Miracle Cure (1991)

by Harlan Coben

  "Can't we just improve security and leave them in here?" "We could,"

  Harvey said, "but we both felt this was the better solution. It would b e m uch too disruptive to have a ton of policemen all over the place an d t ry to operate a first-class medical facility.

  And another thing. Martino was killed in this very building while I wa s s till here. It would be impossible to guarantee their safety."

  "What about their medical treatment?" Eric asked.

  "The lieutenant has assured me that he has a qualified man who wil l f ollow our very specific instructions, right, Lieutenant?"

  "Correct. We won't touch them without your go-ahead."

  "And for right now I have informed the lieutenant that the patients ar e n ot to be touched or handled in any manner." || Eric said nothing. | Ma x c leared his throat.

  "Now that we have that settled, how many cured patients are stil l a live?"

  ;

  ) "Three," Harvey answered.

  "And to answer your other ' question, no, there would be no reason t o h ide Michael from the killer since he is not a cured patient. I migh t s uggest, however, a few extra men at the entrances."

  "Okay," Max agreed.

  "Where are the three patients?"

  "They're all here."

  "Good. Did you have a chance to go through Dr. Grey's private file s y et?"

  Harvey nodded slowly.

  "Do you have a list of Dr. Grey's missing files?"

  "Here." Harvey handed Max a piece of paper and stepped back. Max glance d o ver the list of names. He shook his head, took the pencil out of hi s m outh, and scratched a line across three names: Krutzer, Theodore Leander, Paul Martino, Riccardo Singer, Arnold Trian , Scott Whithoroon, William "Let me guess," Max said wearily.

  "The three surviving HFV negative patients are Krutzer, Leander, an d s inger."

  Harvey nodded.

  Max pocketed the list and headed for the door.

  "Then let's start preparing them for the move to the safehouse."

  "Fine. Eric, I'll see you later."

  "Okay."

  After the two men left the room, Eric Blake walked toward his privat e f ile cabinet. He bent down, unlocked the bottom drawer, and reached wa y i nto the back. His fingers deftly lifted away loose papers, digging dow n t o the bottom where they hit warm glass.

  Eric quickly made sure that no one was looking before he pulled out a t est tube filled with blood.

  Police Sergeant Willie Monticelli was three years away from his pension.

  He was a twenty-seven-year veteran of the force, having worked homicid e f or over a decade. Sounded like glamorous work to many but usually th e j ob was about as exciting as watching paint dry. It consisted of runnin g d own useless leads, interviewing hostile people who knew nothing , writing up painstaking progress reports which were never read, and wors t o f all, surveillance.

  Right now Willie Monticelli was on his second day of surveillance. Th e f irst day had produced the usual nothing.

  Zippo. Subject X had not done one thing that could be labeled eve n s lightly suspicious. Day 2, however, was another matter.

  On Day 2, Subject X had flown to Washington, DC.

  Earlier in the morning Willie had followed Subject X to La Guardi a a irport where he purchased a ticket for American Airlines flight 105 t o w ashington. Willie did likewise. When Subject X landed at Dulle s i nternational Airport, he rented a car from Hertz. Willie did likewise.

  Now they were both driving down Rockville Pike. Destination stil l u nknown. Willie was not worred about losing the grey Chevy Camaro i n f ront of him. He was the best tail-man in the business.

  Willie could stick to a guy's tail like sweaty thighs to a car seat.

  He shook his head. Twitch Bernstein had done it again. The kid wa s s tranger than a duck on bad acid, no question about it, but Willi e r eviewed his nearly three decades on the force and could think of n o b etter man to lead a homicide investigation.

  The kid was more than just smart; hell, there were a lot of smart guy s i n homicide. No, Willie thought, it was Twitch's very weirdness tha t r aised him above the others. Twisted and warped realities were n o p roblem from Bernstein. The kid understood the loony mind.

  Subject X's car turned, stopped in front of a guard's post, and the n c ontinued forward. Willie stopped his car and looked at the sign.

  NATIONAL INSTITUTES OF HEALTH Sara undressed quickly, sat on the cold examining table and waited. Sh e p assed the time by reading Dr. Carol Simpson's medical diplomas twic e a nd counting the tiles on the floor.

