Targeting the Telomeres, A Thriller

by R. N. Shapiro

  In 1989, the U.S. Government enacted the Bioweapons Anti-Terrorism Act, which incorporated the earlier Bioweapons Convention Treaty, called the BWC for short. The act prohibited the research of “lethal” biological weapons. However, like much of the English language, the term “lethal” is open to differing interpretations. In this case, the CIA chooses to interpret the word “lethal” as killing someone immediately, making a biological weapon that slowly kills its target over a week or two “non-lethal,” and therefore legal to develop under the BWC.

  Isaacson begins again. "So, here are the details. I'm managing the commercialization aspect of the telomere project and covering any economic benefits to be derived from commercial licensing, like medications, rapid wound healing, and life-extending modalities. You'll be handling the non-lethal biological weaponry. But there’s a bit of a twist." Isaacson pauses for dramatic impact, and Zukoff looks quizzically at him. "The commercial research part at Sherwood will be run by Ron Michaels.”

  Zukoff chuckles. "Ha! Putting a dead man in charge. That's quite a cover story. What brainiac thought that up?"

  “Well, Michaels isn't dead."

  "Yeah, right. He died in the Hemispheres crash and was buried with his wife. It was all over the news."

  Isaacson decides not to fill him in on the entire story, even though they’re friends. "Not exactly. Due to cooperation between the agency and FBI counter-intelligence, he wasn't on the jet. He assisted us in an operation before the plane crash, and we kept him in a safe house for months after we extracted him."

  "I'll be damned. We can keep a secret. What was he assisting with, besides his own project? And where is he now?"

  “I still can't share that information. But believe me, he's 100% alive and well and he's been continuing his research, at Sherwood.”

  “Do you mean to tell me he’s been right under my nose and I didn’t even know it?”

  “That, my friend, is why I’m the director of the CIA and you head up biological research,” Isaacson jokingly replies.

  The truth is Isaacson knows how to work a room of spooks as easily as a room of politicians, and he keeps the intricate complexities of the CIA humming. Z is the consummate introvert, much more comfortable supervising lab results and orchestrating biological breakthroughs. His idea of professional satisfaction does not involve testimony on Capitol Hill before an intelligence subcommittee.

  “All kidding aside, there was no good way to start without him, and we can’t use a contractor like Biological Blood Services anymore, too many other nations want to get their hands on these breakthroughs. Each researcher working with Michaels at Sherwood was briefed on the classified status of this information, and for the foreseeable future we won't allow Michaels to leave. He is ensconced with his own team at Sherwood. He's been given a new identity on paper, and maybe we’ll get him some plastic surgery down the road, or set him up on a remote farm in New Zealand. He can be put out to pasture later, but not until we use his telomere breakthroughs for medical and weaponry purposes. This isn’t the first time secrets possessed by one division aren’t being fully shared with another."

  "True." Zukoff manages, doodling in the margin of his note pad. Nice five-point stars, which he shades in as he briefly wonders whether the Hemispheres crash was connected to Ron Michaels' research. But he doesn't ask Isaacson, who continues explaining the master plan.

  "The bio-medical part of the research, which preliminarily demonstrated the extension of cell life, will continue under Michaels. Before the crash, he officially confirmed it on animals. Unofficially, on a few human test subjects as well, which we found out about later. So, no scientifically sound human trials exist, only animal trials. Still, the animal testing was nothing short of amazing. He extended the life span of fruit flies and mice over 50%, which could translate to a 15% to 25% extension of cell life in humans. Now, the issue of side effects? Well, that is still unknown.

  “On the bio-medical commercialization side, the president's directive calls for licensing the technology within 18 months to American companies or majority-owned American companies. Because of other intelligence information, he also wants monthly progress reports on the telomere weaponization and a viable ‘non-lethal’ weapon within in the same timeframe. Desired features include easy delivery, non-detectability, and irreversible decline, causing death within less than seven days. He says it could be a game changer with some of our high-value terrorist targets."

