by John Holt
He started to tap his fingers on the papers that he had been reading. He looked up at Luis. “Oh no, there are other reasons.” He picked up one of the papers. “I’ve been going through these. It is quite clear. Everything is right here,” he continued, as he pointed at the document. “Take Manuel Cortez. That was the first person to die.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Lunchtime, wasn’t it?” He looked at the paper in front of him, and nodded. “That’s right. It was just after one o’clock.” He paused for a moment. “Anyway, he had a heart problem, poor man, Angina apparently. Obviously the heart just gave out.” He nodded his head slowly. “Then there’s Maria.” He paused as he shuffled through the papers. “Ah, here it is,” he said as he found the document that he wanted. He held it up in the air. “Maria Montoya,” he continued. “Aged forty-seven, she had a family history of diabetes.” He lay the paper down onto the desk. He shook his head slowly and sighed deeply. “No, Luis, it’s not the drug,” he said. “It’s all there, in black and white… there in those papers.”
Luis looked at the papers, and then he looked at Clark. “But surely we checked all the health histories of these people before we went ahead, didn’t we?” he asked.
Clark looked at him, but said nothing for a moment. He picked up the papers and placed them inside the top drawer of his desk, and closed it. He then locked the drawer, and placed the key in his pocket. He looked at his visitor, and stood up. Slowly he walked around the desk, and over to the other man. He placed his hand on Luis’ shoulder.
“We did check them, didn’t we?” Ramone asked nervously.
“Come on, Luis, why look so glum?” Clark replied, ignoring the question. “It’ll be all right, you’ll see.” He started to lead the man towards the tent flap. “Now, off you go, and get a good night’s sleep. We’ve another busy day tomorrow.” Luis looked at him, but said nothing. “Don’t worry about anything,” Clark said, and smiled. “We’ll sort it out. Off you go.” The man left and Clark turned back into the tent. He shrugged his shoulders, and started to rub his chin. He was no longer smiling.
* * *
The following day four more people died, and six were seriously ill, including a young boy, Felipe. He was aged twelve, and was Luis’ nephew. The drug was clearly not working.
“We have to get everyone into a hospital,” Luis said. “And quickly.”
“Do you really think so, Luis?” Clark replied. “I mean we have all the necessary equipment right here. And of course we have the best medical team available. I doubt very much whether the local hospital could possibly handle the problem.” He looked at Luis, his head to one side. “What do you think?” Ramone said nothing and slowly shook his head. “After all it would take days to get everyone to the hospital,” Clark continued. “And the journey…” He shook his head, and sighed. “Well, the journey could prove just too much for some, I’m afraid.”
Luis was unsure, hesitant. He didn’t know whether or not the hospital would cope. He didn’t know whether the journey would prove to be too much. All that he knew was that the drug wasn’t working, and that his nephew was dying. He looked at Clark. “We must try,” he said simply. “We have to do something.”
Clark shook his head. “Luis I know that you are worried about Felipe. I would be, too. It is natural, and perfectly understandable,” he said. “But the hospital will be unable to help, believe me.”
Luis did not know what to believe. “You don’t know that for sure,” he said. He took a deep breath, and shook his head. “I shall take Felipe to the hospital tonight, whether you agree or not.” He turned and started towards the exit.
Clark held up his hand to stop him. “Luis, think for just a moment, you know our situation as well as I do. What we are doing here is, shall we say, not entirely legal.” He paused. Luis looked at him, and said nothing. He was breathing deeply and sweating. “We cannot possibly go to the hospital. If we did, our work here would be finished.”
Luis looked up and glared at him. “Finished,” he repeated angrily. “Finished, it is falling apart, in front of our very eyes,” he said. “It is already finished.” He paused and shook his head. “It’s over. Can’t you see that?” he continued. “Don’t you understand?” He raised his hands high in the air, and slowly formed two fists. He then brought the fists down on to the desk.
Clark looked at him. “Luis, I know that you are upset. I know that you are concerned. However, I am sure that you do not want to go to prison, do you? That is precisely where you and I will end up if you go to the hospital.”
