The Orlando File Omnibus : (Omnibus Version-Book 1 & Book 2)

by Irvine, Ian C. P.

  "…What we realised was that during the growth period, there is a stage in the cell's development when the cell does not yet know exactly what type of cell it is going to become…it looks to the other cells around it for instructions, and it learns from them how it should develop, for example whether it should become a brain cell, or a kidney or a heart muscle cell, etc. …We call these special cells 'stem cells', and we realised that if we could manufacture them by cloning them in the laboratory, then we could introduce these special stem cells into the damaged parts of a body, where they could become an army of cells that would rebuild the damaged tissue around it, repairing blood cells or bone marrow that wasn't working before…or even replacing the neurons in the brain that have withered away or died…"

  Sonderheim walked around the table to where Colonel Packard was sitting.

  "I know what I'm talking about may seem all a little far-fetched or difficult to understand, so let me give you a living example of what we have done…Colonel can you please stand for me?"

  The Colonel pushed back his chair and stood up.

  "Colonel Packard first came to us a few months ago. He arrived at the door of the clinic in a wheelchair…a wheelchair in which he has sat for over thirty years, since a bullet in the Vietnam war damaged his spinal cord. What we did was take some of his cells, clone them, extract the special stem cells that we were looking for and injected them back into his spine around the area of the damage. Because we used cells from his own body, his body's immune system didn't reject them…in fact, they welcomed them. After that we didn't need to do anything else. Colonel Packard's body did the rest. In effect, the other nerve cells in his spine told the new stem cells exactly what type of cells were damaged and needed to be replaced, and the stem cells then started to grow and multiply around the area of damage. Within weeks the damaged nerve tissue had been restored, and Colonel Packard's spine began to function normally. Well, you all saw him walk into the room, unaided…that was no trick…his spinal cord had been rebuilt, and now he can walk again…So you see, the Orlando Treatment does work!"

  Sonderheim turned quickly to Trevor Simons.

  "When Trevor came to us, he was in the advanced stages of leukaemia. To be quite honest, we didn't know if we would be able to treat him. We knew that we may be able to prompt Trevor's cloned stem cells into differentiating themselves into healthy blood cells or healthy bone marrow cells…but we didn't know how effective it would be. Well, now we do!"

  Trevor, in a rather uncharacteristic and unexpected show of public emotion, found himself turning to Sonderheim, and offering his hand to the man who had saved him. Sonderheim took it in his own, shaking it proudly, while patting Trevor gently on the shoulder with his other free hand.

  Sonderheim walked back to the front of the room and turned to face his rapt audience, smiling at the President of the United States, whom he noticed was now as much in awe of every word that he said as everyone else in the room.

  "I have one more example for you…" Sonderheim turned to Buz and nodded.

  The plasma screen came alive with the image of Sam Novak, the Texan senator who had consistently beat Trevor at table tennis in Purlington Bay.

  "Hi there Sam. How are you feeling today?"

  The image on the screen smiled. Sam Novak was on a video link and was standing outside on what looked like a fleet of white marble steps leading into a large building.

  "Couldn't be better…" He replied in his Texan drawl.

  Another murmuring of surprise swept around the meeting room.

  "So where are you now, Sam?" Sonderheim asked.

  "I'm just outside the Senate office in Texas…just about to go in and put some of these young guys straight, give them a surprise they didn't quite expect…Listen, y'all. I'm sorry I couldn't be there, but I hope you're all listening to this young man…he's a miracle worker…!"

  "You're too kind. Anyway Sam, thanks for joining us…"

  The screen went dead, and Sonderheim turned back to the group.

  "I know that Senator Novak is well known to you all…and that you are all well aware that he was removed from the board of the Chymera Executive because he was deemed mentally unfit to continue in his duties. His Parkinson's condition had reached an advanced level, and most people had quite frankly given up hope on him. Now, in Parkinson's disease, the death of brain cells that normally produce a chemical called dopamine, leads to uncontrollable tremors and paralysis…By introducing cloned stem cells from Senator Novak's body into the affected areas of his brain, he was able to re-grow the cells which had died, and restore his brain to normal. You'll have noticed that he wasn't shaking at all."

  "…Of course, as well as the stem cell treatment, Sam Novak underwent the full Orlando Treatment, and as in all the others who took part in the Phase Two trials, we also have observed the rejuvenating effect kicking in…that's why Sam appears about ten or twenty years younger than the last time you saw him!"

  Sonderheim nodded to Buz, and the plasma screen slid away, leaving him standing alone.

  David Sonderheim stood before them in silence. He looked around the room at the faces of the Chymera Executive. One day he would be one of them. He hoped that he had impressed them here today…his future would depend upon it.

