Chromosome 6

by Robin Cook

Kevin thanked his attentive housekeeper, and she disappeared back into the kitchen. Tossing aside his journal, Kevin got up from his desk and walked out onto the veranda. Night had fallen, and he was beginning to worry about where Melanie and Candace could be.

  Kevin’s house fronted a small grassy square illuminated by old-fashioned street lamps. Directly across the square was Siegfried Spallek’s house. It was similar to Kevin’s with an arcaded first floor, a veranda around the second, and dormers in its steeply pitched roof. At present, there were lights only in the kitchen end of the house. Apparently, the manager had not yet come home.

  Hearing laughter to his left, Kevin turned in the direction of the waterfront. There had been a tropical downpour for an hour that had just ended fifteen minutes previously. The cobblestones were steaming since they’d still been hot from the sun. Into this lighted mist walked the two women, arm in arm, laughing merrily.

  “Hey, Kevin!” Melanie shouted, spying Kevin on his balcony. “How come you didn’t send a carriage?”

  The women walked to a point directly beneath Kevin who was embarrassed by their revelry.

  “What are you talking about?” Kevin asked.

  “Well, you didn’t expect us to get soaked, did you?” Melanie joked. Candace giggled.

  “Come on up,” Kevin encouraged. His eyes roamed around the small square, hoping that his neighbors weren’t being disturbed.

  The women came up the stairs with great commotion. Kevin met them in the hall. Melanie insisted on giving Kevin a kiss on both cheeks. Candace did likewise.

  “Sorry we’re late,” Melanie said. “But the rain forced us to take shelter at the Chickee Bar.”

  “And a friendly group of men from the motor pool insisted on buying us piña coladas,” Candace said gaily.

  “It’s okay,” Kevin said. “But dinner is ready.”

  “Fantastic,” Candace said. “I’m famished.”

  “Me too,” Melanie said. She reached down and slipped off her shoes. “I hope you don’t mind my going barefoot. My shoes got a little wet on the way up here.”

  “Me too,” Candace said as she followed suit.

  Kevin motioned toward the dining room and trailed the women in. Esmeralda had laid the table at one end since it was large enough for twelve. There was a small tablecloth just covering the area under the dishes. There were also candles burning in glass holders.

  “How romantic,” Candace commented.

  “I hope we’re having wine,” Melanie said as she took the seat closest to her.

  Candace went around and sat opposite Melanie, leaving the head of the table for Kevin.

  “White or red?” Kevin asked.

  “Any color,” Melanie said. Then she laughed.

  “What are we eating?” Candace asked.

  “It’s a local fish,” Kevin said.

  “A fish! How appropriate,” Melanie said, which caused both women to laugh to the point of tears.

  “I don’t get it,” Kevin said. He had the distinct feeling that when he was around these two women, he wasn’t in control of anything and understood less than half the conversation.

  “We’ll explain later,” Melanie managed. “Get the wine. That’s more important.”

  “Let’s have white,” Candace said.

  Kevin went into the kitchen and got the wine that he had earlier put into the refrigerator. He avoided looking at Esmeralda, worried what she must be thinking with these tipsy women as guests. Kevin didn’t know what to think himself.

  As he opened the wine, he could hear them carrying on with lively conversation and laughter. The good side, he reminded himself, was that with Melanie and Candace there were never any uncomfortable silences.

  “What kind of wine are we having?” Melanie asked when Kevin reappeared. Kevin showed her the bottle. “Oh, my,” she said with feigned condescension. “Montrachet! Aren’t we lucky tonight.”

  Kevin had had no idea what he’d picked from his collection of wine bottles, but he was pleased Melanie was impressed. He poured the wine as Esmeralda appeared with the first course.

  The dinner was an unqualified success. Even Kevin began to relax after attempting to keep up with the women as far as the wine was concerned. About halfway through the meal he was forced to return to the kitchen for another bottle.

  “You can’t guess who else was at the chickee hut,” Melanie said as the entrée dishes were being cleared. “Our fearless leader Siegfried.”

