The Face Transplant

by R Arundel

  Kofi says, “Yes, he was a high school teacher, hit in a car crash by a drunk driver. He donated everything: kidneys, heart, liver, even corneas. I harvested his face. I promised his parents it would be put to good use.”

  The second canister slowly rises to the level of the operating table. The robotic arm gently removes the lid. The face is wrapped in a white cloth. It is gently raised out of the canister. It is clearly from a man in the same age range as Matthew, early thirties, but there the similarities end. He had thinner lips. His cheeks were very flat, his face square. Not ugly, not handsome. Comfortable would describe him best. He was very ordinary. Sarah thinks about the leader of the cleanup crew the night at the lab. Matthew is now that man, a little taller, but Matthew is everyman.

  Liam is mesmerized by the robotic surgery. The new Matthew will need to be able to go anywhere unnoticed to investigate and ask questions. Liam sees their chances of success improving by the minute.

  Alice whirs to life, occasionally reminding Kofi to clamp a vessel here, check the nerve anastomosis there. At the end, Liam squirts a clear fluid over the wound and the transplant bed where all the nerves, arteries, and veins lay.

  Sarah is in awe. The anesthesia is going well and she has very little to do. As the Steriazol compound permeates the tissues, Matthew’s blood pressure shoots up. Sarah reflexively jumps up to correct it.

  Alice says, “Sarah, the rise in blood pressure that Matthew is experiencing is transient and due to the Steriazol. The neurotubules are connecting.”

  “Okay?” says Sarah.

  “No action is required, Sarah.”

  “Thanks, Alice.”

  “No problem.”

  After five minutes, Alice speaks. “The blood pressure has normalized.”

  Liam watches the wound change. “If I was not a trained scientist, I would say this is magic. All the incisions have disappeared, and the wounds are completely healed.”

  Kofi laughs. “Magic. That’s a good way to describe it. Our Steriazol compound allows wounds to heal like magic. No scars. Tom perfected it.”

  Liam shakes his head. “The incisions literally disappear before your eyes! Do you realize what you have here? This compound alone, forget the transplants, is miraculous.”

  “We had the same feeling when we saw it work.”

  “Tom’s Steriazol is enough to kill for. Think of its value in all types of surgery. Surgeons can now do any procedure, place their incisions anywhere, knowing that at the end of the procedure, with the help of Steriazol, there will be no scars. The incision will just disappear.”

  Kofi says, “We are still doing clinical trials on the Steriazol. It isn’t quite ready.”

  “My patients would now be perfect, not just good, not just passable. An invisible incision.”

  Sarah peeks over the anesthetic machine. “It was only a matter of time before researchers elsewhere perfected the compound. Quite often, similar scientific breakthroughs are discovered completely independently in different parts of the world. Why would Tom not publish these findings as soon as possible?”

  Kofi says, “The Steriazol is not perfect. Patients have to stay out of temperatures above eighty degrees. Tom thought he could work that out very soon.”

  Liam says, “This was too big to sit on. This work needed to be published. Tom’s Steriazol will change the lives of millions of people immediately. No more disfigurement. The fact that the patient has to stay in temperatures less than eighty degrees is minor. As soon as this compound is given to labs everywhere, that will be solved in no time.”

  Kofi agrees. “It was Tom’s compound. I told him the same thing, but he thought he was close.”

  Liam says, “This discovery is among the most significant in the history of medicine. I’m not exaggerating.”

  “I know. We both knew. But the problem lies with the military applications. The extra funding paid off. Maybe a little too well. It will now be relatively easy to transplant a face and insert the individual anywhere. Our military will be able to kidnap someone, take their face, put it on our own man, and then re-insert that person. They would look identical to the real person. Think of the access to foreign powers’ classified information. Think about the possibilities. The government funded us. Would they let us make this compound available to other researchers worldwide?”

  “There is no way they would let this compound out. It’s too valuable. The strategic advantage is too great.”

  Kofi says, “Now you see our problem.”

  Sarah speaks. “Matthew’s waking up.”

  Sarah reverses the anesthetic quickly and Matthew regains consciousness immediately. Kofi gives him a mirror.

  Matthew slowly moves his face around and looks at all sides in the mirror. “Amazing, absolutely no scars.”

  Kofi says, “Just like when you did the hologram face.”

  “The hologram didn’t seem real. Looking at this face on my body. . . now it really hits home, the power of this Steriazol.”

  Liam asks, “How do you feel?

  “I’m not really sure. I feel like someone else, but I know it’s me.”

  Kofi, Liam, and Sarah gather around Matthew, looking at his new face.

  Kofi says, “The procedure went off without a hitch. You must be aware of the limitations of the transplant. The Steriazol is the key to this result. At temperatures over eighty degrees, the compound breaks down. The first sign of this is sweating on the forehead.”

  Sarah says, “That’s the largest concentration of sweat glands in the face.”

  “Correct. Your facial sensation is also gone. Your face is numb. You will not be able to feel the beads of sweat on your face like you would have been able to pretransplant. This is very important; if you do not heed this sweating you will die.”

  “How long does he have to cool down?” says Liam.

