Desh was almost six feet tall, with green eyes and short brown hair. And while he had never thought of himself as particularly handsome, the open, friendly nature of his face seemed to appeal to women far out of proportion to his looks. But while the most beautiful of women were often attracted to him, a woman’s intelligence, confidence, and sense of humor had come to matter to him far more than her appearance. He couldn’t stand to be around an empty-headed woman, no matter how beautiful, or one who didn’t have a down-to-earth personality. He wondered what Kira Miller might be like.
A part of him realized that this primitive, lizard brained interest in a girl who was nothing but a picture and a profile was foolish—but perhaps it was also a sign of returning health. He had felt numb inside since Iran, during which time he had lost all interest in starting any type of relationship. On the other hand, perhaps nothing had really changed. Perhaps he allowed himself a glimmer of interest in this woman because she was just an inaccessible two-dimensional profile, and one sure to have some unusual baggage at that, rather than a relatively safe, flesh-and-blood women whose picture wasn’t inside a top-secret military folder.
Despite this, Desh found himself hoping that this newfound spark, tiny and foolish though it was, would not be extinguished immediately. It was time to find out. “She sounds too good to be true,” he said pointedly.
The corners of Connelly’s mouth turned up in a slight, humorless smile. “Well, you know what they say about things that sound too good to be true.”
Desh frowned. “They usually are,” he finished.
Connelly nodded.
Desh had his answer. Too bad, he thought.
Not the damsel after all.
2
Jim Connelly reached into a small white refrigerator that was tucked away against the wall of his office, pulled out two chilled plastic bottles of spring water, and handed one to Desh. Desh nodded his thanks, unscrewed the cap, and took an appreciative sip, while Connelly slid a wooden coaster across to him.
The colonel took a drink from his own bottle. “From what we understand, Kira Miller is even more of a genius than her record would suggest,” he said. “Especially when it comes to gene therapy. In this field, scientists who have worked with her think she might just be the most brilliant, intuitive scientist alive today.”
“Gene therapy?”
“It’s just like the name suggests,” explained Connelly. “It’s a therapy to cure disease, or even birth defects, by correcting faulty genes. Or by inserting totally new ones,” he added.
“That’s possible?”
“For quite a while now. I wasn't aware of it either. I guess those involved in this field haven't done a good job of spreading the word.”
“Or you and I have had our heads in the sand.”
The colonel chuckled. “I wouldn’t rule that out either,” he said, amused.
“How is it done?”
“The most popular way is to use viruses, which insert genes into host cells naturally. These viral genes commandeer our cellular machinery to make endless copies of themselves. Some types, like herpes viruses and retroviruses, actually insert their genes right into human chromosomes.”
Desh’s face showed a hint of disgust. Even though it occurred at the submicroscopic level, the thought of a virus inserting its genetic material into a human chromosome was disturbing. “Retroviruses,” said Desh. “You mean HIV?”
“The AIDS virus is in the retrovirus family, yes. But regardless of the virus type, the idea of gene therapy is to use modified versions of these viruses as delivery vehicles, forcing them to insert human genes into our cells rather than their own. If you cut out all the nasty parts of a retrovirus and add back in a human gene—say, insulin—the virus will insert perfect, working copies of insulin genes into your chromosomes. Presto—no more diabetes. Simple as that.”
“So the AIDS virus could actually be used to save lives?”
“Properly hollowed out and genetically engineered, yes. Ironic, isn’t it?”
“Very,” said Desh. He was intrigued. Rather than treating the symptoms of a disease, gene therapy offered an outright cure: virus-aided microsurgery on the genes themselves. “It sounds ideal,” offered Desh.
“In many ways it is,” responded Connelly thoughtfully. “Unfortunately, the field hasn't progressed as quickly as scientists had hoped. It might sound simple on paper, but I’m told it’s treacherously complicated.”
“It doesn’t even sound simple on paper,” noted Desh wryly.
The corners of Connelly’s mouth turned up into a slight smile. “Apparently she had quite a knack for it,” he said. He lifted the water bottle to his lips and gestured at the photographs lying on the desk in front of Desh.
Desh flipped the picture of Kira Miller on its back and revealed the second photo in the stack. It was a two-story yellow brick building, not particularly attractive, with a large placard over the door that read, NeuroCure Pharmaceuticals.
“She joined NeuroCure, a publicly traded biotech company in San Diego, right out of Stanford,” continued Connelly. “She was well liked, and by all accounts performed as brilliantly there as expected.”