“So, Mrs. Kroft,” she said, still standing, “it would seem that your abstention from the Omnivax vote did not mean you had lost interest in the vaccine.”
“Hardly,” Ellen said. “A man had threatened my granddaughter’s life if I voted against it. I needed to buy some time.”
“And now that man is dead.”
“Yes. He worked for the owner of Columbia Pharmaceuticals, the manufacturer of the Lassa fever component of Omnivax.”
“And there is something fatally wrong with that component?”
“Yes.”
“And you are convinced it would be a grievous error for us to vaccinate the infant who is out there awaiting her immunizations.”
Ellen sighed in relief at the news. The shot heard round the world still hadn’t been fired.
“Yes,” she said again. “I most emphatically do.”
“And you, Dr.—”
“Rutledge,” Matt said, clearing his throat. “Matthew Rutledge. People from my community in West Virginia who received test doses of the Lassa fever vaccine ten years ago are dying. I think the agent that is killing them is still in the vaccine.”
Marquand again leveled her gaze at Ellen.
“Mrs. Kroft, my staff has informed me that you have been a financial supporter of my husband’s opponent in the upcoming election. Is your miraculous appearance at this moment at all politically motivated?”
Ellen took some time before responding.
“I disapprove of your husband’s position on social security,” she said finally. “That is why I support Mr. Harrison. But our being here now has nothing to do with politics. I assure you of that.”
For fifteen seconds, all was silent as Marquand steadily probed Ellen’s eyes with her own.
“Thank you,” she had said finally. Her voice was husky, her expression still gray. “And you, too, Dr. Rutledge.”
Without another word, she and Kramer then turned and left the room. Fifteen minutes after that, the first of the FBI interrogators had arrived. The child had been sent home; the cameras had been shut down; and no doubt, the administration’s spin-doctors had been called in for emergency work.
Before leaving for home, Matt had sat alone in one of the empty clinic examining rooms wrestling with the decision of whether to notify the police about the situation at the toxic dump site or to wait until he had the chance to evaluate things in person. When Lyle didn’t return, Lewis and Frank would surely have known there had been trouble at Hal’s. He was certain of that. What they would or could do about it, though, was anybody’s guess. Their brother was dead. Their beloved old truck was at the bottom of Long Lake. They were several miles from their farm, and Lewis was not in the best of shape for travel. Still, the problems Matt would cause for them by sending the authorities to the scene of such carnage might well destroy them. Nikki and those inside the cave were reasonably stable when Ellen and he had left for Hal’s place.
Finally, after a heated internal debate, he had decided to wait on calling for help from anyone until he could ride out to the mountain himself.
RUSH-HOUR TRAFFIC WAS a bear, and Matt took many more chances than he was accustomed to in getting across the Potomac and out of the city. It was seven-thirty by the time he was first able to accelerate past seventy.
Just outside White Sulphur Springs, he glanced down at his pager, which he kept in a plastic holder on the handlebars of the Harley when he was riding, and transferred to his belt loop when he wasn’t. It had been on the bike since the evening he followed Bill Grimes up to the mountain cabin. The light indicating a page was flashing. He had no idea how long that had been the case. He pulled off the highway and called the ER at the hospital.
“Dr. Rutledge,” the ward secretary exclaimed, “we’ve been trying to find you. There’s a disaster drill in progress, only it’s not a drill.”
Matt’s pulse quickened.
“What’s going on?”
“I really don’t know. It’s confusing. I think there’s trouble at the mine. Maybe a cave-in, maybe an explosion. The first two cases are due to arrive by ambulance any minute.”
“Tell whoever’s in charge that I’ll be there in about an hour.”
Fifty minutes later, Matt swept around a wide, left-hand curve—one of his favorites to ride—and saw the lights of Belinda nestled in the valley below. So beautiful; so deceptively peaceful. Main Street was quieter than usual, but the hospital more than made up for that. One ambulance was in a bay, having just been unloaded, a second, also now empty, stood off to one side of the tarmac, and a third, flashers on, was just rolling up the drive. Matt parked the Harley and hurried over to help.
