“That would be fine with me. I trust Dr. Bellos implicitly…Done!”
Swanson extended his hand to seal the deal.
“At last; now, tell me something, Jack; you have written in some journals about ‘thought’, and the process of thinking. Tell me, in your opinion, exactly; what is thought? Try and make it a simple answer, for old man, eh”
“Well, I suppose the best short answer I can give is, ‘Thought is the organization and expression of our senses’.”
“Interesting take…I’m a bit of a scholarly type myself. I don’t know if Mathew told you.” Swanson chuckled. “Did you know that the word ‘organization’ has it’s root from the Greek word ‘organon’, as does our English derivative ‘organ’?
“No I didn’t.”
“Do you believe our thoughts are really ‘organs’?”
Jack paused a moment.
“Why, yes; I do.”
“In that case we should be able to transplant them, just like we do a kidney or liver, eh?”
Jack looked speechless, as Swanson continued, “Well, I suppose every time we speak, we transmit a thought to someone else, don’t we, hah? I guess in that respect we do transplant them; I mean; that is, if anyone remembers what we say, right?” Swanson winked. “By God, you are right, my boy; hah.”
The evening went very well; and later, the three were outside the restaurant, laughing and talking like old friends.
“Well you two; how long before one of you calls me?”
As they shook hands, Bellos said, “I’d like to read the manuscript right away.”
“I’m certainly agreeable to giving it to Matt, tonight.”
“Really, let’s do it. You want me to follow you, or come with you, or what?”
Then, a white stretch limo pulled up to the curb. The driver got out and smiled at Swanson.
“Hello, Sir.”
“Good evening, Mr. Mike. Mike, these are Doctors, Jack Sheldon and Mathew Bellows. Gentlemen, this is my Driver, Mr. Michael Warren. How long have you been with me now Mike?”
“Sometimes it seems like forever, Sir.”
“Hmm, well thanks for that, Mike; and thank you both. It was a most informative and enjoyable evening; the food wasn’t too bad either, eh. I’ll wait, with great anticipation to hear from you, Mathew.”
Swanson saluted them both, as he got into the limo. Mike looked at Bellos and, with a wink, he got into the driver’s seat. The limo made a u-turn and sped off, down the highway. The two doctors stood next to each other, waiting for the valet.
“Matt, let’s do this. I really need to start the ball rolling. We can go to my house. I’m sorry Rachel is gone for the night. She would love to see you. Anyway; I’ll give you a copy of the manuscript.”
“I’ll follow you then.”
The two got into their cars and drove to Jack’s home, about thirty minutes away. Jack led Matt to his basement lab. Bellos sat down in one of the recliners, while Jack opened his desk, took out the book and handed it to Matt.
“You want me to start now, or go home?”
“If you want to read, I’ll make some coffee and leave you alone. You may have some questions.”
Jack smiled, went upstairs and Bellos read the first ten pages. Then he turned to the final pages, just as Jack returned with coffee and cake.
“Jack, can you give me a summary, before I get into your micro-tech lingo. You don’t explain this, Chemical Personality Transfer in the requisition. Just give me the substance. I’ll read the proofs in private”
“Okay; fair enough…Well, I’ve isolated what and where our personality/memory are, within the brain. I’ve defined it, chemically. They are really one in the same, but manifest in different ways. You follow?”
“Not sure.”
“Matt, you and I both know we learn ‘everything’ through sensation and genetics, right. We become ‘aware’ of whatever; then we think or behave accordingly. In any case, we remember it, voluntarily or involuntarily. Matt, everything we know, everything we are, is eventually stored in one location of our brain.”
“Am I supposed to differentiate between the brain and the mind, Jack?”
“Of course, the brain is the physical beast, and the mind is who we are...”
“Sorry,” Bellos laughed, “it’s just that I do remember some things about being a doctor.”
“Anyway, if I may continue; personality/memory is a chemical cocktail, so to speak. Our mind instructs all tasks required or chosen; and it eventually stores everything in a library of thought, in one location, for historical reference, a library of conscious and unconscious permanent records. You said summarize, right.”