  “He has precisely thirty minutes. If he does not get to a lower temperature and cool the face before that time, the Steriazol breaks down. All the neurotubule connections break down. The proteins dissolve.”

  Matthew says, “My face falls off.”

  Kofi says, “No, your face melts off.”

  Sarah asks, “Can you replant?”

  “No, once the process begins, it is a cascade reaction. It is irreversible.”

  Matthew says, “This seems like a significant downside risk. The transplanted face would be unusable.”

  “Worse than that, your face falls off but all the nerves, arteries, and veins that were micro-anastomosed with the Steriazol fall apart and die. This happens on the patient side as well as the graft side. So there is no hope to transplant your own face back onto your recipient bed, or any face for that matter. If the recipient bed is damaged, no face can be transplanted onto the person.”

  Sarah says, “So his face can’t be put back on?”

  “No face can be put back on.”

  Sarah asks, “And then what?”

  Kofi pauses for a long time. “There is nothing.”

  Liam says, “So we just have to make sure he stays away from temperatures above eighty degrees.”

  Kofi says, “If he does get into a warmer environment, make sure it is for less than thirty minutes. I’m also not sure how long a face can stay on. We haven’t done too many full face trans. We think it can stay on a long time.”

  Liam asks, “What’s the longest a full face trans has stayed on?”

  Kofi says, “Seven days.” He brings out a beautiful hand-carved wooden box, and he takes out a watch. It is a custom-made timepiece. The wristband is platinum. The clasp of the band has a coat of arms engraved on it.

  Matthew says, “I recognize this, a Scottish coat of arms.”

  Kofi, “It’s my coat of arms. I have ancestors in Scotland. I did a family tree and found this out. Who would’ve guessed?”

  Matthew asks, “Who wore the watch before me?”

  Kofi says, “You are the first.”

  “The watch has a built-in thermometer.” Matthew loo
ks at the temperature reading seventy-two degrees Fahrenheit.

  Kofi says, “It has been programmed to beep once as soon as it senses the temperature at eighty degrees. It will emit three short beeps continuously repeating if the temperature hits eighty degrees for five minutes. If you hear this sound, you must get to cooler temperatures immediately and cool your face with water. If you miss this warning, the watch will beep continuously at the twenty-minute mark. The tone will also change. It will not stop until the temperature falls below eighty degrees.”

  Sarah asks, “What happens at thirty minutes?”

  “At thirty minutes a very high-pitched siren will sound until you get back to cooler temperatures; this is a critical warning you hope never to hear.”

  Kofi takes the watch back. He takes a match out of his pocket and lights a candle on the table. Kofi holds the watch over the flame. The digital readout quickly registers eighty degrees. The watch emits a very distinct beep. It reminds Matthew of a bird chirp. An annoying sound that can not be ignored. They all stand mesmerized as the watch is left in place for five minutes. The three short beeps are emitted continuously.

  Matthew unconsciously feels his new face. They all seem transfixed, looking at the flame. At the twenty-minute mark, the beeping becomes continuous and the tone more piercing. At the thirty-minute mark, a screeching siren emanates from the watch. It fills the whole room. Kofi takes the watch away. He goes to a sink and turns on the cold water.

  “Let’s hope you never hear any of those sounds ever again, Matthew.” He hands the watch to Matthew.

  Sarah takes the watch from Matthew and turns it over in her hands. “It’s beautiful.”

  Kofi says, “It is a functional work of art. It is a mechanical watch, but it is also fitted with a digital component for the temperature, alarm, and GPS.

  Sarah admires the watch. The upper part of the watch is like any other handmade timepiece. The bottom of the watch displays the temperature, which is blinking. She hands the watch to Matthew; he puts the watch on his wrist. Then he gently feels his new face. They all turn and look at the titanium canister storing his real face; it is neatly positioned beside four other canisters.

  “How long can my face be stored?” says Matthew.

  Kofi says, “It is cryopreserved. It can be stored for one hundred years. As long as it is kept at the precise temperature, there is no problem.”

  “How secure is this storage system?”

  “State of the art. Double power backup. Highest level of security, better than my own house.”

  Alice says, “I monitor the harvested and preserved faces. The temperature control is to within 1/100th of a degree.

  Kofi says, “It’s all backed up twice, so there’s no chance of losing a face.”

  Alice says, “One chance in ten million.”

  “Okay. Almost no chance.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  It is very early in the morning, and the sun has not yet risen. Quentin likes the lake at this hour. It is still as glass. No ripples. He loves the quiet sounds, reminders that the day is approaching. He already knows this will be a long day.

  Jason Cooper never liked this meeting place. Why meet at this lake in seclusion? This cloak and dagger crap is the stuff they did in the dark ages. These old guys still liked it; maybe it made them feel young. Who knows? Why not correspond with any of a number of secure methods, telephones, emails. With encryption strategies, the conversations are secure, and no one would hear them. A meeting makes no sense. Anyone following them would see them meet, and it would establish a connection. If someone wasn’t onto the facial transplant problems by now, it would be simple to link the two parties together and make a pretty good guess as to what was going on. This meeting is just stupid. Quentin should know this. Jason’s instincts would never allow him to call a meeting like this. Or how about meeting in Quentin’s office, the office of the Secretary of Defense, one of the most secure places on the planet? Jason walks up to Quentin. There are no pleasantries.