  "Ladies and gentlemen, The Phase Two trials of the Orlando Treatment have now been concluded. I am pleased to report to you that they have, in my opinion, been a complete success. In Phase Two of the programme we have concentrated upon understanding the processes which seek to attack and degenerate the condition of the body during the natural lifespan of a human. By understanding these processes and how they work, we have been able to combat them and to alleviate many of the conditions caused by ageing. Thanks to the Orlando Treatment, we believe that our bodies will now be able to reach and maintain their true potential. Consequently, I see no reason why many of us around this table today should not be able to reach the maximum natural life-span of one hundred and twenty years, but doing this with the full functionality of our youth and unimpaired capability of our brains…"

  "…I mentioned to you at the start of my presentation that later I would perhaps address the issue of what could possibly be achieved once we begin to look at extending our life-spans, by pushing back the natural barrier of one hundred and twenty years so that we can start to live to two hundred, or five hundred years of age…As I stand before you today, I cannot guarantee you anything, BUT, it is our hope and intention that in Phase Three of the Orlando Project, we will be able to address this area. We have already begun the research, and we are all excited by our initial progress, but in order to continue our existing work and commence the new programme properly we need you to approve the $1bn funding that we have requested. The details are all in the business plan, of which you each have a copy in front of you…"

  "Ladies and gentlemen,…In summary, I have great pleasure in recommending to you, the board of Chymera, that we progress to Phase Three of the Orlando Project. I hope you will agree with me and approve the motion in the vote that I know will follow this presentation. "

  "And for those of you that have signed up for the Phase Three Trials, I look forward to soon welcoming you to Purlington Bay."

  Spontaneous applause erupted around the table, and almost as one, the Executive Board of the Chymera Corporation rose to their feet.

  Kendrick Hart looked across to Rupert Rohloff and smiled. Rupert knew the vote would go in his favour. In spite of his intense dislike for the man, Rohloff had to agree that Sonderheim had done a good job.

  Chapter 40

  Day Twenty-Four

  Burgess Hill

  Pennsylvania

  There didn't seem to be many other guests in the hotel that night. According to Mrs Doyle they had twenty rooms, but Kerrin guessed that now the summer was over, not many people made it out this far into the country.

  After Mrs Doyle insisted on bringing him a cup of fresh coffee and some large, home-made chocolate brownies, Kerrin sat do
wn in the small hotel office and started photocopying the entire contents of the envelope Martin had sent him. Luckily, he was able to find a whole box of new photocopying paper, and in one of the desk drawers he found a box of rewriteable DVD's, with nine unused disks inside.

  Under normal circumstances he would have asked permission to borrow the paper and the DVDs, but deciding that it would be easier to get forgiveness than permission, he helped himself to what he needed.

  It took him until 8 p.m. that evening to copy nine complete sets of the material he had been sent. He also burnt nine new DVDs, each an identical copy of the original, which turned out to contain a myriad of comprehensive files on the Orlando Treatment, which he would never have enough paper to print out and copy; all the additional materials he found on the memory sticks and the CDs he added to the DVDs.

  Not surprisingly, Mrs Doyle also had a box of large oversized envelopes on one of the shelves. It seemed that Mrs Doyle had one of the best equipped offices in town, although Kerrin guessed that she probably didn't know what half the stuff was there for.

  "I just want the accountant to have everything he needs whenever he comes around," she told Kerrin later when he offered to pay for all the material he had used.

  "Now, if you’re finished your work, I've made you a little Irish stew for your evening meal. My guests don’t go hungry. So, please, come along!"

  Mrs Doyle reminded him of one of his mad aunts, although Kerrin realised she was probably more lonely than mad. She seemed like a good soul that just liked to have company. That's why she probably ran the hotel. Kerrin followed her down a corridor to the guest dining room, and nodded a greeting to a few of the guests that looked up at him as he walked in behind Mrs Doyle.

  He sat at a table beside a large window, looking out in to the dark night and thinking about Dana. There wasn't any way to properly describe the feelings he was going through. His emotions were so mixed. Once again David Sonderheim became a central focus for the hate he felt towards all those who had taken it upon themselves to attack his family and his life. He should have killed him when he had had the chance. If he had, then none of this would have happened.

  Kerrin felt guilty, sitting in the comfort of a lovely country hotel, eating a hearty meal and washing it down with a large cold Guinness, while out there somewhere in the dark, cold night, his wife and colleague were locked up and probably being threatened or interrogated.

  It took all his effort to steel himself against the pain and the worry. He forced himself not to think of Dana. He knew he couldn't afford to let himself get upset. Instead he had to channel his hatred and anger into his determination to complete the tasks he had to carry out in the next few days.

  He had a new plan.

  A good plan. One which had every possibility of working.

  All he needed now was a little luck, and by the end of the week they would all be free, and the whole ghastly affair would be behind them.

  --------------------

  Day Twenty-Five

  The next day he left the hotel early. He told the manager he would probably be back in a few days, and asked her if she could look after a few of his things for him, along with one of the parcels he had made up containing a copy of everything that Martin had sent him, including the original DVD with all the files stored on it.

