Mutation

by Robin Cook

  With both children dying at once, there was no way it could have been an accident. With a sudden chill of fear, Victor wondered if the area of chromosome six that he’d chosen to insert the manufactured genes was not an area of nonsense DNA as most people thought. Maybe its location in respect to an indigenous promoter caused the gene to turn on by some unknown mechanism. If that were the case, then VJ would indeed be at a risk too. Perhaps his gene had turned on for a short burst of activity back when his intelligence fell.

  Victor tried to swallow, but his mouth was too dry. Picking up all the samples, he went to the water fountain and took a drink. There were a number of lab assistants working in the main room, but Victor was in no mood to talk. He hurried into his research office and closed the door behind him. He tried calming himself, but just as the pounding of his heart began to ease he remembered the photomicrographs he’d made of VJ’s chromosomes six and a half years ago.

  Jumping to his feet, he dashed to the files and frantically searched until he came up with the photos he’d taken when VJ’s intelligence fell. Studying them, he let out a sigh of relief. VJ’s had not changed at all. His chromosome six looked exactly the same six and a half years ago as it did today. There was not even the slightest uncovering or unraveling of the DNA.

  Breathing more easily, Victor left his office to find Robert. The technician was in the animal room, supervising Sharon Carver’s replacement. Victor took him aside. “I’m afraid I have some more special work for you.”

  “You’re the boss,” Robert answered.

  “There is an area on chromosome six in the brain samples where the DNA is exposed and unraveled. I want the DNA sequenced just as soon as you can.”

  “That is going to take some time,” Robert said.

  “I know it’s tedious,” Victor said. “But I have some radioactive probes you can use.”

  “That’s altogether different.”

  Robert followed Victor back to his office and collected the myriad small bottles. For a few moments after he’d left, Victor stayed in his office, trying to come up with another explanation besides the cephaloclor. Why else would the NGF gene turn on in the two infants? At age two and a half to three, growth was decelerating, and there were no monumental physiological changes such as those that occurred at puberty.

  The other curious fact was that the NGF gene had apparently turned on in the two children at the exact same time. That didn’t make sense. The only way the two children’s lives intersected at all was that both attended the day-care center at Chimera. That was another reason Victor had selected the two couples. He’d wanted an opportunity to view the children during their development. He had also made sure that the Hobbses and the Murrays did not know each other before they became parents. He didn’t want them comparing notes and getting suspicious.

  Reaching across his desk for the phone, Victor called personnel and got the bereaved families’ home addresses. He wrote them down, then went to tell Colleen that he’d be out for several hours.

  Victor decided on the Hobbses first because it was closer. They lived in an attractive brick ranch in a town called Haverhill. Victor pulled up to the front of the house and rang the bell.

  “Dr. Frank,” William Hobbs said with surprise. He opened the door wider, and gestured for Victor to enter. “Sheila!” he called. “We have company!”

  Victor stepped inside. Although the house was pleasantly decorated in a contemporary fashion, an oppressive silence hung over the rooms like a shroud.

  “Come in, come in,” William said, escorting Victor into the living room. “Coffee? Tea?” His voice echoed in the stillness.

  Sheila Hobbs came into the room. She was a dynamic woman with bobbed hair. Victor had met her at several of the obligatory Chimera social occasions.

  Victor agreed to some coffee, and soon all three were sitting in the living room, balancing tiny Wedgwood cups on their knees.

  “I was just thinking about giving you a call,” William said. “It’s such a coincidence that you stopped by.”

  “Oh?” Victor said.

  “Sheila and I have decided to get back to work,” William said, directing his attention at his coffee cup. “At first we thought we’d get away for a while. But now we think we’ll feel better with something to do.”

  “We’ll be pleased to have you back, whenever you choose,” said Victor.

  “We appreciate that,” William said.

  Victor cleared his throat. “There is something I wanted to ask you,” he began. “I believe you’d been warned that your son was allergic to an antibiotic called cephaloclor.”

