own plain dark suit, dark nondescript tie, and ordinary white shirt. It was the same style of clothes he’d worn when he’d first arrived at the Senate back in 1972. Ashley was a man of habit. Not only did he still wear the same type of clothes, he still bought his entire wardrobe from the same conservative haberdashery back in his hometown.

After he and Carol continued on their way, she commented on the degree of Ashley’s cordiality.

“I’m just buttering them up.” Ashley sneered. “I need their votes on my bill coming up next week. You know I cannot abide such foppery, especially hair transplants.”

“Indeed I do,” Carol said. “That’s why I was taken aback.”

As they neared the side entrance to the hearing room, Ashley slowed. “Quickly review for me once again what you and the rest of the staff found out about this morning’s first witness. I’ve got a special plan brewing on my back burner that I definitely want to succeed.”

“His professional resume is what stands out in my mind,” Carol said. She closed her eyes for a moment to help mobilize her memory. “He’s been a science prodigy since middle school, and he breezed through both medical school and his Ph.D. studies. That’s impressive, to say the least! On top of that, he rapidly became one of the youngest department-head scientists at Merck before being actively recruited to a prestigious post at Harvard. The man must have an IQ in the stratosphere.”

“I remember the curriculum vitae. But that’s not what’s important now. Talk to me about Phil’s take on the man’s personality!”

“I remember Phil guessed he was self-centered and cocky because of the way he’s so dismissive of his fellow scientists’ work. I mean, most people, even if they feel that way, keep it to themselves. He’s got to be brash.”

“What else?”

They reached the door to the side room and hesitated. Farther down the hallway at the main entrance to the hearing room, a small crowd was milling about, and the babble of their voices drifted toward them.

Carol shrugged. “I can’t remember much else, but I have the dossier with me that the staff put together, which certainly incorporates Phil’s impressions. Do you want to take the time to read it over again before we begin the hearing?”

“I was hoping you’d talk to me about the man’s fear of failure,” Ashley said. “Is that something you remember?”

“Now that you mention it, yes, I believe that was one of Phil’s points.”

“Good!” Ashley said, with his eyes staring off into the distance. “And combining that with an apparent ego the size of a racehorse’s paddock gives me an opportunity to exert some significant leverage, wouldn’t you agree?”

“I suppose, but I’m not sure I’m following you. I do remember Dan thought that he had a fear of failure out of proportion to his accomplishments and his obvious intelligence. After all, he could probably be successful at anything he wanted to do, provided he put his mind to it. How does his fear of failure give you leverage, and leverage for what?”

“He might be able to do anything he sets his mind to, but apparently at this moment in time he wants to become a celebrity entrepreneur, a fact which he apparently shamelessly admitted in one of his interviews. And to do this, he’s made a rather large gamble career-wise and financially. He wants his newly founded company based on his patented procedure to succeed for very personal, if not superficial, reasons.”

“So what is it you want to do?” Carol asked. “Phil wants you on record favoring a ban on his procedure. It’s that simple.”

“Circumstances have made it a little more complicated than that. I want to make the good doctor do something he most assuredly wouldn’t want to do.”

Concern spread across Carol’s broad face. “Does Phil know about this?”

Ashley shook his head. He made a motion for Carol to give him back the prepared opening statement and took it when she held it out.

“What is it you want the doctor to do?”

“You and he will know tonight,” Ashley said, as his eyes began scanning the opening statement. “It would take too long to explain at the moment.”

“This is scaring me,” Carol admitted out loud. She looked up and down the hallway as Ashley read his speech. She shifted her weight uneasily. Carol’s ultimate goal and the reason she’d sacrificed so much of her own life to her current position was that she wanted to run for Ashley’s office when he retired, a situation that promised to occur sooner rather than later because of the Parkinson’s disease diagnosis. She was more than qualified, having served as a state senator prior to coming to Washington to run Ashley’s show, and at this late date with her goal in sight, she didn’t want him pulling some sort of stunt to do what Bill Clinton did to Al Gore. Ever since that fateful evening visit to Dr. Whitman, Ashley had been preoccupied and unpredictable. She cleared her throat to get her boss’s attention. “Exactly how are you planning on getting Dr. Lowell to do something he doesn’t want to do?”

