The Proteus Cure (18 page)

“A company called Kaplan Biologicals.”

“Which is where?”

“Nowhere. Gone. Finis. Kaput. When KB-twenty-six proved not to be the blockbuster it had been touted to be, Kaplan Biologicals went under and its founder, Gerald Kaplan, a brilliant researcher, was left with nothing. I offered him a post here but he refused it.”

“Do you know where I can find him?”

He shook his head. “Haven’t a clue.”

Damn.

Bill said, “I must say I’m baffled by all this interest in a defunct therapy.”

Sheila hesitated. She wasn’t sure how he’d react to what she was about to broach.

“Well, remember how I was wondering if there was any connection between seven-twenty-three and the changes in Kelly Slade and Tanesha Green?”

He nodded. “I also remember instructing you not to breathe a word of that to anyone else.”

“And I haven’t. But Tanesha Green asked me about it again this morning. She seems convinced seven-twenty-three is behind her hair and skin changes.”

“I trust you disabused her of that notion.”

“Seems I’ve been doing a lot of disabusing these past few days.”

Bill leaned forward. “Someone else?”

“Paul Rosko. His son’s DNA doesn’t match his and he refuses to believe it. Yesterday he asked me if KB-twenty-six could have changed him.”

Bill’s lips tightened into a straight line. “He signed a consent acknowledging that KB-twenty-six was an experimental therapy and that its side effects were unknown. If he’s looking for a malpractice angle, he’s out of luck.”

Sheila was taken aback.

“He’s too grateful to Tethys. I can’t imagine that’s even crossed his mind.”

“Well, imagine it. And get used to imagining it, Sheila. America has become Victimland. Gratitude and fairness go out the window when the almighty buck rears its ugly head. The odds of a jackpot in the malpractice lottery are infinitely better than in Powerball.”

“He wouldn’t—”

“He’s a man whose wife screwed around on him and now he’s looking for a lightning rod for his anger. Tethys makes a convenient target.”

Bill’s vehemence shocked her. He was making this personal. Abra was right. He was jealous of Paul. Maybe that explained his cold attitude. Sheila found herself on Paul’s side here. His concern was for Coog, not cash.

To hide her discomfort, she took a bite of her lasagna. Cold. She swallowed the clump and put her fork down. Something he’d said bothered her.

“How do you know so much about Paul Rosko?”

“Hmmm? Oh, well, you don’t think I’d give someone access to our campus without a thorough vetting, do you?”

But to know his ex-wife cheated on him? Pretty thorough background check on a volunteer.

“And on the subject of litigation,” he added, “watch out for Tanesha Green. If you don’t handle her better she’ll be looking for a payday at the Foundation’s expense as well.”

Sheila didn’t know what to say. She’d never seen him like this.

“What?” he asked, staring at her.

“I—”

Just then the fax machine beside his desk began to ring, then purr as it printed. Bill lifted the first sheet from the tray.

“Finally!” He looked a Sheila. “Excuse me while I read these over.”

“No problem.” She wanted out of here. “I’ve got to run myself.”

God, so self-centered. Why hadn’t she ever noticed it before? Not once had he mentioned the attack or asked how she was doing.

She left her tray and hurried out.

“Hey, that’s me.”

Paul looked up to see Coog standing beside him, looking over his shoulder. He’d been so engrossed he hadn’t heard him enter.

“Yep. That’s you.”

But was it?

He’d been sitting here in the family room, sifting through shoeboxes stuffed with Coog’s childhood photos. He and Rose had exposed a
lot
of film during his early years. The photo chronicle abruptly halted around age six. Neither of them had wanted photos of their son wasting away. A year after his cure they picked up again—nowhere near the number as in his early years—but he was in shots of family gatherings, and Paul had taken a fair number of him playing for his middle school basketball team.

The Coogan Rosko before the illness, and for a couple years after, looked the same—thinner post cancer, of course, but still the same.

Around age nine, Coog began to change. Nothing obvious. Paul hadn’t noticed it then. But now, because he was looking for it, he had no doubt.

The change in his build, from stocky—like Paul—to lanky could be blamed at first on the weight he’d lost during his sickness. But he’d never gained it back. Instead he’d begun to stretch. Okay. It happens. So far no problem.

