Capitol Reflections (48 page)
“I hope you’re going to keep this simple,” said Mark, laughing. “I already need a translation.”
“Go on, Doctor,” said Gwen excitedly. “I think I see where you’re going.”
“When you first take high school chemistry, molecules are just flat stick figures of atoms,” explained Karn. “Later, you learn that they have three-dimensional form and that certain molecules, called chiral molecules, have mirror images of one another. The mirror molecules are made of the same atoms and are attached to each other in the same way, but they bend in a different direction. Let me offer an example. Your two hands work and look the same, and yet you can’t put your right hand into your left glove. They’re mirror images of each other.”
“Yes!” Gwen called out. “Stereochemistry!”
Karn clasped his hands as he surveyed his audience. “Jamie was trying to create abnormal stereo isomers in his coffee plants, the ones that Henry Broome eventually took to Hawaii and apparently planted on Lanai. The direction in which an isomer bends or rotates light has nothing to do with its function, but it’s the only way to distinguish one chiral form apart from the other. If light passes through a solution containing the molecule and bends clockwise, the isomer is positive, or dextrorotatory. If an isomer rotates the polarized light counterclockwise, it is negative, or levorotatory. To simplify matters, scientists use the shorthand notations of d and l for these molecules.”
“What’s the significance of the d or l?” asked Rick.
“At first glance, nothing,” replied Karn. “But think about something like the newest artificial sweetener, which is just the optical isomer of sugar. It tastes sweeter than sugar because it hits the same receptors, but you can’t break it down and get calories out of it.”
Rick frowned. “That didn’t help me as much as I think you thought it did.”
Gwen stood, barely able to contain her enthusiasm. “With your permission, Doctor?” she asked, glancing sideways at Karn.
“By all means, Gwen,” he replied. “We’re obviously on the same wavelength.”
“When molecules are synthesized in the lab, these isomers can sometimes be created in equal amounts, and result in what is called a racemic mixture. In nature, nearly all chiral molecules are created in the left-handed, or l form. The d form, or right-handed isomer, is usually inactive. There are exceptions, however. These exceptions surround molecules that bind to cell membrane receptors that are highly shape-specific. We’re talking about mirror images of the same molecules. Here’s the catch, though. Although the molecules are basically the same, the receptors don’t care what they’re made of, only their shape.” Gwen hesitated before she continued. “Neurotransmitters are essentially keys that fit certain receptor sites in the body’s nervous system. We’ve all heard of adrenaline and know its effect on the body. Adrenaline is just one of many neurotransmitters. Serotonin is another, one that seems to be intricately involved in sleep and depression. Most sleep aids and antidepressants now on the market affect serotonin levels in one way or another by blocking its receptor site.”
“Okay,” said Rick. “We understand that Jamie was a very promising chemist. What does this have to do with the mess we’re in?”
“The important thing to remember is that neurotransmitters must fit like a key into a lock. But ask yourselves—would a mirror image of a key fit a particular lock? No. The teeth of the key would be the same shape and height, but the angles of the teeth would be backwards.”
“What’s going on in Henry’s plants, Gwen?” asked Peter. “Are you saying that Jamie Robinson managed to alter the structure of caffeine, which is causing the seizures?”
“Not exactly, Peter, and here’s the really tricky part. The two isomers are still the same chemical. If Jamie found a way to get coffee plants to manufacture a d form of the caffeine molecule, it’s still caffeine.”
Peter rubbed his chin, shaking his head. “Then aren’t we back at square one?”
Gwen slumped. She rubbed her forehead. “I guess the first thing we need to do to find that out is confirm that Jamie’s plants do in fact make a d form of caffeine,” she said. “Then maybe we’ll be able to see what square we’re on.”
“If I may interject,” said Karn, “we also have the question as to how an undergraduate was able to pull off such an amazing feat as changing the basic isomer found in coffee. Even Kucherlapati, who was unaware of what plants Jamie was using in his experiments, said that he didn’t think the research was very relevant—or that Jamie stood a chance at being successful in reversing the chiral properties of a molecule, for that matter. I have to admit, however, that I’ve looked at some notes that corroborate that chromosome banding is sometimes seen in genetically modified foods. I was reminded of this at Van Rankin’s lab. Whether Jamie’s manipulations constitute such modification is unclear. It’s a gray area. I think we need to do two things. First, we need to access Jamie’s Apple once and for all.”
“I’ll do what I can to get in there,” Peter said.
“Second,” continued Karn, “we need some lab work to examine the isomers of the plant and bean.”
“Agreed,” said Mark. “But speaking as a layman here, shouldn’t we have Van Rankin analyze an actual cup of Pequod’s for comparison’s sake? After all, if coffee is the bad guy, then everything you and Gwen have outlined is going to show up in the actual product, correct?”
“I agree,” answered Karn. “Analyzing the coffee itself is crucial now. But we want to compare the actual liquid to the plant to see if this can be traced to Henry Broome.”
“Speaking of Broome,” said Rick, “what about Mickey Spangler and Jamie’s death? That doesn’t sound so accidental anymore. I wonder if anyone else died to promote Broome’s cause.”