“By setting him up and then pulling the rug out from under him,” Ashley said, with his eyes rising to meet Carol’s. He grinned conspiratorially. “I’m in a battle here, and I want to win. To do that, I’m going to follow an age-old cue from The Art of War: Figure out the necessary points of engagement, then arrive there with overwhelming force! Let me see the financial report on his company!”

Carol juggled the file of papers she was carrying before producing the paper Ashley wanted. She handed it to him, and he rapidly scanned it. She watched his face for clues. She wondered if she should call Phil on her cell phone the second she had a chance and warn him to be ready for the unexpected.

“This is good,” Ashley mumbled. “This is very good. It’s a lucky thing I have those contacts over at the Bureau. We couldn’t have gotten much of this on our own.”

“Maybe you should go over with Phil whatever it is you are planning to do,” Carol suggested.

“No time,” Ashley responded. “In fact, what time is it now?”

Carol glanced at her watch. “It’s after ten.”

Ashley held out his left hand supported by his right in order to check for any tremor. There was a slight one, but it was hardly noticeable. “That’s as good as can be expected. Let’s go to work!”

Ashley entered the hearing room from the side door to the right of the horseshoe-shaped, raised dais. The room was filled with a meandering, jostling crowd of people from which emerged a buzz of incoherent conversation. Ashley had to worm his way between colleagues and staffers to reach his seat. The redheaded Rob appeared immediately with a second copy of Ashley’s prepared opening statement. Ashley waved him off by flapping the copy he already had in his hand. Ashley took his seat and adjusted the goosenecked microphone.

After Ashley’s eyes had made a rapid circuit around the comfortably familiar Greek revival décor of the hearing room, they came to rest on the two figures seated at the witness table below him. At first his attention was magnetically drawn to the attractive young woman with the shiny, minklike hair framing her face. Ashley had an affinity for beautiful women, and this female in front of him filled the bill. She was dressed in a demure, deep blue suit with a white collar that contrasted sharply with her tanned, olive complexion. Despite her modest attire, she exuded a healthy sensuality. Her dark eyes were riveted on Ashley, giving him the impression he was staring down two gun barrels. He had no idea who she was or why she was there, but he thought her presence promised to make the hearing a bit more enjoyable.

Reluctantly, Ashley switched his attention from the comely woman to Dr. Daniel Lowell. The doctor’s eyes were paler than his companion’s, yet they reflected an equal degree of brassiness with their unblinking stare. Ashley guessed the doctor was reasonably tall, despite the fact that he was slouching back in his chair. He was slight of build, with a thin, angular face capped by a shock of unruly salt-and-pepper hair. Even his dress suggested a degree of insolence comparable to that reflected in his eyes and posture. In contrast to his companion’s appropriate business apparel, he was sporting a casual tweed jacket with leather elbow patches, an open shirt without a tie, and, his legs visible beneath the table, a pair of jeans and sneakers.

Ashley smiled inwardly as he picked up his gavel. He guessed that Daniel’s apparent attitude and dressing down was a weak attempt to prove he wasn’t threatened by being called to testify before a Senate subcommittee. Perhaps Daniel thought he could bring his Ivy League, academic persona as a form of intimidation against Ashley’s small-town, Baptist college experience. But it wasn’t going to work. Ashley knew he had Daniel in his arena with the usual home-court advantage.

“The Subcommittee on Health Policy of the Health, Education, Labor, and Pensions Committee will now come to order,” Ashley announced with a pronounced Southern intonation as he banged his gavel. He waited for a few moments, as the previously disorderly group of attendees took their seats. Behind him, he could hear the various staffers do the same. He glanced down at Daniel Lowell, but the doctor had not moved. Ashley glanced to his right and left. Most of his subcommittee members were not present, although four were. Those present were either reading memoranda or talking in whispers with their aides. There wasn’t a quorum, but it didn’t matter. No vote had been scheduled, and Ashley was not going to call for one.

“This hearing will proceed on Senate Bill 1103,” Ashley continued, as he placed his opening statement notes on the table in front of him, folded his arms, and cupped his elbows in his palms to forestall any potential tremor. He tilted his head back slightly to see the print better through his bifocals. “This bill is a companion bill to the bill already passed by the House to ban the cloning procedure called…”

Ashley hesitated and leaned forward, squinting at the sheet. “Bear with me for a moment,” he said, obviously departing from his prepared text. “This procedure is not only scary, but it’s a mouthful, and maybe the good doctor will help me if I stumble. It’s called Homologous Transgenic Segmental Recombination, or HTSR. Wow! Did I get that right, Doctor?”

