"Jesus, I don't believe this." His voice echoed off the empty marble mantelpiece and bounced across the room.He looked around. Since late yesterday, somebody had come in and cleaned out the place. Thoroughly. Any hopes of finding old letters, an address book, anything personal, were gone. He knew immediately that he had been outsmarted. Kristen Starr, and now her friend Cindy, had officially ceased to exist. Cindy might still be at E!, but she was going to be terrified and subject to massive memory loss on the subject of Kristen.But wait a second. They left the phone. The answering machine is gone, but maybe they didn't realize that phones can have memories and can sometimes tell tales. That might be worth a try, but check out the place first.He walked into the kitchen alcove and gazed around, not entirely sure what he was looking for. The main thing would be some phone numbers and addresses.He opened the refrigerator and peered in. It was still running and contained two unopened jars of British marmalade and an empty quart jar with traces of orange juice bordered by mold. The freezer compartment was entirely bare.The two kitchen cabinets above the stove had been similarly emptied. He gave them a cursory look, then came back and followed a hallway to a bathroom in the back.When he opened the medicine chest above the sink and peered in, he initially thought it was empty, with a pile of wadded‑up Kleenex on the bottom shelf. He was pulling that out when he realized that the tissue had been wadded around an empty prescription drug vial.Kristen Starr had prescription number 378030. It was for Libinol—whatever that was, probably some kind of screwed‑up diet pill—and it had been filled five months ago. It had been delivered from Grove Pharmacy on Seventh Avenue to here, 217 West Eleventh Street. The address was pasted on a sticker on the back.Hmmm, he thought. After she left, rather than transferring the prescription, what if they just had subsequent refills delivered to some other address? There's a long shot that Grove Pharmacy might have a new address for the prescription number. Okay, it would be a very long shot, but still . . .Unless, of course, her new address had been the Dorian Institute. In that case, the prescription would undoubtedly havebeen discontinued once she became a patient. He reached for his cell phone to call the drugstore.Shit, I forgot it! Damn hangover.He walked back into the living room and stared at Kristen's phone. If it was still working, he could call Grove Pharmacy and—No, idiot, that would wipe out any number stored in the redial function. Without a cell, the best thing to do is just go over there and check with the pharmacist in person.He settled yoga‑style onto the hardwood floor next to the phone and stared at it. What if the line is already disconnected? Why did whoever cleaned this place out leave it here? The phone, of all things. It's—It rang.He jumped a foot off the floor, and then stared at it.A series of reasons flashed through his mind:1)They know I'm here and they're going to warn me again to back off.2)They know I'm here and the last incoming call here was from a number they don't want me to know about. I pick this up and I wipe out any chance of ever finding out what it was.Don't answer it. This phone call is not intended to be helpful.Not picking up the phone was the hardest thing he'd ever done, but he was determined to be disciplined.He counted eleven rings and then he couldn't take it anymore and reached for the receiver.It stopped."Thank God." His hand froze in midair. The timing had been a split‑second salvation.All right, he thought, time to find out if I just totally screwed up. Time to dial.He got his pen and notebook poised and then lifted the black receiver. He knew from the message on her machine yesterday that somebody had called her just before he got there. Or maybe whoever came and cleaned out her apartment had received a phone call while they were here. Possibly from whoever sent them. A checkup call.Who knew? But give it a shot. He hit the code.A mechanical voice came on immediately: "Your last call was from area code 212, number 555‑3935. If you would like for me to connect you, please push—""Go for it," he said aloud, scribbling down the number and then following the instruction.At that moment somebody's cell phone began to ring just outside the front door."Oh shit." It was just too big a coincidence.After two rings it stopped and he heard the voice of Winston Bartlett, both outside the front door and in his ear."Yes."He was too startled to respond, but he didn't need to, because an instant later he also heard the sound of a key and then the front door opened.A shaft of daylight shot across the room as Bartlett took one look and exploded."Damn, so it's true. How the hell did—""Hey, come on in," Stone said, trying to recover some poise and take marginal control of the situation. "I'm here by permission. The downstairs tenant, who you just evicted, or kidnapped too, gave me her key.""You don't get it, do you? I told you to keep—""But we have signs of progress. I know all about Kristen." Well, that was hardly the case, but it never hurt to start off with a bluff to see how far you could get. "That's why I'm here. The question is, when are we going to start talking to each other? Because I'm putting together a hell of a story.""I don't fucking believe this." Bartlett slammed the door."By the way, a special thanks for getting me sacked at the Sentinel. Now I'll have the leisure to concentrate full‑time on the stem cell book. And Gerex.""I warned you, but you wouldn't fucking listen." He was peering around the living room as though searching for clues to explain why nothing was going right."Like I said, I talked to Kristen yesterday." Stone stood his ground. "She's not a happy person.""If you bring her into this . . ." Bartlett glared at him. "I can't imagine what makes you think you can just run roughshod through my business and my life.""Here's how it is. You can abuse me, or you can use me. Keep in mind I'm accustomed to working for people who buy ink by the barrel. As I tried to explain before, if you won't let me get at the whole truth, I may end up spreading half‑truths."Bartlett walked across the room and ran his fingers along the marble mantelpiece above the fireplace. "You know," he said, turning back, "up until now you've never asked me for anything. I have to say I've always admired that, but I'm curious why.""Maybe I thought it was your placeto come to me," Stone said, puzzled by the left turn the conversation had suddenly taken. "You know, I have a life of my own. I have an eleven‑ year‑old daughter you've never seen or—apparently—care to see. I'm wondering what that says about you. Your granddaughter's name, by the way, is—""I know her name. I know quite a bit about our blood ties, or lack of.""Well, I'd bet she'd be just thrilled by that. Incidentally, she doesn't know a goddam thing about you and I'd just as soon keep it that way.""I knew having this conversation was a fucking mistake. This is why I never had it. Any real son of mine has got to have some of my character, my stature. You're a bean counter.""If you had any character, you wouldn't be hiding behind all this secrecy. I try to tell the truth, as much and as often as I can. That's my take on character.""What we're doing at Gerex is going to change the history of the world. We're at the brink of things mankind has only dreamed about. And I've taken all the risks. In fact, I took the biggest risk of all personally. There's a lot going on that you don't know a damned thing about. We're on the edge of—""All the more reason you should want the whole story told," Stone interjected. "Yes, stem cell technology is going to change everything, but you can't just tell half the story. I want it to work, but I'm a truth seeker. I want to find out what, if anything, can go wrong too. You've been using people, first Kristen and now—I'm beginning to fear—Ally, to take your risks for you. I mean, what's going on? Why did you send somebody down to obliterate all evidence of Kristen? And now Cindy, that girl downstairs? My God, she's somehow vanished too. Whatever happened to Kristen to make it come to this?""What may or may not have gone wrong is nothing that can't be made right. No great medical advance ever succeeded in a direct line.""I don't need the sales pitch," Stone said. "I agree it's going to revolutionize medicine. But you can't—""That's why you'll never be a son of mine. You always think small. This is about more than mere medicine. It's about doing the one thing mankind has never been able to do. I am this close. Nothing is going to be allowed to destroy this chance. Not even you, my own flesh and blood.""Am I that?" Stone asked, feeling an unexpected satisfaction. "Your own 'flesh and blood'?""That is something," Bartlett said, "we are about to discover. Whether we are made of the same thing. The best way for you to understand what's going on here is to do what I've done. Have the Beta