Panacea

by F. Paul Wilson

  He waved and re-entered the van.

  Though he seemed to have her well-being in mind, something about that guy still rubbed her the wrong way. Something was off.

  She hadn’t liked hearing that the reality she’d find would be worse than her expectations. What did he know about her expectations? But something else he’d said disturbed her more.

  Too perfect … arranged …

  Could it be?

  She’d intended to totally veg this weekend. Now she had an irresistible urge to check in at her office.

  She headed for her car.

  5

  Nelson almost knocked into Bradsher as he exited the elevator. He’d been thinking about tumors. He’d done some online research about metastatic melanoma. The prognosis for stage IV was grim but improving.

  “I was just coming to see you, sir.”

  “And I was just going to lunch.”

  Nelson had been off his feed since hearing about the X-ray yesterday, and he’d wanted to vomit after talking to Forman, but his stomach had settled and was now insistent on sustenance.

  “I have news.”

  “Can you tell me as I walk?” he said as headed across the Federal Building’s lobby toward the front doors.

  Bradsher fell into step beside him. “I think so.”

  “Good or bad?”

  “Depends. The news itself is not good, but the fact that we know it in advance is good.”

  Nelson liked Bradsher’s precision, but now couldn’t help but find it annoying.

  “Talk.”

  “As you requested, Brother Simon not only stole Doctor Fanning’s phone but also managed to pin a pickup to the inside of her shoulder bag.”

  “Excellent. And I gather by your presence that our plant has borne fruit already.”

  “Yessir. A man named Clayton Stahlman has offered her millions to follow Chaim Brody’s path into Mexico in search of the panacea.”

  The news brought Nelson to a sudden halt. So sudden that someone bumped into him from behind.

  No doubt about it now. The Serpent was at work here.

  “Who is this Stahlman?”

  “We’re referencing him now, but I gather from the recording that he’s terminally ill.”

  Terminally ill … that had a too-familiar ring.

  “A lot of that going around these days.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Nothing. That would explain his zeal for the panacea. I don’t foresee a deputy ME from Long Island posing much competition.”

  “Well, she did bioprospecting down there for years, so she knows the area well. She’s also half Mayan and speaks their language.”

  “What?” Nelson stopped again. This time no one ran into him. “The stench of the Serpent is strong here.”

  He began moving again and pushed through the doors into the midday sun of downtown Manhattan.

  Bradsher said, “In our favor is the fact that Doctor Fanning is a skeptic, believes the panacea is a fairy tale.”

  “God bless the skeptics.”

  They’d all rot in hell for eternity if they didn’t see the Light before their final day, but in the meantime both the panaceans and the Brotherhood had benefited from science’s offhand dismissal of the possible existence of such a thing as a panacea. It made it so much easier to keep the truth secret.

  “This Stahlman says he’s got a lead on a curandero in the Yucatán jungles who supposedly performs miracles.”

  Curandero … Nelson wasn’t fluent in Spanish but he did know that word. It meant “healer.”

  “Well, if a civilian can find him, we certainly can. Get on it. Have our brother … what’s his name?”

  “The one in Chetumal watching the girl from the photo? That’s Miguel.”

  “Have Brother Miguel leave the girl for now and start asking about a special curandero in the jungle. If he gets a hit he’s to contact you immediately.”

  “And if this curandero has the tattoo?”

  Nelson stopped and checked out the food carts lined up along the curb across the street as he thought about that. If this curandero had the tattoo, he was certainly a panacean. The Brotherhood had a set protocol for dealing with them, but this new wrinkle of willing themselves to drop dead had greatly complicated matters.

  “If he’s definitely a panacean, have Brother Miguel run a variation on the protocol: Be prepared to sedate him immediately, before he can stop his heart or whatever it is they do. Then proceed as usual.”

  “Including Leviticus?”

  “Of course.” A burnt offering, as mentioned in the Book, was an integral part of the protocol. “Why wouldn’t he?”

