Next: A Novel (15 page)

“There is no question we have a problem,” Dr. Bellarmino said, not looking at his notes. He had memorized his testimony so he could deliver it while facing the television cameras, for greater impact. “Gene patentsby industr y pose a significant problem for future research. On the other hand, gene patenting by academic researchers causes far less concern, since the work is freely shared.”

Of course this was nonsense. Dr. Bellarmino did not mention that the distinction between academic and industry workers had long since been blurred. Twenty percent of academic researchers were paid by industry. Ten percent of academics did drug development. More than 10 percent had a product already on the market. More than 40 percent had applied for patents in the course of their careers.

Nor did Bellarmino mention that he, too, pursued gene patents aggressively. In the last four years, his laboratory had filed 572 patent applications covering a wide spectrum of conditions, from Alzheimer’s and schizophrenia to manic depression, anxiety, and attention-deficit disorders. He had secured patents for dozens of genes for specific metabolic disorders, ranging from deficiency of l-thyroxy-hydrocambrine (associated with restless leg disorder of sleep) to an excess of para-amino-2, 4-dihydroxybenthamine (causing urinary frequency in sleep).

“However,” Dr. Bellarmino said, “I can assure this committee that gene patenting in general is a system that serves the common good. Our procedures to protect intellectual property work well.

Important research is protected, and the consumer, the American patient, is the beneficiary of our efforts.”

He did not tell them that more than four thousand DNA-based patents were granted each year—

two every hour of each working day. Since there were only thirty-five thousand genes in the human genome, most experts estimated that more than 20 percent of the genome was already privately owned.

Bellarmino did not point out that the biggest patent owner was not some industrial giant but the University of California. UC owned more gene patents than Pfizer, Merck, Lilly, and Wyeth combined. They owned more patents than the U.S. government.

“The notion that someone owns part of the human genome strikes some people as unusual,”

Bellarmino said. “But it’s what makes America great and keeps our innovation strong. True, it causes the occasional glitch, but over time, all that will get resolved. Gene patenting is the way to go.”

At the conclusion of his testimony, Dr. Bellarmino left the hearing and headed for Reagan Airport, where he would fly back to Ohio, to resume his research on the “novelty gene,” research being conducted at an amusement park there. Bellarmino had a film crew from60 Minutes following him around, putting together a segment that would show his varied and important genetic research, and also tell his personal story. Time spent in Ohio was a significant part of the final film. Because there he interacted with ordinary people, and as the filmmakers said, the human touch was what was really important, especially with a man of science, and especially on television.

Massachusetts Office of University Technology Transfer GOVERNMENT CENTER, BOSTON

For Immediate Release

SCIENTISTS GROW MINIATURE EAR IN LAB

First “Partial Life Form” at MIT

Possible Applications in Hearing Technology

MIT scientists have grown a human ear in tissue culture for the first time.

Australian performance artist Stelarc collaborated with labs at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology to produce an extra ear for himself. The ear was one-quarter scale, slightly larger than a bottle cap. The tissue taken from Stelarc was cultured in a rotating micro-gravity bioreactor while growing.

MIT issued a statement that the extra ear could be considered “a partial life form—partly constructed and partly grown.” The ear fits comfortably in the palm of the hand.

Last year, the same MIT lab made steaks of frog tissue grown over biopolymer mesh. They had also grown steak from the cells of an unborn sheep. And they created what they referred to as

“victimless leather.” This was skin that had been artificially grown in the laboratory and was suitable for shoes, purses, belts, and other leather goods—presumably with an eye to the robust vegan market.

Several hearing-aid companies have opened talks with MIT about licensing their ear-making technology. According to geneticist Zack Rabi, “As the American population ages, many senior citizens may prefer to grow slightly enlarged, genetically modified ears, rather than rely on hearing-aid technology. A spokesperson for Audion, the hearing-aid company, noted, “We’re not talking about Dumbo ears. Just a small increase of 20 percent in pinna size would double auditory efficiency. We think the market for enlarged ears is huge. When lots of people have them, no one will notice anymore. We believe big ears will become the new standard, like silicon breast implants.”