procedure. Show me you've got the balls.""The 'Beta procedure'? It might help if I knew what it is.""Why don't I just show you," Bartlett said. "You want to be on the inside, see everything up close? Fine. I think the time has come. You seem determined to stick your nose into what I'm doing. You weaseled your way into the institute, and now you show up here. So I guess it's time you were an insider all the way.""Good, maybe then I can start getting some answers. For example, was changing Kristen's name part of the NIH study?" Stone turned to face him. "Or is it your way to hide one of your mistakes?""Quite frankly, that's none of your goddam business.""Well, let me tell you what is my business. Ally Hampton is a particular friend of mine. I damned well want to know whether she's scheduled to undergo the same procedure as Kristen. I don't know what you and Van de Vliet did to Kristen, but if you turn Ally into a zombie too, I'll personally—""I think we'll continue this discussion later." He pulled his cell phone out of a jacket pocket, flipped it open, and punched a memory number."Ken, could you and Jake please come in. We have the problem I was afraid we had." He flipped the phone shut and turned back to Stone. "Karl entered Ms. Hampton and her mother into the clinical trials at the last minute, as a special favor. She's in no danger."Now Stone saw two men come through the front door. One was the tall Japanese man who had slugged him the day before.Shit. I need this? Is he going to work me over again?The other guy was dressed in white, as though he were an orderly or nurse. Stone noticed he had a plastic syringe in his right hand."Ken, could you and Jake please take care of this. He'll be going with us."Stone examined the three of them. Well, he thought, / guess I'm going to be back inside the Dorian Institute after all."Look, there's no need for excessive violence here. We could just set some ground rules for this situation."The Japanese man named Ken walked over and seized him around the neck, while at the same time pulling his right arm around behind him, a decisive hammerlock."You fucker," Stone choked out. "Let—" The man Bartlett had called Jake, the one in white, shoved a needle into his arm."This could be the experience you've been looking for," Bartlett said. "You've been pursuing me like a dog chasing a car. Now we're about to see if you're man enough to handle the consequences when you've caught it."You're damned right I'll handle it, he tried to say. But he wasn't sure if he actually got it said, the void was closing in so fast.Chapter 29Thursday, April 910:33p.m."Grant, is that you?"Ally squinted in the semi‑dark of the room, finally making out the silhouette. He was sitting in a chair beside her bed, and his face was troubled, reminding her of when he'd had a bad day in high school.Am I dreaming again? she puzzled. The clock on the wall told her that this was a late hour for whatever he was up to now."It's me," he said, his voice low, just above a whisper. The door behind him, she noticed, was shut. "Welcome back to the world. They moved you upstairs just for tonight. This is the first chance I've had to get near you."She was still wondering where she was, what day it was. The walls were an icy blue, illuminated only by the silver‑ and‑green glow of the bank of CRT screens that now monitored her heart and her respiration. She lifted her head off the pillow and for a moment, looked past Grant, examining the screen of the heart monitor. It was a phonocardiogram.She knew what to look for. Over the years she'd learned to interpret every irregular pulse, every errant amplitude, but now the sonic abnormalities that typically characterized her stenosis, the struggle of her heart's scarred valve to maintain adequate coronary output, were significantly damped.There'd always been murmurs, abnormal heart sounds, as long as she could remember, so what did this mean? Had the damaged valve already begun restoring and strengthening itself? While she slept?Or was this just more of some dream?Why was she in this hospital anyway, hooked up to monitors? She still couldn't remember exactly."What . . .?" She tried to rise up out of the bed. Again she wondered, was Grant real or some chimera?Then she realized she was strapped in, though the straps were held only with black Velcro.As she started to pull them open, she noticed she had an IV needle in her arm, with a plastic tube that led to a bag of liquid suspended from a hook above her head. More annoying, however, was the checkerboard of taped‑on sensors on her upper body, for the ongoing phonocardiogram. She looked at all the tubes and connected wires and felt like a laboratory animal in the middle of an experiment."Ally, you're at the Dorian Institute, remember? Dr. Van de Vliet's stem cell clinical trials. Nina's here too.""Oh." That rang a bell, sort of. "What . . . what day is it?"He told her. "You've been under sedation since late yesterday, Ally. But Dr. Vee says your test data show you're responding—""Mom's here, right?" Now things were starting to come back. "How's she doing? Is she—""He's talking about discharging her by the end of next week, even before the NIH clinical trials are officially over." Grant tried a smile. "By then, he thinks the procedure will have replaced enough tissue in her brain that she might not even need a caregiver. She's doing crosswords again. Need I say more.""My God." Now she remembered how on‑again, off‑again Nina's mind had been when she brought her out to the institute. Had she really been given a second chance? And so quickly? If so, it was truly astonishing.But now she found herself staring at Grant, mesmerized. Something about him seemed oddly off."Grant, what... what's going on with you?""I've . . ." He was hesitating. "I've been thinking about everything. Now I really wish I hadn't done what I did.""What are you talking about?" This kind of revisionist remorse didn't sound like the Grant she knew."Have you seen Kristen? They said you know about her, were asking about her." Then he stepped back. "Do you know about her?"Kristen. She tried to remember. Is that the woman everybody . . . Her mother had come to the institute with a pistol trying to find her? Then she was kidnapped. . . ."It's the Syndrome," Grant went on. "She wanted the Beta procedure, and Dr. Vee finally agreed. But nobody expected anything to happen like what eventually did. That's why W.B. went ahead and had it too."Beta. Now she remembered that Kristen had mumbled something about that word."Ally, I got you into . . . When I told W. B. that I thought you and he had the same rare blood type, AB, he wanted to bring you into the program.""You mean for my heart?"He looked away and his eyes grew pained. "Well, that's part of it. There's another part they haven't told you about.""What's that?""Antibodies. They think there's a chance you could be made to develop them and then they could use them to help W.B. He doesn't have the Syndrome yet, but it's probably just a matter of time."What, she puzzled, is he talking about? What "antibodies "? What "syndrome "? She was weak and she wasn't sure her mind was fully functional. But after what appeared to bethe miracle of her heart, she was willing to forsake a certain amount of momentary rationality.Then more memory started returning. "Kristen. What about her? I saw—""Ally, the Syndrome started with her over four months ago. At first they didn't fully realize how serious . . . but now it's getting worse every day." He paused and turned away. "Look, I've been thinking. I'm really sorry that I brought you into this. What if something goes wrong?""What do you mean?""If you could see Kristen now, you'd understand.""Where is she? Is she still wherever they're hiding her?""No." He turned back. "Kristen . . . After what happened yesterday, she had to be brought back out here. There's a ward downstairs, on the floor below the offices and lab, that's kind of like an intensive‑care unit. That's where you were until tonight. But you can't go back down there on your own. Not even the nurses can go without a special authorization, which is never given.""But if Kristen is—""Ally, you 're the one I'm worried about. I thought what they were going to do to you was safe. But last night I. . . I heard them all talking and I think you could be in serious danger. They don't actually know what the consequences of what they're doing will be. You need to get out of here and at least get the real story. I don't want this on my hands. Truthfully, there could be some deep legal shit coming out of all this. I can think of at least three felonies. I don't want any part of that liability, and I want you to testify that I got you out of here if it ever comes to that."Finally the straight story, she thought. He's afraid he's about to be an accomplice in a criminal conspiracy. He's getting cold feet."Grant, do something for me. Get me unplugged. All these sensors. I want to go see her for myself.""Ally, forget it. To begin with, I can't unplug you. Only