by L Jan Eira
“How do you know he has sleep apnea?” asked Susan.
“He’s obese, speaks nasally, looks tired all the time and I’ve seen impressions on his face from the mask,” answered Jack.
“What mask?” questioned Claire.
“Patients with sleep apnea have to wear a CPAP mask attached to a pump that pushes air into the mouth and/or nose during the night, so the patient will continue to get oxygen and breathe even when they stop breathing on their own. That way, the patient gets restful sleep and they can function during the day. The mask is attached with straps, which leave an impression on the face, if you look carefully. He had them.”
“So what? How does this help?” inquired Claire.
“If you depend on a CPAP machine to sleep well and you’re about to leave the country permanently, what do you do?”
“Hmm, you need to get equipment and supplies to last you awhile. You’re pretty smart.” answered Claire.
“That was great thinking. You were thinking like a detective. But we checked all the places. I sent a police car to all stores and nothing. One of the store owners told one of the officers that they had an order to be picked up by Miller, but he canceled that same day. Somehow, Miller figured us out.”
There was a long pause after Susan spoke.
“Jack, I need to know everything you know. Will you start from the beginning,” asked Susan, breaking the silence.
“I knew Rupert had a cabin in the woods. He had invited the cardiology fellows there for a Fourth of July party. On a hunch, I went there. I found some files, which I was reading in my office. James Miller walked into my office with a mask and sprayed me in the face. I knew it was Rat Poison. I ran away from there and injected myself with propranolol, verapamil and midazolam twice, I think, to try to overcome the effects of the poison.”
“How did you know to use those drugs?” asked Susan.
“Observing Herb and the other victims, I noticed Rat Poison was a stimulating agent to the cardiovascular and central nervous systems. It caused rapid heart racing, agitation, paranoia and so on. It made sense to use drugs known to impede those processes. The drugs I used are known to do that.”
Susan and Claire nodded understandingly. Jack continued.
“I knew my mind would fail me. The last thing I remember was writing you a message with my blood about Miller. I’m not clear at all about the rest. I just remember waking up here.”
“You ended up calling my cell phone, fortuitously. All you were doing was grunting. I called Susan. She found you.” Claire finished her sentence and looked at Susan.
“You were acting like a mad man. The cops found you in a subdivision behind the hospital. I met them there and we brought you here. We told the press you were dead.” Susan paused as she looked through her purse to find the Evansville Courier & Press newspaper and held it up so Jack and Claire could examine it. The headlines read in large bold letters: Young doctor shot dead by police.
“This was designed so that those responsible would think you were out of the way,” she continued.
“I was never shot,” stated Jack with diffidence. “Was I?”
“You know, as a matter of fact, you were almost shot by a rookie,” confessed Susan. “But no, you weren’t shot. Thank God for that. You were saved by the shift commander.”
“Why did you want the news to say I was dead?” asked Jack.
“For two reasons. First, so they would quit coming after you. Second, we knew that the next target would be you, Claire.” Susan looked at Claire. “They would think you had some knowledge of the events and would want to get rid of you, as well. So, we covertly guarded your room heavily, knowing they would come after you.” Susan turned to Jack.
“You should be proud of Claire. Two men walked into her hospital room and tried to abduct her. We were all over them, but she was so brave. She did great. We owe you, Claire.” Susan exchanged glances with Claire and squeezed her hand appreciatively. Claire smiled.
“The two men we apprehended were later murdered by Mike. He still had gun residue on him when we caught him at the airport.” Jack looked confused.
“Airport?”
“Well, Steve Peski called you to tell you the Gulfstream Jet had landed. You asked him to tell you if that airplane returned to Evansville. Claire got the call and told me. At that point I suspected that the jet was here as the get-away vehicle. Fortunately, we were able to stop the plane from taking off. I called and asked the Evansville Tower to hold them on the tarmac for as long as possible. Mike held a gun to the pilot’s head and made them taxi, but we got there in time. I arrested the fabulous FBI man, Mike Ganz, myself.”
“I thought the two of you were dating,” exclaimed Jack.
