The phone rang again.
“Rude, very rude, Doctor,” said the electronically distorted voice. “I see you’re alone tonight. I can fix that.”
“Sure,” Terri said. “Come right over.”
“Good. I like fight in a woman. It makes things more interesting.”
“You’re boring me. I’m hanging up.”
“You think you’re safe? You think little sweet Abbie is safe? Nobody’s safe as long as you keep butting your nose in where it doesn’t belong.”
“You’re a fucking coward. Big man on the phone—little dick, I think.”
The line remained silent for thirty seconds. “I think it should be Abbie first. Neither of you will know when it’s coming. See you soon.”
Terri’s hand trembled as she set down the phone.
She stared at it for two minutes then reached to dial her brother, then stopped.
Could he be monitoring her line? Would a phone call trace bring him to Abbie?
Terri pulled on her jeans and a sweatshirt and drove to the local drugstore where she called Kevin.
“Sorry to call you so late, Kevin. Is Abbie all right?”
“Late for her, she’s in bed. The night’s just beginning for me.”
Terri told him about the phone call.
“I’d like to get my hands on that bastard. Not to worry, even the best CIA covert team couldn’t get within five miles of here without me knowing. I know you don’t think much of my business, but we’re as secure as the White House.”
“Thanks Kevin. I feel better.”
“Watch out for yourself.”
When Matt arrived for breakfast, Terri told him of the phone call.
He reddened. “Goddamn it, Terri. I told you to call me if he phoned again.”
“I can take care of myself, Matt. I’m not calling you every time something happens.”
“Terri...”
“You know me. I won’t let this ruin my life.” She paused. “I won’t be a victim.”
“Let’s put aside our emotional baggage. This guy is dangerous. He’s watching. He means business. If it’s Karl Muller, we’ll try to nail him. If it’s someone else, we need to try harder.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“I’m putting a tracer on your phone.”
“That won’t help. I star 69'd him and got nothing.”
“I want you to be careful. Avoid going to isolated places alone especially at night.”
“Anything else?”
“Do you own a gun?”
“No. I hate guns and I refuse to live my life on the front lines.”
“You’re not going to the front lines, they’re coming to you. A gun could save your life.”
“A gun could get me killed, too.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Terri yawned at her desk while trying to concentrate on study data. She’d slept poorly as her mind kept returning to the intimidating phone calls, and especially the threat to Abbie.
Who are these people and what do they want?
Lisa’s death had to be related to something at work. Terri knew the scientific aspects of Lisa’s concerns, but couldn’t see anything in it that posed a threat to anyone, yet obviously it had.
She’d reread the emails and even reviewed the videos—nothing. Terri still couldn’t make sense of the cryptic comment: If all else fails, look at 82A42J48.
A tap on her door jarred Terri back to reality. “Come in.”
The door opened half way as Jennifer stuck her head around like a thief entering a quiet home. Mickey followed, holding her arm.
Terri stifled her gasp. She hadn’t seen her friend in two months. She knew the look of terminal cancer. Jennifer had it. She’d lost twenty pounds. Her skin was pale and covered with black and blue marks, signs that the chemo had made her anemic and led to a bleeding tendency in her skin. As an act of defiance, Jennifer no longer wore the kerchief over her bald head, once the site of thick curly auburn hair. Her face had retreated under the barrage of medical munitions leaving her gray eyes wary yet defeated.
“It’s nice of you to see us, Dr. Powell,” Mickey said.
“Please,” Terri said, “stop it. You may be the best friends I ever had. You think we stand on formalities.”
“We don’t know what we think, Terri,” Jennifer said. “We’ve reached the end. You’re our only hope.”
“I can’t say I didn’t expect this. You have an aggressive cancer, but I was hoping I was wrong. Jason Beckman called me yesterday saying that I should expect you.”