“Go on…”
“Every action or thought triggers synaptic impulses within and between cells. I found the ‘link’ between those signals and the chemicals we produce. More importantly, at the same time the signals fire, a record of that firing imprints in your library, as a chemical. Our library is our personality, you see. Matt, I have proved that we can withdraw the library. It coagulates after death. By extracting it, and reintroducing it into the deceased, the patient will reanimate. So I called my proof C.P.T.-Chemical Personality Transfer.”
Jack took a breath, “Well that’s most of it really.”
“Most of it; Jesus, come on Jack; what’s the rest?”
“Yes, well after reinjection, something unbelievably wonderful happens. The ‘mixture’, of the extraction and the catalyst bath, redirects the patient’s genetic make-up, issuing new instructions. The new chemical composition stimulates each cell to correct all flaws. The C.P.T. bath triggers anabolic growth within the genes. We grow more healthy cells than die off. I would not just live again; I would become healthier than I was before I expired. There has to be genetic compatibility, of course; which is why it has to be me. But the potential is staggering. Matt, eventually, we could store people in small vials and reanimate them, when there is a genetic match.”
Bellos’s cheeks swelled, and he let out a slow blow.
“Boy, Jack, I can only think of a thousand questions. You have proven this?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Mathematics, physics, chemistry, microbiology; it is all in there.”
“What about, in a lab?”
“Come on; it’s not like we can test rats, or animals, about personality.”
“I know; but it seems to me that first you need a human host?”
“Yes, and I need the equipment I’ve requisitioned, a controlled environment and a genetic duplicate.”
“And just how do we get your body?” Bellos chuckled. “It seems to be in use at the moment.”
“It has to be me, Matt; my body. There is only one, unless you know something I don’t,” Jack smiled. “You are correct; so, I have to die; you have to extract the cocktail, re-inject me and bring me back.”
Jack hesitated.
“But here is a catch.”
“Christ, I knew it.”
“The window of completion begins after one hour of death and before 72-hours, I think. That is part of my new calculations. After that, the library is far too diluted; death takes it.”
“Listen to yourself, Jack. What are you saying; brain dead isn’t dead until 72-hours after the heart stops? Jack, what you are proposing is crazy. Besides, why not invest in a cloning model. We have connections through affiliates.”
“No, a male clone’s DNA is incomplete. You know that. The brain would reject the serum in the first place…Ironic isn’t it; I mean 72 hours is exactly three days.”
“Jack, when and from where, exactly, do you withdraw the serum? What are the guideposts, directing the operation? Where is this ‘library’, exactly?”
“Read the book! As the body begins to deteriorate, the mind protects itself. The memory cortex changes; and, in defense of dying, it coagulates the memory table, enabling a focused extraction; cool huh? However, strange as it may seem; the extraction must take place after at least
one hour of death.”
“And this is explained and proven, here in your manuscript?”
“Yes, of course, in detail.”
“All this must happen pretty fast, Jack. Nobody knows when they are going to die you know.”
“Thanks for reminding me; but, it’s not when you die that this relates to, it’s after death and before 72 hours are up.”
“Hmm…”
“And one important thing you should know, Matt; I am not prepared to share the formula for the catalyst bath, unless I am the guinea pig. If the extraction isn’t embedded in the accurate catalytic compound, it will die within moments. The bath is what stimulates the C.P.T. to activate, after reinjection.”
“Jack, how long can the serum live, in the right catalyst?”
“I’ve calculated five days, so far.”
“Okay…How, in God’s name, are you going to know who is doing what when you are the one dead? Have you thought of that?”
“Yes I have. I need a partner, who I trust. Someone, who keeps the catalyst, extracts the serum, and then mixes it, in the proper proportions; revives me, and stores the rest.
“In the catalyst bath?”
