Chromosome 6

by Robin Cook

  “Pretty slick, huh?” Bertram said proudly.

  Kevin was captivated. It wasn’t so much by the technology, although that interested him. It was more because the red light was blinking exactly where he would have imagined the smoke to have been coming from.

  Bertram got up and pulled open a file drawer. It was filled with small handheld electronic devices that looked like miniature notepads with small LCD screens. An extendable antenna protruded from each.

  “These work in a similar fashion,” Bertram said. He handed one to Kevin. “We call them locators. Of course, they are portable and can be taken into the field. It makes retrieval a snap compared to the struggles we had initially.”

  Kevin played with the keyboard. With Bertram’s help, he soon had the island graphic with the red blinking light displayed. Bertram showed how to go from successive maps with smaller and smaller scales until the entire screen represented a square fifty feet by fifty feet.

  “Once you are that close, you use this,” Bertram said. He handed Kevin an instrument that looked like a flashlight with a keypad. “On this you type in the same information. What it does is function as a directional beacon. It pings louder the closer it comes to pointing at the animal you’re looking for. When there is a clear visual sighting, it emits a continuous sound. Then all you have to do is use the dart gun.”

  “How does this tracking system operate?” Kevin asked. Having been immersed in the biomolecular aspects of the project, he’d not paid any attention to the logistics. He’d toured the island five years previously at the commencement of the venture, but that had been it. He’d never inquired about the nuts and bolts of everyday operation.

  “It’s a satellite system,” Bertram said. “I don’t pretend to know the details. Of course each animal has a small microchip with a long-lasting nickel cadmium battery embedded just under the derma. The afferent signal from the microchip is minuscule, but it’s picked up by the grid, magnified, and transmitted by microwave.”

  Kevin started to give the devices back to Bertram, but Bertram waved them away. “Keep them,” he said. “We’ve got plenty of others.”

  “But I don’t need them,” Kevin protested.

  “Come on, Kevin,” Bertram chided playfully while thumping Kevin on the back. The blow was hard enough to knock Kevin forward. “Loosen up! You’re much too serious.” Bertram sat at his desk, picked up his phone messages, and absently began to arrange them in order of importance.

  Kevin glanced at the electronic devices in his hands and wondered what he’d do with them. They were obviously costly instruments.

  “What was it about your project that you wanted to discuss with me?” Bertram asked. He looked up from his phone messages. “People are always complaining I don’t allow them to get a word in edgewise. What’s on your mind?”

  “I’m concerned,” Kevin stammered.

  “About what?” Bertram asked. “Things couldn’t be going any better.”

  “I’ve seen the smoke again,” Kevin managed.

  “What? You mean like that wisp of smoke you mentioned to me last week?” Bertram asked.

  “Exactly,” Kevin said. “And from the same spot on the island.”

  “Ah, it’s nothing,” Bertram declared, with a wave of his hand. “We’ve been having electrical storms just about every other night. Lightning starts fires; everybody knows that.”

  “As wet as everything is?” Kevin said. “I thought lightning starts fires in savannas during the dry season, not in dank, equatorial rain forests.”

  “Lightning can start a fire anyplace,” Bertram said. “Think of the heat it generates. Remember, thunder is nothing but expansion of air from the heat. It’s unbelievable.”

  “Well, maybe,” Kevin said. He was unconvinced. “But even if it were to start a fire, would it last?”

  “You’re like a dog with a bone,” Bertram commented. “Have you mentioned this crazy idea to anybody else?”

  “Only to Raymond Lyons,” Kevin said. “He called me yesterday about another problem.”

  “And what was his response?” Bertram asked.

  “He told me not to let my imagination run wild,” Kevin said.

  “I’d say that was good advice,” Bertram said. “I second the motion.”

  “I don’t know,” Kevin said. “Maybe we should go out there and check.”

