best we can do for now.”
“Thanks, Sel. I knew I could count on you.”
“Hey, what are big sisters for? Now I want you to promise to remain calm. We’ll get through this together… okay? Promise me.”
“Okay…I promise…I’ll try, Sel,” Sarah replied, hesitantly. “But calmness is the furthest thing from my mind. I just can’t believe that this madness keeps recurring in my life. Is it ever going to stop? I’m so mad, I could just scream,” she shouted.
“Sarah! Listen to me,” Sela demanded. “This isn’t your fault.. This is strictly between Ryan and Jarrod. Don’t buy into this crap.”
Sarah stifled her anger, trying to remain composed. “I know what you say is true, Sel, but I can’t turn off the damn dialogue in my head. It’s reviving the dreadful memory of that whore in New York. I thought I was over it…but this latest incident has reopened that old wound. It’s making me crazy!”
“Just calm down, little sister. Wait for Jer to arrive, and then you two hang tight until Dad or I call back. I love you, Sarah, ya hear?”
“Goodbye, Sela. I love you, too,” she said, ending the call, ready to embrace the peace of mind coaxed by her trusted sister.
Sarah idolized her sister; she had no peer equal to her standards. There was nothing Sela couldn’t do once she set her mind on something. She marched to her own beat, seemingly oblivious to the occasional good-natured ribbing for her sometimes peculiar behavior. Sela had the olive skin, dark hair, and full lips characteristic of Mediterranean women, and her tall, lithe figure made her exceptionally alluring. She was the most like her father, Senator Alfonse Coscarelli, and, given her extraordinary oratory skills, everyone assumed that she would one day enter politics, following in her father’s footsteps.
Politics held no interest for Sela, however. She had graduated from UCLA with a Ph. D. in cellular biology, fascinated with what she referred to as the “microscopic universe” within each living cell. She marveled at the elegant complexity of the DNA double helix, unraveled by Watson and Crick, but divined by the hand of God. She believed that a cellular biologist could correct any systemic disease with the biological blueprint in DNA, once the dysfunctional gene was identified. With the isolated gene, any specific physiological function could either be switched on or off, curing the disease at hand. It was in this field of cellular biology that Sela decided to devote her life’s work.
Dr. Coscarelli was currently conducting research at Johns Hopkins University on a host of genetic diseases that bore distinct similarities. Each of these maladies was the result of a defective gene located on one of the forty-eight human chromosomes. Each gene, in turn, was responsible for a specific function, which, if missing or hyperactive, produced the disease. Switching the gene on or off could restore the patient to health. It was really that simple.
Sela was presently working to design a transport mechanism to cure a host of genetic diseases. In each case, the abnormal gene and its associated enzyme deficiency had been discovered, but transmitting the correct gene sequence into each DNA strand for further cell replication was still a problem. It was not enough to understand that an enzyme like dystrophin, the gene prohibiting the repair of muscle fiber in patients with muscular dystrophy, was missing. To effect a cure, a transport method was needed to convey the corrective gene to each of the one billion muscle cells in the patient’s body.
With dystrophin missing from the MD patient’s muscle tissue, when a muscle fiber tore through normal growth processes, the patient’s body responded by adding inelastic connective tissue in place of healthy muscle fiber. Over time, severe contractures fully incapacitated the patient, ending with paralysis-like conditions. Once the patient was completely non-ambulatory, the disease accelerated until breathing was totally compromised and they became bed-ridden, helpless, and dependent on a respirator. MD patients mercifully succumbed to complications of the disease at a fairly early age, liberated from this totally lucid, vegetative state.
It was Sela’s idea to use a phage virus as a veritable Trojan Horse, delivering the missing dystrophin gene to the patient’s muscle cells. Phage viruses are responsible for the annual spread of influenza that affects millions of people during flu season. These replicant viruses insert a small portion of gene material into the host cell, which hijacks its normal function. At first, the viral genetic material remains dormant, allowing it to rapidly reproduce. But each time the infected host cell divides, duplicating its DNA, it also generates a perfect copy of the invasive viral DNA-an insidious but effective means for creating huge numbers of viruses from one infected cell. Through this characteristic, viruses could be used as mules to insert the missing gene into the patient’s vast network of cells. In this way, Sela hoped to unlock the mystery for delivering life-saving genetic material to patients suffering from a plethora of genetic diseases.
Sela was currently creating a specialized phage virus to transport the dystrophin-making gene into the muscle cells of MD patients, using their own cell system to cure the disease. Sela had a particular interest in the cure for muscular disorders because Duchenne muscular dystrophy had caused the early death of her nephew, Jacob. Like so many MD patients, Jacob died of complications from the disease, not directly from the disease itself. As the patient’s diaphragm and thoracic capacity became increasingly compromised, they would usually succumb to an upper respiratory condition, most commonly pneumonia. Ever since she witnessed firsthand the heartache her sister’s family suffered throughout the long battle Jacob waged against this merciless disease, she secretly pledged to discover a breakthrough cure.
Sarah Marshall kept her appointment with Detective Westbrook. As Ryan suspected, the detective asked questions about why he might break into his cousin’s lab, and if she knew his whereabouts. Sarah did not lie, but neither did she volunteer all the information at her disposal. Even though she refused to abet Ryan’s illegal actions, she felt she owed him the benefit of the doubt regarding his innocence.
Sarah knew better than anyone the demons Ryan battled because of Jarrod Conrad, and it seemed acceptable not to divulge more than the detective’s questions demanded. She did acknowledge that she suspected he was on his way to California to confront his cousin, but had no idea the route he would travel, or if in fact he was still in the area. All of this was strictly true.
Good luck Ryan, wherever you are. I hope you find the peace of mind you so desperately crave.
TWENTY-TWO
San Jose, California
22:00 HOURS
Richard Kilmer grabbed the rubber stress-ball he kept handy below his computer monitor and threw it forcefully across the room. It slammed against the opposite wall and skidded past his faithful dog, Kiwi-a Jack Russell terrier-who delightedly ran after the bouncing ball.
Kilmer shoved himself back from the desk and stared menacingly at the pad containing the notes he had just scribbled. The news from Dallas Weaver about the difficulty Aldin Mills encountered with the Quantum equations was not welcome. He could feel his blood pressure rising at the thought of calling Holloway, figuring the situation would send the man ballistic. Most troubling was that he had previously assured Holloway that Conrad’s equations were the last step to making the antigravity machine work. This was an even bigger problem now, because Holloway had insisted he not pay for the job until he was certain the device worked. Now Kilmer had to admit that his guarantee was premature.
Aside from this complication, Kilmer perceived several scenarios that could potentially complicate the upcoming missions. First, he had no time to redirect his attention to anything but the Livermore job. The simplest solution was to kidnap Dr. Jarrod Conrad and force him to operate the machine, but he couldn’t divert any of his present team to this assignment. There were other members available, but none with the forte for this type of problem. The only choice was Stuart Farley, but he was a wildcard: unpredictable, unmanageable, and bloodthirsty. Farley oftentimes created more problems than he solved; although his work on Marshall’s crane at Taos was done with remarkable efficiency. Farley had been irked that the crane hadn’t collapsed as planned, but he accomplished the end result: Marshall took the bait that his cousin was the perpetrator. But all things considered, Farley was much too unpredictable for anything beyond his specialty-murder by a wide variety of spectacular and stomach-turning means. Kilmer was reluctant to use him for anything else.
