Eternal Sonata

by Jamie Metzl

  “And you did?” I ask, still uncertain why Heller is being so candid with us after previously going to such lengths to stay hidden.

  “Heavens, no. The last thing I’d ever want to do is get sucked into a big company like that.” Heller takes a small step back. “But,” he continues in a softer voice, “I needed a lot more money and this lab to test my hypothesis. Science can be magic, but magic can be expensive.”

  “I’m a little confused,” I say. “Weren’t you referenced as a Santique scientist in the American Journal of Cancer Research paper you co-wrote with Michel Noland three years ago?”

  A pained look flashes momentarily across Heller’s face. “You seem to already know the answer to that question, but yes. That single article was part of our deal. They needed to co-author my work to establish their lock on the intellectual property and avoid a Theranos situation. I had bigger goals and was willing to oblige.”

  Toni leans forward. “Please tell us about the magic, Dr. Heller.”

  His expression softens as he looks at her. “It’s called Targeted Autologous Enhancement Therapy. The science is a bit complicated, but in general terms it involves storing genetic materials from an earlier stage of cellular development, isolating and culturing the stem cells, and then reintroducing the epigenetic information via those stem cells into the subject along with the targeted enhancements and genetic mutations at a later date. The basic point is that all of the cells come from the same person, so the body doesn’t reject them, but from samples taken at different times.”

  “Does it work?” I ask.

  Heller takes a deep breath. “It didn’t at first. The issue was targeting. I was trying to revert specific cells but some of them just didn’t want to be reverted. Or sometimes they did in the mice but not in cells from other mammals. I started piecing together the factors—think of it like the ingredients you would need to bake a cake: NAD, rapamycin, telomerase, acetylglucosamine, the list goes on—but I still couldn’t figure out how all the parts went together, how to bake the actual cake. But then I started to wonder if there might be a piece, an ingredient missing, something that could catalyze everything else.”

  “The baking powder,” Toni says.

  “The equivalent.” Heller smiles briefly, as if again deciding whether to continue.

  “What did Santique get from you?” I feel a slight jab from Toni’s elbow as the words leave my mouth.

  “Can you please tell us what piece might have been missing?” she asks. “No one likes a flat cake.”

  “It’s okay, Antonia,” Heller replies. “We each have our own communication style.” He turns to face me. “A fair question, Mr. Azadian. In exchange for the rights to my patents, they offered perpetual funding for my research and 40 percent of all future revenues going to the high-impact research division of the American Cancer Society.”

  “So why be so hidden here?” I ask.

  Another nervous flash crosses Heller’s face. “Revolutionary science can transform the world, but it often brings danger. I don’t think of myself in their league, but Galileo was imprisoned, the Curies died of radiation poisoning, Einstein unleashed the nuclear age. I prefer to do my work in private.”

  “Wha—”

  Toni cuts me off. “You have no help? You do this all by yourself?” Her words clearly convey admiration.

  Heller looks at her appreciatively before answering. “The lab is fully automated, built for self-sufficiency. A lot of this type of work has been done by loners, Jamie Thomson in Wisconsin, Yamanaka in Japan. I have a Hmong couple come a few times a week to help with cleaning and some basic lab support. They also bring groceries and help tidy up. I hardly ever leave this place.”

  “Can you tell me more about the genes that reverse—”

  “Can I ask you a question, Dr. Heller?” Toni interjects, again cutting me off.

  “I ask that you call me Noam,” he says, taking her arm and leading her back toward the center of the room.

  “Why the fixation on cancer, Noam?”

  Heller stops walking and lets go of Toni’s arm.

  “I don’t mean to …” Toni says, clearly reading something on his face I can’t quite decipher.

  Heller looks into Toni’s eyes for longer than feels comfortable. “You remind me of her in a strange way.”

  “I’m so sorry,” she says softly.

  “My wife was vibrant and vivacious and brilliant …”

  “I’m so sorry,” Toni repeats.