CH022

It was a bad day for Marty Roberts, made much worse by a phone call from Emily Weller:

“Dr. Roberts, I’m calling you from the mortuary. It seems there’s a problem with my husband’s cremation.”

“What kind of problem?” Marty Roberts said, sitting in his office in the pathology lab.

“They’re saying they can’t cremate my Jack if he contains metal.”

“Metal? What do you mean, metal? Your husband didn’t have any hip replacements or war injuries, did he?”

“No, no. They are saying that his arms and legs have metal pipes in them. And the bones have been removed.”

“Really.” Marty stood up in his chair and snapped his fingers in the air, getting Raza’s attention in the autopsy room outside. “I wonder how that could have happened.”

“I was calling to ask you the same thing.”

“I don’t know what to say. It’s quite beyond me, Mrs. Weller. I must say, I’m shocked.”

By then Raza had come in the room.

“I’m going to put you on speaker, Mrs. Weller, so I can make some notes as we speak. Are you with your husband at the crematorium now?”

“Yes,” she said. “And they are saying he has lead pipes in his arms and legs, so they can’t cremate him.”

“I see,” Marty said, looking at Raza.

Raza shook his head. He scrawled on a pad, We just took one leg. Put in wood dowel.

Marty said, “Mrs. Weller, I can’t imagine how this might have happened. There may have to be an inquiry. I am concerned that the funeral home, or perhaps the cemetery, may have done something improper.”

“Well,” she said, “they say he has to be reburied. But they also say maybe I should call the police, because it looks like his bones were stolen. But I don’t want to go through the ordeal of the police and everything.” A long, pregnant pause. “What do you think, Dr. Roberts?”

“Mrs. Weller,” he said, “let me call you right back.”

Marty Roberts hung up the phone. “You dumb fuck! I told you: Wood, always wood!”

“I know it,” Raza said. “We didn’t do that lead job. I swear we didn’t. We always use wood.”

“Lead pipe…” Marty said, shaking his head. “That’s crazy.”

“It wasn’t us, Marty. I swear it wasn’t us. Must have been those bastards at the cemetery. You know how easy it is. They hold the ceremony, the family shovels a little dirt, and everybody goes home. Coffin isn’t buried. They don’t do the actual burial sometimes for a day or so. That night, they come in, take the bones. You know how it works.”

“How do you know?” Marty said, glaring at him.

“Because, one time last year, woman calls, her husband is buried with the wedding ring, and she wants the ring. Wants to know if we took it off him for the autopsy. I said we didn’t have any effects, but I would call the cemetery. And they hadn’t buried him yet, and she got the ring back.”

Marty Roberts sat down. “Look,” he said, “if there is an investigation, if they start looking at bank accounts…”

“No, no. Trust me.”

“That’s a laugh.”

“Marty, I’m telling you. We didn’t do it. No metal pipe. No.”

“Okay. I heard you. I just don’t believe you.”

Raza tapped the desk. “You’d better use the prescription with her.”

“I will. Now get out of here while I call her back.”

Raza crossed the autopsy room and went into the changing room. No one was there. He dialed his cell phone. “Jesu,” he said. “What the fuck you doing, man? You put lead pipes in that car crash guy. Shit, Marty’s mad. They’re trying to cremate the dude, he’s got lead pipes in him…Man, how many times do I have to tell you? Use wood!”

“Mrs. Weller,”Marty Roberts said, “I think you better rebury your husband. That seems to be your only option.”

“You mean, unless I go to the police. About the stolen bones.”

“I can’t tell you what to do,” he said. “You’ll have to decide the best course of action. But I’m sure a prolonged police investigation will turn up a prescription in your name for ethacrynic acid from Longwood Pharmacy, on Motor Drive.”

“That was for my personal use.”

“Oh, I know that. It’s just a question of how ethacrynic acid happened to end up in your husband’s body. That could be awkward.”

“Your hospital lab has found traces of that?”

“Yes, but I am sure the hospital would stop the lab work as soon as you dropped your lawsuit against them. Let me know what you decide to do, Mrs. Weller. Good-bye for now.”

He hung up and looked at the thermometer in the autopsy room. The temperature was 59

degrees. But Marty was sweating.

