by L Jan Eira
“That’s understandable,” said Quentin.
“Any recent changes, James?” said Ganz.
“No, Dr. Rupert hasn’t changed ever since I’ve known him,” said Miller. “I’ve worked for that man for years, and that’s just the way he is. Very smart but very nervous.”
“James, what about the experiments and research trials you are doing here at the research lab?” said Ganz.
Miller took a big gulp of water. “We’re in the midst of many. I can provide a list of all of them, if you’d like.”
“Yes, that would be great,” interjected Jack.
“Give me a couple of hours, and I will have a complete list detailing our efforts here at Newton Memorial.” Miller yawned again, putting his right hand in front of his mouth.
“Of the research drugs you are working with, any of them capable of causing paranoia and delusion?” asked Jack.
“No, not that I know,” said Miller.
“Are you experimenting with any drugs that affect the central nervous system?” asked Jack.
“No, most of our research involves cardiovascular, some cancer, too, but not much. Dr. Rupert could give you a much more detailed analysis of the actual research being carried out.”
“We will talk to him, as well,” said Ganz.
“You mostly work with rats, huh?” asked Fuller.
Miller nodded his head. “We almost always start out with the rodent model, then either progress to small mammals like pigs or chimps or go directly to humans, depending on the situation. Dr. Rupert and his research group make those decisions. I just make sure they have what they need to work with.”
“We noticed that nine to twelve months ago you went through a lot of rats. More than ever before in the history of the research lab. What was that all about?” asked Fuller.
“Rat Poison,” Miller said and smiled. “L-F-J-six-five-nine is a new drug for congestive heart failure that we were testing on rats. Instead of improving the heart failure, the stuff was killing rats. Dr. Rupert called the drug ‘Rat Poison.’ Usually it takes us a couple of weeks to figure out the right dose, but this one is so potent that it can only be administered in minute quantities. We spent a lot of time and money buying rats, getting to the right dose. They kept dying from what was subsequently found to be too high a dose. We now have it right and are getting great results. Dr. Rupert is satisfied with the progress we’ve made with this drug.”
“How does the drug work, and how is it administered?” asked Jack, fascination in his voice.
“The mode of action remains unknown,” said Miller. “It’s administered intravenously.”
“Will you show us your records about the human-phase response? Any human deaths?” asked Jack.
“No, the patients so far have been all rats. No deaths recently. We will start the human phase soon.” Miller knocked three times on the wooden table.
“Are you working on any drug-delivery systems?” asked Jack.
“Yes, we are placing medications in tiny bubbles that can be administered intravenously or by inhalation. When the drug reaches the target organ or site, we can use ultrasound to disrupt the bubbles and deliver the material exactly where it’ll do the most good. This is done remotely through a specific predetermined high-frequency ultrasound wave.”
“So you can burst certain bubbles with one frequency and others with a different frequency?” Jack was impressed.
Miller yawned yet again, covering his mouth with his right hand. “Excuse me.” His gaze landed back on Jack. “Sure. That way we can administer different medications simultaneously but time the delivery of each agent by dialing in the desired frequency.”
The two-sided conversation continued for several long moments, with the technical lingo increasing with each passing minute. At some point, the cops became totally lost with the medical jargon. Since Jack was on a roll, they remained silent. They would later ask for enlightenment of all the scientific gobbledygook. While conversing enthusiastically, the two medical men walked to the area of the lab where the equipment in question was housed. The cops followed, still unsure of the details of the ongoing dialogue. Miller showed the increasingly fascinated Jack the MultiTech RF Sonicator, Bubble Maker, and other units used in the different experiments. Miller demonstrated how they operated.
Miller was helpful, accommodating, and courteous. And sleepy—yawns befalling more and more frequently. It was clear he truly wanted to be a positive factor in the investigation into the carnage of last week that had so devastated the hospital. Unfortunately, the conversation with Miller, though informative per se, did not appear to be rewarding in advancing the hunt for the monster or monsters responsible for the bloodshed.
