61

Americol Headquarters, Baltimore

Kaye picked up the papers she had ordered from Medline through the library, twenty copies each of eight different papers, all neatly collated. She shook her head and skimmed one of the folios as she boarded the elevator.

She took an additional five minutes going through the security checkpoints on the tenth floor. Agents waved wands, scanned her photo ID, and then passed sniffers over her hands and purse. Finally, the head of the vice president’s Secret Service detail asked for someone inside the executive dining room to vouch for her. Dicken emerged, said that he knew her, and she entered the dining room fifteen minutes into the meeting.

“You’re late,” Dicken whispered.

“Caught in traffic. Did you know they’ve ended the special study?”

Dicken nodded. “They’re dancing around each other now, trying to avoid making any commitments. Nobody wants to take the blame for anything.”

Kaye saw the vice president sitting near the front, the science advisor beside him. The room held at least four Secret Service agents, which made her glad Benson had stayed outside.

Soft drinks, fruit, crackers, cheese, and vegetables had been set out on a table at the back, but no one was eating. The vice president clutched a can of Pepsi.

As Dicken led Kaye to a folding chair on the left side of the room, Frank Shawbeck finished a briefing on the findings of the NIH studies.

“That took just five minutes,” Dicken whispered to Kaye.

Shawbeck tapped his papers on the lectern, stepped aside, and Mark Augustine walked forward. He leaned on the lectern.

“Dr. Lang is here,” he announced neutrally. “Let’s move on to social issues. We have suffered twelve major riots across the U.S. Most seem to have been triggered by announcements that we are going to pass out free RU-486. No such plans were ever completed, but they were of course under discussion.”

“None of these drugs are illegal,” Cross said irritably. She sat to the right of the VP. “Mr. Vice President, I invited the senate majority leader to attend this meeting, and he declined. I will not be held responsible for—”

“Please, Marge,” Augustine said. “We’ll air our grievances in a few minutes.”

“Sorry,” Cross said, and folded her arms. The vice president glanced over his shoulder, surveyed the audience. His eye fell on Kaye and he seemed troubled for a moment, then turned again to face front.

“The U.S. is not alone in having to deal with civil unrest,” Augustine continued. “We’re heading toward a social disaster of major proportions. Plainly speaking, the general public does not understand what is going on. They react according to gut instincts, or according to the dictates of demagogues. Pat Robertson, bless him, has already recommended that God blast Washington, D.C., with Hell’s hottest fires if the Taskforce is allowed to go ahead with RU-486 testing. He’s not alone. There’s a real likelihood that the public will knock around until they find something, anything, more palatable than the truth, and then they’ll flock behind that banner, and it’s likely to have a religious aspect, and science will go right out the window.”

“Amen,” Cross said. Nervous laughter rippled through the small audience. The VP did not smile.

“This meeting was scheduled three days ago,” Augustine continued. “The events of yesterday and today make it even more urgent that we keep our ducks in a row.”

Kaye thought she could see where this was going. She looked for Robert Jackson and located him seated behind Cross. He angled his head, and his eyes swung left for the briefest moment, looking right at her. Kaye felt her face grow hot.

“This is about me,” she whispered to Dicken.

“Don’t be arrogant,” Dicken warned. “We’re all here to eat a little crow today.”

“We’re already tabling the research on RU-486 and what has very loosely, and in very bad taste, been labeled RU-Pen-tium,” Augustine said. “Dr. Jackson.”

Jackson stood. “Preclinical trials show no efficacy by any of our vaccines or ribozyme inhibitors against newly located strains of SHEVA, loosely referred to as SHEVA-X. We have reason to believe that all new incidents of Herod’s in the last three months can be attributed to lateral infection by SHEVA-X, which may come in at least nine different varieties, all with different coat glycoproteins. We can’t target the LPC messenger RNA in the cytoplasm because our current ri-bozymes do not recognize the mutated form. In short, we’re dead in the water on a vaccine. We probably won’t come up with alternatives for six more months.”

He sat down again.

Augustine pressed his fingers together symmetrically, making a flexible polygon. The room was silent for a long interval, absorbing the news and its implications. “Dr. Phillips.”

