Jeremy proceeded along the driveway as he had been instructed. Past the trees, he came upon a sprawling two-story building sheathed in panes of dark glass. It seemed to absorb all the light, and reflect none. He drove around and behind it to the parking lot, which was filled with expensive-looking late model cars.
He pulled his Nissan Pathfinder into a visitor’s spot, shut off the engine, and contemplated the SomaGene building for a moment. It might as well have been dropped by aliens into this clearing behind the barricade of pine trees. That light-deadening glass gave it an ominous appearance. The building also featured a covered area by the entrance that was wide enough for two cars to park abreast of each other, safe from the elements. Jeremy wondered why it needed such a thing. He shook his head, got out of the car, and approached the entrance.
Jeremy stepped inside through the double glass doors, then stopped, stunned. The interior seemed designed in another time entirely. The floor was made of a cloudy white material that looked a bit like marble, but had a bluish glow.
Nothing in the atrium touched the floor.
The front desk consisted of what appeared to be a slab of Lucite—suspended firmly in mid-air. The receptionist sat in a chair that had no legs, but instead hovered behind the floating reception desk. There was no other furniture in the atrium. White elevator doors stood behind the receptionist’s area. The place had a hush about it, as if white noise were being pumped in.
Trying not to look thrown by the bizarre surroundings, Jeremy walked up to the receptionist and introduced himself. She wore a skin-tight, long-sleeved white jumpsuit and had her chestnut-brown hair pulled back tight against her head. She looked the very picture of cold sterility.
“Welcome, Mr. Magnusson. We’ve been expecting you.” She greeted him sotto voce. “Our two most senior staff, Glen Hawkins and Tim Whitman, will be out to meet you shortly. They will give you a tour of the facilities and will be happy to answer any questions you may have.” Her smile, though beautiful, looked manufactured and distant.
“Thank you.”
The elevator doors opened, and two men approached him. They both wore white lab coats and disposable shoe covers. The one to the right, a slim man of about forty with short dark hair, extended his hand. “Welcome. I’m Glen Hawkins. Pleased to meet you.”
The one to the left, a shorter, heavier man of roughly the same age, with short graying hair, extended his hand. “And I’m Tim Whitman.”
“Pleased to meet you both.”
“I understand from Mr. Girard that you aren’t very familiar with SomaGene’s operations, is that right?” asked Glen.
“That’s right.” Jeremy wondered how much these two knew about Ivan’s special plans for the company, and whether he’d be able to glean anything from them during the tour.
“All right. Let’s start upstairs.” Glen turned and led them into the elevator.
The elevator swiftly and silently delivered them to the second floor. Then the doors opened onto a view that exceeded anything Jeremy had ever imagined of SomaGene’s operations.
Before him lay three long Lucite slabs suspended in mid-air just like the reception desk. The slabs ran nearly the length of the room, leaving enough space around and between them to provide full access to all the surfaces. On each rested a number of glass containers filled with a pinkish fluid that bathed an individual organ: a heart, a kidney, a liver, or a trachea. Every container was connected to an individual filter pump that circulated and bubbled the fluid like the water in a fish tank. A strangely unsettling bluish light illuminated the room, though no discrete fixtures were visible.
Jeremy knew that at one time Ivan had aspired to create individual organs from donors’ own tissues. He had no idea he’d actually succeeded in generating what looked to be complete organs. He stepped closer to peer at a kidney on the near end of one of the Lucite slabs.
Glen broke the silence. “We’re able to autologously cultivate certain organs from clients’ own cells. Issues with rejection and immunosuppressants are a thing of the past, at least for transplants of these organs. The solution they’re bathing in contains oxygen, cells, and highly concentrated nutrients as well as growth hormones, so we’re able to generate a complete organ in a matter of months. Our clients don’t have to depend on long donor waiting lists, and of course, the organs are really their own.”
