by Robin Cook
Jack stopped reading and looked back at the mention of the Zhao Heart Center. “My word,” he said aloud. “This Zhao guy gets around.”
Going on to read the rest of the website, Jack found himself progressively more impressed, which considerably surprised him. Although he hadn’t admitted it to himself, he had been prepared to have a negative feeling about the place. Yet the hospital sounded as if it was an island of healthcare excellence out in what he envisioned were the backwoods compared with NYC.
Jack’s positive reaction to the Dover Valley Hospital stimulated a curiosity about the facility’s owner, the company GeneRx. Jack had never heard of it, which wasn’t terribly surprising, as he was not oriented toward business, particularly businesses relating to healthcare. GeneRx sounded as though it was definitely healthcare-oriented, and probably related to gene therapy, according to its name.
Typing “GeneRx” into his browser, Jack was in for yet another surprise. It wasn’t in the same category as the donor heart and the recipient having the same CODIS result, but it was surprising nonetheless. GeneRx on its website was described as an up-and-coming biopharmaceutical company totally owned by a Chinese billionaire by the name of Wei Zhao, the same man Jack had just complimented as “getting around.”
Reading on, Jack learned that although the company had only a few products on the market currently, it had almost a dozen in phase III trials, all of which were expected to be available within a year or two. Looking at photos, Jack could see it was a sprawling, modern facility that had most likely been designed by the same architects who had done the Dover Valley Hospital. Looking further, Jack could see that the complex included a farm, aptly called the Farm Institute, in the same architectural style. Jack knew enough about current bioscience to know that the cutting edge in drug development was proteins such as monoclonal antibodies. Although these proteins were originally made laboriously by cell culture, now they were often made in bulk by farm animals such as goats, sheep, pigs, and chickens. Using the latest methods of genetic manipulation, such as the gene-editing technique CRISPR/CAS9 to add genes or to remove them, these familiar barnyard animals were turned into transgenic, living bioreactors producing the desired drugs in their milk, eggs, or blood.
Fascinated, Jack next focused his search on Wei Zhao. In a fraction of a second there were millions of hits. Jack might not have heard of Wei Zhao, but a lot of other people obviously had. Most of the articles were about biotech and the pharmaceutical industry. A number were in Chinese. Glancing down the links, Jack found a promising Wikipedia article and clicked it open. There was more material than he wanted because he knew he needed to get home, so he skimmed it. Even the highlights were riveting.
Wei Zhao had been born in 1960 in Shanghai, China, to parents who were academics at Fudan University but also landowners. It was being landowners that was their downfall, as the family became targeted by students during the Chinese Cultural Revolution. Although only six years of age at the time, Wei was banished along with his parents to the countryside, where the parents were forced to work the land. All three almost starved. But as a resourceful teenager who was willing to accept the dogma and emulate the Red Guards, Wei ended up back in Shanghai, where he eventually managed to be admitted into the Shanghai Jiao Tong University. There he applied himself and studied biotechnology with a particular emphasis on pharmaceutical manufacturing. Seeing a future in generic drugs on the world stage, he founded his first company at age twenty-five and never looked back. He was a millionaire by thirty and a billionaire by thirty-five as he expanded into all aspects of the pharmaceutical industry. It was at that time that he expanded his operations into the United States and founded GeneRx in Dover, New Jersey.
Jack’s mobile phone pulled his attention away from his reading. A quick glance confirmed the worst: It was Laurie, and he immediately felt guilty. Another glance informed him it was after six. He answered with a manufactured cheerful hello.
“Why aren’t you home?” Laurie demanded. Jack could tell she was stressed, which he could have guessed would be the case. He wondered if it had to do with the “company” but resisted asking.
“Still at the grindstone,” Jack said instead, trying to be cute. “I’ve made some progress on the subway case. I now have a name, even if I don’t have a confirmed diagnosis.”
“I need you here,” Laurie said, not taking the bait.
“I’m on my way,” Jack said. “I’ll be home in twenty minutes or so.”
“Don’t take any unnecessary risks,” Laurie cautioned. “I wish you’d use Uber or Lyft. I hate to think of you on that bike in traffic.”
“It would be twice the time by car,” Jack said, trying to help her see the bright side.
“At least you’d be in one piece.”
After appropriate goodbyes, Jack grabbed his bomber jacket and headed for the back elevator.
16
TUESDAY, 6:40 P.M.
Once again, there was a good turnout on the basketball court, Jack noted, as his route home brought him past the neighborhood park. It was obvious people intended to take advantage of the string of decent days the city had been experiencing. That day the high had been in the sixties, despite it being the beginning of November. Most important, Jack could see that Warren was already there. Jack had hoped his friend would be playing that evening, because Jack had a big favor to ask and wanted to do it in person.
After crossing the street, Jack carried his bike up his front stoop and deposited it in its usual location. Then he started up the main stairs. The closer he got to the apartment door, the more he wondered what he was going to find. Could Laurie have invited someone over who might get Dorothy to leave? Jack didn’t know, but he thought it couldn’t hurt to be optimistic.