  Joseph’s background research had indicated that Yael Heller had been a top chemist at the Weizmann Institute in Jerusalem before she died ten years ago. Only now does it hit me that this was when Heller shifted his research focus from animal biology to cancer and moved to Kansas City to join the Sowers Institute.

  “We used to play violin duets together, but when she died the music stopped. I decided to dedicate the remainder of my life to fighting the terrible disease that took her.”

  Toni places her hand on Heller’s forearm.

  “So that’s what I’m doing here,” he continues, “with little Sebastian to keep me company.”

  “And a little music,” I say.

  Toni’s eyes chastise me. Didn’t he just say the music stopped?

  “A Bach sonata?” I ask.

  “Very good, Mr. Azadian. Can you tell me which one?”

  My mind flips through the Bach pieces I’d obsessed over when failing to recover from my sister Astrid’s senseless death almost two decades ago. “One of the violin sonatas?”

  “Bach wrote twelve. Anything more specific?”

  I know Bach pretty well but can’t seem to place it. “Number one?”

  Heller relents. “I’m sorry to tease you. It’s not guessable.”

  “Not guessable?”

  “It’s not a pure Bach sonata. It’s an eternal sonata.”

  “Which is?”

  “A variation on all of the Sonatas de Chiesa, using Bach’s same fractal formulas but extending the mathematical variation ad infinitum. If Bach had written his sonatas to go on forever, each melody embedded within the mathematical formula guiding the whole, this is probably what they would have sounded like, all thanks to the miracle of quantum computing.”

  “That’s beautiful,” Toni says.

  I’m not exactly sure what she means.

  “A tribute to your wife. The music never stops,” she adds.

  Heller looks at Toni with wide, warm eyes. “Thank you,” he says softly.

  I’m starting to feel like a third wheel when Heller tracks back.

  “My cellular reversion formula was extremely challenging to find,” he says as if the earlier conversation had never been interrupted. “The daf-2 and daf-16 mutations needed to be edited into the cancer genome along with genetic material from an earlier stage of development like blood or other cells stored from earlier withdrawals, and other molecules had to be added in precise ratios,” he says, walking us toward the large steel door in the back. “Still, it wasn’t working properly. And then I realized I needed to step back and think differently, to challenge my assumptions and try to find a completely new source of DNA that might conceivably catalyze the transformation I was seeking.”

  He opens the door and leads us into what appears to be a dark closet. “If you would please close the door behind you.”

  Heller opens a second door in the back of the small room. The chilling air and neon blue hue reach us simultaneously through the darkness.

  We step forward into pure beauty.

  16

  Bathed in the faint blue light, the electric jellyfish float majestically in space. The pulsating greens, pinks, and blues of their translucent domes radiate nature’s magnificence down their long tentacles drifting below.

  My hand meets Toni’s in the darkness. We are beyond words, overcome by simple perfection.

  “Turritopsis nutricula melanaster,” Heller pronounces. “The immortal jellyfish of the deep Arctic sea. Only discovered six years a
go after the melting icecaps made their part of the Arctic accessible. They age like the rest of us, but then shrink to a polyp as they get older and are reborn as young versions of themselves. The scientific term is ‘transdifferentiation,’ but it is nothing short of magic.”

  Neither Toni nor I can yet speak.

  “The medusas have extraordinary cell plasticity,” Heller continues, “and can maintain the stem qualities of their cells farther into their mature phase than any other known organism. Fragments of their genomes pointed the way toward making reversion treatments possible. It was the key that made the other pieces work.”

  “They’re so beautiful,” Toni says as if in a trance, “so peaceful.”

  “You’d think that from looking at them,” Heller says, then gives a moment for his words to settle, “but don’t be fooled by appearances. They are extremely deadly. Each of their tentacles is lined with tiny nematocysts that can violently discharge poisons into their prey. Within seconds, the poisons attack the victim’s red blood cells and ignite a cellular potassium release leading to cardiac arrest. Once their victim in neutralized, they begin devouring the carcass cell by cell. It’s a highly efficient process, the majesty of nature in its own sort of way. Watch.”