“Jason’s a good man and a great Doc,” Mickey, “but he has nothing further to offer Jennifer. He said your study shows promise, but that you said it wouldn’t accept Jennifer in the Phase I trial. It can’t be true. Tell us it’s not true.”
Terri felt like she was about to throw up. “Did you bring your chart?”
Mickey opened his attaché case and handed Terri the three-inch medical record. “Impressive, isn’t it.”
“I know exactly what misery this stack of paperwork represents. Many of my patients have similar tomes.”
Terri opened the chart to the latest entries. She reviewed Jason’s notes, Jennifer’s recent lab, and her x-ray reports. Her eyes filled with tears for her friend.
Jennifer reached across Terri’s desk and grasped her hand. “Tell me you can help. Lizzy and Brad can’t be without their mother, and Mickey...I can’t leave them now when I have so much to live for. Please, Terri, I’m begging you.”
Terri tossed away Jennifer’s hand, feeling her body shake in anger. “What’s the matter with you people? Don’t you think I want to help? I’m sick and tired of everyone coming at me... grabbing me like a drowning man reaching for salvation. I’m not anyone’s savior. I’m just a woman, a doctor, a researcher trying to help people in the best way I know.”
Jennifer just stared at her friend.
Terri lifted her head and fixed on Jennifer. “I’m sorry. I’ve been under a lot of pressure. Please forgive me.”
“Drowning is an apt metaphor, Terri,” Mickey said. “Jennifer’s drowning and only you can help.”
“I can’t.”
“Make me understand that, Terri,” Mickey said. “Make me understand.”
“Do you think we make this stuff up as we go along? This is a research study of a promising, understand that word, promising, not a proven form of treatment. We design these studies to make meaning out of a new drug: does it work, what are its side effects, do the side effects justify its benefits? You may think I’m a free agent or that I can do whatever I want as principal investigator, but I can’t. I must abide by the rules or the study’s meaningless and I’m out of a job.”
Mickey stared at Terri. “We can’t afford to be generous with your problems. For us it’s simple, we’ll try anything regardless of the odds that might have a chance of saving Jen’s life.”
“I can’t,” Terri said, folding her arms across her chest.
“Bullshit!” Mickey screamed. “Bullshit...bullshit...bullshit!”
Jennifer grasped Mickey’s arm. “Don’t—please don’t.”
Terri felt herself coming apart. How can I do this to a friend?
Jennifer turned to Terri. “Do you think your vaccine has any chance of helping me? If you tell me it doesn’t, we’ll apologize and leave.”
“It doesn’t matter what I think. I’m not supposed to think. I’m to make observations and afterward review the material and come to some conclusion.”
“You’re not a computer, Terri. You’re a compassionate woman. Do you think it will help me or not?”
Terri stared ahead. She rearranged her papers and pens and opened Jennifer’s chart again. She pretended to study it, but instead she searched her soul and struggled with her options.
How can I sit here like this? I can’t just let her die—I can’t! My Phase I patients depend on me too. I’m replaceable, but my patients would suffer and so would the study. And, finally; If I
don’t make this happen, no one will.
She looked up from the chart. Their unnerving eyes remained fixed on her, their plea to an executioner for a last minute reprieve.
“Please, Terri.”
“I think there’s a good chance it will, but if I do this, I’ll be putting everything on the line, my study, my principal investigator status, and my medical license or worse if something should happen to you during treatment.”
“We’ll sign anything you want,” Mickey said. “I promise you’ll never have to fear anything from us. We’ll come here at night or on weekends. Just let us know.”
“No. If I’m going to blow it, let’s do it right. I’ll enroll you in the study so you’ll have all the benefits of follow-up labs and testing.”
“How?”
“I’ll lie to my staff that I received permission to take on an additional patient. Let’s hope nobody checks.”
Jennifer rose. She walked around the desk and hugged Terri. “Thank you. God bless you.”
Let’s hope God’s on our side, thought Terri.