  “Just being sure, since we’re talking about sanctioning a foreign national.”

  “He’s a panacean. They have no nation, only their pagan goddess.”

  “What about sanctioning Doctor Fanning? That would allow us to take our time in Mexico.”

  Nothing Nelson would like better, but the Brotherhood had rules and he was obliged to follow them.

  He gave Bradsher a withering look. “She’s not a candidate for a Leviticus Sanction and you know it.”

  “But she’s—”

  “She’s chasing the panacea, just like we are. If she starts making it, that’s a whole other story. Then she becomes subject to Leviticus and we will not hesitate to invoke it. But … not being a panacean exempts her only from the Leviticus Sanction, not from simpler, more mundane methods of termination. And your suggestion about removing her from the picture has merit.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Contact Brother Simon again. Maybe we should allow him to redeem himself by performing a quick, clean removal within the next few days.”

  Not only had she crippled Uncle Jim but she was a tool of the Serpent.

  “I’ll contact him right after lunch.”

  “Excellent.” He rubbed his hands together. “Now that that’s settled, let’s get some food. My treat.” He pointed to the pushcarts. “What do you recommend?”

  Bradsher shook his head. “Oh, I don’t think you’ll like—”

  “I’m having meat today, agent. Meat.”

  Bradsher’s voice rose an octave. “Sir?”

  Nelson almost laughed. He’d been a vegetarian for at least a decade now, believing it would increase his odds of living a long and healthy life. Well, fat lot of good that had done him.

  Bradsher led him across to a cart labeled Haque’s Halal, manned by a bearded Afghan who ladled chopped dark mystery meat—purportedly chicken—and long-grained rice from his griddle onto a pita, doused it with red, white, and green mystery sauces from squirt bottles, then folded the mess and placed it on a paper plate.

  Nelson stared at it. This was everything he’d taught himself to avoid.

  But he had a tumor on his neck and another in his lung, and he was pretty damn sure one was lurking in his brain too. So fuck it, he was gonna eat some meat.

  Call it a celebration of the impending end of Laura Fanning.

  6

  “Well, look what the cat drug in!”

  Laura recognized the voice. She swiveled from her computer to find Deputy Lawson standing in her office doorway.

  “Hello, Phil.”

  She was feeling too unsettled to deal with him now, but she didn’t see that she had much choice.

  “I heard about what happened last night. You okay? I—oh, jeez, your jaw.”

  She touched the tender spot. “That obvious?”

  “A little. The bastard got away, huh?”

  “Yeah. With my phone. Might have been worse but for a Good Samaritan jogging by.”

  Yeah. Rick Hayden … Good Samaritan for hire.

  “I read the perp’s description in the report. We’re keeping a special eye out.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Hey, I thought this was your weekend off.”

  She leaned back in her chair. “It is. What are you doing here?”

  “They found a floater in one of the lagoons on
Indian Island last night. Looks like it might be foul play. And since it’s a state park…”

  “You’re involved.”

  “Yeah, just waiting on the autopsy. Looks like she’s been wet awhile. What brings you in?”

  She didn’t want to get into that with him.

  “Just needed to check my computer for something.”

  “Hey, that reminds me. Remember those photos you sent me? Well, they’ve vanished from the department computers. I must have erased them by accident. You think you could—?”

  “Resend?” She shook her head. “Sorry. They’re gone from our system too.”

  His eyebrows rose. “No kidding?”

  “No kidding.”

  She’d just finished searching every jpeg uploaded since Wednesday. Not a trace. Same with the department cameras—nothing. Just as Hayden had said …

  Bet if you check your office you’ll find all evidence wiped clean.

  Had Hayden known, or just guessed lucky?

  Lucky for her she’d made hard-copy printouts of Chaim and the woman and of Chaim’s tattoo for reference in case a third dead grower showed up. She’d checked her bottom drawer and found them right where she’d left them. Someone had been thorough but not thorough enough.