But then his face had begun to change. Elongating, and developing a cleft chin. He was already five-ten with plenty of time for more growth. Strange but still not alarming.

But the hair … how could anyone explain the way it had changed from thick, near black, and wavy like Paul’s, to thin, straight, and light brown?

“Man,” Coog said. “Look at me as a kid and look at me now. Who’d guess this guy”—he tapped Paul’s recent photo of him making a foul shot, then tapped his five-year-old self playing with his Hot Wheels—“came from this shrimp.”

Paul felt as if he’d been kicked. Out of the mouths of babes …

“Who indeed?” he managed to say.

He didn’t dare look at Coog for fear of giving away his inner turmoil.

After a few heartbeats Coog said, “What are you mad at me for, Dad?”

“I’m not, Coog.” Now he could look at him. “Really I’m not. I told you that in the hospital.”

“Then how come we never do anything together? We used to do lots of stuff and now you just sit around. You hardly talk to me.” His lower lip quivered. “What did I
do
?”

Paul rose and wrapped him in a bear hug.

“You didn’t do a thing, Coog. Not a damn thing. I’ve just been preoccupied, that’s all.”

Coog backed a step away. Fear shone in his eyes.

“Does this have anything to do with that test?”

Oh, shit.

“Not at all. Doctor Takamura and I gave it to you straight: The test results from last week were inconclusive. They just need to rerun it. That’s all.”

“If there was something wrong, you’d tell me, right?”

“Of course I would. You’re not a little kid anymore.”

That seemed to buck him up, driving the fear from his eyes.

Paul gave him a gentle punch on the shoulder. “Why don’t we go to a movie?”

“You kidding? On a weekday afternoon?”

“Why not? You’re out of school, I’m off work. We’ll buy popcorn and Sour Patch Kids and sit with the old folks.”

He smiled. “Okay. Cool.”

“Check online for what’s playing. Find some action flick where you have to check your brains at the door.”

“What if it’s R?”

“Hey. You’re with an adult. Besides, you see worse gore on your videogames.”

“All
right
!”

“You pick the movie. And after I’ve done a little workout, we’ll head out.”

Heavy-bag time. Until he got the new results he’d be a ticking bomb. Paul needed to hit something. Hit it hard. And often.

Sheila’s phone rang: Bill.

“Before you hang up on me, please listen. I want to apologize for my behavior at lunch. It was inexcusable.”

He certainly had upset her, but hearing him contrite and apologetic was making her even more uncomfortable. Cranky was one thing, but lately he was vicious. And too defensive about Tanesha and Kelly for her still to believe there was no connection to VG723. She had hit a nerve. Maybe he wasn’t behind that attempt on her life, but he was hiding something.

“Look, you don’t have to—”

“I do. The JCAHO has been nit-picking me to distraction in the accreditation renewal process. It’s not an excuse—there is no excuse—but I offer it as an explanation of sorts.”

That brought her up short. The JCAHO … the Joint Committee on Accreditation of Healthcare Organizations. Dek had worked for them as an investigator who looked for conflicts of interest and made sure everything was on the up and up. He’d been working for them when he’d …

“Bill, You don’t have to explain. I know you’re being pulled in a thousand different directions. A person can take only so much.”

Like having your house broken into and almost getting killed … She was losing patience with Bill’s self-absorption but didn’t want to show her fading respect.

“Yes, well, my plate may be pretty full, but that’s no excuse for the way I treated you. Can you forgive me?”

“Everybody has a bad day.” Did that sound convincing?

“And about KB-twenty-six—go ahead and look into it. Investigate until you’re satisfied. If you need any help, just call me and I’ll do whatever I can.”

That was a switch.

“But I’ll have to ask you to do it on your own time.”

“Of course.”

“And please, don’t make a habit of stat DNA probes.”

“How did you know about that?”

“Hmm? Oh, well, whenever a stat request shakes up something as fragile as the DNA schedule, I’m informed.”

“Sorry.”

He laughed. “I’m the one apologizing today. This one made it through but next time you’ll have to get in line.”

“I promise.”

“Whoops. Got another call. See you tomorrow?”

“Sure.”