Once inside the apartment, Jack paused to listen. He was pleased when he heard no TV sounds emanating from the guest room. He even noted that the guest room door was slightly ajar and the light was switched off. But then, as he started up the next flight of stairs, he began to hear the evening news coming from the family room TV. That was not a good sign, as he knew Laurie was not a network news fan, nor was Caitlin.
As Jack’s line of vision crested the family room floor while he mounted the fifth flight of stairs, he caught sight of the people sitting on the gingham upholstered couch, and he slowed. To his horror, it was not only Dorothy but also her husband, Dr. Sheldon Montgomery, a retired Park Avenue cardiac surgeon. Both were glued to the television. It was apparent they had yet to see or hear him. As Jack reached the top of the stairs he could see that Dorothy was again in her bathrobe, meaning she was not going anyplace, and, equally distressing, Sheldon was similarly attired, but with the addition of a silk cravat.
Jack glanced over to the kitchen area and stared at Caitlin. In contrast to the Montgomerys, she was looking directly at him and rolled her eyes for his benefit. Turning his head, Jack looked into the playpen. Again, Emma was silently sitting in it with her beanbag toys lined up. Like she had the previous evening, she was constantly rolling her head and staring into space, seemingly locked in her own world.
Jack walked over to the playpen. As he did so, Dorothy caught sight of him and with a smile raised and briefly flapped the fingers of her right hand in a kind of constricted royal wave that Jack associated with Queen Elizabeth. Sheldon also nodded in Jack’s direction. Then both Montgomerys redirected their attention back to the news, despite it currently running a commercial. Jack looked back at Caitlin, and out of the Montgomerys’ line of sight, he hooked his thumb in their direction and flashed a questioning expression with arched eyebrows. Caitlin responded by closing her eyes and shrugging, suggesting she didn’t quite know what was happening.
Jack spent a few minutes talking with Emma and stroking her. He got no response but didn’t expect any. Then he continued down the hall toward the study that he shared with Laurie. He found Laurie and JJ at Laurie’s desk. They were busy doing
an art homework assignment.
“Hey, Tiger,” Jack said as he tapped JJ’s shoulder with his fist. Intent on his maneuvering with a pair of scissors, JJ didn’t respond. Jack then bent over and gave Laurie a peck on the cheek.
“At least you got home safely,” Laurie said. She reached up and gave Jack’s arm an affectionate squeeze. “That’s one thing less on my mind.”
“Can I talk to you for a moment?” Jack asked.
“Talk away,” Laurie said. She then put glue on the back of the star that JJ had just laboriously cut out.
“I mean out of earshot of this budding artist,” Jack said. He tousled JJ’s hair. JJ moved away from Jack’s hand as he positioned the star to his liking in the diorama being fashioned from a cardboard box.
“I’ll be right back,” Laurie said to JJ. “Go ahead and cut a few more stars. It’s coming along fantastic.”
Jack walked over to the windows looking out onto 106th Street. He could see that a few more people had appeared on the playground in anticipation of playing basketball. When he sensed Laurie was behind him, he turned around.
“So you now have a name but still no diagnosis,” Laurie said, assuming Jack wanted to talk about the case.
“No specific diagnosis,” Jack said. “But we now have evidence with reasonable certainty that an unknown pathogenic virus is involved. But that’s not what I wanted to talk about at the moment. What’s with your parents? Why is your father here and in his bathrobe?”
“It’s simple,” Laurie said. “I called him today and explained about Mother. We both thought it would be best for her if he came over here. She’s an entirely different person when he is around. She is not nearly so critical.”
Jack stared at Laurie in disbelief. For a moment he was tongue-tied. Having both her parents camping out hardly seemed like a solution to their current struggles.
“He’s going to talk to her about going home, but just not right away. I know you think her presence is disruptive but try to see the situation from her point of view. With both you and me away all day, she feels it is her duty to be here until Emma’s status is determined and a plan of action is decided. She respects Caitlin but feels strongly that she is not family, and this is a quintessential family emergency. And on the plus side, she is very patient with Emma. Even Caitlin says so.”
Jack could feel his blood boil, yet Laurie was making a certain amount of sense. Still, an overwhelming sense of frustration, helplessness, and guilt settled over him like a blasting mat. He found himself thanking his lucky stars he had the subway death case, with all its surprises and twists and turns, to fall back on to keep his sanity.
“Do me a favor!” Laurie said. “Go out there and try to be pleasant. My father likes and respects you. I know that for a fact. I’ll be out as soon as I finish with JJ. You and I are a team, Jack. We’ll get through this.”
Jack was speechless. All he could do was nod in agreement, and he felt worse for it. He should have ranted and raged, but he didn’t. He felt like such a milquetoast because two minutes later he was back out in the family room, pulling over a chair from the dining table so he could make nice with both Dorothy and Sheldon.
The timing was impeccable. The moment Jack settled into his chair the network news was over. As Dorothy switched the channel to PBS Thirteen, Sheldon turned to Jack.
“Evening, Doctor!” Sheldon said. He leaned forward, extended his hand, and gave Jack’s a shake. “Was it a busy day?”
“It was busy, all right,” Dorothy interjected. “But all his patients died.” She laughed mirthlessly at her own joke, one she had used many times in the past.
