The judas gene v1 0, p.1
The Judas Gene (v1.0), page 1
THE FIRST DEATH… .
Staring through the Glass, Golding knew he had not been mistaken. It was he—a figure emerging from the past through the snow-filled evening. Golding’s heart pounded in his chest. He could feel the cold, the hunger, the fear, and the revulsion he had not felt for more than thirty years.
The two men faced each other through the door. Golding’s hatred mounted to the point of overwhelming him. The man smiled at him. It was a crooked, vicious smile. His right arm moved. There was a shattering of glass.
When Steven Golding arrived several minutes later, there was a crowd in front of the door.
Morris Golding lay motionless amidst the broken glass. Arms outstretched, left leg folded under him, his lifeless eyes stared at the ceiling. A large red stain covered the left side of his shirtfront and spread to a puddle of blood gathering beneath him. His life was gone, but the fear and the hatred remained on the cold blue face.
After thirty years, the malignant spirit of Dachau rises again. . . .
THE JUDAS GENE
ALBERT and
JO-ANN KLAINER
A DIVISION OF CHARTER COMMUNICATIONS
A GROSSET & DUNLAP COMPANY
THE JUDAS GENE
Copyright © 1980 by Jo-Ann and Albert S. Klainer, M.D.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in
any form or by any means, except for the inclusion of brief
quotations in a review, without permission in writing from the
publisher.
All characters in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to
actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Published by arrangement with Richard Marek Publishers, Inc.
First Charter Printing May 1981
Published simultaneously in Canada
Manufactured in the United States of America
2 4 6 8 0 9 7 5 3 1
Contents
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
To our children, Peter, Lori, and Trad—three of the most
important chapters in our lives.
To Claire Smith—for her encouragement, patience, and
friendship.
To Helen and Louis Showstack—for their love and
understanding.
1
The breathing and the telltale rattle in the throat ceased abruptly. Except for the hiss of the oxygen escaping around the edges of the celluloid mask, there was only silence. Mechanically, because it was an instinctive action, Asher Ben Levi brought his hands to the stethoscope hanging loosely about his neck and started to place it in his ears; but he stopped and instead reached to turn off the valve on top of the steel cylinder. There was no need to listen. He had seen death often enough to recognize it, and the absolute quiet that now permeated the hospital room was witness to its presence.
Reaching down, he unfastened the oxygen mask, removed it gently, and bent forward to close the eyelids. Then he sat down on the edge of the bed to regain his composure. Shaking his head in disbelief, he wiped his palms across the front of his khaki shorts and shuddered.
Death did not always affect Ben Levi this way. Usually he was frustrated and angry when a patient died because he knew that he might have done more if he had had the modem equipment of institutions like the Massachusetts General Hospital, where he had taken part of his training, or the major hospitals in Jerusalem, Tel Aviv, and Haifa; but he could cope with these feelings. The decision to return as the only physician on his kibbutz had been his own, and he never regretted that he had come back.
The death he had just witnessed, however, was different—as were the other four that had occurred on the kibbutz in the past few days. No machine, no physician, not even Joshua Fields—a smile crossed his lips at the thought of his friend—could have saved those lives; and although that in itself was troubling, it was the autopsy findings that frightened him most.
He stared a the dead man’s face before covering it. The man had been in his early seventies, but he had borne his age well. The leathery skin was well-tanned and wrinkled with deep lines on the cheeks and forehead and smaller ones about the eyes that gave it a weathered but pleasant appearance even in death. A beard of thinning grayish curls wet with sweat and matted from the recent pressure of the oxygen mask framed high cheekbones, a large nose, and generous lips that bespoke his Eastern European origin. But Ben Levi could see beyond the features; he could, see the muscles devoid of tone, the drooping mouth, the sagging jaw—thfe remnants of a shattered nervous system… .
Taking one last look at the form beneath the sheet, he walked to the window and peered out across the lush farmland disappearing in the distance at the foothills of the mountains. The earth had been good to the Israelis; it appeared that God had indeed kept His promise to return this land to His chosen people. Ben Levi’s thoughts braked. Were these deaths another trial to prove them worthy? Scolding himself for being philosophical at such a time, he turned back to face reality: the man on the bed … the four who had died before him …
The empty sensation that enveloped him was more than fear; it was a response to death he had not experienced since he was in training. He had learned then that a physician who could not detach himself from the deaths of his patients died a little with each one; it was this conditioned, unpassioned objectivity that now deserted him, for the man beneath the sheet and the four Who had preceded him were more than patients—they were friends. He had lived and worked with them; he had cared for them and their children since he returned to the kibbutz; he had delivered the grandchildren of one and had helped to bury the wife of another; they had been his family since—
“Asher!” The orderly burst into the room. At the sight of the covered body, his voice dropped to a whisper. “Another one has just been brought in. Please come!”
