by L Jan Eira
Jack nodded. “On a hunch, I went over to Rupert’s cabin in the woods. I found some files, which I was reading in my office. James Miller walked into my office and sprayed me with Rat Poison. I ran away from there and injected myself with propranolol, verapamil, and midazolam twice, I think, to try to overcome the effects of the poison.”
“How did you know to use those drugs?” said Quentin.
“Observing Herb and the other victims, I noticed Rat Poison was a stimulating agent to the cardiovascular and central nervous systems. The drugs I used are known to block these stimulatory chemicals at the cellular level.” Quentin and Claire nodded. Jack continued. “I knew my mind would fail me. The last thing I remember was writing you a message with my blood about Miller. I’m not clear at all about the rest.”
It was Quentin’s turn to explain to Jack what had happened. “You were acting like a madman. The cops found you in a subdivision behind the hospital. I met them there, and we brought you here. We told the press you were dead.” She paused as she looked through her purse to find the Evansville Courier & Press newspaper and held it up so Jack and Claire could examine it. The headlines read in large, bold letters: “Young Doctor Shot Dead by Police.”
“I was never shot,” said Jack, feeling his chest and then his legs. “Was I?”
“You know, as a matter of fact, you were almost shot by a rookie,” confessed Quentin. “But no, you weren’t shot. You were saved by the shift commander.”
“Why did you want the news to say I was dead?” said Jack.
“For two reasons,” said Quentin. “First, so they would quit coming after you. Second, we knew that the next target would be you, Claire.” Susan looked at Claire. “We figured the bad guys would think you had some knowledge of the events and would want to get rid of you, as well. So, we covertly guarded your room heavily, knowing they would come after you.” Susan turned to Jack. “Two men walked into her hospital room and tried to abduct her. We were all over them, but she was so brave.” Susan exchanged glances with Claire and squeezed her hand. Claire smiled. “The two men we apprehended in your room, Claire, were later murdered by Mike. He still had gun residue on him when we caught him at the airport.”
Jack looked confused. “Airport?”
“On a tip by your buddy, Steve Peski,” said Quentin. “He called to tell you the Gulfstream jet had landed. At that point I suspected that the jet was here as the getaway vehicle. Fortunately, we were able to stop the plane from taking off. I called and asked the Evansville Tower to hold them on the tarmac for as long as possible. Mike held a gun to the pilot’s head and made them taxi, but we got there in time. I arrested the fabulous FBI man, Agent Mike Ganz, myself.”
“I thought the two of you were dating,” said Jack.
Quentin smirked. “We were. Well, I was. I broke it off. I don’t date scumbags.”
“I’m glad you caught him,” said Jack, trying to reassure her.
“I was angry at myself. I let myself be blinded by my feelings for Mike. I let Mike kill the one man in my life who really mattered. I wasn’t seeing what you two could plainly see,” said Quentin. “I wish I had heeded your warnings.”
“Don’t blame yourself for having feelings, Susan,” said Claire.
“I understand now, and I’m over it.” Quentin sat up straight. “About the documents you reviewed, Jack, what did you learn about Rupert? Was he just a greedy, sick bastard?”
“That’s the funny part. Rupert told Major Rooner, Muhammad Akrim, James Miller, and Mike Ganz that he refused to run tests on humans. He said it was unethical. He told them that the prime directive of medicine is ‘Primum, non nocere.’”
“English, please,” said Quentin. “What does that mean?”
“First, do no harm,” translated Claire.
“James Miller sprayed Rat Poison onto Rupert to coerce him to continue the research on humans,” said Jack. “Rupert knew if the bubbles inside his bloodstream burst, he would die in minutes. Miller or Ganz could destroy him remotely with the touch of a button.”
“You think that’s how Rupert was killed?” said Quentin.
“I’m sure of it,” said Jack. “What happened to the files in my office?”
Susan slowly shook her head. “There are no files there. James Miller must have taken them after he poisoned you. Mike claims he knows nothing about them. We’ll keep searching. Something will come up.”
“Did the military subsidize the study of Rat Poison?” said Claire.
