Panacea

by F. Paul Wilson

  He watched his smartphone for the little @ symbol that indicated mail in his AOL account, then opened it. The phrases “mass in the right middle lobe” and “hilar adenopathy” from the X-ray report bounced around the inside of his skull without sticking, leaving no trace of meaning other than This can’t be good.

  He forwarded it to Dr. Forman. With the X-ray report plus the pending path report, he’d surely be able to offer an idea of what Nelson was up against.

  He hadn’t slept last night for worrying about whether the panacea would work. He knew he was looking at a second sleepless night, but this time for an entirely different reason.

  But he had an important stop to make before he reached his bed.

  7

  At the Advocate, Uncle Jim greeted him cordially, saying, “We shall forget Wednesday night ever happened.”

  That was perfectly fine with Nelson. Hiding his continuing wonder at the outcome, he told him how the successful demonstration of the panacea had prompted an ops fund from Pickens. He withheld mention of the melanoma, instead producing a photo of Laura Fanning.

  “Yes,” Uncle Jim said, staring at the facial close-up. “That’s her. No way I’d forget those eyes.”

  Nelson knew what he meant: Laura Fanning’s pale blue eyes set in her dark face were striking, almost unsettling because they were so angelic. And yet … he sensed an air of sulfur about her.

  “Do you think it’s the Serpent’s doing—involving her in the Brotherhood’s quest—your life’s quest?”

  He shrugged his good shoulder. “Perhaps. But if so, I’m sure she’s unaware.”

  The remark took Nelson by surprise. “She ruined your life, made it impossible for you to pursue the panaceans. How do we know she’s not one of them?”

  “I prefer to think of her as an instrument of the Lord to visit this trial upon me. Because that made you step up and be His sword.”

  As much as Nelson loved the idea of being the Lord’s right arm, His archangel on Earth, he couldn’t let Fanning off that easily.

  “Still…”

  “Do you know she visited me almost every day when I was in that Salt Lake City hospital?”

  “To gloat?”

  “Not at all. Mostly she cried and kept saying how sorry she was. She was a child and devastated by what she had done. I’ve forgiven her, Nelson. Apparently you haven’t.”

  “I don’t know if I can.”

  “You must. Even if the Serpent has manipulated events so that those two panaceans wound up on her autopsy table, it is not her doing. The Serpent is using her to distract you. Don’t let it succeed. As your abbot, I am telling you to stay focused. Keep your eye on the prize.”

  “No worry about that, Prior. I’m close, and getting closer.”

  Jim leaned back and looked at him. “And what then, Nelson? If you succeed and send the panacea back to hell, what will you do with your life?”

  The question took him by surprise. “I … I’ll…”

  “Do you even have a life, Nelson?”

  He was totally off balance now. “Of course I do. I have the Brotherhood and the Company.”

  “But nothing else, right?”

  “I’ve no room for anything else.”

  Especially not now with melanoma in his lungs.

  “I and the rest of the brothers appreciate your zeal. But let me speak as your uncle now instead of your abbot. Your first duty is to the Brotherhood. Your second duty is to the Company because the Company provides access to intel that allows you to be proficient in your first duty. But you also have a duty to yourself, Nelson.”

  “I take care of myself.”

  “I don’t mean staying in shape and eating right. I was like you until the accident. Then I no longer had the Company and, although I’m still abbot of the Brotherhood, my role is largely advisory. The accident left me facing a void.”

  “All the more reason not to forgive Laura Fanning.”

  “To forgive is divine, remember? But I’m talking about you not ending up like me. I look back and wish I’d done other things with my life. Besides raising you, I don’t have any fond memories to look back on—I was so consumed by the Brotherhood and the Company, I didn’t do anything else.”

  Nelson felt at sea. “But … I joined the Brotherhood and the Company to continue your work.”

  “And I appreciate that, I do, but I wish you’d get a life outside all that. Tell me, Nelson: What do you do for fun?”

