The Proteus Cure

by Wilson, F. Paul

  The doctor had promised this before. But Shen had already killed Dr. Sheila’s husband. Also he had made Dr. Silberman deathly ill. And it was not back to normal. He had to know that if the situation took a bad turn he could run away with his family and start another new life. He had some money saved, but not enough.

  “This one need three tickets for family to—” he had not come prepared but he had to say something. He thought of a movies he had recently seen, The Firm—“to Jamaica. And fifty thousand dollars in an account there in my name.”

  Dr. Gilchrist’s jaw dropped. “Fifty thousand dollars? Shen, I can’t get that kind of money.”

  Shen stared at him, waiting. He could see in Dr. Gilchrist’s eyes that he could get the money, so he sat silent, waiting.

  “Shen, please.”

  “Doctor Gilchrist, you are protecting your family and your dream; I must protect mine. I do not wish to leave my home or Tethys. I will do as you command, but I need a refuge if things not return to normal.”

  The doctor’s face reddened until Shen thought he would explode. Then his color faded.

  “Fine, Shen. If that’s how it has to be, I’m sure my sister won’t mind. I’ll work out the details with you later. For now, let me tell you about your job.”

  “Thank you, Doctor Gilchrist. We shake on it.”

  Shen extended his hand. Dr. Gilchrist was a man of his word and if he took his hand, it would be a deal. The doctor hesitated but finally shook Shen’s hand. A contract.

  “Let’s move on now. We don’t have much time. The problem with this job is you must make it look much different than what happened to the Slade woman. If Tanesha Green dies of a broken neck, or even a car accident, the wrong questions will be asked by the wrong people. You must find another way.”

  Shen knew of another way but did not want to speak of it. The right mixture of certain herbs—herbs he could find in Chinatown—would do the job.

  “It will be done.”

  Shen looked straight ahead and thought of all the people he had killed in China at the Party’s behest. He had never counted them, but there were many.

  He sighed. Would one more make so big a difference?

  BILL

  Bile had crept up into Bill’s throat the whole time Shen was delivering his demands. It took every bit of his willpower to remain calm. Or pretend to. As soon as Bill dropped off Shen and turned the corner, he slammed on his brakes, shoved open his door, and vomited onto the pavement.

  He looked down at his tie. An Armani, his favorite. Puke all over it. Another wonderful day in the life of Bill Gilchrist.

  Bill took it off and set it on the passenger seat. Clenched the wheel of the idling car.

  He didn’t care that Shen wanted money. Hell, why shouldn’t he get paid extra for killing people? But that much cash would leave a paper trail. And if Shen fled the country with his family, that meant he, Bill, would be left holding the bag. With Shen gone, who else would be blamed?

  William Gilchrist, head of the Tethys Corporation, indicted for murder … probably be convicted too.

  Bill pounded the steering wheel with his fists. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

  This was not going to happen. He was not going down for this. No one was. Shen was going to eliminate Tanesha, and Sheila and Rosko were going to get off his goddamn back.

  And everything was going to go back to goddamn normal. And Abra would never find out.

  Bill drove as quickly as he could back to Tethys. His hands shook as tears welled. Things had to return to normal. They just had to. He couldn’t let Abra or his kids down. He could not go to jail.

  He wiped his eyes and thanked God for the lock on his office door. If ever he needed to drown himself in a bottle of Jack it was now.

  NINE

  TANESHA

  Tanesha was just heading for the shower when the front doorbell stopped her.

  Who could that be? she thought, reversing direction. Not Jamal—she’d watched him get on the bus and drive away.

  She peeked through the keyhole and saw a Chinese guy standing on her front stoop. He was thin with a shaved head and his eyes were eight-ball black.

  She wasn’t about to open the door to no stranger. Tanesha Green wasn’t born yesterday.

  “What you want?” She said as she leaned close to the jamb.

  “Mrs. Green,” he said softly. “I am from Tethys.”

