Mutant (15 page)

“Now about this business of Richard Steele,” continued the man at his side, breaking a silence that had seemed to go on forever.

Tuesday, May 23, 6:55 A.M.

It had been a summons, not an invitation.

“I’d like to see you for a breakfast meeting, Dr. Sullivan,” Greg Stanton had told her over the phone last week. “How’s Tuesday morning at seven?”

She shivered as she made her way through the darkened deserted hallways leading to his office, but not from cold. The Bunker, generations of medical students had labeled this place. It sat atop a twenty-story obelisk otherwise filled with labs and classrooms where these would-be doctors got their basic training in medical sciences before being set loose on patients in the hospital. From it emanated the decisions that regulated their daily existence, shaped their subsequent residency choices, and in some cases whether or not they even had a career in medicine.

But the latest batch of these healers-in-training wouldn’t flock around their professors on the floors below and settle in for yet another day of their four-year journey until an hour later, at eight. And the administrators who kept the process running would stream into the carpeted offices she now hurried past no sooner than a half hour after that. A 7:00 A.M. appointment with the dean, she knew, usually meant that he wanted no one else around to hear the yelling or crying he expected from whatever nasty or particularly sensitive matter he intended to discuss.

“Good morning, Dr. Sullivan,” greeted Greg Stanton after she’d knocked on his open door. He stepped out from behind his massive rosewood desk and crossed an expanse of taupe-colored broadloom to shake her hand. The smell of fresh coffee filled the air, and she spotted a sterling pot alongside a plate of croissants on a table nestled amongst a quartet of beige sofa chairs. The really brutal encounters, she’d learned from other victims of these early sessions, didn’t include breakfast. So it must be simply a sensitive topic, she guessed, somewhat relieved.

“Morning, Greg, and please, it’s Kathleen,” she replied, determined to keep their encounter on a first-name basis. A veteran of unequal power relationships in the world of academic medicine, she always found that a touch of informality never hurt, and that sometimes it could tip the unlevel playing field a little to her advantage. As nice as Stanton had appeared to be in his previous dealings with her, the authority of his office over her work and professional standing remained absolute, and that left her instinctively wary of him.

“Of course. Kathleen it is, then,” he replied, offering her a place to sit. “Coffee?”

She accepted the cup he poured for her, measuring his expression for any hint of unpleasantness to come, but his hard blue eyes and polite smile remained inscrutable. As usual he’d dressed to impress, sporting an impeccably tailored tan suit and aqua shirt, which suited his complexion. Around the faculty club a few wags would refer to him from time to time as “the model.” When he caught her studying him, she quickly rallied, “You look wonderful, Greg. Obviously you don’t let the pressures of this job interfere with your swimming,” and settled back, signaling her readiness to hear what he had to say.

He took the chair opposite her, not bothering to take a coffee for himself. “I’ll come right to the point,” he began. “Since your meeting in Hawaii I’ve taken a lot of flak—mainly on account of your sensationalist speculation about genetically modified food being linked to that case of bird flu they had over there a year and a half ago.”

She instantly tensed. “Now wait a minute. That meeting has nothing to do with you. I was named chairperson by the UN independent of my faculty appointment here—”

“I know, I know!” he cut in. “But the biotechnical industry doesn’t make such fine distinctions. In short, a group of CEOs represented by that asshole Sydney Aimes have insisted on a retraction, or they threaten to withdraw their endowments to our school, which, I’m sure I don’t have to tell you, are considerable.”

“That’s blackmail!” she sputtered, already bolt upright at the edge of her chair.

“Yes, and I’m mad as hell about it, too. But the University Board of Directors has tied my hands. Either you comply, or I’m to demand your resignation.”

At first she couldn’t speak, his blunt ultimatum so took her breath away. “You’d sell out academic freedom like that, Greg?” she finally squeaked. “I don’t believe it!”

“Of course I wouldn’t. And I’d support you to the hilt if you had a shred of proof to back your claims. But you haven’t produced anything concrete, Kathleen. And you didn’t help your credibility any, sneaking out to that farm in the middle of the night. The bloody press made you look like an amateur sleuth rather than a reputable scientist. Thank God at least you weren’t hurt.”

