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Lars nodded.

‘Good, well HSCs have a couple of important characteristics. They can move out of bone marrow and into the bloodstream and once there they can differentiate, or change themselves, into any type of blood cell the body might need. In this regard they’re very flexible. Knowledge about how HSCs work has been key to developing treatments for a number of diseases over the last fifty years.’

Alison paused. What she was about to explain was complicated and she needed him to understand. 

‘Okay, Sheriff, so in the sample you’re looking at the bright blues are the nuclei, or centers, of the cells. You’ll see that a number of the cells have a red corona, like a halo. Those are the HSCs in Gant’s blood. I’ve used a marker – think of it as a dye – to show them up.’

‘Now the first thing that’s surprising is the number of HSCs we see in the sample. About one in every ten to fifteen thousand bone marrow cells is thought to be a stem cell. In the bloodstream the proportion falls to one in a hundred thousand blood cells. We simply shouldn’t be seeing anything like the number of HSCs that seem to be in Gant’s blood.’

Lars looked up from the microscope. That was consistent with what Sue Ellis had said.

‘So would the high concentrations of these HSCs explain Gant’s sudden recovery?’

‘I don’t think so, at least not completely. As powerful as HSCs are, they have a number of limitations. The most important is that they can only differentiate into blood cells. Even though some recent studies with animals have shown that HSCs might be able to form other cell types, like muscle, blood vessels or bone, in humans it’s thought that this simply isn’t possible. But there’s something else.’

She removed the slide on the microscope, carefully replacing it with another.

‘This is from the second sample taken from Gant.’

He bent over the microscope again. The blue splodges were still there, but now there were a lot more with red marking their edges. In addition, there were a significant number of green areas that hadn’t been present before.

‘The first thing you’ll notice is that the number of HSCs has increased dramatically. The number was exceptional before, now it’s frankly unbelievable. Secondly, you’ve probably noticed the green areas in the sample. This is as a result of a second marker, called Oct-4, that I introduced to the sample. Oct-4 is a master regulator of pluripotency that controls lineage commitment – it’s the most recognized marker used for the identification of totipotent embryonic stem cells.’

Lars look told her that she had lost him.

Of course
,
slow down
.

‘Sorry, Sheriff, it’s just that if this isn’t some sort of elaborate hoax it is very exciting. Okay, you’ve probably heard of embryonic stem cells? Well, embryonic stem cells are a very special type of cell found in early stage embryos. They’re important because they’re what’s known as
totipotent
, which just means that they are able to differentiate into every type of cell type in the body. They need to be able to do this in order for a fully-grown human, like you or me, to develop from a fertilized egg. Well, because embryonic stem cells are so flexible, and because of their unlimited capacity for self-renewal, they have been at the center of advances in regenerative medicine. It is hoped that research into this type of stem cell will ultimately allow us to replace tissues or organs damaged by injury or disease.’

‘Sadly for humans these incredibly flexible stem cells are only found in the developing embryo. The stem cells found in adults are far less potent – even the most plastic, the most flexible, types of adult stem cells like HSCs are only capable of differentiating into specific types of cells. We still don’t understand why this is. You’ve probably heard of certain types of animals – crabs, geckos, salamanders - that have the ability to regrow tissue following injury? Well, the current thinking is that complex molecular signals control the behavior of stem cells in the bodies of those animals, switching them on and off, telling them when to change into another type of cell. If we could find some way to understand and ultimately control that signaling within humans then the potential for our bodies to repair themselves could be enormous. So you see, Sheriff, if Gant’s body does actually possess the ability to generate large concentrations of the most powerful stem cell types when it needs them to repair injury, studying him may provide us with answers to some of the most important questions currently faced by medical science.’