“The room—in fact, the entire facility—is designed for minimum contamination,” added Tim. “Keeping the floor clear of table legs and fixtures allows us to keep it scrupulously clean. This, combined with a very aggressive air filtration system and antibacterial lighting, virtually eliminates the potential for contamination. Very important for our clients. There is no danger of rejection, so we don’t have to suppress their immune systems, but of course, if they’re waiting for a transplant, their systems are already compromised. We like to minimize the use of antibiotics to avoid encouraging superbugs—and this design allows us to do that.”
“So these are…cultivated for specific clients?” Jeremy glanced at all the glass containers. There had to be thirty or so organs in various stages of development.
“Yes. Production has been going quite well. We may have to expand our capacity soon,” said Glen.
“Well, then what happens?”
“Then we implant them. Let’s show him the surgery,” said Tim.
They got into the elevator and returned to the first floor. This time they exited through the back of the elevator and walked a short distance down the hall to a surgical suite.
Lucite shelves ringed the room. On them were various surgical supplies and instruments. Lights and monitors hung from the ceiling. Again, nothing rested on the floor, which consisted of the glowing marble-like material used in the rest of the facility.
“We have the same anticontamination features in the surgical suites as you saw in the atrium and the organ cultivation room. We have nearly no postsurgical infections reported, and again, that is with the use of minimal antibiotics.” Glen smiled, clearly proud of the facilities.
“Where are the patients? Do you have a hospital facility housed here as well?”
“Actually, no,” said Tim. “When an organ is ready for transplant, we notify the client and arrange for the actual surgery. However, once stabilized post-surgery, clients are transported to a facility more convenient to them so they can convalesce as needed near their families. They come from all over for these procedures, of course.”
“That’s also more expedient for us. We don’t have to staff for convalescent care and we don’t need to take up the space to do so. We can focus on the cultivation and actual surgery,” added Glen.
“Who does all this?”
Glen chuckled. “Oh, we don’t do it all. We have staff who tend to the organ cultivation, tracking progress and making sure the solutions are replenished as needed. There are others who gather the tissue samples from the clients to initiate the organs. And we’re not the only ones who perform the actual transplants. There are several other surgeons who do that as well.”
“Well, this is more than I realized SomaGene had been doing. Is there anything else?”
Glen and Tim exchanged a look. Glen answered, “No, this is SomaGene’s main business. It’s grown considerably since Ivan established the company and developed the protocols we use today.”
If there was something more going on, he wasn’t going to get it out of these two, Jeremy figured. He glanced at his watch. “I’m sorry to cut this short. I’m supposed to meet Mr. Girard out at the house shortly. Thank you for showing me around.”
Jeremy got into his Pathfinder and slumped behind the wheel for a moment. He’d wanted to pry further and see if he could get anything out of those two concerning any other lines of business Ivan had been working on, but he desperately needed to just get out of there. Seeing all those bought-and-paid-for organs sitting there in various stages of development in that floating Lucite maze was more than he expected to have to deal with. And now he had to
head over to the house to meet Girard and look at what would be his domicile, should he accept this posthumous offer.
He started the car and headed for his next appointment.
Jeremy managed to find the address and arrive about ten minutes before Girard was scheduled to meet him. He stopped the car and regarded the house. It certainly had Ivan’s mark on it. Circular driveway, grandiose portico—as if royalty were expected to drive up and not be soiled by the weather. The house, a two-story Tudor, actually had wings. The only thing missing was perhaps a fountain in the front. He couldn’t imagine living in such a thing.
A few minutes later, Girard drove up in his sleek black Mercedes E550. Looked like it had never experienced weather. Not a speck of dust or a rain spot on its gleaming paint.
Jeremy got out of his car and went over to meet Girard.
“Good afternoon. I trust your tour of SomaGene went well?” Girard stepped out of his car and moved toward the front door of the house. True to form, he wore an expensive dark gray suit as if he were ready to argue before the Supreme Court.