“I’ve never seen anything like it. Never,” one of the EMTs was excitedly telling ER nurse Laura Williams. “We pulled these people out through a hole way up on this rock wall. There were flares marking the entrance to a cave and a rope on the ground leading in to where the trouble was, but no indication who put them there.”
“I know,” Williams said. “The other crew’s still talking about it.”
“And those barrels of chemicals. God, what a stench. That can’t possibly be legal. What made those mine people think they could get away with such a thing?”
“Need a hand?” Matt asked, battling back the urge to answer the EMT’s question, and peering into the ambulance at the two stretchers.
“Sure. The guy on the left is a load.”
Fred.
Matt stood on his tiptoes and determined that the occupant of the other stretcher was Sara Jane Tinsley.
“How did you guys know where to go?” he asked.
“One of the cops who was on duty when the anonymous call came in knew the area the guy was talking about. We all went out in a caravan.”
Matt took one end of Carabetta’s stretcher, hauled it onto the cement platform, and helped pull it up into position to be rolled inside. The OSHA bureaucrat, moaning continuously and lolling his head from side to side, appeared to be in no immediate danger. Matt moved to speak to him, then just as quickly pulled back and raced into the crowded ER. There would be time for Fred.
He easily spotted orthopedist Brian O’Neil, half a head above any of the disaster team.
“Hey, Brian,” he called out, hurrying over.
“Well, Matthew, don’t you look like shit. Where were you, at some sort of motocross?”
“Believe it or not, I was in the cave with all of these people when it blew.”
“But—?”
“Later. Are you taking care of Nikki Solari?”
“The doc?”
“Yes.”
“Sweet woman.”
“Behave. She hurt bad?”
“Trimalleolar fracture. A little displacement, but nothing that a bit o’ time in the OR and a few well-placed screws won’t fix.”
“Promise to do a good job, and I promise not to tell her your degree is in veterinary medicine. Where is she?”
“Ortho. Please let her know I’ll be in with her in two minutes.”
“Make it five,” Matt said.
Eyes closed, an IV draining fluid and antibiotic into her arm, Nikki lay on a stretcher, her swollen, discolored foot and ankle propped up on pillows in a transparent air cast. Her face and arms had been washed clean, but dust and small shards of stone filled her hair. Still, she looked absolutely beautiful.
“Hey you,” Matt whispered, “lady doctor.”
Nikki smiled broadly before opening her eyes. Matt kissed her on the forehead, then on the mouth.
“Did you make it in time?” she asked.
“No shots today, missy,” he said. “Come back some other time. So sorry.”
“That’s great news. Nice going.”
“It was my Uncle Hal all the time, Nik. He owned most of Columbia Pharmaceuticals. Grimes and the others worked for him.”
Her expression darkened. She immediately understood the implications for him and for his mother.
“I’m really sorry,” she said.
“Yeah. Well, it’s quite possible even John Dillinger and Attila the Hun had nephews.”
“I suppose,” she said sadly.
“How did you get out?”
Nikki shrugged. “While the Slocumbs were doing their thing, I decided to drag myself back into the cave to look after Fred and Morrissey and the rest. A lot of time passed. I was getting worried. Then, all of a sudden, there was noise, then powerful lights shining in, and a few seconds later the Calgary Stampede of EMTs, policemen, and firemen began.”
“The Slocumbs?”
“I have no idea where they are.”
Matt kissed her again.
“I’m worried,” he said. “I think I’m going to let you rest and go see if I can learn something about what might have happened to them. Brian O’Neil, the orthopedist who’s taking care of you, is terrific.”
“Why, Gunner, I didn’t know you cared,” O’Neil boomed from the doorway.
“Okay, I care, I care. Just don’t make the mistake of thinking my judgment is flawed in other areas as well.” He pressed Nikki’s cheek tightly against his. “I’ll be back soon, baby,” he whispered. “Be brave.”
“After what we’ve been through, how could anything be scary?”
“We’ve got an OR right now,” the orthopedist announced, “and I think we should take it so long as no one else is ready.”
