by John Shaw
***
The hotel was draped in pink-and-white stucco and sat nestled in lush vegetation, dominated by fern palms and coconut trees. Rain-forest greenery was worked into the landscape, lending the grounds a manicured, yet natural, look.
After checking in, Ryan and Jordan wandered through the open-air lobby to admire the panoramic view of the ocean, which sparkled in the sun through the shrubbery surrounding the veranda. A soft breeze blew in off the water, and a wind chime tinkled nearby. A parrot perched on a swing in the lobby squawked, "Hola, hola."
The beach was an unusual mixture of coarse gray and white sand that melded into the wondrous blue ocean. They strolled up the beach looking for an isolated spot. Jordan was wearing the lime-green bikini that had so enticed Ryan back in Exuma; he still loved the way it displayed her figure. The rays of the setting sun picked up red highlights in her hair, spinning it with bronze. Walking close, he found that her hair had an almost intoxicating aroma of sunshine and shampoo. He dropped behind occasionally to admire the seductive sway of her hips and feared the intensity with which he was falling for her.
When the sun was just showing its final edge above the slowly rolling swells, they found a secluded cove and reclined on Jordan's beach robe. She snuggled into Ryan, and the smell of her exhilarated him. He kissed her cheek, her earlobe, and her neck, working his way down.
In an almost dreamlike state, their bodies united with urgency. Their frenzied lovemaking kept cadence with the rhythm of the surf, and the climax was a crescendo, like the surf in a tempest. That was what their lovemaking was like, a violent storm that left them drained and breathless as it passed through them.
Chapter 24
Doctor Pohmer was a tall man who carried his arrogance like a swagger stick. He greeted Ryan and Jordan with a jovial welcome that Ryan thought was a bit over the top for a man whose business involved working with terminal cancer patients.
The doctor eyed Jordan with unveiled skepticism, and Ryan became concerned that her "disguise" might not be enough. Despite her attempt to feign sickness, she did not look like a dying woman. Charcoal eye shadow below her eyes gave her a gaunt appearance, and the application of a pale tone of face powder completed the look as much as it could for someone whose true image was that of robust health. In spite of Pohmer's initial reaction, his skilled presentation soon had Ryan and Jordan relaxing as they fell into their role of a couple desperate for a miracle.
The tour of the elaborate facilities took over an hour. They were shown everything from the patients' rooms—which looked more like luxury suites at a five-star resort than hospital rooms— to the state-of-the-art health spa, physical therapy rooms, resort-style swimming pool, dining areas, treatment facilities, and testing labs.
Ryan was amazed at the lavishness of the clinic, which also offered twenty-four-hour room service, a full-time concierge, and all the amenities found at the world's premier vacation destinations. Of course, at the cost of $5 million dollars, this luxury came with a steep price tag that nobody but the ultra-wealthy could afford.
Pohmer informed his new prospects that while most of the patients at the clinic had been diagnosed with terminal cancer, the clinic also catered to patients with milder problems who preferred to heal in a resort-like atmosphere.
As they entered the lab facilities, Pohmer pointed with pride to a vial encased in a glass showcase and labeled Serapectin. Several other drugs were also displayed, but Serapectin was clearly the featured drug. "This," he said, pointing to the drug, "is our pride and joy. One injection every ten days for ninety days, and your cancer will be cured."
Ryan, struggling to remain in ignorant-patient mode, let an appropriate amount of awe creep into his voice. "That's amazing."
"That's right, it is. We've successfully treated over one hundred and seventy patients for ovarian cancer."
One shot every ten days for ninety days, sounds
familiar. I would love to speak to these patients. That is, if they're still breathing.
Jordan's face lit up. "Darling, what do you think?"
"It all sounds promising. Would it be possible to speak with some of your former patients, Dr. Pohmer?"
"We get that question a lot. I wish I could allow you to, but all patient records are confidential. Nevertheless, we do have a portfolio of thank-you letters that we have received, and I would be happy to share those with you."
"That'd be great. I'm sure they'll provide us with some encouragement." Looking back at Jordan, Ryan said, "I think this is what we've been looking for, honey. Let's get your treatments started right away." The nod from Jordan was Pohmer's cue.
"That'll be fine. We'll get you started with evaluations first thing Monday morning. Of course, we are going to have to run our own series of tests. We'll need your complete medical history and all your records sent down from your physician in the States."
"Of course," Ryan said. "The release has been completed. As soon as we place the call, they'll be sent right over."
"There is also the matter of diet, physical therapy, and strength training which will be necessary to enhance your treatment."
"Will my wife be required to stay here for the entire ninety days?" Ryan was doing his best to sound concerned.
"I would plan on a full four months. Although the treatment phase is ninety days, we don't advise going home until our follow-up testing confirms the cancer is in full remission. Based on experience, it can take up to thirty days after the treatment is complete for the patient to test cancer-free. And we keep our patients under the strictest supervision to help maintain their health during the course of treatment. Of course, you are free to visit anytime. You'll find that most of our patients, even though they are ill, like it here. We do our best to pamper them."
