“Sounds good!” Stephanie said. She started for the door. “I’ll be back in about an hour.”

“Where are you going?”

“The bookstore downtown,” Stephanie called over her shoulder. She hesitated at the threshold. “They are holding a book for me. After I got the tissue culture started, I began looking into the Shroud of Turin issue. I have to say, I lucked out in our division of labor. The shroud is turning out to be much more interesting than I imagined.”

“What did you find out?”

“Just enough to hook me, but I’ll give you a full report in about twenty-four hours.”

Daniel smiled, flashed Stephanie a thumbs-up, and turned back to his computer screen. He used a search engine to bring up a list of infertility clinics and found the Wingate Clinic’s website. A few clicks later, he was connected.

He scrolled through the first few pages. As expected, it was composed of laudatory material to entice would-be clients. Under a section labeled MEET OUR STAFF, he made a brief side trip to read the professional resumes of the principals, which included the founder and CEO, Dr. Spencer Wingate; the head of Research and Laboratory Services, Dr. Paul Saunders; and the head of Clinical Services, Dr. Sheila Donaldson. The resumes were as glowing as the descriptions of the clinic itself, although in Daniel’s opinion, all three individuals had attended second-tier or even third-tier schools and training programs.

At the bottom of the page, he found what he wanted: a phone number. There was also an email address, but Daniel wanted to talk directly with one of the principals, either Wingate or Saunders. Picking up the phone, Daniel dialed the number. The call was answered quickly by a pleasant-sounding operator who launched into a short, rote eulogy of the clinic before asking with whom Daniel wished to be connected.

“Dr. Wingate,” Daniel said. He decided he might as well start at the top.

There was another short pause before Daniel was connected to an equally pleasant-sounding woman. She politely asked for Daniel’s name before committing whether Dr. Wingate was available. When Daniel mentioned his name, the response was immediate.

“Is this Dr. Daniel Lowell of Harvard University?”

Daniel paused momentarily, as he tried to decide how to respond. “I have been at Harvard, although at the moment I am with my own firm.”

“I’ll get Dr. Wingate for you,” the secretary said. “I know he’s been waiting to talk with you.”

After a sustained blink of disbelief, Daniel pulled the phone from his ear and stared at it momentarily, as if it could explain the secretary’s unexpected response. How could Spencer Wingate be waiting to talk with him? Daniel shook his head.

“Good afternoon, Dr. Lowell!” a voice responded with a clipped New England accent a full octave higher than Daniel would have expected. “I’m Spencer Wingate, and I’m pleased to hear from you. We expected your call last week, but no matter. Would you mind waiting momentarily while I get Dr. Saunders on the line? It will take a minute, but we might as well make this a conference call, since I know Dr. Saunders is as eager to talk with you as I.”

“Fine,” Daniel said agreeably, although his bewilderment was deepening. He leaned back in his chair, lifted his feet onto his desk, and switched the phone to his left hand so he could use his right to drum a pencil on his desk. He’d been caught totally unawares by Spencer Wingate’s response to his call and felt a twinge of anxiety. He kept hearing Stephanie’s admonitions about getting involved with these infamous infertility mavericks.

A minute dragged on to five. Just when Daniel had recovered his equilibrium enough to question if he’d been inadvertently disconnected, Spencer popped back on the line. He was slightly out of breath. “Okay, I’m back! How about you, Paul? Are you on?”

“I’m here,” Paul said, apparently using an extension in another room. In contrast to Spencer’s voice, Paul’s was rather deep, with a distinct Midwestern nasal twang. “I’m pleased to talk with you, Daniel, if I may call you that.”

“If you wish,” Daniel said. “Whatever suits you.”

“Thank you. And please call me Paul. No need for formalities between friends and colleagues. Let me say right off how much I am looking forward to working with you.”

“That’s my sentiment as well,” Spencer declared. “Heck! The whole clinic is eager. How soon can we expect you?”

“Well, that’s one of the reasons I’m calling,” Daniel said vaguely, struggling to be diplomatic, but intensely curious. “But first I’d like to ask how it is that you expected me to call?”

“From your scout or whatever his job title might be,” Spencer answered. “What was his name again, Paul?”

“Marlowe,” Paul said.

“Right! Bob Marlowe,” Spencer said. “After he finished checking out our facility, he said you’d be contacting us the following week. Needless to say, we were disappointed when we didn’t hear from you. But that’s water under the bridge now that you have called.”

“We’re delighted you want to use our facility,” Paul said. “It will be an honor to work with you. Now I hope you don’t mind me speculating about what you have in mind, because Bob Marlowe was vague, but I’m assuming you want to try your ingenious HTSR on a patient. I mean, why else would you want to forsake your own lab and those great hospitals you have in Boston. Am I correct in this assumption?”

“How do you know about HTSR?” Daniel asked. He wasn’t sure he wanted to admit to his motivations so early in the conversation.

“We read your outstanding paper in Nature,” Paul said. “It was brilliant, simply brilliant. Its overall importance to bioscience reminded me of my own paper, “In Vitro Maturation of Human Oocytes.” Did you happen to read it?”

“Not yet,” Daniel responded, forcing himself to continue to be tactful. “What journal was it in?”

“The Journal of Twenty-first Century Reproductive Technology,” Spencer said.

“That’s a journal I’m not familiar with,” Daniel responded. “Who publishes it?”

“We do,” Paul said proudly. “Right here at the Wingate Clinic. We’re as committed to research as we are to clinical services.”

Daniel rolled his eyes. Lacking peer review, scientific self-publishing was an oxymoron, and he was impressed with the accuracy of Butler’s capsule description of these two men.

“HTSR has never been used on a human,” Daniel said, still avoiding answering Paul’s question.

“We understand that,” Spencer interjected. “And that’s one of many reasons why we would be thrilled to have it done here first. Being on the cutting edge is precisely the kind of reputation Wingate Clinic is striving to establish.”

“The FDA would frown on performing an experimental procedure outside of an approved protocol,” Daniel said. “They would never give approval.”

“Of course they wouldn’t approve,” Spencer agreed. “And we should know.” He laughed, and Paul chimed in as well. “But here in the Bahamas, there’s no need for the FDA to know, since they have no jurisdiction.”

“If I were to do HTSR on a human, it would have to be in absolute secrecy,” Daniel said, finally indirectly acknowledging his plans. “It cannot be divulged and obviously could not be used for your promotional purposes.”

“We are fully aware of that,” Paul said. “Spencer was not implying we would use it right away.”

“Heavens, no!” Spencer chirped. “I was thinking of using it only after it became mainstream.”

“I would have to retain the right to determine when that might be,” Daniel said. “I will not even be using the episode to promote HTSR.”

“No?” Paul questioned. “Then why do you want to do it?”

“For purely personal reasons,” Daniel said. “I’m confident HTSR will work just as well with humans as it has with mice. But I need to prove it to myself with a patient to give me the fortitude to deal with the backlash I’m facing from the political right. I don’t know if you are aware, but I’m fighting a potential congressional ban on my procedure.”