The Magic Bullet
Page 40
“The upshot is that she’s willing to try any alternative therapy we deem appropriate. The President concurs in that view. The situation is quite desperate.”
“We understand,” added Shein, “that you’ve continued to work on Compound J.”
He looked from one to the other. “How do you know that?”
“As I expect you know, Doctor, it’s our business to keep tabs on such things,” replied Markell. “Part of our responsibility.”
The break-in—it wasn’t only Stillman! These sons of bitches! These monsters! Yet instead of anger, what he felt bubbling up within was something like pure joy. “Yes, of course, I’d almost forgotten how things work at the ACF.”
Logan waited for a reaction to this provocation, then gave a small smile when none came. It was true: THEY needed HIM. HE was in control here, HE had the power. “Where’s my friend? They took my friend also.”
“He’s fine. There are security implications to this, of course; we didn’t want the police or the press involved. We had to be certain he was aware of that.”
Logan nodded. “Shouldn’t there be someone else here?”
“Who would that be?” asked Markell, all innocence.
“Dr. Stillman. Or did he object to my being called in?”
Markell looked at Shein, who seemed pleased to field the question. “Dr. Stillman is leaving the ACF for greener pastures. He has accepted an offer to be the director of the Southwest Regional Cancer Center in Phoenix. That far away enough for you, Logan?”
“Dr. Stillman was the original doctor on this case,” added Markell quickly. “Unfortunately, he did not agree with the course we wished to pursue. But we remain on excellent terms. I expect no negative fallout for the Foundation.”
Throughout it all, Larsen, having taken a seat in the corner, looked as if he wanted nothing so much as to disappear into thin air. Now, Logan confidently turned his way. “How about you, Dr. Larsen? Do you agree with this course of action?”
Larsen cast a worried glance toward Markell. “Actually, I’m new to the case myself. But, yes, it strikes me as fully appropriate.”
“It does? You’re saying you’ve changed your mind about this compound? And me? You’re offering me an apology?”
Larsen shifted miserably in his chair. “I am interested in what is best for the American Cancer Foundation,” he replied stiffly. “That is my policy. As always.”
“Ah, but that isn’t what I’m asking. Don’t you remember, we have a history together, you and me.”
“Doctor,” cut in Markell, “is this absolutely necessary? There are times to put aside personal feelings in the interest of the general good.”
“Hey, c’mon,” spoke up Shein, throwing an arm around the younger man’s shoulder, “Logan’s got a point and we know it. You”—he pointed a finger at Larsen—“treated him like shit. If he wants to see you grovel a little, I, for one, can’t blame him.” He smiled amiably at his colleagues. “Why don’t you let me have a few minutes alone with Dr. Logan?”
Markell nodded. “Absolutely.”
Shein steered Logan toward the adjacent bathroom and closed the door behind them.
“Great.” He laughed, jerking a thumb toward the room they’d just left. “I enjoyed that as much as you did.” He rubbed his jaw. “And a lot more than the last time we got together.”
“How’d all this happen?” asked Logan coolly.
Shein shrugged. “Hey, didn’t I tell you I’m your guy? And now here we are, back in the saddle again—the Lone Ranger and Tonto.” He dropped his voice even lower. “You know the best part? It’s a no-lose proposition. If she responds, we get the credit. If she dies, Stillman, out there where the buffalo roam, takes the blame. I mean, you should see her in there, so weak she can hardly move. The fucker wasted five months on totally useless treatment!”
“Markell’s willing to back that?”
“What choice does he have? You got a desperate man in there.”
Logan smiled. “Sounds good. Let’s go back and talk turkey.”
“Well?” asked Markell when they emerged.
“You’re right. Obviously, we have to do everything we can.” Logan paused thoughtfully, then looked directly at Shein. “I’m going to want to head up my own team, of course.”
Shein blanched. For the first time in Logan’s experience, he appeared wholly at a loss for words.
“I understand,” agreed Markell.
“I’ll pick my own people—starting with Dr. Como and Ruben Perez.”
“Of course. Whoever you feel you need.”
“What about the FDA? We’re going to be working with an untested compound.”
Markell waved this away. “That can be handled. Just tell me how much of the stuff you need fabricated, we’ve got guys who can get it to you tomorrow.”