Daniel sat up and leaned forward to his microphone. “Yes,” he said simply and leaned back. He too had his arms folded.

“Why don’t you doctors speak English?” Ashley questioned, while peering over the tops of his glasses at Daniel.

A few of the spectators tittered, to Ashley’s delight. He loved to play to the crowd.

Daniel leaned forward to answer, but Ashley held up his hand. “That question is off the record, and there’s no need to answer.”

The clerk made the adjustment on her machine.

Ashley then looked to his left. “This is off the record too, but I was curious if the distinguished senator from Montana agrees with me that doctors purposefully have developed their own language just so that half the time we mere mortals have no idea under the sun what the dickens they are talking about.”

There was more laughter from the spectators, as the senator from Montana looked up from his reading and nodded an enthusiastic yes.

“Now, where was I?” Ashley questioned, as he looked back at his prepared opening statement. “The need for this legislation lies in the problem that biotechnology in general and medical science in particular in this country have lost their moral and ethical underpinnings. We here on the Senate’s Health Policy Subcommittee feel it is our duty as concerned and moral Americans to reverse this trend by following the lead of our colleagues in the House. Ends do not justify means, particularly in the medical research arena, as was unequivocally stated as far back as the Nuremberg Trials. This HTSR is a case in point. This procedure once again threatens to create poor, defenseless embryos and then dismember them with the dubious justification that the cells derived from these nascent, tiny humans will be used to treat a wide variety of patients. But that’s not all. As we will hear in testimony from its discoverer, whom we are honored to have here as a witness, this is no ordinary therapeutic cloning procedure, and I, as the bill’s principal author, am shocked that this procedure is poised to become mainstream. Well, I say only over my dead body!”

A modest level of applause issued from a smattering of audience members. Ashley acknowledged it with a nod of his head and a short pause. Then he took a deep breath. “Now, I could go on about this new technique, but I’m not a doctor, and I respectfully defer to the expert, who has graciously come before this subcommittee. I would like to proceed with the witness, unless my eminent-ranking colleague from across the aisle would like to say a few words.”

Ashley regarded the senator seated to his immediate right, who shook his head, covered his microphone with his palm, and leaned toward the chairman. “Ashley,” he whispered. “I hope you are going to be expeditious about his. I’ve got to be out of here by ten-thirty.”

“Have no fear,” Ashley whispered back. “I’m going for the jugular here.”

Ashley took a drink from the glass of water in front of him and peered down at Daniel. “Our first witness is the brilliant Dr. Daniel Lowell, who, as I’ve already mentioned, is the discoverer of HTSR. Dr. Lowell has impressive credentials, including M.D. and Ph.D. degrees from some of our country’s most august institutions. Somehow he even found time to do a residency in internal medicine. He has received countless awards for his work and has held prestigious positions at Merck pharmaceuticals and Harvard University. Welcome, Dr. Lowell.”

“Thank you, Senator,” Daniel said. He moved forward in his chair. “I appreciate your kind remarks about my curriculum vitae, but, if I may, I’d like to take immediate issue with a particular point in your opening statement.”

“By all means,” Ashley responded.

“HTSR and therapeutic cloning do not, I repeat, do not involve the dismemberment of embryos.” Daniel spoke slowly, emphasizing each word. “The therapeutic cells are taken before any embryo has started to form. They are taken from a structure called a blastocyst.”

“Do you deny these blastocysts are incipient human life?”

“They are human life, but when disaggregated, their cells are similar to the cells you lose from your gums when you brush your teeth vigorously.”

“I don’t think I brush that vigorously,” Ashley said with a short laugh. A few spectators joined in.

“We all shed live epithelial cells.”

“Perhaps so, but these epithelial cells are not going to form embryos like a blastocyst.”

“They could,” Daniel said. “That is the point. If the epithelial cells are fused with an egg cell whose nucleus has been extracted, and then the combination is activated, they could form an embryo.”

“Which is what is done in cloning.”

