by John Shaw
Even though Ryan theoretically held absolute authority over sale or acquisition, he was receiving pressure to accept the offer from the venture capital firm that funded the operation. Their original investment in Immugene of $30 million would now be worth four times that. In addition, stock options from FSW could produce substantial gains for them down the road. Because Immugene had only one product that had passed pre-clinical testing and three others in the early developmental stages, and considering that only one out of a thousand drugs in pre-clinical testing ever reach the market, the offer seemed too good to be true.
Still, Ryan hadn't given the offer much consideration because, once the acquisition was made, he would lose all control of Tricopatin. Believing in the revolutionary potential of his drug, he wasn't willing to make this exchange.
But now that he was fighting a losing battle against time, Ryan was willing to discuss all options with any viable suitor. Besides, FSW's offer far surpassed the seven other written offers he had received. With several hundred pharmaceutical products on the market, facilities in all fifty states and in sixty-one foreign countries, over 125,000 employees, and annual sales in excess of $75 billion, the company had the capacity to move Tricopatin to human trials faster than anyone else.
Three days after Dr. Seymour's diagnosis, Ryan was on a plane to New Jersey to meet with the CEO of FSW. The sale was negotiated within a grueling forty-eight hours, and Immugene was acquired and absorbed into the pharmaceutical giant twenty-eight days later.
Immugene investors received $150 million and an additional three million stock options priced at the current stock price of FSW. The options would vest upon successful phase two testing of Tricopatin. Based on the company's historic stock-appreciation rate and projected time line to complete phase two testing, the stock options held a potential additional value in excess of $250 million. Out of the proceeds paid to Immu-gene, Ryan would receive $5 million in cash and one million stock options.
The company would keep Ryan on board as an executive vice president and assign him as the chief scientist on the Tricopatin project. He would also continue to be involved in the research on several other new drugs under development. Eric Maynard was also retained, and would receive $750,000 and an additional fifty thousand stock options. Although Ryan and Eric were partners at Immugene, Ryan was the majority partner and the individual responsible for the development of Tricopatin. Eric assisted Ryan but focused the bulk of his efforts on the business side of the company. As part of the deal, Ryan negotiated a $350,000 annual salary for himself and $225,000 for Eric.
Ryan arranged for the Tricopatin project to be run out of Fisher's research facilities in Research Triangle Park in Durham, North Carolina, less than twenty minutes from his house. The most important negotiation of all for Ryan involved FSW's agreement to fast-track Tricopatin and begin human testing within six months. His executive position and previous familiarity with Tricopatin also enabled him to obtain assurances from the CEO—off the record, of course—that Cindy would be enrolled in the clinical trial and would receive the Tricopatin injections and not the placebo.
One hundred and sixty-seven days after the finalization of the sale of Immugene to Fisher Singer Worldwide, Inc., human clinical trials for Tricopatin began. One hundred patients with late-stage ovarian cancer were selected to participate. Fifty of the patients were scheduled to receive nine injections of Tricopatin over a course of three months, or one dose every ten days. The remaining fifty patients received the same regimen using a sugar and water placebo. None of the patients, except Cindy Matthews, knew whether they were receiving Tricopatin or the placebo.
One week after the third injection, most patients reported feeling better, including many of those taking the placebo. At first, the test results did not show any significant progress. After six weeks of the trial and four injections per patient, most patients continued to report feeling better, and unofficial preliminary results indicated that the cancer was diminishing in some of the patients. Following the sixth injection, FSW petitioned the FDA to do an interim review of the test results in hopes of fast-tracking the drug to market if the final results of the trial turned out to be as promising as the interim results.
Ten weeks into the trial, and the day after all of the test patients received their seventh injection, the FDA ordered FSW to halt the clinical trial of Tricopatin. Their findings suggested that Tricopatin was not making the cancer diminish. In fact, evidence indicated that the drug was actually accelerating the cancer's growth.
