McKean 02 The Neah Virus

by Thomas Hopp

  “Or maybe they won’t.” Curman’s face reddened. “Yours aren’t the only lab technicians at ImCo. Maybe someone else should have a try.”

  “Just the same,” McKean said firmly, “we haven’t isolated enough viral materials to share.”

  Curman slammed a fist against a metal file cabinet and shouted, “Damn you, Peyton McKean! Whenever you come up with a hot project, you keep it for yourself. All glory to you, right?”

  McKean turned and regarded him stiffly and coolly. “This isn’t about glory. And it’s nothing my group can’t handle.”

  “Fine!” Curman bristled. “We’ll see if Stuart Holloman agrees with that.” He spun on his heel and marched out the door and down the hall.

  McKean shook his head. “There goes Dave Curman, off to tattle on me to Holloman again. ‘Peyton won’t share his toys!’ ‘

  McKean quickly reverted to his normal behavior, sifting through the stack of photocopied articles on his desk, taking up his inevitable yellow highlighter and reading as if his hyperactive mind was ill at ease unless it was either offloading or on-loading technical information.

  “You mentioned a viral surface subunit vaccine,” I said, interrupting his on-load. “Could you explain the difference between a subunit vaccine and - what? A natural one?”

  “All vaccines,” he said, “are man-made, of course. But conventional vaccines are created by growing a virus in vats of cultured cells or, for influenza vaccines, inside infected chicken eggs. Subunit vaccines, on the other hand, never involve growing the whole virus. They are made by putting only one or two viral genes into a docile laboratory strain of a bacterium such as Escherichia coli, or a yeast such as Saccharomyces cerevisiae, and then growing that microbe in a culture vat. It’s a safe process much like brewing beer. Once the host cells have grown they are harvested by filtration, much the way beer is filtered, and the yogurt-like mass of microbes is extracted to isolate the viral protein. At no time is the complete virus present. Hence, subunit vaccines are inherently safer than vaccines where the virus itself is grown and then must be killed before use. You can imagine what happens if the virus isn’t quite dead. Vaccinated people catch the disease they were supposed to be protected against.”

  “That doesn’t really happen, does it?”

  “Unfortunately, it’s not unheard of with conventional viral vaccines. But it’s quite impossible with subunit vaccines. Subunits give the desired immunization without the risk. As you might guess, subunit vaccines are beginning to replace the old conventional ones. The applications of the procedure are endless.” He said this last word with a hint of weariness in his voice.

  “You seem bored by that prospect,” I said. “Why?”

  “Once a technique becomes routine, the excitement is gone for the true scientist. The techniques for creating subunit vaccines are now a series of predictable, tedious steps. The real thrill of discovery was creating the first one.”

  “You participated in creating the first subunit vaccine for Congo River virus, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, back in my early days here at ImCo. Now, each new subunit vaccine is just another application of the methodology we developed for the Congo River virus. The fun has gone out of it.”

  “But the reward of saving lives has got to make a vaccine-maker like you feel good.”

  “Of course, but the outcome is a foregone conclusion. A subunit vaccine will save lives no matter who makes it, and there are plenty of people eager to do that sort of uninspired science.”

  “David Curman, for instance.”

  “Right. I suppose he correctly perceives that the mystery will be gone for me, once the genetic makeup of this new virus is understood. Things will become routine once Janet and Beryl have isolated and sequenced the surface antigen gene.”

  “But don’t you want to see this vaccine through to its completion?”

  “Yes, of course. But other forces may come into play.”

  “Like what?”

  “The innovative scientist can never rest easy. He always has to watch his back.”

  “How do you mean that?” I sensed something melodramatic in his tone.

  He paused a moment as if considering how best to broach a difficult subject. “You know,” he began slowly and deliberately, “controversy has dogged my steps throughout my career. Looking back, I see a succession of colleagues who attempted to step in and take away discoveries that initially were mine. As a young scientist in New York, when I discovered a totally synthetic approach to vaccine manufacture, a senior investigator at my institution moved in and claimed it as his own. He went so far as to argue I was no more than a hireling who carried out his orders while making my discovery, as if I were his chore-boy.”