“I was wondering when you’d show up,” Marilee Hunter said, in the genetics lab. She didn’t look happy. “I’d like to know exactly what part you played in all this.”

“In all what?” he said.

“Kevin McCormick called today. There’s another lawsuit from that Weller family. This time it’s the son of the deceased, Tom Weller. The one who works for a biotech company.”

“What’s his suit about?”

“I was only following protocol,” Marilee said.

“Uh-huh…What’s the suit about?”

“Apparently his health insurance was canceled.”

“Because?”

“His father has the BNB 71 gene for heart disease.”

“He does? That makes no sense. The guy was a health nut.”

“He had the gene. Doesn’t mean it was expressed. We found it in the tissues. And that fact was duly noted. The insurance company picked it up and canceled the son as ‘pre-ill.’”

“How did they get the information?”

“It’s online,” she said.

“It’s online ?”

“This is a legal inquiry,” she said. “Under state law it’s all discoverable. We’re required to post all lab findings to an FTP address. In theory it’s password-protected, but anyone can get to it.”

“You put genetic data online ?”

“Not everyone’s data. Just the lawsuits. Anyway, the son is saying he did not authorize the release of genetic information about himself, which is true. But if we release the father’s information, as we’re required by state law to do, we also release the son’s, which we’re required by lawnot to do. Because his children share half the same genes as the father. One way or another, we break the law.” She sighed. “Tom Weller wants his insurance back, but he won’t get it.”

Marty Roberts leaned against the desk. “So where does it stand?”

“Mr. Weller sued me along with the hospital. Legal is insisting this lab no longer touches any material from the Wellers.” Marilee Hunter sniffed. “We’re off the case.”

Off the case! No more investigation, no digging up the body! Marty Roberts felt nothing but relief, although he did his best to appear distressed. “It’s so unfair,” he said, “the way lawyers just run our society.”

“Doesn’t matter. It’s over, Marty,” she said. “It’s done.”

Marty went back to the pathology lab later that day. “Raza,” he said, “one of us has to leave this lab.”

“I know,” Raza said. “And I’m going to miss you, Marty.”

“What do you mean?”

“I got a new job,” he said, smiling. “Hamilton Hospital in San Francisco. Their diener just had a heart attack. I start day after tomorrow. So with packing and everything, this is my last day on the job.”

Marty Roberts stared. “Well,” he said. He didn’t know what else to say.

“I know you get two weeks,” Raza said, “but I told the hospital this was a special case and you would understand. By the way, I have a guy who would be a good replacement. He’s a friend of mine, Jesu. Very good guy. Works in a funeral home right now, so it would not be a big transition.”

“I’ll meet with him,” Marty said. “But I think maybe I will pick my own guy.”

“Hey, sure, no problem,” Raza said. He shook hands with Marty. “Thanks for everything, Dr.

Roberts.”

“You remembered.” Marty smiled.

Raza turned and left the lab.

CH023

Josh Winkler was staring out his office window that overlooked the reception area at BioGen.

Things were up in the air. Josh’s assistant, Tom Weller, had taken the week off because his father had died in a car crash in Long Beach. And now there was a problem with his health insurance, as well. Which meant Josh had to work with another assistant, who didn’t know the routines. Outside, repair crews were fixing the surveillance cameras in the parking lot. At the reception desk below, Brad Gordon was again chatting up the beautiful Lisa. Josh sighed. What kind of juice did Brad have, that he could do whatever he wanted, including chasing the boss’s trim? Because Brad was clearly never going to be fired.

Lisa had beautiful breasts.

“Josh? Are you listening to me?”

“Yes, Mom.”

“Is something on your mind?”

“No, Mom.”

From above, he could look down at Lisa’s scoop-neck blouse, which revealed the smooth contours of her firm breasts. Undoubtedly too firm, but that didn’t bother Josh. Everybody and everything was surgically enhanced these days. Including guys. Even guys in their twenties were getting face-lifts and penile implants.

“Then what about it?” his mother said.

“What? Sorry, Mom. What were you saying?”

“About the Levines. My cousins.”

“I don’t know. Where do they live again?”

“Scarsdale, dear.”

He remembered now. The Levine family had parents that spent too much. “Mom, this is not legal.”