“We have a lot to do,” Gwen said. “I’ll go with Dr. Karn to the NIH, which has a more sophisticated set-up than Van Rankin. I think the good doctor’s credentials should get us in with no problem. I’ll disguise myself if necessary. Peter and Jan can work on Jamie’s Apple here at the cabin. Mark and Rick can go to the New Jersey facility where Spangler is staying. Depending on what you find out, somebody may be calling on the attorney general very soon. We already have the Transpac files, which should be brought to his attention anyway. Surely there’s enough in what Mark and Peter brought back to launch an investigation into the dealings of Transpac, Pequod’s, Tassin, Randall, and Lanai, Inc.”
Peter interjected. “You’re forgetting that Mr. Stern here is currently regarded as a fugitive from justice, even though the federal agents were bogus.”
Mark shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. None of us should travel alone. I’ll go with Rick—lay on the floor of the car if I have to—and Rick can go inside the correctional facility to talk with Spangler.”
“Once more unto the breach,” Peter called out. “Of course, Jan and I have the easiest job. We stay here and play with a computer.”
67
“Mark!” cried Billy Hamlin. “I’ve been really worried about you. First you cut our Seattle visit short. Then you’re on the nightly news every evening. I, for one, place no credibility in all this business about narcotics possession, but what the hell is going on? Don’t you think it would be wise to hire a top gun lawyer and then turn yourself in?”
“Yeah, it’s been quite a ride,” Mark said into his cell phone. He was slouched in the backseat of the noisy Nissan as Rick drove to New Jersey to meet the dying Mickey Spangler. “But I’ll be fine. Things are clearing up even as we speak. In fact, I was calling to see if you could make it over to D.C. in the very near future. I want to do another extensive piece with you before my competition catches up. Besides, I think I can finally beat you at racquetball.”
“Just let me put you on hold a second, Mark, okay? You caught me in the middle of something.”
As he waited, Mark seethed in silence. He really wanted to beat the crap out of Billy Hamlin, but not at racquetball. The CEO was either an imbecile or he had played Mark all along—surely the latter. It was time to confront the Pequod’s head honcho and see what the all-American boy had to say for himself before Mark blew his company out of the water.
Billy kept Mark listening to muzak for several long minutes. Meanwhile, Mark imagined the conversation Hamlin was having with someone close by. “Yes, it’s Stern. He seems to be in the Washington area. Wants me to fly there to meet him. What an ass. Maybe the fool still trusts me. Thinks of me as an ally who’ll help get him out of hot water.” The minutes that elapsed told Mark that Hamlin was probably not his “best bud” anymore.
“Sorry, Mark,” said Hamlin when he finally came back on the line. “You know how it is … Look, I’ll be in Florida all day tomorrow, but I’m heading up the coast after that and I could swing up to D.C. on the way. How would that be?”
“That’ll be just fine, Billy.”
“Where will I find you?”
Mark laughed. “I’ll find you, Billy. See you in a day or two. Keep your cell on.”
Mark hung up quickly before Hamlin could offer any alternate plans. He couldn’t wait to see what wonderboy looked like unmasked. Mark usually knew how to size people up, but somehow Hamlin had slid under his radar.
“You okay back there?” Rick called out.
“Yeah,” said Mark. “Just dandy.”
Mark was plotting revenge in its most potent form—the column inch.
Gwen and Eddie had received the dubious honor of using Alex Morgan’s old Ford Bronco, left rusting away for years in the shed next to his lodge. It was even noisier than the Quest, and it shifted gears with a harsh grinding usually reserved for twenty-year-old farm trucks. Karn drove to SAMHSA, the Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration laboratories housed on the NIH campus in Bethesda, Maryland.
“Are you sure we’ll get in?” asked Gwen from behind her scarf and sunglasses.
“I worked pretty closely with the SAMHSA guys when I was with the FDA,” answered Karn. “My friend, Ted Gallagher, runs one of the labs on the main campus. Van Rankin has a respectable analytic setup at Quantico, but if we’re trying to figure out whether we’re dealing with chiral forms of caffeine or trying to isolate brain stem activity—well, Gallagher’s really the only game in town.”
Gwen nodded. “But can we trust anyone anymore? I don’t even feel safe being in public, let alone confiding controversial information to someone in the government. We already know that both the FDA and CDC have at least one person on the inside.”
“I wish I could give you some kind of guarantee, but we sure can’t make any headway back at the lodge. I can vouch for Gallagher, however. He hates political types. He’d never throw his lot in with people like Broome, nor would he compromise public safety.”
“Like I said before—I’m glad you’re on our side.”
“Thanks. This is all too ironic for me. I’ve seen my career go up in smoke for advocating more stringent regulation of genetically modified foods. Now, if Pequod’s is doing what we think they are, people might finally take the issue more seriously. It all depends on whether or not we can prove it.”
“D-caffeine?” asked a startled Ted Gallagher when they’d settled in his office. “You’re saying Pequod’s coffee beans contain the dextro form of the molecule? I’m not sure we even know if d-caffeine has any interesting properties since no one I know of has ever isolated it in sufficient quantities.”
“Exactly,” said Gwen.
Gallagher cocked his head and took in a deep breath. “No receptor site’s going to allow the little bugger to dock,” Gallagher stated in his down-home manner. “Can’t work.”
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