The university’s cryogenic and genetics lab was housed in a nondescript brick building, its interior cut down the center by a single corridor. No one sat behind the receptionist’s desk when Lara arrived on a Wednesday afternoon, and Lara moved past it without stopping. She didn’t have an appointment and would feel foolish trying to explain her reason for visiting Dr. Braun.
Better to just drop in and act as though this were a casual visit. Helmut Braun hadn’t visited the Women’s Clinic since her meeting with him three weeks before, and she wanted to be certain he was still committed to helping her. She had spent the last eight days on hormonal medications, and this morning’s ultrasound had indicated that the follicles of her ovaries were enlarged. Olivia was ready to proceed with the injection to cause the final ripening of the eggs; retrieval would have to occur soon afterward. Though the harvested eggs, or oocytes, could survive freezing indefinitely, Lara didn’t want to waste time. She needed to know if Dr. Braun had begun the genetic screening of the DNA from Michael’s specimen.
The first door on her left bore Dr. Braun’s name, and Lara paused to peer through the window. Bright fluorescent light gave the laboratory a slightly blue look, and along the wall an array of stainless steel tanks shimmered beneath the overhead lights. A freestanding chalkboard, scribbled with numbers and symbols, stood against one wall; stacks of files and bound documents cluttered the tables. Suspended from the ceiling like a work of art, a winding double helix spiraled slowly above the heads of two young men working at computers along the far wall. In the corner of the room stood another door—undoubtedly the entrance to Dr. Braun’s private office.
Lara pulled the lab door open and walked toward the office, then jumped when a voice broke the quiet.
“You looking for Braun?” One of the students had turned in his seat. He looked at her through a fringe of brown bangs, an inexplicable, lazy smile sweeping over his face.
“Yes,” she answered, her face burning under the frank approval in his eyes.
“Back there.” The boy jerked his thumb toward the inner door, then draped his arm over the back of his chair, watching her as she walked by. Lara groaned inwardly. College men—she’d almost forgotten that the average model came equipped with an overactive libido.
She straightened and kept walking, reassured by the sight of Olivia’s husband through the door’s rectangular window. Dr. Braun sat at his desk, a frustrated expression on his face. He waved his hand as if he were trying to explain something to the dark-haired man seated in the chair before him.
Momentarily embarrassed, Lara paused at the edge of the nearest lab table. She had hoped to catch Dr. Braun on his lunch hour. She wanted her visit to be a casual reminder, not an irritating nudge to action, but if she had caught him at a busy time he was certain to be annoyed.
“You can have a seat, if you want.”
Lara glanced over her shoulder and saw that both students were hunched over their chairs, grinning at her like gargoyles. Good grief, didn’t women ever come into the genetics lab?
“Thanks.” After giving them a fleeting smile, she pulled out a wooden stool and perched on it while she pretended to study the scrawled chalkboard on the wall. Couldn’t Braun hurry? She had not changed her mind about her decision, but in the last three weeks a host of doubts, fears, and questions had plagued her peace. She still believed God wanted to give her Michael’s child, but so many things could go wrong. Were Michael’s sperm still viable? Were they healthy? And if they did carry a gene that might indicate cancer, would Braun be able to eradicate it?
Inside the office, the doctor stood and moved toward the door while the dark-haired visitor remained seated. Lara slid from her stool as the door opened. If Dr. Braun were stepping out to grab a bite to eat, she might be able to walk with him to the snack machines or to the cafeteria . . .
She cleared her throat and stepped forward. “Dr. Braun?”
He blinked at her, surprised. “Ms. Godfrey?”
“Hi. I just wanted to stop by and let you know that Olivia did an ultrasound this morning. The time is ripe—if you’ll pardon my pun.” She looked down as blood began to pound in her temples. “I just wondered if you have had a chance to examine that specimen.”
The doctor’s mouth took on an unpleasant twist. “You should probably call me later—I seem to have misplaced the registration information. But you will have to excuse me now; I have to run a brief errand.”
Lara stepped back. “Please, don’t let me stop you. I know I should have called for an appointment, but I was in the area and thought I’d just stop by.”
He gestured toward the lab door. “I have to run to a colleague’s office. You can call me with that information later.”