  He uses a small blue light to locate a metal box on the floor, opens it, lifts out a frozen salmon, and slides it through a large vent at the top of the massive aquarium. The fish rests in a chamber at the top of the aquarium. After the top of the vent closes, the bottom opens automatically, releasing the salmon into the tank.

  Each individual move is almost imperceptible, but the swaying tentacles of the jellyfish begin to bend toward the half-floating frozen fish. As the tentacles connect, they slowly weave the salmon into an ever tighter web.

  “In two hours, that fish will be gone without a trace,” Heller says. “It’s a tough world eight hundred feet below the Arctic ice. These jellyfish have evolved to seize whatever nutrients they can find wherever they can find them.”

  We stand mesmerized, watching nature take its course.

  “And you’ve recreated that environment here?” I ask.

  “Close enough,” Heller replies. “This room is its own little world. I sometimes feel it’s the only place where I can truly be alone. You’ll notice your u.D isn’t even connecting.”

  I tap my wrist reflexively.

  “It’s their world in here,” he adds.

  “Did the cancer treatments work?” I ask after a few minutes of still-stunned silence, the families of Professors Hart and Wolfson very much on my mind.

  I feel Toni squeezing my hand, asking me why I’m once again disturbing such a perfect moment with my pestering.

  “Let’s step outside,” Heller says. “It must be getting very cold for you.”

  I rub Toni’s arms to warm her up as we step back into the main laboratory.

  “It worked very well on the mice. Once the Turritopsis gene fragments were added to the cellular reversion formula, their cells reverted to their precancerous state.”

  “And humans?”

  A pained look comes across Heller’s face. “Humans are infinitely more complicated.”

  I nod, waiting for more.

  Heller hesitates. “They are in human trials now … I guess we will see.”

  Something about his use of the word “they” seems a distant way of describing his own miraculous progress. “If I may, Dr. Heller,” I say gingerly.

  He tilts his head slightly in my direction.

  “I’m looking into the disappearance of two men who were part of an experimental cancer treatment protocol from Santique. They both disappeared from hospices, one in Kansas City and the other in St. Louis, at roughly the same time.”

  The wrinkles around Heller’s eyes deepen. “I see.”

  “I’d imagine they could have been part of the human trials of your work.”

  “I’m not involved in that part of the process.”

  “It’s just that the coincidences seem pretty astounding.”

  “How can I help you, Mr. Azadian?” Heller asks with a greater dose of formality.

  “I thought you might be able to shed some light on all of this.”

  “As you’ve seen, I do a lot of my work in the darkness.”

  Toni’s whistle interrupts the silence, probably by design. Dreyfus comes yelping around the corner in response. Excited Sebastian bounds behind in hot pursuit.

  “There’s a good Dreyfus,” Toni says in the universal doggy-baby voice that somehow feels less ridiculous coming from her. “There’s my little Dreyfus.”

  Sebastian’s head bobs as he waits impatiently for recognition.

  “There’s a good doggy,” Toni says in the same voice as she reaches over to pull Sebastian’s ears from side to side.

  Sebastian yelps joyously, burying his head into the fold of her arm.

  Looking at Toni and Sebastian, Heller’s face softens. “Maybe the two of you were connected in a past life,” he says with an impish smile.

  Toni chuckles. “I’m sure we were best friends.”

  Her words seem to delight Heller. “Together forever,” he says wistfully, losing himself for a moment in thought. “You know, Antonia, I’m not a young man anymore.”

  “Oh, bite your tongue, Noam.”

  “My total life expectancy may be greater than Sebastian’s but the question, as always, is starting from where.”

  “Oh, stop,” she says playfully.

  “We all live lives filled with uncertainty, but if something should ever happen to me,” Heller continues, “I can think of no better home for my dear little companion than with you.”