  “Fun?”

  “Yes, fun. As in a pleasurable activity with no purpose other than the enjoyment it brings. Like scuba diving or hiking or playing basketball or reading a thriller. You know: fun.”

  Fun wasn’t on his agenda. And fun was overrated. Mostly wasted time.

  “A good job well done is fun.” He knew that sounded lame even as he said it.

  Jim shook his head. “You haven’t a clue, have you? Trust me: If something disables you, you’ll wish you’d taken a little time for fun. I know I do.” He looked away. “I also wish…”

  “What?”

  “That I’d gone easier in my dealings with some of those panaceans.”

  “But they’re pagans, servants of the Serpent.”

  “I know that, son, but I hated them with such a passion. You’ve heard the saying, hate the sin and not the sinner?”

  “Of course.”

  “Well, I was blind to that. I hated the sinners as well. But as I look back I wonder if they were sinners at all.”

  Nelson couldn’t hide his shock. “What?”

  “Hear me out. A mortal sin requires a grave matter—which is met by attempting to sabotage the Divine Plan—full consent—which they certainly gave—and sufficient reflection. I’m no longer sure they met the last requirement.”

  “How can you say that?”

  “It means you have to know you’re doing wrong. I’ve come to realize that none of them believed they were doing wrong. They were dupes, servants of the Serpent, certainly, but unwitting servants. The ones I interrogated and condemned to the Leviticus Sanction … yes, they were pagans, they weren’t saved, but they meant no harm. They only wanted to heal and I … I hurt them.”

  “You were doing the Lord’s work.”

  “I keep telling myself that.”

  “‘Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.’ Remember?”

  “Oh, I remember, all right. I remember all too well.” He glanced at the clock. “They serve dinner early here. I’d better get going.”

  Nelson rolled Uncle Jim to the dining room and then wandered back to his car in a daze.

  What had happened to Uncle Jim? Was he getting senile? Wishing he’d been easier on the panaceans? He was the Brotherhood’s abbot and their mission was to scour those pagans from the face of the Earth.

  And his forgiving Laura Fanning … absurd. Maybe the injury she’d inflicted was softening the rest of his brain.

  As soon as he reached the car, he phoned Bradsher.

  “Have you chosen who will acquire the doctor’s phone tonight?”

  “I was just speaking to him. He’s on his way.”

  “Call him again. Tell him to plant a locator on her if he can. I want to know her every move.”

  “Will do.”

  “And one more thing.”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Tell him to hurt her—hurt her bad.”

  8

  It all happened so quickly.

  Laura pulled into her driveway and stopped before the garage as usual. The motion-activated security light over the door came on, illuminating the area. A remote for the door clung to her visor but she didn’t use it. The clutter in the garage had long ago banished her car to the elements.

  She gathered up her things and stepped out onto the asphalt. She was shutting her door when a heavy weight rammed her back, slamming her against the car. The blow knocked the wind out of her, leaving her barely able to breathe, let alone cry out for help.

  She felt her bag ripped from her shoulder
and made a grab for it. She got a grip on the strap and was pulled around to face a thin man with scraggly hair and beard wearing a hooded sweatshirt.

  “Give it, bitch, or you’re gonna get hurt!”

  A very aware part of her knew that was just what she should do—let him take it. Nothing in it was irreplaceable. But another, more primitive part was screaming, This is mine and you can’t take what’s mine!

  So she hauled back on the strap.

  And he swung at her face. She flinched away, allowing just a glancing blow, but still pain shot through her jaw, shocking her. Her fingers loosened their grip and he yanked the strap free. It took a second or two for her vision to clear, but he wasn’t running. In fact he had his fist balled for another blow. But before he could throw the punch, someone grabbed his arm and spun him around.

  Laura watched the second man push the first back to arm’s length, then double him over with a punch in the gut, followed by powerful blow to the back of his neck. He dropped like a sack of cement, landing on Laura’s shoulder bag.