“Precisely,” Daniel said. “Blastocysts have a potential to form a viable embryo, but only if implanted in a uterus. In therapeutic cloning, they are never allowed to form embryos.”

“I think we’re getting bogged down in semantics here,” Ashley said impatiently.

“It is semantics,” Daniel agreed. “But it is important semantics. People have to understand that embryos are not involved in therapeutic cloning or HTSR.”

“Your opinion regarding my opening statement has been duly recorded,” Ashley said. “I’d like to move on to the procedure itself. Would you describe it for us here at the hearing and for the official transcript?”

“I’d be happy to,” Daniel said. “Homologous Transgenic Segmental Recombination is the name we have given to a procedure that involves replacing the portion of an individual’s DNA responsible for a particular illness with homologous disease-free DNA. This is done in the nucleus of one of the patient’s cells, which is then used for therapeutic cloning.”

“Hold it right there,” Ashley interrupted. “I’m already confused, as I’m sure most of the audience is. Let me see if I have this straight. You’re talking about taking a cell from a sick person and changing its DNA before doing the therapeutic cloning.”

“That’s correct,” Daniel said. “Replacing the small portion of the cell’s genetic material that’s responsible for the individual’s illness.”

“And the therapeutic cloning is then done to make a bunch of these cells to cure the patient.”

“Correct again! The cells are encouraged with various growth hormones to become the type of cells the patient needs. And thanks to HTSR, these cells will not have the genetic predisposition to reform the illness being treated. When these cells are put into the patient, not only will the patient be cured, he or she will not have the genetic tendency to come down with the same illness.”

“Perhaps we could talk about a particular disease,” Ashley suggested. “It might make it easier for us nonscientists to understand. I gather from some of the articles you’ve published that Parkinson’s disease is one of the illnesses you believe will be amenable to this treatment.”

“That’s correct,” Daniel said. “As well as many other maladies, from Alzheimer’s and diabetes to certain forms of arthritis. It’s an impressive list of illnesses, many of which have not been amenable to treatment, much less a cure.”

“Let’s concentrate on Parkinson’s for a moment,” Ashley said. “Why do you think HSTR will work with this ailment?”

“Because with Parkinson’s, we are lucky enough to have a mouse model for testing,” Daniel said. “These mice have Parkinson’s disease, meaning their brains are missing nerve cells that produce a compound called dopamine that functions as a neurotransmitter, and their illness is a mirror image of the human form. We have taken these animals, carried out HTSR, and have cured them permanently.”

“That’s impressive,” Ashley commented.

“It’s even more impressive when you see it happen in front of your very eyes.”

“The cells are injected.”

“Yes.”

“And there are no problems with that?”

“No, not at all,” Daniel said. “There’s already been considerable experience using this technique on humans for other therapies. The injection must be done carefully, under controlled conditions, but there’s generally no problem whatsoever. In our experience, the mice have had no ill effects.”

“Are the mice cured soon after the injection?”

“In our experience, the Parkinson’s symptoms begin to subside immediately,” Daniel said. “And it continues rapidly. With the mice we’ve treated, it’s been truly remarkable. Within a week, the treated mice cannot be distinguished from the well controls.”

“I suppose you are eager to try this on humans,” Ashley suggested.

“Extremely so,” Daniel admitted with a series of nods for emphasis. “After we complete our animal studies, which are moving ahead rapidly, we’re hoping for a fast track with the FDA to begin human trials in a controlled setting.”

Ashley saw Daniel glance at his companion and even grip her hand for a moment. Ashley smiled inwardly, sensing Daniel was thinking the hearing was going well. It was time to rectify that misconception. “Tell me, Doctor Lowell,” Ashley began. “Have you ever heard the saying: If something sounds too good to be true, it probably isn’t?”

“Of course.”

“Well, I think HTSR is a prime example. Putting aside for a moment the semantic argument about whether or not embryos are being dismembered, HTSR has another major ethical problem.”

Ashley paused for effect. The audience was completely still.

“Doctor,” Ashley said patronizingly. “Have you ever read that classic novel by Mary Shelley called Frankenstein?”

“HTSR has nothing to do with the Frankenstein myth,” Daniel said indignantly, implying he knew full well where Ashley was headed. “To imply as much is an irresponsible attempt to take advantage of public fears and misconceptions.”