  “If I hear you correctly, Peyton, the world of science has its share of scoundrels, just like any other walk of life. But there must be more good scientists than bad?”

  “Answer: yes. But whenever a great discovery comes along, let the meek beware. Research breakthroughs attract the powerful and the greedy. They can smell the sweet aroma of success and money.”

  “Money? Isn’t scientific discovery itself the reward?”

  “For some of us, yes. But for others, it’s power and wealth that mean the most.”

  “But science isn’t really a great source of wealth, is it? My image of a scientist is that of an underpaid zealot.”

  “For the rank and file, your impression is correct. But among the top dogs it’s always, ‘How can I make this pay?’ That’s why scientific breakthroughs always draw a crowd. Everyone with position or power wants to use the new discovery to increase his own eminence and personal wealth. And those without high position, like Curman, want to use it to increase their status.”

  “It sounds like a gold rush.”

  “Exactly. Research breakthroughs are like hitting paydirt, spawning a whole cavalcade of government grants and new biotechnology company startups, created mostly by those already in power. They’re empire builders, claim-jumping on the latest Mother Lode.”

  “Sounds indecent,” I said. “Obscene, when you consider that human health depends on it.”

  “It is obscene. Welcome to the real world of science, Fin. The powerful are greedy, and sometimes the true innovators are cast aside.”

  “How do you fit into this, Peyton?”

  “How do I hold my own against the power grabbers, you mean?”

  “Without becoming one of them?”

  A smile crossed his face. “There is another way.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Move fast.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Despite the inevitability that the big players will try to dominate, one can succeed by excelling. Achievements count. Let’s put aside any pretext of humility, Fin. I’ve made my way by doing science better than anyone else. I’ve kept from being swallowed by bigger fish by swimming in unknown waters where they fear to go. I’ve done things they thought were impossible, found things they were too timid or too uninformed to seek. I’ve survived by racing far enough ahead that, by the time they came along to take over my research, I’ve already moved on to something else.”

  “Amazing!”

  “But it has its cost.”

  “What’s that?”

  “My back is always exposed. With the wolf pack gobbling up every scrap I leave behind, I survive only as long as I move fast. If I hit a series of failures, then the Hollomans and Curmans will devour everything I’ve got. My career will die when I run out of discoveries.”

  “But why? Isn’t there a meritocracy in science? Recognition for past accomplishments?”

  “Answer: yes, for Nobel laureates. But short of that, not much. You become yesterday’s news.”

  “Now I see why you gave Curman the cold shoulder.”

  “Exactly,” McKean said wearily. “I don’t want him mucking things up before I’ve had a chance to deal with this virus myself. He’s making his takeover move too soon for my tastes.”

&
nbsp; “I had a higher opinion of scientists.”

  “Sorry Fin.” McKean gave me a wan smile. “Scientists are cut from a common mold with everyone else, despite their brainpower.” He looked at his wall clock. “That ten-thirty ferry will leave without us if we don’t get going.” He got up and took off his lab coat and fetched his field coat from a hook on the back of his door.

  “Going where?” a gruff male voice asked from out in the hall. A short, bald, heavy man stepped through the doorway - McKean’s boss, Stuart Holloman. He wore a charcoal gray three-piece pinstriped suit with a vest button pulling across his too-ample gut. He stepped inside and backed McKean into the center of the room. He put his round fists on his hips and faced off with McKean, who overtopped him by a head in stature but under-matched him in sternness of expression.

  PART THREE: FEVER AND FIRE

  Chapter 11

  “To Neah Bay by the next ferry,” McKean answered evenly. “To gather some anecdotal information about the origins of our new virus and its treatment.”

  “Don’t you think you should clear such a trip with me?” Veins stood out on Holloman’s bald cranium, highlighted by curly brown hair that mushroomed from his temples. The man looked clownish and dangerous at the same time. “You come and go a lot these days without keeping me informed.”

