by Nate Kenyon
She read on, through descriptions of tests on students and supposed “sensitives,” through the piles of data and the secondhand accounts of paranormal events. The book seemed desperate to prove something, but in the end she found nothing that convinced her of the existence of anything other than coincidence. And yet something was beginning to form in her mind, the raw substance of a possible answer. She flipped through another of the books about alleged poltergeist phenomenan and psychokinesis, looking for something she had read earlier.
Finally she found it, a passage about a young woman named Esther Cox who had lived at the turn of the century. Esther became the center of attention when a supposed poltergeist began terrorizing her family’s home. Loud banging noises occurred at all hours. Boxes flew around the rooms. Water boiled in the girl’s presence. Fires burned all over the house, resisting efforts to put them out. Esther’s sister had a boyfriend, and it was rumored that this boyfriend had tried to rape Esther one night, and the strange activity had begun at that point. A best-selling book on the subject was written by a man named Walter Hubbell.
Esther was described as a plain and psychoneurotic girl under eighteen years of age. She lived at home in poverty, sharing a bed with her sister. A girl who had already exhibited signs of mental instability; a rape or attempted rape could likely have pushed her over into a full-blown psychosis. She might have caused the pranks herself, Jess thought, and not even been consciously aware of it. In fact it was very likely. Most supposed poltergeists were connected with adolescents in some way. Strange events in “haunted” houses always seemed to occur when the teenage son or daughter was around, and disappear when they left.
Put it together with what we know to be true. There was a biological theory, lately advanced, that introduced the idea of gradations of mental illness. Many researchers believed that a group of genes were responsible for the majority of mental diseases such as schizophrenia, and that it was possible to inherit one or several of these genes without becoming a full-blown schizophrenic. This person would become a “schizotypal personality,” and would exhibit a milder form of the disease. Such a person would be suspicious of others, prefer isolation to groups, would be preoccupied with unusual ideas such as UFOs or belief in the paranormal.
And anyone or anything that encouraged those beliefs would only serve to reinforce them.
Which led her back to Sarah. A girl who had very likely inherited one or more of the “schizophrenic genes” from her mother. A girl with developmental problems, regressed to an earlier childhood stage, experiencing delusions of grandeur, omnipotence, a powerful need to have control over herself and her world. At such a young age, she had been taken away from an abusive family. Isolated. Poked and prodded. And naturally those rumors, the stories her family had told, would persist. You couldn’t stop things like that, even in a medical environment. All it would take were a couple of superstitious orderlies….
Convinced that she had finally found what she was looking for, Jess packed up her bag and returned the books to the reference room to be reshelved. Sarah was not a true schizophrenic, of that she was sure. She had not been misdiagnosed, exactly; it was simply a matter of degree. The girl could have a milder form of the illness, which would become more or less severe depending on the circumstances, hence her remarkably quick “recovery.” She would be suspicious of people trying to help her, exhibit odd behavior, even fits. At the same time she would seek out attention, crave acceptance. She would believe herself to be gifted, even psychic, and she would perpetrate any sort of prank or trick to prove it to others.
As she walked quickly through the deepening twilight, leaves crunching under her feet, Jess tried to imagine that Wasserman would not have come to the same conclusion. Impossible. He was an expert in the field; surely he would be familiar with the latest theories.
Then why had he treated Sarah so roughly? Why had he kept her from the proper treatment for this type of disorder? Why had he isolated her, put her in restraints, treated her so heavily with drugs? And most of all, why had he brought in a young graduate student and risked exposing all the mistakes he had made?
But those were questions for another time. Right now Jess felt as if some great crisis had been turned away, an abyss looked into and then avoided. She would concentrate now on continuing to gain Sarah’s confidence and they would see from there.
First thing tomorrow.
—16—
The private helicopter landed at Downtown Manhattan Heliport (DMH) at 6:43 p.m. An attendant scurried free and opened the passenger door, and then held his hand out to assist those disembarking. A white-haired man and a blonde woman in business attire climbed off the fold-down steps and nodded to the attendant. They looked like wealthy middle-aged lovers on a date, but they were not. Far from it.
The man, who carried an attaché case and wore a very expensive blue silk suit and red tie, slipped the attendant a bill while the woman hurried inside, clutching her jacket around her shoulders. The evening air was chilly with a breeze coming off the water. The attendant was pleased when he had the chance to look down at his hand; the bill was a fifty. He hurried after them, to see if there was anything else he could do.
The DMH is located on Manhattan’s East River, and provides its users with breathtaking views of the New York and New Jersey skylines. The heliport’s main terminal contains an operations control center, pilot and VIP lounges, and a passenger waiting area. Because of its proximity to Wall Street, it is often used to transport documents for investment and law firms and large banks, and the occasional high-powered business meeting is held in a pair of private rooms above the lounge, overlooking the water.
