Free Fever by Robin Cook Page B

project, Dr. Charles Martel.”
    â€œDr. Ibanez,” began Charles, “I . . .”
    â€œJust a minute, Charles,” interrupted Ibanez. “Let me get rid of Jules here. Now you think you’ve got all that, Jules?”
    â€œDr. Ibanez,” Charles broke in. “I really want to say something.”
    â€œIn a minute, Charles. Listen, Jules, I want you to make Charles here sound like Louis Pasteur reincarnated, understand?”
    â€œYou got it,” said Bellman excitedly. “Now, Dr. Martel. Can you tell me your latest publications.”
    â€œGoddammit,” shouted Charles, slamming his lab books down on Ibanez’s desk. “This is a ridiculous conversation. You know I haven’t published anything recently, mostly because I didn’t want to take the time. But papers or no papers, I’ve been making extraordinary progress. And it’s all here in these books. Let me show you something.”
    Charles reached over to open one of the lab books but Dr. Ibanez restrained his arm. “Charles, calm down. You’re noton trial here, for God’s sake. Actually it’s probably better you haven’t published. Right now interest as well as funding for immunological cancer research has slackened. It probably wouldn’t be good for Jules to have to admit you’ve been working exclusively in this area because the press might suggest you were unqualified to take over Canceran.”
    â€œGive me strength,” groaned Charles to himself through clenched teeth. He stared at Ibanez, breathing heavily. “Let me tell you something! The whole medical community is approaching cancer from the wrong perspective. All this work on chemotherapeutic agents like Canceran is only for palliative purposes. A real cure can only come from better understanding of the chemical communication among cells of which the immune system is a direct descendant. Immunology is the answer!” Charles’s voice had built to a crescendo, and the last sentence held the fervor of a religious fanatic.
    Bellman looked down and shuffled his feet. Ibanez took a long drag on his cigar, blowing the smoke in a long, thin stream.
    â€œWell,” said Dr. Ibanez, breaking the embarrassing silence. “That’s an interesting point, Charles, but I’m afraid not everybody would agree with you. The fact of the matter is that while there is plenty of funding for chemotherapy research, there is very little for immunological studies . . .”
    â€œThat’s because chemotherapy agents like Canceran can be patented whereas immunological processes, for the most part, cannot be,” said Charles, impulsively interrupting Dr. Ibanez.
    â€œIt seems to me,” said Ibanez, “that the old phrase, ‘don’t bite the hand that feeds you,’ applies here. The cancer community has supported you, Dr. Martel.”
    â€œAnd I’m thankful,” said Charles. “I’m not a rebel or a revolutionary. Far from it. All I want is to be left alone to do my work. In fact, that’s why I came up here in the first place: to tell you that I don’t feel capable of taking on the Canceran project.”
    â€œNonsense!” said Ibanez. “You’re more than capable. Obviously the board of directors thinks so.”
    â€œI’m not talking about my intellectual capabilities,” snapped Charles. “I’m talking about my lack of interest. I don’t believe in Canceran and the approach to cancer it represents.”
    â€œDr. Martel,” said Dr. Ibanez slowly, his eyes boring into Charles’s face. “Are you aware that we are in the midst of a crisis? Are you going to sit there and tell me you cannot help because of a lack of interest? What do you think I’m running here, a federally endowed college? If we lose the grant for Canceran the whole institute is in financial jeopardy. You’re the only person who is not