The woman was sixty-eight; her name, Shannah Greenberg. She and her husband had been members of the original group that had settled the kibbutz. Her story, told in slurred, barely audible words, was the same as that of the other five: she had been in reasonably good health until about a month ago when she began to experience periods of headache, loss of memory, numbness and weakness in the hands and feet that progressed to the arms and legs; then some difficulty with vision … She could tell him no more—speech was gone. She just stared at him with terrified, beseeching eyes as he began his examination.
With the memory of what he had seen in the others clearly in his mind, Ben Levi worked quickly and efficiently. Shannah’s blood pressure had dropped precipitously to the brink of shock. Her pulse raced and then slowed; finally, only an occasional run of dysrhythmic beats was palpable. Her breathing, at first rapid and shallow, quickly deteriorated into gasps separated by lengthening intervals. The accelerating destructive process in her nervous system that was causing every other organ system to fail defied explanation. Hearing and vision faltered; then sensation waned, followed by the loss of motor function; with the latter, the muscles of her thorax could not support respiration, and breathing stopped. For an interminable moment she existed as no more than a mass of cells without purpose or function. And then she was dead.
Asher Ben Levi felt himself pale. The six people who had died on the kibbutz in less than a week had had the same symptoms, the same signs. All had had the numbers on their left forearms. But it was the scar on the left flank of each …
It was time to seek help. He had to see Joshua Fields!
Thaddeus Reichmann drained the last remnants of wine from the goblet, swirled it leisurely over his tongue, swallowed, inhaled slowly through his mouth to accentuate the bouquet, and then dabbed the comers of his mouth with a linen napkin. Standing up, he brushed a speck from the front of his black smoking jacket and paused to choose a cigar from the hand-carved box on the sideboard beside the glass doors that led to the terrace. Glancing back at the dinner table, he decided to let the maid dear it in the morning. Usually he stacked the dishes in the washer himself—the mess disturbed his sense of orderliness— but tonight he had more important things to do than to bother with the chores that living alone demanded. Viewing his reflection in the glass doors, he adjusted the ascot at his throat and turned his head to the side. The gray at his temples was becoming more prominent; but this, he felt, added to rather than detracted from his attractiveness-many women equated maturity with sexual prowess. He laughed aloud. If one could strip away the romantic facade, most women probably gave themselves to older men to fulfill their subconscious longings for their fathers. Although he preferred mature, married women, it was not for any Freudian reason; it was simply that they were unlikely to reveal the identity of their lover. He smiled sardonically. He had used them and abused them and then discarded them as he had his mother.
He bit hard on the cigar. It had taken him years to outlive the stigma of his parentage. The son of a Munich baker was not readily accepted at Heidelberg, especially to the faculty of medicine; but he had been and still was a skillful opportunist. The price for admission to medical school had been a reasonable one in his estimation: as a membe
Pushing aside the doors, he stepped out onto the terrace, refreshed and invigorated by the cold wind that bit at his cheeks. Snow was forecast for tomorrow. Plunging his hands into the pockets of his jacket, he surveyed the dark shadows of the New York City skyline surrounding Central Park. He felt a sudden surge of power, and his lips twisted. He turned quickly, walked inside, closed and locked the doors behind him, and carefully drew the curtains across them. His time had come. He had known it would; it was all a matter of being patient.
He poured a brandy and was about to sit down, but stopped as he glanced again at the dishes that marred the otherwise stark, meticulously clean atmosphere he had created for himself. He knew he would be unable to work well until he had cleared them.
As with everything else in his life, tidying up after meals was reduced to a quick and efficient system. It was a bothersome nuisance, but living alone was an absolute prerequisite for maintaining the secrecy of his identity. At least he was fortunate enough to be able to afford the luxuries that made his self*, imposed isolation bearable. When he was at home, he ordered all of his meals—including the finest wines—from some of New York’s best restaurants and had them delivered to his door. The maid came every day but Sunday, arriving immediately after he left for his office and departing just before he returned, with the understanding that his dinner was to be set out and waiting for him. She took care of all his needs. Well, not all. He grinned. She was a buxom, olive-skinned exile from Cuba. He had often wondered if the Cuban women were as good as their cigars. She was certainly for more attractive than the first woman he had interviewed. He frowned. There had been something about her … At first he had thought an older German woman would be an ideal maid for him; but the one thing he did not need was a damned Jewess. Her name, Eva Schonberg, meant nothing to him; but he sensed he had seen her before. Forgotten faces and identities could come back to haunt you, and he was unwilling to take even the slightest chance.