Chapter Forty
After days of investigation, Karl Muller finally found the name Kevin Russo, Terri Powell’s brother. Kevin had two arrests in Happy Camp, California for possession of a controlled substance, marijuana. Through a friend, Karl saw the arrest records, a photo and an address.
When he parked his Lexus GS470, his new black SUV, at a small country store on Elk Creek Rd. to ask for information, the tattooed and pierced young woman said, “Don’t know him.” Then she smiled and added, “If I was you, mister, I wouldn’t go around asking for nobody up there, if you know what I mean.”
Karl returned to his car, checked his Glock G36, and replaced it in his shoulder holster. He made his way to Nf-45n19, a red-dirt road and found himself at a battery of mailboxes labeled with numbers only. He found one labeled #28, Kevin’s.
He turned up the dirt road looking at the small wooden numbered posts. He saw no houses, just dirt roads running into the forest. As he rounded a turn, the road was blocked by three pickup trucks. He tried to back away when he felt a jarring blow as he’d backed into someone.
Shit, he thought.
Two men from behind, and four from the front approached his car. He counted two shotguns, two automatic pistols, an M-16, and an Uzi.
The lead man, well over six feet and heavily bearded, walked to the side of the car and rapped on the window with the barrel of his shotgun. He then gestured that Karl lower his window.
As Karl obeyed, he reached into his coat for the Glock.
“Don’t be a damned fool,” the man said chambering a round in his shotgun. “You’ll be pulp before it ever gets out.”
Karl moved his hand away.
“No, that’s okay. Like to see what the ATF or the DEA people are carrying these days.”
“You got me wrong,” pleaded Karl. “I’m private security and I’m looking for somebody.”
“I don’t give a shit what you are, Junior. Let’s see it. I mean slow and with two fingers or we’re going to make a mess of your pretty car...a Lexus, ain’t it?”
Karl carefully pulled out the Glock and handed it to the man, who then issued a wolf whistle. “Man, look at this baby. That must have set you back a bundle.”
Another man from behind said, “Get his ID.”
“You heard the man.”
Karl extracted his wallet.
“Karl Muller,” he said. “Director of Security at PAT laboratories. I knew this car was too good for government work.”
He lowered the barrel to Karl’s face. “Why don’t you step out and join us.”
“Fuck you,” yelled Karl. “If you’re going to kill me, then do it.”
The man rammed the barrel into Karl’s face. “That weren’t no suggestion, man.”
Two men opened the door and pulled Karl out. “Look at him, man. He’s a big motherfucker.”
Karl took a deep breath. “I have no beef with you guys. I’m just a working stiff just trying to do my job.”
“Nice car for a working stiff.”
One of the men said, “Let’s take him up the hill and give him the one way tour.”
The leader shook his head. “Not today.” He turned to Karl. “This is your lucky day, brother. We’re gonna let you turn that fancy car around and leave. You come near this place again with less than a brigade, it’ll be your last assignment.”
Karl headed for his car then turned. “My gun?”
“That was mighty generous of you Karl. A token of appreciation for our second amendment rights.”
Six thousand miles away at Cambridge University, Dr. Philip Howard had assembled his staff, his study patients, and a group of prospective new patients into the large teaching conference room.
“I dare say there isn’t a one among you who hasn’t heard about the termination of the BCG vaccine study. You all know how well our study patients are doing, so we were disappointed that we had to stop. I’m trying to get permission to restart the study, but you need to know that we stopped it for a reason.”
A voice resounded from the audience.“Will it start again?”
“That’s why we’re here today. Give me a few minutes to explain, and then I’ll open the floor for discussion.”
He scanned the silent room.
“When doctors prescribe a treatment, we must always ask are the benefits worth the risks. No treatments, even such things as aspirin or Tylenol, are without risk. In Phase I studies, we take more risk because patients have run out of options for treatment and therefore are headed for disability or death. It’s common sense that when you’re facing death, the risks of an experimental treatment aren’t so important.”
The front door flew open and several camera men began shooting photos.