“We were. Well, I was. I thought he was coming to Evansville to see me, but all along he was coming here to take care of his business. Now that I think about it, every step of the way, he was trying to throw us off the case.” Susan shook her head in disgust, and then continued, “I broke it off. I don’t date scumbags. It was hard for a bit, but I’m already over him. What a fool I was!” Susan paused briefly. Then smirked.
“At least you caught him,” offered Jack, trying to reassure her.
“I was angry at myself. I let myself be blinded by my feelings for Mike. I let Mike kill the one man in my life who really mattered. I wasn’t seeing what you two could plainly see,” said Susan regretfully.
“Don’t blame yourself for having feelings, Susan,” interrupted Claire.
“I know. I understand now. I’m over it.” Susan sat up straight.
“Good. You have a healthy attitude, Susan,” said Claire approvingly.
“Can you explain to me how the Rat Poison works exactly?” asked Susan, a ravenous appetite for more information.
“Sure. They developed this agent for congestive heart failure patients. A drug designed to stimulate the heart to work more efficiently. As they tested it on rats, they noticed that the drug, at high doses, made the rats die suddenly of cardiac arrests or bleeding in the brain. At lower dosages, it made rats aggressive toward each other. The drugged rats would just go helter skelter on the others. The lab was also developing an unrelated system to administer drugs by inhalation in the form of tiny bubbles. When desired, an ultrasound device is used to burst the bubbles releasing their contents into the circulation. This was designed to deliver medications into precise areas of the body, such as chemotherapy into cancer cells. They combined the two experiments and made a weapon out of it. After the rats, they started to test Rat Poison on humans. Just like the rats, men would just die suddenly. As they figured out the right dose, the men given Rat Poison would become agitated and paranoid with a desire to kill those around them. A pretty good weapon to sell to the military.”
“Rupert was a greedy sick bastard,” interrupted Susan.
“That’s the funny part. Rupert was against it. He kept notes on all of it. He had copious entries on his computer log on Major Rooner, Muhammad Akrim, James Miller, and Mike Ganz, saying he would not agree to run tests on human. He said it was unethical. He told them that the prime directive of medicine is Primum, non Nocere.”
“English, please,” interrupted Susan.
“First, do no harm,” translated Claire with conviction.
“James Miller and Mike threatened to kill Rupert if he wouldn’t go along with them. James administered Rat Poison to Rupert to coerce him to continue the research on humans. At any point, James or Mike could kill Rupert with a touch of a button. And Rupert knew it,” continued Jack.
“You think Rupert was killed remotely by bursting the bubbles in his body, while he was driving?” solicited Susan intrigued.
“I’m sure of it. When the time came, Mike knew the correct frequency used to burst Rupert’s bubble. Excuse the pun,” answered Jack confidently, with a grin.
“How did Mike get involved?” asked Susan.
“When they first wanted to see if there was a military application for Rat Poison, R
upert approached Mike. He was here in town helping the Evansville Police with a federal case. Mike met with Rupert and became enamored by Rat Poison and it’s potential to make him millions. Rupert tried to back out, but James and Mike wanted to pursue the project.”
“Is all this information in the files you found at the cabin?”
“Yes. Speaking of the files, we need to check my office.” Susan slowly shook her head disappointedly and interrupted Jack.
“I already checked. There are no files. James Miller must have taken them after he poisoned you. Mike claims he knows nothing of them. We’ll keep searching. Something will come up,” interjected Susan.
“So, was the military sponsoring the project?” asked Claire, after a long pause.
“No, the military didn’t want anything to do with it due to its unethical nature during testing. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind it after it was tested. Akrim, who is probably a radical terrorist or something like that, was funding them. Did he arrive in the jet today?”
“No, he’s too smart. However, we do have his Gulfstream. Do you want to buy a slightly used, beautiful, well-equipped jet?”
They all chuckled.
“What about John Connor and the others murdered at the hospital?” asked Susan.