His rebukes made her cheeks burn. “Why? Would my getting killed have lost you even more endowment money?” She sprang to her feet, determined to walk out on him.

“That’s a cheap shot, Dr. Sullivan!” he said, rising and stepping to bar her way. “You know I’ve always promoted you and your work, and I intend to continue doing so now. Frankly, I’m shocked you don’t know me better than to think I’d bow to that kind of pressure.” He ended his stern reproach with a carbon copy of the smile he’d first greeted her with and gestured for her to retake her seat. “Now sit down, and let’s figure a way out of this mess. It so happens I share some of your fears about the vectors they’re using to swap genes these days.”

She paid attention only to his eyes. Their cool gaze told her nothing.

“Please, Kathleen,” he added gently, as if the harshness of his outburst had never occurred, “give me a chance to help. Your cause is too important to lose you over something like this.”

She hesitated, cooling her temper and calculating whether she should trust him. Again she considered her past experience with the man. Just as he claimed, he’d always been a supporter of her research and her presence in the medical school. But through her discoveries and publications, along with her high profile, she’d generated her own fair share of endowment money over the years as well. How much would he stand up for her now that she threatened to become a financial liability? She knew he’d certainly done his share of taking an ax to the place, but that was the norm in all medical schools during this age of cutbacks. Nevertheless, she’d listened to the expected grumblings about his ruthlessness from some of those whose programs he’d chopped. And if he’d ever stood up to the pressures of the buck and the board to take a moral stand, she’d certainly not heard about it. The fact that he dressed like a successful stockbroker didn’t boost her confidence any that he would do so. “What do you have in mind?” she asked, remaining on her feet.

He gave his instant smile again, making her suspect he’d practiced it before a mirror. “Is there anything you can show me that will back your claims about genetic vectors being infectious to humans?” he demanded, his eyes flashing with eagerness. “Even if it’s only a preliminary result, I could take what you have to the board and use it to argue your case. For instance, I inferred from the newspaper articles that you actually gathered some specimens on your escapade to that farm, before all hell broke out. Are you analyzing them?”

Her researcher’s instinct not to divulge data prior to publication—honed from years of guarding against plagiarism amongst colleagues—prevented her from answering immediately. “Why, yes,” she finally admitted, figuring Stanton didn’t pose that kind of risk. In fact, not cooperating with him could prove more dangerous to her career than any copycat ever had. “They’re being analyzed at Honolulu University. We ought to know in another three or four weeks whether we’ve got any rogue strands of DNA indicating the presence of a man-made vector, but I think a find there is a long shot.”

He grimaced. “Would you be willing to give me a report immediately if you do get anything that even suggests you’re on the right track? I’d keep it confidential, of course, but with something in hand, I’ll be in a position to not only insist that this
is
an issue of academic freedom after all, but that . . . let’s see . . . how shall I put this so it will sound good for the board?” He paused, making a show of searching the ceiling as if the right words might be hidden there. “ . . . Your unorthodox way of getting the samples in the first place is a credit to your scientific doggedness, not a symptom of your being . . .” Trailing off again, he stared straight at her, flashed her a grin both wicked and wide, and then added, “Shall we say,
flaky
?” He let loose a low chuckle that seemed to fill the room.

For the first time since she’d entered his domain, she saw his eyes give a spark of amusement to match the ever-ready pleasantry of his mouth, and she at last started to feel a bit more at ease. “Flaky?” she said, playfully cocking an entire side of her brow at him.

“Not that
I
think you are, of course,” he quickly countered, the merriment still in his face. “It’s the impression the media gave.” Then his visage darkened. “Of course, Richard Steele’s fiasco didn’t help you any. If he hadn’t gotten himself in such a scandal, the press probably would have handled your story with more respect. I apologize for foisting him on you. Obviously the man’s judgment is still in the toilet.”

