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had never seen this very smooth, diplomatic side of him before. As we followed
Dr. Kane, Kit turned to me and whispered, "Don't blow my nice-guy act. And
don't laugh, either."
We knew from the PR document Analise Miller had given us that Dr. Kane was the
winner of the American Society of Transplant Surgeons' Pioneer Award and that
he was doing "breakthrough work with stem-cell therapies." We followed him
through a labyrinth of corridors to his office, an unimposing, very cozy space
crowded with books that were stacked almost desk high on the floor. There were
also pictures of Dr. Kane with a few well-chosen political leaders, movie
stars, and a financial wiz or three.
"Sorry about the face-dropping." He waved dismissively at the photographs. "It
helps with our fund-raising. You can't imagine. Ours is the celebrity age,
isn't it?"
There was also a large family portrait on the credenza. In the imposing
picture, Dr. Kane stood on the front steps of a gracious Greek Revival
farmhouse. His arms were around a dark-haired woman, who had a Jackie Kennedy
look about her, and two gorgeous children, a teenage boy and girl; a third
child, a girl of about four, was clowning at their feet.
"Sissy is our so-called change-of-life baby," he told us, pointing to the
little one. "And, boy, did she change our lives. What a little pistol she is."
He smiled and put a bowl of M&M's within our reach. "I'm addicted," he said
with a wink. "There are worse things, I suppose."
[261] He cleared papers from two side chairs and asked us to make ourselves
comfortable. He sat back in his desk chair, wadded up a piece of notepaper,
and tossed it through a miniature basketball hoop that hung just above a
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waste-basket. "Two points," he said, then rocked back in his chair,
self-satisfied as an L.A. Lakers fan.
"To be honest, I'm awfully glad Washington takes an active interest in us,"
Kane said. "The more public awareness, the better," he said. "We need funds.
Let me tell you about our pet project, which is incredible.
"Our singular mission is to extend human life, and to that end, we're working
on two tracks simultaneously," he explained. He leaned forward suddenly, his
chair making a springy squeak, and made a gesture with his hands, each
pointing in an opposite direction. He spoke of divergent paths.
"We're working with stem cells on one track, organ transplant on the other. As
it should be, it's illegal to use human fetal material, so we're limited to
clones of fetal cells taken prior to the ruling, and we're using stem cells
from bone marrow. Of course, the work is slow going. But that's prudent, don't
you agree? It's also the right thing to do."
He tossed back a handful of M&M's and crunched them while we waited for him to
continue. I could tell that he wasn't interested in our opinions, or
interruptions.
"As for transplantation," Dr. Kane went on, "the use of animal organs has been
banned for good and bad reasons, so we're doing the best we can with available
human organs. Human organs are in tremendous demand, and, historically, when
we could get human organs, there was a really high rate of failure after
transplantation.
[262] "But we've had a couple of real breakthroughs in the last couple of
years," he said, a smile lighting his handsome face. "We've learned that
transplanting several organs in a system makes for better success than
transplanting individual organs. So when we have a matching donor, we use the
entire organ system.
"I want you to see this," he said. He reached behind him and opened the doors
of the credenza. He pulled out a chart and spread it out on the desk in front
of us. We looked at the colored bars showing the number of multiorgan
transplants and the success rate.
"We're up to eighty percent success in the last six months. Can you imagine
that? Five years ago, I wouldn't have believed it. Three years ago I wouldn't
have!"
Dr. Kane seemed completely caught up in the personal side of the work he was
doing; he told us of half a dozen case histories of young people who would
have died but for organ transplantation, and of older people who'd been given
a new lease on life.
I must admit, his confidence was bracing, his enthusiasm infectious.
"I can hardly sleep at night, I'm so excited by some of this work," he finally
said. "We're closer than ever to being able to keep people alive for a long,
long time. I have hopes that soon the two tracks will converge. When that
happens, we'll have so many choices. To either replace organs or use stem-cell
technology to repair tissue. Or to use both methods simultaneously. I think we
can bank on it, Frannie and Kit. We're all going to live to benefit from these
most incredible advances. Isn't that glorious? Imagine it. In our lifetime.
Now [263] let me tell you about the rest of our hospital. I'll make it short
but very sweet."
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Kit and I were a little dazzled as we left the facility. It was the opposite
of what we'd seen and felt at the terrible School in Colorado. The evidence
was compelling that this was an exceptional medical complex. The Hauer
Institute was advanced, famous for good works, well run, possibly the best
research center in America. Dr. Ethan Kane was clearly brilliant, and he had a
great reputation.
"I don't get it," said Kit.
I did.
My hackles were still up.
78 DR. ETHAN KANE smiled as FBI Agent Brennan and Dr. O'Neill finally left his
office. What incredible fools they were. He knew exactly what they wanted
here, and although he was disappointed that the Hospital was under suspicion,
there wasn't much that he could do about it, was there? Besides, he was almost
certain that those two imbeciles had believed his bullshit. He'd been so
patient and ingratiating with them. Just thinking about the smarmy interview
made him ill.
Ethan Kane left his office and boarded the private elevator down to the
basement. He had an important meeting to go to.
He got out at B-3 and hurried along a lengthy corridor to a conference room.
He would've loved to show Brennan and Dr. O'Neill this on their guided tour of
the Hospital. Blow their little minds.
[265] Ethan Kane used a special passkey to let himself into the conference
room. Three men sat around a glass-and-metal table.
Even Dr. Kane had to admit that they were extraordinary specimens-miracles, if
you took the trouble to think about it.
Each of the three looked exactly like him.
They almost were him. But it was more like they were the arms and legs, and he
was the head. And, of course, the head ruled.
"Doctors Kane," he addressed the three look-alikes, "we have a lot of work to
do, and not much time to do it. Resurrection is close, but there's something
else on my mind right now. I want those children! I especially want the one
called Maximum. I have seen the future, and Resurrection is only the
beginning."
79 OZYMANDIAS COULDN'T GET the thought out of his head that he was happier
than he'd ever been in his life.
By a lot! By miles and miles! By light-years!
Of course, he'd been mostly totally miserable before this. It was a weekday,
and the woods were empty of human life but filled with other familiar and
reassuring sounds. Brooks rippled musically over mossy rocks, and the air was
filled with birdsong and squirrel chatter.
And best of all, he and Max were alone. The sweet, unbearably beautiful,
golden-haired girl was right beside him as they soared over the woodland,
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