A Simple Cure

by Lawrence Gold

  “Woody and I never thought it would come to killing the girl. We hoped you’d take care of it some other way.” Eddie pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his face. “Woody’s all over my case. He’s worried that they’ll trace her death back to Kendall. Add your assault on that doctor and that sure puts you and us in the spotlight.”

  “No chance of them tracing that Gomez thing back to me. I was careful, very careful.”

  “I want to debrief you. Every detail. Don’t skip a thing.”

  Karl talked for twenty minutes, laying out in military terms every element of his action.

  “What did you find in her computer, her emails, letters, etc.?”

  “I didn’t get into it. It’s at the bottom of San Francisco Bay.”

  “You moron!” Eddie shouted. “That computer could have told us who she’d contacted and what information she may have shared especially about the BCG studies. Can we get at her emails?”

  Karl said nothing.

  “Don’t tell me.”

  “I had them erased on her computer and on the server too. They’re gone.”

  “You’re stupid beyond belief, Karl. Woody was right about you.”

  “This is bullshit. You wanted the job done, and so I did it. Don’t come at me with this holier-than-thou shit.”

  “We haven’t decided what to do about you, Karl. In the meanwhile, put one of your best computer nerds on the job to recover her emails, and find the missing BCG.”

  “Don’t worry about what to do with me, boss,” Karl said with a smile. “I recorded all our conversations and have documented everything I did under your instruction. It’s in a safe place. Someone will open it and share it with the cops if something—anything happens to me. Stupid...I’m not that stupid. You better pray that I stay healthy.”

  “Just get the fuck out of here.”

  Later that same afternoon in the office of Woody Hawkins, Eddie sat mute listening to the tirade.

  “You fucked up with that moron. He’s got us by the balls,” Woody said.

  “We didn’t want an Eton graduate for that job, and I didn’t believe he’d be so stupid.”

  “He’s not looking so stupid now.”

  “I know.”

  “We must keep him under control until I can figure out how to get rid of him. Remember,” Woody smiled, “how we dealt with Generalissimo Perez? When we got through with him, nobody would believe a word he said. Once we get there, Eddie, I want you to take him out. An accident or suicide will do.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  When Terri arrived in the lab the morning after Muller’s arrest, she approached Evan. “What did Greg Wincott say?”

  Evan swiveled on his lab chair. “He said he’d see us.”

  “Does he know what it’s all about?”

  “Of course. I think he hates these elaborate security measures as much as we do.”

  Greg greeted them in his office. His west window had a view of the San Francisco Bay with the Bay Bridge on the left and the city and Golden Gate to the right.

  When Terri stared at the view, Greg smiled. “Fantastic, isn’t it?”

  “How do you work with that distraction?”

  “In one way it’s difficult, but for freewheeling thought and stimulation of creativity, it’s the best.”

  Greg pointed to the chairs in front of his desk. “The entire Karl Muller situation is an embarrassment to me and to PAT. Security is necessary in business these days, but that doesn’t mean we have to tolerate violent and abusive behavior.”

  “Does that mean he’s done at PAT?” Evan asked.

  “If I could promise that, I would. Kendall controls corporate security, but this must be too much even for them.”

  What have the Wincotts done to their company? Terri thought. “Is there something we should know about PAT and Kendall?”

  Greg shifted in his chair. “I’m not telling you anything you couldn’t learn by talking to a stock market biotech analyst. Kendall’s patents on their bestsellers will expire soon. They desperately need something new. They’ve focused on our BCG studies even though I’ve told them repeatedly that these studies are too preliminary to take to the bank.”

  “Our Phase I study is certainly promising,” Terri said, “but we’ve yet to prove its effectiveness or its safety.”

  “They’re not listening, Dr. Powell. I’m saying the words, but they don’t get it. It makes me wonder if this is an example of how large corporations run.”

  “What about Muller?” Evan asked.

  “I’ll do the best I can. I have a call in to Richard Kendall, the company’s CEO.”

  Evan’s short legs dangled off the chair. He struggled off then looked up at Greg. “I respect you and Amanda. PAT’s philosophy of achievement over profit drew me here. I speak for myself and for many others when I say that the Kendall takeover has led to changes we cannot abide. If they continue, Greg, you are going to lose your best people. I’ll be the first one out the door.”

  Greg reddened. “You think I like this? It was Kendall or bankruptcy. We had no other choice. Remember, although they’ve curtailed much of our orphan drug research, we remain one of the few who are still doing that work.”

  “I know,” Evan said. “Nobody wants to leave, but leave they will if you can’t do something about the oppressive atmosphere.”

  Later that afternoon, Greg’s secretary knocked on his door. “I have Mr. Kendall on the line.”

  Greg hesitated, and then picked up. “Richard, how are you?”

  “When you develop a drug to cure ulcers, I’ll be fine.” Richard paused. “I know why you’re calling. It’s that Karl Muller situation. I didn’t believe it when I heard.”

  “Does that mean we’ll see no more of that gentleman?”

  “I’m afraid that won’t be so easy.”

  “I must insist, Richard. I have a major revolution on my hands. Our research staff won’t tolerate being treated that way. We’re going to lose many of our best people unless we recognize the problem.”