“Yes, it did. It is…quite the facility.”
“Well, good.” Girard reached into his suit pocket for the house keys. “I hope you’ll find the house equally impressive.” He slid the key into the lock and opened the front door.
As they stepped inside, Girard reached over to a panel on the wall beside the door and pressed several buttons. “The entire house is electronically controlled. All the lights, heating and air systems, security—even the appliances. There are even sensors and alarms in the event you’re not at home and something happens, like a pipe springs a leak. It will try to stop the leak, for example, by shutting off water to that part of the house, and can even notify you via text message.” He glanced around with a satisfied look on his face. “It has about every feature you could imagine.”
“I’d say so.” Jeremy’s little rental house in Rochester was a primitive cave by comparison. He had to turn on his lights the old-fashioned way—with wall switches.
“I understand this may be a little uncomfortable for you, given your father’s recent passing. I’ll just stay here and let you look through the place yourself, if you’d prefer. Your father’s belongings are still here, of course.”
“Thank you. I would prefer that, actually.” Jeremy started with the lower floor. He stepped down into the living room. It was clearly designed for much more active entertaining than he partook in. A shiny black grand piano stood center stage. Several comfortable black leather couches and chairs were arranged to maximize conversations among numerous guests. A large black marble fireplace dominated the far end of the room.
Jeremy passed through the formal dining room. It, too, appeared geared toward large formal gatherings, with the long dark hardwood table set for a dozen, and the matching credenza and china cabinet lining one side of the room. He continued into the kitchen. It looked like a model in a home improvement convention, with black granite countertops, industrial-sized steel appliances, polished cherry wood cabinets, and fancy track lighting strategically placed throughout. The breakfast nook occupied its own glass-paned alcove.
He stepped to the back door to check out the yard. It had the look of expensive maintenance—the lawn was perfectly trimmed, not a dandelion or bald spot to be seen. The trees and shrubs were expertly sculpted. The wood deck glowed in a way that indicated it had been recently and professionally sealed. The teak patio set was artfully arranged beneath an extended awning to protect it from direct sunlight.
Jeremy sighed and stepped back inside. He went upstairs to check out the bedrooms. There were five of them. A quick glance revealed they were consistent with the rest of the house: nothing but the finest furnishings and most expensive paint and detailing. He saved the master bedroom for last. Ivan’s. Feeling like a trespasser, he hesitated before going inside.
He pushed open the door to reveal a massive room lit by creatively placed track lights. A black lacquer four-poster bed dominated the scene. A matching armoire and chest of drawers stood at the far side of the room. A small library nook with a bay window and sitting area extended the room on his right. Jeremy stepped inside and opened the door to his left. It led to a walk-in closet the size of a small apartment. He turned and went over to check out the bathroom. A jetted tub large enough for two, a separate glass shower stall, and a granite double-sink arrangement. No surprise given the opulence of the rest of the place.
Jeremy shut the bedroom door and started back downstairs to meet Girard. He’d seen enough for one day.
“What did you think? Quite something, isn’t it?” Girard smiled at him, almost sounding like a realtor showing a prime property.
“It’s a bit much, frankly.” Jeremy moved toward the front door.
“Don’t you want to see the garage and cars?”
“No, not really. When is the deadline for my answer?”
“Tomorrow. You can just call me at the office any time before close of business. You know, I’m not your attorney, but if you ask me you’d be set for life if you accepted. It would be a shame for all your father’s work—everything he’s accumulated—not to stay in the family.”
CHAPTER 4
Glen Hawkins sat in a burgundy leather booth toward the back of the dimly lit lounge at the Minnetonka Bistro, the local hot spot du jour. He briefly glanced at his watch as he swirled the ice in his gin and tonic. He’d asked Tim to meet him there shortly after work. Glen wanted Tim’s take on Magnusson’s kid—and what it might mean to their work if he took over SomaGene.