Gary Phillips, science advisor to the president, stood and approached the lectern. “The president wishes me to convey his appreciation. We had hoped for so much more, but no research effort in any other nation has done better than the NIH and the CDC Taskforce. We have to realize we face an extremely clever and versatile opponent, and we have to speak with one voice, with resolve, to avoid pushing our nation into anarchy. That is why I have listened to Dr. Robert Jackson and to Mark Augustine. Our situation now is very sensitive, publicly sensitive, and they tell me there is a potentially divisive disagreement between some members of the Taskforce, especially within the Americol contingent.”

“Not a split,” Jackson said acidly. “A schism”

“Dr. Lang, I have been informed you do not share some of the opinions expressed by Dr. Jackson and Mark Augustine. Could you please express and clarify your point of view now, so that we may judge them?”

Kaye sat in shock for a few seconds, then stood up and managed to say, “I don’t believe a fair hearing can be given now, sir. I am apparently the only person in this room whose opinion differs from the official statement you’re obviously preparing.”

“We need solidarity, but we need to be fair,” the science advisor said. “I’ve read your papers on HERV, Ms. Lang. Your work was seminal and brilliant. You could very well be nominated for a Nobel prize. Your disagreements have to be listened to, and we’re prepared to listen. I regret nobody has the luxury of sufficient time. I wish we did.”

He motioned for her to come forward. Kaye walked to the lectern. Phillips stepped aside.

“I’ve expressed my opinions in numerous conversations with Dr. Dicken, and in one conversation with Ms. Cross and Dr. Jackson,” Kaye said. “This morning, I put together a folder of supporting articles, some of them my own, and evidence gleaned from studies in the Human Genome Project, evolutionary biology, even paleontology.” She opened her briefcase and handed the stack of folders to Nilson, who passed them to her left.

“I do not yet have the conclusive linchpin that holds my theories together,” Kaye continued, then sipped from a cup of water handed to her by Augustine. “Scientific evidence from the Innsbruck mummies has not yet been released to the public.”

Jackson rolled his eyes.

“I do have preliminary reports on evidence gathered by Dr. Dicken in Turkey and the Republic of Georgia—”

She spoke for twenty minutes, focusing on specifics and on her work with transposable elements and HERV-DL3. She came to an uncertain close by describing her successful search for different versions of the LPC on the same day she heard from Jackson that mutations in SHEVA had been located. “I believe SHEVA-X is a backup or alternate response to the failure of initial lateral transmissions to produce viable children. Second-stage pregnancies induced by SHEVA-X will not be open to herpes viral interference. They will produce healthy and viable infants. I have no direct evidence for this; no such infants have been born that I’m aware of. But I doubt we’ll have to wait long. We should be prepared.”

Kaye was surprised that she had spoken as coherently as she had, yet she was miserably aware she could not possibly succeed in turning the tide. Augustine watched her closely, with some admiration, she thought, and he gave her a quick smile.

“Thank you, Dr. Lang,” Phillips said. “Questions?”

Frank Shawbeck raised his hand. “Does Dr. Dicken support your conclusions?”

Dicken stepped forward. “I did for a time. Recent evidence convinced me I was wrong.”

“What evidence?” Jackson called out. Augustine waggled his finger in warning, but allowed the question.

“I believe SHEVA is mutating as a disease organism mutates,” Dicken said. “Nothing convinces me it is not acting as a human pathogen.”

“Isn’t it true, Dr. Lang, that previous supposedly noninfec-tious forms of HERV have been associated with some kinds of tumors?” Shawbeck asked.

“Yes, sir. But they’re also expressed in noninfectious form in many other tissues, including placenta. We only now have the opportunity to understand the many roles these endogenous retroviruses may play.”

“We don’t understand why they are in our genome, in our tissues, do we, Dr. Lang?” Augustine asked.

“Until now, we knew of no theory that could explain their presence.”

“Other than their actions as disease-causing organisms?”

“Many substances in our bodies are both positive and necessary and yet, on occasion, are implicated in disease,” Kaye responded. “Oncogenes are necessary genes that can also be provoked to cause cancer.”

Jackson raised his hand. “I’d like to scotch this argument with an approach from an evolutionary perspective,” he said. “While I’m not an evolutionary biologist, and I’ve never even played one on TV...”

 Chuckles from all in the crowd but Shawbeck and the VP, still stony faced.

