Seizure (44 page)

“Good girl!” Daniel said as he rang the bell.

It was Stephanie's turn to roll her eyes. Under normal circumstances, she would never tolerate such a condescending, sexist appellation.

Carol Manning opened the door. She smiled and was superficially friendly, yet Stephanie sensed an underlying nervousness and distraction, as if she was a kindred spirit in their present situation.

Ashley was sitting on one of the couches with porpoise arms, although Daniel and Stephanie didn't immediately recognize him. Gone were the dark suit, plain white shirt, and conservative tie. Even the signature dark-rimmed glasses had been abandoned. He was wearing a short-sleeve, bright green, Bahamian-print shirt, yellow pants, and white leather
walking shoes with a matching belt. With his pasty, pale, hairy arms, which suggested they had never seen the light of day, much less the sun, he was a caricature of a tourist. His blue-tinted, trendy sunglasses curved around the side of his face like those of a professional cyclist. Also unique was a fixity of facial expression that Daniel and Stephanie had not seen before.

“Welcome, my dear, dear friends,” Ashley spouted in his familiar accent but with an unfamiliar, less modulated voice. “You are a sight for sore eyes, like the cavalry charge in the nick of time. I cannot describe the joy I feel seeing your handsome, intelligent faces. Excuse my not leaping to my feet to greet you appropriately, as my emotions dictate. Unfortunately, the clinical benefit of my medication wears off decidedly more quickly since we last met.”

“Stay where you are,” Daniel said. “We are glad to see you as well.” He stepped over to shake hands with Ashley before taking a seat on the couch across from him.

After some indecision, Stephanie sat next to Daniel and tried to smile. Carol Manning preferred to sit apart, having turned the desk chair around to face into the room.

“After such limited communication during the past month, my belief in your ultimate appearance here was based mostly on faith,” Ashley admitted. “The only encouraging clue that progress was being made was the considerable and relentless drain on the funds I put at your disposal.”

“It has been a Herculean effort in more ways than we would care to explain,” Daniel responded.

“I hope the implication is that you are prepared to proceed.”

“Most definitely,” Daniel said. “In fact, we have made all the arrangements for the implantation to take place tomorrow morning at ten
A
.
M
. at the Wingate Clinic. We hope you are prepared to move ahead so quickly.”

“It can't be too soon, as far as this old country boy is concerned,” Ashley said, becoming more serious, with only a vestige of his usual Southern accent. “I'm afraid I'm on borrowed time, keeping my degenerative infirmity from the media.”

“Then it is in our mutual interest to get the implantation done.”

“I am to assume you have been able to complete the arduous process of making the treatment cells you described a month ago.”

“We have,” Daniel said. “Mostly thanks to the skill of Dr. D'Agostino.” Daniel gave Stephanie's knee a squeeze.

Stephanie temporarily managed a slightly broader smile.

“In fact,” Daniel continued, “over the last week, we have created four separate cell lines of dopaminergic neurons that are clones of your cells.”

“Four?” Ashley questioned with no accent whatsoever. He was regarding Daniel with an unblinking stare. “Why so many?”

“The redundancy is merely a safety net. We wanted to be absolutely certain we at least had one. Now we can choose, since all would be equally efficacious to treat you.”

“Is there anything I need to know about the morning, other than getting my sad body out to the Wingate Clinic?”

“Only the usual preoperative restrictions, like no solid food after midnight. We would also prefer you not to take any of your medication in the morning, if it is at all possible. With our mouse studies, we saw rapid therapeutic effects after implantation, and we anticipate the same for you. Your Parkinson's drugs would mask this.”

“Fine by me,” Ashley said agreeably. “The last thing I want to do is confuse the issue. Of course, the burden will be on Carol to bear the brunt of getting me dressed and down to the limo.”

“I'm certain the hotel will have a wheelchair we can borrow,” Carol said.

“Am I to assume from the proscription of food after midnight that I will be having anesthesia?” Ashley asked, ignoring Carol.

“I have been told the anesthesia will be local, with heavy sedation,” Daniel said. “An anesthesiologist will be in attendance, with the option of deeper anesthesia if it is needed. I should tell you we have retained the services of a local neurosurgeon who has experience doing this kind of implant, although certainly not with cloned cells. His name is Dr. Rashid Nawaz. He knows you as John Smith, as does the Wingate
Clinic, and both have been apprised of the need for discretion, and both are fine with that.”

“It seems you have attended most admirably to all the details.”

“That was our intention,” Daniel said. “Following the procedure, we will recommend you remain in the Wingate Clinic's inpatient facility so we can closely monitor you.”

“Oh?” Ashley questioned, as if surprised. “For how long?”

“At least overnight. After that, it will be as your clinical course dictates.”

“I have counted on returning here to the Atlantis resort,” Ashley said. “That is why I made arrangements for you all to stay here as well. You can monitor me to your hearts' content. You are just down the hall.”

“But the hotel lacks medical diagnostic equipment.”

“Like what?”

“What a normal inpatient facility has, like laboratory services and an X ray.”

“X ray? Why an X ray? Are you expecting complications?”

“Absolutely not, but it is only prudent to be careful. Remember, for lack of a better word, what we are doing tomorrow is experimental.”

Daniel cast a quick glance at Stephanie to see if she wanted to add anything. Instead, she briefly rolled her eyes.

Acutely sensitive under the circumstances to any nuances, Ashley caught Stephanie's reaction. “Do you have a more appropriate term, Dr. D'Agostino?” he asked her.

Stephanie hesitated a moment. “No. I think experimental is quite accurate,” she said, while in reality, she thought
foolhardy
would be closer to the truth.