  Kevin choked on his wine. He wiped his face with his napkin. “You didn’t talk to him, did you?”

  “It would have been hard not to,” Melanie said. “He graciously asked if he could join us and even bought a round, not only for us but also for the guys from the motor pool.”

  “He was actually quite charming,” Candace said.

  Kevin felt a chill descend down his spine. The second ordeal of the afternoon which scared him almost as much as the first was a visit to Siegfried’s office. No sooner had they evaded the Equatoguinean soldiers then Melanie had insisted on driving there. It made no difference what Kevin said in an attempt to talk her out of it.

  “I’m not going to stand for this kind of treatment,” Melanie had said as they mounted the stairs. She didn’t even bother to speak with Aurielo. She just sailed into Siegfried’s office and demanded that he personally see to it that her car was repaired.

  Candace had gone in with Melanie, but Kevin had held back, watching from just beyond Aurielo’s desk.

  “Last night I lost my sunglasses,” Melanie had said. “So we go out there just to see if we can find them, and we get shot at again!”

  Kevin had expected Siegfried to explode. But he didn’t. Instead, he was immediately apologetic, said that the soldiers were only out there to keep people away from the island, and that they shouldn’t have fired their guns. He agreed not only to fix Melanie’s car but to make sure she got a loaner in the interim. He also offered to have the soldiers scour the area for the lost sunglasses.

  Esmeralda appeared with the dessert. The women were pleased. It was made with locally grown cocoa.

  “Did Siegfried mention anything about what happened today?” Kevin asked.

  “He apologized again,” Candace said. “He said he spoke with the Moroccan guard and assured us that there won’t be any more shooting. He said that if anybody wanders out there by the bridge, they will just be spoken to and told that the area is off-limits.”

  “Likely story,” Kevin said. “As trigger-happy as those kids they call soldiers are, it’s not going to happen.”

  Melanie laughed. “Talk about the soldiers, Siegfried said that they spent hours searching for the nonexistent sunglasses. Serves them right!”

  “He did ask us if we wanted to talk with some of the workers who’d been on the island and who’d been burning underbrush,” Candace said. “Can you believe it?”

  “And how did you respond?” Kevin asked.

  “We told him it wasn’t necessary,” Candace said. “I mean, we don’t want him to think we’re still concerned about the smoke, and we definitely don’t want him to think we’re planning on visiting the island.”

  “But we’re not,” Kevin said. He eyed the women while they smiled at each other conspiratorially. “Are we?” As far as Kevin was concerned, getting shot at twice had been more than enough to convince him that visiting the island was out of the question.

  “You wondered why we laughed when you told us we were having fish for dinner,” Melanie said. “Remember?”

  “Yeah,” Kevin said with concern. He had the distinct feeling he wasn’t going to like what Melanie was about to say.

  “We laughed because we spent a good deal of the late afternoon talking to fishermen who come to Cogo a couple of times a week,” Melanie said. “Probably the ones who caught the fish we just ate. They come from a town called Acalayong about ten to twelve miles east of here.”

  “I know the town,” Kevin said. It was the jumping-off place for people going from Equ
atorial Guinea to Cocobeach, Gabon. The route was served by motorized canoes called pirogues.

  “We rented one of their boats for two or three days,” Melanie said proudly. “So we don’t have to even go near the bridge. We can visit Isla Francesca by water.”

  “Not me,” Kevin said emphatically. “I’ve had it. Frankly, I think we’re lucky to be alive. If you guys want to go, go! I know that nothing I could ever say would influence what you do.”

  “Oh, that’s great!” Melanie said derisively. “You’re giving up already! If that’s the case, how do you intend to find out whether you and I have created a race of protohumans? I mean, you’re the one who’s raised this issue and got us all upset.”

  Melanie and Candace stared at Kevin across the table. For a few minutes, no one said a word. The night sounds of the jungle drifted in, which until then no one had heard.

  After feeling progressively uncomfortable, Kevin finally broke the silence. “I don’t know what I’m going to do yet,” he said. “I’ll think of something.”