anurse can do that. And I don't want to. You've got catheters in places I—""Then I'll get a nurse to come and do it. I'll say I need to go to the bathroom. That should get me unhooked."Annoyed she looked around. Where's the buzzer? There has to be one somewhere. Then she spotted a set of controls attached to the bed and sure enough, there was a red button. What else could it be?She pushed it and a light came on above her door. Moments later, a short blue‑haired woman with the namemarionsewn into her white uniform opened the door and came striding in, flicking on the fluorescent overheads."My, my, we're looking well," she declared ignoring Grant. "I'm glad you're finally awake. He told us to call him the minute ... They're all saying you and your mother must have special genes. You've both been such terrific patients. He'd been keeping you sedated but he discontinued that medication this afternoon. He wanted you to wake up with your mind clear.""Well, I'd really like to get up and go to the bathroom and get something to eat," Ally said "Mainly, I just want to get out of this bed for a stretch before I start developing bedsores. I'm feeling strong, for now at least. Can you unhook some of these wires and suction cups? And I certainly don't need that IV. I'm so hungry I could inhale a quart of ice cream in one gulp.""Yes, of course," Marion said and began dismantling the intravenous tubes. "We only monitor you and hydrate you when you're not conscious. The standard procedure is to let you get up and start getting some exercise as soon as possible. You should be careful, though, because at this point you're not as strong as you think. Changes are taking place in your body that require a lot of your energy. If you feel up to it, you could walk around for a couple of minutes, but you shouldn't let yourself get tired."As Marion continued now removing the taped‑on sensors, Ally looked up and saw another uniformed nurse standing in the doorway. She also was middle‑aged, with prematurely gray hair, and she was holding a syringe."May I come in?" she asked. "At this stage he needs a blood sample every three hours. Just twenty cc's."Ally watched as the new nurse quickly and deftly took a small sample of blood. Then she capped it off and turned to leave."I need to centrifuge this immediately."And she was gone.Then Marion finished removing the IV tube and catheter and all the taped‑on electrodes."If you want to get up and use the bathroom and walk around a little, I'm sure it would be all right. I'll come back in a few minutes and bring you a tray with a nice healthy bowl of broth."The moment she was out the door, Ally turned to Grant."I want to see Kristen. Now.""I thought the first thing you wanted was to go to the bathroom.""I'll get to that. You said she was downstairs somewhere. How do I get there?""It's in the security zone," he said. "You're not authorized—""You're a big shot around here. Winston Bartlett's right‑hand flunky. So why don't you authorize me yourself.""Ally, you know I can't do that.""Then take me there.""I don't want to see Kristen anymore," he declared, biting his lip. "She's completely lost . . . everything. I could deal with it until I saw her this morning. It's just too much.""Has he let her mother see her?""Are you kidding? Letting that psycho anywhere near her is the last thing anybody's going to do.""Then get me in, dammit.""Ally, forget about it.""Why?"He hesitated, as though marshaling his thoughts."Sis," he said finally, "there're only so many risks I can take for you, and they have to be about something that matters. Forget about Kristen. Nothing can save her now. But I'm offering to help you get out of here before they go any further. I can't be seen helping you, but they've started you down a road that you don't want to go, believe me. I got you into this, but if there's still time, I want to try to help get you out."She didn't know what was going on, but if Grant of all people was freaked about what Karl Van de Vliet had in store for her, then maybe she'd better take it seriously.But she was through relying on him for anything."Okay, but I want to call somebody to come and get me.""Are you referring to that reporter, by any chance?" he asked. "The guy who drove you here? W.B. hates him.""Yes." She was puzzled that he would know about Stone. "How do you—""Bartlett has him.""What do you mean?""He's radioactive now. I actually kicked him out of here myself yesterday. This is not a moment for press freedom. He could screw up everything. W.B. said he's doing a book. No way is that guy going to be allowed human contact with anybody till the sale of Gerex is in the bank. He had a run‑in with Bartlett in the city and they took him somewhere. I don't know the location. And I don't want to know.""Oh my God.""He's most likely okay. It's just temporary safekeeping.""All the more reason I'm not leaving till I see Kristen.""There's no way you're going to get into where they're keeping her, Ally.""All right." There was no arguing with him when he was this freaked. "What do you want me to do?"He pulled a plastic card out of his jacket pocket. It was white, withthe gerex corporationembossed on one side and a magnetic strip on the other."This is a master key to this place. Because of security, you can't just go out the front, through the lobby. But if you take the elevator down to the first floor of the basement, where the lab is, there's a fire exit there, in the back, that opens onto a path down to the lake. If you'll go out that door and wait right there, I'll come around and get you to the parking lot. I know a way that will miss their surveillance cameras. I'm scheduled to go back to the city now and I'll take you with me.""But if I wanted to see Kristen?""You'd have to go into the laboratory and then take the elevator that's inside there. Don't even think about it. It's way too risky."She looked at him, trying to gauge his sincerity. Had he become a new man, finally caring about somebody other than himself? Or had a glimpse of whatever had happened to Kristen scared the hell out him and awakened the specter of being part of a felonious enterprise?"Why are you doing this?""To make up for a few things," he said, turning to leave.With that, he walked out and quietly closed the door.That remains to be seen, she told herself.She went to the bathroom, then put on a bathrobe and headed out into the hallway. The nurse's station was not occupied. Marion was still in the kitchen on the first floor, presumably.Good.She was feeling shaky, not nearly as strong as she'd initially thought she was, but she pressed on, taking the elevator, her first use of Grant's Gerex master key. She bypassed the first floor and an instant later she was stepping into the basement's laboratory area.At the moment it appeared to be entirely deserted, though the fluorescent lights bathed the space in a stark, pitiless light.Down the hall was Dr. Van de Vliet's office and the examining room, where she and her mother had gone when they were being admitted. At this time of night, everything was closed and probably locked.She turned and looked at the forbidding entryway to the glass‑enclosed laboratory. Through the transparent walls she could see the dim glow of CRT screens and incubators filled with petri dishes. And there at the back was—could her eyes be trusted?—the outline of an elevator door. She hadn't noticed it until this minute. It seemed to be built with a nod toward camouflage.It could lead to Kristen, she told herself. Find out what Grant is so freaked about. He can wait a couple of minutes.She was starting to feel even weaker, but she pressed on. Next to the heavy steel, high‑security air lock leading into the laboratory was a card reader and she swiped the white card through the slot.The air lock opened silent and perfunctory. When she went through, the door behind her automatically closed and then the hermetically sealed door in front of her opened. She was in.Next a bright fluorescent light clicked on, all by itself."Jesus!"Maybe it was connected to a motion sensor. Or on a timer.Then she looked around. This, she thought, is the place where the Gerex Corporation has supposedly changed medical history. What was created in this very room had if Grant was telling the truth, saved her mother's sanity. And if she could believe the monitors she had looked at in her room, her own heart condition had begun to be reversed after a lifetime of progressive decline.Yet something about it had been pushed too far. Somewhere in the midst of this miracle, the Gerex Corporation had done something so obscene no one could even talk about it.She looked around the laboratory, wishing she could understand what she was seeing. It smelled like solvent, acetone, with a mingling of more pungent fumes. The black slate laboratory workbenches were spotlessly hygienic and equipped with several large microscopes that featured flat‑panel screens. She noticed a heavy server computer at the back, presumably networked to all the terminals in the building, and