The sheriff was staring at her. Alison realized that what she had described probably sounded far-fetched. She now regretted meeting him wearing jeans and a sweatshirt. She was used to skepticism from colleagues when they saw how young she was and she had seen that same look on the sheriff’s face when they had met earlier. But she desperately needed to examine this guy Gant and to do that she would need the sheriff to find him for her. And if he thought she was some kid fresh out of grad school with a crazy theory she might never see him again. She had to make him believe her.

‘Listen Sheriff, I know this might sound implausible. And I’ll admit that so far all we’ve got to go on are some preliminary tests. There’s a lot more work to be done to substantiate what we seem to be seeing here. To be perfectly honest we’ve been struggling since the ’sixties to even accurately identify stem cells. HSCs for instance look and behave in culture like ordinary white blood cells and so we have to rely on cell surface proteins  - the markers I was talking about earlier - to identify them. Unfortunately the process is far from perfect. Some of the cells that have stained positive in the blood samples may not be true stem cells, they could be progenitors, or they may not even be stem cells at all. However, the concentrations we saw in both samples would suggest that even if a small percentage of what the markers have identified are actually HSCs or embryonic cells then Gant is very special. We need to find him.’

She looked across the lab bench at the sheriff, unsure of what else to say. He seemed to be making his mind up about what she had told him, but his face was unreadable. She was desperate to find something else to say that might convince him but she thought it best to give him a moment to reach his own conclusions on what he had just heard. She realized she was holding her breath.

‘Doctor, I won’t pretend to understand what you do here. I suspect you could explain it to me a hundred times and still I wouldn’t get the whole picture. Now I don’t know whether your theory about this guy having the ability to produce these super cells makes sense or not but I suspect you are right that there is something special about this guy and that it relates to his blood. The van was rigged to carry someone who might need medical attention, or at least someone who might need to be tested for something. The guys who grabbed him knew that Gant had a rare blood condition. The chemical necessary to test for it was found in the van and it looks like samples of his blood had already been taken. So the best I can come up with is that somebody was trying to abduct him, that it had something to do with his blood, and that something went badly wrong in the process. Looks like my best chance of getting to the bottom of this is still to try and find him, if I can.’

Lars paused for a moment. When he continued, it seemed to Alison that he was speaking to himself rather than to her.

‘It worries me that he hasn’t shown up at the base though. I get that he might not have felt safe in Mount Grant but Fallon’s less than seventy miles up 95. It’s got to be the safest place in the United States for him right now and he could have been there before we even knew he was gone.’

‘Well, Sheriff, I can’t help you with that. I have to leave for the airport shortly but I promise I will run more tests as soon as I get back to see what else I can find out from his blood. I’d be grateful if you could also let me know as soon as you find him. If Gant’s blood behaves the way the tests seem to indicate I can’t over-emphasize how important he could be.’

Lars thanked her again, leaving the files from the hospital together with copies of Gant’s records from Fallon and details of where he could be contacted day or night.

After he had gone Alison checked her watch. She really had to be making her way to the airport, but for a moment she wished that she didn’t have to go. The last of her colleagues had left that morning and the lab was quiet. She would dearly have loved to spend a couple of days alone running tests on Gant’s blood. But her mother was expecting her; she would be disappointed if she cancelled now. She quickly tidied the lab, placing the files on Gant in the carry-on bag she had brought with her that morning. Then she called a cab to take her to Oakland City for her flight.

11

HE
WOKE
SLOWLY. The blinds in the small room were drawn but he could tell from the failing light that it was already late afternoon. After he had removed the bullet he had passed out, only coming to in the early hours of the following morning. Thirst had driven him into the small bathroom. When he had drunk as much as he could from the washbasin’s tap he had removed the bloodstained clothes he had taken from the security guard and climbed back into bed, falling asleep again almost immediately. He had slept most of the day.

Now he sat up. The muscles in his abdomen were stiff and he winced at the pain in his side. He slowly lifted the strip of towel that was serving as a makeshift dressing. The skin around the area was bruised and tender, but the wound had stopped bleeding. Infection wouldn’t be a concern. The alcohol probably hadn’t been necessary, a product of his training.