  “No!” Bertram snapped. For a fleeting moment his mouth formed a hard line and his blue eyes blazed. Then his face relaxed. “I don’t want to go to the island except for a retrieval. That was the original plan and by golly we’re sticking with it. As well as everything is going, I don’t want to take any chances. The animals are to remain isolated and undisturbed. The only person who goes there is the pygmy, Alphonse Kimba, and he goes only to pull supplementary food across to the island.”

  “Maybe I could go by myself,” Kevin suggested. “It wouldn’t take me long, and then I can stop worrying.”

  “Absolutely not!” Bertram said emphatically. “I’m in charge of this part of the project, and I forbid you or anyone else to go on the island.”

  “I don’t see that it would make that much difference,” Kevin said. “I wouldn’t bother the animals.”

  “No!” Bertram said. “There are to be no exceptions. We want these to be wild animals. That means minimal contact. Besides, with as small as this enclave is, visits will provoke talk, and we don’t want that. And on top of that it could be dangerous.”

  “Dangerous?” Kevin questioned. “I’d stay away from the hippos and the crocs. The bonobos certainly aren’t dangerous.”

  “One of the pygmy bearers was killed on the last retrieval,” Bertram said. “We’ve kept that very quiet for obvious reasons.”

  “How was he killed?” Kevin asked.

  “By a rock,” Bertram said. “One of the bonobos threw a rock.”

  “Isn’t that unusual?” Kevin asked.

  Bertram shrugged. “Chimps are known to throw sticks on occasion when they are stressed or scared. No, I don’t think it’s unusual. It was probably just a reflex gesture. The rock was there so he threw it.”

  “But it’s also aggressive,” Kevin said. “That’s unusual for a bonobo, especially one of ours.”

  “All apes will defend their group when attacked,” Bertram said.

  “But why should they have felt they were being attacked?” Kevin asked.

  “That was the fourth retrieval,” Bertram said. He shrugged again. “Maybe they’re learning what to expect. But whatever the reason, we don’t want anyone going to the island. Spallek and I have discussed this, and he’s in full agreement.”

  Bertram got up from the desk and draped an arm over Kevin’s shoulders. Kevin tried to ease himself away, but Bertram held on. “Come on, Kevin! Relax! This kind of wild flight of imagination of yours is exactly what I was talking about earlier. You’ve got to get out of your lab and do something to divert that overactive mind of yours. You’re going stir-crazy and you’re obsessing. I mean, this fire crap is ridiculous. The irony is that the project is going splendidly. How about reconsidering that offer for coming over for dinner? Trish and I would be delighted.”

  “I’ll give it serious thought,” Kevin said. He felt distinctly uncomfortable with Bertram’s arm around his neck.

  “Good,” Bertram said. He gave Kevin a final pat on his back. “Maybe the three of us could take in a movie as well. There’s a terrific double-feature scheduled for this week. I mean, you ought to take advantage of the fact that we get the latest movies. It’s a big effort on GenSys’s part to fly them in here on a weekly basis. What do you say?”

  “I guess,” Kevin said evasively.

  “Good,” Bertram said. “I’ll mention it to Trish, she’ll give you a call. Okay?”

  “Okay,” Kevin said. He smiled weakly.

  Five minutes later, Kevin climbed back into his vehicle more confused than before he’d come to see Bertram Edwards. He didn’t know what to think. Maybe his imagination w
as working overtime. It was possible, but short of visiting Isla Francesca there was no way of knowing for sure. And on top of that was this new worry that people were feeling resentful toward him.

  Braking at the exit of the parking area, Kevin glanced up and down the road in front of the animal complex. He waited for a large truck to rumble by. As he was about to pull out, his eye caught the sight of a man standing motionlessly in the window of the Moroccan headquarters. Kevin couldn’t see him well because of the sunlight reflecting off the glass, but he could tell it was one of the mustached guards. He could also tell the man was watching him intently.

  Kevin shivered without exactly knowing why.

  The ride back to the hospital was uneventful and quick, but the seemingly impenetrable walls of dark green vegetation gave Kevin an uncomfortable claustrophobic feeling. Kevin’s response was to press down on the accelerator. He was relieved to reach the edge of town.

