Seizure (7 page)

“I would have been embarrassed to have told someone.”

“I choose to be immune to your rudeness, Doctor, as I was immune this morning to your lack of courtesy by your attire, your disdainful body language, and your verbal attacks on me. As a gentleman, I could have been insulted, but I am not. So save your breath! What I want to know is whether you are interested in negotiating.”

“What exactly would I be negotiating?”

“The viability of your start-up company, your current career, your chance of celebrity, and perhaps most important, an opportunity to avoid failure. I have reason to believe failure is a particular anathema to you.”

Daniel stared at Ashley in the half-light. Ashley could feel the intensity of the doctor's eyes, despite being unable to see their details. It made the senator confident that he was indeed striking close to the man's inner being.

“You believe I'm particularly adverse to failure?” Daniel questioned, in a voice that was less sardonic than earlier.

“Absolutely,” Ashley returned. “You are a powerfully competitive person, which, combined with your intellect, has been the driving force of your success. But powerfully competitive people do not like to fail, especially when part of their motivation is to escape their past. You have done well and come a long way from Revere, Massachusetts, yet your biggest nightmare involves a downfall that would force you back to your childhood roots. It is not a rational worry, considering your credentials, but it haunts you nonetheless.”

Daniel gave a short, mirthless laugh. “How did you come up with this ridiculously bizarre theory?” he questioned.

“I know a lot about you, my friend. My daddy always told me knowledge was power. And since we would be negotiating, I made it a point to take advantage of my considerable resources, including contacts at the Bureau, to learn as much about you and your start-up company as possible. In fact, not only do I know about you, I know about your family back several generations.”

“You've had me investigated by the FBI?” Daniel demanded. “I'm not sure I believe you.”

“But you should! Let me give you some high points of what has turned out to be a most interesting story. First of all, you are directly related to the famous New England Lowell family named in the famous description of Boston society where the Lowells only talk to the Cabots and the Cabots only talk to God. Or is it the other way around? Carol, can you help me here?”

“You have it right, Senator,” Carol said.

“I am relieved,” Ashley said. “I do not want to damage my credibility so early in my discourse. Unfortunately, Doctor, being related to the famous Lowells has been no help to you. It seems that your alcoholic grandfather was disowned and, more important, disinherited after defying the family wishes first by dropping out of prep school to join the army as a doughboy during World War I, then by marrying a commoner from Medford after his discharge. It seems that he had had such a devastating experience in Europe during his service
that he was psychologically unable to reintegrate into privileged society. This, of course, was in sharp contrast to his brothers and sisters, who had not been to the war and who were enjoying the excesses of the roaring twenties and who, even if they too might have risked becoming alcoholics, were at least finishing their schooling and marrying socially acceptable spouses.”

“Senator, I'm not finding this amusing. Can we get to the point?”

“Patience, my friend,” Ashley said. “Let me bring the history to the present. It seems that your alcoholic paternal grandfather was also not a particularly good father or role model for his ten children, one of whom was your daddy.
Like father like son
is certainly applicable to your father, who suffered through service in World War II. Although he avoided alcoholism for the most part, he was hardly a good father or role model to his nine children, as I am sure you would agree. Happily, with your competitiveness, intellect, and opportunity to avoid a war experience in Vietnam, you have broken this generational self-fulfilling downward spiral, but not without some scars.”

“Senator, for the last time, unless you tell me what is on your mind in plain English, I will insist we be taken back to our hotel.”

“But I have told you,” Ashley stated. “When you first got into the car.”

“You'd better run it by me again,” Daniel sneered. “Apparently, it was so subtle I completely missed it.”

“I told you I was interested in your Aesculapian talents.”

“Evoking the Roman god of healing is still making this into a riddle that I have no patience for. Let's be specific, particularly since you were talking about this being a negotiation.”

“Specifically, I want to barter your powers as a physician with my powers as a politician.”

“I am a researcher, not a practicing physician.”

“But you are a physician nonetheless, and the research you do is to cure people.”

“Keep talking.”

“What I am about to tell you is central to why we are here talking together. But I must have your absolute word as a
gentleman that what I am about to tell you will remain confidential, irrespective of the outcome of this meeting.”

“If it is truly personal, I have no problem keeping it a secret.”

“Excellent! And Dr. D'Agostino! Do I have your word as well?”

“Of course,” Stephanie stammered, surprised at being suddenly addressed. She was twisted in her seat, looking back at the men. She'd been in that position ever since the senator had started talking about Daniel's fear of failure.

Carol was struggling with her driving and had slowed considerably. Mesmerized by the conversation unfolding in the backseat, her eyes were more on Ashley's image in the rearview mirror than on the road. She was certain she knew what Ashley was about to say and now had an inkling of Ashley's plan. She was appalled.

Ashley cleared his throat. “Unfortunately, I have been diagnosed with Parkinson's disease. To make matters worse, my neurologist believes I have a rapidly progressive variant, which seems to be the case. On my last visit he even raised the specter the malady may soon begin to effect my cognitive abilities.”

For a few moments there was absolute silence in the car.

“How long have you known about this?” Daniel questioned. “I've not noticed any tremor.”

“About a year. The medication has helped, but as my neurologist predicted, it is rather quickly losing its effectiveness. Thus, my infirmity will soon become public knowledge unless something is done and done soon. I'm afraid my political career is at stake.”

“I hope this whole charade is not leading up to what I think it is,” Daniel stated.