He washed his hands and combed his hair, reproaching himself for dwelling on the past; it was time to concentrate on the present—and the future. Returning to his desk, he unlocked his briefcase and removed a manila folder containing two sheaves of papers neatly stapled together. He picked up the first and read:
Autopsy No.: MECNY1337
Name : Jacob Bronstein
Birthdate : August 9, 1907
Birthplace : Russia
Address : 412 E. 69th St. N.Y.C.
Nationality : American
Race : Caucasian
Religion : Hebrew
Clinical Diagnosis: Overwhelming nervous system degeneration,
unknown etiology, unknown type
He seemed pleased with the diagnosis and continued reading;
ANATOMIC DIAGNOSIS
Cardiovascular : Coronary atherosclerosis, moderate; left ventricular hypertrophy
Respiratory : Pulmonary edema, bilateral
Gastrointestinal : Agonal hemorrhage, stomach
Liver and gallbladder : Fatty metamorphosis of liver, mild…
The major abnormality was of die nervous system:
Nervous System : Acute degeneration, diffuse, involving
all levels, central & peripheral
He reread this diagnosis and then went on:
Clinical History: Elderly Jewish man living alone discovered by neighbor in next apartment. No known significant past medical history except for mild hypertensive cardiovascular disease (on hydrodiuril 50 mgm./p.o./b.i.d. and potassium supplement prescribed by patient’s son, who is physician, Dr. Morton Bronstein, Ft. Lauderdale, Fla.). No recent trauma, surgery, travel, or exposure. Patient retired garment-store owner. Friends and neighbors contacted mention that for approx, past two months patient had been complaining of intermittent headaches, blurred vision, lapses of memory, weakness in arms and legs, and generalized paresthesias. Otherwise able to care for self adequately. Could not contact patient’s son.
General Inspection: The body is that of a well-developed, well-nourished white male who appears his stated age. The body measures 1.75 m. in length and weighs about 80 kg. There is no jaundice or edema. Numbers (21306) resembling those utilized in the Nazi concentration camps during WW II are indelibly etched in the skin of the left forearm. The pupils are round; the right measures 3 mm. in diameter; the left, 5 mm. The right eye is lower than the left; there is right proptosis. The nasal septum is deviated to the right. The hair is scant and gray. There is moderate dependent lividity. There is a 12 cm. well-healed horizontal scar 3 cm. below the left costal margin extending around the left flank.
Primary Incision: The body is opened with the usual Y-shaped incision. Upon removal of the sternum, about 100 ml. of dear yellowish fluid is noted in each pleural cavity. The abdominal organs are in their normal situs… .
He scanned the description of the individual organ systems, frowned at the mention of the dimple on the lateral surface of the spleen, and then smiled when no comment followed. When he came to the section concerning the nervous system, he read more slowly, paying careful attention to each word and phrase.
Nervous System: The brain weighs 1130 gm. There is extensive degeneration of the brain, spinal cord, and peripheral nerves. The intracranial sinuses are free of thrombi. The convexity of the brain is normal. The arachnoid vessels are congested. There is slight molding of the cerebellum. The ventricles are dilated. Serial sections of the pons and medulla show diffuse destruction. The internal capsules are destroyed. The pituitary gland is normal.
ADDENDUM: Careful examination and dissection of the left subcostal scar reveals no obvious reason for its presence; grossly it resembles a surgical scar, but no evidence of a surgical procedure in the area was observed.
MICROSCOPIC FINDINGS
Multiple sections of the various organs have been examined, and the microscopic findings are induded in diagnostic terms on the first page of this autopsy protocol. Sections through the left subcostal scar and the underlying tissues reveal no abnormalities and no findings of an unusual nature.
The microscopic pathology of the nervous system is of particular significance. There is acute severe glial cell degeneration, demyelinization, and moderate perivascular cuffing with nests of mononuclear cells. There is acute degeneration of all peripheral nerves without evidence of an inflammatory infiltrate.
COMMENT
This patient died of an acute diffuse degenerative process of the nervous system resulting in cardiorespiratory incoordination and failure. Neither the gross nor microscopic findings is diagnostic of any known disease, but there are some suggestions of an acute meningomyeloencephalitis, although a greater inflammatory response should be seen in this entity. A more definitive diagnosis may be apparent after special studies are completed.