The man’s name was Steven Berger, and the woman was Philippa Cruz. Berger, as the head of business development for Helix Pharmaceuticals, was the fund-raiser, the salesman. Cruz was the brains. At the tender age of forty-two, she was the lead investigator and head of the project team, with an M.D. from Harvard Medical and a Ph.D. in biology from Duke. But she did not fit the stereotype of a geeky researcher; today she wore a pin-striped Brooks Brothers power suit, impeccably tailored, with clean lines and the timeless look of quality. Her straw-colored hair was cropped short and groomed in a rake-fingered, mussed style.
Berger might have been accused of trying a bit too hard to project money and importance. To Cruz, it was effortless.
They arrived at one of the private function rooms and were shown inside, the first of their party to appear. Berger and Cruz had met others here on several different occasions, so they were familiar with the layout. This time, a table had been set for six, though there would be only two other guests.
“Something smells delicious,” Cruz said. The air held the scent of curry and wine. She removed her jacket and draped it over one of the mission-style wooden chairs, and then drifted over to the wide stretch of windows and stood next to one of three lush, potted Boston ferns. Lights blinked on in the deepening dusk. It was a hauntingly lonely, breathtaking scene, one that she rarely had the time to appreciate properly. She rubbed at the goose bumps on her arms.
A waiter knocked on the door and then entered, asking them what they would like for drinks. Berger ordered a Bombay, while Cruz ordered a Manhattan. “How appropriate,” Berger said when the waiter had gone. Cruz smiled.
“Only one,” she said. “I want to make sure we remain focused. This promises to be an interesting evening.”
Steven Berger placed his attaché case on the table. He removed his wire-rimmed spectacles and rubbed at the indentations in his nose, then set them back again. “An interesting evening,” he said quietly, almost to himself. And then, “You really think we’ve got things moving in the right direction again, eh?”
“I’m sure of it.”
“So you can assure all of us that there won’t be any more…accidents?”
Instead of answering immediately, the blonde woman turned and stared back out at the water. “Did you know that when a person breaks his neck,” she said fin
ally, “the severed nerves don’t actually die? They form this scab called a growth cone, and that cone pushes ahead like a blind man trying to find his way in the dark, fumbling around with these tiny strands called philipodia. Eventually these strands come up against a barrier and just stop. They’re at a dead end, and so it goes. Our friend remains in a wheelchair, drooling across his lap. But the potential is always there, waiting to be tapped.”
“So how do scientists help give the philipodia a helping hand?”
“They’ve recently discovered that the key is very likely a group of proteins called EPH.”
“Always proteins,” Berger muttered. “You’d think we could just eat a steak dinner and be done with it.”
Cruz didn’t seem to notice him as she continued. “Different EPH proteins either attract or repel nerve strands, and in that way they help guide the philipodia along. So what if you could get rid of the particular version of EPH protein that repels or blocks nerves? Well, scientists at Melbourne have tried it, and guess what? Mice with broken backs are jumping up and down five weeks later. Nerves have completely regrown. It’s a miracle.”
“Yes, yes,” Berger said. “A miracle indeed!” He often got caught up in the woman’s enthusiasm in spite of himself; she was breathtaking in her passion for science and the infinite possibility of mankind.
“Jesus healed the sick, walked on water, rose from the dead,” she said, turning back with her sharp predator’s eyes gleaming. “At the same time, a giant ball of flame rose each day in the east, and then fell again in the west. Who’s to say which is the more significant event? Why is one considered miraculous, the other accepted as scientific just because we understand the mechanics of it? My point is, it’s possible to perform many so-called miracles, if we understand the mechanism of action.”
“Ah, I see. But some might say that the intentions of God are not for man to discover these things. That we are going down a path that can only mean our ruin.”
“Small minds,” Cruz said.
Berger chuckled. “Perhaps they possess too much of the bad sort of EPH. You’re not going to get too philosophical with our guests when they arrive? I don’t think my heart can take the suspense.”
A knock on the door and the drinks were brought in on a silver tray, along with bread and a bottle of chilled wine.
They held their tongues for the waiter to leave. “No,” Cruz said, after the door had closed with a soft click. “I’ll try to keep it as straightforward as possible. Small minds, as you say.”
“Let me ask this once more. If we begin the testing again, you’ll have total control?”
“This is the tightest molecule we’ve ever designed. Think of it like a thermostat, giving us the ability to dial things up from zero to a hundred, and back down again. It’s an excellent candidate. I believe we’re starting some extensive testing tonight, perhaps even as we speak.”
“That’s good enough for me,” Berger said. “Now, the key elements here are to make them understand what we’ve discovered, the data we already have, and the breakthrough we’ve experienced recently. I want them to see the potential. So don’t get preachy. These people are simply interested in the bottom line.”
“You’re the expert in that,” Cruz said. She picked up a small loaf of dark bread and ripped it in half dipping a chunk into a bowl of garlic oil. The smell was delicious. She hadn’t eaten since that morning, and now she attacked the bread like piranha in blood-threaded water.
A few minutes later the others in the party arrived; first an older man with Nordic features and a slight limp, then an Asian carrying a small, wrapped gift, which he handed to Berger with a nod and a smart bow. They all made small talk while the two waiters took drink orders, and then they sat down for dinner.
