A Simple Cure

by Lawrence Gold

  Terri gasped. She felt dizzy as if she was going to faint.

  Mad Cow...Mad Cow...no...God, no...it can’t be!

  In Quebec City, Denise Richard sat across from Henri. “How did you know?”

  “Know what?”

  “That the BCG Kendall used, the specimen that Terri Powell sent to us, came from the lot Emile Gigot was carrying. It’s a perfect DNA match.”

  “I didn’t know. I hoped it wouldn’t match.”

  “What about the prion assay?”

  “Positive, Henri. It’s positive. The BCG vaccine is teeming with prions.”

  Chapter Fifty

  Terri couldn’t remember walking back to her office. When she opened her door, Matt was waiting.

  He saw at once that she was pale and shaky. “What’s wrong?”

  “Becky Norton died. I just came from her autopsy. It was horrible.”

  “She had advanced malignant melanoma, didn’t she?”

  “Melanoma didn’t kill her—I did!”

  “What are you talking about? You couldn’t kill anyone. You live to help your patients.”

  “Her body was free of melanoma. She died from the human form of Mad Cow Disease.”

  “Mad Cow! How is that possible?”

  The intercom buzzed. “I have Dr. Charles from Laval University on line two.”

  “Henri, I’m so glad you called. Maybe you can help?”

  “Terri, I must tell you something first,” Henri said in somber tones that had her pulse racing.

  “What is it? It can’t be any worse than what happened today.”

  “I’m afraid it is.”

  When Terri heard him clearing his voice, a cold chill ran down her back.

  “That specimen you sent to me was contaminated with prions!”

  Terri, in shock, remained speechless.

  “Did you hear me? Not only was the specimen contaminated with prions, we’ve proved that it originated from Laval’s type five strain of BCG, an exact match to the specimens that Emile Gigot was carrying when somebody murdered him.”

  “Murder? How could we have that strain?”

  “Ask your procurement people. Thank God you haven’t used that BCG on patients!”

  Terri felt chilled as a wave of nausea passed over her. She picked up the waste basket and vomited.

  “Terri, are you okay?” Henri’s voice echoed over the phone.

  “Hold on for a sec,” Matt said into the phone, as he grabbed tissues for Terri.

  Terri grabbed the receiver. “Henri,” she said in a near whisper, “We just performed an autopsy on one of our study patients. She was free of melanoma, but she died with a form of Mad Cow Disease.”

  “Mon deux! Quell tragédie! How could this happen? You’re going to be enraged by what I tell you next.”

  “Henri?”

  “We knew about the contaminated BCG...”

  “What are you saying?”

  “Just listen, damn it. How do you think I feel?”

  “Go ahead.”

  “We heard first from Scripps Institute. Several of their experimental mice treated with our BCG strain developed neurological problems and autopsy findings were consistent with Mad Cow Disease. They even did serological tests for prions that came back positive.”

  “You recalled the vaccine and notified everybody using it?”

  “Of course. We had only one human trial going at Cambridge University in a group of patients with advanced lung cancer. Like your patients, many became cancer free. When we tried to stop its use, we had a rebellion on our hands. These patients were willing to take the risk of developing Mad Cow Disease in the indefinite future instead of certain death now.”

  “Why didn’t we know? How could you let us go on with this vaccine in human trials?”

  “Terri, nobody at Laval knew you had our BCG. We notified everybody who had it, who we knew had it, and replaced that BCG with a prion free supply. A new vaccine will take time. The big questions, Terri, is how did you get our BCG in the first place. That strain was the one carried by our murdered courier?”

  In an instant it all made sense. Lisa’s death, Karl Muller, Evan’s mice, the missing emails, videos, and PAT’s supply of BCG.

  Kendall—those fucking bastards—they’re responsible for everything!

  Terri took a deep breath. “This is a malicious conspiracy that reaches to the highest levels of Kendall Pharmaceuticals. I’ve got to go, Henri. This is a mess. I don’t know where to start.”