“...I believe I had enough of the paradigm drummed into me in school and university. The paradigm is that evolution proceeds by random mutations within the genome. These mutations alter the nature of the proteins or the other components expressed by our DNA, and are usually detrimental, causing the organism to sicken or die. Yet over deep time, and under changing conditions, mutations may also create novel forms that confer positive advantages. Am I correct so far, Dr. Lang?”

“That is the paradigm,” Kaye acknowledged.

“What you seem to be implying, however, is a hitherto undiscovered mechanism whereby the genome takes control of its own evolution, somehow sensing the right time to bring about change. Correct?”

“As far as it goes,” Kaye said. “I believe our genome is much more clever than we are. It’s taken us tens of thousands of years to get to the point where we have a hope of understanding how life works. The Earth’s species have been evolving, both competing and cooperating, for billions of years. They’ve learned how to survive under conditions we can barely imagine. Even the most conservative biologist knows different kinds of bacteria can cooperate and learn from each other—but many now understand that different species of metazoans, plants and animals like us, do much the same thing when they play their roles in any ecosystem. The Earth’s species have learned how to anticipate climate change and respond to it in advance, get a head start, and I believe, in our case, our genome is now responding to social change and the stress it causes.”

Jackson pretended to work these ideas through in his head before asking, “If you were a graduate advisor and one of your students were to propose doing a thesis on this possibility, would you encourage them?”

“No,” Kaye said bluntly.

“Why not?” Jackson pursued.

“It is not a widely defended point of view. Evolution has been a very closed-minded field in biology, and only the brave few challenge the paradigm of the Darwinian Modern Synthesis. No grad student should try it alone.”

“Charles Darwin was wrong, and you’re right?”

Kaye turned to Augustine. “Is Dr. Jackson conducting this inquisition all by himself?”

Augustine stepped forward. “This is an opportunity to answer your opponents, Dr. Lang.”

Kaye swung back and faced Jackson and the audience, eyes narrowed. “I do not challenge Charles Darwin, I have immense respect for him. Darwin would have recommended we not set our ideas in stone before we understood all the principles. I do not even reject many of the principles of the modern synthesis; quite clearly, whatever the genome devises has to pass the test of survival. Mutation is a source of unexpected and sometimes useful novelty. But there has to be more to explain what we see in nature. The modern synthesis was devised during a period when we were just beginning to learn the nature of DNA and establish the roots of modern genetics. Darwin would have been fascinated to know what we know today, about plasmids and exchange of free DNA, about error correction within the genome, about editing and transposition and hidden viruses, about markers and gene structure, about all manner of genetic phenomena, many of which do not fit at all neatly into the most rigid interpretations of the modern synthesis.”

“Does any reputable scientist support the proposition that the genome is a self-aware ‘mind,’ able to judge the environment and determine the course of its own evolution?”

Kaye took a deep breath. “It would take me several hours to correct and expand upon that proposition as you state it, but, loosely, the answer is yes. None of them are here, unfortunately.”

“Are their views noncontroversial?”

“Of course not,” Kaye said. “Nothing in this field is non-controversial. And I try to avoid the word ‘mind,’ because it has personal and religious connotations that are not productive. I use the term network; a perceptive and adaptive network of cooperating and competing individuals.”

“Do you believe this mind, or network, could in some way be the equivalent of God?” Jackson stated this without smugness or contempt, to her surprise.

“No,” Kaye said. “Our own brains function as perceptive and adaptive networks, but I don’t believe we are gods.”

“But our own brains produce minds, do they not?”

“I believe the word applies, yes.”

Jackson held up his hands in puzzled query. “So we come full circle. Some sort of Mind—perhaps with a capital M— determines evolution?”

“Again, emphasis and semantics are important here,” Kaye said slowly, and then realized she should have simply dismissed the question with silence.

“Have you ever had the larger scope of your theories peer-reviewed and published in a major journal?”

“No,” Kaye said. “I have expressed some aspects in my published articles on HERV-DL3, which were peer-reviewed.”

“Many of your articles were rejected by other journals, were they not?”

“Yes,” Kaye said.

“By Cell, for example.”

“Yes.”

“Is Virology the most respected journal in the field?”

“It’s an important journal,” Kaye said. “It has published very important papers.”

