Doctors (86 page)

He looked at the director’s inner office. Every light was on and there were papers strewn across the desk. Rhodes must have just stepped out for a breath of air. He would wait a bit.

He could not resist the temptation to sit in the director’s chair—which he was hoping to make his own in another year. Besides, even if Paul found him with his tennis sneakers up on his desk, Marshall knew his elder colleague had a sense of humor. Indeed, theirs had been almost a father-son relationship.

He sat on the throne and leaned back, thinking to himself,
Hello, peons, this is your new director, King Jaffe, about to begin my thirty-year rule. Anyone who wishes may come kiss my Stanford graduation ring.

He savored the fantasy. What would come after that, he wondered? Perhaps a phone call from the White House—or the U.N.? Perhaps an invitation to appear before Congress. Rhodes had gotten lots of those.

I wonder what he’s working on tonight? Temptation triumphed and he allowed himself to take a closer look.

And he was glad he did. For there atop Paul’s desk were galley proofs from the
New England Journal of Medicine
—the ones that should have reached Marshall that day.

He picked up a sheet and tried to find the paragraph or two that he had written. God, he thought, my name is somewhere in this landmark article.

His passion now aroused, he rummaged through the galleys for the title page. It took him several minutes till he found it, face down on the desk. Somewhere after Rhodes and Karvonen (or Karvonen and Rhodes—he knew they were squabbling over this) his name would be inscribed, recording his modest assistance.

He leaned back in the chair and took a breath. The article was on page one of the journal. Its simple title belied its great importance. “The Use of Bio-Engineering in the Destruction of Oncogenes: A New Approach.”

And there it was. Sandwiched in between Asher Isaacs and James P. Lowell: “Marshall Jaffe, M.D., Ph.D.”

He gazed at the letters, savoring a moment of intoxicating self-congratulation.

Then he noticed something. Sirii Takalo’s name was missing. And where was Jaako Fredricksen—with whom he’d spent many a long Finnish night getting smashed on
pöytäviina
? Shit, Jaako had been on the project longer than he had. Rumor had it that he was Karvonen’s heir apparent—an honor he richly deserved, since his boss could never have charted the structure had not Jaako been his navigator.

In fact, if one judged by these galleys, Finland did not exist—at least in academic medicine. For even the name of Toivo Karvonen, founding father of the whole project, appeared
nowhere.

At first Marshall simply could not accept the fact that Rhodes, a man he so respected, was capable of such gross professional misconduct. But there was no other explanation.

The sonovabitch was trying to steal the ball and run for a touchdown on his own.

Suddenly he heard footsteps. Paul was on his way back. Shake ass, Marshall, he thought. Put the galleys down and turn the title page back over. Get the hell as far as you can from the desk.

His tennis reflexes paid off. By the time Rhodes opened the office door, Marshall was standing at the wall, admiring the photographs of his boss with various immortals.

“Well, Marsh,” the director said genially, “what brings you here so late?”

“I had a lousy day, Paul,” he answered with a hoarseness in his voice.

“Want to sit and talk about it?”

“No, thanks. That’s very kind—”

“It’s all right, I’ve got nothing pressing. Is it Claire’s condition?” he asked sympathetically.

“No, no. She’s pretty stable at the moment. Uh—I don’t know if you noticed, but I wasn’t here all afternoon.”

“Oh, come on, Marshall, we don’t punch time clocks here. Was it something to do with the boys?”

Marshall nodded. “Yes. The principal says Donny’s misbehaving. Thinks it’s probably reaction to—you know—the situation.” Marshall let his voice trail off. “I’m sorry, Paul, Laura’s waiting for me in the parking lot right now. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Good,” the director said, smiling. “Go and relax a bit.”

“You, too,” Marshall answered, “and don’t work too hard.”

Laura was running her car heater at full blast to keep warm.

“Jaffe, I was going to give you another two minutes. What the hell took you so long?”

“Hey, Laura, listen,” he said in a strange tone of voice, “I’ve got to talk to someone.”

“Did you have anyone particular in mind?”

“Hey, this is serious. I really need your advice.”

“Then I advise going to my place and opening up some Emerald Dry.”

He shrugged and shook his head like a zombie. “Would you mind if I left my car here and drove with you?”

