Free Forty-Eight X by Barry Pollack

His security today and tomorrow seems to depend on building weapons which will destroy him tomorrow
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—Charles A. Lindbergh
     CHAPTER     
SEVEN
    U sing a Leica confocal electron microsope with resolution to one hundred nanometers, Dr. Joshua Jaymes carefully studied the dendrites of mouse neurons that had successfully morphed across a barrier of transected spinal cord tissue. This was a project he had worked on since completing his doctorate training in cellular engineering at MIT. The growth of new neurons and the regeneration of dormant neurons was his specialty. The conundrum remained to get them to perform and regenerate in special ways as opposed to haphazard ones, and in specially designated areas such as those damaged in brain or spinal cord injuries. Simple growth was not enough. What was needed was directed growth. His research had involved consideration of different triggering mechanisms—cellular pH, growth factors, enzymatic prompts, chemical and radiation stimulation—all had been tried at one time or another. His latest research, however, was bearing greater fruit as spinal cord tissue of mice whose cords had been transected was stimulated to regrow and reconnect, giving the animals some renewed ability to move paralyzed extremities. Excluding monies going for AIDS research, his was the hot project of the new century, and only a half dozen other researchers in the nation received as much NIH grant money as Jaymes. If there was a paper published on neurophysiology, his name was likely on it somewhere, as a contributor to the project or a resource to be quoted. In the tight-knit world of genetic research, he was a player. But like other researchers in his field, he held his cards close. His techniques, his results, even his missteps were kept secure until he was ready to publish. Too much was at stake. He survived on grant money, and that funding only came with results and a track record of success. He had seen too many of his peers with great potential reveal too much, too soon about their research, only to have it dismissed before it reached fruition, or stolen by better funded associates. All too often, he saw that the reward for “openness” was a job teaching undergrads in a junior college.
    Joshua Jaymes was six-foot-three and morbidly obese. He had no time for exercise. His complexion matched the vanilla white walls in his windowless laboratory. His idea of recreation with his family was a movie and dinner. And most of the time he would call ahead to say he had to skip the movie and settle for dinner.
    His phone rang. He had long-standing orders that none but the most urgent calls be put through during his research period. Over the years he had realized he could accomplish little if he spent his days handling mundane calls from everyone—including his wife, his children, friends, colleagues, and sycophants. His assistant had orders never to put through a call unless it was a dire emergency. As he reached for the phone, his mind raced with how to admonish her for what was likely to be a wasteful diversion.
    The call was indeed to prove a diversion—one that would quickly take him away from his current work and his entire family far away from home. The call was from Dr. Julius Wagner. They had met at a conference a year earlier and chatted about the professor’s breakthrough work on gene splicing. How does one not take a call from a Nobel Laureate? Thirty minutes later, Dr. Jaymes was sitting in the front seat of an F-15C. He had to be shoehorned into the aircraft. The pilot had clear orders to transport him, and his size wasn’t going to be a good enough excuse. About an hour later, after traveling at Mach 2.5 plus, and throwing up only once, Dr. Jaymes was across the country and sitting across a table from Dr. Wagner and several uniformed military men at a nondescript military base in the middle of a desert. His destination had not been disclosed, but by the direction and time of