  “Start with your patients, Terri. Whatever else happens, they have a right to know.”

  When Terri hung up, she filled Matt in on what he’d missed by listening to one side of the conversation.

  “What are we going to do?” Matt asked.

  “I must first deal with our patients, and then we need to nail those son’s-of-bitches.”

  Terri called her study coordinator and asked her to bring in all Phase I patients today. “I need to talk with them today at 4 p.m., no excuses.”

  “I’ve got to talk with my bosses and with Greg and Amanda Wincott. They couldn’t have known. Why don’t you look through the PAT personnel files, Matt. Maybe there’s something there that will tie all this to Kendall, Karl, or even David Birch.”

  Richard Kendall’s phone rang a little after three central time. It was David Birch.

  “It’s great to hear from you, David,” Richard said. “You guys are doing terrific work.”

  “The Phase I BCG study is over, Richard.”

  “That’s great! Now we can go full steam with the FDA Fast-Track approval.”

  “I’m sorry, Richard. We stopped the study because our vaccine is contaminated with prions.”

  “Prions! What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Prions, you know, the infectious agent that causes Mad Cow Disease. Terri Powell had one study patient die. We had to stop the trial.”

  “Are you crazy? We need this vaccine or Kendall may not survive. You told us about how effective it is in curing melanoma...”

  “We can restart the study with a new, pure BCG vaccine.”

  “How long will that take?”

  “I don’t know. Three months...six months, maybe up to a year.”

  “Unacceptable. We’re ready for Fast-Track approval.”

  “Sir,” David said, “Are you insane? You’re not going to get approval on a vaccine that causes Mad Cow Disease.”

  “Are we just going to let patients die with advanced melanoma when we have a cure?”

  “That’s very altruistic of you, sir, but this whole thing is a damn mess. I don’t know how you got me into this situation. My professional reputation is at stake.”

  The line remained silent for a few seconds. “Much more than your fucking reputation is at stake, Birch. You’ll continue the study, one way or another. Is that clear?”

  Richard Kendall’s meaning was clear. He’d stop at nothing.

  “Yes, sir. Perfectly clear. I’ll do what I can.”

  Back in Terri’s office, Matt had read his way through the files—nothing. When he picked up Lisa Gomez’s file, he pulled out a copy of her form SS-5, application for social security that she’d filled out for employment. He scanned it and when he noted her date of birth August 8, 1982, he froze. He looked up. Terri was still on the phone, so he grabbed Lisa’s employment folder into which Terri had placed Lisa’s emails. When he saw the cryptic sequence of letters and numbers, 82A42J48, he noticed that if you remove Lisa’s birthday, 4/8/82 you got A42J.

  Matt dialed Evan Klack, but David Birch answered. “Evan will be right back. Can I help you?”

  “Does A42J mean anything to you?”

  “No. Should it?”

  “I don’t know that’s why I’m calling Evan. I hope he’ll know.”

  “He’ll be back in a moment. That was one hell of a thing with Karl Muller.”

  “Were you surprised?”

  “Well, of course. He was an unsavory character, but kidnapping
and murder—I had no idea. Oh,” he announced, “Evan’s back. Here he is.”

  “Evan, it’s Matt Hollis. I’m here with Terri.”

  “Yes.”

  “Does A42J mean anything to you?”

  “Of course, it’s a filing sequence for our biologicals that identify their location in storage.”

  “Can you check that for me? It’s urgent.”

  “Sure. It’ll take me a while. I don’t move so fast. Can I call you back?”

  “No, I’ll wait.”

  Matt watched Terri gesturing with her hands in heated conversation with someone. She listened a moment then slammed the phone down.

  Terri walked back toward Matt. “What are...”

  Matt raised his index finger to stop her as he heard Evan return.

  “Matt...”

  “Wait a second, Evan, Terri is here. I’m putting you on the speaker phone.”

  “We’re on speaker, too,” said Evan.

  “What’s going on?” Terri asked.

