The Proteus Cure (31 page)

“It saved my son Coogan’s life,” Paul said. “I’ll be eternally grateful for that, but—”

Kaplan grimaced. “There’s always a ‘but,’ isn’t there.”

“Afraid so. And my ‘but’ is that KB-twenty-six changed him.” Paul held up a hand as he saw Kaplan’s mouth begin to open. “I know what you’re going to say. Just like Sheila you’re going to tell me it’s impossible. I have no scientific proof, but that’s what I feel, that’s what I
know
on some deep, fundamental level.”

“I wasn’t going to contradict you. I was going to tell you that you’re right. KB-twenty-six cured most of its recipients, but it made startling, unforeseen changes in some of the survivors.” He looked down at his hands. “The curse of unintended consequences.”

Paul knotted his fists. He’d been right … all along he’d been right.

“Tell me about it.”

Kaplan sighed. “All the KB-twenty-six stem cells were embryonic and all O-negative.”

“Coogan is O-neg.”

Kaplan nodded. “Of course he is. All the recipients are. They changed to that type if they didn’t have it before. But let’s get back to the unintended consequences. We assumed that, like the primates, the human recipients would change to O-neg. No big deal. Happens in some bone marrow transplants and the important thing was that all the survivors were alive and cancer free. We’d achieved the intended consequence.” He leaned back. “Then other changes came to the fore.”

Paul nodded. “In hair and such.”

“Right.” Kaplan sighed. “Not in all the kids. And the parents weren’t complaining—their kids hadn’t had
any
hair during previous chemotherapies, and post-chemo changes in hair color and texture aren’t uncommon. They couldn’t care less. But I could. The changes worried me. So I did a full chromosomal analysis on the three children with the most obvious changes.”

Kaplan hesitated, and Paul didn’t prompt him.

Because suddenly he wished he were somewhere else, wished some
one
else was sitting here. For though he knew what Kaplan was going to say, knew that it would only confirm his suspicions, he didn’t want to hear it.

Yet knew he must.

“And?”

“They all had the same DNA. Not just in their blood but in their tissues as well. Biologically and genetically, your son is not your son.”

Bill was readying to leave his office when the phone rang. Marge had gone for the day. He glanced at the blinking button. His first instinct was to ignore it. Whatever it was could wait.

Unless it was Shen.

He picked up and heard the Asian voice that was becoming too familiar.

“I have followed the man, sir. He is visiting other man in Marblehead.”

“Can you get close enough to hear what they’re talking about?”

“Hard to hear in rain, but I press ear to window and hear man say talk of something called ‘KB-twenty-six.’ Is this of help?”

Help? Dear God, no. Anything
but
help.

Bill couldn’t fathom it. Kaplan was tying a noose around his own neck. Had he completely lost it?

He tugged at his hair, wanted to pull it out. What to do? He had to silence Kaplan—and Rosko too, now that he knew. But how? He couldn’t have Shen eliminate both of them. That would raise far too many questions.

Had to be a way … had to be—

And then he remembered the background report and what it contained about Rosko. An idea began to form.

“Shen, these two are a threat to everything. When I tell you about Rosko, you’ll agree he has to be stopped. And there’s a way to take care of both of them in one fell swoop.”

“I do not understand ‘one fell swoop’ but I do understand what you will want from me.”

“Good. I—”

“A hundred thousand dollars.”

“What?”

“A hundred thousand dollars and I listen to one-fell-swoop plan.”

“That’s double what I paid last time!”

Shen didn’t answer, just waited.

He’s blackmailing me. But what other options do I have?

“Fine. A hundred thousand. Listen. Here’s what I want you to do …”

Paul shook his head. Kaplan had said it. No going back now.

“But how?”

“The donor stem cells moved out of the marrow and into the general cell population.”

Paul was following. “But we all have stem cells, right?”

“Yes. We all start out as one cell, then two, then four, and so on in a geometric progression. The early cells are stem cells—that means unspecialized but with the potential to change, to differentiate into any of the various tissues and organs that make up a human being. That’s what we mean by ‘omnipotential.’ All your organs started out as stem cells, but just because you’re fully formed doesn’t mean their work is done. They keep multiplying and replacing damaged cells in various organs throughout the body. They’re the basis of tissue regeneration.”