“No, the military didn’t want anything to do with it due to its unethical nature during testing. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind it after it was tested. Akrim, who is probably a radical terrorist or something like that, was funding them. Did he arrive in the jet today?”
“No, he’s too smart. However, we do have his Gulfstream. Do you want to buy a slightly used, beautiful, well-equipped jet?”
They all chuckled.
“What about John Connor and the others murdered at the hospital?” said Claire.
Jack shrugged his shoulders. “I bet John discovered what was going on with the project. Ganz must have gotten the gun and probably gave it to Rupert who, in turn, provided it to Butterworth with a hefty dose of Rat Poison. I imagine he called John to come in to the unit with the contrived reason of signing up a patient for one of their trials. When John arrived, Rupert detonated the bubbles, and Butterworth did the rest. Heather McCormick and the security guard were just collateral damage.”
“That’s a damn shame,” said Quentin.
The group sat in silence for a moment, shaking their heads slowly.
Jack squinted his eye. “You know, I just had another thought that may be useful in trying to catch Miller.”
“Yes, we need all the help we can get,” said Claire, smiling. “He could be anywhere by now.”
“I noticed Miller had a rash on his right hand when he sprayed me. I noticed it before, but it was faint. It’s raised, scaly, red, and itchy. I noticed scratch marks on and around the rash. I think it’s a fungal infection the name of which I can’t recall. It’s almost exclusively diagnosed in people who work with lab animals.” Jack remained pensive for a beat. “Will you get me a computer so I can do a quick search?”
Quentin made a phone call, and a policeman carrying a laptop computer arrived in Jack’s room in no time. After a few clicks on the keyboard, the conversation resumed with newfound enthusiasm.
“Wherever he’s going, he’ll need to take care of this soon. It’s very itchy. If he’s planning to leave the country, he’ll see a doctor here in the United States before he leaves. The treatment is a specific antifungal agent that gets little use otherwise. Is there a way you or the FBI can track the sale of this medicine around the United States?”
“I’ll find out.” Quentin dialed on her cell phone and spoke for several minutes. During her phone conversation, she paced around the small hospital room. At one point, she paused to ask Jack to spell the name of the antifungal agent. When she hung up, she sat on the bed and looked at Jack and Claire, who had remained intrigued and quiet. “Let’s see where this takes us.” She smirked. “Hopefully, we can make an arrest and get dear old James Miller behind bars soon.”
CHAPTER 65
James Miller spoke quietly on his cell phone using a Bluetooth connection to his earpiece. He was wearing his plush, multicolored robe and occasionally sipped from his coffee mug. He was sitting at a large mahogany desk, his slippers neatly lined up on the floor.
“We were found out, Mr. Akrim. The police caught us. They arrested Mike Ganz and confiscated all the equipment and drugs.” His voice was remorseful. A short pause ensued. “We can’t make the drug or the equipment needed to weaponize it. Rupert’s company, MultiTech, Inc., has been taken over by the police and the FBI. All assets frozen.” He rubbed and scratched the reddened rash on his right hand. “They confiscated the airplane. Do the pilots know anything?” Another pause. Another scratch.
“No, I’m not worried about
the pilots,” said Akrim. “They know nothing about our operations.”
“Oh, good.” James nodded slowly. “Mike will give me away, but he doesn’t know anything about you. He doesn’t know your name or where you are.”
“What about paper trails?”
“I have all the documentation. All the records.” Miller scratched his right hand vigorously again and winced in some pain.
“I lost a lot of money dealing with you!”
“Well, investments sometimes are like that, Mr. Akrim,” said Miller. “Do all your investments always make you money?”
“Yes. I’m a businessman,” said Akrim. “I make sure all my investments are sound.”
“Well, this investment wasn’t,” said Miller.
“How do I know you won’t give me away?” said Akrim.
“I can’t implicate you without implicating myself. You only provided research money; I masterminded the whole operation.”
“What are your plans, Mr. Miller?”
“I’ll leave the United States. I’ll change my name and have surgery to change my appearance and voice. Nobody will ever find me.”
“If ever you mention my name to anyone at all, you will be very sorry, Mr. Miller,” said Akrim. “I’ll have you skinned and your fingers plucked off one by one, while you beg to be killed.”
