His first response had been to send a fax via his private telephone line to his Japanese supervisor. From the outset the Japanese had insisted they be able to communicate with Hiroshi without going through the Center switchboard. That had been only one of their conditions.
Hiroshi had then called Dr. Mason’s secretary to ask if it would be possible for him to see the director. He’d been given a two o’clock appointment. Now, as he ascended the stairs to the seventh floor, it was three minutes before the hour. Hiroshi was a punctilious man who left little to chance.
As he entered Mason’s office, the doctor leapt to his feet. Hiroshi bowed deeply in apparent respect though in reality he did not think highly of the American physician, believing Dr. Mason lacked the iron will necessary in a good manager. In Hiroshi’s estimation, Dr. Mason would be unpredictable under pressure.
“Dr. Gyuhama, nice of you to come up,” Dr. Mason said, motioning toward the couch. “Can we get you anything? Coffee, tea, or juice?”
“Juice, please,” Hiroshi replied with a polite smile. He did not want any refreshment but did not care to refuse and appear ungrateful.
Dr. Mason sat down across from Hiroshi. But he didn’t sit normally. Hiroshi noticed that he sat on the very edge of his seat and rubbed his hands together. Hiroshi could tell he was nervous, which only served to lower further Hiroshi’s estimation of the man as a manager. One should not communicate one’s feelings so openly.
“What can I do for you?” Dr. Mason asked.
Hiroshi smiled again, noting that no Japanese would be so direct.
“I was introduced to a young university student today,” Hiroshi said.
“Sean Murphy,” Dr. Mason said. “He’s a medical student at Harvard.”
“Harvard is a very good school,” Hiroshi said.
“One of the best,” Dr. Mason said. “Particularly in medical research.” Dr. Mason eyed Hiroshi cautiously. He knew Hiroshi avoided direct questions. Mason always had to try to figure out what the Japanese man was getting at. It was frustrating, but Mason knew that Hiroshi was Sushita’s front man, so it was important to treat him with respect. Right now it was apparent that he had found Sean’s presence disturbing.
Just then, the juice arrived and Hiroshi bowed and said thank you several times. He took a sip, then placed the glass on the coffee table.
“Perhaps it might be helpful if I explain why Mr. Murphy is here,” Dr. Mason said.
“That would be very interesting,” Hiroshi said.
“Mr. Murphy is a third-year medical student,” Dr. Mason said. “During the course of the year third-year students have blocks of time which they can use to choose an elective and study something that particularly interests them. Mr. Murphy is interested in research. He’ll be here for two months.”
“That’s very good for Mr. Murphy,” Hiroshi said. “He comes to Florida during the winter.”
“It is a good system,” Dr. Mason agreed. “He’ll get the experience of seeing a working lab in operation, and we’ll get a worker.”
“Perhaps he’ll be interested in our medulloblastoma project,” Hiroshi said.
“He is interested,” Dr. Mason said. “But he will not be allowed to participate. Instead he will be working with our colonic cancer glycoprotein, trying to crystallize the protein. I don’t have to tell you how good it would be for both Forbes and Sushita if he were able to accomplish what we’ve so far failed to do.”
“I was not informed of Mr. Murphy’s arrival by my superiors,” Hiroshi said. “It is strange for them to have forgotten.”
All at once, Dr. Mason realized what this circuitous conversation was about. One of Sushita’s conditions was that they review all prospective employees before they were hired. Usually it was a formality, and where a student was concerned, Dr. Mason had not given it a thought, particularly since Murphy’s stay was so temporary.
“The decision to invite Mr. Murphy for his elective happened rather quickly. Perhaps I should have informed Sushita, but he is not an employee. He does not get paid. Besides, he’s a student with limited experience.”
“Yet he will be entrusted with samples of glycoprotein,” Hiroshi said. “He will have access to the recombinant yeast that produces the protein.”
