Chromosome 6 by Robin Cook. Chapter 1, 2, 3, 4

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

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