  Ninety-four in all.

  Carol Simpson arrived with an apologetic smile.

  "Sorry," she said.

  "It's been a busy week."

  "I understand."

  "How are you feeling?"

  "Okay."

  Carol took in a deep breath, held it, and then let it go.

  "Look, Sara, there are two things I can do. I can dance around awkwardl y a nd pretend I live in a vacuum and never heard about Michael's conditio n o r I can just come out and say I'm sorry. If there is anything I can do..." "Just one thing," Sara said.

  "Help me make Michael the father of a healthy baby."

  ""I'll do my best, but I have to be honest with you. This is not goin g t o be an easy pregnancy. Normally, I would tell you to avoid stress, bu t i realize that would be impossible in your case. I can only urge you t o m inimize it as much as possible. Try to keep up with your regula r r outine."

  "IT! be going back to work on the show tomorrow," Sara said.

  "Now that the treatment is getting more intense, I won't be stayin g o vernight at the hospital anymore."

  "Good."

  "Doctor Simpson?"

  "Carol."

  "Carol, what are the chances that I'll carry to full term?"

  Again, the doctor inhaled deeply, kept the air in her lungs and he r p uffed cheeks, and then released it slowly.

  "I don't know," she said at last.

  "The next month or two will be critical. If we can get past that, i t s hould get easier. Now why don't you lie back and relax?"

  Exhaustion emanated from every fiber of Harvey's being.

  He wished he could find a way to unwind, to forget this place for just a f ew minutes, to re-juice his flagging battery. But there was no escap e a nd in truth, it was because he accepted none.

  The clinic was just too important to diddle in the mundane or trivial.

  He opened the door to his office. The room was dark. No lights on. No w indows to offer illumination. He flicked the switch.

  "Close the door," a husky voice commanded.

  Harvey's stomach dropped to his knees as he stared at Cassandra. She wa s s tanding in front of his desk wearing a short white robe whos e b rightness contrasted beautifully with the dark Mediterranean tone o f h er upper thigh. Her long, black hair was slightly mussed, with a coupl e o f tight curls reaching down and covering one eye. She smiled a wild , seductive, tantalizing smile that he could feel in his toes.

  "I said, close the door."

  Swallowing, Harvey obeyed.

  She loosened the robe and let it open slightly, hinting at the delight s t hat lay beneath.

  Harvey swallowed again.

  The robe slid off her shoulders and onto the floor.

  Underneath, she wore only a black garter belt and lace brassiere.

  "I've been waiting for you," she purred.

  With her torrid gaze never leaving his, Cassandra sat on his desk an d s lowly lowered herself into a prone position. She rolled back , stretching her hands above her head and arching her back.

  Then she turned her body to the side, her head leaning against her hand.

  She renewed her smile.

  Harvey's eyes crawled over every inch of her, over every luscious curve.

  Her body was utterly fantastic. Mile-long legs to a flat stomach , hourglass hips and waist, and then her bountiful, round breasts an d s mooth shoulders. Incr
edible. She was almost impossibly voluptuous.

  He felt the familiar, unsettling stir building up inside of him.

  He tried to swallow yet again, but his mouth had gone completely dry.

  "I thought we agreed to take this slow," he managed.

  She laughed, threw her head back, and beckoned him forward with both a l ook and a demanding finger.

  "The slower, the better."

  Max drove the rented station wagon across the George Washington Bridg e a nd into New Jersey. In the back seat Theodore Krutzer, Paul Leander , and Arnold Singer sat quietly. They looked, Max thought, amazingl y h ealthy and calm. All three men had been diagnosed with the AIDS viru s t wo years ago, but Max would never have guessed it. He kept turnin g a round and snatching glances at them. Their good health and spirits, i n s hocking contrast to the many friends and lovers Max had seen ravaged b y t he virus, were a fresh and constant reminder to him of the importanc e o f solving this case.

  As they reached New Jersey, Max's beeper went off. He pulled into a Gul f s tation on Route 4 and parked next to a payphone.