The two Evansville detectives, the FBI man, and Jack exited the area and gathered just outside the entrance to the research lab.
“So, what do you make of all this lab equipment, Jack?” asked Quentin.
Jack pointed to the door they had just passed through. “I just know this equipment in there is being used as a weapon.” His jaw muscles tightened.
“We need to talk to Rupert,” said Fuller. “He holds the key to what we need to know. I’m certain of it.”
CHAPTER 33
When Jack arrived at police headquarters a bit late the next morning, the meeting had already begun. Fuller was speaking to the group, which consisted of the usual faces: Detectives Susan Quentin and Jim Franklin and Agent Mike Ganz. Today’s meeting also included a homely, stocky, well-dressed bald man with ill-fitting clothes and thick glasses. Jack would later find out this was Sebastian Ritter, the district attorney.
When Jack entered the room, the group was discussing the mounting evidence against Dr. Ian Rupert. Ritter agreed Rupert was a person of extreme interest, but the evidence was circumstantial. They needed more to arrest him.
“Let’s bring him in for an interview,” said Fuller.
“I don’t think we have enough to compel him to do that yet,” said Ganz.
“What do you think, counselor?” asked Fuller.
Ritter paused a beat. “I will give him a call and invite him to come in. It doesn’t have to be threatening. We’re just asking for his help to solve the murders that occurred at his hospital. I know him personally from previous fundraising events. It’ll be better if I do it instead of you.”
All nodded. Ritter excused himself and left the room to make the phone call. The conversation then shifted to Major Rooner and Muhammad Akrim.
Ganz began. “Major Rooner is a military man who disappeared off the face of the earth seven years ago. This typically means he is deep undercover for the government. We’re still trying to get more information and even speak with him directly about all this, but don’t hold your breath. I have my FBI connections working on this, and I’ll keep you informed of their progress.”
“What about Akrim?” asked Jack.
“Akrim is a businessman, but what his business is we cannot say as yet. He was born in Pakistan but has lived in Libya for several years,” said Ganz.
“Is he involved with terrorism?” asked Fuller.
Ganz shrugged his shoulders. “Don’t know yet.”
The subtle body-language signs Ganz displayed next intrigued Jack, who clandestinely began to watch him more closely. Ganz seemed microscopically edgy. If not for Claire’s insistence that Jack learn to read body language so as to better understand what his patients were feeling, he, too, would have missed the nearly indiscernible signs. Ganz clenched his jaw, and his hands became fidgety. He tried to hide his restlessness by placing his hands under the table. His eyes focused intently on Fuller and Quentin. As he did so, Jack fleetingly stared and concentrated on his forehead. A tiny bead of sweat had actually become barely visible. Mike is nervous, thought Jack. Something was bothering him. But what? And why? As Jack contemplated these matters, he heard his name, all eyes now on him.
Fuller was asking a question. “Jack, what is your view of all this?”
“I think Rupert a
nd his team, while investigating a new treatment, stumbled upon a way to kill people from a distance. I think the US military is interested in it, as well as some other foreign organization, either for military use or maybe even terrorism.” As Jack spoke, he continued to notice the almost imperceptible physical and emotional changes in Ganz.
“Interesting opinion,” said Quentin. Fuller nodded, his expression full of titillation. Ganz was still sitting on his chair quietly, endeavoring to remain inconspicuous despite his nearly undetectable internal agitation. Interestingly, besides Jack, no one else seemed to have noticed. For that, Jack had Claire to thank.
Jack continued. “We need to find out more about the research projects Rupert has going on. It’s conceivable that John Connor found out and threatened to go to the authorities. So the hospital murders might have been a ploy to get rid of him, with the others being innocent bystanders.” Jack paused, an eye still on Ganz. At this point, Jack didn’t want to tip his hat any more. He was no longer sure he could trust the FBI agent.