Ryan and Jordan smiled at him as if he were their savior. Pohmer seemed to revel a moment in that role before speaking again.
"Of course there's still the matter of—"
"Ah, yes," Ryan interrupted, "the money. I will have the initial payment wired to the hospital's account on Monday."
"That's good. I'll have you talk to our business manager, Mr. Valadez, before you leave. Is there anything else you'd like to see?"
"I don't think so," Jordan said. "We'll be back in the morning."
***
About a half-hour later, while Ryan was giving Valadez some fairly inventive details on the Calks' imaginary lives, Pohmer stuck his head in the door. He made sure everything was all set, handed Ryan the portfolio of thank-you letters, and said goodbye, explaining that he was off to make his rounds.
As they had planned two days earlier in the back room of Charlie's Pub in Durham, Jordan took this opportunity to feign sickness and excuse herself to the bathroom.
The business manager's office was down a hallway off the main entrance. During the facility tour, they had used the elevators to travel between the various floors, but given the elevators' location in the main reception area, they would be useless for what Ryan and Jordan had in mind.
Jordan used the stairwell to gain access to each level of the clinic. She made notes of bathroom locations and other possible places to hide in case the need arose. She returned to the business manager's office where Ryan was reading the doctor's portfolio. When she reappeared, he asked with a convincing look of concern, "Do you feel okay, darling? You took so long."
She put her hand to her stomach. "Sorry, I just had some nausea. I'm feeling better now, though."
Valadez inquired whether he could do anything for her. When Jordan declined, he thanked them for visiting the clinic, reassured them that they were making the right decision, and escorted them out to the valet, who had their vehicle waiting for them.
Ryan handed a ten-dollar bill to the valet, then hopped into the driver's seat of their rented SUV.
"Gracias Senor."
"De nada. How late does the valet service run?"
"Ocho."
Ryan closed the door and pulled out of the facility as J
ordan breathed a sigh of relief.
"Did you see anything interesting on your bathroom break?" Ryan asked.
"It shouldn't be too difficult to sneak in unnoticed. This place has more in common with a resort than a medical facility. I found a rear staircase past the administrative offices that accesses all the floors. The challenge will be getting into the labs. It looks like they're only accessible with a key card."
"That won't be a problem," Ryan said with a grin. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a key card with a photo ID of a lab technician named Cesar Hernandez. "I swiped this from a jacket hanging on a chair in the lab as Pohmer was going on about Serapectin."
"Nice work, Mr. Calk." Jordan squeezed Ryan's shoulder. "With their open-door policy and resort-style setting, two well-dressed Americans should be able to stroll right in without drawing any attention."
"I was thinking the same thing. And I didn't notice any video surveillance cameras except at the reception desk at the front entrance. As long as we avoid that area, we should be fine, unless they have hidden cameras."
"And why would you think they don't?"
"This isn't a Las Vegas casino. Cameras are meant to deter crime and they're most effective when placed in plain sight. But we still need to be extremely cautious. There will be some nasty consequences if we get nabbed with a stolen key card or found in a place we shouldn't be. I'm sure that industrial espionage is as serious a crime in Mexico as it is in the States."
"Hard to imagine a nastier consequence than getting blown up or run off a cliff."
"Point well taken."
***
That evening, Ryan and Jordan arrived at the NHCA parking lot a few minutes after eight o'clock and waited for their opportunity. After forty-five minutes, they noticed a black four-door sedan with tinted windows pull in. The car parked in an open spot three rows over from where Ryan and Jordan were waiting. Four well-dressed Americans, appearing to be in their mid-sixties, exited the vehicle and started for the entrance.
Ryan and Jordan jumped out of their SUV and followed several feet behind the group as they entered the facility. As the couples were checking in with the lone attendant on duty, Ryan and Jordan disappeared down the hallway, out of sight of the reception area. They took the staircase leading to the now-vacant third floor where the lab was located. They decided to hide out in the women's bathroom until they were able to figure out if security personnel were patrolling the floor and, if so, how often.
After thirty minutes of Zen-like silence, they heard footsteps approaching their bathroom hideout. As the door opened, Ryan and Jordan lifted their legs out of sight from under the stalls.
The guard didn't bother turning on the lights and left as quickly as he had entered. After waiting patiently through three passes, they were certain that his schedule was to make a pass once an hour. It was now a quarter past midnight, and the building was quiet. As soon as the guard had made his fourth pass, they slipped out of the women's room and, using the key card, gained access to the lab. Since they couldn't turn on the lights, they were both grateful for the pen lights that Ryan had had the foresight to bring.
They surveyed the lab. It was an enormous, mostly rectangular room. The far corner of the lab was cut at a ninety-degree angle where the clin ic's drugs were proudly displayed behind a glass trophy case. From their visit with Dr. Pohmer earlier that day, Ryan was familiar with the lab's five rows that ran the length of the room. Each of the rows was lined with countertop-height lab stations and each of the countertops was filled with computers, high-tech electronics, test tubes, beakers, and burettes. The work space was designed so that technicians could work on either side of the rows and swivel chairs were scattered throughout the lab. There were four stations in each of the first three rows. The back two rows had two stations each. The lab's entrance was in the middle of the room. Directly back from the entry door, located past the first three rows, was a reception-style desk with twelve large file cabinets lined up against the wall behind it. This is where Ryan and Jordan decided to begin their search for more information on the wonder drug.
