Panacea

by F. Paul Wilson

  “Well, if your panacea is made from this, just grow some more and you’re all set.”

  “Unfortunately it’s not that simple. I have an acre of those plants on my estate in Duchess County. I put together a research team that has been working on them for years, to no avail. Nothing they come up with does a damn thing. We’re missing some ingredient.”

  What you’re missing, Laura thought as she placed the plant and its pot on the seat beside her, is a few of your marbles. No, make that a lot of your marbles.

  “Then I don’t see how you can expect more from me.”

  “Chaim Brody was a very sick man when he left New York City. I’ve seen his medical records from the free HIV clinic that was treating him. I know exactly how sick he was. He didn’t have long to live. And yet he reappeared a year later hale and hearty, bearing the seeds of the same plant you just examined. He cultivated them and somehow used his crop to concoct the panacea, a dose of which found its way to Thomas Cochran.”

  Fantastic, she thought. Utterly fantastic.

  “Okay, even if I believed that this panacea exists—and I don’t—what do you expect me to do?”

  “For five million dollars I expect you to follow in Chaim Brody’s footsteps and learn what happened down there. He was terminally ill with AIDS, lymphoma, sarcoma, and an immune system that couldn’t survive the common cold. Yet he was cured. I too am terminally ill. I too want to be cured. As I said, you are uniquely suited to the job.”

  “You have Mister Hayden here. Why can’t he—?”

  “While Mister Hayden is uniquely skilled in security and protection, he does not have a medical degree and wouldn’t know a tulip from a daffodil. You have served as an ethnobotanist in the area of Mexico where Chaim Brody found his cure; you can gain the confidence of the natives there because your mother was Mayan and you speak the language.”

  She did speak one of the many Mayan dialects—Yucatec, specifically. But …

  “H-how long have you been digging into my past?”

  “Since you were called to the scene of Mister Hanrahan’s death and—”

  “Hanrahan?”

  “The burned corpse: Cornelius Aloysius Hanrahan.”

  The name on the house lease. If he was right, she now had a name for the first dead grower. But …

  “You’ve learned all this about me since Wednesday morning?”

  “I knew ninety percent of it by Wednesday noon.” He leaned forward. “Think about it: You and this task are a match made in heaven.”

  “You can say that again,” said Hayden, staring at her. “Better yet, I will: Made. In. Heaven. Or the likely equivalent.”

  What was he getting at?

  “Doctor Fanning,” Stahlman said, “I’m not just asking you, I’m begging you. You’re my last hope. I’ll die without it.”

  Her heart went out to him, but …

  “I hate to burst your bubble, but there’s no such thing as a panacea.”

  “Tell that to Chaim Brody and Thomas Cochran!”

  Well, there was that … something had come out of Yucatán. But what?

  She remembered Dr. Sklar with his hand on Tommy’s bagged body. Something extraordinary has happened here.

  “I have to think about my daughter. I can’t risk a jungle trek.”

  “Life is risk—as was getting out of your car last night.”

  “I’ve engaged in my share of risky behaviors along the way and—”

  Hayden snorted. “Really? Like what?”

  He was getting on her nerves. Just to shut him up …

  “How about skydiving?”

  He shrugged. “Minimal risk. Done hundreds of jumps.”

  Was he really looking to start a pissing match? She wasn’t playing.

  “How about eating White Castle burgers?”

  He stared, his lips rippling, then gave a low whistle. “Okay. White Castle … that’s edgy.” Totally deadpan. “Can’t beat that.”

  Was he trying to be disarming? He’d almost succeeded.

  “Can we get back to the subject at hand?” Stahlman said, sounding testy.

  “That is the subject: I’m a mother now—”

  “Whose daughter wouldn’t have needed a stem-cell transplant had the panacea been available.”

  Laura bristled. “She’s cured—a real cure by real medical science. But she’s still a little girl, a little person in orbit around me who depends on a consistent gravitational pull. I provide it.”