  "Wait a second, this is ludicrous. No clear path exists for this type of thing. Three years would be the soonest for any bioweapon according to my timeline. Please tell me you didn't say we could meet an 18-month window."

  "I didn't say we couldn't."

  "I don't want unnecessary pressure on myself or my team because of an unrealistic deadline.”

  "Look, the president and his advisors were adamant. Our current drone program saves troop lives, but it's a public relations disaster. Sure, we kill our targets, but there’s collateral damage—family members, young kids, neighbors. Our field agents are saying with every drone strike that destroys a building, we create hundreds of new terrorists because the videos the extremists post all over the internet tie us to the damage. Some high-value targets call for drones, but we also need a weapon that can eliminate individual targets without creating new terrorist propaganda videos in the process. Understand?"

  “Yes, I do. Out of curiosity, how do you envision this bioweapon working? By making cells die faster instead of making them last longer?"

  "That’s a possibility, but consider this: Michaels' original focus was on cancer, to slow the growth or spread of tumor cells. Then he showed rapamycin and mTOR hugely impact cell life. The telomerase enzyme signals the telomere somehow and increases the total number of divisions before it dies, extending cell life and, presumably, human life."

  "Keep going."

  "So, if telomerase can stimulate healthy cells to divide more than normal and live longer—"

  Zukoff interrupts. “Then the same could possibly be done with abnormal cells, like cancerous cells, causing a victim to die far quicker than with natural forms of cancer." He stares at the crease where the conference room wall meets the ceiling, thinking. “Unfortunately, I don’t see our enemies lining up for blood transfusions so we can infect them.”

  "Of course not. Michaels knows blood transfusions are far too invasive and not realistic for the commercial applications either, so he's already working on a different delivery system. You’ll have immediate access to his findings, but your team should be brainstorming too."

  Zukoff is now holding the pen vertically, resting just the tip on the note pad, eyeing Isaacson. “This reminds me of how they lambasted President Reagan when he said he wanted to develop a space laser to zap nuclear missiles, and the press called it 'Star Wars.’ It sounds great, but can it be done? What about costs?”

  "No budget constraints, just requisition in the usual fashion."

  "I've already decided who my research director will be. He's been with us for less than a year."

  "Who?"

  “The name won’t mean anything to you since you aren't acquainted with any of my key people. You do realize human testing will be required." Zukoff says.

  "You do what you need to do, but it better be somewhere else in the world. And be damn sure no dots connect this work back to the agency."

  "Got it." Zukoff's mind wanders to the infamous LSD studies the government secretly conducted stateside that were eventually declassified. There’s no way any human trials he commissions will surface in declassified reports. Figuring out how to deliver a non-lethal bio-weapon comes before worrying about testing, he decides.

  "Michaels’ group can't know about your project," Isaacson insists. "Your group will be apprised of their progress, but not vice-versa."

  "Impossible. They’ll both be working at Sherwood." Zukoff says.

  "I am damn serious. Besides, you didn’t know Michaels was even there. During orientation, tell yo
ur team everything they learn and create is top secret, no exchange of information, even within the compound. Also, we know other nations will be working hard to get at our breakthroughs too.”

  "Okay, but why can’t we trust our own people with classified information?”

  “It’s not that, it’s Michaels. Every brilliant researcher is eccentric, and he is by no means an exception. I worry about his reaction if he found out his telomere breakthroughs might be used as a bio-weapon."

  "Don't you trust him? You just disclosed he was assisting the agency before the Hemispheres crash.”

  "Let's say this. He's instrumental to these breakthroughs. I trust him implicitly as to the research. However, some circumstances, shall I say, raise some questions. One more thing. He fathered a son while in protective custody.”

  "Wait, what the hell?” Zukoff asks.

  “Not with a mistress. His wife died when the plane went down, but they had frozen her eggs years ago. He used an agency-cleared surrogate to have another child. So Justin, his son, is with him, and someone who has worked at Sherwood for years is his live-in nanny. The kid’s less than a year old, and Michaels can't really leave the compound since the outside world believes he’s six feet under."