  Kevin parked in his spot. He opened his door, but hesitated. It was close to noon, and he debated heading home for lunch or going up to his lab for an hour or so. The lab won out. Esmeralda never expected him before one.

  Just with the short walk from the car to the hospital, Kevin could appreciate the intensity of the noontime sun. It was like an oppressive blanket that made all movement more difficult, even breathing. Until he’d come to Africa, he’d never experienced true tropical heat. Once inside, enveloped with cool, air-conditioned air, Kevin grasped the edge of his collar and pulled his shirt away from his back.

  He started up the stairs, but he didn’t get far.

  “Dr. Marshall!” a voice called.

  Kevin looked behind him. He wasn’t accustomed to being accosted in the stairwell.

  “Shame on you, Dr. Marshall,” a woman said, standing at the base of the stairs. Her voice had a lilting quality that suggested she was being less than serious. She was clad in surgical scrubs and a white coat. The sleeves of the coat were rolled up to her mid-forearms.

  “Excuse me?” Kevin said. The woman looked familiar, but he couldn’t place her.

  “You haven’t been to see the patient,” the woman said. “With other cases you came each day.”

  “Well, that’s true,” Kevin said self-consciously. He’d finally recognized the woman. It was the nurse, Candace Brickmann. She was part of the surgical team that flew in with the patient. This was her fourth trip to Cogo. Kevin had met her briefly on all three previous visits.

  “You’ve hurt Mr. Winchester’s feelings,” Candace said, wagging her finger at Kevin. She was a vivacious gamine in her late twenties. With fine, light-blond hair done up in a French twist. Kevin couldn’t remember a time he’d seen her that she wasn’t smiling.

  “I didn’t think he’d notice,” Kevin stammered.

  Candace threw back her head and laughed. Then she covered her mouth with her hand to suppress further giggles when she saw Kevin’s confused expression.

  “I’m only teasing,” she said. “I’m not even sure Mr. Winchester remembers meeting you on that hectic day of arrival.”

  “Well, I meant to come and see how he was doing,” Kevin said. “I’ve just been too busy.”

  “Too busy in this place in the middle of nowhere?” Candace asked.

  “Well, I guess it’s more that I’ve been preoccupied,” Kevin admitted. “A lot has been happening.”

  “Like what?” Candace asked, suppressing a smile. She liked this shy, unassuming researcher.

  Kevin made some fumbling gestures with his hands while his face flushed. “All sorts of things,” he said finally.

  “You academic types crack me up,” Candace said. “But, teasing aside, I’m happy to report that Mr. Winchester is doing just fine, and I understand from the surgeon that’s largely thanks to you.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far,” Kevin said.

  “Oh, modest, too!” Candace commented. “Smart, cute, and humble. That’s a killing combination.”

  Kevin stuttered but no words came out.

  “Would it be out of bounds for me to invite you to join me for lunch?” Candace said. “I thought I’d walk over and get a hamburger. I’m a little tired of the hospital cafeteria food, and it would be nice to get a little air now that the sun is out. What do you say?”

  Kevin’s mind whirled. The invitation was unexpected, and under normal circumstances he would have found reason to decline for that reason alone. But with Bertram’s comments fresh in his mind, he wavered.

  “Cat got your tongue?” Candace asked. She lowered her head and flirtatiously peered at him beneath arched eyebrows.

  Kevin gestured up toward his lab, then mumbled words to the effect that Esmeralda was expecting him.

  “Can’t you give her a call?” Candace asked. She had the intuitive feeling Kevin wanted to join her, so she persisted.

  “I guess,” Kevin said. “I suppose I could call from my lab.”

  “Fine,” Candace said. “Do you want me to wait here or come with you?”

  Kevin had never met such a forward female, not that he had a lot of opportunity or experience. His last and only love other than a couple of high school crushes had been a fellow doctorate candidate, Jacqueline Morton. That relationship had taken months to develop out of long hours working together; she’d been as shy as Kevin.