  “Like hell you will,” Melanie said. “You already said the only way to find out what those animals are doing is to visit the island. Those were your words. Have you forgotten?”

  “No, I haven’t forgotten,” Kevin said. “It’s just that . . . well . . .”

  “That’s okay,” Melanie said condescendingly. “If you’re too chicken to go and find out what you might have done with your genetic tinkering, fine. We were counting on you coming to help run the motor in the pirogue, but that’s okay. Candace and I can manage. Right, Candace?”

  “Right,” Candace said.

  “You see we’ve planned this out pretty carefully,” Melanie said. “Not only did we rent the large, motorized canoe, but we had them bring back a smaller, paddle version as well. We plan to tow the paddle boat. Once we get to the island, we’ll paddle up the Rio Diviso. Maybe we won’t even have to go on land at all. All we want to do is observe the animals for a while.”

  Kevin nodded. He looked back and forth between the two women who were relentlessly staring at him. Acutely uncomfortable, he scraped back his chair and started from the room.

  “Where are you going?” Melanie asked.

  “To get more wine,” Kevin said.

  With strange emotion akin to anger, Kevin got a third bottle of white Burgundy, opened it, and brought it back into the dining room. He gestured with it toward Melanie and she nodded. Kevin filled her glass. He did the same to Candace. Then he filled his own.

  After taking his seat, Kevin took a healthy swig of wine. He coughed a little after swallowing, and then asked when they planned on going on their great expedition.

  “Tomorrow, bright and early,” Melanie said. “We figure it will take a little over an hour to get to the island, and we’d like to be back before the sun gets really strong.”

  “We already got food and drink from the commissary,” Candace said. “And I got a portable cooler from the hospital to pack it in.”

  “We’ll stay far away from the bridge and the staging area,” Melanie said. “So that won’t be a problem.”

  “I think it’s going to be kind of fun,” Candace said. “I’d love to see a hippopotamus.”

  Kevin took another gulp of wine.

  “I suppose you don’t mind if we take those electronic gizmos to locate the animals,” Melanie said. “And we could use the contour map. Of course, we’ll be careful with them.”

  Kevin sighed and sagged in his chair. “All right, I give up. What time is this mission scheduled?”

  “Oh goody,” Candace said, clapping her hands together. “I knew you’d come.”

  “The sun comes up after six,” Melanie said. “I’d like to be in the boat and on our way by then. My plan is to head west, then swing way out into the estuary before going east. That way we won’t evoke any suspicions here in town if anyone sees us getting into the boat. I’d like them to think we were going off to Acalayong.”

  “What about work?” Kevin asked. “Won’t you be missed?”

  “Nope,” Melanie said. “I told the people in the lab I’d be unreachable at the animal center. Whereas the people in the animal center I told . . .”

  “I get the picture,” Kevin interjected. “What about you, Candace?”

  “No problem,” Candace said. “As long as Mr. Winchester keeps doing as well as he’s doing, I’m essentially unemployed. The surgeons are golfing and playing tennis all day. I can do what I like.”

  “I’ll call my head tech,” Kevin said. “I’ll tell him I’m under the weather with an acute attack of insanity.”

  “Wait a second,” Candace said suddenly. “I just thought of a problem.”

  Kevin sat bolt upright. “What?” he asked.

  “I don’t have any sunblock,” Candace said. “I didn’t bring any because on my three previous visits I never saw the sun.”

  CHAPTER 16

  March 6, 1997

  2:30 P.M.

  New York City

  With all the tests on Franconi pending, Jack had forced himself to go to his office and try to concentrate on some of his other outstanding cases. To his surprise, he’d made reasonable headway until the phone rang at two-thirty.

  “Is this Dr. Stapleton?” a female voice with an Italian accent asked.

  “It is indeed,” Jack said. “Is this Mrs. Franconi?”

  “Imogene Franconi. I got a message to call you.”

  “I appreciate it, Mrs. Franconi,” Jack said. “First let me extend my sympathies to you in regards to your son.”