“I beg to disagree,” Ashley said. “In fact, I think Mary Shelley must have had an inkling that HTSR was coming down the pike, and that’s why she wrote her novel.”

The spectators again laughed. It was apparent they were hanging on to every word and enjoying themselves.

“Now I know I have not had the benefit of an Ivy League education, but I read Frankenstein, whose whole title includes The Modern Prometheus, and I think the parallels are remarkable. As I understand it, the word transgenic, which is part of the confusing name of your procedure, means taking bits and pieces of various people’s genomes and mixing them together like you’re making a cake. That sounds to this country boy pretty much the same thing Victor Frankenstein did when he made his monster, getting pieces from this corpse and parts from another and sewing them up together. He even used a bit of electricity, just like you people do with your cloning.”

“With HTSR, we are adding relatively short lengths of DNA, not whole organs,” Daniel retorted heatedly.

“Calm down, Doctor!” Ashley said. “This is a fact-finding hearing we’re having here, not a fight. What I’m driving at is that, with your procedure, you’re taking parts of one person and putting them in another. Isn’t that true?”

“On a molecular level.”

“I don’t care what level it is,” Ashley said. “I just want to establish the facts.”

“Medical science has been transplanting organs for some time,” Daniel snapped. “The general public does not see a moral problem with that, quite the contrary, and organ transplantation is certainly a better conceptual parallel with HTSR than Mary Shelley’s nineteenth-century novel.”

“In the example you gave concerning Parkinson’s disease, you admitted you are planning on injecting these little molecular Frankensteins you are planning on mixing up so they end up in people’s brains. I’m sorry, Doctor, but there haven’t been too many brains transplanted in our current organ-transplant programs, so I don’t think the parallel is any good at all. Injecting parts of another person and getting them into someone’s brain is a step beyond the pale in my book, and I believe in the Good Lord’s Book.”

“The therapeutic cells we create are not molecular Frankensteins,” Daniel said angrily.

“Your opinion has duly been recorded,” Ashley said. “Let’s move on.”

“This is a farce!” Daniel commented. He threw up his arms for emphasis.

“Doctor, I must remind you that this is a congressional subcommittee hearing, and you are expected to abide by appropriate decorum. We’re all reasonable people here, who are supposed to show respect for one another while trying to do our best to gather information.”

“It’s becoming progressively obvious this hearing has been set up under false pretenses. You didn’t come in here to gather information with an open mind about HTSR, as you so magnanimously suggest. You’re just using this hearing to grandstand with preprepared emotive rhetoric.”

“I’d like you to know,” Ashley said condescendingly, “making that kind of inflammatory statement and accusation is specifically frowned upon in Congress. This is not Crossfire or some other media circus. Yet I refuse to take offense. Instead, I will once again assure you that your opinion has been duly recorded, and, as I said, I’d like to move on. As the discoverer of HTSR, you can’t be expected to be entirely objective about the procedure’s moral merits, but I’d like to question you about this issue. But first I would like to say that it has been difficult not to notice the disarmingly attractive woman who is sitting next to you at the witness table. Is she here to help you testify? If so, perhaps you should introduce her for the record.”

“This is Dr. Stephanie D’Agostino,” Daniel snapped. “She is my scientific collaborator.”

“Another M.D., Ph.D.?” Ashley questioned.

“I am a Ph.D., not an M.D.,” Stephanie said into her microphone. “And Mr. Chairman, I would like to echo Dr. Lowell’s opinion about the biased way this hearing has been proceeding, but without his inflammatory words. I strongly believe that allusions to the Frankenstein myth in relation to HTSR are inappropriate, since they play to people’s fundamental fears.”

“I’m chagrined,” Ashley said. “I always thought you Ivy League folks were addicted to alluding to various and sundry literary masterpieces, but here, the one time I give it a whirl, I’m told it’s inappropriate. Now is that fair, especially since I distinctly remember being taught at my small, Baptist college that Frankenstein was, among other things, a warning about the moral consequences of unchecked scientific materialism? In my mind, that makes the book extremely apropos. But that’s enough on this particular issue! This is a hearing, not a literary debate.”