“Might as well get it over,” Nikki said.
“I want you to recuperate at my place,” Matt whispered in her ear.
“You still in the back-rub business?”
“We never close.”
Matt patted O’Neil on the arm as he passed, and wandered out into the bustling ER, looking beyond the busy nurses and physicians at their charges. Sid, the security guard, was in Bay 3, the curtained-off area next to Fred. Two bays down, Sara Jane was being cleaned off by an aide, and next to where she lay, Evan Julian, the ENT surgeon, was huddled over Colin Morrissey. Julian was the most meticulous, compulsive physician on the hospital staff, and never started a case unless every instrument was perfectly aligned on the scrub nurse’s tray. Matt grinned at the notion of Nikki, her shattered ankle in a bulky makeshift splint, performing a successful emergency tracheotomy by lantern light in a cave filled with dust and toxic fumes.
Matt anxiously checked the other bays and rooms. The woman he had called Tarzana was in a side room, thrashing about wildly, restrained to her litter by leather straps. But no Slocumbs.
If there was dire need for his help with any of the patients, Matt knew he would have pitched in. But at the moment, he was feeling totally drained and more than a little fearful about Frank and Lewis. He left the hospital through the waiting room and headed across to his bike. As he was approaching the Harley, he noticed a tan Mercedes sedan parked not too far away. The driver, his face obscured in the shadows, was beckoning to him. He took several steps in that direction and froze. The car was Hal’s.
“Doc, it’s me, Frank,” the driver called out in a loud whisper.
Matt hurried over and jumped into the passenger seat. Lewis Slocumb was stretched across the back, apparently none the worse for wear.
“You all right?” Matt asked, gesturing at Lewis’s chest tube.
“Ah’m okay,” Lewis said grimly. “Bastard kilt Lyle.”
“I know. I was there. I’m really sorry, guys. I am. Lyle died saving our lives. And a lot of other lives, too. He was a real hero. How’d you get out and . . . and to Hal’s?”
“Yer pal Grimes had one a them phones—ya know, lak a two-way radio. When Lyle dint come rot back, we knowed it ’uz bad. A couple var frands got phones. I tole ya we knowed some people. Frank called Earl Morris—ya know him?”
“No.”
“Well, Earl’s moun’n jes lak us. He brought a bunch o’er an’ hept us clean up. I don’t think no one’s gonna find Grimes an’ his pals where we put ’em less’n they kin dahve in real deep, real dark water. Cleaned up all the casin’s, too.”
“Why was I so worried about you two? What about Hal? How’d you get there?”
“Earl Morris knowed whar he lives. We piled in back a his truck an’ went over. Thar yer uncle were, all trussed up lak a hog at bar-bee-que time.”
“Did he try and talk you into untying him?”
“Oh, he tried,” Frank said. “B’lieve me, he tried.”
“And this car? He told me he didn’t have another key.”
“He lied,” Frank said with a twinkle.
“We knowed he ’uz lyin’,” Lewis added. “He ain’t vura good at it. Thanks he is, but he ain’t. With a l’il hep from us, he tole what hap’ned ta Lyle, then he tole us whar the car key was. Wanted us ta have it in exchange fer untyin’ him.”
“Did you kill him?”
“Thought about it.”
“I’m glad you didn’t. I need him alive.”
“We may a left some marks, though.”
“Whatever it is, he deserved it. As soon as you can, find someone who’ll buy his car and use the cash to get yourselves a new truck.”
“Wer gonna. First we gotta fond Lyle’s body. We want ta bury him back ta the farm. Summabitches.”
“We’ll get down to the lake at dawn tomorrow. I’ll meet you at my uncle’s and show you the road down to the water. Lewis, I’m going back into the hospital to get some stuff to pull that tube out of your chest. I don’t think you need it anymore and I don’t want it to let in an infection.”
“Whute’er ya say. Ya gonna be sendin’ the po-lice out ta yer uncle’s place?”
“You check those knots I tied?”
“Yep. They ain’t comin’ loose no tahm soon.”