Paul was beginning to see. “The KB-twenty-six cells took over regeneration duties from the recipient’s own stem cells?”

“Exactly.”

“But how come that doesn’t happen with a bone marrow graft? That’s a form of stem-cell therapy, right?”

Kaplan’s eyebrows rose. “You’re more medically informed than I thought.”

Paul didn’t tell him that he was repeating what Sheila had told him.

“Whatever. Marrow recipients don’t morph into their donors. How come those cells don’t go out and take over?”

“Because they’re semi-specialized—they’re
blood
stems. They create blood cells. KB-twenty-six was a modified strain of omnipotential
embryonic
cells that have the capacity to change into any type of cell in the body. The process I used to make them antigenically neutral—so the recipient’s immune system wouldn’t attack them as invaders—apparently wrought other changes. The KB-twenty-six cells were aggressive multipliers. Wherever tissue regeneration was needed, they pushed their way in and did the work.”

“I don’t—”

“The new cells, carrying their own DNA, dominated. They took over everything. Your son is not who he was before the KB-twenty-six therapy.”

Paul felt queasy. That was what had been going on in Coog all these years. It wasn’t in his head. He
had
changed.

“How come that didn’t happen in the primates?”

“It might have, but we didn’t keep them around long enough. We sacrificed them for autopsy. Everything looked fine.”

“Why didn’t you tell anybody?” Paul said, fighting a flare of anger. “If I’d known back then—”

“What? What would you have done?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, I do. You would have sued me. Not immediately, but once you got over the thrill of having him alive and well, you’d start thinking about how he was becoming less and less the child you’d fathered, and how, by the time he fathered his own kids, there’d be very little of you left in him. Your grandchildren would be as genetically related to you as your next-door neighbor’s.
Then
you’d call a lawyer.”

Paul couldn’t see himself in that scenario, but he could easily imagine others doing just that.

“Still, you should have told us.”

“To what end? The process is irreversible.”

“Then why are you telling me now?”

Kaplan’s gaze shifted. “To clear my conscience. I did the right thing, the ethical thing by halting the trial. I wanted to go public with the rest, but I couldn’t. I just … couldn’t.”

Paul didn’t know whether to believe him or not.

“You said it’s irreversible. But that doesn’t mean it’s unstoppable.”

“No, it doesn’t. And I might have been able to find a way to stop it, but I was never given the opportunity. When I stopped the clinical trial my backers howled. But I held firm: No more KB-twenty-six until I’d found a way to prevent the cells from taking over. The result? They yanked their financial rug out from under me. You know the rest: bankruptcy, no more Kaplan Biologicals.”

“Do you know anything about Innovation Ventures these days?”

Kaplan shook his head. “No, and I don’t want to.”

“Then you don’t know that they funded VecGen’s startup.”

Kaplan looked as if he’d been slapped. “The bastards! When I pulled KB-twenty-six, they pulled the plug on me and locked me out. They must have gone through my computers and dug out my method for modifying the stem cells.”

“But why then would they allow this Lee Swann to buy up the assets?”

“Probably just a front man. They wanted me to think that Kaplan Biologicals was history, dead and gone, and KB-twenty-six with it. But they used my processes and procedures to start VecGen.”

It didn’t hold together for Paul.

“But … if they ferreted out your secrets, then they’d also know about the genetic changes. Why would they risk the suits, the public outcry?”

“They must have stem cells from a collection of genomes, and they try to match the source phenotype as closely as possible to the recipient—hair, eyes, complexion, general features.”

Paul wasn’t buying this.

“But there’s no such thing as a perfect match. People would have to notice changes after a while.”

“Not necessarily. An adult’s bone structure—the skeleton, shape of the head, facial features—are all pretty well set. Match hair and eye color, skin tone, and so on, and no one will ever be wiser. But in a child it is a different story.”

Paul nodded. “Because they’re still developing. That’s why VecGen won’t treat kids.”