  “Excuse me if I tell you something you already know. We live and work in different worlds. I answer to my board of directors and my employees answer to me. None of us can afford to undermine the work of the people below us.”

  “We’re talking about criminal behavior, Richard. How can you excuse that?”

  “I’m not excusing anything. If getting rid of Karl Muller and his ilk were simple, he’d be long gone. According to my security staff, Muller is doing great work and they’re not prepared to let him go.”

  “You may not have a choice.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Kendall’s contract with PAT has sixteen months to go. During that time, I will fulfill the specifics of my contract to insure efficient operations. That includes who works here.”

  “You don’t want to get into a legal wrangle with us, Greg. We have teams of aggressive attorneys with too much time on their hands. Moreover, Kendall has gone out of its way to accommodate you on PAT’s orphan drug research, big debits on our P & L sheets. You may find that our generosity has limits.”

  “Isn’t there anyone at Kendall with a heart?”

  “Not that you can tell, Greg. I’ll talk with Woody Hawkins and Eddie Macy to make sure something like this can never happen again. Perhaps, we can find a way to show our appreciation to your staff.”

  Terri scurried through the house dusting and straightening up for their guests.

  “It looks fine,” Matt said.

  “You must be blind. This place is a mess.”

  Matt shook his head and turned to the wine bottle in the ice bucket. He grasped the opener and extracted the cork. “Were you this compulsive when I came over for the first time?”

  “Of course not. You’re a guy. Short of a dead body on the floor you wouldn’t notice a thing.”

  When the doorbell sounded, Abbie looked at her mother.

  Terri nodded.

  Abbie opened the door. “I’m Abi
gail Powell. It’s so nice to meet you.”

  Jennifer squatted to Abbie’s level, studied her. “You’re just as beautiful as your mother. May I give you a hug?”

  The child nodded and they embraced.

  Abbie offered her hand to Mickey. “May I take your coat?”

  “Of course,” he said, handing her his leather jacket.

  Terri rushed up to her friend and they embraced—holding on for a full minute.

  “I’m so happy to see you, Jen. I feel like a shit for letting us go for all those years.”

  “No, it was my fault. I got too busy.” Jennifer studied her friend. “You look wonderful. Just like I remember you at Columbia.”

  “You must need glasses,” Terri said. “You look great.”

  “Please, Terri. Don’t. I know what I look like.”

  Terri introduced Matt.

  Mickey shook Matt’s hand. “I know you, or at least I know your picture from your books. I really enjoy your work.”

  “Thanks, but it never feels like work. I enjoy writing.”

  “It shows,” Mickey said.

  Matt poured the wine.

  Jennifer allowed only a quarter of a glass. “Since I’ve been sick, alcohol knocks me for a loop.”

  The chatted during dinner.

  Abbie said goodnight and went to her room.

  Matt took Mickey into the den to watch the basketball game, leaving Terri and Jennifer alone.

  “I was so sorry to hear about your problem, Jen.”

  “You must see it all the time.”

  “I do, but it’s never the same when it involves someone you love.” Terri stood and poured herself more wine. “I lost my husband, Richie to malignant melanoma. That’s why I’m in this business.”

  “Oh God. I didn’t know. What happened?”

  “I’ll tell you, but don’t think that his disease relates to you in any way.”

  Jennifer leaned back on the sofa.

  Terri summarized Richie’s rapidly fatal course, her devastation, and her rebirth.

  “Why was it so quick?”

  “Cancer varies from person to person in part by how well their own body can fight off the disease. Richie’s body surrendered. Most patients with melanoma go on for years with their body’s immune system keeping the tumor under control.”

  “I don’t want to impose on a friendship, Terri, but...” She stopped, looked at the ceiling and began to cry. “I’m sorry.” She wiped her eyes and blew her nose. “That comment was shit. I do want to impose. I’ll do anything to stay alive, to be with Lizzy, Brad and of course Mickey.”

  “I’ll do anything in my power to help you,” said Terri. “Tell me everything.”

  When Matt stuck his head into the room, he saw Terri and Jennifer deep in conversation. He returned to the TV.

  Terri knew the story. She’s heard it a hundred times before. A cruel disease that strikes the healthy and young with the speed and abandon of a Midwest tornado.

  “I’ll call Jason Beckman for your records and discuss your case with him.”

  “He won’t mind, will he?”

  “Of course not. I work with him all the time. We’re on the same side.”

  “What about your study?”

  “You’re not eligible, thank God. We designed the study for patients with extensive disease who have failed all other treatments. You’re a long way from that.”

  “But if it works, why not use it?”

  “This is a Phase I study. To see if it works and to measure its toxicity. Because it’s dangerous, we only make it available to those who have run out of options. If we prove it works, and the benefits justify the risks, then we’ll go on to Phase II studies.”

  Jennifer moved close to Terri and grasped her hands. “You won’t let anything happen to me—promise.”

  “I love you, Jen. I’ll do everything possible.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Terri fumed as she sat in bumper-to-bumper traffic on the approach to the Bay Bridge in a heavy morning fog. She chose her lane carefully to avoid the merging lanes after the toll booth.

