Mutant (22 page)

Five Hours Later

The trilling of her cellular phone seemed to go on forever. Trying to rouse herself, she fumbled around on the floor in the direction of the sound and, upon opening her eyes, couldn’t remember for a few seconds why she’d been asleep in her office. Retrieving the receiver, she glanced at her watch. “Bloody hell!” she muttered, seeing 7:50 P.M. and all at once recalling what she’d intended to do. “Only a half-hour snooze, and I’ll be as right as rain” she promised her technicians two hours ago, unable to keep her eyes open. The night shifts were wreaking havoc with her sleep despite afternoon naps at home and Lisa’s tiptoeing around after school so as not to disturb her. “I want to get at the latest batch of gels,” she added, “so be sure to wake me.” They obviously hadn’t.

“Kathleen? It’s Dr. Julie Carr. Sorry to disturb you, but have I got news! It’s stranger than anything you could imagine.”

“Julie, from Hawaii?” she answered, struggling to sit up. Outside her window to the west of the Twin Towers she saw a slash of orange across a dark horizon marking the end of the day.

“That’s right,” the virologist replied. “It’s not even two here yet, and we just finished running confirmation studies on what we found in your samples from Hacket’s farm.”

“Really?” she answered, still a little groggy. “But why are you involved? And only a few weeks ago the chief technician told me my stuff had gotten bumped—”

“That was before the mistake, and it changed everything. Let me start at the beginning.”

“Mistake?”

“First of all, we found evidence of genetic vectors in the kernels of corn farmer Hacket had been using to feed the chickens,” said Julie, barging ahead. “The carrier portions were mostly made of cauliflower mosaic virus, but we picked out a few other types employing all the primers you and Patton included in your world study.”

“My God! So I was right—”

“We also found small fragments of bird flu H5N1 DNA in the hen droppings, this time using the restriction enzymes and primers for the virus that I got from the CDC in Atlanta.”

Sullivan’s brain snapped to full alert. “So we’ve got a case for my theory—the vectors and the H5N1 virus
were
in close proximity inside the chickens’ GI tract. Julie, that’s enough to publish. It gives my theory that the vectors made the H5N1 jump the species barrier much more credibility. Sydney Aimes, eat your heart out!” The flush of vindication sent her spirits soaring despite the grim prognosis that her discovery might hold for humankind. It was a macabre kind of ecstasy, she knew, a glow of accomplishment peculiar to doctors and scientists when they unearth a suspected truth even when the news is bad, but she relished it just the same.

“Hold it, gal. You ain’t heard nothing yet. I haven’t explained what happened after the mistake.”

“What mistake?”

“As you know, the people in the lab here were processing your stuff whenever they had time, and that meant the most junior personnel often ended up doing the work. A technician confused the primers, and added the one intended to demonstrate H5N1, the bird flu virus in the hen droppings, to the PCR machine while it was processing kernels of corn for vectors containing CaMV.”

“She what?”

“I know, it sounds silly, but that’s what happened.”

“So? She should simply have thrown the subsequent mix away and repeated the PCR—”

“That’s just it. She didn’t realize she’d made the error, and another technician ran the resulting fragments of DNA through an electrophoresis gel.”

“Wait a minute. What fragments of DNA? There shouldn’t have been any replication of any DNA if she used the wrong primer.”

“But there were fragments. Big long chains of them— all of it H5N1 DNA. That’s where our bird flu came from.”

“Pardon?”

“The H5N1 was in the corn, Kathleen! Brought there by a CaMV vector. Someone modified the corn with DNA from bird flu.”

“You’ve got to be kidding!”

“I couldn’t believe it, either.”

“But how did it get there? I can’t even imagine any way that someone could insert H5N1 into corn by accident.”

“They didn’t.”

“Huh?”

“Like you, I couldn’t conceive of how this had occurred. But when I looked at all these fragments of H5N1 and compared them to gels of the virus that the CDC sent me, I noticed that they didn’t add up to an intact specimen. At first I thought pieces might have been missing because of natural deterioration, but as the results from more kernels came in, I saw that the same fragments of DNA were absent each time. And when I gave these strands a proper viral coat and placed them in a culture media, they didn’t replicate. That’s when I realized what we were dealing with.”