  "I have to make a call," he said to the three men in the back seat.

  He got out of the car and dialed the precinct.

  "Max Bernstein," he said.

  "Yeah, Lieutenant, we have a call from Sergeant Monticelli. I'll connec t y ou."

  There was a clicking noise.

  "Twitch?"

  "Yeah, Willie, it's me. Where are you?" "Bethesda, Maryland," he said.

  "Guess what Southern-fried lab technician is visiting the Nationa l i nstitutes of Health?"

  Max felt a strange fluttering in the pit of his stomach.

  "Winston O'Connor."

  "Bingo. So I checked his file real good. About his childhood in Alabam a a nd all that crap. Everything is in order. No holes at all.

  Nothing suspicious. Absolutely clean. Perfect."

  "Too perfect?"

  "Yup. The guy's gotta be a plant."

  Max nodded to no one in particular.

  "Thanks, Willie. Come on home. No reason to follow him anymore."

  "Will do, Twitch."

  When Max reached the safehouse, he took Dr. Zry, his best (and quietest) medical man, aside.

  "I have some very specific instructions for you."

  Dr. Zry prompted.

  "I want you to take some blood samples from the three patients," Ma x s aid.

  "But I thought the guys at the clinic said not to touch " "I know wha t t hey said," Max interrupted.

  "That's why I want it to remain our little secret."

  George entered the clinic's basement at five o'clock in the afternoon.

  Despite the cops crawling all over the obvious entrances, George had ha d n o problem getting into the building through a tunnel entrance in th e b asement. Getting out the same way would be no problem either. He ha d s pent most of the day studying a blueprint of the building and had com e u p with a plan he was sure would not fail.

  Michael Silverman was in a private room on the third floor, no more tha n t en yards from the stairwell and the elevator. George was not yet sur e w hich he was going to use to make his escape, but he was leaning towar d t he elevator. No other patients were housed on the third floor, an d a fter 8:00 p. m." the floor should be abandoned unless someone was stil l i n the lab down the other end of the hallway.

  Time to recheck the plan.

  He took the blueprint out of his pocket and quietly unfolded it. Hi s f inger traced along the paper until it arrived at the third floor. He s quinted. Michael's room was over here, the lab was way down there, tw o e mpty rooms right there, the storage closet on the right, medica l s upplies locked over on the left. That was it. Nothing had bee n o verlooked. He would just have to watch the nurse, wait until she lef t m ichael's room.

  George refolded the blueprint and jammed it into his front pants pocket.

  He wondered if Michael Silverman was another faggot or if he had reall y g otten the disease from a blood transfusion. Probably another fruitcake.

  His marriage to Sara Lowell was for show.

  He settled back against the brick wall and waited.

  Chapter 16.

  George checked his watch.

  7:45 p. M.

  He was already on the third floor and ready to move. Just a few mor e m inutes to go.

  From his spot inside the lab doorway George watched Sara Lowell an d r eece Porter leave Michael's room. Perfect. Right on time. Ten minute s e arlier Dr. Harvey Riker had made his exit.

  Now Michael Silverman was alone in his room, probably asleep.

  George listen closely, but he heard no voices. Sara and Reece wer e w aiting for the elevator in perfect silence. Nothing to be said, h e g uessed.

  Well, they'll have plenty to talk about tomorrow.

  The familiar adrenalin rush was beginning to build inside of him, bu t g eorge remained cool. No reason to rush. Rushing led to mistakes.

  He knew he would have to wait a few more minutes until the nurse came b y t o check on Silverman. When she left his room, George would be able t o w altz down the hallway and spend a little quality time with Michael.

  And what do you know? Lookie here. George would not have to be patien t m uch longer.

  The nurse was at Michael's door already.

  No more than two minutes after Reece and Sara had left, Janice Matle y e ntered Michael's room. Her ears were greeted by a mixture of th e s oothing strings of Mozart coming from the tape deck and the gentl e s ounds of slumber coming from Michael.

  Out like a light, the nurse said to herself. Sleeping like a baby, th e p oor thing. Not enough he had to have this awful virus he has to g o t hrough it while the whole world tries to watch. Damn shame, that's wha t i t was. Nice young fella like that.