  Someone … she kept coming back to Hayden’s certainty. Could it have been Hayden himself?

  “Can I ask you something?” she said.

  “Sure.”

  “How hard would it be to run a background check on someone?”

  “Well, anybody can do it through the Internet. Sites will dig up arrest records and court cases, but it takes time and patience and money, because the better ones don’t do it for free.”

  “How about for someone like you?”

  He grinned. “Easy peasy. We do it all the time. Why? Interested in someone?”

  She’d looked up Clayton Stahlman. No trouble finding him. Wikipedia and other sources all told the same story he’d outlined for her in the van, but in much greater detail. The photos she found online weren’t recent, but no question the man they showed was a younger version of the one she’d met this morning. If estimates of his net worth were anywhere near correct, the sum he’d offered her was indeed chump change for Clayton Stahlman.

  Rick Hayden, however, was another matter. She’d found a listing for a business with the Hayden name, but that was about it.

  Maybe she was being overly cautious, but … she hadn’t decided to get involved with these two yet, and forewarned was forearmed.

  “My Good Samaritan from last night. He stopped by this morning and I’m curious about him.”

  “We talking romantic interest?”

  Oh, please.

  “Just the opposite. He’s kind of an odd duck and I’m curious.”

  “I can check him out, no prob. Where’s he live?”

  “No idea. I found a ‘Hayden Investigations and Security’ in Westchester, but that might not be him.”

  “You got anything on him besides his name?” He smiled. “A soshe would seal the deal, but his approximate age would help.”

  “He could be forty, forty-five tops. All I’ve got for you is his name and he says he was a Navy SEAL.”

  He laughed. “Don’t count on it. That’s a favorite pickup line.”

  “The way he handled that mugger, I wouldn‘t be surprised if really he was. And I don’t think he was trying to pick me up.”

  God, if he was, he needs a whole new approach or he’s going to die alone.

  “Don’t count on that either.”

  Did she detect some defensiveness in Phil’s tone? He wouldn’t be jealous now, would he?

  “I don’t think I’m his type.”

  She remembered Hayden’s flat eyes, devoid of interest in her and pretty much everything else. Was anyone his type?

  “Well, whatever. The SEAL connection at least gives me a place to start. I know an ex-SEAL runs a B and B out Montauk way. Goes nuts about phonies who say they were SEALs. He’ll be glad to check. Probably want to open a can of whup-ass on him if he wasn’t. Just jot down his name for me.”

  Laura wrote RICK HAYDEN on a sheet of paper.

  “I think that’s the right spelling.”

  Phil took it and folded it. “I’ll give my guy a call today.”

  You do that, Laura thought. And then we’ll see if Mr. Rick Hayden is the real deal.

  7

  “If I decide to go,” Laura said, occupying the same seat in Stahlman’s van as this morning, “we’ve got to set some ground rules.”

  By late this afternoon, after a long conversation with Steven and a lot of thinking, she’d made up her mind. She called the number on Stahlman’s card and the van showed up in front of her house forty minutes later. As before, the driver stayed behind the wheel up front while the silent Hayden occupied a sofa toward the rear.

  “Of course,” Stahlman said. As before, a green cannula encircled his head, pumping oxygen into his nose. “I wouldn’t have it any other way. What do you propose?”

  “Well, first off, it can’t be an open-ended trip. We have to set a time limit.”

  Stahlman nodded. “That’s reasonable. What do you have in mind?”

  “Two weeks.” She waited for his reaction.

  He rubbed his chin. “How did you come up with that?”

  “Because right now my ex-husband says he’s in a place where he can take a two-week leave of absence from his firm without making major waves. He’ll move in while I’m away. If any rough spots come up at work, he can deal with them online or over the phone.”

  Steven had encouraged her to go. He knew what the dangling millions would mean for Marissa’s future and wanted it for her. If he’d been half as good a husband as he was a father, she was pretty sure they’d still be married.