  Mrs Doyle's brother-in-law gave him a ride into the small town and he caught the train into a suburb of Washington. He had spent a fitful night dreaming about Dana, the same nightmare of him entering a room and finding her tied to her wheelchair and him then struggling with and eventually killing Sonderheim. The dream tormented him every time he closed his eyes. Drenched in sweat, he always woke up when he came to the point where he realised Dana was dead, the bright red blood blossoming against the pure white of her blouse.

  While lying awake between the nightmares he had run through the plan again, over and over, making a timetable in his mind against which he would drive himself until he completed everything that had to be done.

  The sooner it was all finished, the sooner he would be able to go to rescue Dana.

  After a day spent in Washington, making phone calls and meeting the few people left in whom he believed he could place any trust, he caught the train up to New York where he checked into a sleazy, low-budget hotel in one of the red-light districts of the city. Here nobody asked any questions. No one looked each other in the eye, no one cared who you were or what you were doing. So long as you didn't disturb anyone else.

  It took Kerrin two days to do what he had to do in New York: to post the parcels to the people he had contacted so carefully from a myriad of different payphones, and opening new accounts with several international banks with strict instructions on what to do with the contents of his safety deposit boxes should he not service the accounts regularly every three months.

  Only on the third night in his downtown hotel, was he able to sleep throughout the night for the first time in ages. He fell into a deep sleep as soon as his head hit the musky pillow, in spite of the police sirens blaring on the street outside and the sound of people coming and going all night long along the corridor outside his hotel door.

  --------------------

  Day Twenty-Eight

  When he woke up the next morning, he washed himself in the broken sink which somehow magically managed to stay attached to the wall, even though the plaster around it was broken, and the tiles had started to fall off. He shaved without looking at himself properly, scared to see what his reflection would tell him, and then left the hotel room before anyone else in the building seemed to have woken up.

  It had been a long time since he had last been to visit Dr. Zinfadel. When he had called him on the phone yesterday afternoon, he half expected to be told that he no longer practiced in New York, or that he had died. Instead, the Israeli born hypnotherapist had picked up the phone himself, a sense of relaxation and calm welling up inside Kerrin just at the mere sound of hearing his voice again.

  His office was a dingy room on the affluent Upper East side. It hadn't changed much in eight years, and Kerrin could have sworn that some of the piles of magazines and papers which were stacked up against the walls and in every corner of the apartment were the same magazines and papers that were there on his last visit.

  Organised chaos. That’s how Kerrin could best describe it. He had no doubt that the good Doctor knew exactly what was in each pile, and could locate any article or document easily. Only to the uninitiated did it look like a complete mess.

  "Come in, come in…" Dr Zinfadel welcomed him at the door to the apartment.

  At the ripe old age of seventy two, his hair and his long beard had more grey in it now than before, but apart from that he looked quite the same.

  In another age Dr. Zinfadel would have made a good wizard, and it wouldn't have surprised Kerrin if one of the many piles of books and magazines contained a collection of spells, or if somewhere hidden in one of the corners Kerrin would have found a bubbling cauldron.

  In a way, Dr. Zinfadel was a wizard. He was a wizard of the human mind. He could look deep into a person's brain and weave incredible spells on a person's subconscious. In a few moments, he could make a person who had smoked all his life, give up smoking without going through any withdrawal symptoms. He could take a man who was scared of spiders, and make him love them. He could steal a person's phobia and replace it with a fascination or an indifference to whatever it was they had feared. A person could walk into his apartment timid and scared of life, and walk out a new person, to whom every second was a precious moment which must be savoured and enjoyed to the max.

  And being a wizard, Dr. Zinfadel could probably have turned dross into gold if he had put his mind to it. But instead, this thin, wiry looking Jewish man from a small town outside of Bethlehem in Israel, spent his life helping other people for relatively little or no personal gain. Whereas other hypnotists in Central Manhattan charged hundreds, even thousands of dollars an hour for their time, when you
walked out of Dr. Zinfadel's apartment you were only expected to cross his palm with $35 for every hour you spent with him. That and a smile, and perhaps a little postcard a few months later to thank him again and let him know how you were.

  Instead of wallpaper, his walls were covered with these postcards, sent from every corner of the globe. Sent from people whose lives he had changed, and who had perhaps found happiness and peace for the first time in years. Rich and poor people alike came to see Dr. Zinfadel, but the price was always the same. $35 an hour. It had been for the past eight years, and Kerrin was not surprised to hear that it hadn't changed. Dr. Zinfadel must be deaf, because he had obviously not heard of inflation.

  "Ah…Graham, Mr Graham is it not? Come in…sit down…over there please…make yourself comfortable…Ah…it eez good to see you ma boy. How is your life? And your dreams…are they still with you, or did they go away as I told them to?" He greeted Kerrin with his strong, confused New York, Hebrew accent.

  It had taken a while for Kerrin to get used to his mannerisms and his directness, but once Kerrin had realised that this was simply his way, and that there was not a single malicious bone in the doctor’s body, he had come to trust him and begun to tell him about the darkest secrets of his life.