Matt opened the door and stepped out onto the pavement. The breezy night was cloudless and utterly clear. A West Virginia night.
“Maybe in a few days,” he said.
EPILOGUE
Six Months Later
THE MASSIVE HART SENATE OFFICE BUILDING, more than a million square feet, was built in the late seventies adjacent to the Dirksen Senate Office Building, on Constitution Avenue between First and Second Streets. For four days now, the august central hearing room of the Hart Building had been the scene of the first major hearing of the new, post-election Senate—an investigation into the Omnivax debacle by the Committee on Health, Education, Labor, and Pensions.
Ellen had already testified, as had Rudy and Matt and others, including Lara Bolton, the former Secretary of Health and Human Services in the former Marquand administration. For nearly six hours now, the senators, seated at draped tables beneath a massive, gray marble wall, had been taking turns questioning the star of the proceedings, Dr. Harold Sawyer, currently awaiting trial and being held without bail at the maximum security federal penitentiary in Florence, Colorado. And for nearly six hours, Hal had been sidestepping and evading their queries like an All-American halfback dodging second-string tacklers.
Matt, along with Ellen, and Cheri Sanderson from PAVE, had been present for Hal’s entire testimony, and his patience as well as his faith in the system was frayed to near the breaking point. With Grimes, Sutcher, and the hired killer Verne all still missing, and Larry a bloated, fish-eaten corpse, washed up on the shore of Long Lake weeks after his death, there was little in the way of substantive evidence against Hal beyond the testimonies of Matt and Ellen.
“Dr. Sawyer,” Delaware Senator Martin Wells was asking wearily, “let’s get back to your relationship with Dr. George Poulos of the Institute for Vaccine Development. In the six months prior to your arrest, precisely how many meetings—face-to-face or by phone or by e-mail—did the two of you have?”
“I would have to check my appointment book, Senator,” Hal replied, smiling earnestly, “but from my recollection, as I told Senator Worthington, it couldn’t have been more than one or two times.”
“This is really depressing,” Matt whispered. “He is just so damn slick. If I didn’t hear him admit to what he’s done, I would probably believe that he was just the unfortunate vict
im of hiring the wrong people.”
“Matt,” Cheri said, “I heard that he’s in the process of cutting a deal with the federal prosecutors. Is that true?”
“I’m afraid it might be. Once they realized that he was going to be tough to convict on many of the major charges against him, they started going after the bigger fish he was dealing with.”
“George Poulos, for one,” Ellen said. “I’m convinced he’s the link between the Marquand administration and Columbia Pharmaceuticals, which means he’s the one who suggested they might send someone like Vinyl Sutcher to pay me a visit.”
“Senator,” Hal was saying, “I want to cooperate, really I do, but I feel I have answered your questions regarding my relationship with Dr. Poulos as forthrightly and—”
“Oh, I’ve had enough of this,” Matt snapped. “Let’s go out for coffee. My treat.”
“Can’t,” Cheri said. “Sally’s meeting me at the office in half an hour. She’s at a meeting of the commission President Harrison has formed to look at vaccine issues, including funding for increased clinical investigation and public education, as well as debate on the whole business of parental choice. It’s a miracle what’s happening all over, and it’s all thanks to you guys.”
“Oh, pshaw,” Ellen said.
“As long as we don’t end up throwing out the baby with the bathwater,” Matt cautioned.
“Even we don’t want to do that,” Cheri said. “We just want to be listened to.”
“So, did someone say coffee?” Ellen asked.
After seeing Cheri into a cab, Matt and Ellen bundled up against the brisk February wind and walked arm in arm around to a diner on C Street. Hal’s testimony would be continuing in the morning. Federal prosecutors had asked Matt to attend as long as his uncle was testifying, but today would be Ellen’s last day at the hearings. Rudy was back at his cabin, teaching, writing, fishing when the weather permitted, and awaiting her return. She was still living in her place in Glenside, but the two of them had been seeing more and more of each other, and Ellen had mentioned something to Matt almost in passing about a trial period of living together in two places.
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