“I still don’t get it.”

“Sure you do. Someone systematically removed those pieces of the DNA that let the virus replicate, Kathleen. They attenuated it, the same way we remove part of a virus to prevent replication when we want to make a regular vaccine, and still leave it intact enough that the surface proteins will stimulate an antibody reaction in the recipient. Except in this case, they made the modification on the level of the DNA itself.”

“Are you saying what I think you are?”

“The corn’s a genetic vaccine, Kathleen. A poorly made, highly dangerous genetic vaccine. Those birds on Kailua didn’t test positive for H5N1 surface protein and antibodies because they were sick. They tested positive because, unknown to us, they’d all been vaccinated against the infection through their feed. They’d incorporated the attenuated DNA into their own genes, manufactured their own supply of the virus’s protein coat, and mounted an immune response to it. If we’d done a lot of confirmatory procedures on the birds, we would maybe have picked up on it, but we had a dead kid on our hands and rushed to judgment. What can I say? Those chickens were still bloody dangerous—pooping out a vaccine loaded with long strands of near-intact H5N1 virus, all turbocharged with enhancers, promoters, and transposons. It’s no wonder a recombinant event between it and human influenza occurred, once little Tommy Arness inoculated his nose with the stuff. Hell, if we hadn’t killed the birds off, anyone else with the flu who handled them might also have incubated the hybrid, and we would have had a real epidemic on our hands.”

“My God!” Sullivan murmured.

“The shit’s really hit the fan over here,” Julie continued. “We’ve informed the Department of Public Health, they’ve notified the police, and since we all know that there’s only one outfit on the island sophisticated enough to be dealing in genetic vaccines, Biofeed has already received an official visit from the law. The subsequent denials that they’ve ever traded in that kind of product are flying out of the CEO’s office so loud you can likely hear them even in New York. Not surprisingly, a wall of company lawyers has formed around their records department, but the cops declared all documents in the place relevant to a possible case of negligent homicide—the death of the Arness boy—and word is they’ll access them by morning. Those same detectives are also reevaluating the murder at the Hacket farm and the attack on you in the context of someone trying to keep the cause of the child’s death from being found out. But I suppose you had your suspicions about that all along.”

“More so recently,” Sullivan replied, her mind already racing too far ahead to bother explaining about Rodez, Agrenomics, and Pizza Face. “Julie, can you courier me the restriction enzymes and primers for H5N1 you used?”

“Of course. Why?”

“Let’s just say that I may soon come up with a surprise of my own.”

After hanging up, she could barely contain her excitement. She especially wanted to tell Greg Stanton, at last having specific evidence that tied bird flu to the murders in Rodez and Oahu. When she reached him at home, she could hear the sounds of a party in the background. He nevertheless listened patiently, and when she finished, he said, “Well done, but I’ll need Dr. Carr’s reports in writing—to address the board about them. And when will you be running the tests for bird flu on the Rodez specimens?”

“I won’t receive the reagents until Monday morning when the courier gets them here. Expect the first results by midnight.”

“Great. And what are you going to do in the meantime?”

“I’ll be in the lab, trying to finish the current tests and preparing the samples we’ll need once those primers arrive.”

“Just don’t go making any preliminary announcements,” he ordered, and rang off.

Despite his warning, she thought, why not call Sydney Aimes and let
him
in on the good news? Picturing the spectacle of the man at the conference, his bald head and thick neck tumescent with rage, she began to imagine his reaction with relish. The big prick will look like an erection on legs.

But her sense of triumph over him quickly died. From the dark recesses where instinct and inarticulate fears lurked ever ready to infest her dreams, there escaped a remarkably lucid warning. As clearly as if someone had uttered a whisper inside her ear, she heard: He’s also going to become exceedingly more dangerous.

Better let Stanton handle him, she decided.

