The Orion Plan (15 page)

She turned right and started walking down a long corridor. The cancer center occupied the entire block between 67th and 68th streets, and the corridor connected the main hospital building on the east side of the block with the neighboring buildings on the west side. Dorothy had never gone this way before, but it looked a lot like the rest of the hospital. The color scheme was soothing, mostly beige and white. The walls were decorated with quaint pictures of birds. She passed a room full of vending machines—Coke, candy, chips, ice cream—then turned a corner and found herself in a sleek corridor with more offices and no patient rooms. The doors on both sides of the corridor were made of blond wood, and each had a small identifying sign:
IMMUNOLOGY
,
DEVELOPMENTAL BIOLOGY
,
MOLECULAR BIOLOGY
.

Dorothy shook her head as she read the signs on the doors, wondering what went on in the laboratories behind them. She'd taken a biology course when she was a freshman in college, but that was forty years ago. Everything she'd learned had probably been proven wrong since then. She finally came to the end of the corridor, and the sign on the last door said
CELL BIOLOGY
. She wasn't sure how cell biology differed from molecular biology or developmental biology, but for some reason she felt a powerful surge of curiosity. She needed to see what was inside that lab. It seemed much more worthwhile than getting another PET scan. The scan might tell her how much time she had left, but she didn't really care about the
when
of her death—she cared about the
why
. She wanted to know more about the thing that was killing her.

She opened the door and stepped inside. It was a big windowless room divided into four sections by long Formica-topped workbenches. Several microscopes and computers sat on the workbenches, and on the shelves above them was an assortment of vials and flasks. There were also a few sinks and a couple of big freezers and lots of high-tech equipment that Dorothy couldn't even begin to fathom. The lab looked clean and well-organized but not very busy. She poked her head into two of the sections and saw no one working in them. She guessed that the scientists preferred to do their experiments late at night, so they probably didn't start work until later in the morning.

The third section was empty too, but when Dorothy looked into the fourth she saw someone sitting in front of a computer at the far end of the workbench. It was a young African American woman, in her late twenties or early thirties, dressed in a white lab coat. On her computer screen was a picture of a colorful clump that looked a bit like a ball of yarn. The woman stared at the thing with the utmost concentration, as if trying to unravel it. Dorothy felt a sudden rush of pride—she was delighted that the first scientist she saw was black. The woman was so focused on her clump that she didn't notice Dorothy at first, but after a few seconds she turned her head and jumped a bit in her chair.

“Oh, my,” she muttered, catching her breath. “You gave me a scare. Can I help you?”

Dorothy stepped toward her. The young woman's hair was a mess but her face was quite pretty: full lips, chiseled cheekbones, gorgeously arched eyebrows. In Dorothy's younger days the sight of such a pretty face would've been enough to make her jealous, since her own face was so homely and her figure was nothing to brag about. But now, thank the Lord, she was free of the sin of envy. Now she could truly appreciate this beautiful creature God had made. But she didn't want to scare the poor girl any more than she already had, so instead of talking about God and beauty Dorothy pointed at a nearby chair.

“I'm sorry, can I sit down for a minute?” She dropped her canvas shoulder bag on the floor. “This hospital is so big, you can get lost in it. I've been riding up and down the elevator and walking down the hallways.”

The woman's eyes widened with concern. “Of course, sit down! Are you feeling ill? Should I call for an aide?”

“No, no, I'm fine. I just need to get off my feet.” Dorothy slumped into the chair and let out a sigh. “Ah, that's better. I'm truly, truly sorry for interrupting your work. Are you a scientist, dear?”

“Uh, yes, I'm a postdoc, a medical researcher. Dr. Naomi Sanford.” Her tone was polite but wary. “So do you have an appointment at the hospital?”

“I certainly do. I'm supposed to get another scan today. But to be honest with you, Naomi, I don't really feel like going. That's why I've been wandering around so much, I guess. I've been putting off the inevitable.”