Jackson let this go. “I haven’t had time to read all of the material in your handout. I apologize,” he continued, getting to his feet. “To the best of your knowledge, would any of the authors whose papers you have included in your handout agree with you completely on the subject of how evolution occurs?”

“Of course not,” Kaye said. “It’s a developing field.”

“It’s not just developing, it’s infantile, isn’t that right, Dr. Lang?”

“In its infancy, yes,” Kaye shot back. “Infantile would apply to those who deny compelling evidence.” She could not help looking at Dicken. He returned her look with unhappy resolve.

Augustine stepped forward again and held out his hand. “We could go on like this for days. I’m sure it would be an interesting conference. What we must do, however, is judge whether views such as those held by Dr. Lang could prove detrimental to the goals of the Taskforce. Our mission is to protect public health, not debate rarefied issues in science.”

“That isn’t exactly fair, Mark,” Marge Cross said, rising. “Kaye, does this seem like a kangaroo court to you?”

Kaye let out a small explosion of breath, half chuckle, half sigh, looked down, and nodded.

“I wish there was time,” Marge said. “I surely do. These views are fascinating, and I share many of them, dear, but we are hopelessly mired in business and politics, and we must go with what we can all support, and with what the public will understand. I do not see the support in this room, and I know we do not have time or the will to engage in a highly public debate. Unfortunately, we are stuck with science by committee, Dr. Augustine.”

Augustine was obviously not pleased by this characterization.

Kaye looked at the vice president. The vice president stared at the folio on his lap, which he had not opened, clearly embarrassed by being stuck in a race in which he had no horse he could hope to ride. He was waiting for the debate to end.

“I understand, Marge,” Kaye said. She could not keep her voice from quavering. “Thank you for making things so clear. I see no alternative but to resign from the Taskforce. My value to Americol is probably reduced by doing that, so I offer my resignation to you, as well.”

Augustine took Dicken aside in the hallway after the meeting. Dicken had tried to catch up with Kaye, but she was far down the hall toward the elevator.

“This didn’t turn out the way I would have liked,” Augustine told him. “I don’t want her out of the Taskforce. I just don’t want her going public with these ideas. Christ, Jackson may have done us a greater disservice—”

“I know Kaye Lang well enough,” Dicken said. “She’s gone for good, and yes, she’s pissed off, and I’m as responsible as Jackson.”

“Then what in hell can you do to put things right?” Augustine asked.

Dicken shrugged loose from his grip. “Nada, Mark. Zip. And don’t ask me to try.”

Shawbeck approached them, his face grim. “There’s another march on Washington planned for tonight. Women’s groups, Christians, blacks, Hispanics. They’re evacuating the Capitol and the White House.”

“Jesus H.,” Augustine said. “What are they trying to do, shut the country down?”

“The president’s agreed to a full defense. Regular Army as well as National Guard. I think the mayor is going to declare a state of emergency in the city. The VP is being flown to Los Angeles this evening. Gentlemen, we should get out of here, too.”

Dicken heard Kaye arguing with her bodyguard. He walked briskly down the hall to see what was happening, but they were in the elevator and the door had closed by the time he arrived.

Kaye stood in the ground floor lobby, hands on her hips, shouting at the top of her lungs. “I don’t want your protection! I don’t want any of this! I told you—”

“I don’t have any choice, ma’am,” Benson said, standing his ground like a small bull. “We are on full alert. You can’t go back to your apartment until we get more agents here, and that’s going to take at least an hour.”

The building security guards were locking the front doors and moving barricades into position. Kaye twirled, saw the barricades, the curious people beyond the glass doors. Steel barriers dropped slowly over the outside entrance.

 “Can I make a phone call?”

“Not now, Ms. Lang,” Benson said. “I’d apologize all over if this were my fault, you know that.”

“Yes, like when you told Augustine who was in my apartment!”

“They asked the doorman, Ms. Lang, not me.”

“So what is it now, us versus them’? I want to be outside with real people, not in here—”

“Not if they recognize you, you don’t,” Benson said.

“Karl, for God’s sake, I’ve resigned]”

The agent held up his hands and shook his head firmly: no matter.

“Then where am I going to stay?”

“We’re putting you with the other researchers in the executive lounge.”

“With Jackson?” Kaye bit her lip and stared at the ceiling, shaking with helpless laughter.