VIABLE (24 page)

The most obvious starting point was adrenaline. It was likely that any amounts of the chemical in his system immediately prior to the abduction would have been metabolized shortly afterwards. He hadn’t regained consciousness before the first sample had been taken and she had no reason to think it had been administered in the van by his abductors. But for an hour before the second sample had been taken he had been on an epinephrine drip to combat the hypotension caused by the transfusion. She’d checked the dosage from the hospital medical records while she explained to him what she was looking for, and then asked whether he minded if she tested his response to adrenaline. He’d shrugged, offering his arm. She’d quickly prepared an IV bag, reducing the dosage he had received at Mount Grant.

Half an hour later she had disconnected the IV and had taken another sample of his blood. It had taken her another twenty minutes to prepare a slide for the microscope, staining the sample with Oct-4, the marker that would identify whether his blood contained embryonic stem cells. When she was finished she had leaned over the microscope again, holding her breath. The blue splodges had been present as before, but this time there were a lot more with red marking their edges, showing that the number of hematopoietic stem cells had increased dramatically. But what had immediately caught her attention was the significant number of green areas that hadn’t been present in the first sample, the Oct-4 highlighting the embryonic cells that hadn’t been there before.

She had stepped back from the microscope, considering what she was seeing. She still didn’t understand how the cells were being formed - were they being created somewhere within his body or were other cells, possibly the HSCs, de-differentiating, regressing back to a simpler, more flexible, form? But had she identified the trigger? Was it as simple as increased levels of adrenaline? Logically it made sense. Adrenaline was released into the bloodstream as part of the body’s ‘fight or flight’ response to a perceived threat. What better way to kick-start preparations for repair and regeneration?

Before she got too carried away she had to demonstrate that it was in fact these embryonic stem cells that were responsible for his body’s ability to heal. Although totipotent stem cells were invaluable in studying the pathology of diseases, Alison knew that the only stem cell studies that had ever shown success in the treatment of any human disease had involved adult rather than embryonic cells.

The Biological Sciences Department at UC Irvine had developed a neuronal cell culture model of Alzheimer’s that she had used in her research and she had brought samples with her. What if she were to introduce a small sample of his blood to the Alzheimer’s culture? Excited by what she had already discovered that morning she had been instantly drawn to the idea. It had taken only minutes for her to prepare the sample. She had shown him the culture model through the microscope, explaining both the nature of the disease and what she was hoping to see. Alzheimer’s was caused by the destruction of the brain’s circuits as a result of the formation of plaques – fragments of protein - outside and around neurons as well as by the build up of neurofibrillary tangles – insoluble twisted fibers - inside the nerve cells themselves. The degradation of the cells that this caused, together with a dramatic shrinkage of neural tissue, gave rise to the problems experienced by those suffering from the disease. Any effective treatment would need to reverse the formation of the plaques and tangles, while also regenerating lost neuronal connections. She was looking for any improvement, however slight, in those symptoms.

She’d had no idea how long she would need to leave the culture before she might expect to see results. Cody had suggested that they get some lunch while they waited and they had left the lab, finding an Italian restaurant just off campus that was open. But while they had waited for their food to arrive she had started to have doubts.

The more she had thought about it, the more she had begun to think she had become carried away by her discovery.  It was true that scientists had had some success transplanting stem cells from a patient’s own blood and bone marrow, subsequently stimulating those cells to differentiate into neural cells in order to treat the disease. But even if adrenaline was indeed the trigger for the production of embryonic stem cells in his blood, what she had done was incredibly crude. There were any number of reasons why it might not work.

They had finished their food and returned to the campus. By the time they were back in the lab she had already convinced herself that the experiment with the cell culture had been a waste of time, and had begun a more detailed examination of the hematopoietic and embryonic stem cells in his blood, trying to identify the features of his cells that allowed adrenaline to trigger the reaction she had witnessed.

Cody had decided to take a walk while she worked. It had been turning dark when he had returned an hour later. Alison had been engrossed in her work and he had wandered over to where she had set up the cell cultures that morning, leaning over the microscope to see whether he could spot any changes. After a few moments he had called her over, moving out of the way so that she could look for herself.

For a moment she had peered into the microscope, silent, barely able to believe what she was seeing. There were far more neurons than there had been before, each plumper, less fibrous, the protein deposits nestling between them much less pronounced. In a matter of hours the damage to the neurons caused by the disease had largely been reversed and it even seemed that new neural pathways were forming. When she had finally managed to drag herself away and look up she had realized there were tears running down her face. She didn’t understand how yet, but somehow, somewhere within his blood lay the cure for the disease that had taken her father from her.

Now she sat on the bed in the small motel room, her mind still grappling with the implications of what she had found, the enormity of the discovery threatening to overwhelm her. She had so much to do, and there was no time to waste. Hundreds of people died every day from Alzheimer’s in the United States alone. And even for those not yet in the final stages, the progression of the disease was relentless. Even though Cody’s blood seemed capable of curing the physical aspects of the disease she knew that it could not cure the psychological. Computerized x-ray tomography and fMRI scanning had shown that memories, the cornerstone of human personality, were initially encoded in the hippocampus, before eventually being transferred to the more complex frontal lobe, its widely distributed neural network more adept at long-term storage and retrieval. But once the substrate in which memories were stored was destroyed those memories were lost forever. Alzheimer’s attacked the hippocampus first and most severely, later progressing to other regions of the cortex, causing those tissues to shrivel and atrophy. Every day that she now delayed converting what she had discovered into a workable cure those suffering from the disease would lose a little more of themselves to the disease, a portion of their personality gone forever.   