  "We're talking about a top-secret situation with tremendous implications. Are you sure you trust someone who has a young toddler to think about?"

  "I trust him.” As he says this, Isaacson's mind wanders to Michaels' refusal to continue his research until the CIA and FBI agreed to let him see his daughter and brother. Not the time for self-doubt, he resolves.

  Zukoff interrupts his thoughts. "I'm going to need all of Michaels' data as soon as possible. Then, as we move forward, how will I receive updates?"

  "I’ll give them to you directly as they supply them to me. We'll also have active surveillance all over the lab."

  Zukoff nods.

  "Let's get to work. Are you ready to change the world?" Isaacson asks as they walk towards the conference room door.

  "Of course. That's why we came to work here, isn't it?"

  Isaacson walks down the quiet hallway to his expansive corner office. There’s an important telomere detail he did not share with Zukoff, but it resides in the foreground of his thoughts. Ron Michaels treated his own daughter with blood transfusions, making her the only human test subject, and this non-traditional “clinical trial” was successful. She beat the medical issues she suffered from, and hell, she was the only Hemispheres jet crash survivor. Solarez has reported no current problems, and she is under no ongoing medical care of any kind.

  The questions he keeps returning to revolve around whether Amanda Michaels will live longer, and if she is also resistant to particular infections or traumas. Her situation may not necessarily create a completely new gateway to increased life spans for millions of other Americans, or for humankind for that matter. Nonetheless, Isaacson resolves to either discuss this issue directly with Ron Michaels or gain access to her blood or tissue to have it analyzed by government biologists and geneticists.

  Before he reaches the doorway of his own office, he asks his assistant, Barbara, to come into his office. When they first started working together, she would appear with a notepad and pen, now she walks in with her tablet.

  "I want you to call a couple of our research organizations and set up two different symposia. One needs to appeal to the top minds in the scientific community, so title it something like 'Ethical and Economic Implications of Extending Human Life 25 Percent.'”

  "Isn't that a little vague? Shouldn't you say ‘to 110 or 125 years of age?’"

  "Whatever, you can create the exact title. It’ll cover the potential healthcare system costs of such an extension—increased costs of Social Security, contributions to the workforce by senior workers, all of those issues."

  "What's the second one?"

  "How about 'Fast-Tracking Drug and Medication Approvals: Current Cutting-Edge Methods to Expedite Human Trials and Obtain Approval.' Set them both up within 45 days if possible."

  "Got it," she says, rising to walk out of his office. Isaacson can’t help but appreciate the shape of her long legs as she leaves, but the dominant thought pervading his mind is the enormity of the challenge facing both Zukoff and himself.

  Chapter 3

  Houseguest

  Her eyes open and she sees him still sleeping beside her. Smooth as silk, Angie Tipton, Andy Michaels’ trusted paralegal, quietly lifts herself off the bed and grabs her nearly transparent, white knee-length robe from the carpeted floor next to her bed, tiptoeing toward her bathroom. She eases the door closed with a quiet click.

  As she considers herself in the mirror above the sink, a touch of sadness and guilt builds. She realizes this situation is hopeless, but she forces a smile and throws some water on her face. After running a brush through her hair, she walks back into the bedroom. Paul Franklin turns to face her as she lifts the two empty wine glasses from the nightstand.

  "Good morning. That was amazing. Come over here."

  She puts the glasses down, slides on top of him and leans down to kiss him.

  "God, I love what you do to me," she sighs.

  "I have until about noon." He kisses her and holds her tightly against him. His other hand finds its way down to her thigh. He slides the bottom of her robe up and she immediately feels the cool air on her exposed skin.

  "Where are you, supposedly?" Her voice is laced with sarcasm.

  "I was at a hearing in Pennsylvania that required me to stay overnight and I'm driving home today by noon, which is mostly true."