  She could barely hear him.

  “Tethys? I’m goin’ there at eleven. What you doin’ here?”

  “They did not tell you? Your appointment canceled.”

  “Canceled? What you talkin’ ’bout?”

  “No need for biopsy. Doctor Sheila Takamura send me. Just swab of mouth for DNA. It will do same thing.”

  “Oh, right. Like I’m gonna let you come in here and stick something in my mouth.”

  “I stay out here, give you swab. You rub inside mouth, give back, and I go.”

  Tanesha thought about that. This was good news in a way. She hadn’t been looking forward to going all the way up to Bradfield to have someone cut on her for a few minutes, then come back home again.

  But no way was she letting this guy in, even though she could probably whup his skinny ass with one hand tied behind her back. She spotted her chain lock dangling beside the door and hooked it into the track. She opened the door but she stayed back out of reach. And stick her hand out the door? Not hardly. Let him stick his in here.

  “You hand that swab through the door.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  He pulled a small case from his pocket, opened it and snapped on a plastic glove. He took test tube and a paper-wrapped swab from the case, peeled the wrapper then handed the swab through the opening. Tanesha snatched it from his fingers and backed further away.

  “Just rub cotton tip on inside of cheek,” he told her. “Twirl as you rub.”

  She did as he said. It tasted kind of funny but it wasn’t in there long. When she finished she handed it back.

  “That’s it?” she said.

  “That is all.” He stuck the swab into the test tube and gave her a little bow. “I hope you will believe that I am sorry for you.”

  “I don’t need you feelin’ sorry for me.”

  “You shall be free of your problems. May your soul find peace.”

  Tanesha closed the door. What a weirdo. May your soul find peace? What up with that?

  A squeezy feeling hit her chest about half way across the living room. Another two steps and it became a pain, a feeling like she was being crushed between two trucks. She turned and started toward the phone to call Tethys. She tried to call for help but couldn’t take a breath. She dropped to her knees and that hurt, but not as much as her chest. She reached out, got her hand on the phone.

  Black spots began floating in her vision.

  Lord, just let me have one breath so I can dial.

  She hit the ON switch but as she began thumbing 9-1-1, the pressure increased and the black spots became spreading splotches, running together, blotting out everything.

  KAPLAN

  “Doctor Kaplan?”

  Gerald stopped halfway through the reception area and turned at the sound of the woman’s voice. He groaned when he saw that Japanese doctor—she had a long name he couldn’t remember.

  “Don’t waste you time or your breath,” he told her. “I’ve said all I care to.”

  Her scary boyfriend came up behind her and said, “We can continue it out here or in your waiting room. I have a very loud voice.”

  A lot of anger in that man. Gerald didn’t want to call his bluff. He wouldn’t care if the lumberjack screamed his head off at the Penner, but not here in the medical group’s waiting room. He glanced at his watch.

  “I can give you ten minutes, no more.”

  The woman nodded. Takamura—that was her name. “That should do it.”

  He led them to his consultation room where he seated himself behind the desk but did not offer them chairs. He didn’t wa
nt them getting comfortable.

  “Very well, what is it this time?”

  Dr. Takamura said, “Do you know anyone named Lee Swann?”

  “No. Should I?”

  She looked disappointed. “He bought the assets of Kaplan Biologicals.”

  Gerald straightened in his chair. “He did? Who is he?”

  “We were hoping you’d know.”

  “No idea. Who gave you his name?”

  “I know where to look. Besides, it’s a matter of public record.”

  He slumped back. “What does it matter? It’s over, done, finished.”

  For him maybe. For KB. But his therapy lived on.

  “Maybe not. I think he sold KB-twenty-six to VecGen.”

  Just what he’d been thinking. But he wanted no connection to VecGen.

  “KB-twenty-six never used a viral vector.”

  “Didn’t have to,” she said. “Its use was limited to leukemia. It was introduced directly into the marrow space. VG-seven-twenty-three is used to treat a variety of tumors. But I think there’s a connection.”