“Exactly. But they screwed up in the case of Tanesha Green and that other patient Doctor Takamura mentioned. When she confirmed my guess that another patient was having changes the opposite of Tanesha Green, my suspicions were confirmed. Obviously someone fumbled and the stem samples got switched: the black genotype meant for Green wound up in a white woman, and a white genotype wound up in Green. Thus the hair and skin changes, which were only the beginning.”

“Why them first?”

“Because skin and hair follicles have a high cell turnover. That’s where the phenotype of the invading genotype would make its first appearance.”

“But what about memories. The brain is a tissue. Wouldn’t it be replaced? My son—what’s left of him—still remembers things from his early childhood. Wouldn’t memories be lost?”

Kaplan shook his head. “Your neurons stop reproducing shortly after birth. They make new connections all the time, but when they die they’re not replaced. The supporting tissues around them will be replaced, but you’ve still got the same neurons you were born with. So in the sense of shared experiences, your son is still your son. But in every other sense …” He shrugged.

Paul leaned back, dazed. “It’s like science fiction, like—like
Invasion of the Body Snatchers
or mad scientists creating a master race.”

“Except that I understand they’re treating all races.”

“Right. Then what’s the rationale?” Paul didn’t get it. He shook his head. “Whatever the purpose, the project is doomed. Sooner or later more people are going to notice too many changes and start asking questions.”

“You mean like Tanesha Green and her counterpart?”

“Yes. And then the whole house of cards comes tumbling down.”

“Not if the complainers are silenced.”

Paul stared at him. “Jesus! You don’t think—?”

Kaplan shrugged. “The two people who could bring down the VecGen house of cards died within a week or so of each other. Make of that what you will. I know it frightens me. I’m also someone who could expose them. That’s why I’m getting out of town. Tonight.”

Two deaths that Kaplan knew about. But what about the attempt on Sheila’s life?

Kaplan leaned forward. “Two threats are dead, and one—yours truly—is disappearing for a while. That leaves three loose ends: you, your son, and your lady friend.”

“But we’re not involved.”

“Of course you are. Coogan is evidence, and Doctor Takamura—she knows too much. And now so do you.”

Paul felt the muscles at the back of his neck begin to bunch. Coog … Sheila … in danger?

Kaplan sighed. “I’m not taking any chances. Neither should you. Play it safe: Stop nosing around, stop pushing this inquiry into your son’s changes. Be happy he’s alive and well and get on with your life.”

Paul shook his head. “I don’t think I can do that. Sheila won’t stop until she’s got all the answers.”

“You
have
all the answers. I just gave them to you.”

“Won’t be enough. Sheila will want to blow the whistle. And she will.”

Kaplan smiled. “That was what I figured.”

And suddenly it was all clear.

“
That’s
why you’ve told me all this! You want Sheila and me to act as lightning rods! You know we won’t let it rest, so you run off with your tail between your legs and wait to see if anything happens to us!”

Paul wanted to smash a fist into the center of Kaplan’s marshmallow face.

Kaplan must have read that because he scooted farther away on the couch.

“No-no. You’ve got it wrong. I’m giving you the facts because you deserve to know. What you do with them is your business.”

Paul shot to his feet. He told himself
Don’t lose it, don’t lose it
, but his fuse was lit and burning fast.

“If you’d done due diligence there’d be no foreign DNA taking over my son’s body, or anybody else’s.”

“They didn’t give me the chance. At least your boy’s alive!”

“
Someone
’s alive, but he’s no longer the child I fathered. He’s someone else. The boy I fathered is as good as
dead
!” He jabbed a finger at Kaplan’s frightened face. “And
you
killed him!”

Paul knew he was feeling too crazy to allow himself within reach of Kaplan, so he backed away. Couldn’t touch Kaplan, but he had to break something, anything.

His chair. He picked it up and hurled it at the nearest wall, gouging the paint where it struck.

“If anything happens to Coog or Sheila,” he said as he stormed toward the door, “I’ll find you and I’ll—” Don’t say it, he thought. Don’t. “You’ll be to blame!”

“No,” he heard Kaplan say. “
You’ll
be to blame.”

•

Paul’s wipers beat at top speed but still it was hard to see. Damn rain. Enough already. He sped through a huge puddle. Thoughts raged—not simply with anger, but he felt so damn confused.