  “Thank you,” Imogene said. “Carlo was a good boy. He didn’t do any of those things they said in the newspapers. He worked for the American Fresh Fruit Company here in Queens. I don’t know where all that talk about organized crime came from. The newspapers just make stuff up.”

  “It’s terrible what they’ll do to sell papers,” Jack said.

  “The man that came this morning said that you got his body back,” Imogene said.

  “We believe so,” Jack said. “That’s why we needed some blood from you to confirm it. Thank you for being cooperative.”

  “I asked him why he didn’t want me to come down there and identify it like I did last time,” Imogene said. “But he told me he didn’t know.”

  Jack tried to think of a graceful way of explaining the identity problem, but he couldn’t think of any. “Some parts of the body are still missing,” he said vaguely, hoping that Mrs. Franconi would be satisfied.

  “Oh?” Imogene commented.

  “Let me tell you why I called,” Jack said quickly. He was afraid that if Mrs. Franconi became offended, she might not be receptive to his question. “You told the investigator that your son’s health had improved after a trip. Do you remember saying that?”

  “Of course,” Imogene said.

  “I was told you don’t know where he went,” Jack said. “Is there any way you could find out?”

  “I don’t think so,” Imogene said. “He told me it had nothing to do with his work and that it was very private.”

  “Do you remember when it was?” Jack asked.

  “Not exactly,” Imogene said. “Maybe five or six weeks ago.”

  “Was it in this country?” Jack asked.

  “I don’t know,” Imogene said. “All he said was that it was very private.”

  “If you find out where it was, would you give me a call back?” Jack asked.

  “I suppose,” Imogene said.

  “Thank you,” Jack said.

  “Wait,” Imogene said. “I just remembered he did say something strange just before he left. He said that if he didn’t come back that he loved me very much.”

  “Did that surprise you?” Jack asked.

  “Well, yes,” Imogene said. “I thought that was a fine thing to say to your mother.”

  Jack thanked Mrs. Franconi again and hung up the phone. Hardly had he had his hand off the receiver when it rang again. It was Ted Lynch.

  “I think
you’d better come up here,” Ted said.

  “I’m on my way,” Jack said.

  Jack found Ted sitting at his desk, literally scratching his head.

  “If I didn’t know better I’d think you were trying to put one over on me,” Ted spat. “Sit down!”

  Jack sat. Ted was holding a ream of computer-generated paper plus a number of sheets of developed film with hundreds of small dark bands. Ted reached over and dropped the mass into Jack’s lap.

  “What the hell’s this?” Jack questioned. He picked up several of the celluloid sheets and held them up to the light.

  Ted leaned over and with the eraser end of an old-fashioned wooden pencil pointed to the films. “These are the results of the DNA polymarker test.” He fingered the computer printout. “And this mass of data compares the nucleotide sequences of the DQ alpha regions of the MHC.”

  “Come on, Ted!” Jack urged. “Talk English to me, would you please? You know I’m a babe in the woods when it comes to this stuff.”

  “Fine,” Ted exclaimed as if vexed. “The polymarker test shows that Franconi’s DNA and the DNA of the liver tissue you found inside him could not be any more different.”

  “Hey, that’s good news,” Jack said. “Then, it was a transplant.”

  “I guess,” Ted said without conviction. “But the sequence with the DQ alpha is identical, right down to the last nucleotide.”

  “What does that mean?” Jack asked.

  Ted spread his hands like a supplicant and wrinkled his forehead. “I don’t know. I can’t explain it. Mathematically, it couldn’t happen. I mean the chances are so infinitesimally small, it’s beyond belief. We’re talking about an identical match of thousands upon thousands of base pairs even in areas of long repeats. Absolutely identical. That’s why we got the results that we did with the DQ alpha screen.”

  “Well, the bottom line is that it was a transplant,” Jack said. “That’s the issue here.”

  “If pressed, I’d have to agree it was a transplant,” Ted said. “But how they found a donor with the identical DQ alpha is beyond me. It’s the kind of coincidence that smacks of the supernatural.”

  “What about the test with the mitochondrial DNA to confirm the floater is Franconi?” Jack asked.