Ganz got up and began walking slowly toward Jack. “It’s a great theory.” He rested his hands on Jack’s shoulders as he continued to speak. “I’ll send the gadgets we obtained from the lab to the FBI headquarters for further analysis. I bet the lab geeks will come up with a plausible theory as to the methods of the killers.”
“I think we can do that here. I would love a chance to analyze the equipment,” said Jack.
Fuller interrupted. “I agree that the FBI is in a better position to make a determination, Jack. I know you’re interested in looking at the stuff, but in the interest of time, I think we should send everything to the FBI lab. Mike, will you arrange that?”
Ganz nodded. “Jack, have you discussed any of our meetings with anyone outside these walls?”
“Claire, my wife,” answered Jack.
“Anyone else?”
“No, just Claire.”
“It’s very important for you not to reveal our conversations to anyone. Even your wife. Can we agree on that?” asked Ganz. Jack nodded.
Ganz’s newfound sense of calmness was disconcerting, especially given what Jack thought might have been clues of body language a few moments earlier. Maybe I have it all wrong, thought Jack. Mike’s back to normal now. How silly of me to think that—
Jack’s musings were interrupted by the sound of the conference door opening. In came Ritter, wearing an ear-to-ear smile.
“I did it,” he announced. “Rupert is coming in with his lawyer tomorrow morning at eleven. I’ve cleared my schedule so I can be here.”
CHAPTER 34
After the meeting, all participants left the conference room. Jack sat in his car, contemplating what to do about his new philosophy regarding Agent Mike Ganz. He decided to talk to Fuller. He dialed his cell number.
“Herb, it’s me, Jack.”
“Did you forget something?”
“No, I have to talk to you in private. Away from the rest of the team.”
“What’s the matter?”
“Can you come out to my car? It won’t take long. I’m out in the parking lot.”
There was a moment of silence. “Sure,” said Fuller finally. The phone line went dead.
Fuller soon appeared. The parking lot was full of cars, with nobody in sight. Fuller entered Jack’s car.
“What’s bugging you, Jack?”
“Mike.”
“What about Mike?”
“I don’t know, Herb. I’m getting bad vibes from him.” Jack took a deep breath.
“What makes you say that?” said Fuller.
Jack sighed. “For a fleeing moment, Mike appeared nervous while talking to you during this last meeting. Then the signs disappeared. But…”
“You know Mike’s a decorated FBI agent, right?” said Fuller. “And he’s a friend.”
Jack shrugged his shoulders. “I just want you to watch him. Watch his body language. Watch his work.” He took a deep breath. “I realize I may be all wrong about this.” He sat up straighter in his seat. “I just thought I should tell you…just in case…”
Fuller smirked. “I’m sure you’re wrong about Mike. He’s one of the good guys.”
Jack nodded. “I guess you’re right!”
Fuller made a fist and lightly hit Jack’s right arm and then exited the vehicle. As he disappeared from sight, Jack wasn’t sure if Herb took him seriously or not. If he was having trouble coming to grips with his own observations of Ganz, how would Jack expect Fuller to take this cryptic request?
Herb’s probably having a good laugh with Mike right now, telling him about my amateurish conclusions, thought Jack. Couldn’t blame him if he did.
CHAPTER 35
The room was quiet and dark. The man with the phone was standing, looking out a window. He was wearing a multicolored robe.
“Rupert is pathetic and jumpy. I don’t trust him. Too itchy.” The man paused, the phone receiver to his ear. “There’s no way around it.” He sipped from his coffee cup. “You find and bring me all the paper trails. I want everything. He has contracts, letters, invoices. I want everything.” He paused as he admired the scene outside his window—the foliage of the mid-September trees beginning their inevitable transformation. “I will not tolerate sloppy work. We have too much riding on this.”
He closed the lid of his cell phone and dropped it on the bed. He felt his anger trying to erupt to the surface. His body was tense. He massaged his temples where he imagined the blood vessels to be engorged and visibly throbbing. He took a deep breath. He would not allow his fury to emerge.
