“I’ll see what I can do,” smiled Eve.
Six
After feeding Dolly, Neef settled down to read the Sunday papers he’d bought on the way back from lunch. He was interrupted by the phone. It was David Farro-Jones.
“Hello Mike, I thought I’d just call and wish you luck with the trial tomorrow.”
“That’s very nice of you, I appreciate it,” replied Neef.
“I also wanted to repeat my offer of help and facilities should you need them.”
“I’m most grateful, David. I’m sure Max will be as well.”
“About Max, Mike...” Farro-Jones began hesitantly.
“Yes? What about him?”
“God, this is difficult...”
“What is?”
“You and I have known each other quite a while, Mike. I’d like to say something to you in confidence.”
“Go ahead,” said Neef.
“I know Max Pereira.”
“Yes, I know you do.”
“I mean, I know him well; we worked together for two years in the States. He’s ambitious, ruthless and determined to get to the top. Nothing is going to stand in his way. This trial is important to Max and to Menogen, much more so than they’ve let on. They all stand to become millionaires if they get a good result.”
“And good luck to them too,” said Neef. “If they’ve come up with a Gene Therapy that destroys tumours, they deserve all the success that comes to them.”
“Agreed, but I just thought you should be aware of the pressures they’re working under. If their new vectors succeed, the sky’s the limit; they’ll have all the fame and fortune they ever dreamed of but if they fail, they could lose everything and the chances are that Menogen would be in real trouble. They’ve gambled so much in developing retroviral vectors that if they don’t work out, it’s doubtful whether they could get back in the race with an altered strategy. Someone else would almost certainly beat them to it.”
“So where does this leave me?” asked Neef.
“I just thought you should be aware of this,” said Farro-Jones. “Strong financial considerations are not entirely compatible with the care and concern for patients that you and I take for granted. I think you should be on your guard at all times. Question everything Max tells you, don’t allow him to take any short-cuts and if you’re unsure of anything, give me a call; maybe I can advise you. There’s one simple rule in all this at present; the more efficient the vector, the greater the potential danger to the patient.”
“Thanks David, I appreciate the warning but I think Max and I have an understanding,” said Neef. “He admitted at one point he would have liked to do some tracer experiments on the children to check out the spread of his vectors but I said, no. All the patients are to be treated therapeutically. Apart from that it’s either me or my medical staff who will be administering the viruses. Max won’t be allowed near the patients.”
“But you will be dependent on Max giving you what he says he’s giving you to inject into them,” said Farro-Jones.
“But the various safety committees have examined both the viruses and the strategy and passed them.”
“They examined what Menogen proposed on paper and examined the vectors Menogen gave them to examine,” said Farro-Jones.
“Surely you’re not suggesting that...’
“No I suppose not,” conceded Farro-Jones. “Maybe I worry too much and probably I’m doing it unnecessarily but if you do have any qualms at any time, I’d be happy to carry out a molecular analysis for you to verify anything you’re not sure of.”
“Thanks David, I can’t say you’ve exactly put my mind at rest but I appreciate your concern.”
“Good luck, Mike.”
“Thanks.”
Neef put down the phone; his good mood completely evaporated. He took little comfort in remembering the look on Max Pereira’s face the first time he heard that David Farro-Jones would be on the ethics committee. He had interpreted it at the time as being something short of pleasure. This also made sense of David’s behaviour when questioning Max Pereira. He didn’t trust the man an inch.
“That, Dolly,” said Neef, getting up from his chair, “is just about all I need.”
Neef was in early next morning. He examined the report from the night staff nurse and spoke to Tony Samuels who had been on call. There were no new problems. Max Pereira arrived at eight thirty. He had changed his Tee shirt but still wore jeans, a leather jacket and cowboy boots. He planked his brief case down on Neef’s desk and put his beret on top. He asked, “Any coffee?”
“I’ll have a look,” replied Neef. “I could do with some myself.”
Neef put his head round the door of the duty room and found the night staff nurse still there. “No Kate?” he asked.
“Not yet, it’s most unlike her.”
Neef frowned then asked, “I don’t suppose there’s any coffee?”
The staff nurse smiled and said, “It’s against all my feminist principles but I’ll make some while I wait for Sister.”
It was very unusual for Kate Morse to be late, thought Neef. He hoped she hadn’t been involved in a car accident. It had to be said, she wasn’t the best driver in the world. The last time she had given him a lift had been the equivalent of a white-knuckle ride on Blackpool Pleasure Beach. It was totally out of character but a fact nevertheless. Her husband Charlie had given up on trying to slow her down. “Born to be wild,” he had said, tongue in cheek.
“So where are the viruses?” Neef asked Pereira when he returned to his office.
“They’re in the unit fridge. I came in yesterday,” replied Pereira. “There’s also a back-up supply down in your Pharmacy department.”
“Anything else I need to know?”
“The hi-tec stuff has all been done back in the lab,” replied Pereira. “All you have to do now is administer the vectors, wait seven days then start the patients on Gancyclovir.”
“I made a provisional list of five patients I though suitable candidates under the terms of our open license,” said Neef.”
“Your houseman, Samuels showed it to me yesterday.”
“Any problems from your point of view?”
“I don’t think so.” Pereira opened his brief case and took out a series of tracings made on what looked like acetate sheeting but seemed infinitely more pliable. “I made up these,” he said, passing them over to Neef. “They are exact tracings of the tumours from all angles available on the scans. From these, I’ve done volume calculations and estimated the amount of vector suspension we need to inject.”
“Good. For my part, I’ve calculated the best angle of approach using the keyhole gear,” said Neef. “I’ve done that for four of them.”
“That just leaves the brain tumour kid, let me see... Downy.”
“Thomas Downy,” said Neef. He disliked anyone referring to the children by their last names.
“Yeah, Thomas Downy,” drawled Pereira. “Has a surgical team been briefed for that one?”
“Norman Beavis will be ready in theatre at two thirty,” replied Neef.
“Good, accuracy is going to be really important. We’ve got to hit the centre of the tumour.”
“I thought you said your vector would only infect dividing cells,” said Neef.
Pereira screwed up his face and said, “It’s possible we may get a bystander effect.”
“A bystander effect, Dr Pereira?” repeated Neef coldly, his features hardening.
“It’s just conceivable that normal cells situated right next to the tumour could be damaged.”
“So Thomas Downy is at some risk of brain damage after all?”
Pereira hunched up his shoulders and spread his palms as if wrestling with a difficult concept, He said, “Not really if the procedure is carried out correctly and the virus goes to the heart of the tumour. Let’s face it Mike, when it comes right down to it, this kid’s tumour itself isn’t exactly doing his brain a whole lot of good, as it is, is it?”