There were so many problems she would need to overcome. Would a single dose of his blood be sufficient to permanently cure the disease, or would constant transfusions be necessary? And how would they even deliver the cells from his blood into the system of an Alzheimer’s patient? The vascular system that fed the brain was the most obvious choice – no cell in the central nervous system was more than forty microns away from a capillary. But whatever was causing the healing would still need to pass through the blood-brain barrier, assuming it was small enough to fit through. And then there was the danger of auto-immune rejection – the risk that a patient’s body might react badly to his blood. Although as Cody’s blood type was
hh
, making him a superuniversal donor, that issue was likely to be manageable with a minimum of immunosuppressant medication.

Alison forced herself to remain calm. The important thing was that there was a cure. She would work harder, as hard as was necessary. Once she revealed her findings funding would no longer be a problem; she would have whatever resources she needed. Whatever the issues that needed to be worked out, she knew that solutions would ultimately be found. The disease that had killed her father, that she had dedicated most of her life to fighting, would inevitably be conquered. She hadn’t even begun to consider what other diseases his cells might be capable of curing, or how those cells might also be responsible for the fact that he didn’t age, or for the other extraordinary abilities he possessed.

On the way back to the motel he had raised the possibility that adrenaline might also account for how his body seemed to be able to develop itself. Each time there had been an improvement in his faculties it seemed to have been preceded by an extended period of stress. He had first realized he was able to memorize large amounts of information shortly after he had started school; he remembered as a small boy being afraid of the punishment he would suffer at the hands of the teachers at the orphanage if he couldn’t complete his schoolwork. His distance vision had improved dramatically shortly after he had started flying in Korea. He could recall the apprehension he had felt on those first missions when someone in the flight had called out the MiGs and he hadn’t been able to see them. He was certain his night vision and his hearing had both improved after the first weeks he had spent in the jungles of Vietnam, every nerve on edge as he had strained to see or hear any sign of the enemy in the darkness. If you accepted that adrenaline was the trigger for his recuperative abilities it certainly seemed logical. Something else for her, or others, to explore. There was enough work to keep an army of scientists busy for months, years.

What an incredible day.

Alison checked her watch. It was getting late. She should call her mother to let her know she was okay, that she would be out of contact for a few days and not to worry. She dug in her bag, looking for her cell phone, remembering at the last minute that Cody had warned her not to use it. She considered putting the battery back in – it would only take a minute to make the call – but then decided against it. There was a payphone outside in the parking lot. She emptied her purse onto the bed and grabbed some change.

Outside the air felt heavy, the smell of approaching rain. She walked across the empty lot to the phone. She unhooked the handset from its cradle, fed a couple of quarters into the slot, listening as they rattled down, dialing the number from memory. The phone rang once and then a man with a foreign accent answered. She was about to apologies for having called the wrong number when he used her name.

‘Doctor Stone?’

What was a stranger doing in her mother’s house? Why had her mother not picked up the phone?

‘Yes. Who are you? Where is my mother?’

The man ignored the question.

‘Listen very carefully Doctor Stone. Your mother is with us. For now she is unharmed. If you want her to remain that way you will do exactly as I say.’

30

THE
PUNGENT
SMELL of ammonia brought Alison around suddenly, the vapors from the capsule that had been broken under her nose burning the membranes of her nasal passages. She inhaled sharply, pulling her head back, away from the smell, her eyes already tearing.

She blinked several times, her eyes adjusting to the dim light, still groggy. Where was she? She heard a movement behind her and tried to turn around, but she was restrained, thick velcro straps binding her forearms and calves to the sturdy metal chair in which she was sitting. She felt cold, noticing for the first time she was only wearing her underwear. A small, white-walled room, no windows. A desk pushed against the wall in front of her, on top of which sat a monitor and what looked like a portable defibrillator, one of those machines that delivered electric shocks to restart the heart after a person had suffered a heart attack. She shook her head. What had happened? Was she in hospital?

All of a sudden a cold panic shot through her, flushing the final remnants of the drugs from her system as the memories came flooding back. The telephone call. They had her mother. She had led them to the motel where she and Cody had been staying. They had given her something and then she had blacked out. She tried again to look around, straining her neck to see who was behind her, but the straps were too tight.

‘Doctor Stone, I see you’ve come around.’

A man’s voice, but soft, high pitched. He spoke English well but the accent was foreign, maybe Central or South American.

‘Who are you? What am I doing here?’

She tried her best to sound indignant, outraged, but it was hard to keep the fear from her voice.

The man walked around to stand in front of her. He was older than his voice suggested, maybe sixty, perhaps a few years older, and short, several inches shorter than she. He wore a pristine white lab coat over a shirt and tie. His skin was olive and he had a small moustache, neatly trimmed, but otherwise he was almost completely bald, only a few thin strands of hair carefully slicked back above his ears. He wasn’t fat, but full cheeks and jowls and a paunch pushing against the belt of his trousers suggested he lived well. He didn’t speak for a while, his dark eyes examining her carefully underneath half closed eyelids.

‘You are here because you have certain information that my employer wishes to know. All that you need to know about me is that I have some experience in extracting information from people who may not wish to disclose it.’

Alison didn’t know what to say. She felt her pulse race, her heart pounding in her ears. Had she heard him correctly? Was he really threatening to torture her? It was the sort of thing that only happened on TV, in the movies. It didn’t happen to people in the real world, to people like her. She realized suddenly how naïve she had been. She knew what Cody represented, what he was worth, and that others were after him, had already tried to kidnap him once. How stupid had she been not to appreciate the danger they were in? He had realized it. She should have just let him go. Instead she had convinced him to stay, to help her. And now because of her they had him again, and her mother as well.