Fatal Care by Leonard Goldberg Page B

last on the shelves in food stores for days longer than ordinary tomatoes.”
    “So what’s the problem?”
    “They’ve lost their taste and we have to find out why.”
    Hoddings peered over at the corn, his head moving up and down as if he were measuring the stalks. “And the corn presents an even greater problem. These plants were genetically altered by a Midwestern university so they would resist various pests. In essence, a piece of DNA was inserted into them and this instructs the plant to make its own pesticide. That way farmers would no longer have to spray. And it worked fine. But unfortunately the corn’s inborn pesticide killed more than pests. It killed butterflies and caterpillars and other lower forms of life.”
    Hoddings took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. “And what kills them can eventually affect us.”
    “Has this genetically modified corn already been commercially planted? I mean, is it in widespread use?”
    “You don’t want to know the answer to that.”
    They approached the back of the laboratory where Eric Brennerman was conducting an experiment. Blood was being pumped through a long, slender glass tube and then through coils before emptying into a large flask. The blood flowed into the flask and sat there a moment; then it was pumped out again into another glass tube that curved around and connected to the front tube, forming a closed circuit system. Brennerman watched the blood moving in a smooth, even fashion. He seemed pleased.
    Hoddings cleared his throat audibly.
    Brennerman looked over and waved. “I’ll be with you in a second.”
    Abruptly, Brennerman turned off the pump in his experiment. The flow stopped. The blood remained stationary in the tubes. Brennerman watched the clock on the wall. Thirty seconds passed. Then a minute. Then two minutes. He started the pump again and the blood moved smoothly. No clots had been formed.
    Brennerman gave some instructions to a nearby technician and then walked over. He was a well-built, handsome man with a strong jawline and dark hair that was slicked back and held in place by some sort of gel.
    “Hey, Joanna,” Brennerman said genially. “What brings you to Fantasyland?”
    Hoddings’s face tightened at the word
Fantasyland
.
    “Business,” Joanna said. “I need some information from you.”
    “You got it.”
    Joanna motioned over to the experiment Brennerman had just completed. “Is that blood in those glass tubes?”
    “Yes.”
    “Then why didn’t it clot when you stopped the pump?”
    “Because it contains an anticoagulant,” he explained.
    “Is there anything unusual about the anticoagulant?”
    “It might be heparin.”
    Joanna’s eyes widened. “Have you discovered the gene that produces heparin?”
    “Could be,” Brennerman said vaguely, not wanting to give out too much information.
    Joanna glanced back at the blood in the glass tubing. Heparin was an excellent, widely used anticoagulant whose chemical formula was so complex it had never been synthesized. All heparin now used in patients was extracted from porcine intestines. If Brennerman had discovered the gene that coded out for heparin, it was worth billions of dollars. She wondered when his company would go public.
    “Tell me about this information you need,” Brennerman broke into her thoughts.
    “Perhaps we’d better talk in your office.”
    They walked across the spacious laboratory and entered a small, cluttered office. Shelves on the wall were packed with books and journals and scientific manuscripts. On the floor were stacks of computer printouts.
    Brennerman plopped down in a swivel chair behind his desk and gestured to two director’s chairs across from him. He waited for Joanna and Hoddings to be seated. “What can I do for you?”
    “I need information on your artery-cleansing agent,” Joanna said.
    “Anything in particular?” Brennerman asked.
    “I need to know what’s in the solution that’s injected into patients.”
    “The