The sudden criticism caught her off guard. “What do you mean?” she said, finding herself rising to Steele’s defense. “His judgment at the conference seemed fine.” Surprised at how protective of him she felt she added, “Hell, if one tenth of your profession caught on to the issues as fast as he did, we might finally have some medical organizations speaking out officially in support of our concerns, instead of the shameful silence that’s been the norm so far. And what that poor woman did, along with his being with her, had nothing to do with poor judgment—” She abruptly checked herself, seeing a look of astonishment on Stanton’s face at her outburst. “Sorry, it’s just that he did a fine job with us, and the way they attacked him in the media seemed so unfair. I figure the last thing the poor guy needs is someone else bad-mouthing him.” She paused. “What’s his story, anyway, I mean besides his heart attack?” She tried to sound offhand.

“His wife died nearly two years ago, and he doesn’t seem able to get over her death.”

“Oh!” she exclaimed, somehow not having expected that answer. Divorce, maybe; that he’d become a workaholic and driven his family away, yes; but not that the woman in his life was dead. He seemed so close to her own age that the possibility he’d already suffered that kind of loss hadn’t crossed her mind.

“I thought the conference and the issues would be the perfect opportunity for him to make himself useful again,” Stanton continued. “Have you talked with him since you got back?” His voice sounded pained.

“No. He left a message on my machine, apologizing for causing so much embarrassment for everyone, but when I tried to reach him—a dozen times at least in the last week—to tell him he’s got nothing to apologize for, he didn’t take my calls. How is he?”

“Who knows? The man won’t speak with me, either.” He sighed, and studied her as if making a calculation in his head. “Are you interested in him, by any chance?”

“No!” she countered far too quickly, feeling her face redden. And what business is it of yours if I am, she very nearly added, but held her fire. She’d begun to sense more to Stanton than his being worried over a troublesome staff member. “Dr. Steele seemed a nice man, but sad,” she continued, retreating into formality. “I felt sorry for him is all, and still do, even more so, now that you’ve explained what he’s been struggling through. But why do you ask? Is he your friend?”

“He was. I don’t know what we are now. To make matters worse, Aimes also seems determined to make an even bigger example of him.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s demanded Richard be fired outright, and he’s not offering him a way out the way he did to you.”

“What? I can see Aimes coming after me, but why take such a hard line with Steele?”

“Because he can get away with it, for starters. The board is already furious at Richard for all the sordid headlines he generated. In practically every article or news item the reporters stressed his affiliation with the university and New York City Hospital, and that kind of negative publicity boils down to fewer endowments. For that reason alone, they’re more than ready to carry out Aimes’s demand.”

“The creeps!”

“But Aimes’s real motive, I suspect, is to provide a warning shot to any other high-profile medical authority who may be thinking of adding his or her voice to a call for controls on genetically modified foods. No offense, but while everyone has gotten used to environmentalists and geneticists raising a ruckus from all the fuss they’ve made in Europe, respected American physicians starting to sound the alarm—now that would be a whole new order of PR problem for Aimes’s clients. People listen to doctors, especially homegrown ones. That’s why Aimes wants him dismissed for his part in making ‘unsubstantiated, unscientific slander.’ So you see, poor Richard is in more trouble than you are, given the mood the board’s in.”

She felt aghast. “Can’t you protect him?”

His posture seemed to crumple inside the snappy clothes. “Who knows?” He shrugged, looking defeated. “Even if I could save him from those jerks, which I don’t know is possible anymore, I can’t protect the man against himself.”

“Pardon?”

“Before his heart attack, his staff found him increasingly difficult to work with. They only tolerated him because’s he’s such a brilliant clinician. But even if he’s found medically fit, he can’t go back to ER and continue to behave the way he has.”

Her incredulity grew. “You mean he could actually lose his job even without Aimes’s help?”

“Oh, God, I hope not, but it looks bad—” He stopped and drew himself erect. “I really can’t discuss this with you,” he coolly announced.

“Sorry, it’s just that during the bit of time Dr. Steele and I talked, he gave me the impression—well, that his work seemed all he had.”

Stanton now appeared uneasy, perhaps even embarrassed in front of her. “Do we have an understanding about your keeping me informed of your test results or not?” he asked, his take-charge tone back in full force.