“John must have discovered what was going on with the project. He was trying to tell me. Mike found out about it and made Rupert kill John. Mike got the gun and gave it to Rupert who, in turn, gave it to Butterworth with a hefty dose of Rat Poison. He called John to come in to the unit to sign up a patient for one of their trials. When John arrived, he detonated the bubbles and Butterworth did the rest. Heather McCormick and the security guard were just collateral damage; in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“That’s a damn shame,” said Susan. Saddened by the remembrance of unnecessary loss of life, the group sat in silence for a moment, shaking their heads slowly.
“Yes, it was. Rupert had all this in his journal,” offered Jack.
“And somebody stole it all. We’ll see if we can recover this important evidence.” Susan paused.
“You’ll get it when and if you get James Miller,” said Jack.
“Either that or it all went up in flames with his house,” lamented Susan.
“You know, I just had another thought that may be useful in trying to catch Miller,” supposed Jack.
“Watch out, he’s thinking like a cop again,” said Claire smiling.
“I noticed Miller had a rash on his right hand when he sprayed me. I noticed it before but it was faint. It’s raised, scaly, red and itchy. I noticed scratch marks on and around the rash. I think it’s a fungal infection the name of which I can’t recall. It’s almost exclusively diagnosed in people who work with lab animals.” Jack remained pensive for a beat. “Will you get me a computer so I can do a quick Internet search?” he continued.
Susan made a phone call and a policeman carrying a laptop computer arrived in Jack’s room in no time. After a few clicks on the keyboard, the conversation resumed with newly found enthusiasm.
“Wherever he’s going, he’ll need to take care of this soon. It’s very itchy. If he’s planning to leave the country, he’ll see a doctor here in the United States before he leaves. The treatment is a specific antifungal agent that gets little use otherwise. Is there a way, you or the FBI can track the sale of this medicine around the U.S.?”
“I’ll find out.” Susan dialed her cell phone and spoke for several minutes. During her phone conversation, she paced around the small hospital room. At one point, she paused to ask Jack to spell the name of the antifungal agent. When she hung up the call, she sat on the bed and looked at Jack and Claire, who had remained intrigued and quiet.
“Let's see where this takes us. So, when are you leaving this joint?” inquired Susan, breaking the silence.
“Leave this joint? I work here, you know,” stated Jack.
“Are you guys ready to go back to your normal lives?” asked Susan.
“I don’t know that we’ll ever be normal again, Susan,” proclaimed Jack.
“What is normal, anyway? Normal is what you make it to be. We will be richer and poorer by the experiences of the last few weeks. But we must go on with our lives,” said Claire.
“Claire, you’re such a psychologist,” said Jack, picking up a pillow and throwing it at Claire. Susan imitated the gesture.
“Don’t make me laugh. I was shot in the chest, you know,” screamed Claire, trying desperately not to chortle. The three laughed for a long moment.
*****
The few days later
October 6
2:40 PM
The mysterious man talks quietly on his cell phone. He’s wearing his plush multicolor robe and occasionally sips from his coffee mug, waiting on a table within reach. He is sitting on a divan, his feet up comfortably on the ottoman. He’s wearing slippers. The Bluetooth device in attached to his right ear, the cell phone on his lap. He is James Miller, the Research Lab Head Tech and the mastermind of the Rat Poison scheme.
“We were found out, Mr. Akrim. The police caught us. They arrested Mike Ganz and confiscated all the equipment and drugs.” His words were remorseful. A short pause ensued.
“No, we can’t make the drug or the equipment needed to weaponized it. Rupert’s company, MultiTech, Inc., has been taken over by the police and the FBI. All assets frozen.” James rubs and scratches the reddened rash on his right hand.
“They confiscated the airplane. Do the pilots know anything?” Another pause. Another scratch.
“Oh, good.” James nods slowly as Akrim speaks on the other side of the call.
“Mike will give me away, but he doesn’t know anything about you. He doesn’t know your name or where you are. Only Rupert and I knew about you. I made sure of that.” A long pause while the other party talks.
“I have all the documentation. All the records. Everything. There is nothing else out there.” The room is overcome by silence for a short while again, save for the sound of the right hand being vigorously scratched.