  I don’t know why I bother, she thought. Just accept the traffic as a fact of life.

  When she finally reached San Francisco General Hospital next to Highway 101, she braked as she approached her designated parking spot. A delivery truck blocked her space.

  What next?

  Terri pulled next to the delivery ramp, locked her doors and walked through the entrance to Building 100 where she met a security guard.

  “Good morning, Paul,” she said with a smile.

  “Good morning, Dr. Powell.”

  “Call me Terri.”

  “Sure, Dr. Powell,” he said smiling in return.

  “Will you do me a favor?”

  “As long as it’s something I could do with my wife watching.”

  “She’s a lucky woman.” Terri handed him her car keys. “When that delivery truck moves, park my car, please.”

  “No problem. I don’t know how many times I have to talk with these guys about where to park their trucks.”

  “Thanks, Paul. Bring the keys when you have a moment.”

  Terri closed the accordion gate on the ancient elevator. It groaned and clicked and jolted to a halt on the third floor. She passed under the Oncology Division sign and waved to the receptionist as she opened her office door.

  Patty Herman, her research nurse specialist, followed her through the door with a four-inch stack of forms. “Good morning, Terri. Got a few forms for you to sign.”

  “I don’t know how we get anything done beside all that paperwork.”

  “Do research—do paperwork. It’s the name of the game.”

  Terri knew how much work Patty put into these forms filling out each entry. All she had to do was sign her name.

  Patty studied her clipboard. “I have two more patients for you to interview this morning. Their charts are on the credenza.”

  Terri had to steady herself before each of these interviews. These visits were like the early days of dialysis when selection committees met with patients to decide who’d live or die. Her decision was likely to be a patient’s last chance to beat this deadly disease. Each case was more poignant than the next. For the most part, they were previously healthy people devastated by the deadly disease and its treatment.

  “Who am I to decide?” she said to Patty. “Turning them away from the study is a death sentence.”

  “Who better? Who knows both sides of the equation better than you do?”

  “It’s awful,” she said. “I still see the faces of the ones we turned down.”

  “I’m just a nurse, but your study won’t mean anything if you can’t control your patient population. That’s why you have admission criteria. It’s the main point to all of this, to be sure of your results.”

  “I know, but it sucks.”

  “Can’t the ones you turn down, apply for “compassionate exception”?”

  “Yes, but Kendall Pharmaceuticals, the parent company of PAT, must deal with these requests on a case-by-case basis. They must decide that the drug’s use will improve symptoms or prolong life. I’m not positive, but I don’t see much compassion in anything Kendall does.”

  When Patty turned to leave, Terri said, “Who’s our best computer guy? I have a small project.”

  Patty frowned. “I know you meant to use the word, ‘person’, Terri.”

  “Mea culpa,” Terri said, raising her hands in surrender.

  “The guy would be Janice Cook. I’ll send her up.”

  When Janice came in, Terri handed her the flash drive. “It’s password protected. Can you get in?”

  “Is it business or university type protection or home type? What’s on it?”

  “I think it’s a home protection. I’m not sure of the contents, but I’m betting on email, correspondence, and if we’re lucky, a video clip. How long will it take to get in?”

  “I’ll be back in ten minutes.”
r />   “That’s disheartening.”

  “That’s computers. If you really need privacy protection, I’ll give you almost unbreakable passwords and encryption that would take a supercomputer to break.”

  Five minutes later, Patty returned. “When it asks for the password, type in TERRI.”

  “That’s fantastic. Thanks.”

  “Remember me when it’s time for a raise or a promotion.”

  Terri clicked on the drive icon, entered the password, and looked at a screen filled with emails, WordPerfect files, and one video file. She clicked the video and watched as it played the clip of the experimental mice showing the unusual behavior she’d recently seen with Evan Klack. She sorted the emails and found a group labeled PAT1 and PAT2. When she opened the first one, Terri saw the heading indicating the email destination that included Richard Kendall at Kendall, Greg Wincott at PAT, and Terri Powell at UC San Francisco.

  It’s time I brought to your attention the problems I have noted at PAT.

  These problems involve three areas:

  1. Manipulation of research data by David Birch. Data is being ignored or accentuated to make our studies look better, more definitive. These actions are in breach of our obligations as researchers and truth tellers.

  2. Potential late adverse effects of the BCG vaccine are being ignored. Even though these occurred in a minority of test animals, such an outcome could be devastating to patients and to PAT.

  3. Security measures are draconian, inappropriate, and in my opinion unjustified. Mr. Muller’s behavior is more suitable to a guard at San Quentin than to a research facility.

  I remain hopeful that you will attend to these suggestions so I won’t have to make these problems public. That will punish the innocent and guilty alike. I wish to avoid that possibility.

  You may question my loyalty and may wish to terminate my services to PA. That’s okay since deception hurts us all, the deceiver and the deceived.

  Terri read the email twice. She’d never seen it before, and she assumed neither had any of the recipients.

  The second email, PAT2 was more of the same, but more insistent—more threatening. The last line must have been a post script, added to the email send to Terri: If all else fails, look at 82A42J48.