Amazonia

“Of course,” Zane said. “In the forests of western America, we think it’s healthy for fires to burn periodically through a mature forest. It shakes things up. Why is it any different here? When dominant species are removed by either logging or burning, it allows for the growth of what are termed ‘suppressed species,’ the smaller shrubs and plants. And it is in fact these very plants that are of the most medicinal value. So why not allow a little burning and logging? It’s good for all concerned.”

Kelly spoke into the stunned silence. “But you’re ignoring the global implications. Like the greenhouse effect. Aren’t the rain forests the proverbial ‘lungs of the planet,’ a major source of oxygen?”

“‘Proverbial’ is the key word, I’m afraid,” Zane said sadly. “Newest research from weather satellites shows that the forests contribute little if any to the world’s oxygen supply. It’s a closed system. While the greenery of the canopy produces abundant oxygen, the supply is totally consumed by the fire of decomposition below, resulting in no net oxygen production. Again, the only real areas of positive production are in those regions of secondary forest growth, where new young trees are producing abundant oxygen. So in fact, controlled deforestation is beneficial to the world’s atmosphere.”

Nathan listened, balanced between disbelief and anger. “And what of those who live in the forest? In the past five hundred years, the number of indigenous tribes has dwindled from over ten million to under two hundred thousand. I suppose that’s good, too.”

Richard Zane shook his head. “Of course not. That’s the true tragedy here. When a medicine man dies without passing on his experience, then the world loses great volumes of irreplaceable knowledge. It’s one of the reasons I kept pushing for funds to finance your own research among the fading tribes. It’s invaluable work.”

Nathan narrowed his eyes with suspicion. “But the forest and its people are intertwined. Even if what you say is true, deforestation does destroy some species. You can’t argue against that.”

“Sure, but the green movement exaggerates the true number lost.”

“Still, even a single species can be significant. Such as the Madagascan periwinkle.”

Zane’s face reddened. “Well, that surely is a rare exception. You can hardly think that such a discovery is common.”

“The Madagascan periwinkle?” Kelly asked, confusion in her eyes.

“The rosy periwinkle of Madagascar is the source of two potent anticancer drugs—vinblastine and vincristine.”

Kelly’s brows rose with recognition. “Used in the treatment of Hodgkin’s disease, lymphomas, and many childhood cancers.”

Nate nodded. “These drugs save thousands of children every year. But the plant that generated this life-saving drug is now extinct in Madagascar. What if these properties of the rosy periwinkle hadn’t been discovered in time? How many children would have needlessly died?”

“Like I said, the periwinkle is a rare finding.”

“And how would you know? With all your talk of statistics and satellite photography, it comes down to one fact. Every plant has the potential to cure. Each species is invaluable. Who knows what drug could be lost through unchecked deforestation? What rare plant could hold the cure to AIDS? To diabetes? To the thousands of cancers that plague mankind?”

“Or perhaps even to cause limbs to regenerate?” Kelly added pointedly.

Richard Zane frowned and stared into the flames. “Who can say?”

“My point exactly,” Nate finished.

Frank stepped up to the flames, seemingly oblivious to the heated debate that had been waged over the campfire. “You’re burning the fish,” the tall man said, pointing to the black smoke rising from the forgotten frying pan.

Manny chuckled and pulled the pan off the fire. “Thank goodness for the practical Mr. O’Brien, or we’d be eating dry rations tonight.”

Frank nudged Kelly. “Olin almost has the satellite feed hooked to the laptop.” He checked his watch. “We should be able to connect stateside in another hour.”

“Good.” Kelly glanced over to where Olin Pasternak was busy around a compact satellite dish and computer equipment. “Perhaps we’ll have some answers from the autopsy on Gerald Clark’s body. Something that will help.”

Nate listened. Maybe it was because he was staring into the flames, but he had a strange foreboding that maybe they all should have heeded the Yanomamo shaman and burned the man’s body. As Richard Zane had said just a moment ago, the Indians were wiser than anyone in the ways and dark paths of the jungle. Na boesi, ingi sabe ala sani. In the jungle, the Indian knows everything.

He glanced to the darkening forest as the sun sank away.

Here, with the jungle awakening in a chorus of echoing hoots and lonely calls, the myths of the deep forest gained substance and form. Anything could be possible in the lost tracts of the jungle.

Even the curse of the Ban-ali.

Five

Stem Cell Research

AUGUST 7, 5:32 P.M.

INSTAR INSTITUTE, LANGLEY, VIRGINIA

Lauren O’Brien sat hunched over her microscope when the call came from the morgue. “Damn it,” she mumbled at the interruption. She straightened, slipped her reading glasses from her forehead to the bridge of her nose, and hit the speaker phone.

“Histology here,” she said.

“Dr. O’Brien, I think you should come down and see this.” The voice belonged to Stanley Hibbert, the forensic pathologist from Johns Hopkins and a fellow member of MEDEA. He had been called in to consult on the post mortem of Gerald Clark.

“I’m somewhat busy with the tissue samples. I’ve just started reviewing them.”

“And was I right about the oral lesions?”

Lauren sighed. “Your assessment was correct. Squamous cell carcinoma. From the high degree of mitosis and loss of differentiation, I’d grade it a type one malignancy. One of the worst I’ve ever seen.”

“So the victim’s tongue had not been cut out. It had rotted away from the cancer.”

Lauren suppressed a nonprofessional shudder. The dead man’s mouth had been rank with tumors. His tongue had been no more than a friable bloody stump, eaten away by the carcinoma. And this was not the extent of the man’s disease. During the autopsy, his entire body was found to be riddled with cancers in various stages, involving lungs, kidneys, liver, spleen, pancreas. Lauren glanced to the stack of slides prepared by the histology lab, each containing sections of various tumors or bone marrow aspirates.