The meal began with a mesclun salad with grilled fruit and edible flowers, and then a small pumpkin-curry soup, followed by a very rare filet served with a garlic butter sauce, asparagus almondine and wild rice, and finally a black plum sorbet. The party ate with enthusiasm, remarking on the weather in this part of the country, and the situation in the Middle East, and the state of airline travel. The waiters came and went, bringing fresh drinks.
Finally the meal was complete. “Please excuse me,” Berger said to the others.
He got up and went to the waiter at the door. “We’re about to engage in something more confidential now,” he said. “Please, do not disturb us until I call you. And lock the door.”
After the waiter had left, Berger went to his attaché case and removed a small black device. He scanned the table and chair legs, moving carefully around the personal spaces of his guests, then went to the window and traced a pattern around the edges. Finally he examined the potted plants, and the door frame.
“Very good,” he said, and put the device back in his case and removed a small silver DVD player. “Can’t be too cautious. You have the nondisclosures I faxed you? Excellent. Let’s begin, then. I’d like to show you something very exciting.”
For the next five minutes the four were glued to the DVD player’s seven-inch screen. Nobody said a word; the events playing across the liquid crystal display were words enough for anyone.
After it was done, the Nordic-featured man said, “It could have been faked.”
“I assure you, it’s absolutely authentic,” Berger said. He was unable to keep the small smile off his face. “You’ve seen some of the initial data in the encrypted files I sent you, but we’ve kept most of the details back for security purposes. Here’s another copy with a bit more revealing information.”
He pulled photocopies out of his attaché case and handed them to the two men. “Most of the technical readings and results are there, as well as the history of the company. As you can see, we’ve been at this for quite some time. We have a real expertise in small-molecule design and cell-signaling. It’s taken us years, but we feel that we finally have a viable candidate in this particular case to proceed with confidence.”
He glanced at Cruz. This was getting beyond his own comfort zone. It was time for the technical side of the house to take over.
She stepped in smoothly. “The building blocks of life,” Cruz said. “DNA gives way to genes, genes give way to proteins. Proteins are the worker bees, you see. To unlock the greatest secrets of mankind, all we have to do is figure out how and why these proteins do their jobs. Then we can decide how we can make them work for us.” She tapped a graphic in the file the Asian man held open in his hands. “Our research is focused on discovering and developing these small-molecule drugs my colleague has referred to, those that can regulate cell-signaling and gene expression. But it’s not a simple thing to do. First, you need to understand how the human machine is built. As you probably know, the most critical processes of life—metabolism, cell growth and differentiation, gene transcription—are handied by signals carried from the cell surface to the nucleus through a system of molecular pathways. Are we okay so far?”
The two men nodded at her.
“Good. We understand quite a bit about some of these genes’ proteins and pathways, but others are still a mystery. In fact, most of the genes in the human DNA strand do not seem to serve any apparent purpose at all. We call them dormant or junk. Some scientists believe that they function in a way we don’t yet understand, or they served an important purpose somewhere back along the evolutionary chain but are now simply residual, the equivalent of male nipples.
“Then, of course, there are the subtle differences that make us unique from each other. These are the genes that belong to only you”—she nodded at the Nordic man—” or you.” She smiled warmly at the Asian, who seemed to be drifting. “Or more specifically, to your family. There aren’t many that are different. We’re all pretty much the same animal.”
Berger made a subtle cutting motion with his hand. “This is all very interesting,” he said. “Would you talk a bit, please, about the opportunity we’re offering?”
“Almost there, thanks. I was about to tell
these gentle-men about the psi gene.”
A silence descended upon the group. “Please go on,” the Asian man said. Now she had his attention. Suddenly she had everyone’s attention.
“We’ve discovered a particular subject—the subject you just viewed on that video—who was born with a rather remarkable gene. This gene, which is either dormant or does not exist at all in most people, actually produces a protein, which acts in a particular way, on a particular cellular path. This mechanism of action has to do with the transfer of heat at a microscopic level, and it allows the subject to influence her natural environment physically through thought.”
“Amazing,” the Nordic man said. “The psi gene, you say?”
“From the word psychic. Psi encompasses a lot of different things—telepathy, clairvoyance, psychic healing, pre-cognition, to name only a few. But what we’re concerned with here is what’s commonly called psychokinesis—”
“I’m not sure I understand,” the Asian man interrupted. “What exactly are you offering us?”
Berger motioned for Cruz to sit. “The investment opportunity of a lifetime,” he said. “The possibilities here are limitless—literally as far as your imagination can reach. Government and military applications, certainly. But medical, corporate, and even nonprofit entities could benefit tremendously. This is, quite literally, a revolution waiting to happen. But to get there, we’re going to need more capital. Research and development is tremendously expensive, as you both know.”
He took out another two packets from his case and handed them to the men across the table. “This will explain in greater detail what we’re going to do, and what we need from you. I’ll talk about that in a moment. But first, I want to show you one more video clip. This one is a little more…impressive. I think it will give you a good idea why we’re so excited about this opportunity.”