“Well, investments sometimes are like that, Mr. Akrim. Do all your investments always make you money?” inquires James.
“Well, this investment didn’t. Think of it as a bad investment. We all have those, sometimes.”
“Yes, sir. I understand. But, you’ll have no trouble. I promise you that.”
“I can’t implicate you without implicating myself. You only provided research money; I masterminded the whole operation.” Another pause while excited gibberish is barely audible through the mobile device. James remains tranquil.
“I will leave the United States. I’ll change my name and have surgery to change my appearance and voice. Nobody will ever find me.” Another long pause ensued.
“With all due respect, Mr. Akrim, you won’t be able to find me either, so your empty threats don’t scare me.” James continued to stay composed.
“The cell phone is untraceable. You’re welcome to try, but you’ll be wasting your time.”
“We have nothing else to talk about. Goodbye forever, Mr. Akrim.” Calmly, James closes the cell phone, hanging up the call.
After a few seconds of deliberation and grins, James sips from his coffee cup. He dials again. His first call was to sever ties with one rich partner in crime. The second call was to secure a different, even richer, associate. While waiting for the connection, James smiled ear to ear, delighted by how well things were going. The future appears bright. Very bright indeed.
James was getting sick and tired of the rash on his right hand. Periodically, he would scratch at it, but it never seemed enough. He would have to go see a doctor about it. And soon.
He made an appointment with a dermatologist using the name Joshua McCarthy. He was diagnosed with a rare fungal infection and was given a prescription. He stopped at a pharmacy and returned to the hotel with the hopes for a cure from his dreaded itching.
“It always pays to be ready. Prepared. Plan for every contingenc
y,” whispered James to no one in the hotel room as he looked around visualizing every corner of the large room.
“This may very well be a total waste of time and money. But it can also save my life,” murmured James to himself. He made sure the door to the next hotel room was unlocked. He had taken the time to rent three rooms in a row, under different names. All rooms had adjoining communicating inside doors, the last room being around the corner the outside door of which led to the back parking lot. In that lot, Miller parked his second vehicle, which he rented under an assumed name.
Like a lunatic, James kept working, walking place-to-place, planning, scheming, all along talking quietly to himself. Satisfied with his progress, at 7:02 p.m. James was ready to relax. He made a call to a nearby Chinese restaurant and ordered food to be delivered to his hotel room. At 7:18 p.m., there was a knock on the door. James got up to open the door, anticipating crab Rangoon and Mongolian beef. Instead, two well-dressed men sporting an FBI badge asked politely to enter the room. The agents crossed the threshold with the left hand holding up their ID and right hand on their side revolvers, still holstered. They were also armed with a picture of Mr. James Miller. This was the seventh such incursion by the Bureau over the last three days, the others occurring in St. Louis, Denver, Boise, Seattle, Austin and San Diego. The other victims of the fungus had no resemblance to the man in the picture, so an arrest had not been made. No arrest until this time. Within seconds, James found himself on the floor with his hands behind his back. One of the agents pressed down hard with a knee on Miller’s back, assuring he would not resist or attempt to get up. He was cuffed and Mirandized. As the agents aided the seemingly helpless man to his feet, James extended his right arm allowing the remote device to fall from his long sleeve and reach his right hand. That’s when his preparedness began to pay off dividends. An explosion behind the sofa was loud and of sufficient magnitude to nearly completely pulverize not only the couch but also a nearby television and desk. The men had remained physically unharmed by this. A plume of thick smoke emanated from the area of the detonation. Most importantly, the blast provided a momentary diversion allowing James to escape from the distracted agent’s grip and progress to stage two. A touch of a second button resulted in the dissemination of Rat Poison micro bubbles into the smoke-filled room, quickly penetrating into the detectives’ respiratory tree. The two men would later be found dead in the hotel room, one having succumbed to a large brain hemorrhage, the other to a massive heart attack. The dose had been precisely and accurately calculated to achieve a drastic and rapid response. Mr. James Miller was, of course, nowhere to be found. The FBI placed the fugitive in its Most Wanted List.