He was annoyed with himself. He had no idea who they were, or why they had come for him. But they had had him under surveillance, and he hadn’t even noticed. They were professionals, but the signs would have been there, if he had bothered to look in the right places. Perhaps in recent months he had spent too much time training candidates, too little operational, and had lost a fraction of his edge. Whatever the reason for the lapse, he couldn’t afford to repeat it. He lay back on the bed, forcing himself to replay what he remembered of the abduction. Maybe there would be something there that might offer a clue as to the identity of his attackers.

The tall man. He had seen him the moment he had stepped from behind the sign, the raised hand, the dark blue uniform even from that distance marking him immediately as Nevada Highway Patrol. Or at least that was what they had wanted him to think. He should have been suspicious. Highway patrol rarely policed that stretch of road, particularly that close to Christmas. But instead he’d hit the brakes, the radially-mounted calipers biting instantly, the bike squirming underneath him as he’d fought to control the sudden deceleration. Then the cruiser, its roof lights flashing lazy blue and red as it pulled slowly out behind the patrolman, blocking the road.

He’d brought the bike to a halt on the side of the road where the tall traffic cop had indicated, the tires crunching on the loose gravel. Fitzpatrick made sure that the men at the base knew they weren’t to cause trouble whenever they headed into town and as a result relations between the Navy and local law enforcement were generally good. He’d lifted off his helmet, resting it on the tank in front of him, and opened his jacket, still hoping to escape with a caution. But the man had ignored the olive drab t-shirt and dog tags, motioning to him to step off the bike, beckoning him over to the cruiser, his face impassive behind mirrored Ray-Bans. He’d been told to place his hands flat on the hood and to spread his legs.

Only then as he’d waited, hands resting on the wing of the cruiser, had he begun to realize something wasn’t right. Two patrolmen, not one. Neither of them had asked to see his license or registration, neither had mentioned the traffic violation he had committed. And the second man, swarthy, stocky, now out of the cruiser, walking around to take up a position behind him. He’d recognized the posture and concise, efficient movements of someone who had served years in one or other of the military’s special forces’ communities. The man hadn’t taken his hand from the taser in his belt since he’d stepped from the cruiser. His partner was concealing it better but both men had been tense, continuously taking in their surroundings. What did
they
have to be nervous about?

He’d turned his head to address them, still keeping his palms flat on the cruiser’s hood. As he’d done so he’d caught sunlight glinting off something to his right, behind a shack at the side of the road. The wing mirror of a van, for an instant reflecting the low December sun. And earlier, sunlight reflecting off something else on the peak of Grimes Point. A spotting scope. The man with binoculars as he had left the base. The sudden realization that these men had known he had been coming, had been waiting for him.

He’d started to move then, turning to face them. But he’d been too late. Something sharp had jabbed the side of his neck and as he’d turned he’d seen a syringe in the tall man’s hand. Both men looking at him, waiting for his reaction, the shorter man’s hand still hovering over the taser in his holster. His head had swum, his vision reducing to a dark tunnel as he’d felt his knees buckle. He’d staggered backwards, reaching out with one hand to steady himself against the cruiser. Then he was slipping to the ground, and the two men in the Nevada Highway Patrol uniforms had stepped forward, placing strong hands under his arms to hold him up as he felt his legs give way. The last thing he remembered was the dog tags being pulled from his neck as he had succumbed to the darkness.

His hand flew there as he remembered. He didn’t care about the tags but the St. Christopher medal was all he had from her. It couldn’t be gone. But it was, and there was nothing he could do about it for now. He forced himself to return to the abduction. He would worry about recovering it later.

He didn’t remember much of the van. He’d come to slowly, his head swimming. Movement. The sound of an engine. The drone of tires on asphalt. Voices. Two men laughing, discussing what they were going to do with the money somebody called
El Conde
was going to pay them.