  Don’t go there, he thought. Please don’t go there.

  “Kaplan Biologicals is dead,” he said, “and—”

  “Why is it dead? Who killed it?”

  “My backers—Innovation Ventures.” The name was bitter on his tongue. “They liked to refer to the company as ‘IV’—infusing capital into worthy ventures. Get it? Clever?” Their expressions said they didn’t think so either. “Anyway, they pulled the plug when they saw that KB-twenty-six wasn’t going to be the cash cow they’d anticipated.” He shook his head. “But why do you care?”

  The big man stepped closer to the desk.

  “Because of the changes in my son—I told you about them last week. We can’t look at KB-twenty-six, but if it’s the forerunner of VG-seven-twenty-three …”

  A question sprang to mind. Did he dare ask it?

  “Did your son exhibit changes in his tissue DNA?”

  The consultation room went as silent as interstellar space.

  “We—” Dr. Takamura swallowed as if her saliva had vanished. “We thought so at first, but retest showed it was the same as before.”

  Interesting. How could it?

  Gerald restricted his response to a nod and one word. “Good.”

  “Why did you ask that?” the man said. Gerald saw his hands bunch into white-knuckled fists. “What do you know?”

  “Nothing. Just idle curiosity.” Gerald fixed his gaze on Dr. Takamura. “And you? Is your interest scientific or in this man here?”

  He saw her redden. Gotcha.

  “I have a patient who’s experiencing changes that parallel those of Mr. Rosko’s son. We’re combining our efforts.”

  “Tell me about her.”

  “A Negro woman developing Caucasian features.”

  “That patient wouldn’t happen to be named Green, would she?”

  Her eyes widened. “How do you know?”

  He allowed a smile. “I sent her to you. What have you learned?”

  “Not much yet. But she’s scheduled for more biopsies and some DNA tests this morning. That should point us in the right direction.”

  Oh, it will, he thought with a sinking feeling.

  He quelled the rush of anxiety. The only way to link Kaplan Biologicals to VecGen was the mysterious Mr. Swann. Since Swann would be downwind when the shit hit the VecGen fan, he might want to remain mysterious.

  But all that aside, Gerald’s curiosity had been piqued. He hesitated, wondering if he should push this line a little further, then decided to go for it.

  “Is there a Caucasian patient at Tethys with complementary changes?”

  Another widening of her eyes. “Yes! How can you know that?”

  Easy when you have certain facts at your disposal.

  “Have you biopsied her?”

  Dr. Takamura’s face fell. “No. She died of a fall at home and the family cremated her body before I could arrange a post.”

  Gerald hid his elation. This was good news for all concerned. Now, if Tanesha Green would be so kind as to step out in front of a bus …

  “Most unfortunate.” Gerald glanced at his watch. “I have patients waiting. I’ve told you all I know and I hope not to see either of you ever again.”

  “What are you hiding?” the man said.

  Dr. Takamura opened the door and took his arm, pulling him toward it.

  “Come on, Paul. That’s not going to help.”

  His voice rose as he stopped in the doorway and pointed a finger at Gerald.

  “You’re hiding something, Kaplan. I’m going to find out what it is, and when I do, you’re through!”

  SHEILA

  “Sorry about that,” Paul said as they walked toward the parking lot.

  “It’s all right.” Sheila pulled her coat closer around her. God, the wind was cold. Gray rain clouds lidded the sky. “That man definitely knows more than he’s saying.”

  “Damn right. Coog’s altered tissue DNA—he didn’t pull that out of thin air.”

  Sheila agreed. But the retest had come back correct.

  So why this uneasiness creeping through her? She tried to shake it off.

  “Let’s concentrate on Innovation Ventures.”

  Paul sighed. “I suppose we should. I guess that’s our next look-up. Maybe we can get some answers from them.”