“Okay.” Embarrassed by the overeagerness that had brought her to the lab, Lara gave him a tentative smile. “I’m sorry. I’m probably being presumptuous.”
“You are not the first to intrude,” Braun mumbled, moving toward the door. “No one ever thinks I am busy. Nobody ever calls. They just come and ask and expect me to provide . . .”
The door closed behind him, muffling his voice. Mortified beyond belief, Lara looked away so the two gargoyles wouldn’t see the heat stealing into her face. Where in the world had Olivia found that man? He might be a genius, but he seemed so different from his wife. How could two such opposite people fall in love?
“He’s quite a character, isn’t he?”
Startled by a new voice, she turned and cringed when she realized that Dr. Braun’s visitor had moved into the doorway. The man was startlingly attractive and familiar, probably forty-five, with dark hair, deep eyes, and classically handsome features. He wore an exquisite suit, elegant and subtly dramatic, and leaned against the door frame with languid, slimly muscled grace. His appreciative eye traveled from her sneakers to her forehead; then his gaze caught and held hers. “I’m sorry, but I couldn’t help overhearing. You work with the absentminded professor’s wife? Dr. Olivia Densen-Braun?”
“Yes.” Lara found it impossible not to return his disarming smile. “I’m a physician’s assistant in her clinic.”
Casually, he folded his arms. “You look rather young for such an important job.”
She laughed. “Thanks, but I’m older than I look.” She locked her hands behind her back and rocked slightly on her heels, wondering how to extricate herself from the conversation. If this man was trying to charm her, he deserved an A for effort, but she wasn’t in the market for a Prince Charming.
“You’re intelligent too,” he said, his dark eyes holding her in a vaguely appraising glance. “It shows in your face, Miss—”
“Mrs.—Mrs. Godfrey.” She lowered her gaze as tears welled in her eyes. “Lara Godfrey.”
“I’m sorry.” The man’s voice deepened in concern. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”
“It’s okay.” She crossed one arm across her chest and suddenly felt as awkward as a schoolgirl before the captain of the football team. “My husband passed away a few months ago. I’m afraid I’m not used to—well, sometimes I don’t know who I am anymore. If it weren’t for friends and God-given strength—” She bit her lip, aware that she was talking too much. This stranger didn’t want to hear about her personal problems.
“You have my sincere condolences.” After a brief moment, the man extended his hand. “Devin Sloane. I’m pleased to meet you, Mrs. Godfrey.”
She stared up at him, surprised that his name struck a chord in her memory. She might know the name, but she had never seen this striking face, at least not at close range. She would have remembered it.
She took his hand. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Sloane.”
“I know a little about what you’re feeling.” He released her hand and returned his own to his pocket. “My wife and teenage son were killed in an automobile accident two years ago.” He shifted his gaze to the non- descript floor tiles. “Life has not been the same, but I have moved on. You must not give up hope.”
“I haven’t.” She lifted her chin, finding a strange comfort in his words. If she didn’t believe that life could and should go on, she wouldn’t have come to see Dr. Braun. “I believe God has a plan for my future,” she answered, “and I’m determined to move forward.”
“That’s the spirit.” Sloane’s smile widened; then he looked at his watch. “Excuse me, but I have to make a phone call. Why don’t you wait for the good doctor in my place? I’ll finish with him later.”
“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Lara protested, looking toward the door for some sign of Dr. Braun.
“It’s a pleasure to forfeit to you,” Devin Sloane called, moving toward the exit. “Take your time, Ms. Godfrey. I can always find Braun when I need him.” At the doorway, he glanced at the two wide-eyed students for a brief second, then gave her a cordial smile. “I wish you the best, Lara Godfrey. I am quite certain you deserve it.”
She nodded her thanks and watched, mystified, as he stepped into the hall and moved out of sight.
“Wow!” One of the students turned wide eyes upon her. “The Devin Sloane spoke to you!”
Lara chewed on the inside of her lip. She hated feeling out of touch, but who in the world was Devin Sloane and why were these students so impressed by him?
“Um,” she stepped closer to the computers, “what’s so unusual about finding Devin Sloane here?”
“Nothing,” the second student answered, scrubbing his curly hair with his knuckles, “if your lab caters to billionaires.”