“Get them out,” Howard said.
After the reporters left, they locked the door and Howard continued. “Sometimes the risk is too great and the likelihood of helping is so low that it’s not worth the effort. Here, it’s our responsibility to provide information. It’s still the patient’s right to decide.”
Howard hesitated since he knew the power of the words he’d speak next. “We’re pleased, no, we’re overjoyed at our results. They are better than anything we could have hoped for, but we have a problem and we’re not sure what to do about it. How many of you have heard the word ‘prion’?”
Audible gasps arose from two places in the room.
“A few of you recognize the name of these agents of disease, prions, but all of you will know the disorder itself, Mad Cow Disease.”
The audience erupted in cries of dismay as the name Mad Cow resounded through the room.
“Here it is,” Howard said, “the good news and the bad. First the bad, the BCG vaccine we use in the study is contaminated with prions. The good news; we’ve seen no signs of any harmful effects of these prions, and, of course, the BCG is proving to be an effective cancer treatment. I’ll lay out the options, and then I’ll open the floor for discussion. Nobody wants to stop treatment that will save lives. Even though we’ve seen no side effects from the prions, they could come and often do after many years. In the best of worlds, we could wait until we have a new vaccine free of prions, but we know that many of you can’t wait. Lastly, this is my personal opinion, the decision to use this vaccine rests with each patient understanding the risks and the benefits.”
Howard turned to his staff. “Is there anything you’d like to add?”
One of his senior investigators rose. “Mad Cow in humans is an awful disease called Creutzfeldt-Jakob Disease (CJD), that’s a mouthful, isn’t it. It’s the human form of Mad Cow and it’s 100 percent fatal. Each of you needs to understand this disease if you chose treatment.”
After forty minutes of questions on all aspects of treatment, prion disease, and CJD, a thin middle-aged man rose.
“Yes, Nigel,” said Howard. “Go ahead.”
Nigel Larkin, age fifty-nine, had smoked for fifty of those ye
ars.
“You telling me Guv’ner that I should let me lung cancer kill me because some time in the future I might get that CJD or whatever you call it. Man, if I live more than a year, I’ll fret more about the cancer, whether or not I beat it or I’ll worry about getting run over by a car. Tain’t no question for me Guv,” he said rolling up his sleeve. “Here’s me arm. Let’s get to it.”
Chapter Forty-One
Matt Hollis sat behind Shelly Kahn’s desk awaiting her arrival. He’d stopped at Dunkin’ Donuts for coffee and a sugar fix and was sipping his cappuccino and munching on a honey-glazed when Shelly entered.
“Make yourself at home.”
Matt chewed on his donut, took a sip of coffee to wash it down, and then stood, offering Shelly her own desk chair. He opened the pink box. “Is that the way to treat someone bearing gifts?” He pointed into the box. “I saved the jelly-filled for you and here’s your double nonfat mocha latte half-cafe with a shot of whipped cream.”
She smiled. “How sweet of you to remember my drink. I know you saved the jelly so you can see me make a mess of myself—you’re a mean man.”
Shelly opened her briefcase and placed the now complete military personnel folder on her desk with the name Karl Muller printed on the identification tab. “Take a look at that while I indulge myself.”
Matt thumbed through the reports with large blacked-out portions. “With all those redactions, Karl Muller must have had an interesting career.”
“Let me save you a lot of trouble, Matt. Reading between the lines of his military fitness reports, his commanding officers deemed Muller a psychopath, useful to Special Forces and other covert operations. They ignored his repeated drunkenness and assaults until he killed a marine in a bar fight. Unable to convict him, they busted him out of the Army. You may find it interesting that Muller worked for G. Elwood Hawkins and Eddie Macy, now directors of security at Kendall Pharmaceuticals.”
“You can’t say that Kendall didn’t know what they were getting when they hired Karl Muller although he’s a bit over-the-top for a multinational corporation.”
A Simple Cure Page 18