“Imbecile,” he said out loud to no one. “For this you will pay!”
He knelt by the bed and retrieved a small suitcase hidden underneath it. On the bed was a suit jacket, neatly positioned to avoid wrinkling. He placed the suitcase on a nearby couch and dialed in the correct code on the combination lock, causing it to fling open. He unzipped the valise and pulled out a unit about the size of a deck of cards. He quickly analyzed its small LED display.
“Plenty of battery left,” he said. “You will not fail me when the time comes.” After a quick inspection, he slid the device into his right jacket pocket. Inside the suitcase, he found and removed a small tank and a small handheld nebulizer. He attached the tank to the nebulizer and turned the unit on. He pulled the trigger and watched the innocuous mist spray out. “You work like a charm.” He smiled. “Now, I’ll load you with the good stuff.”
He placed a protective mask over his face and pulled the straps tightly behind his head. “Let’s not breathe any of this stuff into my own lungs. That would be bad form.” Happy that the gear was in place, he pulled out a small leather box and removed from it an ampule that he broke open. He carefully dripped its contents into a chamber inside the nebulizer. Satisfied with the results, he placed the contraption inside his left suit pocket. He removed the mask and collapsed it into the left outside pocket of his jacket.
He got back on his knees and grabbed the suitcase. He ascertained that the padlock was properly and securely fastened and returned the baggage to its concealed nest under the bed. He stood up, removed his multicolored robe, and set it neatly on the bed.
He took a deep breath and smiled. “Let the games begin!”
CHAPTER 36
The doctors had just begun ward rounds.
Jill Jeffries, a first-year medical resident, presented her patient’s dilemma to the group. “Mrs. Richardson is a seventy-two-year-old woman who presented with atrial fibrillation. She has a history of CHF from a cardiomyopathy that proved to be resistant to appropriate optimized medical therapy. She received a defibrillator with CRT.”
“I’m sorry, a what?” interrupted medical student Peter Joseph.
“CRT is cardiac resynchronization therapy,” said Jeffries. “This is a device capable of improving the timing of heart contractions and—”
The discussion was abruptly interrupted by a deafening uproar coming from the room behind them. The loud noises conve
rted to screams, which became progressively louder and real. Two people ran out of the room. They were John Connor and Heather McCormick.
Jack did a double take. “John. Heather. It can’t be!”
These thoughts were broken up by thunderous gunshots. Red stains suddenly appeared on John’s white lab coat, his face abruptly turning ghostly pale, and Heather’s forehead, immediately disintegrating her stunning facial features. Both stopped running frantically and slowly fell forward into Jack’s arms. Jack felt helpless and powerless. As the two lifeless bodies fell at his feet, Jack stared at his hands, which had become blood-soaked, dripping crimson red.
“Is it the coronary sinus?” asked Joseph, his voice booming at Jack from miles away.
Jeffries glared at Jack’s face. “You’re pale and short of breath, Jack,” she said. “You seem short of breath.”
“Are you OK, man?” said Joseph. “You look like shit.”
Jack stood, looking frantically at his own hands, palms facing upward, increasingly aware of his surroundings. The blood covering his hands morphed into transparent moisture, his whole body diaphoretic.
“Are you OK, Dr. Norris?” repeated medical student Taylor Twelly.
Jack felt asinine and silly. “I’m all right. Sorry. I missed what you were asking.”
“I don’t think you’re OK at all,” said Jeffries. “You’re short of breath and covered in a cold sweat.” Her eyebrows furrowed. “I’m worried about you, Jack. Why don’t you take a break?”
“I’m OK,” lied Jack. “But yeah, I’ll take a break and join you all soon. Continue with the rounds, Jill.”
Jack stepped away from the group, hoping his strides belied how poorly he felt inside. Once he turned the corner and was no longer in sight from the others, Jack fished out his cell phone and availed himself of the mirror app. His customary olive-colored complexion was absent, leaving behind a weary paleness and cold beads of sweat dripping down his forehead and temples.