  “Yes, a little person who has a devoted father, a visiting nurse, and a tutor. I’m offering you five million just to go and look. I guarantee the five million even if you fail. Think of what that will mean for her future. You won’t have to deal with that chief medical examiner.”

  God, was there anything about her he didn’t know?

  He pressed on. “Don’t do it for me. Do it for your daughter, do it for yourself, do it for humanity, but do it. And if you succeed … imagine if you succeed. Your name will be up there with Curie and Fleming and Salk.”

  The prospect of fame didn’t faze her, because as far as finding the panacea was concerned, success was not in the cards. But she might be able to bring back something—if not of value to Clayton Stahlman, then maybe to someone else.

  And the five million … after taxes she could put the remainder in a trust. Even with conservative management, five percent a year was doable, guaranteeing Marissa an income for life. She might well need it. A fair percentage of childhood cancer survivors faced physical and emotional challenges later in life.

  Tempting … sooooo tempting.

  But she had a feeling she was still missing something. And then she realized she was missing a lot of somethings.

  “Wait-wait-wait! Did you burn that house and Brody’s trailer?”

  He gave his head a slow shake. “Absolutely not.”

  “Then there’s someone else involved. Both those places were torched and the men in them killed by some means I’ve yet to identify.”

  Stahlman spread his hands. “Nothing I would have wanted more in this world than to sit down and talk to those two men.”

  “None of this makes sense to me. Let’s just say that Chaim Brody came back from Mexico with the panacea. Why didn’t he announce it to the world? He’d be a … a…”

  “A god?”

  “Yes! A god. He could have named his ticket. Yet he’s sneaking a dose to Tommy Cochran and asking his mother not to mention his name. What gives with that?”

  “The only reason I can offer you is that it appears Brody’s cult wants to do it that way. One cure at a time.”

  “Cult or not, you can’t keep something like a panacea—a real panacea—secret. At least not for long. What’s the old saying? Three can keep a secret if two are dead. You’re talking about something huge that’s been kept secret for millennia.”

  “Not quite. But a good fifteen hundred years or so—since the Dark Ages.”

  “That hardly changes my point.”

  “Well, the word panacea comes to us from ancient Greece, and the concept has been floating around seemingly forever. A small cult of true believers can keep something like a panacea secret if they heed a code of silence, and if they’re discreet in the ways they use it.”

  “You give a seriously ill person something to drink and the next day they’re cured. Who’s going to keep silent about that?”

  “A person who is unaware that they’ve received the panacea. If it’s slipped into their food or drink, they’re aware only that they’re cured. They credit their doctor, their god, or simply a reverse twist of the fate that made them ill in the first place.”

  “Brody wasn’t exactly discreet.”

  “I believe he broke protocol because he was, at heart, a healer and he could not find a way to slip that boy a dose.”

  Laura could see that. She remembered his mother as a definite helicopter.

  I’m probably one too, she admitted.

  “You said ‘cult.’ What cult?” />
  He shrugged. “If they have a name for themselves, I don’t know it. They’re most certainly pagans, very low tech, completely off the grid and under the radar. I do know they’re ancient, remnants of the Iron Age. They may be an offshoot of the Gaulish druids who somehow managed to survive the Roman suppression, but that’s no help since we know next to nothing about the druids anyway.”

  “Didn’t druids worship oaks and oppose Christianity?”

  He waved a dismissive hand. “All inventions. They left not a single written record, so all that is fiction, concocted by tale-tellers centuries after they were wiped out.”

  Laura shook her head in disbelief. “So you believe this panacea is under the control of a nameless pagan cult left over from the Iron Age?”

  “I more than believe it—I know it. They’ve been doling it out since the Dark Ages. I find it convenient to call them ‘panaceans.’”

  “Then who burned their plants and their homes?”

  “Another sect.”

