“How do you know about HTSR?” Daniel asked. He wasn’t sure he wanted to admit to his motivations so early in the conversation.
“We read your outstanding paper in Nature,” Paul said. “It was brilliant, simply brilliant. Its overall importance to bioscience reminded me of my own paper, “In Vitro Maturation of Human Oocytes.” Did you happen to read it?”
“Not yet,” Daniel responded, forcing himself to continue to be tactful. “What journal was it in?”
“The Journal of Twenty-first Century Reproductive Technology,” Spencer said.
“That’s a journal I’m not familiar with,” Daniel responded. “Who publishes it?”
“We do,” Paul said proudly. “Right here at the Wingate Clinic. We’re as committed to research as we are to clinical services.”
Daniel rolled his eyes. Lacking peer review, scientific self-publishing was an oxymoron, and he was impressed with the accuracy of Butler’s capsule description of these two men.
“HTSR has never been used on a human,” Daniel said, still avoiding answering Paul’s question.
“We understand that,” Spencer interjected. “And that’s one of many reasons why we would be thrilled to have it done here first. Being on the cutting edge is precisely the kind of reputation Wingate Clinic is striving to establish.”
“The FDA would frown on performing an experimental procedure outside of an approved protocol,” Daniel said. “They would never give approval.”
“Of course they wouldn’t approve,” Spencer agreed. “And we should know.” He laughed, and Paul chimed in as well. “But here in the Bahamas, there’s no need for the FDA to know, since they have no jurisdiction.”
“If I were to do HTSR on a human, it would have to be in absolute secrecy,” Daniel said, finally indirectly acknowledging his plans. “It cannot be divulged and obviously could not be used for your promotional purposes.”
“We are fully aware of that,” Paul said. “Spencer was not implying we would use it right away.”
“Heavens, no!” Spencer chirped. “I was thinking of using it only after it became mainstream.”
“I would have to retain the right to determine when that might be,” Daniel said. “I will not even be using the episode to promote HTSR.”
“No?” Paul questioned. “Then why do you want to do it?”
“For purely personal reasons,” Daniel said. “I’m confident HTSR will work just as well with humans as it has with mice. But I need to prove it to myself with a patient to give me the fortitude to deal with the backlash I’m facing from the political right. I don’t know if you are aware, but I’m fighting a potential congressional ban on my procedure.”
There was an awkward pause in the conversation. By demanding secrecy and taking away any potential advertising windfalls in the near future, Daniel was certain he’d negated one of the Wingate Clinic’s reasons to be cooperative. Frantically, he tried to think of a way to cushion the disappointment, and just a moment before he spoke up and possibly made things worse, Spencer broke the silence: “I suppose we can respect your need for secrecy. But if we were to get no promotional value from your collaboration with us in the near term, what kind of compensation do you have in mind for using our facility and services?”
“We expect to pay,” Daniel said.
There was another silence. Daniel felt a twinge of panic that the negotiations were not going well, raising the specter of losing the opportunity of using the Wingate Clinic for Butler’s treatment. Considering the time constraints, such a loss could be the death knell for the project. Daniel sensed he had to offer more. Remembering Butler’s assessment of Spencer and Paul’s vanities, he gritted his teeth and said: “Then, down the road, after the FDA approves HTSR for general use, we could all coauthor a paper on the case.”
Daniel winced. The idea of coauthoring a paper with such bozos was a painful thought, even though he rationalized he could delay it indefinitely. But despite the offer, the silence persisted, and Daniel’s panic grew. Remembering his own response to Butler’s demand to use blood from the Shroud of Turin for the HTSR, he threw in that tidbit as well, explaining the patient had insisted on it. Daniel even proposed the same title he’d jokingly suggested to Stephanie.
“Now that sounds like one hell of a paper!” Paul responded suddenly. “I love it! Where would we publish it?”
“Wherever,” Daniel said vaguely. “Science or Nature. Wherever you’d like. I don’t imagine it would be difficult to place.”
“Would HTSR work with blood from the Shroud of Turin?” Spencer asked. “As I recall, that thing is about five hundred years old.”
“How about around two thousand years old,” Paul said.
“Wasn’t it proved to be a medieval forgery?” Spencer questioned.
“We’re not going to get involved in argument about its authenticity,” Daniel said. “For our purposes, it doesn’t matter. If the patient wants to believe it’s real, it’s fine with us.”
“But would it work, as a practical matter?” Spencer asked again.
“The DNA would be fragmented, whether it’s five hundred or two thousand years old,” Daniel said. “But that shouldn’t be a problem. We only need fragments, which our HTSR probes will seek out after PCR amplification. We’ll enzymatically patch together what we need for whole genes. It will work fine.”
“What about The New England Journal of Medicine?” Paul suggested. “That would be a coup for the clinic! I’d love to get something into that highfalutin publication.”
“Sure,” Daniel said, cringing at the idea. “Why not?”
“I’m beginning to like it too,” Spencer said. “That’s the kind of article that would get picked up by the media like it was pure gold! It would be all over the newspapers. Hell, I can even see all the network anchors talking about it on the evening news.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” Daniel said. “But remember, until the article comes out, there’s got to be absolute secrecy about the whole affair.”
“We understand,” Spencer said.
“How are you going to get a sample from the Shroud of Turin?” Paul asked. “I understand the Catholic Church has it locked up in a kind of space-age vault over there in Italy.”
“We’re looking into that as we speak,” Daniel said. “We have been promised high-level clerical assistance.”
“I’d think you’d have to know the Pope!” Paul commented.
“Perhaps we should talk about costs,” Daniel said, eager to change the subject now that the crisis had been averted. “We don’t want any misunderstandings.”
“What kind of services are we talking about?” Paul asked.
“The patient we’ll be treating has Parkinson’s disease,” Daniel explained. “We will need a staffed OR and stereotaxic equipment for the implantation.”
“We have the OR,” Paul said. “But not stereotaxic equipment.”
“That’s not a problem,” Spencer said. “We can borrow it from Princess Margaret Hospital. The Bahamian government and the medical community on the island have been very supportive of our relocation. I’m sure they will be happy to help. We just won’t tell them what we’re going to do with it.”
“We’ll need the services of a neurosurgeon,” Daniel said. “One who is capable of being discreet.”
“I don’t think that will be a problem either,” Spencer said. “There are several on the island who are, in my opinion, un-derutilized. I’m sure we could make arrangements with one of them. I don’t know exactly how much he’d charge, but I can assure you, it will be a lot less than it would be in the States. My guess would be in the neighborhood of two or three hundred dollars.”
“You don’t think the confidentiality issue will be problematic?” Daniel asked.
“I don’t,” Spencer said. “They are all looking for work. With fewer tourists renting mopeds, head trauma has dropped off precipitously. I know, because two surgeons have come out to the clinic to leave their business cards.”