  McKean replied calmly as he put on his coat. “If I had anything significant to tell you, you would have heard it already.”

  “Why am I not reassured by that?” Holloman’s forehead developed a deep crease. His right cheek twitched. “I got a call this morning from a buddy at the Centers for Disease Control. He told me Kay Erwin has asked for a quarantine of Neah Bay. He said he thinks this is starting to look like a real outbreak. And you don’t think it’s worth mentioning to me?”

  “Eventually,” McKean said, buttoning his coat and looking impatient to leave.

  “If it’s really a new disease,” said Holloman, “it might be ImCo’s next big financial break.”

  McKean sighed. “Is it always money with you?”

  Holloman moved to McKean’s window and stared out. “You know, Peyton, you are one dense man. If this epidemic gets big, the profits could be huge. If enough people need a vaccine and if ImCo has that vaccine waiting, then we could ring up billions of dollars in revenues.”

  McKean frowned. “No one knows how virulent this disease is, yet. If we’re lucky, it might not spread at all.”

  “Lucky!” Holloman spat the word like poison. “I’d say unlucky!” He turned from the window and glared at McKean. “Damn it, Peyton! Don’t give me that snooty scientific crap. This virus could be a golden opportunity.”

  “But we’re far from having a product ready. Janet hasn’t identified the key antigens yet. I have no enthusiasm for rushing forward before we understand the basic nature of the virus.”

  “No enthusiasm, huh? Well I know someone with plenty of enthusiasm. Let me tell you something - ” Holloman leaned close and pointed a fat finger in McKean’s face. “I’ve had enough of you gainsaying my authority.” He pointed down the hall. “And I’ve got someone who will gladly take your place on this project.”

  “David Curman.” McKean mouthed the name with distaste.

  “You’re damn right! Dave’s got a half-dozen scientists in his group standing by waiting for a shot at this virus. And he’s ready to start producing a vaccine as soon as he’s got the right genes. If you won’t put some hustle in it then by God he will, and with my blessing.”

  “I’m glad to hear Dave is eager to get involved in my project,” McKean said coolly. “But I caution you not to rush ahead before we’ve got the basics figured out.”

  “Rush? Why not rush? This disease could rocket ImCo to the top of the industry. I’m going to encourage Dave Curman to rush all he wants. And I hope the epidemic is a big one. Enough demand for our vaccine could make us all rich - including you, Peyton McKean.”

  “True,” McKean admitted with some reluctance. “And I’d be one one-hundredth as rich as you. But we can’t let corporate ambitions get ahead of science. I need this trip to Neah Bay. It’s that simple. Good science doesn’t happen overnight. I’ll move as fast as possible with the work force I’ve got. But I advise you to keep Curman out of it. Too many cooks spoil the broth.”

  “Dave was right,” Holloman muttered. “He said you’d protect your turf.”

  McKean stiffened. “It’s not about turf. It’s about science.”

  Holloman shrugged. “I don’t see why Curman’s people can’t work in parallel with your people. I think you’re not motivated to get the job done quickly enough.”

  “That’s not it.” McKean shook his head slowly. “I’m just naturally thorough. Like David Curman should be.”

  “In this case I think you’re being too thorough. That’s why I’m here to tell you I have just ordered Janet to turn over a portion of every viral sample she’s got to David Curman.”

  “It’s your company.”

  “Damn right. And if you insist on puttering around Neah Bay, then I’m sure David will be only too glad to stay here and - as you put it - rush things forward.”

  “And I am sure you’ll get precisely the quality of work you’re asking for.”

  Holloman let out an exasperated sigh that sounded like a python’s hiss. He turned to go, but outside the office he wheeled and pointed a trembling finger at McKean. “Go chat with your Indian friends if you want, but be back here by tomorrow morning! I want a vaccine, not a lot of witchdoctor mumbo jumbo.” He stalked down the hall and turned into Curman’s office, where we could hear the sounds of an agitated conversation. After a moment, McKean shook his head, clearing extraneous thoughts. Then he looked at me. “Rushing to make a profit,” he muttered. “The wrong motivation for doing research.”

