appropriately kidney-shaped. The difference was that this organ had ports through the Plexiglas wall that were connected with Y connectors to the organ’s artery, vein, and ureter.
“What you’re looking at is what is going to be the world’s first human organ exoplant made from induced pluripotent cells. This morning we received official sanction from the FDA to go ahead and attach this organ to Dr. Yamamoto’s cannulated inguinal artery and vein. We will be allowing the organ to function as it would if it were transplanted into Dr. Yamamoto’s abdomen.”
“You’ve volunteered for this?” Will asked Yamamoto.
“Yes, of course,” Yamamoto said with enthusiasm. “It is a great honor for me.”
“When will you do it?” Pia asked. It seemed as if she was being overwhelmed on a daily basis in Rothman’s laboratory.
“As soon as we can schedule it with the surgery department. It will be done in one of the main operating rooms for safety’s sake. We’ll allow the organ to function for several hours while we monitor it carefully. It’s going to be a big day. A milestone really.”
But what Pia could see before her seemed like a destination in itself. The dreams inherent in what was growing next door were being made into a reality in this tiny secret chamber. Pia felt a sense of awe, that she was present at the creation of something immense and extraordinary. No one in the room was saying a word. Pia stared at the artificial kidney sitting in its nutrient solution, the blue light reflecting in the bath and flickering over her face. She had been working in Rothman’s cathedral but now she had seen the shrine. She knew that Rothman would have preferred the organ to be a pancreas, but she knew he knew that would not be far behind.
She could hardly wait to see that happen.
23.
ONE CENTRAL PARK WEST NEW YORK CITY MARCH 4, 2011, 1:20 P.M.
Jerry Trotter was slumped in his study, his head twisted awkwardly as it rested on his desk next to his slender Mac keyboard. As he snored fitfully, Jerry was having a particularly lurid dream. He is sitting as far back in a chair as he can while a man is yelling right in his face. In the dream, Jerry is late for a vital appointment, but he doesn’t know what it’s for, and he can’t find out until the man stops yelling at him and gets out of the way. Jerry twitched himself half awake but didn’t move. He’d drooled on the desk and his head was pounding. A phone was ringing somewhere nearby.
After an hour that morning, Jerry had turned off the ringers on all the phones in the house and on his regular cell phone. It appeared that there were plenty of people who wanted to talk to him. He hadn’t shown up at work so they figured he was at home or at least somewhere where he could pick up his cell phone. But the only calls Jerry cared about would come in on the device that Max Higgins had given him. So that must be the phone that was ringing.
Jerry sat bolt upright and pulled something in his neck. A quick spasm of pain ran up into his head as he scrambled for the phone. It stopped ringing.
“Shit, shit.”
Although he was one-part asleep and couldn’t orient himself properly, Jerry found the phone and pushed at the unfamiliar buttons. A 917 number came up and he pressed the green button. The phone redialed. It wasn’t Higgins, and he couldn’t remember Hooper’s number or Brubaker’s.
“Let it be Hooper,” he said quietly, with purpose. “Let it be Hooper.”
Someone picked up the call.
“Where’ve you been? I called twice.”
It was Hooper.
“You got something?”
“Bingo.”
“What is it? You gotta tell me. . . .”
“We need to meet. The Starbucks on the corner of Sixtieth. Opposite the Mandarin Oriental.”
“That’s right across the street.”
“See you in ten minutes.”
Jerry Trotter looked at his Rolex again and then around the Starbucks. Harry Hooper had said ten minutes and that was almost a half-hour ago. Jerry had come straight down to the street from his skyscraper aerie and hurried across Columbus Circle, and he’d reached the place in four minutes flat. Max Higgins would be at the apartment at any moment too. Jerry had quickly called him and asked him to come up from the office with the car. Things seemed to be moving.
As usual, the Starbucks was jammed. There was a line of people snaking around the store, all waiting to order, and customers to their left waiting for their beverages to be delivered. Most of the two-tops were occupied by individuals with laptops and a lot of notebooks. Who were these people? Jerry wondered. Didn’t they have homes? Or offices? A homeless guy had wedged his shopping bags and himself into a corner. He had a cup of water and as long as he stayed awake, he could sit there for the rest of the year.
What sort of venue was this for a meeting? Jerry wondered. There was little chance of finding somewhere to sit and less chance of talking discreetly. Jerry took out the phone and was ready to call Hooper again when he felt a hand squeeze his elbow, and not lightly. He twisted around. Hooper.
“Let’s take a walk,” he said.
Hooper guided Jerry out of the store and across the street so they skirted the front of the Time Warner building. Hordes of people were coming in and out of the doors.
Hooper turned right on Fifty-eighth Street and walked toward Columbus, steering Jerry through traffic to the south side of the street. They entered a pair of light green glass doors and took an escalator up to the lobby of the boutique hotel on the corner. Hooper led Jerry to a quiet section of the expansive lobby and sat at a table where a drinks menu was resting.
“A little quieter in here,” Hooper said.
“What was all that about? We could have just met here.”
“You sounded very tense on the phone,” Hooper said. “I’d say nervous was more like it. And nervous people make me nervous. Just basic precautions.”
Jerry looked at Hooper. How old was the guy, fifty-five? He was smaller than Jerry remembered, no more than five-eight, with dark hair that might be dyed but which was all his. He had a pinched, smoker’s face and friendly eyes. Trotter trusted him not at all.
“Shall we have a drink?”
“Sure,” said Jerry, who was running on fumes. Hooper waved a hand and a waiter came over from a bar.
“Scotch, rocks, a little water,” Hooper said.
“Vodka martini with a twist,” Jerry said. “Thank you.”
“You look a bit rough there, boss.”
“Didn’t sleep well,” Jerry said. “Nothing some good news won’t cure. I’m presuming it’s good news because you couldn’t tell me over the phone.”
“I wanted to have a little word with you, face-to-face.”
“Oh, yes.”
“I’m kinda wondering why you’re so interested in this guy.”
“Well, what’s it to you, Harry? I asked you to find out some information and you seem to have found something. Obviously I want to have some leverage over this person, but it’s nothing you need worry about.”
“I’m curious how valuable the information might be.”
Jerry paused while the waiter served their drinks. Was this little asshole trying to shake him down? The waiter left, and Jerry picked up his glass slowly.
“Cheers, Harry.” Jerry knocked back half of his drink and put it down. “I’d say the information is worth the
