“That’s true,” Spencer said. “In fact, those patients you saw earlier in the main waiting area are here for stem-cell therapy. Word of mouth concerning our services seems to be spreading quickly. We haven’t had to advertise at all.”
Both Daniel and Stephanie’s faces reflected their dismayed surprise.
“What kind of illnesses are you treating?” Daniel asked.
Paul laughed. “Just about anything and everything! A lot of people understand stem cells’ promise for a host of ailments, from terminal cancer and degenerative diseases to the problems of aging. Since they can’t get stem-cell treatments in the USA, they come to us.”
“But that’s absurd!” Stephanie exclaimed. She was aghast. “There are no established protocols for treating anything with stem cells.”
“We’re the first to admit we’re breaking new ground,” Spencer responded. “It’s experimental, like what you folks are planning with your patient.”
“Essentially, we’re using public demand to fund the needed research,” Paul explained. “Hell, it’s only reasonable since the U.S. government is so chary about funding the work and making it so difficult for you researchers on the mainland.”
“What kinds of cells are you using?” Daniel asked.
“Multipotent stem cells,” Paul said.
“You’re not differentiating the cells?” Daniel questioned, with mounting disbelief, since undifferentiated stem cells would not treat anything.
“No, not at all,” Paul said. “Of course, we’ll be trying that in the future, but for now we do the nuclear transfer, grow out the stem cells, and infuse them. We let the patient’s body use them as it sees fit. We’ve had some interesting results, although not with everyone, but that is the nature of research.”
“How can you call what you are doing research?” Stephanie questioned hotly. “And I beg to differ with you: There’s no parallel between what we are planning to do and what you are doing.”
Daniel gripped Stephanie’s arm and eased her away from Paul. “Dr. D’Agostino’s point is merely that we will be treating with differentiated cells.”
Stephanie tried to pull her arm free from Daniel’s grasp. “My point is a hell of a lot bigger than that,” she rejoined. “What you people are talking about doing with stem cells is nothing but pure, unadulterated quackery!”
Daniel tightened his grip on Stephanie’s arm. “Excuse us for just a moment,” he said to Paul and Spencer, whose expressions had clouded. He forcibly pulled Stephanie to the side and spoke to her in an angry whisper. “What the hell are you doing, trying to sabotage our project and get us thrown out of here?”
“What do you mean, what am I doing?” Stephanie whispered back with equal vehemence. “How can you not be outraged? On top of everything else, these people are snake-oil charlatans.”
“Shut up!” Daniel sputtered. He gave Stephanie a short shake. “Do I have to keep reminding you we’re here for one thing and one thing only: to treat Butler! Can’t you restrain yourself, for Christ’s sake? The future of CURE and HTSR is on the line. These people are far from saints. We knew that from the start. That’s why they are here in the Bahamas and not in Massachusetts. So let’s not muck up everything with righteous indignation!”
For a moment, Daniel and Stephanie stared at each other with blazing eyes. Finally, Stephanie broke off and hung her head. “You’re hurting my arm,” she said.
“Sorry!” Daniel responded. He let go of her arm, which Stephanie immediately began to rub. Daniel took a deep breath to get his anger under control. He glanced back at Spencer and Paul, who were watching them with quizzical expressions. Returning his attention to Stephanie, he said, “Can we concentrate on the mission? Can we accept the fact that these people are unethical, venal morons and leave it at that?”
“I suppose the aphorism ‘People in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones’ fits here, considering what we are planning. Maybe that’s why this all bothers me so much.”
“And maybe you’re right,” Daniel said. “But keep in mind we’re being forced to push ethical boundaries. With that accepted, can I count on you to keep your reactions to the Wingate Clinic and its mission to yourself, at least until we get off by ourselves?”
“I’ll try my best.”
“Good,” Daniel said. He took another deep breath for fortitude before walking back to join the others. Stephanie followed a few paces behind.
“I think we’re suffering a bit of jet lag,” Daniel explained to their hosts. “We’ve both been a tad emotional. Also, Dr. D’Agostino tends to exaggerate to make a point. Intellectually, she feels that differentiated cells would be a more efficacious way to take advantage of the promise of stem cells.”
“We’ve been having some darn good results,” Paul said. “Perhaps, Dr. D’Agostino, you’d like to review them before you make a blanket judgment.”
“I’d find that very instructive,” Stephanie managed.
“Let’s move along,” Spencer suggested. “We want you to see the rest of the clinic before lunch, and there is a lot to see.”
In stunned silence, Daniel and Stephanie passed through the double doors into a vast laboratory. Once again, they were taken aback. The sheer size of the facility combined with its array of equipment, from DNA sequencers to mundane tissue culture-incubators, was much greater than either had envisioned or hoped. The only thing lacking was personnel. A single technician could be seen working in the distance at a dissecting stereomicroscope.
“We’re understaffed at the moment,” Spencer said, as if reading his guests’ minds. “But that’s soon to be rectified, as patient demand balloons.”
“I’ll get our lab supervisor,” Paul said, before disappearing briefly into a nearby side office.
“We project to be up to full strength in about six months,” Spencer said.
“How many technicians do you plan to have?” Stephanie asked.
“Around thirty,” Spencer replied. “At least, that’s what our current projections suggest. But if the stem-cell treatment demand continues to increase at its present rate, we’ll have to adjust that figure upward.”
Paul reappeared, holding the hand of a slight woman who appeared practically emaciated, with all her bony prominences poking through her skin, particularly her cheekbones. She had gray-streaked, mousy-colored hair and a narrow, knifelike nose that stood like an exclamation point above a small, tight-lipped mouth. She was wearing a short lab coat with the sleeves rolled up over a pantsuit. Paul brought her over to the group and introduced her. Her name was Megan Finnigan, as advertised by the laboratory supervisor nametag clipped to her jacket pocket.
“We’re all ready for you,” Megan said, after the introductions. She spoke softly, with a Boston accent. She pointed toward a nearby lab bench. “We’ve prepared this area with what we thought you would need. If there is anything else, all you have to do is ask. My office door is always open.”
“Dr. Lowell needs a small flask of buffered saline,” Paul said. “He has a fabric sample containing blood whose DNA he wants to preserve.”
“That’s no problem at all,” Megan said. She called out for the single lab technician to get it. In the distance, the woman pushed back from her microscope and busied herself with the request.
“When would you like to start your work?” Megan asked, while Daniel and Stephanie inspected the area of the lab set aside for them.
“As soon as possible,” Daniel said. “What about the human oocytes? Will they be available when we need them?”
“Absolutely,” Paul said. “All we need is about twelve hours notice.”
“That’s amazing,” Daniel said. “How is it possible?”
Paul smiled. “That’s a trade secret. Perhaps after we have worked together, we can share such secrets. I’m equally interested in your HTSR.”