Luis looked down to the ground. He said nothing, but he knew that what Clark said was true. Clark placed his hand on Luis’ arm, and smiled. “Come along Luis don’t worry so much. It would be much better if they stayed here, and we dealt with it. We have other drugs that we can try.” He squeezed Luis’ arm. “It’ll be fine, you’ll see.”
* * *
The next day Felipe died, along with three others. Of the remaining forty-eight volunteers, twenty-four developed permanent breathing problems and long term illness from which it was unlikely that they would ever recover. The last twenty-four volunteers showed no signs of the disease at all.
Two days later three government officials arrived at the site. There was a hurried conference between Trenton Pharmaceuticals, and the Costa Rican Government. It was decided that the tests should be abandoned. The remaining volunteers were to be sent home. Nothing should be said, and the whole episode should be covered up. The tents were to be burnt, the equipment destroyed. All documents, letters, and papers relating to the operation were to be shredded, or locked away. A second payment was made to the volunteers. They were warned that nothing was to be said to anyone otherwise the money would be taken back. They were also advised that they would lose their homes, and livelihoods, if word got out. Compensation was paid in connection with those that had died. A further eight million dollars was paid to the government officials. Nothing further was to be said. Nothing was mentioned on the radio, television, or in any of the newspapers. To all intents and purposes the matter had never ever happened.
* * *
There was, however, a much smaller, much less important news item in one specific newspaper. It was an insignificant little story that would, generally, have gone un-noticed. It consisted of only a few short lines that appeared on page eight of the Costa Rican News. “Reporter’s Tragic Death” was the stark headline. “It is with great sadness that we report the tragic death of Carlos Lopez, one of our up and coming young reporters. He was killed yesterday afternoon when he lost control of his car, and came off the road coming down from Palmira Heights, a notorious traffic black spot. Carlos was taken to Punta Rojas Hospital where he was pronounced dead on arrival. His family has been notified. Senor Nunez, the local Chief of Police has said that the accident would be fully investigated. He added however, that it would appear that the brakes on the car were faulty. Carlos had only been with this newspaper for a short time, but he will be sorely missed by family, friends, and colleagues. His funeral will take place at two thirty on Thursday at the Church of Our Lady, in Denia.”
* * *
Chapter Seven
Tom Kendall Private Detective
Miami - The Present Day
The Rican flu virus continued to spread unabated, and unchecked. Slowly at first, it made its way across the country, and then gradually increased momentum as it crossed over the borders into Panama to the south and Nicaragua to the north.
“La Tribuna,” Nicaragua, Wednesday – “Two cases of Rican flu were confirmed today in the Nicaraguan capital city, Tegucigalpa. It is understood that the two patients are both young women who have just returned from a short holiday in Costa Rica. The Health Ministry has reported that both patients were in a serious condition, and have so far not responded to treatment. Five other people who currently do not show any of the symptoms, but were on holiday with them, have been taken into isolation for observation.”
Panamanian Radio announced today that
four people working for the Panama Canal Authority, in the recently opened Miraflores Visitors Centre have been taken ill. The four people were taken to hospital early this morning. A series of tests have been carried out, and the results are awaited. No other details have been released. It is, however, assumed that all are suffering with Rican flu. It is also understood that as a precaution the Visitor Centre has now been closed until further notice.
* * *
Just less than twelve hundred miles away, to the northeast of Punta Rojas, Tom Kendall was sitting in his car in a small wooded area, at the end of a narrow dirt track, some thirty-five miles north-west of Miami, Florida. Kendall, a private detective based in Miami, had been there for a little less than two hours. Over to his right hand side, maybe two hundred yards away, or thereabouts, was a rambling timber barn. From his vantage point Kendall had a clear view of the main door. Some time ago two men had entered the building, through that door, carrying with them two large suitcases. They were still in there. Kendall checked his watch. They had been in there for one hour and fifty-seven minutes. What were they doing for so long, he asked himself. He looked over at the building. Perhaps there was a back door, he muttered to himself. Perhaps they had already left the building, doubled back, picked up their car, and had already gone. Kendall looked through his front windscreen. He could just see their car through the bushes. He shrugged his shoulders. They hadn’t left. They were still there, inside the building. For how much longer, he wondered.
