Michael Palmer - Natural Causes

It was Mulholland's idea to use FASTFIND to locate him. The FASTFIND computer network had been implemented in 1981 by a commission secretly appointed by the President. Its purpose, purely and simply, was to track down individuals for the government. It cost over $12 million to install, but in its first year of operation, the tax evaders alone that it located more than paid that bill. It functioned by rapidly integrating data from the IRS, FBI, military, police, social security administration, passport office, immigration and naturalization service, credit bureaus, unemployment offices, motor vehicle licensing offices, and a dozen national mailing lists. Rosa's department had used the system a number of times to locate people who had been exposed to infectious processes and dangerous toxins.

"The address I got for Fezler is in a place called Brookline," Mulholland said.

"I know where Brookline is."

"Three thirty-one Beech; apartment two-F."

Rosa wrote down the address and then located it on her street map.

"I found it," she said. "Another cab ride. I don't know which frightens me the most with all these taxis I've been taking: the fares or the drivers. Maybe it's time to think about renting a car."

"Or borrowing one. Remember, you're on sick leave. No charging rentals to Uncle. Rosa, listen, there's one more thing of interest. While I was in Boston, one of my people here was sneaking in some more tests on Lisa's serum. We're getting a little above normal blip in her level of interferon."

"Interferon?"

Rosa took some time to process the development. Interferon, a naturally produced antiviral protein, was well known and extensively studied, but still little understood. In high doses, it had definite anticancer effects. In the lower amounts produced by the human body, it almost certainly played a role in keeping chronic viral infections like herpes and chicken pox in check.

"Ken," she said finally, "walk me through your thoughts on this."

"Well, the way I see it right now, Lisa's got a subclinical, no-symptoms infection with CRV113. The growth of the virus is held in check by her own interferon, antibodies, or more likely both. Sort of a biological Mexican standoff. I suspect we all have dozens of different viral infections smoldering in our bodies like that. Some of them may even be ones that cause certain forms of cancers. Anyhow, here's this smoldering CRV113 infection, not getting any worse, not getting any better. Then some specific stress comes along to upset the delicate balance…"

"Like labor."

"… And bam! The virus gets the upper hand."

"And begins doing more and more of whatever thing its DNA tells it to do. In our cases, inappropriate activation of the clotting pathway."

"Exactly. Then the stress is removed and the body summons up more interferon and more antibodies until balance is restored."

"But are there ever any knockouts? I mean of the virus."

"Maybe some," Mulholland said. "Maybe lots. But the herpes simplex model-the one we know the most about-suggests that there are lots of draws. Anyone who has ever had cold sores or sun blisters pop out over and over again can attest to that. The whole field of chronic viral infections is still too new to know precisely how it all works."

"Ken, this is beginning to come together."

"Perhaps. There's still a load of questions."

"Only now we know who probably has the answers."

"013-32-0885."

"013-32-0885," Rosa echoed.

"Matt Daniels to see Mr. Mallon," Matt said.

He glanced past the receptionist, through the glass-enclosed library, and out at Boston Harbor. Several years before, he had actually sent in a resume to the firm of Wasserman and Mallon. He had been granted an interview with a junior partner, who produced a ball for Matt to autograph and asked, perhaps, one or two questions unrelated to sports during their twenty-minute session. The man, whose name Matt could not remember, had not even bothered to suggest that his application would get serious consideration.

It had not been necessary for Matt to explain to Jeremy Mallon his reason for wanting a meeting. Roger Phelps had laid the necessary groundwork. Given the choice of sites, Matt had opted for Mallon's office, perhaps in some sort of grand, ironic gesture to that sanctimonious junior partner. There was also, of course, the more practical matter of his not yet having cleaned up the glass and shattered furniture from his own office.

"Mr. Mallon will see you now," the receptionist announced in a pronounced British accent.

"Will he now," Matt muttered to himself, wondering if the accent had been a requirement in the original job description.

The Jeremy Mallon who met Matt at his office door was clearly the worse for wear. His face was drawn and pale, his slightly bloodshot eyes enveloped in gray hollows. The odor of mouthwash hung heavily about him, and Matt suspected he had spent a goodly portion of the previous night in his cups.

"You wired for sound this time?" Mallon asked after closing the door.

"Why should I bother with that? I have the tape I need."

"You threatened Phelps to get that tape. You threw a baseball at his head."

"Jeremy, at six or seven feet, if I was throwing at his head, Roger would have been awarded first base and a bed in intensive care."

"How do I know the wire actually worked? How do I know there's anything at all on that tape?"

Matt grinned ruefully.

"Always the lawyer," he said. "Well, first of all, Jeremy, it makes no difference if I have that tape or not. Once a bar overseers investigator is pointed in the right direction, he won't have to be any rocket scientist to figure out what's been going on. And second, I didn't come over here to blackmail you. I came over to get the case against my client discharged once and for all."

"Done," Mallon interjected quickly.

"Are you speaking for the Graysons?"

"You may assume that."

"I also want to know exactly what changed to prompt you to instruct Phelps to settle in the first place."

"I might be able to tell you that. First, though, I'd like it if we could come to some sort of an understanding."

"Like what?"

"Like we have a position open in this firm. You want it, it's yours. Junior partner for two years, then full. Guaranteed one fifty a year to start."

"Thousand?"

"Of course." He withdrew a document from his desk. "I've had the contract drawn up. The guarantee is spelled out in it. I've already signed it. Just sign it at the bottom, and your name's on the door."

Matt glanced at the two pages. They were titled simply: AGREEMENT. They might just as well have been titled: SET FOR LIFE. He thought about Harry and what income like this, at this stage of the game, would mean to them both.

"You don't have much of a poker face," Mallon said.

Matt folded the agreement and slipped it into his inside jacket pocket.

"I'll have to study this," he said. "Now, I want to know why you offered to quit the Baldwin case."

"Because you were starting to win. That's why."

"That's bullshit." Matt stood to leave.

"Wait. Wait. Will you just cool your jets?"

Matt stayed where he was. He did not sit back down.

"Okay, okay," Mallon said. "I grant you the case is still a tossup. But you were coming on strong. Too strong. And I realized that I made a mistake in preparing the case."

"Namely?"

"Will you sit back down, for chrissakes? Thank you. Namely, I should never have gotten involved with that egomaniac Ettinger. It was an accident that I called the bastard to begin with. He was on TV so much, I figured he was a giant in the field of holistic healing."

"He is."

"No, Matt. What he is, is a liar. And a vindictive liar at that. It wasn't until after we went to that Chinese guy's shop that Ettinger admitted he and your client had been lovers for three years. He says he didn't think it was that important. Not important? I mean, give me a break. My take is that he wanted desperately to get even with her, so he insisted on being part of the team. Who cares that his past relationship to the defendant makes him about as useful to me as a pair of cement running shoes? Then he conveniently neglects to tell me that his fucking diet powder was invented by some guy who just happened to be working at the Medical Center of Boston."