“I hope I'm not detecting a subtle negative undercurrent here,” Ashley said, as his eyes switched back and forth between Daniel and Stephanie. “It is important to me that I feel you researchers are as positive about this procedure as you were in my hearing room.”

“Absolutely,” Daniel declared. “Our experience with our animal models has been nothing short of amazing. We could not be more excited and eager to bring this godsend to humankind. We are looking forward to treating you in the morning.”

“Good,” Ashley said, but his unblinking eyes zeroed in on Stephanie. “And you, Dr. D'Agostino? Are you in a like mind? You seem rather quiet.”

There was a brief silence in the room, broken only by the distant squeals of delight from children rising from the crowded pools and waterslides thirty-two stories below.

“Yes,” Stephanie said finally. She then took a breath to give her time to pick her words carefully. “I'm sorry if I seem quiet. I suppose I am a bit tired after all that we have gone through to create your treatment cells. But, to answer your question, I am of a like mind in that I can say without qualification I'm excited to finish the project.”

“I am relieved to hear you say so,” Ashley remarked. “That means you are happy with these four cell lines you have cloned from my skin cells?”

“I am,” Stephanie said. “They are definitely dopamine-producing neurons, and they are . . .” She paused as if searching for the right word, “ . . . vigorous.”

“Vigorous?” Ashley questioned. “Hmmm. I'll assume that is advantageous, although it sounds rather vague to this layman. But tell me: Do they all contain genes from the Shroud of Turin?”

“Most assuredly!” Daniel answered. “But it was not without considerable effort on our part to get the shroud sample, extract the DNA, and reconstruct the necessary genes from fragments. Yet we did it.”

“I want to be sure about this,” Ashley said. “I know there is no way for me to check, but I want to be certain. It is important to me.”

“The genes we used for HTSR are from the blood on the Shroud of Turin,” Daniel said. “I give you my solemn oath.”

“I will take your word as a true gentleman,” Ashley said, his accent suddenly returning. With great effort, he got his bulky, stiff body up from the couch to a standing position. He extended his hand toward Daniel, who had also gotten to his feet. Once again they shook hands.

“For the rest of my life, I shall be beholden to your efforts and scientific creativity,” Ashley said.

“As I shall be to your leadership and political genius in not banning HTSR,” Daniel responded.

A wry smile slowly spread across Ashley's otherwise expressionless face. “I like a man with a sense of humor.” He let go of Daniel's hand and then extended his toward Stephanie, who'd stood when Daniel had.

Stephanie regarded the proffered hand for a moment, as if debating whether to take it or not. Ultimately, she did and felt her own hand enveloped by Ashley's in a surprisingly powerful grip. After a stiff, prolonged shake and an extended moment of staring into the senator's unblinking eyes, she tried to retrieve her hand, without success. Ashley held on firmly. Although Stephanie could have guessed the episode was a reflection of the senator's Parkinson's disease, her immediate reaction was sudden, irrational fear of being permanently ensnared by the man as a metaphor of her involvement in the whole madcap affair.

“My heartfelt gratitude for your efforts as well, Dr. D'Agostino,” Ashley said. “And, as a gentleman, I feel I must make a confession of being enchanted by your considerable beauty from the first moment I had the pleasure of seeing you.” Only then did his sausage-shaped fingers slowly release their formidable hold on Stephanie's hand.

Stephanie clasped her now closed fist against her chest, lest Ashley try to grab her again. She knew she was continuing to be irrational, but she couldn't help herself. At least she managed a nod and a half smile in acknowledgment of the senator's compliment and professed gratitude.

“Now,” Ashley stated. “I demand you doctors get a good night's rest. I want you both well rested for tomorrow's procedure, which you have led me to assume will not be a lengthy affair. Is that a fair assumption?”

“My guess would be an hour, perhaps a little more,” Daniel said.

“Glory be! A little more than an hour is all that modern biotechnology needs to bring this boy back from the precipice and career disaster. I am impressed. Praise be to the Lord on high!”

“Most of the time will be spent fitting you with the stereotaxic frame,” Daniel explained. “The actual implantation will only take a few minutes.”

“There you go again,” Ashley complained. “More
incomprehensible doctor's jargon. What in heaven's name is a stereotaxic frame?”

“It is a calibrated frame that fits over your head like a crown. It will enable Dr. Nawaz to inject the treatment cells into the exact location where you have lost your own dopamine-producing cells.”

“I'm not at all certain I should be asking this,” Ashley said hesitantly. “Am I to believe you will be injecting the treatment cells directly into my brain and not into a vein?”

“That's correct,” Daniel started to explain.

“Hold it right there!” Ashley interrupted. “I'm afraid at this point the less I know, the better. I am an admittedly squeamish patient, especially without being put to sleep. Pain and I have never been compatible bedfellows.”

“There will be no pain,” Daniel assured the senator. “The brain has no sensation itself.”

“But a needle has to go into my brain?” Ashley asked in disbelief.

“A blunt needle, to avoid any damage.”

“How in God's name do you get a needle into someone's brain?”

“A little hole will be made through the bone. The approach in your case will be prefrontal.”

“Prefrontal? That's more doctor gobbledygook.”

“It means through the forehead,” Daniel explained, pointing to his own forehead just above his eyebrow. “Remember, there will be no pain. You will feel vibration when the hole is made, somewhat like an old-fashioned dental drill, provided you are not asleep from the sedation, which happens to be a strong possibility.”

“Why aren't I going to be definitely asleep through all this?”

“The neurosurgeon wants you awake during the actual implantation.”

Ashley sighed. “That's quite enough!” he remarked, raising a trembling hand protectively. “I felt better laboring under the delusion the treatment cells went into a vein like a bone-marrow implant.”