  Like last time, Sheila had made morning rounds early and didn’t have to be back on duty until two. Paul had picked her up in the Tethys lot and they’d headed for Salem. The downside of her schedule today was that she wouldn’t get off until eight. So now looked like the perfect time to hunt down Innovation Ventures.

  “Your place is closer,” she said. “Let’s get there and start searching.”

  She had another reason for choosing Paul’s. Coog was still home from school and that would keep them on their best behavior. Since their close encounter, whenever Sheila was alone with Paul the throbbing between her legs distracted her. Good ol’ lust. Today, though, she needed to stay focused.

  At Paul’s place, he made coffee while she began the search. Coog’s interest flagged after a few minutes and he wandered off.

  Innovation Ventures turned out to be almost as elusive as Lee T. Swann. But its name did pop up in articles on a number of biotech startups. For the hell of it, she linked IV with VecGen and …

  “Well, will you look at that,” Paul said as he leaned over her shoulder, distracting her with his Irish Spring aura. “IV pulls the plug on Kaplan and then funds VecGen to do basically the same thing. That make sense to you?”

  Sheila shook her head both to say no and to clear it. She really wanted to kiss him. She couldn’t remember the last time she felt this swept away with wanting someone. She finally answered.

  “It might if we had the whole picture. We need more info.”

  Silence … then an idea.

  “What if I call Innovation saying I’m doing an article for a financial journal? Maybe I can squeeze a little something out of them.”

  Paul smiled. “What’ve we got to lose?”

  Sheila got the phone number and address on the Yahoo Yellow Pages. Just a few towns over, in Andover. Coincidence?

  After four rings an answering machine picked up. A creaky female voice said, “Leave a message after the beep.”

  Sheila hung up.

  “Just an answering machine, and no mention of the company.”

  “Maybe they’re out of business.”

  “If so, why are they paying a phone bill?” She looked up at Paul. “Short drive. Want to take a look?”

  He shrugged. “Probably a waste of time, but sure, why not?”

  •

  The address turned out to be a two-story Dutch colonial box with an adjacent ten-space parking lot, nearly full.

  Paul pulled into one of the spaces, “Not exactly the kind of place I’d expect a venture capital company to call home.”

  Sheila had to agree. Far
from shabby, but it could have used some sprucing up. She pulled out the mini-recorder she’d borrowed from Paul.

  “Time to get into character.”

  She and Paul had discussed this on the way over and decided she’d go in alone, pretending to be a reporter doing a series for Biocentury Publications, which published newsletters on biotechs and venture capital firms.

  She walked up to the front entrance where she stopped to read the directory: a real estate broker, a dentist, an accountant, and Innovation Ventures.

  Inside she saw Innovation Ventures printed in some sort of digital font on the first door to the left. She gripped the doorknob, then hesitated.

  Sheila took a deep breath and turned the knob.

  Locked.

  So she knocked. And knocked again. Then a third time. No answer.

  What sort of business wasn’t open at ten-thirty on a weekday morning?

  She headed back to Paul and the car.

  “That was quick,” he said. “They shoot you down?”

  She shook her head. “Nobody home.”

  His eyebrows rose. “Really?” He stepped out of the car. “Something’s not kosher here. First floor?”

  She nodded. “On the other side.”

  “Let’s go take a look.”

  “The door’s locked, Paul.”

  He smiled. “I mean the windows.”

  He started walking toward the building.

  “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.”

  “Why not?”

  “What if we get caught?”

  “Doing what? Not as if we’re going to break in or anything. We’re just looking to see if anybody’s home.”

  Sheila followed him to the far side where he pushed aside some overgrown yews and peered in the window. Sheila did her own peering—around. She couldn’t get over the feeling of being watched, but saw no one.

  After a moment Paul turned to her. “See for yourself.”

  She stepped through the branches and cupped her hands against the glass for a look. The blinds were down but not completely drawn. She saw an expanse of empty, carpeted floor, bare of furniture except for a chair and single desk. And on that, an answering machine.