  Candace came up the five stairs to stand next to Kevin. She was about five-three in her Nikes. “If you can’t decide, and it’s all the same to you, why don’t I come up.”

  “Okay,” Kevin said.

  Kevin’s nervousness quickly abated. Usually what bothered him in social circumstances with females was the stress of trying to think of things to talk about. With Candace, he didn’t have time to think. She maintained a running conversation. During the ascent of the two flights of stairs she managed to bring up the weather, the town, the hospital, and how the surgery had gone.

  “This is my lab,” Kevin said, after opening the door.

  “Fantastic!” Candace said with sincerity.

  Kevin smiled. He could tell she was truly impressed.

  “You go ahead and make your call,” Candace said. “I’ll just look around if it’s okay.”

  “If you’d like,” Kevin said.

  Although Kevin was concerned about giving Esmeralda so little warning he’d not be there for lunch, she surprised him with her equanimity. Her only response was to ask when Kevin wanted dinner.

  “At the usual time,” Kevin said. Then after a brief hesitation, he surprised himself by adding: “I might have company. Would that be a problem?”

  “Not at all,” Esmeralda said. “How many persons?”

  “Just one,” Kevin said. He hung up the phone and wiped his palms together. They were a little damp.

  “Are we on for lunch?” Candace called from across the room.

  “Let’s go!” Kevin said.

  “This is some lab!” she commented. “I never would have expected to find it here in the heart of tropical Africa. Tell me, what is it that you’re doing with all this fantastic equipment?”

  “I’m trying to perfect the protocol,” Kevin said.

  “Can’t you be more specific?” Candace asked.

  “You really want to know?” Kevin asked.

  “Yes,” Candace said. “I’m interested.”

  “At this stage I’m dealing with minor histocompatibility antigens. You know, proteins that define you as a unique, separate individual.”

  “And what do you do with them?”

  “Well, I locate their genes on the proper chromosome,” Kevin said. “Then I search for the transponase that’s associated with the genes, if there’s any, so I can move the genes.”

  Candace let out a little laugh. “You’ve lost me already,” she admitted. “I haven’t the foggiest notion what a transponase is. In fact, I’m afraid a lot of this molecular biology is over my head.”

  “It really isn’t,” Kevin said. “The principles aren’t that complicated. The critical fact few people realize is that
some genes can move around on their chromosome. This happens particularly in B lymphocytes to increase the diversity of antibodies. Other genes are even more mobile and can change places with their twins. You do remember that there are two copies of every gene.”

  “Yup,” Candace said. “Just like there are two copies of each chromosome. Our cells have twenty-three chromosome pairs.”

  “Exactly,” Kevin said. “When genes exchange places on their chromosome pairs it’s called homologous transposition. It’s a particularly important process in the generation of sex cells, both eggs and sperms. What it does is help increase genetic shuffling, and hence the ability of species to evolve.”

  “So this homologous transposition plays a role in evolution,” Candace said.

  “Absolutely,” Kevin agreed. “Anyway, the gene segments that move are called transposons, and the enzymes that catalyze their movement are called transponases.”

  “Okay,” Candace said. “I follow you so far.”

  “Well, right now I’m interested in transposons that contain the genes for minor histocompatibility antigens,” Kevin said.

  “I see,” Candace said, nodding her head. “I’m getting the picture. You’re goal is to move the gene for a minor histocompatibility antigen from one chromosome to another.”

  “Exactly!” Kevin said. “The trick, of course, is finding and isolating the transponase. That’s the difficult step. But once I’ve found the transponase, it’s relatively easy to locate its gene. And once I’ve located and isolated the gene, I can use standard recombinant DNA technology to produce it.”

  “Meaning getting bacteria to make it for you,” Candace said.

  “Bacteria or mammalian tissue culture,” Kevin said. “Whatever works best.”

  “Phew!” Candace commented. “This brain game is reminding me how hungry I am. Let’s get some hamburgers before my blood sugar bottoms out.”

  Kevin smiled. He liked this woman. He was even starting to relax.