“Yes, I understand.” She nodded, but her expression was more impatient than sympathetic. She clearly wanted to get back to her work. “But I'm sure your doctor has a good reason for ordering the scan. It's going to help him treat you.”

“Not in my case, I'm afraid. You see, I have pancreatic cancer and it already metastasized. So what's the use of another scan?”

Naomi bit her lip. She was a medical researcher, so she probably knew the mortality rate for that type of cancer. “I'm so sorry.” She looked at Dorothy more intently, similar to the way she'd stared at the clump on her computer screen. “You know, Sloan Kettering has a counseling center that offers services to all patients. Can I call the center for you?”

Dorothy shook her head. She didn't need counseling, at least not from the hospital's psychologists. Instead, she stared at Naomi's workbench. Next to her computer was a flask of bright red liquid, the same color as cherry Kool-Aid, and beside the flask was an odd-looking tray made of clear plastic. The plastic was indented with six cups, like a muffin tray, but each cup was more than three inches wide and only an inch deep. And in each shallow cup was a thin coating of the bright red liquid. Dorothy felt a strange fluttering in her stomach as she stared at the thing.
This is important,
she thought.
You have to ask about this.

She pointed at it. “Is this medicine, dear?” She looked at Naomi and smiled. “Are you working on a cure for cancer?”

The young woman smiled back at her, but it was a sad, tired smile. “No, it's not medicine. We're still a long way from a cure, unfortunately. But we
are
working hard.” She tapped the tray. “This is called a cell culture plate. It has six wells, and in each one we're growing colonies of stem cells. That liquid is the growth medium, and the colonies are attached to the bottom of the well.”

“Stem cells? I think I've heard of them before, but I can't remember what they are.”

“They're tiny miracles. That's the best way to describe them.” Naomi leaned back in her chair. “The inside of a human embryo is full of stem cells. They have the ability to turn into any kind of body tissue—skin, muscle, nerves, bone. They're the key to human development, how a microscopic embryo becomes a baby.” She pointed at Dorothy, then at herself. “And adults have stem cells too, especially in the bone marrow. They're constantly producing new blood cells, because we need a whole lot of them.”

Naomi gestured with great vivacity, waving and pointing as she spoke, and her face got even prettier. She obviously enjoyed talking about her work. And Dorothy grew more and more impressed. She wanted to keep the conversation going for as long as possible. “Can stem cells cure cancer? Is that why you're growing them?”

“Well, stem cells are already used in some cancer treatments. For leukemia patients we inject stem cells into their bone marrow to replace the ones killed by radiation and chemotherapy.” She tapped the cell culture plate again. “But the real goal is figuring out how stem cells work. Stem cells and cancer cells are very similar. They're both like the Superman of cells—adaptable and fast-multiplying and hard to kill. But even Superman has a weakness, right? If we can learn what makes the cells so tough, then maybe we can also discover their vulnerabilities.”

Dorothy muttered, “Amazing!” but she was reacting more to Naomi herself than to the research she'd just described. The young woman was so passionate about her work, so fiercely dedicated. And the fact that she was African American made her all the more precious. For Dorothy, who'd struggled for decades to get the Episcopal church to pay more attention to racial equality, the existence of someone like Naomi was a sign from God. It was proof that a black woman could do
anything
. It was such a joyous sight that Dorothy started to cry.

She reached into her shoulder bag and found a Kleenex. “Forgive me, dear. What you're saying is so wonderful, I'm overcome.” She dabbed her cheeks, wiping away the tears. “Your work is a blessing. It's going to help so many people.”

Naomi furrowed her brow. She looked a little uncomfortable, thrown off balance by Dorothy's reaction. “I … I don't want to give you the wrong idea. This research is just beginning. It might take years to learn something useful from the experiments.”

Now Dorothy was crying too hard to speak. The power of her feelings surprised her. She realized there was another reason for her emotional turmoil, and it had nothing to do with race or religion. It was more personal and painful. Dorothy had always wanted a daughter. When she looked at Naomi she saw the child she'd dreamed about for so many years. She could've had a daughter just like this one, a golden girl to love and cherish. All of it would've been possible if only she'd made wiser choices.

