Robin Cook - Death Benefit

“I agree,” Jerry said. And more than you know , he thought, more than even Max knew. “Which is why I’ve come up with another plan.”

There was a silence, then Jerry went on.

“It’s a little unorthodox, but it’s the best plan that serves all of our interests. Believe me, I’ve thought about nothing else over the last twenty-four hours. But it’s not for us to do-it’s for you to do. It was your idea, this whole thing. Your mess to get out of. Just you and I will speak of it, nothing will be in writing.”

Edmund nodded. He didn’t expect anything different. Not from Jerry.

“There’s only one solution, and it’s the way it has to be because this guy Rothman has got himself out there so far ahead of the pack.”

Another silence ensued.

“I think Rothman’s momentum has to be stopped. If it is, I think we’ll have a good five years before the rest of the research community catches up to where Rothman is today.”

Neither man said anything. Jerry’s words hung heavily between them as if they were written in the air. Finally Edmund broke the excruciating silence.

“How do we stop Rothman’s momentum, Jerry?”

“Easy,” said Jerry. “You kill him.”

Edmund turned and walked away from Jerry, back toward the house. He took a path on the side of the building and Jerry set his empty coffee cup down and followed him to the rear garden, where Edmund sat on a bench with a view of Long Island Sound. Jerry sat down next to him.

“Murder, Jerry? Like having him shot?” Edmund was appalled. At the same time he didn’t think he had the luxury of dismissing any idea out of hand no matter how preposterous it sounded.

“No, not at all. The two of them should die in a way that doesn’t invite suspicion of homicide. It must look like an accident. There shouldn’t even be an investigation, although I suppose that would be inevitable. But there can be nothing that makes this look deliberate. Because it wouldn’t be beyond the realm of possibility that any semi-competent murder investigation would lead right to LifeDeals. You sat there yourself at Statistical Solutions and talked about what this could do to the company’s bottom line.”

“Do you have any specific suggestions, Jerry?” Although the proposal was outlandish and terrifying, Edmund wanted to find out what Jerry was proposing. It wasn’t as if Edmund had any plan B waiting in the wings.

“As a matter of fact, I do.”

Edmund continued to stare out at the water.

“I’ll tell you,” said Jerry, “most of the medical people will know that Rothman’s first interest in research, before he became involved in regenerative medicine, was salmonella, which is the number-one cause of food-borne illness in general and typhoid fever in particular. He’s investigating the virulence of the bacteria-what causes it to be a tremendously deadly bacteria on the one hand, and a bothersome but nondeadly cause of gastrointestinal distress on the other. Why does one type give you the runs but another kills you? We did a little research. He’s found that growing salmonella in outer space produces a very lethal strain. He should be fed some of this particular strain.

“A lot of people don’t care for the man-they’re jealous of his Nobel Prize, and they think he’s got an attitude. If he dies from the bacteria he’s studying, a lot of people are going to say, ‘Oh, that’s terrible,’ and then smile at the irony of it later.”

Jerry made it sound so easy.

“I suppose that would be clever,” Edmund said. He felt he had to say something.

“That’s not the half of it. The typhoid fever he’d immediately develop might or might not kill him. There has to be something else that will kill him quickly and definitively, but it’s got to be something you can’t easily detect. There’s a substance called polonium-210-very radioactive and deadly if you ingest it but not harmful otherwise. We’d use it because it produces many of the same symptoms as typhoid and would be masked by it. It’s what killed Alexander Litvinenko in London a few years ago.”

“I remember that. That was just a theory, surely, the polonium.”

“I think it was more than that,” Jerry said.

“Why do we need it?”

“To make sure the guy dies. It’s very potent. The challenge is that Rothman and his sidekick work in one of the premier medical centers in the world. The salmonella, no matter how virulent it might be, cannot be counted on by itself. One or both of them could be saved. That’s a chance that cannot be taken. We need to be sure. One-hundred-percent sure, ergo the polonium, and a massive dose of it to boot.”

“So where the hell do you get this stuff? Who’s going to buy it? Russell?”

“You hire the right people. Professionals.”

“You’ve been watching too many movies,” Edmund said. “So tell me, Jerry, who is going to procure this deadly radioactive poison for us?”

“Albanians.”

“Albanians?” Edmund’s voice betrayed his skepticism.

“There’s an Albanian Mafia that’s grown big in New York in the last twenty years. Very violent, very ruthless. But also very reliable, if you do business with them. Their word is their bond and all that. The FBI put a crimp in their operations in the nineties, but they’ve grown back and they’re looking to make names for themselves again. You’re going to ask, how do I know? I got this from a man who spent years of his life trying to put these guys in jail. He gave me a name.”

Jerry held out a piece of paper, folded in half, for Edmund. Edmund thrust his hands in his coat pockets and looked at Jerry.

“You’re out of your fucking mind.”

Jerry let Edmund stew for a couple of minutes. Edmund had moved down to the edge of his property and was standing, looking out at the gray water of the Sound. Jerry could imagine Edmund’s state of mind-part of him horrified to even consider such a thing, another part telling him he had no option but to consider doing it. Which side was winning? Jerry decided to play his trump card. He didn’t want to have to do this either, but again, there was no choice. He walked down to join Edmund and stood about four feet to his right, looking ahead.

“I know about you and Gloria Croft.”

“What about me and Gloria Croft? You mean personally?” Edmund waited a beat, then turned to look at Jerry, who was stony-faced and staring straight ahead.

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“So you know what I’m talking about?”

“Yes, yes. Gloria and I had a . . . a thing when we were working together.”

“When you were her boss.”

“Yes, Jerry, Jesus , what does that have to do with anything ?”

“You got married young, I believe.”

“I was married at the time. I admit it, I was a bad boy. I got carried away, and I wasn’t the only one who’s ever done that. You tell me you never did. But I learned my lesson. I steer very clear of bitches like her.”

“So no harm, no foul is what you’re saying, right, Edmund?”

“Jerry, I swear I have no idea what the relevance of this is. You just asked me to kill two people, for Christ’s sake.” Edmund turned his head as he said it, checking that no one had joined them. “Are you trying to put pressure on me with this ?”

“There’s something I don’t think you’re aware of. I was hoping I wouldn’t have to bring this up, but it seems like you leave me no option.” Jerry looked at Edmund. He had crossed one bridge with Edmund a few minutes ago. Now he was going to burn it down.

“When you were sleeping with Gloria Croft, she got pregnant-”

“Oh, bull shit , Jerry-”