  “Why would he be so stupid? Drive his own car and leave it out front?” says Quentin.

  “I wondered about that too.”

  Quentin says, “You went to school together.”

  “We knew each other very casually.”

  “You were friends.”

  “We traveled in the same circles at one time, but I wouldn’t call us friends. I found him a little weird, never liked the guy.”

  “He never knew his father?”

  Jason says, “His mother has never told anyone who his father is. It’s always been assumed she didn’t know.”

  “You disagree?”

  “I talked to her at her house. I didn’t let on that I knew Matthew in college. I reviewed her file. She was at Stanford. She trained under Tom. I don’t buy she didn’t know who the father was.”

  “So she’s hiding something?”

  “I think she is, but how could it be relevant?”

  “Maybe his father is a foreign national spy, and they’re both selling secrets.”

  “You really believe that?”

  Quentin says, “He was found out, or about to be.”

  “We interviewed many people in her past. She has no relationship with any man who could fit this persona. The only person who remotely acted like a father to Matthew was Tom.”

  “Well, what do you think?”

  “I think he is selling the transplant technology,” says Jason.

  “To whom?”

  “I haven’t worked that out yet, but it’s the only thing that makes sense. He killed Tom and Amanda to cover his tracks.”

  “Are we sure it was him?” says Quentin.

  “I have a witness who says she saw him running between the backyards at Amanda Soto’s residence.”

  “Did she know him?”

  “No, but her description matches him.”

  Quentin says, “An eye witness who doesn’t know the person beforehand is not reliable. Was it a setup? How many mistaken identities are sitting on death row until they get cleared or executed?”

  “I know what you’re saying, but I think it fits. I went to see Mike Coulson down in Houston. He seems to think Matthew may have been leaking data.”

  “What?” says Quentin.

  “He said they went to international meetings abroad. Mike had nothing concrete, but other teams seemed to be catching us. He heard rumors Matthew was the leak.”

  “He never said anything before.”

  “He didn’t want to implicate a friend, not without proof.”

  Quentin paused. “Do we have any corroboration? Any intel about who may be getting the secrets?”

  “Not yet. I have some analysts listening for chatter about it and have put together a team to review Matthew’s phone records. I’m monitoring land, sea, and air in case he makes a run.”

  “His bank accounts?”

  “They’re frozen. There’s been no activity on his accounts. I wouldn’t expect any; he won’t use credit or debit.”

  “He’s too smart for that.”

  Jason says, “Preliminary reports show no financial irregularities. I talked to Tom’s wife, Patricia. She said Tom told her he thought Matthew was up to something.”

  “Tom suspected him?”

  “Pat said Tom and Matthew were close and had recently seemed to fall out.”

  “Good work; you seem to be cracking this nut.” Quentin hops in his car to brief the president.

  ***

  The president does not like to be awakened so early in the morning. He is in the Oval Office watching TV. He turns off the television when Quentin enters.

  Quentin outlines the case against Matthew MacAulay.

  President Middleton says, “How could you guys not watch the members of the Transplant Working Group? TWG technology is vital. Any number of governments would be willing to pay for it.”

  “We had no reason for surveillance.”

  “ We didn’t bug their phones?”

  “ We cou
ldn’t have done it legally; we had no probable cause.”

  “How much damage?”

  Quentin says, “The three labs are independent. Matthew does not know all the advances of the others. It’s limited. Not great, but not that bad.”

  “Does he know about The Binary Sequence?”

  “No.”

  “So I agree, we bring him in.”

  “American soil?”

  “I leave the details to you. We want to know what he gave and who he gave it to.”

  ***

  Quentin has already done more work than most people do in a day, and it is still early morning. He opens the door to his study.

  A strange voice says, “Don’t turn on the lights. It’s Matthew MacAulay.”

  Quentin smiles. “Matthew, just the man I was looking for. You sound different. You have a cold?”

  “Could be all the running around I’m doing lately.”

  “It’s probably not good for your health. Your immune system is getting weak. What brings you to my home?”

  “I thought we should talk.”

  “Did you kill Amanda and Tom?”

  “No.”

  Quentin goes to turn on the lights. Matthew raises his voice. “No, there is a Beretta trained at your head. At this distance, I can’t miss.”

  Quentin pauses, then sits at his desk. It had been made of slabs of rough hewn timber, with white lime mortar joints. It is large, solid, immobile.

  “You just threatened to kill the Secretary of Defense of the United States of America.”

  “Listen to my story, then you tell me if I’m the one you should be looking for.” Matthew outlines the botched face transplant and his killing of Mr. Glock. Matthew keeps all the details of Alice and Tom’s Steriazol to himself.

  “That’s why you came to visit me last time. I knew you were looking for something. Why didn’t you tell me this upfront?”

  Matthew moves to stand in front of the large fireplace. The sun is beginning to come up.

  “I wasn’t sure if you were behind the killing of Tom and thought you might kill us next?

  “That’s ridiculous.”