Instead she dialed Steve Patton’s number. Telling him tonight’s news would not only be a refreshing change from having nothing new to say for the last few weeks, it would give them something to focus on. These days their relationship seemed to have once more recovered to a stage where they could discuss work without being too awkward about it, and she wanted to nurture that progress. That’s why she promised herself to be very discreet as she savored the sweet taste of payback for his “I told you so” attitude in Honolulu.

His phone rang a few times longer than it usually took him to pick up, and when he did, she recognized a telltale throatiness that once would have been enough to send her into a fit of despair. But now, even as she caught his barely concealed breathlessness and an occasional grunt in the background, she actually experienced a sense of relief from knowing he was with another woman. Somehow it made her feel off the hook. For a second she even toyed with the idea of hanging up without saying a word and calling him tomorrow, when he said, “Kathleen?” and all the noise of having sex ceased immediately.

His Caller ID–unit had given her away. What the hell, she thought, I might as well fill him in on Julie’s discovery now.

Once she’d finished her account and explained what she had in mind for the Rodez samples, he said, “So your speculation turned out close to the mark after all. Congratulations, and please accept my apologies for criticizing you about it at the time.”

His magnanimous response pleased her. To her surprise, he then stayed on the line, seeming in no hurry to get back to his guest. Rather he started asking questions about the implications of genetic vaccines, what she thought their presence in Oahu might mean, and how they could be connected to Rodez, or Taiwan even.

She also noticed his voice quickly returning to its normal, nonaroused pitch. What must your bedmate think? she had the impulse to tease, but she behaved, glad to be out of the man’s private life. Focusing instead on answering his inquiries, she soon grew impatient, finding him slow on the uptake as she kept having to go over things two or three times. I guess I’ve gotten used to teaching the likes of Richard Steele, she thought. Not everyone can be as sharp and quick to the point as he is.

Poor Steve, she mused when he finally let her off the line. I guess I’m really free of you. The realization left her feeling a mixture of sadness and relief, and she found it strange how ordinary he now seemed.

Next she called Azrhan, to warn him that they’d have to clear the decks of all routine work on Monday.

“That’s fine, Dr. Sullivan. Do you need me this weekend, to help get ready?” His tone remained impeccably neutral, the way it had since their confrontation four days ago.

“Thanks, Azrhan, I could definitely use you tomorrow.” Her own reply smooth as glass, she rang off wondering if their relationship would ever be the same again.

Dialing Steele’s cellular number she found herself looking forward to his reaction, anticipating that his excitement over Julie Carr’s discovery would match her own.

“I’m sorry, but the person you have called is not available. Please leave a message,” intoned a computer.

“Damn!” she exclaimed out loud, then realized that she’d recorded her disappointment at not reaching him. “Sorry, Richard. I’m such a foul mouth. Please give me a call. I’ve got big news.”

She also felt a twinge of worry. He’d told her that he’d be driving up to Agrenomics today, in hope of getting some of the staff to talk with him. “I’ll spend a lunch hour with them. What could happen besides a little indigestion from eating at some greasy spoon?” she’d recalled him saying. An uneasy gnawing set itself up in her own stomach as she imagined him asking the wrong questions to the wrong person.

She called his house.

“Oh, it’s you, Dr. Sullivan,” greeted Martha, her tone disappointed as if she’d been hoping to hear from someone else.

“Is Richard back yet?”

“He phoned me this afternoon, saying not to worry, but that something had come up and he wouldn’t be home until very late. I thought it might be him calling now. Shall I have him phone you?”

“Yes, please, as soon as he gets in. Let him know I’ll be up all night in the lab.”

“Is it something serious?” she asked.

“No, not at all.”

The woman’s answering silence said she didn’t feel reassured. “That man! Telling me not to worry,” she grumbled after a few seconds.

“I’m sure he’s okay, Martha.”

An exasperated sigh came over the line. “Let’s both pray he is. And thanks, Dr. Sullivan. I’ll say you called.”

Now, what the hell have you gotten yourself into, Richard? she fretted after hanging up. Absently looking out her window, she saw the sunset had narrowed to a thin line of fire, its northernmost point piercing a swell of purple and black thunderheads like a flaming lance hurled into their core. White lightning flickered out from around its point of impact as if it had set off a celestial short circuit.