then she remembered that Van de Vliet had once spoken of computer simulations.Someday soon, she told herself, she was going to understand what really was going on here, but for now she headed for the elevator.Another zip of Grant's white card and the door opened. There was indeed a floor below the laboratory, and she pushed the button. The Dorian Institute was all about security, but this subbasement area was doubly secure.After a quick trip down, the elevator door opened onto another air lock chamber, this an exit from the pressurized environment of the laboratory.Why, she wondered, had no one spotted her yet? Perhaps this part of the clinic was such a lockdown that nurses and guards weren't necessary.As she stepped from the air lock, she was in a hallway. She walked down and tried the first unmarked door. It was locked, but then she saw the slot for her card. She slipped it in and the door opened automatically.The room she entered had a row of beds, each shrouded in a curtain. As she walked down the center aisle, she realized that only one of the beds was occupied.And, yes, it was Kristen. She was lying there and when Ally slid back the curtain, her eyes clicked open, startled."Hi, don't be afraid. I'm a friend." She quietly finished drawing the curtain aside.Now the once‑breezy Kristen Starr was staring at her with angry eyes, the false bravado of a frightened child. And she looked much younger than she had in the head shot she'd attached to the walls of her town house with steak knives. She said nothing for a moment; then she mouthed, "Who are you?""I talked to you on the phone a couple of days ago," Ally said, not sure herself exactly when it was, "when you went down to your placeon West Eleventh Street.""I don't know you," she mouthed again, this time with a slight whisper."My name is Ally Hampton." She moved next to her so she could keep her voice down. "I'm an interior designer. I once did an apartment for you in Chelsea.""I'm about to go on a journey," she whispered. "I don't remember you, but maybe you're the one who's going with me.There was something otherworldly and chilling about her voice."What journey do you—""We were going to go away. That's what he promised. Just us two. Well, I'm ready. I want to go out and play. But he doesn't care anymore. He just wants me to disappear. So that's what I'll do. Only we'll do it together, you and me." She reached up from her bed and ran a finger across Ally's face. "Will you take me out of here? He promised me everything, that I could get it all back. But now I know he didn't care. He was just using me." She stopped, then gave a cruel laugh from the back of her throat. "But now it's going to happen to him too. I can tell. That's why he doesn't want to see me anymore. He doesn't want to see what's in store for him."What has happened? Ally wondered. It sounds like some kind of bizarre experiment gone wrong."Won't you come with me?" Kristen went on. "We'll go to a place nobody has ever been to before. It'll be just us."Her seductive eyes, at once plaintive and demanding, would have lured anyone toward wherever she wanted to go. For a careless moment Ally found herself wanting to follow them.No, this is madness.Or, Ally thought with horror, is she seeing something in me that I can't see?"Kristen, listen to me. Please. I think it's very possible I've just had a stem cell procedure. For my heart. I don't know if it's like what you had, but I want to know what happened to you.""Don't do it," she mumbled, seeming to come back to a kind of reality. "Just get out of here now. After . . . it starts, he gives you shots and things, but nothing works."Ally felt her consciousness start to wobble. She reached out and seized the edge of the bed for support."Kristen, talk to me."Her eyes went blank again, and Ally could just barely make out what she mumbled next. In fact, all she could catch were random words, words that only drifted through her consciousness and failed to stick or make any sense. It was as though Kristen were in a stance and sleepwalking among the words of some alien language."Young," Kristen seemed to say. "You want to be . . . to stay. Old is so horrible. Time. You're young and then suddenly you're old and it turns out you can't . . ."Ally heard the words, but they didn't make any sense."I'm sorry, Kristen. I'm feeling a little dizzy.""It's started," she said, abruptly coherent again and focusing in on Ally. "That's how it began with me. At first they said everything was okay and then it wasn't.""What are you talking about?""It's happening throughout my body." She sobbed. "I've stopped having periods and I'm getting acne. Everything is . . . changing."The words drifted through space, and Ally felt like she was hallucinating, in a place where time was sliding sideways. The images were all retro, things from her past that floated through her vision in reverse chronological order.That was it. In her mind, time was going backwards. But was it just in her mind? She looked again at Kristen and gasped. Finally, finally she understood the horror of what was really happening. . . .Oh my God."I got here as soon as I could after they called me," came a voice from the doorway. She turned and saw Karl Van de Vliet, together with the nurse Marion. "You really shouldn't be down here. I don't know who gave you a card. But we've brought a wheelchair. You really should be resting."Marion rolled the chair through the door and expertly plucked the card from the reader."Now, please sit down," she said. "We all just want to be on the safe side, don't we? I'll need to give you a sedative."Ally looked at Van de Vliet, wanting to strangle him."No, you're not giving me a damned sedative. I don't want to be on the 'safe side.' I want the truth. And I want it now."Chapter 30Thursday, April 911:16 P.M."Let's go into the lab to talk," Van de Vliet said. "I'm very sorry I wasn't here when you came out of sedation. But Marion called me at home, as I'd told her to do, and I came in as quickly as I could. I've got a place on the lake, just down the road, so I'm never far away."He was rolling her through the air lock door, Marion behind them. Then they took the elevator up. She was furious that Kristen was being left behind like an abandoned casualty of war.Ally also was reminding herself about her appointment with Grant to get the hell out. But her mind was having trouble holding a lot of thoughts at once.He pushed her wheelchair into the section of the laboratory where a line of computer terminals was stationed. After he'd fluffed a pillow behind her head and turned off some of the glaring fluorescents, he began."Alexa, this is a delicate time for you. We need to get you upstairs as quickly as possible and feed you some broth and put you back to bed. However, I want very much to give you an update on the status of your treatment. The headline is, it's going very well. We fused some of the telomerase enzyme with your existing stem cells and your response was immediate. In fact, it appears the new heart tissue has reached critical mass and has already begun replicating itself. We've learned to expect the unexpected around here, but your response has significantly exceeded our simulations."He turned to Marion and asked her to go up and make sure Alexa's bedding had been changed. "We'll be up in a second. And please make sure that bowl of broth is ready and waiting."After she departed through the air lock, he walked over to a lab bench and checked the numbers that were scrolling on a CRT screen."All right," Ally said "talk to me. I just saw Kristen. I'm still not sure if I believe what I think is happening, but I want the real story and I want it now.""That's part of what I need to discuss with you." He glanced away for a long moment, a pained expression on his face, seeming to collect his thoughts. Finally he turned back. "You see, the clinical trials have demonstrated that we can use the telomerase enzyme to 'immortalize' a patient's own stem cells and then rejuvenate their brain or liver or even their heart. So the next question that's hanging out there in space is obvious. What would happen if we could find a way to generalize the enzyme and disperse it throughout someone's entire body, not restricting it to just one organ? And not just rejuvenate—regenerate."This question had actually passed fleetingly through her consciousness, though not fully articulated. It had taken the form of wondering where the use of these "immortal" cells could eventually lead.
"Jesus, I don't believe this." His voice echoed off the empty marble mantelpiece and bounced across the room.
He looked around. Since late yesterday, somebody had come in and cleaned out the place. Thoroughly. Any hopes of finding old letters, an address book, anything personal, were gone. He knew immediately that he had been outsmarted. Kristen Starr, and now her friend Cindy, had officially ceased to exist. Cindy might still be at E!, but she was going to be terrified and subject to massive memory loss on the subject of Kristen.