Upon receiving this news, Ryan sunk into a quagmire of outrage and devastation. The outrage was directed at the FDA for canceling a promising clinical trial over three-quarters of the way through. The devastation came because he knew that his wife, the love of his life, would soon be gone.
Three days later and without a word to Cindy, Ryan flew to Washington and met with the FDA to review the test results. He was shocked to see that the placebo group's cancer had not advanced as far as that of the Tricopatin group. Ryan argued that during the pre-clinical studies, interim testing was not performed, and all of the animal subjects were 100 percent cured at the end of the trial. He went on to contend that the true effects of the drug would be revealed after a patient completed the entire series of injections.
The FDA officials rejected his argument and told him that if FSW had not petitioned for an interim review, the trial would still be going on. But given the results of the interim review, they could not, legally or ethically, allow FSW to continue to inject the patients with a drug that caused their cancer to grow. With that, the Trico-patin study was officially terminated.
It was on the short flight back to Durham that Ryan decided that, although it was the longest of long shots, Cindy still had a chance for survival if they went ahead with the final two injections as scheduled. The next day, Ryan removed enough of the Tricopatin from the lab's vault to complete Cindy's treatment. Five days later, he gave Cindy the eighth injection.
Cindy's rebound made his heart soar. Soon she was feeling better than she had in months. Her energy level was high, and she regained much of her strength and vitality. The Matthews were feeling hopeful leading up to their meeting with Dr. Seymour to review the latest test results.
The CA-125 blood test showed that the cancer was continuing to grow with no signs of remission. Dr. Seymour reminded them that most patients with advanced stages of cancer were on chemotherapy, and that was the main reason they were in poor health and had no strength or energy near the end of their lives. He went on to explain that cancer at an advanced level can cause endor-phins to be released, which could explain the temporary strength and energy boost that Cindy had been experiencing. Dr. Seymour gave her six more months, at best.
The next morning, Ryan found Jason Handley, FSW's eastern division human resources director, along with the head of security, waiting for him in his office.
"Good morning, Ryan. I have something to ask you."
In an attempt at nonchalance, he replied, "What's up, Jason?"
"Dr. Matthews, the FDA has completed a post-study audit of our trial on Tricopatin, and we cannot account for two missing vials of the drug. Our security records indicate that you were the last person to access the vault. We are also aware that your wife was a participant in the clinical trial and that she had two treatments remaining when the FDA canceled the trial." A pause followed, pregnant with accusation. "Do you deny stealing the two vials of Tricopatin?"
"No, I don't deny it," he fired back. "In fact, I have already injected Cindy with both of them." Despite the implications of his admission, Ryan was in no mood to play games with Handley or anybody else from the company. He was the one who had invented Tricopatin, and if it could possibly save his wife's life, they had no right to stop him from using it. Damn the consequences. Damn the company. They could all go to hell.
Handley rose from his seat; the security man followed. Handley's voice was firm. "Dr. Matthews, I have no choice but to terminate your em
ployment for theft of classified and restricted company property. Mr. Craven will assist you in gathering your personal belongings and then escort you from the premises."
Nine days later, Ryan injected Cindy with the final dose of serum. He'd had to lie to Handley about that last dose in order to ward off a security sweep, and counted on Handley, and anyone else above him, to not know the dosage schedule that Ryan himself had established. But despite completion of her treatment under the prescribed time lines, Cindy's follow-up test results showed the cancer advancing. All hopes for a miraculous recovery withered away.
It was a melancholic time. Ryan and Cindy took long walks in the woods. They talked about the fun they had had at the last New Year's Eve party, the last vacation with the kids at the beach, their family ski vacation to Wintergreen. At other times they said little or nothing. Often they wound up in each other's arms, nursing their hurt, their lost future, and the thought of the kids growing up without their mother. Cindy had extracted several promises from him about the kids' upbringing and their future, and Ryan paid close attention to her wishes. They sealed all promises and commitments with a kiss, which both considered sacred.