  The trip itself hadn’t been holding her back. She wasn’t heading into the unknown—she’d been all through Mesoamerica. The coast was being overdeveloped, but the jungle interior … the terrain hadn’t changed much since Cortez had slaughtered the Aztecs. Concern over Marissa had been the stumbling block. But now, knowing the child would have her father around 24/7 left Laura free to decide.

  “I can’t be gone longer than that,” she added. “I’ll give it my all while I’m out there, but when the sand runs out, I’m heading back home.”

  “All right. Two weeks it is. What else?”

  “I want the money deposited into a special account to be paid immediately upon my return. Or, if I don’t return, paid into a fund for my daughter.”

  Stahlman frowned. “I know the trip is not without risk, but the most dangerous part will probably be driving the LIE from here to JFK.”

  “Probably,” she said, forcing a smile.

  But Mexico had changed since she was last there—changed for the worse. The cartels seemed to be in charge of states along the northern border. She’d be way south of there, but still … she didn’t want to stick her head in the sand about this. And if something happened—something as unlikely as a plane crash—she didn’t want that money going back to Stahlman. She wanted it to go to Marissa.

  “That’s no problem to arrange,” Stahlman said.

  “What about expenses?”

  “I don’t want to be bothered with receipts and reimbursements. I’ll authorize you to use one of my credit cards. Anything else?”

  “I’m sure there is, but those are the big ones.”

  “Then it’s settled,” he said, slapping his thighs. “One small matter, and then we can shake on it.”

  Uh-oh.

  “What ‘small matter’?”

  “You must leave tomorrow.”

  That jolted her. “Tomorrow? I couldn’t possibly—”

  “You must. We’ve not a moment to spare. The 536 crew will certainly pick up on Brody’s trip, if they haven’t already. You must get there first. I will have the name of the curandero and the location of his village by tonight. You must be face-to-face with him tomorrow.”

  Tomorr
ow? She’d have to call Henniger tonight and tell her an emergency had come up. She had the vacation days—no problem there—but the chief liked time to reset the coverage schedule.

  It seemed silly to worry about a job with millions coming in. But the money wouldn’t be coming to her, so she still had to make nice with her boss.

  She sighed. “Okay. It’ll mean a lot of crazy juggling, but I’ll get it done.”

  “Excellent.” He extended his hand. “We have a deal then?”

  She shook his hand. His skin had a cellophane feel, as if it would split with too hard a squeeze. A common effect of long-term prednisone.

  “Deal.”

  He picked up the phone on his wheelchair tray. “I’ll have my bank set up the account right now and—”

  “But it’s Saturday afternoon. How—? Oh, never mind.”

  He smiled. “One of the perks of being filthy rich. When I call money people, they answer.”

  She pulled Chaim’s belt out of her bag and let it uncoil from her raised hand.

  “This belt belonged to Brody. The writing has to be a code of some sort. Do either of you have any idea what it might say?”

  Hayden and Stahlman both stared at the string of letters and numbers.

  Stahlman shook his head. “Give it to me and I can have cryptographers go over it.”

  “If I’m retracing his steps, I think I should bring it with me.”

  “Very well.” He called over his shoulder: “James, please get a photo of this.”

  The driver left his seat up front and used a smartphone to take a couple of shots.

  As Laura put the belt away, she took a breath. “One more condition, if I may.”

  She hadn’t included it in her ground rules and was a little uncomfortable bringing it up in front of Hayden, but she had no choice.

  Stahlman had been about to call his bank. He lowered the phone. “Yes?”

  “I want to arrange my own security for the trip.”

  “You have a problem with Mister Hayden?”

  Yes, she did, but she couldn’t pinpoint exactly what that problem might be. Just a feeling.

  She did not look Hayden’s way. “Not specifically, other than I know nothing about him.”

  “I can vouch for him.”