“Well, there you go,” Daniel said. “If we can get a sample, it will be a piece of cake pulling out the segments we need with our HTSR probes.”
“Things better start happening quickly,” Stephanie warned. “Otherwise, we’re not going to have the cells in time for Butler’s Senate recess.”
“I’m well aware,” Daniel said. He took his credit card back from the waiter and signed the receipt. “If the shroud is going to be involved, we’ve got to go to Turin in the next few days. So Butler better get cracking! Once we have the sample, we can fly directly to Nassau from London on British Airways. I checked that out earlier this evening.”
“We’re not going to do the cellular work here at our lab?”
“Unfortunately, no. The eggs are down there, not up here, and I don’t want to take the risk of shipping them, and I want them fresh. Hopefully, the Wingate lab is as well equipped as they claim, because we’ll be doing everything there.”
“That means we’ll be leaving in a few days and be gone a month or more.”
“You got it. Is that a problem?”
“I suppose not,” Stephanie said. “It’s not a bad time to spend a month in Nassau. Peter can keep things going in the lab. But I’ll have to go home tomorrow or Sunday to see my mom. She’s been under the weather, as you know.”
“You’d better do it sooner rather than later,” Daniel said. “If word comes through from Butler about the shroud sample, we’re out of here.”
nine
2:45 P.M., Saturday, February 23, 2002
Daniel sensed he was getting a vague idea of what it was like to have manic-depressive disorder as he hung up the phone from yet another disappointing conversation with the venture capital people in San Francisco. Just prior to the call, he felt on top of the world after outlining the schedule for the next month on a legal pad. With Stephanie now enthusiastically behind the plan to treat Butler, including using blood from the shroud, things were beginning to fall into place. That morning, between the two of them, they had drawn up an encompassing release for Butler’s signature and had emailed it to the senator. As per their instructions, it was to be signed, witnessed by Carol Manning, and faxed back.
When Stephanie had disappeared back into the lab to check on Butler’s fibroblast culture, Daniel had convinced himself that things were going so smoothly that it was reasonable to call the moneymen in hopes of changing their minds about releasing the second round of financing. But the call had not gone well. The key person had ended the conversation by telling Daniel not to call back unless he had proof in writing that HTSR would not be banned. The banker had explained that in light of recent events, word of mouth, particularly in the form of vague generalities, would not be adequate. The banker had added that unless such documentation was forthcoming in the near future, the money allocated for CURE would be transferred to another promising biotech firm whose intellectual property was not in political jeopardy.
Daniel sagged in his chair with his hips perched precariously on the edge, resting his head on the chair’s back. The idea of returning to stable-but-impecunious academia, with its snail’s-pace predictability, was sounding progressively appealing. He was beginning to loathe the precipitous ups and downs of trying to achieve the moneyed celebrity status he deserved. It was galling that movie stars only had to memorize a few lines and famous athletes only had to show mindless dexterity with a stick or a ball in order to command the lucre and attention showered on them. With his credentials and a brilliant discovery to his credit, it was ludicrous that he had to bear such travail and associated anxiety.
Stephanie’s face poked around the corner. “Guess what?” she said brightly. “Things are going fantastic with Butler’s fibroblast culture. Thanks to the atmosphere of five-percent CO and air, a monolayer is already starting to form. The cells 2 are going to be ready sooner than I anticipated.”
“Wonderful,” Daniel said in a depressed monotone.
“What’s the problem now?” Stephanie asked. She came into the room and sat down. “You look like you’re about to ooze off onto the floor. Why the long face?”
“Don’t ask! It’s the same old story about money, or at least the lack of it.”
“I suppose that means you called the venture capitalists again.”
“How very clairvoyant!” Daniel said sarcastically.
“Good grief! Why are you torturing yourself?”
“So now you think I’m doing this to myself.”
“You are if you keep calling them. From what you said yesterday, their intentions were pretty clear.”
“But the Butler plan is moving ahead. The situation is evolving.”
Stephanie closed her eyes for a moment and took a breath. “Daniel,” she began, trying to think how best to word what she was about to say without irritating him, “you can’t expect other people to view the world as you do. You’re a brilliant man, maybe too smart for your own good. Other people don’t look at the world the way you do. I mean, they can’t think the way you do.”
“Are you being patronizing?” Daniel eyed his lover, scientific collaborator, and business partner. Lately, with the stress of recent events, it was more the latter than the former, and the business was not going well.
“Heavens, no!” Stephanie stated emphatically. Before Stephanie could continue, the phone rang. Its raucous sound in the otherwise silent office startled both of them.
Daniel reached for the phone but didn’t pick it up. He glanced at Stephanie. “Are you expecting a call?”
Stephanie shook her head.
“Who could be calling here at the office on a Saturday?”
“Maybe it’s for Peter,” Stephanie suggested. “He’s back in the lab.”
Daniel lifted the receiver and used the long name of their business rather than the acronym. “Cellular Replacement Enterprises,” he said officially.
“This is Dr. Spencer Wingate from the Wingate Clinic. I’m calling from Nassau for Dr. Daniel Lowell.”
David motioned for Stephanie to go out in the reception area and pick up Vicky’s extension. He then identified himself to Spencer.
“I certainly didn’t expect to get you directly, Doctor,” Spencer said.
“Our receptionist doesn’t come in on Saturdays.”
“My word!” Spencer remarked. He laughed. “I didn’t realize it was the weekend. Since we’ve recently opened our new facility, we’ve all been working twenty-four-seven to iron out the wrinkles. Many pardons if I’m causing a disturbance.”
“You are not disturbing us in the slightest,” Daniel assured him. Daniel heard the faint click as Stephanie came on the line. “Is there some problem vis-à-vis our discussion yesterday?”
“Quite the contrary,” Spencer said. “I was afraid there had been a change on your end. You said you would call last night or today at the latest.”
“You’re right, I did say that,” Daniel responded. “I’m sorry. I’ve been waiting for word about the shroud to start the ball rolling. I apologize for not getting back to you.”
“No apologies are necessary. Although I hadn’t heard from you, I thought I’d call to let you know that I have already spoken with a neurosurgeon by the name of Dr. Rashid Nawaz who has an office in Nassau. He’s a Pakistani surgeon trained in London who I’ve been assured is quite talented. He’s even had some experience with fetal cell implants as a house officer, and he is eager to be of assistance. He’s also agreed to arrange for the stereotaxic equipment to be brought from Princess Margaret Hospital.”
“Did you mention the need for discretion?”
“Most certainly, and he is fine with it.”
“Marvelous,” Daniel responded. “Did you discuss his fee?”
“I did. It seems that his services will be somewhat more than I thought, perhaps due to the required discretion. He is asking for one thousand dollars.”