She left. Bill said it had made it through which meant it was complete. The hardcopy report could take hours, maybe even a day to reach her. But the test result would hit the server as soon the lab finished running it.

She turned to her computer and accessed her patient log, entering “Rosko, Coogan.” All his labs since the accident popped up.

And here it was: Rosko, Coogan: Biological mother, Coogan, Rose; Biological father, Coogan, Paul.

Holy shit. She leaned back. Unbelievable.

Paul had been right.

The bad news was that Tethys lab had made a huge error. Inexcusable. She’d have to file a report.

But first to tell Paul the good news. She looked up his number and dialed, but got his machine.

Disappointment wafted through her. She’d looked forward to hearing his voice. It was oddly comforting.

She shook off the warm feeling and got down to framing a message. She’d always been wary—even before the HIPPA Nazis invaded medical care—of leaving medical information on an answering machine. But if she could couch it in terms that would be meaningful to Paul yet meaningless to a stranger …

“Paul. This is Sheila. You were right. The old test was incorrect. The new test confirmed what you’d hoped. Call me if you have any questions.”

She hung up and swiveled back and forth in her chair. Sheila was thrilled for Paul but also deeply disturbed. A lab error this big couldn’t be dismissed. She’d have to file an incident report.

They returned when they returned from the latest Vin Diesel actionfest and Coog headed toward his room.

“Thanks for the movie, Dad. Vin Diesel is so jacked. Think I could ever build myself up like that?”

“Not playing videogames.”

He laughed. “Maybe I’ll start working out with you.”

“Now’s as good a time as any.”

“Nah. The ribs remember? ”

“Okay, you’re off the hook.”

Then the boy was around the corner and out of sight.

Paul noticed the blinking light on the answering machine and hit the play button. He pumped a fist as Sheila’s voice told him there’d been a lab error and the retest confirmed Paul’s paternity. He hit the replay button. As he listened again he found some relief, but nowhere near what he’d hoped for.

Lab error … okay. But photo error? No way. Not the photos he had of one kid metamorphosing into another. Almost as if the leukemia had been some sort of chrysalis: the Coog who had entered wasn’t the Coog who had emerged.

He picked up the receiver and dialed Sheila’s extension. When she picked up he said, “Hi, Sheila. It’s Paul. Thanks for the good news. I’d like to buy you a drink.”

She laughed. “That’s not necessary. I just wish we hadn’t had to repeat the test in the first place.”

“Coffee then? I need to show you something.”

“What?”

If he told her it was photos of Coog growing up, would she beg off? It sure as hell didn’t sound too exciting. But if he played coy …

“Seeing will be believing.”

Another laugh. “Come
on
.”

“When do you get off?”

“I was just getting ready to leave.”

“Meet me downtown at Covington’s. That way I can have a beer and you can have coffee. Although you may want something stronger after you see what I have to show you.”

Would that set the hook?

“Now I’m intrigued. I can be there in ten minutes.”

“Perfect. See you then.”

He hung up and hurried downstairs to the photo box.

“Covington’s?” Bill said, more to himself than to Shen who stood stiffly opposite his desk. “Not exactly a trysting place. What did he want to show her?”

Shen had brought him the day’s logs of Sheila’s computer activity and phone calls. Nothing much of interest except for this last call.

He shook his head. Almost blew it at lunch. Tanesha Green and Paul Rosko … he could see the malpractice summonses being delivered. And then Sheila wanting to probe into KB26 … too much. It had terrified him.

After Sheila had fled his office he realized that he had to stay close to her, retain her confidence. If he set up roadblocks, she’d become suspicious. On the other hand, if he gave her the green light and offered to help, she’d keep him in the loop. And that way he could steer her away from what might be trouble.

After all, with the new DNA results, what did he have to worry about?

They showed Coogan as Paul’s offspring this time around. When Coogan came to Tethys as a sick child, they’d taken blood and tissue samples and frozen them just for such an occasion. Mama’s idea. Always thinking ahead. Rosko and Sheila would be satisfied with the results and stop pursuing KB26. And even if, for God knew what reason, she still wanted to research KB26, there was nothing to find. If she was able to access the FDA filings documenting Kaplan Biologicals’ KB26 primate trials, she’d see nothing but good results.