But wait a second. They left the phone. The answering machine is gone, but maybe they didn't realize that phones can have memories and can sometimes tell tales. That might be worth a try, but check out the place first.
He walked into the kitchen alcove and gazed around, not entirely sure what he was looking for. The main thing would be some phone numbers and addresses.
He opened the refrigerator and peered in. It was still running and contained two unopened jars of British marmalade and an empty quart jar with traces of orange juice bordered by mold. The freezer compartment was entirely bare.
The two kitchen cabinets above the stove had been similarly emptied. He gave them a cursory look, then came back and followed a hallway to a bathroom in the back.
When he opened the medicine chest above the sink and peered in, he initially thought it was empty, with a pile of wadded‑up Kleenex on the bottom shelf. He was pulling that out when he realized that the tissue had been wadded around an empty prescription drug vial.
Kristen Starr had prescription number 378030. It was for Libinol—whatever that was, probably some kind of screwed‑up diet pill—and it had been filled five months ago. It had been delivered from Grove Pharmacy on Seventh Avenue to here, 217 West Eleventh Street. The address was pasted on a sticker on the back.
Hmmm, he thought. After she left, rather than transferring the prescription, what if they just had subsequent refills delivered to some other address? There's a long shot that Grove Pharmacy might have a new address for the prescription number. Okay, it would be a very long shot, but still . . .
Unless, of course, her new address had been the Dorian Institute. In that case, the prescription would undoubtedly have
been discontinued once she became a patient. He reached for his cell phone to call the drugstore.
Shit, I forgot it! Damn hangover.
He walked back into the living room and stared at Kristen's phone. If it was still working, he could call Grove Pharmacy and—
No, idiot, that would wipe out any number stored in the redial function. Without a cell, the best thing to do is just go over there and check with the pharmacist in person.
He settled yoga‑style onto the hardwood floor next to the phone and stared at it. What if the line is already disconnected? Why did whoever cleaned this place out leave it here? The phone, of all things. It's—
It rang.
He jumped a foot off the floor, and then stared at it.
A series of reasons flashed through his mind:
1)They know I'm here and they're going to warn me again to back off.
2)They know I'm here and the last incoming call here was from a number they don't want me to know about. I pick this up and I wipe out any chance of ever finding out what it was.
Don't answer it. This phone call is not intended to be helpful.
Not picking up the phone was the hardest thing he'd ever done, but he was determined to be disciplined.
He counted eleven rings and then he couldn't take it anymore and reached for the receiver.
It stopped.
"Thank God." His hand froze in midair. The timing had been a split‑second salvation.
All right, he thought, time to find out if I just totally screwed up. Time to dial.
He got his pen and notebook poised and then lifted the black receiver. He knew from the message on her machine yesterday that somebody had called her just before he got there. Or maybe whoever came and cleaned out her apartment had received a phone call while they were here. Possibly from whoever sent them. A checkup call.
Who knew? But give it a shot. He hit the code.
A mechanical voice came on immediately: "Your last call was from area code 212, number 555‑3935. If you would like for me to connect you, please push—"
"Go for it," he said aloud, scribbling down the number and then following the instruction.
At that moment somebody's cell phone began to ring just outside the front door.
"Oh shit." It was just too big a coincidence.
After two rings it stopped and he heard the voice of Winston Bartlett, both outside the front door and in his ear.
"Yes."
He was too startled to respond, but he didn't need to, because an instant later he also heard the sound of a key and then the front door opened.
A shaft of daylight shot across the room as Bartlett took one look and exploded.
"Damn, so it's true. How the hell did—"
"Hey, come on in," Stone said, trying to recover some poise and take marginal control of the situation. "I'm here by permission. The downstairs tenant, who you just evicted, or kidnapped too, gave me her key."
"You don't get it, do you? I told you to keep—"
"But we have signs of progress. I know all about Kristen." Well, that was hardly the case, but it never hurt to start off with a bluff to see how far you could get. "That's why I'm here. The question is, when are we going to start talking to each other? Because I'm putting together a hell of a story."
"I don't fucking believe this." Bartlett slammed the door.
"By the way, a special thanks for getting me sacked at the Sentinel. Now I'll have the leisure to concentrate full‑time on the stem cell book. And Gerex."
"I warned you, but you wouldn't fucking listen." He was peering around the living room as though searching for clues to explain why nothing was going right.
"Like I said, I talked to Kristen yesterday." Stone stood his ground. "She's not a happy person."
"If you bring her into this . . ." Bartlett glared at him. "I can't imagine what makes you think you can just run roughshod through my business and my life."
"Here's how it is. You can abuse me, or you can use me. Keep in mind I'm accustomed to working for people who buy ink by the barrel. As I tried to explain before, if you won't let me get at the whole truth, I may end up spreading half‑truths."
Bartlett walked across the room and ran his fingers along the marble mantelpiece above the fireplace. "You know," he said, turning back, "up until now you've never asked me for anything. I have to say I've always admired that, but I'm curious why."
"Maybe I thought it was your placeto come to me," Stone said, puzzled by the left turn the conversation had suddenly taken. "You know, I have a life of my own. I have an eleven‑ year‑old daughter you've never seen or—apparently—care to see. I'm wondering what that says about you. Your granddaughter's name, by the way, is—"
"I know her name. I know quite a bit about our blood ties, or lack of."
"Well, I'd bet she'd be just thrilled by that. Incidentally, she doesn't know a goddam thing about you and I'd just as soon keep it that way."
"I knew having this conversation was a fucking mistake. This is why I never had it. Any real son of mine has got to have some of my character, my stature. You're a bean counter."
"If you had any character, you wouldn't be hiding behind all this secrecy. I try to tell the truth, as much and as often as I can. That's my take on character."
"What we're doing at Gerex is going to change the history of the world. We're at the brink of things mankind has only dreamed about. And I've taken all the risks. In fact, I took the biggest risk of all personally. There's a lot going on that you don't know a damned thing about. We're on the edge of—"
"All the more reason you should want the whole story told," Stone interjected. "Yes, stem cell technology is going to change everything, but you can't just tell half the story. I want it to work, but I'm a truth seeker. I want to find out what, if anything, can go wrong too. You've been using people, first Kristen and now—I'm beginning to fear—Ally, to take your risks for you. I mean, what's going on? Why did you send somebody down to obliterate all evidence of Kristen? And now Cindy, that girl downstairs? My God, she's somehow vanished too. Whatever happened to Kristen to make it come to this?"
"What may or may not have gone wrong is nothing that can't be made right. No great medical advance ever succeeded in a direct line."
"I don't need the sales pitch," Stone said. "I agree it's going to revolutionize medicine. But you can't—"
"That's why you'll never be a son of mine. You always think small. This is about more than mere medicine. It's about doing the one thing mankind has never been able to do. I am this close. Nothing is going to be allowed to destroy this chance. Not even you, my own flesh and blood."
"Am I that?" Stone asked, feeling an unexpected satisfaction. "Your own 'flesh and blood'?"
"That is something," Bartlett said, "we are about to discover. Whether we are made of the same thing. The best way for you to understand what's going on here is to do what I've done. Have the Beta procedure. Show me you've got the balls."
"The 'Beta procedure'? It might help if I knew what it is."