  “Listen. It’s about that code Lisa left.”

  “I went to A42J and found the single flask that Lisa hid. It was out of sequence with the rest of the BCG and it had a note attached. Should I read it?”

  “Wait a minute, Evan,” David Birch said. “Maybe that’s not a good idea.”

  “If you’d prefer, Dr. Birch,” Matt said, “I’ll have the Berkeley Police at PAT in five minutes to see what you’re hiding.”

  “I’m not hiding anything. We have sensitive material around here that we must protect.”

  “I’ll take full responsibility,” Evan said.

  “Go ahead,” Terri said.

  Evan read. “To whom it may concern, this specimen is from the original batch sent to us from Alamand Laboratories in France. I’ve been unable to confirm its authenticity so I’m saving this for future analysis. It is my hope that someone can identify its true origin and confirm the reason for its incorrect identification.”

  “Don’t move any of that,” Matt said. “I’ll ask Detective Kahn to send some officers to secure this evidence. You’ll make sure they know how to protect the BCG?”

  “Of course,” Evan said.

  After they hung up, Matt turned to Terri, “This will prove without a doubt that PAT/Kendall was in possession of stolen property. That’s it, Terri. The classical smoking gun that will lead to the conviction of those responsible for the death of Emile Gigot and who knows how many innocent patients.”

  Back in his office, David Birch called Richard Kendall again.

  “What is it now?” Richard shouted. “I thought I made myself perfectly clear.”

  David told Richard about the discovery of the BCG hidden by Lisa Gomez.

  “What can they get from that specimen?”

  “You’re kidding, Richard,” David said. “They’ll prove with DNA analysis that the specimen came from Laval University and probably from the exact batch of BCG that was stolen from the murdered courier. PAT had it in its possession and obtained it from Kendall. Richard, you’re going to have some explaining to do.”

  Chapter Fifty-One

  The wall clock read 3 p.m. as Richard Kendall, Woody Hawkins, and Eddie Mays sat in the far corner of the United Global First Lounge at O’Hare for the flight to San Francisco.

  “Woody, I’m holding you personally responsible for this Karl Muller mess. You and Eddie should have known better, especially after the first episode.”

  “We’re sorry, sir,” Woody said, “but you can’t hire choir boys for this kind of work.”

  “Nobody can nail us for Karl’s shit,” Eddie said. “None of us bargained for assault or murder.”

  Richard shook his head. “If they have anything in writing, emails or recordings that could implicate us as co-conspirators, we’re in trouble.”

  “They got nothing,” Eddie said. “They’ll see the calls back and forth between Muller and Kendall, but that’s it.”

  Richard stared at Woody. “What should I expect from these investigators, Woody? All this is new for me.”

  “They’ll try to find inconsistencies in anything we tell them,” Woody said. “They may question us separately first to see how our stories match.”

  Eddie shifted his body to face Richard. “We wanted tough security, not criminal activity. We have to make them see that.”

  “Richard,” Woody said, “could they be after anything else beyond their interest in Karl Muller?”

  My God, Richard thought. What else do they know?

  Matt sat at the computer while Terri tried to prepare herself for the meeting with her patients.

  “Hey,” he said, “I found a video on Mad Cow Disease. Do you want to see it?”

  “No,” Terri said, but as Matt clicked on the play icon, he felt her looking over his shoulder.

  Matt’s eyes fixed on the screen as if hypnotized...

  In her black and white uniform, the Holstein lumbers through the straw-covered pen.

  She looks normal with bovine indifference to her surroundings—witless steaks, chops, roasts, loins, chucks, shoulders, and briskets on the hoof, then with the next step, her rear legs slide out from under her and she falls to the ground.

  She looks back in disbelief—how is it possible to find surprise in those placid brown eyes?

  Bovine panic seems an oxymoron, but there it is as she struggles to regain her feet. Over and over again the rear legs slip and she falls on her rear flank. Her udder, crushed under her weight, cries white tears.

