Free Terminal by Robin Cook

you’ve been getting with the medulloblastoma patients are fantastic,” Sean said, hoping to plead his case. “There has to be something to be learned about cancer in general here. I want desperately to be involved in your protocol. Maybe by looking at it with fresh, objective eyes I’ll see something that you people have missed.”
    “You certainly don’t lack self-confidence,” said Dr. Mason. “And perhaps someday we could use a fresh eye. But not now. Let me be honest and open with you and give you some confidential information. There are several reasons you won’t be able to participate in our medulloblastoma study. First, it is already a clinical protocol and you are here for basic science research. That was made clear to your mentor. And second of all we cannot permit outsiders access to our current work because we have yet to apply for the appropriate patents on some of our unique biological processes. This policy is dictated by our source of funding. Like a lot of research institutions, we’ve had to seek alternate sources for operatingcapital since the government started squeezing research grants to everything but AIDS. We have turned to the Japanese.”
    “Like the Mass General in Boston?” Sean questioned.
    “Something like that,” Dr. Mason said. “We struck a forty-million-dollar deal with Sushita Industries, which has been expanding into biotechnology. The agreement was that Sushita would advance us the money over a period of years in return for which they would control any patents that result. That’s one of the reasons we need the monoclonal antibody to the colonic antigen. We have to produce some commercially viable products if we hope to continue to receive Sushita’s yearly payments. So far we haven’t been doing too well in that regard. And if we don’t maintain our funding we’ll have to shut our doors which, of course, would hurt the public which looks to us for care.”
    “A sorry state of affairs,” Sean said.
    “Indeed,” Dr. Mason agreed. “But it’s the reality of the new research environment.”
    “But your short-term fix will lead to future Japanese dominance.”
    “The same can be said about most industries,” Dr. Mason said. “It’s not limited to health-related biotechnology.”
    “Why not use the return from patents to fund additional research?”
    “There’s no place to get the initial capital,” Dr. Mason said. “Well, that’s not entirely true in our case. Over the last two years we’ve had considerable success with old-fashioned philanthropy. A number of businessmen have given us hefty donations. In fact, we are hosting a black-tie charity dinner tonight. I would very much like to extend an invitation to you. It’s at my home on Star Island.”
    “I don’t have the proper clothes,” Sean said, surprised at being invited after the scene with Dr. Levy.
    “We thought of that,” Dr. Mason said. “We’ve made arrangements with a tux rental service. All you have to do is call in your sizes, and they will deliver to your apartment.”
    “That’s very thoughtful,” Sean said. He was finding it difficult to deal with this on-again, off-again hospitality.
    Suddenly the door to Dr. Mason’s office burst open and a formidable woman in a white nurse’s uniform rushed in, planting herself in front of Dr. Mason. She was visibly distressed.
    “There’s been another one, Randolph,” she blurted out. “This is the fifth breast cancer patient to die of respiratory failure. I told you that…”
    Dr. Mason leapt to his feet. “Margaret, we have company.”
    Recoiling as if slapped, the nurse turned to Sean, seeing him for the first time. She was a woman of forty, with a round face, gray hair worn in a tight bun, and solid legs. “Excuse me!” she said, the color draining from her cheeks. “I’m terribly sorry.” Turning back to Dr. Mason, she added, “I knew Dr. Levy had just come in here, but when I saw her return to her office, I thought you were