One afternoon on one of their walks, Cindy said, "I've been thinking how nice it would be to take the kids to the islands. We've always considered that part of the world a piece of paradise." Her eyes warmed. "And I still think of our honeymoon on Exuma." Taking a shaky breath, she clasped his hand to hers as tears welled up in her eyes. "I didn't know until now—this moment—that those were the highlights of my life."
Ryan staved off his own emotions. He wanted to appear strong, encouraging. "And the kids won't mind missing school, either," he said.
The next week, Ryan caught a flight to Nassau, followed by a puddle jumper to Exuma. The plan was for him to find the spot closest to paradise, a place worthy of spending one's last days. God forbid she should spend them in a hospital bed immersed in institutional sterility and surrounded by a host of white-clad strangers.
Ryan followed a rental agent from ramshackle bungalows to virtual palaces. On the third day he found what he was looking for: a simple stucco cottage snuggled between bunches of coconut palms and bougainvillea. Out back, the turquoise ocean spread out to the horizon and sparkled like a jewel. The surf crashed ashore in an endless procession of sugar-frosted waves. Ryan was certain this was the place. He sent for Cindy, the kids, and the caretaker they had hired after Cindy's diagnosis. He settled into his new paradise and waited for his family.
The last thing he heard before he bolted upright were the words from the black box recorder on his family's downed flight: Mayday, Mayday, Mayday!
Chapter 20
Eric Maynard picked up the morning paper off the front porch of his home in North Raleigh. The twittering birds were muted by the buzz of leaf blowers as the Mexican gardeners hurried about the sprawling grounds.
Back inside, Eric glanced upward. A cathedral ceiling soared to the second level. His wife, Laura, was descending the staircase while putting on earrings.
"Hi, honey," he said. "Aren't you going to have some breakfast?"
"No time," she replied, giving him a peck on the cheek before stepping out the door.
He headed to the kitchen where Maria, the family's housemaid, was preparing coffee, shirred eggs, Canadian bacon, and toast. He was on his second cup of coffee when he spotted the article in the paper. It was on the third page, below the fold—a follow-up story to the car bombing in Chicago that had been all over the news last weekend. He set his cup down when he read the name of the victim: Dr. Ryan Matthews.
Ryan Matthews. He finally ventures back to the States, and this is what happens to him. He couldn't help choking up at the thought of his old friend almost being killed. He hadn't seen Ryan since the memorial service for Cindy, Jake, and Karly. On the few occasions Eric attempted to reach out to him in Exuma, Ryan always clammed up. Eric pressed forward with his life, figuring they would reconnect once Ryan had rebounded from his tragic loss. Despite their lack of communication over the past five years, Eric still considered Ryan to be one of his best friends. After reading the article, Eric picked up the phone.
"Ryan, is that you buddy?" he asked as soon as he'd been connected to Ryan's room.
"Uh, hello?" Ryan's groggy voice betrayed a healthy dose of painkillers still in his bloodstream, but he seemed to recognize the voice on the other line. "Eric, is that you?"
"Yeah, it's me."
"How're you doing?"
"Better question is, how are you doing? I just picked up the Raleigh paper and there you were. They picked up the story from the AP and added a piece about your ties to the local community. Evidently you're alive. So, how the hell are you?"
"I'm healing up. In fact, I should be out of here today. It's been six days and I'm leaving one way or the other. In fact, your timing's great. I was planning on giving you a call later today to let you know I'm flying into RDU tomorrow."
"Great! I know Laura will be thrilled to see you too. So what brought you to Chicago in the first place? And what the hell happened?"
"It's a long story buddy, but I'll fill you in on all the details when we get together."
"Okay. Sounds good. Call me when you get in. We've got a lot of catching up to do."
"Will do. It's been too long. Say, Eric, are you still with FSW?"
"Sure am. I'm in charge of the facility in RTP now. I'll give you all the details when you get here."