“Obviously he will be given the protein,” Dr. Mason said. “But there is no reason for him to be shown our recombinant technology for producing it.”
“How much do you know about this man?” Hiroshi asked.
“He comes with a recommendation from a trusted colleague,” Dr. Mason said.
“Perhaps my company would be interested in his resume,” Hiroshi said.
“We have no resume,” Dr. Mason said. “He’s only a student. If there had been anything important to know about him, I’m confident my friend Dr. Walsh would have informed me. He did say that Mr. Murphy was an artist when it came to protein crystallization and making murine monoclonal antibodies. We need an artist if we are going to come up with a patentable product. Besides, the Harvard cachet is valuable to the clinic. The idea we have been training a Harvard graduate student will not do us any harm.”
Hiroshi got to his feet and, with his continued smile, bowed, but not as deeply nor for as long a period as when he’d first come into the office. “Thank you for your time,” he said. Then he left the room.
AFTER THE door clicked behind Hiroshi, Dr. Mason closed his eyes and rubbed them with his fingertips. His hands were shaking. He was much too anxious, and if he wasn’t careful, he’d aggravate his peptic ulcer. With the possibility of some psychopath killing metastatic breast cancer patients, the last thing he needed was trouble with Sushita. He now regretted doing Clifford Walsh the favor of inviting his graduate student. It was a complication he didn’t need.
On the other hand, Dr. Mason knew he needed something to offer the Japanese or they might not renew their grant, irrespective of other concerns. If Sean could help solve the problem associated with developing an antibody to their glycoprotein, then his arrival could turn into a godsend.
Dr. Mason ran a nervous hand through his hair. The problem was, as Hiroshi made him realize, he knew very little about Sean Murphy. Yet Sean would have access to their labs. He could talk to other workers; he could access the computers. And Sean struck Dr. Mason as definitely the curious type.
Snatching up the phone, Dr. Mason asked his secretary to get Clifford Walsh from Boston on the line. While he waited, he ambled over to his desk. He wondered why he hadn’t thought of calling Clifford earlier.
Within a few minutes, Dr. Walsh was available on the phone. Dr. Mason sat while he talked. Since they’d spoken just the previous week, their small talk was minimal.
“Did Sean get down there okay?” Dr. Walsh asked.
“He arrived this morning.”
“I hope he hasn’t gotten into trouble already,” Dr. Walsh said.
Dr. Mason felt his ulcer begin to burn. “That’s a strange statement,” he said. “Especially after your excellent recommendations.”
“Everything I said about him is true,” Dr. Walsh said. “The kid is just short of a genius when it comes to molecular biology. But he’s a city kid and his social skills are nowhere near his intellectual abilities. He can be headstrong. And he’s physically stronger than an ox. He could have played professional hockey. He’s the type of guy you want on your side if there’s going to be a brawl.”
“We don’t brawl down here much,” Dr. Mason said with a short laugh. “So we won’t be taking advantage of his skills in that regard. But tell me something else. Has Sean ever been associated with the biotechnology industry in any way, like worked summers at a company? Anything like that?”
“He sure has,” Dr. Walsh said. “He not only worked at one, he owned one. He and a group of friends started a company called Immunotherapy to develop murine monoclonal antibodies. The company did well as far as I know. But then I don’t keep up with the industrial side of our field.”
The pain in Mason’s gut intensified. This was not what he wanted to hear.
Mason thanked Dr. Walsh, hung up the phone, and immediately swallowed two antacid tablets. Now he had to worry about Sushita learning of Sean’s association with this Immunotherapy company. If they did, it might be enough to cause them to break the agreement.
Dr. Mason paced his office. Intuition told him he had to act. Perhaps he should send Sean back to Boston as Dr. Levy had suggested. But that would mean losing Sean’s potential contribution to the glycoprotein project.
Suddenly Dr. Mason had an idea. He could at least find out all there was to know about Sean’s company. He