  Lara couldn’t help rolling her eyes. “A rival pagan cult?”

  This was getting more ridiculous by the moment.

  “I don’t think so. These folks might have their roots in Christianity, but I can’t be sure.”

  “Do they have a name?”

  “They might, but I have my own name for them: I call them ‘536.’”

  Five-thirty-six … why did that sound familiar? Then she remembered.

  “Brody! He wrote that on his palm!”

  Stahlman was smiling and nodding. “Exactly. He knew he’d been found out and he knew by whom. I think he was sending a message to his fellow panaceans.”

  “Five-thirty-six,” she said. “What does it mean?”

  “It’s an important number to the enemies of the panaceans—important enough to tattoo it or brand it on their arms.”

  Laura stiffened. “The mugger last night. He had something on the inside of his forearm.”

  “A Roman numeral, perhaps?”

  “Yes! A D followed by three Xs, I think.”

  “D-X-X-X-V-I, perhaps?”

  “Yes! I think that’s it. But I’ve forgotten what D stands for.”

  “In Roman numerals it’s five hundred.”

  “So…” It took her only a second. The realization made her queasy. “Five hundred and thirty-six. He was one of them.”

  “What do you think he was after?” Hayden said.

  “He took my phone.” She hefted her shoulder bag. “Left my wallet, but took my phone.”

  “What was on your phone?”

  “Nothing much. I’m not into my phone like most folks. I’ve got my contacts, a few apps, a few photos—”

  “Of what?” Stahlman said. “Hanrahan and Brody perhaps?”

  “No. I used one of the department’s cameras to photograph them.”

  “But 536 couldn’t know that,” Hayden said, looking at Stahlman.

  “No, they couldn’t.”

  “Mostly I took photos of their weird caduceus tattoos.”

  “That’s not a caduceus depicted on their backs. A caduceus has two snakes and wings—the staff of Mercury or Hermes. What they have is the staff of Asclepius, the Greek god of healing.”

  So what? bubbled to Laura’s lips but she held it back. Instead, she shook her head.

  “He’s a new one on me.”

  “That’s because Asclepius’s staff has been replaced in the public mind by the caduceus, which in mythology has nothing to do with healing. The Greek god of healing had a number of daughters … one named Panacea.”

  Not quite a eureka! moment, but she had learned something.

  “Interesting.”

  “From their habit of burning the houses and the plants and the bodies, it’s clear 536 doesn’t like to leave evidence. Only a stroke of bad luck—for them—preserved Brody’s body unscathed. I suspected 536 would want to destroy any evidence you had. That was why I had Mister Hayden watching you.”

  “But it’s all on my office computer.”

  “Don’t be so sure,” Hayden said. “Bet if you check your office you’ll find all evidence wiped clean.”

  “But how?”

  Stahlman said, “The 536 folk appear to be very high-tech—the polar opposite of the panaceans. Whatever you had is not important in the long run. Nothing I didn’t already know about.”

  “Then why—?”

  “I feared they might harm you in the process.”

  Laura swallowed. She wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that.

  “Why would they want to harm me?”

  “Not on purpose, but they’ve proven as remorseless as they are relentless in their pursuit of the panaceans. If you stand in their way, they will run you over.”

  “That’s comforting. All to control this panacea?”

  Stahlman shrugged. “Who wouldn’t want to? It’s invaluable.”

  “Which brings up the question of who’s funding them. Imagine what a pharmaceutical company would give to be able to sell a panacea.”

  Hayden’s smile was dour. “This mean you’re buying into it now?”

  “No, Mister Hayden, I am not,” she said in an icier tone than she intended. Something about him irritated her. “But if a company was convinced such a thing existed…”

  “They’d do anything to control it,” Stahlman said.

  Laura leveled her gaze at him. “Is that what you want to do? Control it?”