  The second man stepped toward Laura. He was wearing a dark blue warm-up with two darker stripes down the sides of the legs and arms. A pair of earbud wires dangled from his breast pocket. Dark hair and a square jaw.

  “You all right?”

  “I-I think so.”

  She wasn’t. Not really. Her jaw hurt like hell and she was shaking from the adrenaline overload.

  “Just happened to be jogging by and…” He shook his head. “You think of this happening in other towns, but Shirley?”

  “I know. I mean, who’s even heard of Shirley, right?”

  He glanced back at the guy writhing on the ground. “At least he didn’t have a weapon.”

  She gingerly rubbed her tender jaw. “He didn’t need one.”

  She looked at her attacker. His right sleeve had ridden up, revealing a tattoo on the underside of his forearm. From here it looked like DXXXVI.

  The stranger shrugged. “Didn’t know what else to do.”

  “I’m glad you came along.”

  “Just hope I don’t get in trouble for this.”

  “How could you get in trouble for stopping a mugging?”

  “The law never sides with guys like me. This jerk’ll probably sue me for pain and anguish or some such.”

  “Not while I’m around.”

  “I mean, calling and waiting for the cops wasn’t exactly an option.”

  “Listen, you did just fine. But I think I should call them now. Oh, wait.” She pointed to her attacker, still lying atop her bag. “It’s under him.”

  “I’ll do it.”

  He whipped out his own phone and tapped in three numbers. After a brief wait he said, “Hello, I’d like to report—”

  Behind him she saw her attacker leap to his feet and start to run off.

  “He’s getting away!”

  The second man spun and took off after him but the attacker had a good head start.

  Damn! Her rescuer took his phone with him.

  But then she noticed her shoulder bag crumpled on the ground. She darted to it and pawed through the mess within for her iPhone. Where was it? She dumped the contents on the hood of her car but no phone.

  He’d left her wallet but run off with her phone.

  What the—?

  Just then a car pulled up to the curb. Laura recognized it in the wash from the security lamp.

  Steven … her ex. With all that had been happening, his weekend with Marissa had been pushed to the background.

  Sandy haired, tall and lanky, he unfolded himself from the car and swung a small overnight duffel over his shoulder.

  “Laura?” his tone was light. “What are you doing outside?”

  She felt a lump form in her throat, but she swallowed it.

  “I … I was just mugged.”

  “Jesus God!” He hurried up to her. “You’re serious?”

  She nodded. The lump was back.

  “Are you hurt?”

  She shook her head. She couldn’t remember being this glad to see him in a long, long time. She held out her arms. She needed a hug. He didn’t hesitate. He dropped the duffel and wrapped her in a tight embrace.

  It seemed before the divorce all they’d ever done was fight. Now, after years apart, they got along better than ever. They could never be husband and wife again, but they could be friendly parents.

  “Did you call the cops?” he said after a few seconds.

  “He took my phone.”

  He released her and pulled his cell from a pocket. “Let’s get them rolling right now. You’re going to have to call all the credit card companies and—”

  “He left my wallet. All he took was my phone.”

  “That’s weird.”

  “Maybe because that other guy didn’t give him time to—”

  “Wait. Other guy?”

  “I’ll tell you after you call the cops.”

  That other guy … where was he? And who was he?

  STAHLMAN

  1

  “Toad in the hole!” Marissa cried as her father dropped one onto her plate.

  “Well done, right?” Laura said.

  Steven’s mouth twisted. “Cooked through and through. I’m on board with the program, you know.”

  Of course he was.

  “Sorry for being a pain.”

  With Marissa’s immune system in a precarious state since the stem-cell transplant, Laura was taking no chances. Anti-contaminant kitchen routines were followed to the letter—fresh items scrubbed, cutting boards changed frequently, everything steamed or cooked to at least 160 degrees. She bought organic eggs but still worried about salmonella if they were undercooked. Long odds, she knew, but no sunny-side-up or over-easy in this house.