He had been sitting there for two hours. He was tired. He was cold, and now the rain had started. He looked up at the sky, and shook his head. Sunshine State, he murmured. Not today it isn’t. The rain was getting heavier. Suddenly he began to feel hungry. No, he wasn’t exactly ravenous, not really. Not on the breadline, or anything quite like that. It was more like just a feeling. He felt like something to eat, something to chew on. More like comfort eating. Just to relieve the monotony of all the waiting around. If there was one thing about his job that he hated, it was waiting around…for someone or something. If there were two things he hated, it was waiting around in the rain.
He reached into the glove compartment. He took out a small packet. He looked at it, sighed and shook his head. Bran Flake Cereal Bar, the wrapper stated. He turned it over and read the reverse. This bar contains bran flakes, raisins, nuts, and honey, only seventy-five calories.
He shook his head once again. He thought of the quarter-pounder cheeseburger that was sitting on his desk. Mollie, his secretary, had persuaded him to leave it there. “This is much better for you,” she had said, as she handed him the cereal bar. “It’s much healthier and less fattening.”
Yeah, all well and good, but what about the taste? How had he allowed himself to be maneuvered like this? Why did he let these things happen to him? Certainly he could do with losing a few pounds, that was certain, but only a few. And there really wasn’t anything wrong with a healthy diet; nothing wrong with it at all. But there wasn’t anything wrong with a thick ham-burger, with cheese, onions, tomatoes, and some French fries, and …
He looked at the wrapper once again. “A bran flake cereal bar,” he murmured. It was not very inspiring. On the other hand, a ham-burger, and fried onions would have really cheered him up. Besides, if he wanted a ham-burger, then he would have one. No argument. Who was going to stop him? And if he wanted a bran flake cereal bar, well, he would have one. But it would be his decision, his choice, and no one else’s. It would be what he wanted to do.
He took a second bite of the bar. He had to admit that it wasn’t that bad, after all. It wasn’t that good either, but it was passable. A few moments later it had gone. He looked at the empty wrapper that he still held in his hand, and sighed. He was still feeling hungry. And the rain was getting even heavier. It was going to be a long, long, night.
* * *
Four weeks earlier Kendall had received a telephone call. He answered it on the fourth ring. “Kendall Detective Agency,” he said, looking across at Mollie, his secretary, and smiling. “How can I help you?” he had asked.
It was Detective Terrence Devaney, of the Miami Police Department. Devaney had passed a number of smallish jobs on to Kendall over the past few months. A surveillance job somewhere, perhaps. Checking up on someone’s alibi maybe, or just generally being a nuisance, asking a lot of questions. “Poking your nose in,” as Kendall called it. “Poking your nose in, usually where it wasn’t wanted.”
There had been nothing of any real significance, nothing for Kendall to get too excited about, but Kendall knew that it paid to have contacts in the police department. Besides it was something to do, and it paid a few bills. Anyway he was more than happy to help out the police whenever he could, as a favor you know. After all, they needed all the help they could get, didn’t they, he thought. Besides, even though it was extremely unlikely, you just never knew when you might need them, he reasoned.
Devaney had told him about two local men that he wanted watched. “They usually hang around Kelly’s Bar on Harbor Drive, or maybe Harrington’s on York Avenue. Whenever you see them, they always have a great wad of cash. Big spenders… you know the type,” he explained. “Splashing it around.” Kendall knew the type. “Trouble is most of the money is actually counterfeit. I want to know where they get it from.”
* * *
Devaney had been watching the two men for some time now. But then it happened, the un-thinkable. His men had been spotted. The surveillance was called off, for the time being. Then he thought of Kendall. The two men didn’t know Kendall. The surveillance was back on.