  “Before I became ill, I might well have wanted that very much. But spending time on the wrong side of a debilitating terminal illness causes a seismic shift in your perspective. Your illness comes to define you, consume you, and all you want is to get well. I’m not asking you to return with the secret of the panacea. I’m simply asking you to return with one dose. One dose—that is all I want.”

  She rose again. “Looks like I have some thinking to do.”

  “What’s there to think about?” His expression turned alarmed. “There’s not any time to waste.”

  “We’re talking about my leaving my daughter and wandering around Mesoamerica in search of something that I do not believe exists. That’s a tall order.”

  “I’ll double my offer!”

  “I’m … I’m not trying to drive up the price, Mister Stahlman.”

  “I know you aren’t. I’m simply trying to make you an offer you can’t refuse.”

  He was pretty much there, but she didn’t say that. This was a decision she couldn’t make on her own. Steven had to be involved, and Marissa too.

  He added, “And you wouldn’t be simply ‘wandering around.’ I have a lead on a jungle curandero who has performed some supposedly miraculous cures.”

  She took a step toward the door. “We’ll meet again to discuss this further, Mister Stahlman.”

  “When? This is urgent.”

  “Later today.” She stepped down and pushed open the door.

  “My number is on that card, Doctor. Please don’t delay.”

  As she reached the sidewalk, she glanced back and saw Hayden following her. He closed the door behind him.

  “Think hard before you accept, Doc.”

  The warning surprised her. “I thought you worked for him.”

  “I do. But he’s glossing over a few things.”

  “I suspected that. Give me a for-instance.”

  “Like 536. I don’t know much about them, but they’re on the hunt for the panacea—”

  She remembered his snarky remark. “Have you bought into it?”

  “I reserve judgment. Something is going on. But in practical terms, it doesn’t have to be real to make me wary of people who believe it’s real and are desperate to get hold of it.”

  “So, you’re warning me?”

  “Just want to make sure your eyes are open and you’re aware of the risks. You’re already on the 536 radar. If you go hunting the panacea, they may decide they don’t want competition. Remember Hanrahan and Brody.”

  Laura felt the muscles at the back of
her neck tighten. Good point.

  “What I’m hearing is you think I should hire a bodyguard if I go.”

  He made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a grunt. “No need to hire. Stahlman has made it clear: If you go, I go.”

  Traveling into the jungles of Mesoamerica with this guy?

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Not your choice. Not mine either. Stahlman’s. He’ll want me along to protect his investment.”

  “I’m sure there are plenty of other—”

  He was shaking his head. “I’m the best.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “Really.”

  No compromised self-esteem issues with this guy.

  “You mean ex-SEAL and all that.”

  “And all that. He’ll want you to have every chance to succeed. You are, after all, the perfect match for this assignment.”

  Something in his tone …

  “You say that as if it’s a bad thing.”

  “It could be when you’re too perfect.”

  “How so?”

  “‘Too perfect’ doesn’t just happen. It needs to be arranged.”

  She couldn’t help taking offense. “Not by me. I assure you this morning was the first time I’ve ever heard someone mention the existence of a panacea with a straight face.”

  “Oh, I believe that. But that doesn’t mean events weren’t arranged. One degree of separation, remember?”

  “You said that before. You mean between me and Tommy Cochran—because I knew him?”

  “Exactly. How does that happen?”

  “Simple. He died in Suffolk County. We have one chief medical examiner and three deputies—a one-in-four chance of his ending with me. Not exactly long odds. Besides, his mother asked for me.”

  “Asked for the same ME who just happened to autopsy the fellow who gave her son … whatever he gave him? What are those odds?”

  Laura still wasn’t impressed. “Nothing to write home about. What’s your point? Who would be doing this arranging? Stahlman?”

  “No. Not him. If you’re interested, we can get into all that when you decide to go. If you don’t, it’s all moot.” He gave her a hard stare. “You look like good people. Whatever you expect to be dealing with down there in Mexico, the reality will be worse. Think hard on this, Doc.”