  Damn shame.

  She checked his chart. According to the file, Dr. Riker had give n m ichael an injection of SRI less than an hour ago. That would mean h e w ould not have to be wakened for another four hours. Good. Lord know s t he boy could use some rest. She looked at her watch. Ten minutes t o e ight. She would go downstairs until one a . M. Then she'd come back fo r h is shot.

  She pulled down the shade on his door window and left the room. She wa s j ust about to head down the stairs when something made her stop short.

  She could not say exactly what it was. There had been no sound, n o v oices, no rustling noises in the lab. There was only the steady hum o f t he fluorescent overhead lights. Damn lights made the most annoyin g n oise. They can put men on the moon, she thought, but they can't make a l ong light bulb that doesn't sound like an angry bee.

  Her eyes passed over the empty corridor, but nothing appeared out o f p lace. She shook her head in a vague attempt to clear it. What on God's g reen earth was bothering her?

  Nothing. Nothing at all. Everything was peaceful and quiet. Or maybe i t w as the very quiet that needled her. Maybe it was the sense of pur e d esolation that gave her reason to pause. And yet, when something was s o q uiet, so damn still, it's almost like someone was making it like that , like someone was standing so still that the whole room does the same.

  Janice decided not to use the stairs just yet. Instead, she walke d t oward the lab at the other end of the hallway.

  This was something George had not planned.

  Shit! What the hell was the dumb bitch doing?

  Relax, George. What harm can she do?

  She can see me. Hell, she definitely will see me.

  Then you'll have to take care of that problem, won't you?

  Damn. He hated deviations from his plans, and the fat nurse was a bi g g oddamn deviation.

  Okay, calm down. There's no need to panic.

  But she's coming this way!

  He could clearly hear the nurse walking toward him. She steppe d h esitantly but with authority. He wondered how his employer would reac t t o the death of the old nurse. Not too happily, George imagined.

  Very pissed off, in fact. But George could not worry abo
ut that now.

  He had far bigger worries. He had to get to Michael Silverman before th e d amn doctor returned.

  He pressed his back against the nook in the lab doorway and waited.

  From the sound of her footsteps the old lady could not have been mor e t han ten steps away. He reached into his pocket and slid out hi s s tiletto. She was only a yard away now.

  His muscles tensed in preparation.

  Two floors below Sara hobbled next to Reece Porter.

  "Reece?"

  "Yes."

  "How did he look to you?"

  Reece Porter shrugged. Immediately after hearing Michael's statement , Reece had left the Knick locker room, taken a taxi to the Seattl e a irport, waited eight hours for the next available plane to New York, flew across the entire country, spent the day trying to find ou t w here Michael was, located Sara at Dr. Simpson's office, and the n o btained permission from Harvey to visit Michael.

  A damn long twenty-four hours.

  "Mikey looked okay," he said at last.

  "Just tired mostly."

  "From the SRI, I think," Sara added.

  "I'm glad you came, Reece. It means a lot to him."

  Reece shrugged.

  "So how are you feeling?"

  '"I'm fine."

  "Uh huh. Sure you are."

  "What do you mean by that?"

  "Your walk, for one thing. It looks like somebody did a deep freeze o n y our leg."

  It was true. Her leg had been cramping up all day, the sorenes s c lenching down on the very bone with sharp teeth.

  Every step was a new adventure in pain.

  "I'll be all right. It's just a little stiff."

  "Then wait here," Reece said.

  "I'll get the car."

  "I can walk."

  He shook his head.

  "I swear, Sara, you can be as big a pain in the butt as Mikey. Just wai t h ere and stop being so goddamn stubborn. Sit over there."

  With a weak smile she did as he asked.

  "I parked in the visitor's lot on 167th Street," Reece continued , heading for the exit.

  "Give me ten minutes."

  "I'll be here."

  She glanced about her surroundings. There were two armed security guard s a t the door plus two plainclothes policeman in cars outside the clinic's d oor. Her leg throbbed as though her heart had dropped down into th e a rea above her ankle. She would soak it when she got home.