Strong Medicine (45 page)

"There's something else I believe I should point out," Bentley

volunteered. "it may even have a bearing on your visit."

"Go ahead,11

"Dr. Peat-Smith is a leader and, as with any leader, it would be a

mistake for him to show weakness or exhibit doubts about the progress

being made here. If he did, the morale of those working with him would

collapse. And something else: Dr. Peat-Smith has been usod to working

alone, at his own pace. Now, suddenly, he has huge responsi5itities, with

many people depending on him, as well as other press ures-subtle and not

so subtlt-including your own presence, Mrs, Jordan, here and now. All

those things are an enormous strain on any individual."

"Then there are doubts about the work being done," Celia said. "Serious

doubts? I've been wondering."

Bentley, who was facing Celia across his desk, put the tips of his

fingers. together and regarded her across them. "In working here I have

an obligation to Dr. Peat-Smith, but an even larger responsibility to you

and Mr. Hawthorne. Therefore I must answer your question-yes."

"I want to know about those doubts," Celia said. "in detail."

Bentley ans,,vered, "I lack the scientific qualifications." He hesitated,

then went on, "it would be irregular, perhaps, but I believe

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you should speak privately with Dr. Sastri and instruct him, as you have

authority to do, to open up totally and frankly."

Dr. Rao Sastri, as Celia knew, was the nucleic acid chemist-a Pakistani,

formerly a Cambridge colleague-whom Martin had recruited as his scientific

second-in-command.

"This is too important to worry about what's regular or isn't, Mr.

Bentley," she said. "Thank you. I'll do as you suggest."

"Is there any other way in which I can help?"

Celia considered. "Martin quoted John Locke at me today. Is he a Locke

disciple?"

"Yes, and so am L" Bentley gave a small, tight smile. "The two of us share

a conviction that Locke was one of the finer philosophers and guides this

world has ever known."

"I'd like something of Locke's to read tonight," Celia said. "Can you get

it for me?"

Bentley made a note. "it will be waiting for you at your hotel."

It was not until late afternoon, during her second day at Harlow, that

Celia was able to have her talk with Dr. Sastri. In between that and her

session the previous day with Nigel Bentley, she talked with others at the

institute who were consistently cheerful and optimistic in their views

about the Harlow research scene. Yet still Celia had a sense of something

being held back, an instinct that those she had met were being less than

forthright with her.

Rao Sastri proved to be a handsome, dark-skinned, articulate and

fast-speaking young man, still in his twenties. Celia knew he had a Ph.D.

and a brilliant scholastic record, and both Martin and Bentley had assured

her the institute was fortunate in having him. Sastri and Celia met in an

annex to the plant cafeteria, a small room normally used by senior staff

for working lunches. After shaking hands with Sastri, and before they sat

down, Celia closed

the door for privacy.

She said, "I believe you know who I am."

"Indeed, Mrs. Jordan. My colleague Peat-Smith has spoken of you frequently,

and kindly. At this time I am honored to meet you." Sastri's speech was

cultured and precise, with a Pakistani lilt. He also smiled frequently,

though at times switching off the smile with a trace of nervousness.

"I am happy to meet you also," Celia said, "and wish to discuss with you

the progress of research here."

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"It is wonderful! Truly marvelous! A jolly good show all around."

"Yes," Celia acknowledged, "others have told me the same. But before we go

on I would like to make clear that I am here on behalf of Mr. Hawthorne,

the president of Felding-Roth, and exercising his authority."

:'Oh, dear! My goodness! I wonder what is coming now."

'What is coming, Dr. Sastri, is that I am asking you--ordering you, in

fact-to be totally frank with me, holding back nothing, including any

doubts you have, and which so far you may have kept entirely to yourself."

"All this is damned awkward," Sastri said. "Also not entirely fair, as I

pointed out to Bentley when he informed me of this line you would be

taking. I do, after all, have an obligation to PeatSmith, who is a decent

chap."

"You have an even bigger obligation to Felding-Roth," Celia told him

sharply, "because the company pays your salary-a good one -and is entitled

to your honest professional opinions in return."

"I say, Mrs. Jordan! You don't mess about, do you?" The young Pakistani's

tone mixed shock and awe.

"Messing about-as you eloquently put it, Dr. Sastri-takes time, which I

don't have a lot of, since I'm returning to America tomorrow. So please

tell me exactly where, in your opinion, our institute research is, and

where it's going."

Sastri raised both hands in a submissive gesture, and sighed. "Very well.

The research is not very far along. And, in my humble opinion and that of

others in this project, it is going nowhere."

"Explain those opinions."

"In more than two years, all that has been achieved is to confirm a theory

that there are brain DNA changes during aging. Oh yes, it is an interesting

accomplishment, but beyond it we are facing a damned blank wall which we do

not have techniques to penetrate, may not have for many years, and even

then the peptide Peat-Smith has postulated may not be behind the wall."