  “That’s right,” Sheila said. “We’d been told that before we even picked him up.” She lowered her coffee cup and it rattled against the saucer.

  “Is there any chance that your son had been given cephaloclor?” Victor asked.

  The couple looked at each other, then answered in unison: “No.” Then Sheila continued: “Maurice hadn’t been sick or anything. Besides, we’d made sure that his antibiotic allergy was part of his medical record. I’m certain he’d not been given any antibiotic. Why do you ask?”

  Victor stood up. “It was just a thought. I didn’t think he would have, but I’d remembered about the allergy . . .”

  Back in his car, Victor headed toward Boston. He was pretty certain the Murrays would tell him the same thing the Hobbses had, but he had to be sure.

  Since it was the middle of the afternoon, he made excellent time. His major problem was what to do with his car when he got there. Eventually he found a spot on Beacon Hill. A sign said it was a tow zone, but Victor decided to take the chance.

  The Murrays’ house was on West Cedar, in the middle of the block. He rang the bell.

  The door was opened by a man in his late twenties or early thirties, sporting a punk hair style.

  “Are the Murrays in?” Victor asked.

  “They’re both at work,” the man said. “I work for their cleaning service.”

  “I thought they’d taken some time off.”

  The man laughed. “Those workaholics! They took one day after their son died and that was it.”

  Victor returned to his car, irritated with himself for not having called before coming. It would have saved him a trip.

  Back at Chimera, Victor went directly to the accounting department. He found Horace Murray at his desk, bent over computer print-outs. When the man saw Victor he sprang to his feet saying, “Colette and I wanted to thank you again for coming to the hospital.”

  “I only wish I could have done something to help,” Victor said.

  “It was in God’s hands,” Horace said resignedly.

  When Victor asked him about the cephaloclor, the man swore that Mark had not been given an antibiotic, especially not cephaloclor.

  Leaving the accounting department, Victor was struck by still another fear. What if there was a link between the deaths and the fact that the children’s files were missing? That was the most disturbing thought of all because it implied that the genes had been turned on deliberately.

  Heart pounding again, Victor ran back to his lab. One of his newer technicians tried to ask a question, but Victor waved the man away, telling him to talk to Grimes if he had a problem.

  Inside his office Victor bent down in front of a cabinet at the bottom of his bookcase. He unlocked the heavy door and reached in to grasp the NGF data books that he’d written in code. But his hand met empty space. The entire shelf was empty.

  Victor closed the cabinet and carefully locked it even though there was no longer anything to protect.

  “Calm down,” he told himself, trying to stem a rising tide of paranoia. “You’re letting your imagination run away with itself. There has to be an explanation.”

  Getting up, he went out to find Robert. He tracked him down in the electrophoresis unit, working on the task that Victor had earlier assigned him. “Have you seen my NGF data books?” Victor asked.

  “I don’t know where they are,�
� Robert said. “I haven’t seen them for six months. I thought you’d moved them.”

  Mumbling his thanks, Victor walked away. This was no longer some fantasy. The evidence was mounting. Someone had interfered in his experiment, with lethal results. Deciding to face his worst apprehensions, Victor went over to the liquid nitrogen freezer. He put his hand on the latch and hesitated. Intuition told him what he would find, but he had to force himself to raise the hood. He kept hearing Marsha telling him that he had to destroy the other five zygotes right away.

  Slowly he looked down. At first his view was blocked by the frozen mist as it floated out of the storage container and spilled silently to the floor. Then it cleared, and he saw the plate that contained the embryos. It was empty.

  For a moment Victor supported himself by leaning against the freezer, staring at the empty tray, not wanting to believe what his eyes were clearly telling him. The he let the lid fall shut. The cool nitrogen mist swirled about his legs as if it were alive. He staggered back to his office and fell into the chair. Someone else knew about his NGF work! But who could it be and why had they intentionally brought about the babies’ deaths, or had that been an accident? Was someone so intent on destroying Victor that they didn’t care who else was hurt? Suddenly Hurst’s threats took on a new dimension.