"Why don't I just show you," Bartlett said. "You want to be on the inside, see everything up close? Fine. I think the time has come. You seem determined to stick your nose into what I'm doing. You weaseled your way into the institute, and now you show up here. So I guess it's time you were an insider all the way."
"Good, maybe then I can start getting some answers. For example, was changing Kristen's name part of the NIH study?" Stone turned to face him. "Or is it your way to hide one of your mistakes?"
"Quite frankly, that's none of your goddam business."
"Well, let me tell you what is my business. Ally Hampton is a particular friend of mine. I damned well want to know whether she's scheduled to undergo the same procedure as Kristen. I don't know what you and Van de Vliet did to Kristen, but if you turn Ally into a zombie too, I'll personally—"
"I think we'll continue this discussion later." He pulled his cell phone out of a jacket pocket, flipped it open, and punched a memory number.
"Ken, could you and Jake please come in. We have the problem I was afraid we had." He flipped the phone shut and turned back to Stone. "Karl entered Ms. Hampton and her mother into the clinical trials at the last minute, as a special favor. She's in no danger."
Now Stone saw two men come through the front door. One was the tall Japanese man who had slugged him the day before.
Shit. I need this? Is he going to work me over again?
The other guy was dressed in white, as though he were an orderly or nurse. Stone noticed he had a plastic syringe in his right hand.
"Ken, could you and Jake please take care of this. He'll be going with us."
Stone examined the three of them. Well, he thought, / guess I'm going to be back inside the Dorian Institute after all.
"Look, there's no need for excessive violence here. We could just set some ground rules for this situation."
The Japanese man named Ken walked over and seized him around the neck, while at the same time pulling his right arm around behind him, a decisive hammerlock.
"You fucker," Stone choked out. "Let—" The man Bartlett had called Jake, the one in white, shoved a needle into his arm.
"This could be the experience you've been looking for," Bartlett said. "You've been pursuing me like a dog chasing a car. Now we're about to see if you're man enough to handle the consequences when you've caught it."
You're damned right I'll handle it, he tried to say. But he wasn't sure if he actually got it said, the void was closing in so fast.
Chapter 29
10:33p.m.
"Grant, is that you?"
Ally squinted in the semi‑dark of the room, finally making out the silhouette. He was sitting in a chair beside her bed, and his face was troubled, reminding her of when he'd had a bad day in high school.
Am I dreaming again? she puzzled. The clock on the wall told her that this was a late hour for whatever he was up to now.
"It's me," he said, his voice low, just above a whisper. The door behind him, she noticed, was shut. "Welcome back to the world. They moved you upstairs just for tonight. This is the first chance I've had to get near you."
She was still wondering where she was, what day it was. The walls were an icy blue, illuminated only by the silver‑ and‑green glow of the bank of CRT screens that now monitored her heart and her respiration. She lifted her head off the pillow and for a moment, looked past Grant, examining the screen of the heart monitor. It was a phonocardiogram.
She knew what to look for. Over the years she'd learned to interpret every irregular pulse, every errant amplitude, but now the sonic abnormalities that typically characterized her stenosis, the struggle of her heart's scarred valve to maintain adequate coronary output, were significantly damped.
There'd always been murmurs, abnormal heart sounds, as long as she could remember, so what did this mean? Had the damaged valve already begun restoring and strengthening itself? While she slept?
Or was this just more of some dream?
Why was she in this hospital anyway, hooked up to monitors? She still couldn't remember exactly.
"What . . .?" She tried to rise up out of the bed. Again she wondered, was Grant real or some chimera?
Then she realized she was strapped in, though the straps were held only with black Velcro.
As she started to pull them open, she noticed she had an IV needle in her arm, with a plastic tube that led to a bag of liquid suspended from a hook above her head. More annoying, however, was the checkerboard of taped‑on sensors on her upper body, for the ongoing phonocardiogram. She looked at all the tubes and connected wires and felt like a laboratory animal in the middle of an experiment.
"Ally, you're at the Dorian Institute, remember? Dr. Van de Vliet's stem cell clinical trials. Nina's here too."
"Oh." That rang a bell, sort of. "What . . . what day is it?"
He told her. "You've been under sedation since late yesterday, Ally. But Dr. Vee says your test data show you're responding—"
"Mom's here, right?" Now things were starting to come back. "How's she doing? Is she—"
"He's talking about discharging her by the end of next week, even before the NIH clinical trials are officially over." Grant tried a smile. "By then, he thinks the procedure will have replaced enough tissue in her brain that she might not even need a caregiver. She's doing crosswords again. Need I say more."
"My God." Now she remembered how on‑again, off‑again Nina's mind had been when she brought her out to the institute. Had she really been given a second chance? And so quickly? If so, it was truly astonishing.
But now she found herself staring at Grant, mesmerized. Something about him seemed oddly off.
"Grant, what... what's going on with you?"
"I've . . ." He was hesitating. "I've been thinking about everything. Now I really wish I hadn't done what I did."
"What are you talking about?" This kind of revisionist remorse didn't sound like the Grant she knew.
"Have you seen Kristen? They said you know about her, were asking about her." Then he stepped back. "Do you know about her?"
Kristen. She tried to remember. Is that the woman everybody . . . Her mother had come to the institute with a pistol trying to find her? Then she was kidnapped. . . .
"It's the Syndrome," Grant went on. "She wanted the Beta procedure, and Dr. Vee finally agreed. But nobody expected anything to happen like what eventually did. That's why W.B. went ahead and had it too."
Beta. Now she remembered that Kristen had mumbled something about that word.
"Ally, I got you into . . . When I told W. B. that I thought you and he had the same rare blood type, AB, he wanted to bring you into the program."
"You mean for my heart?"
He looked away and his eyes grew pained. "Well, that's part of it. There's another part they haven't told you about."
"What's that?"
"Antibodies. They think there's a chance you could be made to develop them and then they could use them to help W.B. He doesn't have the Syndrome yet, but it's probably just a matter of time."
What, she puzzled, is he talking about? What "antibodies "? What "syndrome "? She was weak and she wasn't sure her mind was fully functional. But after what appeared to be
the miracle of her heart, she was willing to forsake a certain amount of momentary rationality.
Then more memory started returning. "Kristen. What about her? I saw—"
"Ally, the Syndrome started with her over four months ago. At first they didn't fully realize how serious . . . but now it's getting worse every day." He paused and turned away. "Look, I've been thinking. I'm really sorry that I brought you into this. What if something goes wrong?"
"What do you mean?"
"If you could see Kristen now, you'd understand."
"Where is she? Is she still wherever they're hiding her?"
"No." He turned back. "Kristen . . . After what happened yesterday, she had to be brought back out here. There's a ward downstairs, on the floor below the offices and lab, that's kind of like an intensive‑care unit. That's where you were until tonight. But you can't go back down there on your own. Not even the nurses can go without a special authorization, which is never given."
"But if Kristen is—"
"Ally, you 're the one I'm worried about. I thought what they were going to do to you was safe. But last night I. . . I heard them all talking and I think you could be in serious danger. They don't actually know what the consequences of what they're doing will be. You need to get out of here and at least get the real story. I don't want this on my hands. Truthfully, there could be some deep legal shit coming out of all this. I can think of at least three felonies. I don't want any part of that liability, and I want you to testify that I got you out of here if it ever comes to that."
Finally the straight story, she thought. He's afraid he's about to be an accomplice in a criminal conspiracy. He's getting cold feet.