“With all due respect, Mr. Akrim, you won’t be able to find me, so your empty threats don’t scare me.” Miller placed his palm over his knuckles, attempting to soothe the rash on his hand. “We have nothing else to talk about. Good-bye forever, Mr. Akrim.” Calmly, James closed the burner phone.
This first call was to sever ties with one rich partner in crime. Now he had another call to make. The second call was to secure a different, even richer associate. After a few seconds of deliberation and grins, James sipped from his coffee cup. He dialed. While waiting for the connection, James smiled ear to ear, delighted by how well things were going. The future appeared bright. Very bright indeed.
CHAPTER 66
He was getting sick and tired of the rash on his right hand. Periodically, he scratched at it, but it never seemed enough. He would have to go see a doctor about it. And soon.
He made an appointment with a dermatologist, using the name Joshua McCarthy. He was diagnosed with a rare fungal infection and was given a prescription. He stopped at a pharmacy and returned to the hotel with the hopes for a cure from his dreaded itching.
“It always pays to be ready. Prepared. Plan for every contingency,” whispered Miller to no one in the hotel room as he looked around, visualizing every corner of the large room. “This may very well be a total waste of time and money. But it can also save my life,” murmured James to himself.
He made sure the door to the next hotel room was unlocked. He had taken the time to rent three rooms in a row, under different names. All rooms had adjoining, communicating inside doors, the last room being around the corner the outside door of which led to the back parking lot. In that lot, Miller parked his second vehicle, which he rented under an assumed name.
Like a lunatic, Miller kept working, walking place to place, planning, scheming, and all along talking quietly to himself. Satisfied with his progress, at 7:02 p.m. James was ready to relax. He made a call to a nearby Chinese restaurant and ordered food to be delivered to his hotel room. At 7:38 p.m., there was a knock on the door. James got up to open the door, anticipating crab Rangoon and Mongolian beef. Instead, two well-dressed men sporting FBI badges asked politely to enter the room. The agents crossed the threshold with their left hands holding up their IDs and their right hands on their sidearms, still holstered. They were also equipped with a picture of Mr. James Miller. This was the seventh such incursion by the Bureau over the last three days, the others occurring in St. Louis, Denver, Boise, Seattle, Austin, and San Diego. The other victims of the fungus had no resemblance to the man in the picture, so an arrest had not been made. No arrest until this time.
Within seconds, Miller found himself on the floor with his hands behind his back. One of the agents pressed down hard with a knee on his back, assuring he would not resist or attempt to get up. He was cuffed and Mirandized. As the agents aided the seemingly helpless man to his feet, Miller extended his right arm, allowing the remote device to fall from his long sleeve and reach his right hand. That’s when his preparedness began to pay off dividends. An explosion behind the sofa was loud and of sufficient magnitude to nearly completely pulverize not only the couch but also a nearby television and desk. The men had remained physically unharmed by this. A plume of thick smoke emanated from the area of the detonation. Most importantly, the blast provided a momentary diversion, allowing Miller to escape from the distracted agent’s grip and progress to stage two. A touch of a second button resulted in the dissemination of Rat Poison microbubbles into the smoke-filled room, quickly penetrating into the detectives’ respiratory trees. The two men would later be found dead in the hotel room, one having succumbed to a large brain hemorrhage, the other to a massive heart attack. The dose had been precisely and accurately calculated to achieve a drastic and rapid response. Mr. James Miller was, of course, nowhere to be found. The FBI placed the fugitive on its Most Wanted List.
CHAPTER 67
Three Years Later
Jack and his medical team, consisting of three medical students, two medical interns, and one cardiology fellow, were making rounds. Of the six, two were women, and all were new at Newton Memorial Hospital. They entered room 615 to see a patient. Jack, now a staff-attending electrophysiologist, had been informed of the patient’s status. Jack gestured for the others to enter. He went in last.
On their arrival in the room, a beautiful woman was visiting the patient. They were talking joyfully, although the conversation came to a halt when the group entered.