“Sure, Marsh, climb in and start talking.”

*    *    *

Laura was so staggered that she had trouble concentrating on the road.

“Christ,” she said, “maybe every doctor is something of an egomaniac at heart.”

“I know I am,” Marshall offered, “but God knows, I’m not a kleptomaniac. I mean, Toivo’s research was fundamental to the project. He came with the oncogene practically deciphered—and they worked together on the antibody. Paul is not just screwing the guy’s career, he’s screwing up the poor bastard’s life!”

“I agree,” Laura commented. “The only question now is what you can do about it.”

They rode on in silence until Marshall untangled a strand from his web of thoughts.

“You realize if I blow the whistle on Rhodes I’m as good as dead at NIH.”

“I know,” she said quietly.

“I mean, not just in Washington. He’s so wired-in he could short-circuit me at every university in the country. He even goes on lecture tours to Australia every summer—which means I’ll be guano there, too.”

Laura held fire till they neared her apartment.

“Marsh, I’d be lying if I didn’t tell you that this would be kamikaze heroism. But what Rhodes is doing reflects badly not only on the Institutes, but on every scientist in this country. You’ve got to stop him somehow.”

“At the price of committing professional suicide? Of totally destroying my own chance for Stockholm some day? Laura, I’ve got two kids and a sick wife. Unemployment won’t even pay for Mrs. Henderson.”

She looked at him and demanded, “What exactly do you want me to say?”

“Laura,” he said earnestly, “I respect your opinion more than anybody else’s in the world. If you were in my place, what would you do?”

She answered quietly, “I think I’d blow the whistle on him, Marsh.”

As they walked up the stairs to her apartment, he asked, “Laura, haven’t you ever compromised to save your skin?”

“No, at least I don’t think so.”

“What about that dead baby in Toronto?”

“I raised hell with the chiefs of service,” she answered proudly.

“But you didn’t tell the mother, did you?”

Laura paused at the door. He was right. She had told the captain, but she hadn’t rocked the boat. Nobody ever sued the hospital for that inexcusable error—and cover-up.

“You’re right,” she confessed. “Besides, you’ve got your family to think of. Why not simply call Toivo and let
him
decide what to do? After all, it’s
his
problem.”

Marshall checked his watch. “It’s nearly midnight. That would be almost seven in the morning in Helsinki. He’ll be in his lab in another hour.”

They sat in the kitchen without talking, growing increasingly impatient as they watched the hands on the clock move toward 1
A.M.

At last it was time to call. Laura glanced at Marshall. He rose, took a deep breath to calm himself. And then he carefully dialed the fourteen digits.

“Hello, this is Marshall Jaffe in Washington. I’m—”

“Don’t tell me,” the Finn interrupted, “I can guess why you are calling. I’m angry as hell myself.”

“What’s that?” Marshall asked, somewhat confused.

“You’re calling about the galleys, aren’t you?”

“Uh—yes.”

“Then you haven’t got them either, eh? I was planning to call that pompous editor at Harvard and give him glory Hallelujah!”

“I wouldn’t if I were you,” Marshall cautioned nervously. “I mean, I’ve already contacted the guy and I’m—getting a set this afternoon.”

“What caused the delay? Didn’t they find this important enough? For heaven’s sake, I could make one phone call to London and
The Lancet
would take it on my word alone.”

“I know, Toivo, I know. But there’s a little problem—”

“What are you talking about?”

“Uh—actually, I’ve had a look at the galleys—at least the first page.…”

“Yes?”

Marshall gazed helplessly at Laura as if to say, Can I really go through with this? Then he steeled himself and blurted into the phone, “There are no Finns listed, Toivo.”

“What—is this some kind of joke?”

“I sure as hell wish it was—but a few hours ago I got a look at the only extant copy of the galleys. There’s no authorship credit for anybody in your Institute—including
you.
”

There was another pause. This time because the eminent scientist in Meilahti Hospital was himself at a loss for words.

Professor Toivo Karvonen had been a scientist all his life, and as such, drew conclusions only from empirical data. And the statement he had just heard seemed unfounded—not to mention incredible.

“Marshall, I’ve known Paul for more than twenty years. He’s such a brilliant fellow—why on earth would he try something so stupid?”