As Ryan expected, the file cabinets were locked. But these were not high-security locks and he was able to jimmy them open using a letter opener he found on the reception desk.
They began searching through each file in every drawer. The search was monotonous as many of the files contained scientific data that had to be reviewed thoroughly to determine if the information was possibly relevant.
As Jordan read through the last file in the third cabinet, something caught her eye. "Ryan, I found a file that references Tricopatin."
Ryan immediately grabbed the file from Jordan. Sure enough the file referenced FSW's Tricopatin drug, now known as Serapectin. He dug deeper into the file but couldn't find any reference to changes in the formula. The file contained a brief history of the drug, the failed FDA trial, and the dosing procedures for Serapectin. That was it.
Just as he put the file back in the cabinet and closed the drawer, the entry door opened and a flashlight swept the lab. They dropped to the floor just in time to avoid being spotted.
The guard left just as quickly as he had come in and Ryan whispered, "Come on, we've got another hour, keep searching."
They set to work with a new fervor. They continued to find evidence of the wonder drug in use, but they could not locate patient records, test results, documents that revealed the formula, or any reference to where the drugs were being stored.
They abandoned the file cabinets and began searching through the cabinets under the various lab stations. Some were unlocked and others were locked up with a mechanism no more sophisticated than the file cabinets'. The locks were easy to bust open, but each took a few minutes and the clock was ticking. They were deep into their search, checking every vial and test tube they found, when the guard returned.
Both ducked and held their breath. The flashlight beam swept the lab but instead of leaving this time, the guard entered. Ryan and Jordan exchanged a look as the guard's footsteps drew closer. When he entered the next aisle of counters and began to round the corner, both scurried as quietly as possible to the abutting aisle. When their shoes scuffed on the tiled floor, the guard called out, "Hola . . . Quien estd ahi?"
They froze before Ryan reached up and knocked over a set of test tubes into the aisle adjacent to where he and Jordan were crouching. As the guard raced to the site of the broken glass, Ryan swung around the counter and, attacking from the rear, took the guard around the neck, applying pressure until he drifted into unconsciousness. Ryan had gone over a decade without using his FBI training; since meeting Jordan, he literally hadn't been able to live without it.
After dropping the guard to the floor, Ryan raced over to the door and flicked on the lights. He yanked power cords from the back of a couple computers and bound the unconscious guard's feet and hands. After fashioning a gag from the guard's own necktie, Ryan got to his feet. "We don't need to worry about him now, but we need to find what we're looking for before someone comes looking for him."
Glancing around the office for any place they hadn't already checked, Jordan said, "Maybe we're looking in the wrong area. What about the vial in the display case?"
"How do we know it isn't just a labeled test tube filled with colored water?"
"What do we have to lose? Besides, we're running out of time."
They fell into a full sprint towards the far corner of the lab where the wonder drug was on display. Ryan picked up a chair, heaved it through the glass, and grabbed the vial of Serapectin. "Now for the accounting office."
"After the racket you made?" Jordan said, aghast. "Don't you think we're pushing our luck? Let's get out of here before we end up in a Mexican prison."
"Not so fast. We need to locate any possible leads if we're ever going to find out who's been trying to kill you. This may be our only chance. Besides, we need to see if we can get our hands on a complete patient list. I want to see if any of these people are really still a
live. That will tell us if this crap works or not."
Against her better judgment, Jordan agreed, and they headed off toward the accounting office. Using the letter opener to jimmy the lock, Ryan slipped in with Jordan behind him. The office had a glass partition, and everything inside lay exposed to the main corridor. Once inside, Ryan booted up the computer.
Drawing on her experience as a clinic oper ator, Jordan had some ideas as to where the information might be stored and under what titles. The sales reports told a story all by themselves: the clinic employed eight salesmen, with Jerry Cottle being the top earner at $7 million dollars in the last year alone. Even the low-end guys made over a million a year.
After printing off the sales reports, Jordan located the file in the hard drive that contained a patient list. Although the list did not include any medical information, it did provide names, addresses, and phone numbers, along with billing and payment details. A quick scan of the printed list revealed that patients paid anywhere from several hundred thousand dollars to $5 million for their treatments. A long list of patients had paid $5 million dollars, and it was this information that drew Ryan's attention. These must be the suckers that paid for Tricopatin, or Serapectin, or whatever it is they're calling it these days.
There was no security in sight aside from a lone clerk nodding off to sleep at the front desk. They held their breath as they headed out the door, prepared to run if alarms went off. Moments later, they were in the SUV on their way back to the hotel.
Chapter 25
Gus Witherspoon returned the small stack of results to the clinic's chief of staff and turned to leave.
"You barely looked at these!" the doctor protested.
Gus was already halfway out the door. "I've seen enough."
The doctor chased after him, following him outside. "What about the patients? What about their families? What do we say to them?"