Annika said, taking a bite of a stuffed cabbage leaf. “They want to grow embryos for their stem cells?”
“Yes, they want to transplant cell nuclei in their research, and that’s a way of producing embryos purely for experimentation. Bush tried to stop this sort of research in the US with every means at his disposal. In Europe it contravenes both the EU convention of 1997 and the recommendations of an EU committee last year. So far it’s only allowed in Britain, Belgium, and here in Sweden, actually.”
“And the religious nuts in the US are saying that the intention is to create some sort of Frankenstein’s monster, and that the scientists are trying to play at being God?”
“Not just the nuts, a lot of people share that view but express it in slightly milder terms. These aren’t easy questions.”
Annika tapped her fork against her plate.
“So what have they done with Watson, the other prizewinner?”
“He was flown out to the US in a private plane last night. I think they’ll be flying Wiesel out too as soon as he can be moved.”
Caroline von Behring’s life and career had been quickly summarized during the night by a reporter they had never heard of before.
“Must be someone on the online edition,” Annika said.
The article was flat and badly written. It revealed that the chair of the Nobel Committee was fifty-four years old when she died. She was related to the first winner of the Nobel Prize for Medicine, “the German military physician Emil Adolf von Behring from Germany.”
Emil Adolf von Behring was the man behind the theory of immunization, and discovered modern vaccination in the form of a serum against diphtheria. For this he was awarded the Nobel Prize for Medicine in 1901.
Young Caroline followed in her ancestor’s footsteps and became an expert in immunology. She made her breakthrough at a young age, and went on to have a prestigious career at the Karolinska Institute. She became a professor at the age of thirty-eight, when she was also voted onto the Nobel Assembly. Three years later she became an Associate Member of the Nobel Committee, the body that makes the final decision on the allocation of the Medicine Prize, with only six members. At the age of fifty-two she was appointed Chair of the Committee, a position she held for the following three years.
She was married to her second husband, and had no children.
The Palace had conveyed the royal couple’s condolences, which was probably all the media would get from that quarter now.
“There’s practically no private information about the Israeli,” Annika said. “What do we know about him?”
“Single, childless, works in Brussels together with the American. Fairly secular, if you ask me.”
“Gay?” Annika asked, wiping a piece of bread round her plate to mop up the last of the dressing.
“Probably. I think he and Watson are a couple. They look quite cute together.”
A large part of the paper was taken up with the unsuccessful police hunt for the killer. There were pictures of police officers on bridges, police officers in tunnels, police officers beside various stretches of water. The photofit was on both the front page and a whole page inside the paper. The caption stated that the picture was produced with the help of “witnesses at the crime scene,” no mention of Annika. Practically every article about the police hunt was written by the reporter Patrik Nilsson, who, together with Berit, now made up the whole of the crime desk.
“Have you seen the competition?” Berit asked.
Annika picked up the other paper and quickly leafed through it.
They had roughly the same selection of articles and pictures, with one exception: Bosse’s article.
Annika felt herself blushing as she skimmed through his text. It covered three whole pages and described the course of events in the Golden Hall from a personal perspective, and it was both unnerving and very focused. He evidently hadn’t seen the killer, nor noticed
“Yes, they want to transplant cell nuclei in their research, and that’s a way of producing embryos purely for experimentation. Bush tried to stop this sort of research in the US with every means at his disposal. In Europe it contravenes both the EU convention of 1997 and the recommendations of an EU committee last year. So far it’s only allowed in Britain, Belgium, and here in Sweden, actually.”
“And the religious nuts in the US are saying that the intention is to create some sort of Frankenstein’s monster, and that the scientists are trying to play at being God?”
“Not just the nuts, a lot of people share that view but express it in slightly milder terms. These aren’t easy questions.”
Annika tapped her fork against her plate.
“So what have they done with Watson, the other prizewinner?”
“He was flown out to the US in a private plane last night. I think they’ll be flying Wiesel out too as soon as he can be moved.”
Caroline von Behring’s life and career had been quickly summarized during the night by a reporter they had never heard of before.
“Must be someone on the online edition,” Annika said.
The article was flat and badly written. It revealed that the chair of the Nobel Committee was fifty-four years old when she died. She was related to the first winner of the Nobel Prize for Medicine, “the German military physician Emil Adolf von Behring from Germany.”
Emil Adolf von Behring was the man behind the theory of immunization, and discovered modern vaccination in the form of a serum against diphtheria. For this he was awarded the Nobel Prize for Medicine in 1901.
Young Caroline followed in her ancestor’s footsteps and became an expert in immunology. She made her breakthrough at a young age, and went on to have a prestigious career at the Karolinska Institute. She became a professor at the age of thirty-eight, when she was also voted onto the Nobel Assembly. Three years later she became an Associate Member of the Nobel Committee, the body that makes the final decision on the allocation of the Medicine Prize, with only six members. At the age of fifty-two she was appointed Chair of the Committee, a position she held for the following three years.
She was married to her second husband, and had no children.
The Palace had conveyed the royal couple’s condolences, which was probably all the media would get from that quarter now.
“There’s practically no private information about the Israeli,” Annika said. “What do we know about him?”
“Single, childless, works in Brussels together with the American. Fairly secular, if you ask me.”
“Gay?” Annika asked, wiping a piece of bread round her plate to mop up the last of the dressing.
“Probably. I think he and Watson are a couple. They look quite cute together.”
A large part of the paper was taken up with the unsuccessful police hunt for the killer. There were pictures of police officers on bridges, police officers in tunnels, police officers beside various stretches of water. The photofit was on both the front page and a whole page inside the paper. The caption stated that the picture was produced with the help of “witnesses at the crime scene,” no mention of Annika. Practically every article about the police hunt was written by the reporter Patrik Nilsson, who, together with Berit, now made up the whole of the crime desk.
“Have you seen the competition?” Berit asked.
Annika picked up the other paper and quickly leafed through it.
They had roughly the same selection of articles and pictures, with one exception: Bosse’s article.
Annika felt herself blushing as she skimmed through his text. It covered three whole pages and described the course of events in the Golden Hall from a personal perspective, and it was both unnerving and very focused. He evidently hadn’t seen the killer, nor noticed
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