Michael Palmer - Natural Causes

One of the mental health workers rushed off to do as he requested.

"What should we do about her?" another keeper asked.

"Just notify Dr. Goldschmidt of what has happened. Tell him that for the time being, we'll transfer Dr. Baldwin back to the medical service. I'm Dr. Blankenship."

"Yes, Doctor. I know."

Sarah sensed the gaggle of onlookers begin to disperse. Blankenship bent over and whispered in her ear that she was doing great, and to keep her eyes closed until he told her all was clear. She moaned. A minute or so later transportation arrived, and she was lifted up onto the litter.

"Okay, everyone, she's doing fine," Blankenship said.

Sarah kept her head lolling from side to side as she was wheeled from the cafeteria, then down the hall and into the elevator. Although the cafeteria was on the basement level, Sarah felt the car go down. She tried to picture where they were as she was wheeled out and down another fairly long corridor.

"Okay, you can sit up and open your eyes now, my friend," Blankenship said. "That was an Academy Award performance."

Sarah pushed herself up, blinked her vision into focus, and looked around. She and the medical chief were alone in the subbasement tunnel. They were outside a steel security gate, draped with canvas on the far side. It bore a large sign warning of the time and date of the demolition, and requiring that anyone entering the Chilton Building prior to the 29th of October be accompanied by hospital security. There was a wall phone by the gate. Taped above it, a printed card gave the number of the demolition company and the extension of the hospital security office.

"Where's the transportation guy?" she asked.

"Abe left us at the elevator," Blankenship said, unlocking the gate. "I got him his job about a million years ago, and I take care of his family. He does favors for me when he can."

"Dr. Blankenship, it's all true. There's a connection between Peter Ettinger's diet product and those DIC cases. It's a virus of some sort. Rosa Suarez went out yesterday to speak with the man who created it."

"I know. I got her the car she used."

"Well, now Annalee is in labor. Her terbutaline's been stopped. Dr. Blankenship, Peter tested that diet powder on her several years ago. If she's not sectioned soon, she's going to go into DIC like the others. I'm sure of it. We've got to get up to the L and D floor and speak with him."

"Hey, slow down, slow down," Blankenship said. "You just had a grand mal seizure, remember?"

"Dr. Blankenship, this is serious."

"Well, what about that pharmaceutical truck you told me about? The proof."

"This is more important. Can you get them to hold off on the demolition?"

"Maybe, provided I can come up with a damn good reason. The mayor, the governor, and dozens of high rollers are going to be up there in the grandstand. This is the biggest day of Paris's career. But listen, Sarah. We used the Chilton Building for storage. That's how I have the keys to these gates. I was in there just a week or so ago, helping to move the last of our stuff out. There's a lot of debris and rubble. That's all."

"Well, there's a body inside now. I guarantee it. That's reason enough to delay things, isn't it? But please. Annalee took that weight loss powder. The farther she gets into labor, the more danger she's in. We've got to help her."

Sarah was still seated on the litter. Moving too quickly for her to react, Blankenship opened the security gate, shoved the stretcher inside, and slammed the gate behind them. Instantly they were in near-total darkness.

"What are you doing?" Sarah cried as Blankenship reached through and resecured the padlock.

But in that moment, she knew. The broad hand supporting her head in the cafeteria… the distinct, unpleasant blend of body odor and cologne. She had experienced both before. He was the man-the assailant in room 512.

"Help!" she screamed. "Help!"

He pulled her roughly off the litter and shoved her down the darkened corridor.

"Yell all you want," he said. "It's therapeutic. There's no one within a few hundred yards of this place."

He twisted her wrist to keep her still and flicked on a powerful flashlight. They were at a second security gate, almost identical to the first.

"The canvas is for dust protection during the big blow," Blankenship said, withdrawing the ring of keys from his clinic coat pocket. "The last thing we want is dust in our hospital, right?"

Sarah's intense fear was quickly displaced by anger. She swung a fist at his face and actually connected a glancing blow. But he merely twisted her wrist a bit more and forced her down to one knee.

"They know I'm with you," she said. "Everyone knows."

"You broke free, took off, and disappeared," he said simply.

"Eli, that girl's dying."

"Everyone dies."

He dragged her through the second security gate and again locked it behind them. His grip on her wrist kept her in check. The corridor was strewn with rubble-chunks of concrete and pieces of glass and plumbing. He flicked off the flashlight, giving her a sense of the oppressive, total darkness. Then, from somewhere down the hallway, a loudspeaker announced that there were ninety minutes to demolition and that absolutely no one should be in or around the Chilton Building.

"I guess I'd do well not to lose these keys," Blankenship said. He switched on his beam. "Now, then, let's go find that body you're so damn curious about."

Eli, please," Sarah begged as he pulled her into the subbasement of the Chilton Building "You've been such a wonderful physician and teacher. You've got to stop this before Annalee and a lot of others die."

"Do you know that nine days after the first infomercial hit the airways, I made more money than I had in twenty years as a wonderful physician and teacher? Everyone thinks we just get our M.D. degrees and step into the Cadillacs and country clubs. If you want to get angry at someone, get angry at them for setting up those expectations in us. You know, I didn't even have a damn retirement fund. Well, I do now."

"Eli, please don't let this happen to all those women."

"Oh, don't be so dramatic. Science will figure out a way to overcome their problem. It always does. Besides, do you know how many man-years of life have already been saved by all of that blubber-melting we've accomplished? If the Nobel committee ever did that arithmetic, I'd be a shoo-in for the prize. Now look, we don't have much time. Do you want to see this or not?"

Sarah kicked his shin as hard as she could.

"Stop it!" he ordered, tightening his grip. "Good… That's much better. Now, let's take a brief tour of our facility. Then I promise I'll set you up with that body you're so intent on finding."

"Who is it?" she asked, frightened by the man's imposing size and strength, but not nearly so much as by the total lack of feeling in his words. Perhaps the most brilliant man she had ever known, and he was absolutely mad.

"Who is it? Well, who do you think?" he asked, half shoving, half dragging her down the coal-black corridor.

"Oh, God. Eli, where is he?"

"Now, behind this door was our virology lab. The nerve center of the Ayurvedic Weight Loss System, if you will."

He kicked the door open and panned the light about a large, fully equipped laboratory.

"Where is he?"

"Dr. Baldwin, are you going to pay attention? It took almost two years to get this operation going. No one but my virologist-make that my late virologist-and I have ever seen this room, until this morning. Do you realize how difficult that was to pull off?"

"Damn it, where's Matt? What did you do to him?"

"Can you believe Singh and that fop Ettinger actually believed the herbs I concocted were causing people to lose weight? I spent a week in the library and came up with an Ayurvedic mix that I must admit the Maharishi himself would have been proud of. But a week. That's all. I made the whole thing up. Every herb. I told Singh a friend had brought the mixture back from India, and I needed to test it out. The minute he heard the word Ayurvedic, he adopted it as his own. No questions asked. Now, isn't that something? Later on, after the first group lost so much weight, I suggested that Singh ask your ex-lover to be the spokesman for the whole thing in exchange for a modest share of the profits. And Ettinger bit hook, line, and sinker. Why shouldn't he, though, right? It was alternative medicine, and he loved that. And it was going to make him rich, and he loved that even more. Do I know human nature or what?"