* * *
That had been just over four weeks ago. Following a tip off, Kendall had got his first sight of the two men, Charlie Day, and Roger Lockhart, at the racetrack at Gulfstream Park, two days later. Day was in his mid twenties. Lockhart was a few years older, thirty-two or three maybe. Both men were about one hundred and fifty pounds, and both men were of similar height. Both men were smartly dressed. That’s where the similarity ended. Lockhart was the obvious leader, the one with the brains, the one who made all of the decisions, and gave the orders. Day on the other hand was happy enough to be led. He didn’t want to think. It hurt too much. He thought with his fists and not his brains. He just needed to be told what to do. Then he would just do as he was told, without question.
The two men were spending money like it was fast going out of fashion, betting huge sums on the horses. They were spreading it around as though there was to be no tomorrow. But tomorrow did come, and the money continued to flow. They lost heavily, not that it made any difference. The money supply seemed unaffected. Then they suddenly disappeared. They were simply nowhere to be seen. Kendall had lost them. He checked all of their usual spots, and drew a blank. So he checked some of the unusual spots. He still drew a blank.
* * *
Then, just a few hours ago Kendall had received a telephone call. “Hi Kendall,” a voice said. “It’s Larry.”
Larry was one of Kendall’s unofficial assistants. What you might call a gopher. He occasionally carried out little errands for Kendall. Kendall had asked Larry to keep an eye out for the two men. “Yes, Larry what have you got for me?” he asked.
“They’re here, right now,” the voice said quite simply. “The Chateau Resort Hotel, on Collins.” He hung up.
* * *
It was just after six thirty when Kendall arrived at the hotel. As he walked into the lobby he could see Larry over at the bar. He saw Kendall, but made no sign of recognition. He merely glanced over to his left hand side, nodded slightly, and then immediately turned away, back to the bar. Kendall looked in the direction that he had indicated. There they were. Day and Lockhart were sitting over in the far corner. There were two other men with them. They were deep in conversation. Kendall turned around and walked back towards the bar. As he did so, Larry walked past, heading straight for the exit. Neither man spoke as they passed each other. Neither man acknowledged the other.
Kendall reached the
bar, sat down and ordered his drink. For the next forty minutes he sat quietly drinking his whiskey, and occasionally looking over towards the far corner. Suddenly all four men stood up. There was a brief conversation, and then the two strangers turned and quickly walked out of the hotel. A few minutes later it was Day and Lockhart’s turn to go. Lockhart threw some money onto the table, and the two men walked through the lobby towards the exit door. Kendall quickly finished his drink and followed a short distance behind.
* * *
It was raining steadily. According to the weather bureau, the rain was coming from the southeast, from the edge of a hurricane that had recently veered out towards the Gulf and was heading for Central America. Kendall was getting cold. He was getting stiff, and aches were beginning to spread across his shoulders, and down his back.
About one hundred yards up ahead, over on the right hand side, was the dark green Pontiac that he had been following since leaving the hotel. The vehicle’s unsuspecting occupants had gone inside an old warehouse building, just a few yards off of the track. That was almost two hours ago. Suddenly he heard the sound of an approaching car. Glancing through the rear window he could see the glow from the headlights. The car, a black Ford coupe, slowly drove past his position and stopped close to the Pontiac. Two men got out and walked over to the building. It was getting dark, and visibility was limited, but Kendall knew that it was the two strangers that he had seen previously at the hotel. They stopped at the doorway for a few moments. Suddenly the door opened. They went inside and the door closed behind them.
Kendall sighed and adjusted his seat, in an attempt to get a little more comfortable. It looked like he had a lot longer to wait.
* * *
There was a sudden flash of lightning, followed by a loud crash of thunder. Kendall sat up, startled by the noise. He shivered, and rubbed his eyes. He hadn’t actually been asleep, merely dozing, resting his eyes. He stretched his arms, and rubbed the back of his head. He took a deep breath and tried to stifle a yawn.