“It was busy,” Jack agreed. He wondered what they would have said if he’d described his visit to the tattoo parlor. Being a medical examiner was far different and more varied than most people imagined, even other doctors. As far as Dorothy’s cutting remark was concerned, he ignored it, as he usually did. “And how was your day, sir?” Jack asked. He knew that Sheldon was essentially retired but still went into his group-practice Park Avenue office every day. What he did, Jack had no idea, since he had stopped doing surgery two years earlier. But as one of the founding members, he was able to call the shots.
“Dorothy mentioned you had unkind words to say about Hermann Cross,” Sheldon said, ignoring the question. His tone was matter-of-fact and not accusatory.
“I was told he still adhered to the discredited role MMR vaccines played in causing autism,” Jack explained. “For a doctor, I find that particularly unenlightened.”
“He’s trained in psychiatry,” Sheldon said as an explanation. “And he is more of a businessman than a physician.”
“I guessed as much,” Jack said. He racked his brains for additional conversational subject matter until PBS NewsHour got under way. At that point, Sheldon’s attention drifted back to the TV, and Jack was relieved momentarily of his hosting duties. For ten minutes he merely observed Laurie’s parents and their slack faces as the news droned on. Emma was also in his visual field, and Jack found himself wondering how the brain function of the three people differed. The Montgomerys weren’t rolling their heads, but their blank expressions matched Emma’s.
With a sudden flurry of welcome laughter and activity, Laurie and JJ appeared. Laurie was chasing JJ, who was squealing as if terrified. For protection he ran into Sheldon’s arms. It was a wonderful little normal interlude shattering the otherwise mausoleum-like atmosphere.
“Okay!” Laurie said with enthusiasm while clapping her hands. “What do you all say to the idea of a little dinner?”
“It’s about time,” Dorothy said. But to her credit, she got up off the couch with the intention of lending a hand.
Jack felt an irresistible urge to get out and do something, and the most accessible form of relief was basketball. With Sheldon still glued to the television and Dorothy finding things to do with Laurie, Jack went up to the bedroom and changed into his exercise gear. He knew Laurie would not be happy, but he felt it was a matter of self-preservation. He trusted she’d get over it if he didn’t participate in the meal preparations.
Ten minutes later, as Jack was crossing 106th Street, he felt like a new man. When he arrived at the playground he could see that Warren was already playing, and as usual had managed to get himself on a solid team, suggesting that he’d probably be playing the entire evening. Unfortunately, Jack had arrived too late for Warren to choose him.
Intending to run in place and do some calisthenics after he figured out how he was going to get into the game, Jack joined the group of people standing on the sidelines. Quickly he found out that Flash, his other close basketball friend, had winners. When he found Flash, who was a large, bearded, and muscular African American man, he learned that there was a spot for him.
“We got a decent team,” Flash remarked. “Well, except for you.” He high-fived Jack to emphasize that he was kidding. “We also got David, Ron, and that new girl you brought around last night.”
“You mean Aretha?” Jack asked. He went up on his tiptoes, trying to find her.
“You got it,” Flash said. “She’s hot.”
“Where is she?” Jack asked.
“She’s over at the sandbox, talking to my squeeze,” Flash said, pointing.
Without a second’s hesitation Jack jogged over to the sandbox. As he approached, Aretha saw him coming and stood.
“Sorry to interrupt, Charisse,” Jack said. He had met Flash’s newest girlfriend on several occasions.
“No problem,” Charisse said. “We were just reminiscing about college days. You probably don’t know, but I also went to the University of Connecticut. Of course, I didn’t play basketball. I didn’t even try. I’d never have made the team.”
Jack looked at Aretha. She was dressed in the same well-fitting black top and matching black shorts she’d worn the previous evening. But tonight she had added a more col
orful headband, wristband, and kicks. They were an electric yellow-green that elegantly set off the burnished mahogany color of her skin. It was a striking and fun fashion statement. “You look terrific,” he said.
“Well, thank you, sir,” Aretha said brightly. “It looks like you could use a little help in that department.”
It was true. Jack’s aged workout togs were a hopeless mismatch of boring dark colors. He wasn’t even sure if his socks matched, and his sneakers looked worse for wear, with a visible hole on the outer side of the left one. When he’d been an ophthalmologist he’d cared about his clothes and shoes and even had several smart suits. But after the loss of his first family and after becoming a medical examiner and moving to New York City, he’d never given clothes much thought, especially when it came to exercise apparel. Seeing how put-together Aretha looked was a stimulus to make a little effort.
“This afternoon, just before you hung up, you enticed me to come out tonight by saying you had a surprise to tell me,” Jack said. “Well, I’m here. So what is it?”
“It’s about a piece of special equipment we have at the Public Health Laboratory. It’s called the MPS machine. Have you heard of it?”
“Can’t say I have,” Jack said.
“It stands for Massive Parallel Sequencing. It’s a technology that takes advantage of what is called high-throughput. It’s also called second-generation DNA sequencing.”
“You’ve lost me already,” Jack said. “Why is this a supposed surprise for me?”