Kurt stared at the skinny computer kid. From Kurt's interrogation experience, he sensed the fellow was telling him the truth. The problem was that what Randy was saying didn't jibe with any of Kurt's current beliefs about this new employee. She was becoming more of a mystery rather than less of one.
"There is something I'd like to talk to you about," Randy said, eager to get the conversation away from Georgina Marks. He went on to tell Kurt about the strange episode involving Dr. Wingate and the server room.
Kurt nodded as he absorbed the information. He didn't know what to make of it nor what to do about it. For the last several years he'd answered to Paul Saunders, not Spencer Wingate. As a military man, he loathed situations with a blurred hierarchy.
"Let me know if it happens again," Kurt said. "And let me know if you have any more interaction with Georgina Marks, or her friend for that matter. And it goes without saying that you're to keep this conversation just between you and me. Do I make myself clear?"
Randy nodded immediately.
Kurt stood up and without another word walked out of Randy's cubicle.
DEBORAH GAVE UP TRYING TO WORK WITH HER MIND churning, it was impossible to concentrate, and since she and Joanna would soon be departing the scene, it was a sham anyway. She'd been waiting over an hour for Joanna's call to say that her nosy cubicle neighbor was gone, clearing the way for them to access the donor file, but it had never come. Apparently the neighbor wasn't going anyplace soon.
Deborah drummed her fingers on the counter top. She'd never been particularly patient and this unnecessary waiting was pushing her beyond her limit.
"Screw it,' she said suddenly under her breath. She pushed back from the microscope, grabbed her purse, and headed for the door. She'd kowtowed to Joanna's apprehensions and paranoia about her neighbor long enough. After all, what did it matter? As soon as they got the information, they were out of there. Besides, as Deborah had suggested, she could block the screen with her body so the neighbor couldn't see anyway.
Avoiding looking in the direction of the few lab people she'd met, Deborah headed out into the hall once again as if she were on her way to the ladies' room. A few minutes later she slipped into Joanna's cubicle. Joanna was dutifully working.
Without sound Deborah mouthed the question, "Which direction is Gale Overlook?"
Joanna pointed to the partition to the right.
Deborah stepped over to it and looked over. It was a cubicle the mirror image of Joanna's. Interestingly enough it was not occupied.
"There's no one here!" Deborah reported.
Adopting a questioning expression, Joanna looked as well. "Well, I'll be darn," she said. "She was here two minutes ago."
"How convenient," Deborah said. She rubbed her palms together excitedly. "How about doing your sorcery right this minute. Let's get the information about our progeny and fly the coop."
Joanna stepped over to the opening of her cubicle and looked in both directions. Satisfied, she came back and sat down at her keyboard. Hesitantly she looked up at Deborah.
"I'll keep a lookout," Deborah assured her. Then she added, "And after all this effort, this better be good."
With a few rapid keystrokes and clicks of the mouse Joanna pulled up the first page of the directory for the donor file. There amongst other names at the beginning of the alphabet was Deborah Cochrane.
"Let's do you first," Joanna said.
"Fine by me," Deborah said.
Joanna clicked on Deborah's name and her file popped up. Both women read over the material which included background and baseline medical information. At the bottom of the page was an underlined, boldfaced notation that she'd adamantly insisted on local anesthesia for the retrieval.
"They certainly took that anesthesia question seriously," Deborah said.
"Have you finished with this page?" Joanna questioned.
"Yeah, let's get on to the good stuff!"
Joanna clicked to the next and what turned out to be the final page. At the top was the notation NUMBER OF EGGS RETRIEVED. Next to it was a zero.
"What the hell?" Deborah questioned. "This suggests they didn't get any eggs from me at all."
"But they told you they had," Joanna said.
"Of course they did," Deborah said.
"This is strange," Joanna said. "Let's check my file." She returned to the directory and scrolled through until she got to the M's. Finding her name, she clicked on it. For the next thirty seconds they read through the material, which was similar to what they'd read for Deborah on her first page. But on the next page they were in for a larger surprise than the one caused by Deborah's zero eggs. In Joanna's file it said that 378 had been retrieved.
"I don't know what to make of this," Joanna said. "They told me they'd gotten five or six, not hundreds."
"What's after each egg?" Deborah asked. The type was too small to read.
Joanna enlarged the view. After each egg was a client's name along with the date of an embryo transfer. After that was Paul Saunders's name, followed by a brief description of the outcome.
"According to this, each one of your eggs went to a different recipient," Deborah said. "Even that's strange. I thought each patient would get multiple eggs, if they were available, to maximize the chances of implantation."
"That was my understanding as well,' Joanna said. "I don't know what to make of all this. I mean, not only are there too many eggs, but none of them was successful." With her finger she ran down the long list where there was either a notation about implantation failure or a miscarriage date.
"Wait! There's one that was successful," Deborah said. She reached out and pointed. It was egg thirty-seven. A birth date of September 14, 2000, was indicated. It was followed by the name of the mother, an address, a telephone number, and the notation it was a healthy male.
"Well, at least there was one," Joanna said with relief.
"Here's another one," Deborah said. "Egg forty-eight with a birth date October 1, 2000. It was also a healthy male."
"Okay, two," Joanna said. She was encouraged until both she and Deborah had gone through the entire list. Out of the 378, there were only two other positives, egg 220 and egg 241 both having been implanted that January. Each of these was followed by the notation that the pregnancies were progressing normally.
"How could they have implanted this so recently?" Joanna asked.
"I suppose it means they're using frozen eggs," Deborah said.
Joanna leaned back and looked up at Deborah. "This is hardly what I expected."
"You can say that again," Deborah responded.
"If this is correct, that's a success rate around one in a hundred. That doesn't speak well for my eggs."
"There's no way they got almost four hundred eggs from you. This has to be some kind of research fabrication for God knows what reason. Almost four hundred eggs is about as many as you'll produce during your whole life!"
"You think this is all made up?"
"That would have to be my guess," Deborah said. "Weird things are going on here, as we both know. In that light, a bit of data falsification wouldn't surprise me in the slightest. Hell, it happens in the best of institutions much less in an isolated place like this. But I'll tell you: Now that we're confronted with this mishmash, I'm even more disappointed we can't get into their research files."
Joanna turned around to the keyboard and started typing.
"What are you doing now?" Deborah questioned.
"I'm going to print the file out," Joanna said. "Then we're going to take it and leave. I'm crushed with these results."
"You're crushed!" Deborah said. "They have me down for no eggs whatsoever. At least they thought enough of you to attribute some live kids."