  "You realize this relationship is pretty toxic." Angie says half-heartedly, leaning away from him.

  "What's that mean?"

  She climbs off him and sits in the chaise, still facing him.

  "Well, let's see. You're the defense lawyer who fought my boss in the high-profile Hemispheres crash case, which seems a bit unethical. Oh, and you're married."

  "I disagree with you about the ethical part. You're a paralegal for the opposing firm, but we never talk about our work. Where’s the violation? Plus, the cases are all over now."

  Technically, it’s true the cases are over, at least for now. But if all goes according to plan, Franklin will be unleashing a hailstorm on Andy Michaels like he’s never experienced before. He sure as hell isn’t going to share that with Angie though. He still needs her, and not just on a sexual level.

  "Well, you are still married, which makes this is an affair, and your wife could file for divorce, or maybe kill you, or me, and there is this thing some folks call adultery, and also your kids would hate you...there's probably more." She reaches again for the two glasses, plus the empty wine bottle on the nightstand, and walks out of the room.

  On her way out she uses her foot to gently push the very handy sex swing they used last night out of the doorway. She smiles, thinking of Paul's excitement as she hovered at the perfect height in the trapeze-like contraption. Tantalizing him, staying ahead of him sexually, is an art form she takes pride in.

  Exactly why do they enjoy this? She loves the sexual energy and assumes he does too. He can't fake what they do for each other, she assures herself. She recognizes he derives some pleasure in bedding down his rival’s paralegal too. Part of her believes Paul wouldn't slash Andy apart in one of their litigation battles, at least not without warning her somehow. She imagines Paul thinks he would get tipped off by her if the proverbial piano was falling toward him from the window as well.

  While she is washing a few dishes in the kitchen sink, he walks up behind her wearing nothing but his boxer briefs and reaches inside her robe, caressing her intimately. He leaves his right hand on her breast, swirling two fingers around the nipple. "Do you think I’m evil for being a corporate defense attorney for companies like Hemispheres?" he says, withdrawing his hand slowly while asking.

  "Well, I’d say you're on the wrong side of things, but I believe somewhere inside you is a good soul, or I wouldn't be with you. I though
t you said we never talk about our work."

  He walks away and sits at the breakfast bar, thinking a moment. "Contrary to what you might think, I do have a conscience."

  "What about the way you fight every plaintiff's lawyer who seeks a dime in court? Believe me, I can think of a few notable war stories."

  "I'm not a friend of greedy people who want millions for what I consider minor problems, and there is no shortage of fakers. I hate the money-grubbing malingerers."

  "Are you suggesting people like the families of the 9/11 Pentagon victims you fought against in court are fakers? You sound like Ann Coulter. She went after 9/11 widows like they asked to become widowed. Jeez."

  "There are exceptions. That might be one of them," Franklin says.

  "What about those whose husbands and wives and children were killed in the plane crash that killed Andy’s brother, Ron? Are you saying they were seeking jackpot justice?"

  "You know the rules. Can't talk about any of that. Fortunately, we currently aren't on any opposing cases with you guys."

  Paul nervously fidgets, moving the salt and pepper shakers in meaningless maneuvers on the table. "Would you be surprised to learn I’ve tanked cross-exam on some plaintiffs before?"

  "How so?"

  "Well, everyone feels for people who've lost a spouse or child, and you know your client is going to be paying, you're just fighting over how much. I've gone soft on my cross on a number of victims, but I'll never tell anyone who they were, including you."

  He gets up and paces around the room, looking as if something is on his mind. Figuring the conversation is over, Angie starts to walk out.

  "Would you consider coming to work for me? For a much higher salary?"

  She stops in her tracks, turns, and stares. "I don't think that's a good idea on many levels. You’re joking, right?"

  "Not at all. I just want you to think about it. Maybe sometime down the road."

  Angie doesn't answer. It's bad enough to be involved in this affair which would infuriate Andy, he would blow a brain synapse if he ever found out. Her leaving his practice to join Paul would cause a mental breakdown.