"Sounds good. I'll give you a call once my flight is confirmed. If you have the time, I'll come by FSW after I land. That is, if I'm not still banned from the building."
"I think I can sneak you in. After all, I'm the man in charge at RTP now and the corporate security director hasn't been down for an interrogation in almost a year."
Ryan couldn't tell if Eric was joking or serious so he responded cautiously. "If my visit is going to cause you any trouble we can always meet somewhere else."
"No worries. I'll work on rearranging my schedule and free up some time for you tomorrow."
***
Ryan felt surprisingly good and was just wondering about Jordan when she appeared at the door with Jim Crawford in tow. She leaned down and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. "I hear they're springing you today."
"That's what they said. All the tests results are negative and they said if I can live with the pain, then I am free to go. Of course, since I have no insurance company they have to justify their services to a cash buyer, so to speak. I'm sure they would like me to stay around a few more weeks at four grand a night."
"That's the Matthews I know," Crawford joked. "Always bitching about something."
Before Ryan could retort, Jordan jumped in. "Jim has been a big help."
"What have you been up to, Jim?"
"Well, as I told you the other day, no hits on that ID you gave me last week in our database." Crawford glanced over at Jordan. "And I assumed you didn't want to alarm Jordan with details of someone possibly following you, but now that she is beyond alarmed, I gave her and all the law enforcement patrols working the hospital the description of the guy. However, no one matching that description has turned up so far. Now that you are feeling better, I want you to sit down with a sketch artist so we have something better to work with."
"I'd be happy to. What else? Any good news?"
"Since you and Jordan are American citizens who were recently attacked on foreign soil and are now being pursued within the U.S. by the same person or persons who mean to do you harm, your case now falls under federal jurisdiction."
Ryan smirked. "It's been over a decade since I was in the Bureau, Jim. Remind me how that's going to help us out."
Crawford smiled back at Ryan and hesitated. "First of all, I'm authorized to provide both of you with federal protection." His smile faded. "And I strongly advise that you take me up on that offer."
"And what about the investigation?"
"We've taken the case over from Chicago P.D. We're still checkin
g out the car for any clues and I should have a detailed forensics report in the morning. We have also drafted a short list of perps with a penchant for bombing."
"How short of a list?"
"Not as short as we would like. But, as you know, the best sources are on the street, and I've put word out to my snitches along with the description of the guy you thought might be following you."
"Sounds like a long road lies ahead, Jim."
"As you know, it can either be a very long road or we could catch a break and have things under control before the day's out. Anyway, let me know your plans and I will make any arrangements possible for your protection."
Crawford stepped out to make a few phone calls and arrange for the sketch artist to come over to the hospital to meet with Ryan.
"I'll meet with the sketch artist today, but I'm not sticking around in protective custody and waiting for the FBI to solve this crime," Ryan said to Jordan. "I'm flying out to Raleigh tomorrow. I need to find out more about the Tricopatin derivative that's being sold on the black market. My buddy Eric Maynard is running the show at FSW, and I'm hoping he can provide some insight. He was my college roommate and my partner at Immugene. We worked on Tricopatin together for several years. If anyone can shed some light on this, it'll be him."
An awkward silence followed, disturbed only by the distant murmur of the hospital cafeteria cart making its morning rounds. Jordan seemed at a loss.
"Jordan, this is a very dangerous situation and I think you should stay in Chicago and let Jim continue to protect you."
"My clinic is scheduled to open for business in two weeks. Jim has been great, but I'm not waiting around for the FBI to solve a crime that they don't have a clue about. Protective custody could last for weeks or even months and I'm leaving for Mexico in ten days one way or the other."
"Jordan, I understand, but . . ."
Before Ryan could continue with his objection, Jordan interrupted. "As you know, I am convinced that my clinic is the reason behind these attacks. So if you are going to Raleigh to see what you can discover about a once-promising drug that is banned by the FDA, and that same drug is now being sold in a clinic similar to mine, then I think you're probably barking up the right tree. I'm coming with you."