“I imagine it is,” Ashley admitted. “Doctor, I want to be your guinea pig or, more precisely, your surrogate mouse. You've been having such good luck with your mice, as you proudly reported this morning.”

Daniel shook his head. “This is absurd! You want me to treat you like I have treated our mice!”

“Precisely, Doctor. Now, I knew you would not want to do it for a variety of reasons, and that is why this discussion is a negotiation.”

“It would be against the law,” Stephanie blurted. “The FDA would never allow it.”

“I was not intending to inform the FDA,” Ashley said calmly. “I know how meddlesome they can be on occasion.”

“It would have to be done in a hospital,” Stephanie said. “And without the FDA's approval, no hospital would allow it.”

“No hospital in this country,” Ashley added. “Actually, I was thinking of the Bahamas. It is a rather nice time of the year to go to the Bahamas. Besides, there is a clinic there that would serve our needs beautifully. Six months ago, my Health Policy Subcommittee had a series of hearings on the inappropriate lack of regulation of infertility clinics in this country. A clinic by the name of Wingate came up during the hearings as an example of how some of these clinics are ignoring even minimal standards to make enormous profit. The Wingate Clinic had recently moved to New Providence Island to avoid the few laws applicable to their operation, which included some very questionable undertakings. But what had caught my attention particularly was that they were in the process of building a brand-spanking-new, twenty-first-century research center and hospital.”

“Senator, there are reasons medical research starts out with animals before moving on to humans. To do otherwise is unethical at best and foolish at worst. I cannot be part of such an undertaking.”

“I knew you would not be excited about the idea at first,” Ashley said. “Again, that is why this is a negotiation. You see, I am willing to promise you as a gentleman that my bill, S.1103, will never leave my subcommittee if you agree to treat me with your HTSR in total secrecy. That means that your second round of financing will come through and your company will go forward, and you will become the wealthy biotechnology celebrity entrepreneur that you aspire to be. As for myself, my political power is still ascendant and will remain so, provided this Parkinson's threat is removed. So . . . as a consequence of each of us doing something we would rather not do, we both win.”

“What are you doing that you do not want to do?” Daniel questioned.

“I am accepting the risk of being a guinea pig,” Ashley
stated. “I am the first to admit I wish our roles were reversed, but such is life. I am also risking political consequences from my conservative constituents who expect S.1103 to be voted out of subcommittee.”

Daniel shook his head in amazement. “This is preposterous,” he commented.

“But there is more,” Ashley said. “Knowing the degree of risk I am assuming in this new therapy, I do not think our exchange of services is equal. To rectify that imbalance and to help with the risk, I demand some divine intervention.”

“I'm afraid to ask what you mean by
divine intervention.
”

“As I understand it, if you were to treat me with your HTSR, you would need a segment of DNA from someone who does not have Parkinson's disease.”

“That's correct, but it doesn't matter who the person is. There is no tissue matching involved, like with organ transplants.”

“It matters to me who the person is,” Ashley said. “I also understand you could get this little segment of DNA from blood?”

“I couldn't get it from red blood cells, which have no nuclei,” Daniel said. “But I could get it from white cells, which you can always find in blood. So, yes, I could get it from blood.”

“Thank the good Lord for white blood cells,” Ashley said. “Now, the source of the blood is what has captured my interest. My father was a Baptist minister, but my mother, rest her soul, was an Irish Catholic. She taught me a few things that have stayed with me all my life. Let me ask you a question: Are you acquainted with the Shroud of Turin?”

Daniel glanced at Stephanie. A wry smile of disbelief had appeared on his face.

“I was raised a Catholic,” Stephanie offered. “I'm familiar with the Shroud of Turin.”

“I know what it is as well,” Daniel said. “It's a religious relic purported to be the burial shroud of Jesus Christ, which was proven a fake about five years ago.”

“True,” Stephanie said. “But it was more than ten years ago. It was carbon-dated to the mid-thirteenth century.”

“I have no interest in the carbon-dating report,” Ashley said. “Especially since it was debunked by several eminent
scientists. Even if the report had not been challenged, my interest would be the same. The shroud held a special place in my mama's heart, and some of the devotion rubbed off on me when she took me and my two older brothers to Turin to be in its presence when I was no more than an impressionable moppet. Concerns about its authenticity aside, what is incontrovertible is that there are bloodstains on the cloth. Most everyone agrees about that. I want the little section of DNA needed for HTSR to come from the Shroud of Turin. That is my demand and my offer.”

Daniel laughed derisively. “This is more than preposterous. It's crazy. Besides, how would I get a blood sample from the Shroud of Turin?”

“That is your responsibility, Doctor,” Ashley said. “But I am willing and able to help. I am certain I can get details about access to the shroud from one of my archbishop acquaintances, who are always willing to exchange favors for special political consideration. I happen to know there are samples of the shroud containing bloodstains that had been taken, given out, then recalled by the church. Perhaps one of those could be made available, but you would have to go and get it.”

“I'm speechless,” Daniel admitted, trying to suppress his amusement.

“That is entirely understandable,” Ashley said. “I am certain this opportunity I have proposed has caught you unawares. I do not expect you to respond immediately. As a thoughtful man, I was confident you would like to mull it over. My suggestion is that you call me, and I will give you a special number to call. But I would like to say that if I do not hear from you by ten o'clock tomorrow morning, I will assume you have decided not to take advantage of my offer. At ten o'clock, I will order my staff to schedule a subcommittee vote on S.1103 as soon as possible so that it can be moved on to the full committee and on to the Senate. And I already know the BIO lobby has informed you that S.1103 will pass with ease.”