"Grant, do something for me. Get me unplugged. All these sensors. I want to go see her for myself."
"Ally, forget it. To begin with, I can't unplug you. Only a
nurse can do that. And I don't want to. You've got catheters in places I—"
"Then I'll get a nurse to come and do it. I'll say I need to go to the bathroom. That should get me unhooked."
Annoyed she looked around. Where's the buzzer? There has to be one somewhere. Then she spotted a set of controls attached to the bed and sure enough, there was a red button. What else could it be?
She pushed it and a light came on above her door. Moments later, a short blue‑haired woman with the namemarionsewn into her white uniform opened the door and came striding in, flicking on the fluorescent overheads.
"My, my, we're looking well," she declared ignoring Grant. "I'm glad you're finally awake. He told us to call him the minute ... They're all saying you and your mother must have special genes. You've both been such terrific patients. He'd been keeping you sedated but he discontinued that medication this afternoon. He wanted you to wake up with your mind clear."
"Well, I'd really like to get up and go to the bathroom and get something to eat," Ally said "Mainly, I just want to get out of this bed for a stretch before I start developing bedsores. I'm feeling strong, for now at least. Can you unhook some of these wires and suction cups? And I certainly don't need that IV. I'm so hungry I could inhale a quart of ice cream in one gulp."
"Yes, of course," Marion said and began dismantling the intravenous tubes. "We only monitor you and hydrate you when you're not conscious. The standard procedure is to let you get up and start getting some exercise as soon as possible. You should be careful, though, because at this point you're not as strong as you think. Changes are taking place in your body that require a lot of your energy. If you feel up to it, you could walk around for a couple of minutes, but you shouldn't let yourself get tired."
As Marion continued now removing the taped‑on sensors, Ally looked up and saw another uniformed nurse standing in the doorway. She also was middle‑aged, with prematurely gray hair, and she was holding a syringe.
"May I come in?" she asked. "At this stage he needs a blood sample every three hours. Just twenty cc's."
Ally watched as the new nurse quickly and deftly took a small sample of blood. Then she capped it off and turned to leave.
"I need to centrifuge this immediately."
And she was gone.
Then Marion finished removing the IV tube and catheter and all the taped‑on electrodes.
"If you want to get up and use the bathroom and walk around a little, I'm sure it would be all right. I'll come back in a few minutes and bring you a tray with a nice healthy bowl of broth."
The moment she was out the door, Ally turned to Grant.
"I want to see Kristen. Now."
"I thought the first thing you wanted was to go to the bathroom."
"I'll get to that. You said she was downstairs somewhere. How do I get there?"
"It's in the security zone," he said. "You're not authorized—"
"You're a big shot around here. Winston Bartlett's right‑hand flunky. So why don't you authorize me yourself."
"Ally, you know I can't do that."
"Then take me there."
"I don't want to see Kristen anymore," he declared, biting his lip. "She's completely lost . . . everything. I could deal with it until I saw her this morning. It's just too much."
"Has he let her mother see her?"
"Are you kidding? Letting that psycho anywhere near her is the last thing anybody's going to do."
"Then get me in, dammit."
"Ally, forget about it."
"Why?"
He hesitated, as though marshaling his thoughts.
"Sis," he said finally, "there're only so many risks I can take for you, and they have to be about something that matters. Forget about Kristen. Nothing can save her now. But I'm offering to help you get out of here before they go any further. I can't be seen helping you, but they've started you down a road that you don't want to go, believe me. I got you into this, but if there's still time, I want to try to help get you out."
She didn't know what was going on, but if Grant of all people was freaked about what Karl Van de Vliet had in store for her, then maybe she'd better take it seriously.
But she was through relying on him for anything.
"Okay, but I want to call somebody to come and get me."
"Are you referring to that reporter, by any chance?" he asked. "The guy who drove you here? W.B. hates him."
"Yes." She was puzzled that he would know about Stone. "How do you—"
"Bartlett has him."
"What do you mean?"
"He's radioactive now. I actually kicked him out of here myself yesterday. This is not a moment for press freedom. He could screw up everything. W.B. said he's doing a book. No way is that guy going to be allowed human contact with anybody till the sale of Gerex is in the bank. He had a run‑in with Bartlett in the city and they took him somewhere. I don't know the location. And I don't want to know."
"Oh my God."
"He's most likely okay. It's just temporary safekeeping."
"All the more reason I'm not leaving till I see Kristen."
"There's no way you're going to get into where they're keeping her, Ally."
"All right." There was no arguing with him when he was this freaked. "What do you want me to do?"
He pulled a plastic card out of his jacket pocket. It was white, withthe gerex corporationembossed on one side and a magnetic strip on the other.
"This is a master key to this place. Because of security, you can't just go out the front, through the lobby. But if you take the elevator down to the first floor of the basement, where the lab is, there's a fire exit there, in the back, that opens onto a path down to the lake. If you'll go out that door and wait right there, I'll come around and get you to the parking lot. I know a way that will miss their surveillance cameras. I'm scheduled to go back to the city now and I'll take you with me."
"But if I wanted to see Kristen?"
"You'd have to go into the laboratory and then take the elevator that's inside there. Don't even think about it. It's way too risky."
She looked at him, trying to gauge his sincerity. Had he become a new man, finally caring about somebody other than himself? Or had a glimpse of whatever had happened to Kristen scared the hell out him and awakened the specter of being part of a felonious enterprise?
"Why are you doing this?"
"To make up for a few things," he said, turning to leave.
With that, he walked out and quietly closed the door.
That remains to be seen, she told herself.
She went to the bathroom, then put on a bathrobe and headed out into the hallway. The nurse's station was not occupied. Marion was still in the kitchen on the first floor, presumably.
Good.
She was feeling shaky, not nearly as strong as she'd initially thought she was, but she pressed on, taking the elevator, her first use of Grant's Gerex master key. She bypassed the first floor and an instant later she was stepping into the basement's laboratory area.
At the moment it appeared to be entirely deserted, though the fluorescent lights bathed the space in a stark, pitiless light.
Down the hall was Dr. Van de Vliet's office and the examining room, where she and her mother had gone when they were being admitted. At this time of night, everything was closed and probably locked.
She turned and looked at the forbidding entryway to the glass‑enclosed laboratory. Through the transparent walls she could see the dim glow of CRT screens and incubators filled with petri dishes. And there at the back was—could her eyes be trusted?—the outline of an elevator door. She hadn't noticed it until this minute. It seemed to be built with a nod toward camouflage.
It could lead to Kristen, she told herself. Find out what Grant is so freaked about. He can wait a couple of minutes.
She was starting to feel even weaker, but she pressed on. Next to the heavy steel, high‑security air lock leading into the laboratory was a card reader and she swiped the white card through the slot.
The air lock opened silent and perfunctory. When she went through, the door behind her automatically closed and then the hermetically sealed door in front of her opened. She was in.
Next a bright fluorescent light clicked on, all by itself.
"Jesus!"
Maybe it was connected to a motion sensor. Or on a timer.
Then she looked around. This, she thought, is the place where the Gerex Corporation has supposedly changed medical history. What was created in this very room had if Grant was telling the truth, saved her mother's sanity. And if she could believe the monitors she had looked at in her room, her own heart condition had begun to be reversed after a lifetime of progressive decline.
Yet something about it had been pushed too far. Somewhere in the midst of this miracle, the Gerex Corporation had done something so obscene no one could even talk about it.