“For God’s sake, Toivo, I’m putting my own head on the block. Do you think I’d be calling if I hadn’t seen the proofs with my own eyes?”

Karvonen’s reaction surprised Marshall.

“Dear me,” he whispered like a disapproving parent discovering his child had misbehaved. Marshall had expected a cascade of epithets in a multitude of languages. But there was none. Just a soft and sincere expression of gratitude.

“Marshall, this was very brave of you. I know the risk you are taking. Is there something I can do for you in return?”

“Well,” he responded, not at all in jest, “I may be asking you for a job. Anyway, I’m sorry I had to tell you this. What are you going to do?”

The Finn remained calm.

“Listen, I need a little time to work things out. It must be very late for you. Get some sleep and I’ll ring you at a decent hour.”

“Uh—not at the Institutes, Toivo. I think that would be a little dangerous.”

“I agree. May I call you at home?”

Marshall looked at Laura.

“Actually, I’m staying with a friend. It would be better if you called her.” Then he quickly added, “I mean, she’s another doctor, a colleague at NIH—”

“No need to explain,” Karvonen replied sympathetically, “I know about your situation. Now get some rest.
Hyvästi.
”

Marshall hung up and, arm around Laura’s shoulders, walked into the living room. He sat down on the couch, leaned his head back, and mumbled, “Oh, Christ. You’re looking at a soon-to-be-totally-blackballed scientist. Do you think your friend Milton would give me a job in his deli?”

“Let’s take one step at a time,” she replied and bent down over him to pull off his loafers.

“What the hell are you doing? Laura, I’m in panic on the verge of hyperventilation. You surely don’t want to—”

“Hey, relax, Marshall. I just want you to get some sleep. You’re going to have a rough day tomorrow.”

She lifted his feet onto the couch.

“Laura,” he said, already curling up, “it’s going to be a rough day for me for the next thirty years.” As he reached up to kiss her, he murmured, “God, Laura, I don’t know what the hell I’d do without you.”

You’d probably be better off, she said to herself, already having second thoughts about encouraging him to be a hero.

She looked down at him. He was fast asleep.

W
hen she awoke, Marshall was already pacing the living room floor.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“Sure—apart from being freaked, frantic, and totally catatonic, I’m perfectly okay,” he replied.

She put her arms around him. “Stay loose, Jaffe,” she murmured. “Justice will triumph.”

“Do you really believe that?”

“I believe in you,” she replied, trying to camouflage her own anxiety.

At which point he was bolstered enough to act. “Listen, I’ve got to make a guest appearance at my own house and then spread myself around the Institute and make sure everybody sees my innocent face.”

He then looked at her sheepishly and asked, “Do you mind waiting here in case Toivo calls?”

“What about showing
my
innocent face?”

“Don’t sweat, Laura,” he reassured her. “Nobody has the slightest idea that you know about this. You can call in sick or something. If you get any important news from Toivo, drive to my office and we’ll take a walk.”

“Marshall, I’m scared,” she confessed.

“That’s two of us. I’m already regretting my George Washington performance—I mean, it was Karvonen’s cherry tree, anyway. If I can find a safe phone, I’ll try and give you a ring.”

He squeezed her shoulders affectionately, and started off. Then he stopped abruptly, turned, and said, “If I forgot to say I love you last night, I’m saying it now.”

Then he was gone, now leaving Laura to pace back and forth like a worried father outside the delivery room.

Suddenly the phone rang.

“I’ve got really bad news, Laura.” It was Marshall from a roadside phone booth. “Has he called back yet?”

“No.”

“In that case, it’s all over. Rhodes just announced a press conference—and party—for this afternoon. Anyway, if Toivo does phone, say we did the best we could.”

Laura hung up distraught.

As she headed toward her balcony for some fresh air the phone rang again. She rushed to answer it.

“Yes?” she asked breathlessly.

“Hello,” said a distant-sounding voice. “Karvonen here—do I have the right number?”

“Yes, Professor, this is—a colleague of Marshall’s.”

“Splendid. Please convey to him that everything has been taken care of.”

“I don’t understand, sir,” Laura countered. “Marshall’s just phoned me to say Rhodes has called a press conference for this afternoon.”