  Toni locks eyes with Heller.

  “It’s a miracle, you know,” he says, again shifting gears.

  Toni waits for an explanation, rubbing a dog’s head with each hand.

  “These dogs, like each of us, carry so much with them. All of their experiences, their histories, the story of their four-billion-year journey from single-cell organisms to these precious creatures. They’re like a log book of a journey they can never know.”

  A slightly dazed look comes across Heller’s face, as if he’s become lost in his own musings. Then he snaps into focus. “There’s something I’d like to show you, Antonia. May I?”

  Toni nods trustingly as she stands. Clearly there is some kind of extra-verbal communication passing between them, but I, for the life of me, have no idea what it is.

  He takes her arm and leads her back toward the room with the jellyfish. I follow.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Azadian,” he says earnestly. “It’s something I’d just like to show Antonia. Just for her. I hope you’ll understand.”

  I’m unsure how to respond. My every instinct is to trust Noam Heller, but something is happening here I don’t quite comprehend.

  Toni’s eyes tell me it’s okay. I take a step back.

  “Thank you for understanding,” Heller says.

  I’m not sure I do, but I look around the lab for ten minutes or so until the two of them emerge from the back room. Toni has a glowing, almost beatific look on her face that I’ve never seen before, as if she’s just seen Jesus. I ask her with my eyes but her message is clear. Don’t ask.

  “Now if you will please excuse me, I need to feed Sebastian and I’ve got a great deal of work still to do,” Heller says politely. “I can’t begin to tell you what a pleasure it has been to spend this time with you. Discovery is a seed that, once planted, grows in unexpected and mysterious ways.”

  The whole experience has been so overwhelming it’s hard for me or the still-mesmerized Toni to answer. I take her arm and lead her out to the car. Dreyfus races back and forth behind us, knowing his place is in our car but only reluctantly leaving his new friend Sebastian behind.

  I want to ask Toni more about what happened in the back room, even though I already know from her body language she won’t tell. I want to discuss the burning issue of why Heller let us enter in the first place and showed us so
much. But as I boot up my car, Maurice’s video feed cuts off my thoughts.

  “Where the hell have you been?” he growls. Maurice doesn’t wait for me to answer. “Doesn’t matter. Have you ever heard of Tobago?”

  “As in Trinidad and Tobago?”

  “Yes. The island just off the coast of Venezuela.”

  “Okay.”

  “It’s a low-tech jurisdiction but still plugged into the Interpol system.”

  “Okay.”

  “The NamUS missing persons system automatically plugs into Interpol.”

  “Okay,” I say slowly, the hair starting to stand on the back of my neck.

  “Seventy minutes ago the iris scanner in their airport registered the arrival of Benjamin Hart and William Wolfson.”

  17

  I offer to go straight to Maurice’s office, but he insists we meet back in our old meeting ground, picnic area C in the forgotten armpit of Swope Park, the massive and once great urban park that has fallen victim to Kansas City’s center of gravity, and tax base, moving south to the Kansas suburbs.

  I rush to drop off Toni and Dreyfus at her place so she can go to work after her mother picks up the dog, then connect with Joseph and Jerry on my dashboard screen on my way to the park. We discuss what the information from Tobago could possibly mean and I urge them both to start looking for any evidence about how Hart and Wolfson might have gotten there. I arrive in picnic area C but don’t see Maurice. Jerry is updating me on his efforts to hack into the commercial flight manifests when Maurice finally pulls up in his gray Taurus.

  “Look,” he says as I step into the passenger seat of his car, “this still isn’t a priority for KCPD. I told you I’d have a look and I’m sharing with you what I’ve found. Confidentially.”

  “I really appreciate it, Maurice,” I say impatiently. Maurice is a by-the-book kind of guy and sharing information with journalists, even ones like me, is not what the book says to do. “Can you tell me more?”

  Maurice taps his u.D and the images appear on his dashboard. “Here are the two images captured by the surveillance camera in the Tobago airport.”