  I said softly so Holloman would not hear, “I thought you worked for a very smart man, Peyton. Now I see I was wrong.”

  “No, you weren’t,” McKean countered. “Stuart Holloman is extremely clever. But there’s an important lesson you haven’t learned about smart people, Fin.”

  “What’s that?”

  “They can spend an incredible percentage of their time acting stupid.”

  McKean and I walked to my parking garage and then I drove us to Pill Hill and parked on the street near the hospital. We went into the Emergency Pavilion and found John awake, although groggy on pain medication and propped up in bed. Tleena sat in a chair by his side. He held his sculpture in his hands, turning it and eyeing its finely carved lines. “They took my knife,” he complained. “I wanna keep carving.”

  Tleena pointed to an iv bottle slowly dripping a clear liquid into a line taped into John’s left forearm. “They’re giving him some more pain medication for the skull fracture.”

  John gave us a dizzy smile. “S’good as rock cocaine.”

  “How’s our patient?” asked a newcomer at the door, a young female doctor with short-cropped blond hair, a white coat, blue plastic gloves and a nametag that read Sandra Dean MD. She went to John Steel, took his pulse, and flashed an examining light in his eyes that made him flinch but not fully awaken. She made some notes on a clipboard and then turned to us. “Now then. I’ll need you all to roll up a sleeve.”

  “What?” I asked.

  “Phineus Morton?” She said, drawing a rubber tourniquet and blood collection tube from a pocket of her coat.

  “Yes, but - “

  “But nothing.” She pushed me backward with her fingertips on my chest until I plunked into a guest chair. “Dr. Erwin’s orders. Everyone in this room gives a blood sample for the sake of science.”

  She tied off my forearm and stuck the needle in as I asked, “What’s the point of - Ouch! - our giving blood?”

  “Dr. Erwin wants a sample from everyone who might have been exposed to the disease, including John and his sister.” She snapped the tourniquet loose, withdrew the needle and put the tube in her pocket, motioning me to hold a cotton ball over my puncture woun
d. Then she drew another test tube from her pocket and read its label. “Dr. Peyton McKean, you’re next.”

  I got up and McKean sat and rolled up his sleeve. “That’s the Kay Erwin I know and respect,” he remarked as Dr. Dean drew his blood. “The supreme epidemiologist. These samples will be a good initial data point if any of us get sick. I should have thought of it myself.”

  After Dean drew samples from Tleena and then from John, McKean asked, “How are things with Leon Curtis?”

  She shook her head. “Still very guarded. He fades in and out of consciousness.”

  McKean glanced at the time on his cell phone. “Our best prospect of helping Leon is to go to Neah Bay. Tell Kay I’ll report what we learn as soon as we get back.”

  Tleena put on her coat and slung the strap of her big purse over her shoulder. Then she leaned and kissed her groggy brother goodbye.

  “Steel,” I said, making small talk as we walked the few blocks to my Mustang. “That doesn’t sound like a Native American name.”

  Tleena smiled. “Oh, a lot of people think it isn’t. But it’s an Indian name all right, translated into English.”

  “Makahs didn’t traditionally make steel, did they? I thought they used stone tools.”

  “That’s mostly true,” she said. “But our family name is very old. It goes back long before Caucasians came to Neah Bay.”

  “How can that be?”

  “The winds blow across the North Pacific Ocean from Asia. In old times, the winds brought Chinese and Japanese shipwrecks. My ancestors got steel spikes from them and shaped the metal into woodworking tools. Steel was worth more than gold. According to our traditions, one time a whole wrecked fleet washed ashore. My ancestors owned the tribal right to the salvage work and they collected enough steel to become very wealthy. Our family chiefs have called themselves Steel ever since.”

  “How long ago did the wrecked fleet wash in?”

  “Father says it was Kublai Khan’s armada, sent to invade Japan but destroyed by a typhoon the Japanese call Kamikaze, the Divine Wind. It was a miracle on two sides of the ocean. The typhoon saved Japan and made my ancestors rich.”