“Right, yes; placed with the right catalyst; there should be enough for six to seven injections. After the first extraction, each three quarter-inch filled vial could be studied, to try to extend the C.P.T. Mix…Matt, if successful, we could, not just re-animate me; but, maybe, we could change our view of death, completely.”
“Jack, I’m still trying to figure out where this coagulation is, precisely; and, for the record, I am not going to be a party to killing you.
“Well, there you have it. Details are in the pages. I need the equipment.”
“It’s all in here, right?”
“Yep; will Swanson buy it?”
“There is only one way, my friend. I’ll read this in detail, believe me; but, you have to let him read it too. I know he is more than capable of understanding it. I trust him, Buddy. I trust him like a father. You have no choice, as I see it.”
Jack walked to the door, closed his eyes, sighed and turned.
“Fine; I don’t believe I’m saying this. Set it up. I have to know right away.”
Bellos took the copy, and put his hand on Jack’s shoulder.
“I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
After the cake and coffee, Bellos left; and, Jack fell asleep examining the original copy of his manuscript.
While he drove, Bellos took his Knofer out and put a headset on, in his car. He placed the manuscript over the Knofer and spoke, “Copy and transmit to Bellos GGM-TBN 010.”
The Knofer read all information from the manuscript and transmitted it, via headset, into Bellos’s mind. He then pulled over to the side of the road, called Swanson, and sent the manuscript to him, via Knofer. Swanson performed a similar procedure, and then he spoke to Bellos.
“Mathew, I don’t see how we can help Jack right now. You know this is what I’ve been waiting for; but, not this way. We cannot be a party to killing anyone, intentionally. Besides, it will take time for Ever-Life to digest and prove the details of the manuscript. You have to go back and tell your friend that I said ‘no’, regarding his proposal. Give the book back to him. Tell him we may be able to help in the near future, but we need to work with him, systematically, before committing. I am sorry Mathew. I know how serious this is. But, the potential abuse and chaos this could create are as staggering, as the potential medical advances it could bring to everyone. No one will be able to control this yet.”
“I know, Sir; but he wants to start now and get results within five months. Jack has been working on this for thirty-five-years; and he can taste the end. I too have many questions; but would you consider financing him blindly, at least monitor him somehow?”
“We have very few options. You forget, he has to die, Mathew. I don’t see how we can be involved in any way, without drawing too much attention from the wrong people. Right now, this is a losing proposition. Patience is the key.”
“I’ll let him know in the morning.”
Chapter 12
Needles
As the dark blue van sped along the night desert road, Angela Esposito lay tied up and gagged in the back, against the wall. Her muffled screams and kicking only annoyed the kidnappers. Finally, a cell phone ringing broke the maddening sound of the girl.
“Damn…Give me that phone…Hello.”
“Marty, have you got the girl?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“And she is not harmed, in anyway?”
“No Sir, she’s a bit uncomfortable. She’s a fighter, that’s for sure…Now what?”
“You have to pull over and park the van; and please sedate her.”
Marty tapped the driver and gestured, “Pull over.”
The van stopped. Another kidnapper pulled a syringe out and stuck it in Angie’s thigh, pushing fluid into her. They waited. A few seconds later, the voice on the phone said, “What’s happening, Marty?”
“She’s quiet and limp.”
“Thank God. Now please, gentlemen, the second syringe; and be careful here, men. This is the big one.”
Marty gave the phone to the man holding Angie. Then, he gently removed the hood over her head. The fourth man undid her blouse and pulled it down from her neck. Marty followed his instructions and measured carefully. He stuck the long needle slowly 1.25-inches into her neck. Then, he shook his head and murmured, “It’s times like these, I wish I never became a paramedic.”
Very carefully, Marty pulled the syringe puck back, extracting liquid.
“Jesus,” he whispered, “it’s not red.”
He finished and kept the vial from view. Then. he picked up the phone and heard, “Are you done?”
“Yes Sir, but…”
“Marty, put the vial in the case. Complete the task. Are you there?”
“Yes Sir. Are there any changes in instructions?”