Lara gaped at the doorway through which Sloane had departed. So that’s how she knew the name! Sloane was a famous financier and philanthropist. Though the man was rumored to be as powerful as Bill Gates, he was of far more interest to the locals since he’d built a mansion on a hundred acres of rolling hills outside Charlottesville. She had never paid much attention to either the financial or the society sections of the paper, but perhaps she ought to start reading them.
She glanced at her watch. “I’ve got to get back to the office,” she said, not caring whether the students heard her or not. “I’ll call the doctor later.”
“Come back to see us,” one of the students called as the door closed behind her.
The next morning, Devin slammed his hands on Braun’s desk and leaned toward the bewildered doctor. “Lara Godfrey—tell me why she came to see you yesterday.”
“Lara?” Braun’s round face went red. “Why—it is nothing. She needed an analysis of her husband’s sperm in preparation for IVF.”
“The dead husband?”
Braun nodded. “Deceased only six months, but the sample is three years old. I have not yet completed the genetic screening, but the sperm shows fair motility.” His faint smile held a touch of sadness. “I had planned to spend quite a bit of time on her case, perhaps even publish my results if I succeed in eradicating a cancer indicator. But I do not see how I’ll be able to work on her case and yours too.” He stopped and lifted his hand. “But of course I will concentrate on your project. I only began the screening for her last night because my wife insisted. Olivia is performing the follicular aspiration this morning, and we will freeze the oocytes early this afternoon.”
Still staring down at the doctor, Devin straightened and rested his hands on his belt. “She wants a baby?”
“Of course.”
His mind racing, Devin sank back into the utilitarian chair across from Braun’s desk. “Any genetic risk in her medical history?”
Braun made a face. “I shouldn’t think so. She’s a strong woman and a good PA. My wife adores her. She would have no problem carrying a child. She is concerned, though, because her husband died of a rare bone cancer.”
“What did your preliminary tests reveal? Is her husband’s DNA defective?”
Braun pressed his lips together. “I should not be talking about this. It is a private matter concerning Ms. Godfrey.”
Devin leaned across the desk and grasped the doctor’s plump wrist. “I am funding your research, Doctor, so whatever happens in this lab is of extreme personal concern to me. And Lara Godfrey is not your patient; she is your wife’s. So tell me, Braun—is her husband’s sperm defective? What did you tell her?”
Braun sighed heavily and tented his hands. “I have not told her anything yet. The tests are not complete. There are so many things we ought to look for—markers for Huntington’s disease, cystic fibrosis, Tay-Sachs, hemophilia A, fragile X syndrome, Duchenne muscular dystrophy, Lesch-Nyhan syndrome, Down syndrome . . .”
Devin gave the doctor a black look. “What have you found?”
Braun exhaled. “I found the first thing I looked for—EXT1 on chromosome eight, and EXT2 on chromosome eleven. The presence of these genes does not mean that a child will develop cancer, but he certainly could.”
“Have you told her this?”
“Yes. I spoke to her about an hour ago.”
“And her reaction?”
“Guarded.” The doctor looked away. “She is an idealistic sort, and she wants this baby desperately. I think she would have proceeded with AI even without genetic testing, but Olivia insisted upon the tests.”
Braun looked down at his desk and absently straightened a stack of papers. His countenance fell, taking on the withered look of an empty balloon. “I do not know how to tell her. She is counting on me to eradicate the EXT1 and EXT2, but I have not had time to do the research— especially not the way she wants it carried out. Lara is religious; she will give me permission to fertilize only one harvested egg; the others must remain frozen.” He sighed as his gaze wandered to the phone. “I will have to call her this afternoon.”
“Don’t call her.” Devin smiled, his mind curling itself around the sweet possibility Braun had just presented. He propped his foot on the edge of the doctor’s desk. “Let’s suppose,” he said, eyeing the doctor carefully, “you could assure Lara Godfrey that the questionable genes had been eradicated.”
Braun lifted a brow but said nothing.
Barely able to control his eagerness, Devin leaned forward. “You will use the husband’s sperm, but his flawed DNA will be overruled by artificial human chromosomes carrying the Iceman’s genes. Like a string of perfect living pearls, the genes will infiltrate the fertilized egg and copy themselves into every cell of the fetus’s body, thus guaranteeing that even the child’s descendents will spring from Homo Tyrolensis.”