  Steven slipped a three-egg Western omelet onto her plate.

  “There you go.”

  She wasn’t hungry, still hadn’t bounced back from the mugging last night. She would have liked to have shielded Marissa from the scary truth, but with the cops around, asking for a statement, she’d had to tell her. The swollen bruise on her jaw was an ugly reminder. So was the pain. She was glad for the omelet. It hurt to chew.

  “Looks great. As soon as I finish I’m off.”

  Steven smiled. “I’m not kicking you out.”

  “And I’m not going to hog your time with Marissa.”

  Laura took a bite—delicious—and looked around. Marissa digging into her egg-inside-toast combination, Steven at the stove, whipping up another omelet for himself. She couldn’t remember the last time the three of them had had breakfast together. Their usual routine didn’t accommodate that.

  Breaking the routine, Laura had stayed over last night. She’d been too shaken to travel to Manhattan and hadn’t wanted to be alone. Steven had been fine with that. He’d even come tapping at her door, asking if she needed company. She’d known what that meant, and shooed him away. Yes, she could have used a man in her bed, but not Steven. That bird had flown.

  2

  The morning sun was peeking through the trees when Laura wheeled her overnight bag toward her car through the weekend quiet. She couldn’t help looking around to make sure no one was lurking. As she slammed the trunk she sensed motion behind her.

  A huge, gleaming black van, somewhere between the size of a courtesy van and a touring bus pulled into the curb in front of her house, blocking her driveway.

  Really? How did the idiot expect her to get out? As she approached with the intention of asking just that, a door slid open in the side and out stepped a man who reminded her a little of Nathan Fillion but with a thinner neck. Then she recognized him.

  Her rescuer from last night.

  “You! Where’d you go to last night? I was a little worried about you.”

  He shrugged with an easy smile that didn’t seem to reach his eyes. She couldn’t say his eyes were cold, exactly. More like cold lay behind his eyes. Hidden. What did that mean, anyway? If someone asked her right now to explain wh
at she was feeling, she’d be at a loss. But something was there. Or maybe not there. Whatever it was, she didn’t feel comfortable with it. He seemed distant. Almost removed.

  “No need to worry about me. Tried to catch him but he was fast and had too much of a jump.”

  “Well, anyway, I want to thank you for intervening.”

  He angled around to her left and peered at her swollen jaw. “Too bad I didn’t intervene sooner. Lousy punk.” He thrust out his hand. “Rick Hayden, like the planetarium.”

  She shook it. Big hand. “Laura Fanning. And you’re dating yourself with ‘planetarium.’ These days you should say ‘as in Panettiere’ instead.”

  “Nah. If people don’t get the planetarium ref, I probably don’t want to know them. But anyway, no thanks necessary. All part of the job.”

  Laura blinked. Did he say—?

  “Job?”

  “I was hired to watch over you.”

  Something in Laura’s chest gave a quick, uneasy twist. “Who on Earth would—?”

  “Name’s Clayton Stahlman.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “He’s inside. Wants to meet you.”

  “In there?”

  “This is how he travels.”

  She peered into the darker opening in the black side panel of the van. “I don’t know…”

  “He’s not very mobile. Even if your daughter weren’t at risk for infection, your house isn’t accessible to a man in his condition.”

  “His condition? What—hey, what do you know about my daughter?”

  “You’d be surprised what he knows. He’d like a private powwow with you. Would have visited you in your office but he suspects it’s been bugged by now.”

  “Bugged?”

  “Please.” He gestured toward the door. “I’m just the hired help. He can explain it better than I can.”

  He … this Rick Hayden, whoever he was, was so casual about it all. She’d never heard of a Clayton Stahlman but he obviously had resources. She couldn’t guess how many hundreds of thousands this van must have cost. And he’d hired this man to “watch over” her? That meant he’d expected foul play. Why? Was last night’s attack not the random act it had seemed?