  With a wave of apprehension, Victor realized that he had to find out who was behind all these strange events. He rose from the chair and began to pace, remembering with a start that David had died soon after the battle for taking Chimera public. Could his death have been involved as well? Could Ronald be involved? No, that was ridiculous. David had died of liver cancer, not poisoning or an accident that someone could have caused. Even the idea that the Hobbs and Murray children had been intentionally killed was preposterous. Their deaths had to be an intracellular phenomenon. Maybe there had been a second mutation caused by the freezing which he would see when Robert completed the DNA sequencing.

  Telling himself to calm down and think logically, he headed over to the computer center to see Louis Kaspwicz. The piece of hardware Louis had been working on had been reduced to an empty metal shell. Surrounding it were hundreds of parts and pieces.

  “I hate to bother you again,” Victor said, “but I need to know the time of day when my files were deleted,” Victor said. “I’m trying to figure out how I did it.”

  “If it’s any consolation,” Louis said, “lots of people accidentally delete their files. I wouldn’t be too hard on yourself. As for the time, I think it was around nine or ten o’clock.”

  “Could I look at the log itself?” Victor asked. He thought that if he’d accessed the computer before or after the deletion, it might give him a clue about why he did it.

  “Dr. Frank,” Louis said with one of his distracting twitches, “this is your company. You can look at whatever you want.”

  They went back to Louis’s office and he gave the November 18 log to Victor. Victor scanned through the print-out. He couldn’t find any entry between eight-thirty and ten-thirty.

  “I don’t see it,” Victor admitted.

  Louis came around the desk to look over Victor’s shoulder. “That’s off,” he said, checking the date on the top of the page. “November 18, all right!” He looked back at the entries. “Oh, for God’s sake!” he exclaimed. “No wonder you couldn’t find it. You were looking in the A.M. section.” Louis handed the print-out back, pointing to the entry in question.

  "P.M. ?“ Victor asked, looking at the correct place on the sheet. “That couldn’t be. At 9:45 P.M. I was in Symphony Hall in Boston.”

  “What can I say?” Louis said with a twitch.

  “Are you certain that this is correct?” Victor asked.

  “Absolutely.” Louis pointed to the entries before and after. “See how it’s sequenced? It has to be the right time. Are you sure you were at the symphony?”

  “Yes,” Victor said.

  “You didn’t use the phone?”

  “What are you talking about?” Victor asked.

  “Just that this entry was made off-site. See this access number? That’s for your PC at home.”

  “But I wasn’t at home,” Victor complained.

  Louis’s shoulders jerked spasmodically. “In that case, there’s only one explanation,” he said. “The entry had to have been made by someone who knows your password as well as the unpublished phone number of our computer. Have you ever given your password to anyone?”

  “Never,” Victor said without hesitation.

  “How often do you access the computer from home?” Louis inquired.

  “Almost never,” Victor said. “I used to do it frequently, but that was years ago when the company was just starting.”

  “Good lord!” Louis said, staring at the print-out.

  “What now?” asked Victor.

  “I hate to tell you this, but there have been a lot of entries into the computer on a regular basis with your password. And that can only mean that some hacker has found our telephone number.”

  “Isn’t that difficult?” Victor asked.

  Louis shook his head. “The phone number is the easy part. Just like the kid did in War Games. You can program your computer to make endless calls using permutations. As soon as you stumble on a computer tone, that’s when the fun begins.”

  “And this hacker used the computer frequently?”

  “Sure did,” Louis said. “I’ve noticed the entries, but I always thought it was you. Look!”