He downed the last of his drink, then signaled the waiter for another. He settled back into the booth, letting the warm glow relax him after his busy day.
“Hey, sorry I’m late. I must have left at just the wrong time. Got stuck in that backup on 101. They need to make that a signal, not a stop sign. Ridiculous.” His graying hair slightly disheveled, Tim settled into the seat in the opposite side of the booth.
“S’all right. I’ve just been sitting here, thinking.”
Tim signaled the waiter to bring him what Glen was having. “About Junior? So, what do you think? Think he’ll take over the reins?”
Glen considered the question for a moment before answering. “I don’t know. I did some checking. He’s been down in Rochester at some Mayo knockoff clinic for several years now. Hasn’t really distinguished himself. Not sure what drives him, if anything. Sounds like he’s competent, at least, but just doesn’t stand out for some reason.”
“Girard was pretty close-lipped, but I presume there’s something in it for Junior to take over at this point. I mean, if he had been remotely interested in Ivan’s work, surely he would already have been working alongside him.” Tim nodded at the waiter as he arrived with their drinks.
“Good point. Must have been some bad blood, or he would have been here, being groomed and all. So, the question is, is there going to be a…problem… if he comes in?”
“He seemed pretty taken aback by the cultivation process—”
Glen leaned forward and nearly hissed at Tim. “Yeah, that’s not a good sign, and you know that’s the least of it. What about the other project? That was even more important to Ivan, but he didn’t live long enough to complete it.”
Tim leaned back in the booth and stared down into his glass. “Yeah, you’re right. If the cultivation room bothered Junior, imagine what he’d think of Ivan’s latest project.” He took a sip. “That could be a problem. A real problem.”
“Well, we certainly don’t say anything now. Let him make his decision without that bit of information. I don’t know if Girard even knows. If Jeremy decides to take over operations, we deal with it then, I suppose. Do whatever’s necessary to make sure he doesn’t kill it.”
Tim took another sip. “Yeah. Probably the best way to go. And hope like hell he buys into it when the time comes.”
Glen looked Tim in the eye and stabbed his index finger at the table as he spoke. “It has way too much potential for so
meone to step in at this stage and stop it. I don’t care who he is.” He drained his drink again and signaled the waiter. “Want another?”
Tim waved his hand over his glass. “Oh, no. I’m good. I promised Katie I’d get home for dinner at a decent hour tonight. She’s been complaining I’m never home in time to give little Johnnie his bath before dinner.”
Glen shook his head and grinned. “Makes me glad I’m not married. I like coming and going as I please—and with whom I please—way too much to tie myself down like that.”
Tim smiled. “Oh, with the right person, you’d be surprised. I used to think like that, now I can’t imagine anything else.”
“Yeah, something’s warped your mind. Maybe it’s all those diaper fumes. I don’t know how you stand that stuff.”
Tim finished his drink and stood. “Sounds like there’s no convincing you, then. I’m off. There’s probably a full diaper with my name on it waiting for me.”
“All right, then. Knock yourself out. See you tomorrow, Tim.”
After the waiter brought him a fresh drink, Glen leaned back in the booth and surveyed his surroundings. He liked places like this, and was glad there were several to choose from in the Minnetonka area. All the hot young things came to strut their stuff and see if they could attract a man with a little money he wouldn’t mind spending on them. Fine with him. All he wanted was a pretty face and a hot body—preferably on a short term, no strings basis.
He spotted a good candidate at the bar. She’d just taken a seat with her back to him, and was glancing around as if she, too, were looking for a little company for the night. She had long dark hair that reached the middle of her back, and a tight black dress that scooped low, damned near to her tailbone.
Glen liked what he saw. He scooped up his drink and sauntered over to introduce himself.
CHAPTER 5
His gut felt like it had its own life, and tonight it was in a vicious mood. Jeremy clutched his abdomen and gritted his teeth as another painful spasm rippled through and reminded him to take his meds.
The Janus Legacy Page 2