“No, but be very careful. Make sure she is completely all right. Do you understand, Son?”
“Yes, I understand. You don’t need to worry.”
Marty hung up the phone and laid Angie comfortably on a pillow in the back of the van. Then, he climbed into the front passenger seat; and the van continued on its way.
Chapter 13
Angie & Rachel
Rachel Sheldon hung on every word she was listening to on her cell phone. She still sat in the downstairs lab of her house.
“What the hell are you saying, Brian? Can you tell me? What are his vitals? How can you be sure of this Son?” Rachel went flush and rigid.
“Mom listen, I hear footsteps. I’ve got to go. I will call you or contact you as soon as I can. I don’t know what else to say, right now. Just wait; I’ll get back to you.”
The phone went dead and Rachel stood up in an adrenaline rush. She walked the room in circles. Then, it hit her. “My God, Jack…”
She raced and grabbed his manuscript again and began to read it feverishly. She got a pencil and paper and started doing calculations in the book margins. A ringing interrupted her concentration. It was the doorbell.
“Who the hell is that? My God; it’s four o’clock in the morning.”
The bell rang again, and again. She put the book down and walked quickly upstairs. She looked through the small port hole, but she could see nothing; so she slowly opened the door. There was no one there. She looked around and around and then down. At her feet lay the unconscious body of a girl. Rachel quickly knelt; and turned her over. It was Angela Esposito. Rachel held her head up and felt her pulse. She seemed okay, but unconscious. She gently slapped her face and rubbed her hands.
“Miss, Miss; hello…Are you okay? Wake up, Honey…”
Rachel laid her head back down; and then, suddenly, she heard Angie’s voice and saw her eyes open.
“Oh, my…,” Angie gasped and looked up at Rachel. “…Where am I?”
“You are with me now, Sweetheart, you will be fine, I think.
We are going to get you help, can you move?”
“Yes, I think so.”
Angie looked closely.
“It’s really you.”
“Me? Yes, I am. Can you get up? Let’s get you inside.”
“Yes; no; I mean it is you, Mrs. Sheldon, Dr. Sheldon. You are Dr. Rachel Sheldon?”
“Yes, I am.”
Rachel looked puzzled.
“Come on, stand up. That’s it; walk with me.”
They limped slowly together, into the living room.
“Mrs. Sheldon, I am…I am Angie from ‘focus ward’ at Andrews Hospital. I need to talk to you.”
The two just made it to the couch, when Angie fainted. Rachel went immediately to get water and she gave Angie a sip.
“There now, Angie; take it slow. Let’s just be real careful here, and relax, okay?”
Angie coughed and looked around.
“Oh my head; I can’t believe I found you. How did I get here?”
“The door bell rang. I answered. You were lying at my feet.”
Rachel smiled, stroked her hair and Angie forced herself to sit up.
“Please, Mrs. Sheldon. I have to talk to you.”
“All right; please, you can call me Rachel. Rest a moment.”
“No, I can’t. I am afraid something horrible is happening or, at least something stranger than I have ever known.”
“What is it?”
“You see, like I said, I am the nurse in charge of third floor ‘focus ward’ at Andrews. Tonight your husband, Dr. Sheldon, was admitted as a victim of a car accident.”
“I know baby.”
Rachel’s eyes flooded.
“I was there. I just got home a while ago. He died.”
“No, Mrs. Sheldon.”
Angie grabbed Rachel’s shoulder.
“That’s just it; I saw him. I saw him alive.”
Rachel jerked back and stood up.
“Brian, his phone-call; I just talked to my son; and, he said something about the third floor, and Jack being alive.”
“Mrs. Sheldon, I’m not a fool, or a weirdo. I’ve been working at Andrews for three years; always on ‘focus ward’. The surgical team operated on your husband for hours. They reattached his arm and leg; but, his heart stopped, he was clinically dead for the entire hour. I monitored him; no brain or heart activity. Then, I took a food tray into his room. He sat up. He just sat up.”
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