“Good.” Logan looked from Markell, to Larsen, to Shein. “Thank you, gentlemen. Now, where do I get some fresh clothes? I’d like to see my patient.”
On an evening almost precisely ten months later, Logan felt a tap on his shoulder.
“Mrs. Rivers,” he said, surprised.
“I believe you promised me a dance, Doctor.”
“It must’ve been one of those lies doctors tell to buck up patients.” He grinned sheepishly, aware of the dozens of pairs of eyes on them. “I don’t want to embarrass you in front of all these people.”
“That’s the same thing he always says to me,” noted Sabrina, “and nobody looks at us. This is a guy who just does not know how to have fun.”
“Well, I don’t embarrass easily. C’mon, here comes a slow song. Don’t worry, I’ll lead.”
She took his hand and led him toward the crowded dance floor, other revelers clearing a path as they went.
“You should dance with her,” she teased, “she’s the best-looking woman here.”
“So …” he changed the subject, gazing around the vast hotel ballroom, “how long do you have to stay at each party?”
She laughed. “Who knows, I just do what I’m told. Believe me, seven inaugural balls wasn’t my idea.”
“Anyway,” he offered, “I guess congratulations are in order.”
“Thank you—but doesn’t that go both ways? It looks to me like you guys are quite a success story yourselves.”
He smiled. “Right.” The reference was to his recent appointment as Director of Basic Research at New York’s prestigious Roosevelt Cancer Research Institute—with Sabrina named Director of Clinical Trials. “They’re keeping us pretty busy.”
“I just hope you’ll be available, if needed.”
“Of course.”
Logan was relieved to hear her say it. She looked stupendous and—in this he took even greater pride—her CAT scans had been clean for over five months. But he knew as well as anyone that with this disease, it is tempting fate to think in terms of definitive cures: for some time to come, she would have to be closely monitored.
“Word is you plan to put the drug into a major clinical trial.”
“Yes, there’s still a lot about this compound we need to know. I’d like to get a couple of hundred patients signed on to move things along.”
“Have you put in for the patent?”
He grinned. “How close are you to the IRS?”
“Don’t worry, I can be trusted.”
“Anyway, three quarters of the profits are going to Nakano’s daughter. Believe me, money was never the point.”
Elizabeth Rivers looked at him closely and nodded. “I know that.”
“I don’t know how to have fun?” demanded Logan, opening the hotel room door. “Me? You got me confused with someone else, lady.”
Sabrina laughed. “All right, I admit, this kind of fun you know.”
He gazed at her with a mix of tenderness and lust. She was wearing a black Versace gown, as drop-dead sexy as it was elegant. “C’mere.”
“Just wait a second, please. I need to take off these fancy jewels, no? They are rented.”<
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He removed his tuxedo jacket and shoes and collapsed onto the oversized bed. Idly, he picked up the remote and switched it on. “Almost ready? You’re driving me crazy here.”
“You are already crazy, Logan. This is one of the things I love about you.” She took off her second earring and carefully laid it on the bureau. “There. Ready.” She moved to the bed and fell into his arms.
They were so lost in a passionate kiss, the words in the background didn’t even register.
“Authoritative sources at the renowned American Cancer Foundation announced today …”
For Charles and Abe,
who were also
pioneers
By the same author:
ETHICS (AND OTHER LIABILITIES)
HOOPLA
ONE OF THE GUYS
HARRY STEIN HAS WRITTEN FOR THE NEW YORK TIMES, GQ, PLAYBOY, NEW YORK, MEN’S HEALTH, AND MANY OTHER PUBLICATIONS. HE ALSO HAD A MONTHLY COLUMN IN ESQUIRE FROM 1981 TO 1986 AND HAS WRITTEN A COLUMN FOR TV GUIDE SINCE 1992. HIS BOOKS INCLUDE THE NONFICTION WORKS EICHMANN IN MY HANDS, WHICH HE COWROTE WITH PETER MALKIN, ONE OF THE GUYS, AND ETHICS (AND OTHER LIABILITIES), AS WELL AS A NOVEL ENTITLED HOOPLA. HE LIVES IN NEW YORK.