Chromosome 6. Chapter 1, 2, 3, 4
PROLOGUE
——–
MARCH 3, 1997
3:30 P.M.
COGO, EQUATORIAL GUINEA
GIVEN a Ph.D. in molecular biology from MIT that had been earned in
close cooperation with the Massachusetts General Hospital, Kevin
Marshall found his squeamishness regarding medical procedures a distinct
embarrassment. Although he’d never admitted it to anyone, just having a
blood test or a vaccination was an ordeal for him. Needles were his
specific bete noire. The sight of them caused his legs to go rubbery and
a cold sweat to break out on his broad forehead. Once he’d even fainted
in college after getting a measles shot.
At age thirty-four, after many years of postgraduate biomedical
research, some of it involving live animals, he’d expected to outgrow
his phobia, but it hadn’t happened. And it was for that reason he was
not in operating room 1A or 1B at the moment. Instead he’d chosen to
remain in the intervening scrub room, where he was leaning against the
scrub sink, a vantage that allowed him to look through angled windows
into both OR’s–until he felt the need to avert his eyes.
The two patients had been in their respective rooms for about a quarter
hour in preparation for their respective procedures. The two surgical
teams were quietly conversing while standing off to the side. They were
gowned and gloved and ready to commence.
There’d been little technical conversation in the OR’s except between
the anesthesiologist and the two anesthetists as the patients were
inducted under general anesthesia. The lone anesthesiologist had slipped
back and forth between the two rooms to supervise and to be available at
any sign of trouble.
But there was no trouble. At least not yet. Nonetheless, Kevin felt
anxious. To his surprise he did not experience the same sense of triumph
he had enjoyed during three previous comparable procedures when he’d
exalted in the power of science and his own creativity.
Instead of jubilation Kevin felt a mushrooming unease. His discomfort
had started almost a week previously, but it was now, watching these
patients and contemplating their different prognoses, that Kevin felt
the disquietude with disturbing poignancy. The effect was similar to his
thinking about needles: perspiration appeared on his forehead and his
legs trembled. He had to grasp the edge of the scrub sink to steady
himself.
The door to operating room 1A opened suddenly, startling Kevin. He was
confronted by a figure whose pale blue eyes were framed by a hood and a
face mask. Recognition was rapid: It was Candace Brickmann, one of the
surgical nurses.
‘The IV’s are all started, and the patients are asleep,’ Candace said.
‘Are you sure you don’t want to come in? You’ll be able to see much
better.’
‘Thank you, but I’m fine right here,’ Kevin said.
‘Suit yourself,’ Candace said.
The door swung shut behind Candace as she returned to one of the
surgeries. Kevin watched her scurry across the room and say something to
the surgeons. Their response was to turn in Kevin’s direction and give
him a thumbs-up sign. Kevin self-consciously returned the gesture.
The surgeons went back to their conversation, but the effect of the
wordless communication with Kevin magnified his sense of complicity. He
let go of the scrub sink and took a step backward. His unease was now
tinged with fear. What had he done?
Spinning on his heels, Kevin fled from the scrub room and then from the
operating suite. A puff of air followed him as he left the mildly
positive pressure aseptic OR area and entered his gleaming, futuristic
laboratory. He was breathing heavily as if out of breath from exertion.
On any other day, merely walking into his domain would have filled him
with anticipation just at the thought of the discoveries awaiting his
magic hand. The series of rooms literally bristled with hi-tech
equipment the likes of which used to be the focus of his fantasies. Now
these sophisticated machines were at his beck and call, day and night.
Absently he ran his fingers lightly along the stainless-steel cowlings,
casually brushing the analogue dials and digital displays as he headed
for his office. He touched the hundred-and-fifty-thousand-dollar DNA