  Her mouth opens in a silent scream.

  The front legs drag her forward and finally she slips her rear legs under her flanks and stands.

  She pauses a moment.

  Is she upset?

  Does she ask, what’s wrong?

  Will it happen again?

  Her gullet sucks a glob of the semisolid stomach contents back into her mouth as she chews her cud—is this it, bovine nirvana?

  She can’t go for a drink, take a Valium, yell at her kids, or suck on her thumb.

  She looks around the pen.

  Is it apathy and lassitude? Tedium and stoicism are more than her mind can manage.

  She spies the water trough, lumbers with care, and lowers her head to drink...

  Terri gasped and raced to the sink.

  She was ashen and covered with beads of perspiration as she leaned over and vomited slimy green material. She retched repeatedly emptying her stomach and her hope.

  Matt wet a paper towel and washed her mouth. He placed a new cool towel over her forehead.

  He paled. “I’m so stupid and thoughtless. I should have known how seeing those pictures might have affected you.”

  “No, it’s Okay. I’ve seen videos of Mad Cow before. Now, I’m seeing the images of my patients in that condition...it’s unbearable.”

  “Maybe you’re not ready for the meeting later.”

  “Nobody could get ready for that. I got them into this. I won’t abandon them now.”

  Terri watched her patients wander into her conference room. Some looked anxious while others, galvanized by despair, eyed her with practiced indifference. One of her most anxious patients walked up to her. “What is it, Dr. Powell?”

  “Please take a seat. I’ll speak to the group in a minute.”

  Jennifer walked up to Terri, hugged her and found the seat next to Mickey.

  Terri observed that Jennifer was unsteady on her feet.

  I’ll ask to see Jennifer afterward.

  After the last patient took their seat, Terri stood at the head of the table and looked over the group seated around the conference room. Her staff filled the rear.

  Terri struggled to control her emotions. “I have bad news for you and for our study.”

  The small room resounded with gasps as several patients began to cry.

  “We’ve just received the news that our vaccine is contaminated.”

  “Contaminated with what?” asked a man.

  “I was going to say that this w
ill sound worse than it is, but I don’t know if that’s true. The vaccine contained prions, the agent that causes...” Terri hesitated, “brain damage in animals...”

  “Brain damage? Dr. Powell,” asked another patient.

  “I hate to use the words. They’re so alarming.” Terri took a deep breath and spoke in a near whisper. “It’s Mad Cow Disease.”

  The room erupted with desperate cries, sobs, and profanity-laced anger.

  “What does this mean for us, Doctor?” a young woman asked. “I’ve been free of the cancer for two months, does this mean that without treatment it will come back?”

  “My honest answer is, I don’t know. This is a Phase I trial which means we’re learning how to use the vaccine. We don’t know how long it will work.”

  “How did this happen?” shouted the husband of a patient. “When will a new vaccine be available? Is this Mad Cow thing real or just a possibility?”

  Terri felt her legs weakening as she sat.

  “We don’t know how this happened. Preparing a vaccine is complicated and somewhere along the way it became contaminated. The supplier of the vaccine is working as we speak to create a new, pure vaccine. It may take months if we’re lucky.” Terri paused fearing the effect of what she’d say next. “The threat of Mad Cow Disease, in its human form, is all too real. I’m sorry to say that Becky Norton, whom most of you knew, died of this disease.”

  Again, the room filled with anguished cries.

  Jennifer Howe rose. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I know I would not be here without Dr. Powell and this vaccine. I’m living on borrowed time, and if there’s something dreadful ahead, I won’t regret for one second my participation in this trial. I’m no saint. I went into this trial for selfish reasons. I wanted to live. I knew it was risky, but I felt good that joining might help someone else. I know others feel this way.”

  Terri rose. “I’m the principal investigator of this study, but I can’t just do what I want. The University of California monitors all clinical trials and I’ll need their permission for what I’m about to propose to you.”

  “What is it?” came from a young woman.