The doctor’s mouth opened. “Use Lara as the germline test subject?”
Devin dropped his foot and grasped the edge of the desk. “She is the perfect candidate. She’s bright, independent, healthy, careful, medically knowledgeable, and there’s no husband to complicate the situation. With both you and your wife involved, we will have her under nearly constant observation. If anything goes wrong, you’ll be the first to know. The situation is inconceivably perfect.”
Braun’s broad face twisted in shock. “It is impossible; Olivia would never permit it. Lara herself would not agree; she wants her husband’s child.”
“Legally, it will be her husband’s child, conceived with his sperm sample. And no one but you and I need know about the germline test.” Flush with the idea, Devin grinned and tented his hands. “Get Mrs. Godfrey’s signed permission to manipulate the DNA strand in her husband’s sperm, and you’re legally covered in case the truth ever comes out. But it won’t, Helmut, because I won’t allow it. She will conceive the child, she will be thrilled to carry it, and the purest example of DNA on the planet will once again be gifted with life! The biological son of Homo Tyrolensis will be born on the cusp of a new millennium! Don’t you see the possibilities?”
The doctor’s brows slanted downward. “What about the child? After it is born, what then? How can you explain why the child does not look like her husband? What if it is born with big feet, or a hairy back—”
“Good grief, Doctor, we’re not talking about a Neanderthal. We’re talking about a superman in the most spiritual sense of the word, the complete opposite of modern human beings. I do not know what qualities he will possess, but I am certain he will be extraordinary.”
Warming to his subject, Devin rested his elbows on Braun’s desk and focused his gaze on the doctor’s granite face. “Have you seen the latest parade of tortured individuals featured on the television news? We are plagued, Doctor, by humans who can’t conceive an original thought above marrying their mother’s boyfriend or abusing their own offspring. We are hunted by serial killers who expend their best energies devising ways to destroy innocent lives. We are entrenched in a social system in which the top 20 percent of our population controls 94 percent of wealth and income. Don’t you see that our society is mirroring conditions in midtwentieth-century Germany? If mankind is not improved, our ‘tough love’ programs like Norplant for welfare mothers and ‘three strikes and you’re out’ will relegate our undesirables to prisons, selective breeding and yes, even controlled euthanasia. Homo Tyrolensis is our answer! He will be our salvation! And once he lives, his DNA will provide the foundation for a new generation of superior humans.”
“But what about the woman?” Braun’s brow creased. “Half of the child’s genetic stock will come from an eroded twentieth-century female. How can you avoid human frailty if you use a contemporary woman as the mother?”
“He will need her.” Devin closed his eyes. “Her body, her genes, will contain the immunities and biological codes he will need to survive in our world. His strength will be made perfect in her weakness, and hers in his. They will complement each other; they must!”
The doctor clamped his jaw tight and stared into his own thoughts. Realizing that he had hit upon a sore spot, Devin picked up a pencil from the doctor’s desk. “You told me once that you hoped for a type of immortality,” he said, twirling the pencil between his hands. “If you help me in this, you will go down in history as the man who saved the human race from self-extinction. But we must hurry. I want to achieve pregnancy as soon as possible.”
“And Lara Godfrey?” A faint thread of hysteria lined Braun’s voice. “What will become of her after the child is born?”
“I will take care of everything,” Devin answered, his eyes glued to the pencil. “I never do anything without a contingency plan. Ideally, we will take the child from her at delivery. If by some fluke of fate she refuses to surrender her maternal rights, we will present her with legal documents attesting to the fact that she has been hired as a surrogate to carry my child.”
Sloane looked up, noted the fearful grimace on Braun’s face, and continued. “You said she wanted her husband’s baby—well, the child won’t actually be her husband’s. Later, two or three months after the delivery, you will proceed with your plan to fertilize another of her eggs with her husband’s sperm. You will have your cancer research project, she will have the child she so desperately wants . . . but I will have the son of Homo Tyrolensis.”
Braun’s nose quivered beneath his glasses. “Are you certain she will not be . . . physically harmed?”
Devin lowered the pencil and gave the doctor a slow smile. “You have my word upon it.”