MARCH 5, 1997

10:00 A.M.

NEW YORK CITY

RAYMOND Lyons pulled up his cuff-linked sleeve and glanced at his wafer-thin Piaget watch. It was exactly ten o’clock. He was content. He liked to be punctual especially for business meetings, but he did not like to be early. As far as he was concerned being early reeked of desperation, and Raymond had a penchant for bargaining from a position of strength.

For the previous few minutes he’d been standing on the corner of Park Avenue and Seventy-eighth Street, waiting for the hour to arrive. Now that it had, he straightened his tie, adjusted his fedora, and started walking toward the entrance of 972 Park Avenue.

“I’m looking for Dr. Anderson’s office,” Raymond announced to the liveried doorman who’d opened the heavy wrought-iron and glass door.

“The doctor’s office has its own entrance,” the doorman replied. He reopened the door behind Raymond, stepped out onto the sidewalk and pointed south.

Raymond touched the tip of his hat in appreciation before moving down to this private entrance. A sign of engraved brass read: Please ring and then enter. Raymond did as he was told.

As the door closed behind him, Raymond was immediately pleased. The office looked and even smelled like money. It was sumptuously appointed with antiques and thick oriental carpets. The walls were covered with nineteenth-century art.

Raymond advanced to an elegant, boulle-work French desk. A well-dressed, matronly receptionist glanced up at him over her reading glasses. A nameplate sat on the desk facing Raymond. It said: Mrs. Arthur P. Auchincloss.

Raymond gave his name, being sure to emphasize the fact that he was a physician. He was well aware that some doctors’ receptionists could be uncomfortably imperious if they didn’t know a visitor was a member of the trade.

“The doctor is expecting you,” Mrs. Auchincloss said. Then she politely asked Raymond to wait in the waiting room.

“It’s a beautiful office,” Raymond said to make conversation.

“Indeed,” Mrs. Auchincloss said.

“Is it a large office?” Raymond asked.

“Yes, of course,” Mrs. Auchincloss said. “Dr. Anderson is a very busy man. We have four full examining rooms and an X-ray room.”

Raymond smiled. It wasn’t difficult for him to guess the astronomical overhead that Dr. Anderson had been duped into assuming by so-called productivity experts during the heyday of “fee-for-service” medicine. From Raymond’s point of view, Dr. Anderson was the perfect quarry as a potential partner. Although the doctor undoubtedly still had a small backlog of wealthy patients willing to pay cash to retain their old, comfortable relationship, Dr. Anderson had to have been being squeezed by managed care.

“I suppose that means a large staff,” Raymond said.

“We’re down to one nurse,” Mrs. Auchincloss said. “It’s hard to find appropriate help these days.”

Yeah, sure, Raymond mused. One nurse for four examining rooms unquestionably meant the doctor was struggling. But Raymond didn’t vocalize his thoughts. Instead he let his eyes roam around the carefully wallpapered walls and said: “I’ve always admired these old-school, Park Avenue offices. They are so civilized and serene. They can’t help but impart a feeling of trust.”

“I’m sure our patients feel the same way,” Mrs. Auchincloss said.

An interior door opened and a bejeweled, Gucci-draped, elderly woman stepped into the reception area. She was painfully thin and had suffered so many face-lifts that her mouth was drawn into a taut, unremitting smirk. Behind her was Dr. Waller Anderson.

Raymond’s and Waller’s eyes crossed for a fleeting moment as the doctor guided his patient to the receptionist and gave instructions of when he should see her next.

Raymond assessed the doctor. He was tall and had a refined look that Raymond sensed he possessed as well. But Waller wasn’t tanned. In fact, his complexion had a grayish cast, and he looked strained with sad eyes and hollow cheeks. As far as Raymond was concerned, hard times were written all over his face.

After warm goodbyes to his patient, Waller motioned Raymond to follow him. He led down a long corridor that gave access to the examining rooms. At the end he preceded Raymond into his private office, then closed the door after them.

Waller introduced himself cordially but with obvious reserve. He took Raymond’s hat and coat, which he carefully hung in a small closet.

“Coffee?” Waller asked.

“By all means,” Raymond said.

A few minutes later, both with coffee, and with Waller behind his desk and Raymond sitting in a chair in front, Raymond began his pitch.

“These are tough times to be practicing medicine,” Raymond said.

Waller made a sound that was akin to a laugh, but it was bereft of humor. Obviously he wasn’t amused.

“We can offer you an opportunity to significantly augment your income as well as provide a state-of-the-art service to select patients,” Raymond said. For the most part Raymond’s presentation was a practiced speech that he’d perfected over the years.

“Is there anything illegal about this?” Waller interjected. His tone was serious, almost irritable. “If there is, I’m not interested.”

“Nothing illegal,” Raymond assured him. “Just extremely confidential. From our phone call, you said you would be willing to keep this conversation just among you, me, and Dr. Daniel Levitz.”

“As long as my silence is not felonious in and of itself,” Waller said. “I will not be duped into being an accessory.”

“No need to worry,” Raymond said. He smiled. “But if you do decide to join our group, you will be asked to sign an affidavit concerning confidentiality. Only then will you be told the specific details.”

“I don’t have any trouble with signing an affidavit,” Waller said. “As long as I’m not breaking any law.”

“Well, then,” Raymond said. He put his coffee cup on the edge of Waller’s desk to free up his hands. He fervently believed that hand gestures were important for impact. He started by telling about his chance meeting seven years previously with Kevin Marshall who’d given a poorly attended presentation at a national meeting that dealt with homologous transposition of chromosome parts between cells.

“Homologous transposition?” Waller questioned. “What the devil is that?” Having been through medical school prior to the revolution in molecular biology, he was unfamiliar with the terms.

Raymond patiently explained and used for his example the short arms of chromosome 6.

“So this Kevin Marshall developed a way to take a piece of chromosome from one cell and exchange it for the same piece in the same location of another cell,” Waller said.

“Exactly,” Raymond said. “And for me it was like an epiphany. I immediately saw the clinical application. Suddenly it was potentially possible to create an immunological double of an individual. As I’m sure you are aware, the short arm of chromosome six contains the major histocompatibility complex.”

“Like an identical twin,” Waller said with growing interest.

“Even better than an identical twin,” Raymond said. “The immunological double is created in an appropriately sized animal species that can be sacrificed on demand. Few people would be able to have an identical twin sacrificed.”

“Why wasn’t this published?” Waller asked.

“Dr. Marshall fully intended to publish,” Raymond said. “But there were some minor details he wanted to work out before he did so. It was his department head that forced him to present at the meeting. Lucky for us!

“After hearing the talk, I approached him and convinced him to go private. It wasn’t easy, but what tipped the scales in our favor was that I promised him the lab of his dreams with no interference from academia. I assured him that he would be given any and every piece of equipment he wanted.”