Celia queried, "You do not accept that postulation?"

"It is my colleague's theory, Mrs. Jordan. I admit I shared it." Sastri

shook his head regretfully. "But, in my inmost heart, no longer."

"Martin informed me," Celia said, "that you have proved the existence of a

unique RNA and should be able to make the corresponding DNA."

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"Which is, by golly, true! But perhaps what you were not told is that the

isolated material may be too large. The mRNA strand is long, and codes for

many proteins, possibly forty altogether. It is therefore unusable-just

'nonsense' peptides."

Celia reached into her scientific memory. "Can the material be cleaved?

Each peptide isolated?"

Sastri smiled; his voice assumed a superior edge. "There is the blank wall.

There are no techniques to take us further. Possibly in ten years from now

. . ." He shrugged.

For another twenty minutes they talked science, Celia learning that, of the

group of scientists now working at Harlow on the mental aging project, only

Martin remained a true believer that it would produce worthwhile results.

At the end she said, "Thank you, Dr. Sastri. You've told me what I crossed

the Atlantic to find out."

The young man nodded sadly. "I have done my duty as you insisted. But I

will not sleep well tonight."

"I don't expect to either," Celia said. "But that's a price which people

like you and me pay sometimes-for being where we are."

5

At Martin's invitation, Celia went to his home for drinks during her second

and last evening at Harlow, Afterward they would go on to dinner which she

had arranged at the Churchgate Hotel where she was staying.

Martin lived in a small semidetacbed house about two miles from the

Felding-Roth Institute. The house, while modern and functional, was similar

to dozens of others nearby which appeared to Celia to have been assembled

on a mass-production line.

When she arrived, by taxi, Mar-tin escorted her to a tiny living room and,

as on other occasions, she was aware of his admiring inspection. For the

brief trip to Britain she had traveled lightly, wearing a tailored suit

during daytimes, but tonight had on a Diane von Furstenberg wraparound

dress in an attractive brown and

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white print, with a single strand of pearls. Her soft brown hair was

stylish in the short, blunt cut of the day.

On the way in from the front hall Celia stepped over or around five

animals-a friendly Irish setter, a growling English bulldog, and three

cats. Within the living room was a parrot on an open perch.

She laughed. "You really are an animal lover."

"I suppose I am," Martin smilingly agreed. "I enjoy having animals around

and I'm a sucker for homeless cats." The cats seemed to know this and

followed him slavishly.

Celia knew that Martin lived alone, with a "daily" woman coming to clean.

The living-room furniture was minimal, consisting mainly of a leather

armchair with a reading light beside it, and three bookcases, crammed

with scientific volumes. Some bottles, mixes and ice were set out on a

small table. Martin waved her to the armchair and began mixing drinks.

"I've the makings of a daiquiri, if that's what you'd like."

"I'd like it," Celia said, "and I'm touched you should remember." She

wondered if they would be as relaxed and friendly at the evening's end.

As on earlier occasions, she was aware of Martin's physical

attractiveness as a man, yet before coming here she had reminded herself

of Sam Hawthorne's parting words: "No matter how much you like Martin .

. . ifyou need to be tough and ruthless . . . do itl"

"I'll be seeing Sam the day after tomorrow," Celia said. "I have to make

a recommendation about the future of the Harlow institute, and I'd like

to know what you think it should be."

"That's easy." He handed her a daiquiri. "You should urge a continuance

of our present research for another year, longer if necessary. "

"There is opposition'to continuing. You know that."

"Yes." The confidence which Martin had shown ever since Celia's arrival

was still in evidence. "But then, there are always shortsighted people,

unable to see the big picture."

"Is Dr. Sastri shortsighted?"

"I'm sorry to say it-yes. How's the drink?"

"Fine."

"Rao came here an hour ago," Martin said. "He wanted to see me because

he felt I should know everything he told you this afternoon. Rao has a

strong sense of honor."

"And?"

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"He's wrong. Totally wrong. So are the others who have doubts." Celia

asked, "Can you refute factually what Sastri says?"

"Of course not!" Martin's impatience flashed, as it had yesterday. "All

scientific research is based on theory. If we had facts instead, we

wouldn't need to research. What is involved is informed, professional

judgment and some instinct; some call the combination scientific

arrogance. Either way, it's a conviction of being on the right track,

knowing that only time-in this case a short time-is standing between you

and what you're searching for."

"Time and a great deal of money," Celia reminded him. "Also the question

of whether yours, or Sastri's and some others, is the right judgment."

Martin sipped a scotch and water he had poured himself and paused,

considering. Then he said, "Money is something I don't like to think

about more than I have to, especially money made from selling drugs. But