couple of days seemed insignificant. The future was bright and full of
promise.
But then near disaster came out of nowhere. Distracted by his victory,
Raymond almost stepped from the curb into the path of a speeding city
bus. Wind from the hurling vehicle blew off his hat while filthy gutter
water sprayed the front of his cashmere coat.
Raymond staggered back, dazed from his narrow escape from what might
have been a horrible death. New York was a city of sudden extremes.
‘You okay, buddy?’ a passerby asked. He handed Raymond his dented
fedora.
‘I’m fine, thank you,’ Raymond said. He looked down at the front of his
coat and felt ill. The episode seemed metaphorical and brought back the
anxiety he’d experienced over the unfortunate Franconi business. The
muck reminded him of having to deal with Vinnie Dominick.
Feeling chastened, Raymond crossed the street with much more care. Life
was full of dangers. As he walked toward Sixty-fourth Street, he began
to worry about the other two transplant cases. He’d never considered the
problem an autopsy posed to his program until the Franconi dilemma.
All at once, Raymond decided he’d better check the status of the other
patients. There was no doubt in his mind that Taylor Cabot’s threat had
been real. If one of the patients happened to be autopsied sometime in
the future for whatever reason, and the media got hold of the results,
it could spell disaster. GenSys would probably drop the whole operation.
Raymond quickened his pace. One patient lived in New Jersey, the other
in Dallas. He thought he’d better get on the phone and talk with the
recruiting doctors.
CHAPTER 9
———
MARCH 5, 1997
5:45 P.M.
COGO, EQUATORIAL GUINEA
‘HELLO!’ Candace’s voice called out. ‘Anybody home?’
Kevin’s hand flinched at the unexpected noise. The lab techs had long
since left for the day, and the laboratory had been silent save for the
low hum of the refrigeration units. Kevin had stayed to run another
southern blot analysis to separate DNA fragments, but at the sound of
Candace’s voice, he’d missed one of the wells with the micropipette. The
fluid had run out over the surface of the gel. The test was ruined; he’d
have to start again.
‘Over here!’ Kevin yelled. He put down the pipette and stood up. Through
the reagent bottles atop the lab bench, he could see Candace across the
room, standing in the doorway.
‘Am I coming at a bad time?’ Candace asked as she approached.
‘No, I was just finishing up,’ Kevin said. He hoped he wasn’t being too
transparent.
Although he was frustrated about the wasted time he’d spent on the
procedure, Kevin was pleased to see Candace. During lunch that day, he’d
worked up the courage to invite Candace and Melanie to his house for
tea. Both had accepted with alacrity. Melanie had admitted that she’d
always been curious to see what the house looked like on the inside.
The afternoon had been a big success. Undoubtedly, the key ingredient
for the afternoon’s success was the personalities of the two ladies.
There was never a pause in the conversation. Another contributing factor
had been the wine that they’d all decided upon instead of tea. As a
member of the Zone’s elite, Kevin was given a regular allotment of
French wine which he rarely drank. Consequently, he had an impressive
cellar.
The major topic of conversation had been the U.S., a favorite pastime
for temporary American expatriates. Each of the three had extolled and
argued the virtues of their hometown. Melanie loved New York and
contended it was in a class all its own; Candace said that Pittsburgh’s
quality of life was rated one of the highest; and Kevin praised the
intellectual stimulation of Boston. What they had purposefully avoided
discussing was Kevin’s emotional outburst at the commissary during
lunch.
At the time, both Candace and Melanie questioned what he’d meant by
being terrified of overstepping the bounds. But they didn’t persist when
it became clear that Kevin was overly upset and reluctant to explain.
Intuitively, the women had decided it best to change the subject, at
least for the time.
‘I’ve come to see if I can drag you over to meet Mr. Horace Winchester,’