Weapon of Choice Read Online Free PDF Page B

D.C. vicinity for more than seventy-two hours. Ever. But now, in retrospect, he realized he should have paid more attention to the purplish blotches on Matthew’s face that his son had found so embarrassing.
    Having spent his whole career in infectious disease research—the first nine on staphylococcus bacteria and the last nine on the cryptococcus fungus—Victor knew that Matthew was a victim of the HIV virus. Never in his career had he worked in virology research, but for the last few years, the entire infectious disease community had been focused in one way or another on HIV. Recently, even his own cryptococcus research had focused on opportunistic fungal infections in HIV-positive patients.
    No one had a cure for HIV/AIDS, though experts recommended AZT—zidovudine—in high doses. Nor was there a cure for Kaposi sarcoma, which Victor knew was the cause of the blemishes that Matthew thought were merely cosmetic. But there was a new cure for invasive staph infections, and that female doctor in Tampa emphasized that Matthew had a staph infection. That cure had come out of Victor’s lab at the NIAID division of the National Institutes of Health.
    The drug that resulted from his own research was being tested now in clinical trials by Keystone Pharma. Right now, at this very moment, some fortunate stranger suffering with virulent staph was getting an infusion of his drug, ticokellin. Matthew would have ticokellin by the end of the day. And that was why Victor was headed to Philadelphia on his way to Tampa to see his son.
    When the train arrived at 30th Street Station, Victor picked up his rental car and drove north out of Philadelphia toward Montgomery County. Fifty minutes later, he rushed through the glass doors of Keystone Pharma headquarters.
    â€œDr. Norman Kantor, please,” he told the receptionist.
    â€œI’m sorry, sir, Dr. Kantor has retired,” the black female replied. Name tag: Marie. Pleasant smile.
    Victor thought he’d heard that on the professional grapevine, but Norman had never bothered to inform him directly.
    â€œThen I’ll see his replacement.”
    â€œWithout an appointment, sir, I don’t believe that will be possible. But I will be glad to check with his assistant. Your name?”
    Victor also gave his title at the NIH. He and Dr. Kantor had been colleagues he stressed—worked on related research subjects.
    Marie dialed, explained into her headset. She smiled at Victor, “Dr. Minn will see you, sir. He’s our director of research.”
    A diminutive man in an oversized white lab coat appeared without delay. “Fred Minn,” he said, offering his hand to Victor. “We can talk in the conference room.”
    Victor followed the white lab coat. They entered a space about the size of a coatroom, to the left of the glass entrance doors. He’d expected to be ushered into the director’s office, offered a tour of the labs—the same courtesies he would show a visiting colleague. So far, Victor hadn’t even gotten past security.
    â€œI’m afraid that I’m having a very busy day, Dr. Worth. I don’t believe we had an appointment. So, what can I do for you?”
    You can give me a supply of ticokellin
, he wanted to say, but he knew these industry scientists were political animals, so he methodically presented his case for a compassionate IND for Matthew. He peppered his request with tidbits of cutting-edge scientific insight about the virulence and resistance of Staph aureus. Victor was not some nobody off the street.
    Dr. Minn listened politely, apparently impressed with Victor’s research acumen, until Victor concluded.
    â€œNot possible,” he answered.
    Victor felt his face get hot—which meant his cheeks also were turning red. “I invented the prototype for that drug at the NIH. Norman Kantor as much as stole it from me. I demand that I leave with it!” Victor started to get up, not