While Dorothy wept, Naomi tactfully turned away and kept herself busy. She fitted a clear plastic lid over the cell culture plate, then carried it to a steel cabinet that looked a bit like a dishwasher. She opened the cabinet's door and put the plate on a shelf that already held a stack of plates just like it. Then she closed the cabinet and returned to her chair. After another half minute she turned back to Dorothy and gently touched her shoulder. “You really should go to your appointment,” she whispered. “Even if it's a waste of time. Otherwise, they'll worry about you.”

Dorothy's crying subsided. She dabbed her cheeks again and took a couple of deep breaths. She felt better now, much better, because she'd just had a revelation. In the midst of her sorrow she'd heard the Lord's voice. It was loving and soft, so soft only Dorothy could hear it. He didn't speak to her in human words; no, he spoke in pictures and signs and thoughts and emotions, but she understood him just the same. He'd told her there was a way to redeem her life, to fix everything that was broken. And it was so simple, so easy. The Lord had told her exactly what to do.

She raised her head and looked Naomi in the eye. “Yes, dear, you're right. I'll go get the scan. But could you do me a favor? I'm very thirsty.”

Naomi stood up. “Would you like a cup of water?”

“I know it's unhealthy, but I'd actually prefer a cola.” Dorothy reached into her shoulder bag and pulled out a handful of quarters and dimes. “I saw some vending machines on my way over here. Could you please get a can of Diet Coke for me? I'll feel better after a few sips, and then I can go.”

She extended her arm, offering the handful of change. Naomi stared at it for moment, clearly reluctant. The vending machines were pretty far down the corridor, in one of the neighboring buildings, at least a two-minute walk away. But after a couple of seconds she scooped the quarters and dimes out of Dorothy's palm. “I'll be right back,” she said. “Just don't touch anything, all right?”

“Thank you, dear.”

Dorothy waited until Naomi left the laboratory. Then she rose from her chair and went to the steel cabinet that looked like a dishwasher. She opened the cabinet and felt a blast of warm air on her face. The air was drier than what you'd expect from a dishwasher, and after a moment she realized it was an incubator. A stack of nine cell culture plates sat on the shelf, warmed to human body temperature.

She reached for her shoulder bag and made some room by dumping out her magazines and the box of Kleenex tissues. Then she removed the stack of cell culture plates from the incubator and carefully placed it in the bag. Luckily, she didn't have to worry that the stem cells would die of cold. The temperature outside was pretty darn close to 98.6 degrees.

Hoisting the bag to her shoulder, she went to the laboratory's door and opened it. She looked up and down the corridor but didn't see Naomi. So she turned right, away from the vending-machine room, and headed for the bank of elevators.

As she left the cancer center and walked down the broiling street, Dorothy composed another prayer:
Lord, please help me to understand your plan. I don't know why you asked me to betray that young woman, but I'm sure you have your reasons. And even if I still can't understand your reasoning, Lord, give me the faith and courage to accept it anyway. Give me the strength to carry out your will.

Amen.

 

ELEVEN

Sarah met Con Edison inspector Gino Torelli at noon near the western end of Dyckman Street, within sight of the soldiers and police cars. He drove there in a specially modified vehicle, a pickup truck with video cameras on both sides of the truck bed. Extending from the back of the vehicle was a foot-wide pod-shaped device, encased in hard white plastic. Sarah recognized it because she'd seen similar devices on cruise ships and airliners. It was a directional antenna, one that could detect extremely faint radio waves.

Colonel Gunter had set up the meeting, and fortunately he'd been discreet. He hadn't asked Sarah why she was so interested in the power surges in Inwood. He'd simply warned her not to reveal any classified information. After contacting Torelli and scheduling the rendezvous, the colonel escorted Sarah to the checkpoint in front of the marina and ordered the soldiers to let her leave the restricted area. He also did her the favor of not mentioning the meeting to General Hanson. If Hanson had known about it, he probably would've asked Sarah a few questions she wasn't ready to answer yet.