She looked around the laboratory, wishing she could understand what she was seeing. It smelled like solvent, acetone, with a mingling of more pungent fumes. The black slate laboratory workbenches were spotlessly hygienic and equipped with several large microscopes that featured flat‑panel screens. She noticed a heavy server computer at the back, presumably networked to all the terminals in the building, and then she remembered that Van de Vliet had once spoken of computer simulations.
Someday soon, she told herself, she was going to understand what really was going on here, but for now she headed for the elevator.
Another zip of Grant's white card and the door opened. There was indeed a floor below the laboratory, and she pushed the button. The Dorian Institute was all about security, but this subbasement area was doubly secure.
After a quick trip down, the elevator door opened onto another air lock chamber, this an exit from the pressurized environment of the laboratory.
Why, she wondered, had no one spotted her yet? Perhaps this part of the clinic was such a lockdown that nurses and guards weren't necessary.
As she stepped from the air lock, she was in a hallway. She walked down and tried the first unmarked door. It was locked, but then she saw the slot for her card. She slipped it in and the door opened automatically.
The room she entered had a row of beds, each shrouded in a curtain. As she walked down the center aisle, she realized that only one of the beds was occupied.
And, yes, it was Kristen. She was lying there and when Ally slid back the curtain, her eyes clicked open, startled.
"Hi, don't be afraid. I'm a friend." She quietly finished drawing the curtain aside.
Now the once‑breezy Kristen Starr was staring at her with angry eyes, the false bravado of a frightened child. And she looked much younger than she had in the head shot she'd attached to the walls of her town house with steak knives. She said nothing for a moment; then she mouthed, "Who are you?"
"I talked to you on the phone a couple of days ago," Ally said, not sure herself exactly when it was, "when you went down to your placeon West Eleventh Street."
"I don't know you," she mouthed again, this time with a slight whisper.
"My name is Ally Hampton." She moved next to her so she could keep her voice down. "I'm an interior designer. I once did an apartment for you in Chelsea."
"I'm about to go on a journey," she whispered. "I don't remember you, but maybe you're the one who's going with me.
There was something otherworldly and chilling about her voice.
"What journey do you—"
"We were going to go away. That's what he promised. Just us two. Well, I'm ready. I want to go out and play. But he doesn't care anymore. He just wants me to disappear. So that's what I'll do. Only we'll do it together, you and me." She reached up from her bed and ran a finger across Ally's face. "Will you take me out of here? He promised me everything, that I could get it all back. But now I know he didn't care. He was just using me." She stopped, then gave a cruel laugh from the back of her throat. "But now it's going to happen to him too. I can tell. That's why he doesn't want to see me anymore. He doesn't want to see what's in store for him."
What has happened? Ally wondered. It sounds like some kind of bizarre experiment gone wrong.
"Won't you come with me?" Kristen went on. "We'll go to a place nobody has ever been to before. It'll be just us."
Her seductive eyes, at once plaintive and demanding, would have lured anyone toward wherever she wanted to go. For a careless moment Ally found herself wanting to follow them.
No, this is madness.
Or, Ally thought with horror, is she seeing something in me that I can't see?
"Kristen, listen to me. Please. I think it's very possible I've just had a stem cell procedure. For my heart. I don't know if it's like what you had, but I want to know what happened to you."
"Don't do it," she mumbled, seeming to come back to a kind of reality. "Just get out of here now. After . . . it starts, he gives you shots and things, but nothing works."
Ally felt her consciousness start to wobble. She reached out and seized the edge of the bed for support.
"Kristen, talk to me."
Her eyes went blank again, and Ally could just barely make out what she mumbled next. In fact, all she could catch were random words, words that only drifted through her consciousness and failed to stick or make any sense. It was as though Kristen were in a stance and sleepwalking among the words of some alien language.
"Young," Kristen seemed to say. "You want to be . . . to stay. Old is so horrible. Time. You're young and then suddenly you're old and it turns out you can't . . ."
Ally heard the words, but they didn't make any sense.
"I'm sorry, Kristen. I'm feeling a little dizzy."
"It's started," she said, abruptly coherent again and focusing in on Ally. "That's how it began with me. At first they said everything was okay and then it wasn't."
"What are you talking about?"
"It's happening throughout my body." She sobbed. "I've stopped having periods and I'm getting acne. Everything is . . . changing."
The words drifted through space, and Ally felt like she was hallucinating, in a place where time was sliding sideways. The images were all retro, things from her past that floated through her vision in reverse chronological order.
That was it. In her mind, time was going backwards. But was it just in her mind? She looked again at Kristen and gasped. Finally, finally she understood the horror of what was really happening. . . .
Oh my God.
"I got here as soon as I could after they called me," came a voice from the doorway. She turned and saw Karl Van de Vliet, together with the nurse Marion. "You really shouldn't be down here. I don't know who gave you a card. But we've brought a wheelchair. You really should be resting."
Marion rolled the chair through the door and expertly plucked the card from the reader.
"Now, please sit down," she said. "We all just want to be on the safe side, don't we? I'll need to give you a sedative."
Ally looked at Van de Vliet, wanting to strangle him.
"No, you're not giving me a damned sedative. I don't want to be on the 'safe side.' I want the truth. And I want it now."
Chapter 30
Thursday, April 9
11:16 P.M.
"Let's go into the lab to talk," Van de Vliet said. "I'm very sorry I wasn't here when you came out of sedation. But Marion called me at home, as I'd told her to do, and I came in as quickly as I could. I've got a place on the lake, just down the road, so I'm never far away."
He was rolling her through the air lock door, Marion behind them. Then they took the elevator up. She was furious that Kristen was being left behind like an abandoned casualty of war.
Ally also was reminding herself about her appointment with Grant to get the hell out. But her mind was having trouble holding a lot of thoughts at once.
He pushed her wheelchair into the section of the laboratory where a line of computer terminals was stationed. After he'd fluffed a pillow behind her head and turned off some of the glaring fluorescents, he began.
"Alexa, this is a delicate time for you. We need to get you upstairs as quickly as possible and feed you some broth and put you back to bed. However, I want very much to give you an update on the status of your treatment. The headline is, it's going very well. We fused some of the telomerase enzyme with your existing stem cells and your response was immediate. In fact, it appears the new heart tissue has reached critical mass and has already begun replicating itself. We've learned to expect the unexpected around here, but your response has significantly exceeded our simulations."
He turned to Marion and asked her to go up and make sure Alexa's bedding had been changed. "We'll be up in a second. And please make sure that bowl of broth is ready and waiting."
After she departed through the air lock, he walked over to a lab bench and checked the numbers that were scrolling on a CRT screen.
"All right," Ally said "talk to me. I just saw Kristen. I'm still not sure if I believe what I think is happening, but I want the real story and I want it now."
"That's part of what I need to discuss with you." He glanced away for a long moment, a pained expression on his face, seeming to collect his thoughts. Finally he turned back. "You see, the clinical trials have demonstrated that we can use the telomerase enzyme to 'immortalize' a patient's own stem cells and then rejuvenate their brain or liver or even their heart. So the next question that's hanging out there in space is obvious. What would happen if we could find a way to generalize the enzyme and disperse it throughout someone's entire body, not restricting it to just one organ? And not just rejuvenate—regenerate."
This question had actually passed fleetingly through her consciousness, though not fully articulated. It had taken the form of wondering where the use of these "immortal" cells could eventually lead.