  Louis flipped open the log and pointed to a series of entries using Victor’s password. “It’s usually Friday nights.” He flipped the pages and showed other entries. “Must be when the kid is out of school. What a pain in the ass! Here’s another one. Look, the hacker’d logged into Personnel and Purchasing. God, this makes me sick. We’ve been having some problems with files and I wonder if this kid is the source. I think we’d better change your password right away.”

  “But then we stand less chance of catching him. I don’t use my password much anyway. Why don’t we keep watch on Friday evenings and see if we can trace him. You can do that, can’t you?”

  “It’s possible,” Louis agreed, “if the kid stays on line long enough and the telephone people are standing by.”

  “See if you can arrange it,” Victor said.

  “I’ll try. There’s only one thing that’s worse than a meddlesome hacker and that’s a computer virus. But in this case I’ll put my money on the hacker.”

  As Victor left the computer center, he thought he’d better check up on VJ. Given the day’s developments he thought he better warn him to stay away from Hurst and even Ronald Beekman.

  The first place Victor looked was the lab, but Robert had not seen him or Philip all day. Nor had any of the other technicians. This surprised Victor, since VJ spent most of his time trying out the various microscopes and other equipment. Victor decided to try the cafeteria. Since it was late afternoon there were only a few scattered people having coffee. Victor talked with the manager, who was busy closing out the cash registers. He’d seen VJ around lunchtime, but not since then.

  Leaving the cafeteria, Victor stopped in the library, which was in the same building. The circular cement columns that had been added for structural support had been left in plain sight, giving the area a Gothic feeling. The stacks of books and periodicals were shoulder height, affording a view of the entire room. A comfortable reading area to the right looked out over the inner courtyard of the complex.

  When Victor asked the librarian if she’d seen VJ or Philip, she shook her head no. With rising concern, Victor checked out the gym and day-care center. No VJ and no Philip.

  Returning to his lab prepared to call security, Victor found a message from the manager of the cafeteria, saying VJ and Philip had come in for ice cream.

  Victor went to the cafeteria. He found the two sitting at a table near the window.

  “All right, you two,” Victor said with mock anger. “Where the devil have you been?”
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br />   VJ turned to look at his father. He had his spoon in his mouth upside down. Philip, obviously thinking that Victor was angry, stood up, with his large, shovellike hands not knowing what to do with themselves.

  “We’ve been around,” VJ said evasively.

  “Where?” Victor challenged. “I’ve looked high and low for you.”

  “We were down by the river for a while,” VJ admitted.

  “I thought I told you to stay away from the river.”

  “Oh, come on, Dad,” VJ said. “We weren’t doing anything dangerous.”

  “I would never let anything bad happen to VJ,” Philip said in his childlike voice.

  “I don’t imagine you would,” Victor said, suddenly impressed by what a powerfully built man Philip was. He and VJ were an improbable pair, but Victor certainly appreciated Philip’s loyalty to his son. “Sit down,” Victor said more kindly. “Finish your ice cream.”

  Pulling up a chair himself, Victor turned to his son. “I want you to be especially careful around here for a while. After that brick last night, I’m sure you’ve guessed that there are some problems.”

  “I’ll be all right,” VJ said.

  “I’m sure you will,” Victor agreed. “But a little prudence won’t hurt. Don’t say anything to anybody, but keep your eyes open when Beekman or Hurst are around, okay?”

  “Okay,” VJ said.

  “And you,” Victor said to Philip. “You can act as VJ’s unofficial bodyguard. Can you do that?”

  “Oh, yes, Dr. Frank,” Philip said with alacrity.

  “In fact . . .” Victor said, knowing Marsha would appreciate the idea, “why don’t you come and spend a few nights with us like you used to when VJ was little. Then you can be with VJ even in the evenings.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Frank,” Philip said with a smile that exposed most of his large teeth. “I’d like that very much.”

  “Then it’s settled,” Victor said, getting to his feet. “I’ve got to get back to the office; I’ve been running around all day. We’ll probably be leaving in a couple of hours. We can stop by Philip’s to pick up his things on the way home.”