“Can we talk outside, Doctors?” said the stunning blond woman. After exiting the room, she continued, “What is the patient’s condition?” Her gaze was on Rod Elmer, a medical student.
“Well,” stuttered the student, “he is doing a little bit better. His heart rhythm is better controlled and—”
“You know you have the most beautiful eyes,” interrupted Jack, looking intently at the attractive young woman.
“Why, thank you,” she whispered shyly. She looked at Jack for a short spell and then looked at the ground bashfully.
“Yes, I was saying the heart rhythm—” continued the student who was interrupted again in midsentence.
“No, I’m not kidding. I believe you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” persisted Jack, rudely disrupting the conversation between the two.
“Thank you,” said the woman reservedly, blushing.
“Would you go out to dinner and a movie with me? Tonight?” asked Jack.
The others became flabbergasted and unsure of what to think or say.
“I appreciate the offer,” whispered the beautiful woman, “but I’m married.” She lifted up her left hand, showing her wedding ring for all to see.
“So am I. Look!” Jack showed the group his wedding band. “It’s OK. We’re both married!” said Jack. With this, Jack approached the woman and dipped her backward with a passionate kiss on the lips. After a long and awkward moment, the couple got up.
“Guys, this is my wife, Claire. She’s a cardiac psychologist here at the hospital. Let’s be aware of our patient’s emotions and see if some of them need support. Claire can help them and their families, if needed. Claire, say hey to my new group.”
Claire looked up from the ground momentarily to wave to all with a forced smile. Her face was blushed. “Do we have to do this every time?” she said. Her eyes deviated from Jack to the students. “Did he tell you the one about dog poop yet?”
The students nodded. “Yes.”
“He makes me do these silly things,” said Claire. “I don’t know why I go along with him.”
“This is my way of making sure my students and trainees never forget the clinical pearls I teach t
hem. Will any of you ever forget this moment?” he asked of the group.
All heads shook. “No.”
“I rest my case. Want to do lunch?” he asked Claire.
“Sure, you’re buying. And not just for me. For all of them. Deal?”
“Deal.”
CHAPTER 68
Jack and Claire had moved into a gorgeous home on Bell Road, the neighborhood behind Newton Memorial Hospital and not far from where Jack was first temporarily placed under arrest and almost shot by the police, the day he was polluted with Rat Poison.
A beautifully manicured backyard served as a soccer pitch for Jack; Nick, their two-year-old son; and Trinity, their three-year-old dog, a Vizsla the couple purchased immediately after the incidents at the hospital. Despite multiple tries, Jack remained unable to turn on the alarm system he purchased that fateful day and installed himself at their previous home. From then on, Trinity would serve as the warning method for strangers or unwanted trespassers. Of course, the new home on Bell Road had a working, sophisticated alarm system, which the Norrises were yet to turn on. Trinity was all the forewarning and protection they required.
“Jack, come quickly,” yelled Claire from the kitchen door to the backyard.
“What is it? We’re in the middle of a soccer match.” Jack picked Nick up and helped him kick a goal. “And he scores. The crowd goes wild,” yelled Jack, running to the house, Nick in his arms and Trinity running behind.
They entered the home. The HDTV image was on pause. Claire had the remote in her hand.
“You won’t believe this. You’d better sit down for this one,” she commanded.
Jack sat down, Nick in his lap and Trinity at his side.
“Look at what CNN just reported.” She pushed play and sat down next to Jack.
The headline read, “Terrorist Group Steals Materials from North Korea to Assemble a WMD Then Self-Destroys.”
The international reporter described an incident where days ago, a yet unknown terrorist faction was able to enter the Yongbyon Nuclear Research Center facility in the Pyongan Province of North Korea and steal uranium and plutonium. An unnamed CIA source claimed intelligence had demonstrated the terrorists desired to assemble a nuclear weapon of mass destruction to be aimed at the United States. For reasons that remained unexplained, the group’s headquarters in Afghanistan was discovered earlier that day when massive gunfire was heard. All the terrorists in the group were found dead. The insurgents appeared to have annihilated each other without cause or outside interference. The nuclear materials were recovered undamaged. An international investigation into this incident was ongoing.