Before Ashley could continue, Rob came up behind him and tapped him on the shoulder. Ashley placed his hand over his microphone to prevent it from picking up any of his aide’s comments.

“Senator,” Rob whispered in Ashley’s ear. “As soon as the request came through this morning for Dr. D’Agostino to join Dr. Lowell at the witness table, we did a quick background check on her. She’s a Harvard-trained townie. She was brought up in the North End of Boston.”

“Is that supposed to be significant?”

Rob shrugged. “It could be a coincidence, but I doubt it. The indicted investor in Dr. Lowell’s company whom the Bureau told us about is also a D’Agostino who grew up in the North End. They are probably related.”

“My, my,” Ashley commented. “That is curious.” He took the sheet of paper from Rob and put it next to the financial statement of Daniel’s company. He had trouble suppressing a smile after such a windfall.

“Dr. D’Agostino,” Ashley said into his microphone after removing his hand. “Are you by any chance related to Anthony D’Agostino residing at Fourteen Acorn Street in Medford, Massachusetts?”

“He is my brother.”

“And this is the same Anthony D’Agostino who has been indicted for racketeering?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Stephanie said. She glanced at Daniel, who was looking at her with an expression of disbelief.

“Dr. Lowell,” Ashley continued. “Were you aware that one of your initial and rather major investors had been so indicted?”

“No, I was not,” Daniel said. “But he is far from a major investor.”

“Hmmm,” Ashley voiced. “Several hundred thousand dollars is a lot of money in my book. But we won’t quibble. I don’t suppose he serves as a director?”

“He does not.”

“That’s a relief. And I suppose we can assume the indicted racketeer Anthony D’Agostino does not serve on your ethics board, which I understand you have.”

A suppressed titter sounded in the audience.

“He does not serve on our ethics board,” Daniel rejoined.

“That’s also a relief. Now let’s talk for a moment about your company,” Ashley said. “The name is CURE, which I understand is somewhat of an acronym.”

“That’s correct,” Daniel said with a sigh, as if he were bored with the proceedings. “It was derived from Cellular Replacement Enterprises.”

“I’m sorry if you are fatigued by the rigors of this hearing, Doctor,” Ashley said. “We’ll try to wrap things up as quickly as we can. But I understand your company is attempting to accomplish its second round of financing via venture capitalists, with HTSR as your major intellectual property. Is your ultimate intent to take your company public by having an initial public offering?”

“Yes,” Daniel said simply. He leaned back in his chair.

“Now, this is off the record,” Ashley said. He looked to his left. “I’d like to ask the distinguished senator from the great state of Montana if he thinks the SEC would find it interesting that one of the initial investors in a company planning on going public has been indicted for racketeering. I mean, there is a question of moral propriety here. Money derived from extortion and maybe even prostitution, for all we know, being laundered through a biotech startup.”

“I’d think they’d be very interested,” the senator from Montana said.

“That would be my thought as well,” Ashley said. He looked back at his notes and then down at Daniel. “I understand your second round of financing has been held up by the S.1103 and the fact that the House has already passed its version. Is that correct?”

Daniel nodded.

“You have to speak for the transcript,” Ashley said.

“Correct,” Daniel said.

“And I understand your burn rate, meaning the money you’re using to stay afloat currently, is very high and that if you don’t get this second round of financing, you face bankruptcy.”

“Correct.”

“That’s too bad,” Ashley said, with all the appearances of sympathy. “However, for our purposes here at this hearing, I would have to assume that your objectivity in relation to the moral aspects of HTSR is in serious question. I mean, the very future of your company depends on S.1103 not being passed. Is that not true, Doctor?”

“My opinion has been and will continue to be that it is morally wrong not to continue to investigate and then use HTSR to cure countless suffering human beings.”

“Your opinion has been recorded,” Ashley said. “But for the record, I would like to point out that Dr. Daniel Lowell has chosen not to answer the posed question.”

Ashley leaned back and looked to his right. “I have no further questions for this witness. Do any of my esteemed colleagues have any questions?”

Ashley’s eyes moved around to the faces of the senators seated at the dais.

“Very well,” Ashley said. “The Subcommittee on Health Policy would like to thank doctors Lowell and D’Agostino for their kind participation. And we’d like to call our next witness: Mr. Harold Mendes of the Right to Life organization.”