Richard Mabry - Lethal Remedy

No one knew he was in New York. He'd used a false ID at airport security, paid cash for his ticket. He traveled from Kennedy Airport via public transportation, spent the night in a cheap hotel under yet another name, walked to this building today carrying his toiletries and dirty linen in an anonymous briefcase. Tonight he'd be back home.

And he hoped he'd be much richer for the trip. The only light in the room where he now waited was the faint flicker from a small black-and-white TV on the table in front of him. A secure feed led to that TV from the fish-eye lens of a camera concealed in the crown molding of the confer ence room one floor below. The camera let him see all twelve men gathered around the mahogany table, while a microphone transmitted sound from the room. The men fidgeted and whispered to each other, most of them ignoring coffee that grew cold in their cups. He could hear an occasional comment. "What's going on?"

"Why all the secrecy?" He reviewed the security measures on which he'd insisted. The room in which he sat was a vacant office well removed from where the board members of Darlington Pharmaceuticals were gathered. Both rooms had been swept for bugs only ninety minutes ago and pronounced clean. He'd been in place for an hour before the first man arrived. He wouldn't leave until an hour after the last one departed, but first he'd wipe down every surface he could have touched. He didn't think they'd try to identify him by fingerprints, but he wanted nothing left to chance. Tonight he'd leave New York, having never really been there. There was no camera in his room, but even if there were, his face was shrouded in darkness. He fiddled with the small gadget attached to the microphone on the table in front of him. It would distort his voice, making it completely unidentifi able, even if someone chose to record it and try to match it to a voiceprint later. Ridiculous? He thought not. Just leaving nothing to chance. One floor below him, the man at the head of the table, the CEO of Darlington Pharmaceuticals, stood and cleared his throat.

Conversations died in midsentence. "Gentlemen, I'll get right to it.

You all know that we have tried to acquire Jandra Pharmaceuticals.

Even in their weakened cash position, they've turned down our offers.

I believe we now have an opportunity to snatch up the company for even less money." "Ridiculous. We have inside information that they're about to launch a new product that will revive the company." The speaker's hands were in constant motion, fiddling with the pencil in front of him, adjusting his tie, centering and recentering a legal pad. He looked around the room before returning his gaze to the CEO.

"What's changed?" "The man whose voice you're about to hear can put a stop to the success of that new product. Matter of fact, he guarantees it." The CEO took a sip of water. "Of course, there's a price. But I can assure you, it's worth it." In the darkened room, the man leaned toward the microphone and spoke slowly and distinctly: "Gentlemen, Jandra is about to launch a new antibiotic, Jandramycin. It offers the only cure for the deadly epidemic of Staph luciferus that is sweeping the world, taking over two thousand lives so far. Jandramycin is, and will be touted as, a 'wonder drug.' However, it has shortcomings and faults. These have been purposefully hidden during the various phases of drug testing. I'm in a position to bring them to light. The result will sink Jandramycin and send Jandra stock plummeting." He let the buzz around the room die down. Someone would ask the question, and it turned out to be the oldest man on the board, who asked three. "How can you do it, why are you doing it, and how much will it cost us?" He smiled. "I won't answer the first two questions, but I assure you I have my methods and my reasons. As for the price, it's ten million dollars, wired into a bank account in the Cayman Islands. Four million up front. Another three million when Jandra accepts your offer to buy them. The final three million when your acquisition is complete. These terms are nonnegotiable. You have fifteen minutes to decide." Everyone wanted to talk at once. Questions flew, and the CEO fought to keep order. The first question, of course, was "Can we afford this?" The answer there was simple. The four million was manageable. Everything else was dependent on a successful acquisition, and if that happened, the price was right. Gradually, the buzz died down. The CEO rapped his water glass on the table. "Gentlemen, it's decision time. Price is not the crux of our debate. At issue is whether we support and underwrite this piece of industrial espionage. If we vote to accept this proposal, nothing that took place in this room can ever be revealed.

Not to a spouse, a business partner, even in the confessional. Hands for 'yes.'" Some hands shot up decisively. Others eased up gingerly.

But in a moment, every hand was raised.

How many patients in the study now? " Ingersoll threw the question over his shoulder as he strode through the tunnel that linked the medical school with University Hospital. Rip didn't break stride, nor did he reach for the note cards in the pocket of his white coat. He knew the number of patients who'd received Jandramycin, their names and diagnoses, and how they'd been at their last follow-up appointments. "Thirtynine counting the patient we put on Jandramycin yesterday." "Oh, that was the woman-" "It's a man. Mr. Rankin is a fifty-one-year-old school principal with sepsis from Staph luciferus, acquired when a cut on his foot from a camping trip became infected.

He-" "No need for all that. Thirty-nine. That's what I want to know."

The two men walked along in silence, Rip carefully keeping a pace behind his chief. Most doctors in postgraduate programs became good friends with the men and women under whom they trained. By the time a fellowship was over, they had formed a collegial bond. That wasn't the case here, though. From day one, Rip had received the unspoken message: You're here to learn from watching me, but I'm in charge, and don't you forget it. "How many cases do we need before Jandra can submit their new drug app?" Rip said. Ingersoll mumbled something.

"Sorry. I didn't hear that." Ingersoll didn't slow or even turn his head. "I said the application for approval of a new drug was filed with the FDA two weeks ago." At the doors of the ICU, both men found their way blocked by a cluster of people. The women cried, the men tried vainly to comfort them, and there was about the group an aura of defeat and despair. Rip had seen that scene too many times, but it never failed to move him. Someone didn't make it. For the doctor, the aftermath meant an hour's worth of paperwork. For the family, it was the beginning of a lifetime of "what if 's" and "if only's." Slowly the group moved into the waiting room, opening a path for the doctors.

Ingersoll was about to push through the swinging doors when Rip said,

"How could they apply two weeks ago? I recall being told they needed at least forty patients from us before they could file the app. Two weeks ago we had thirty-seven." "Let me worry about that. Your job is to keep the study running smoothly." Ingersoll strode to the nurse's desk, where he stopped and cleared his throat loudly. "I need the chart for my patient-" He looked pointedly at Rip. "Cletus Rankin.

Room eighteen." "For my patient, Cletus Rankin, in room eighteen,"

Ingersoll repeated, as though the nurse hadn't heard Rip. Ingersoll took the proffered chart, scanned it, and nodded with satisfaction.

"Defervescing already. Good, good." Just like Ingersoll. Use a five-dollar word instead of saying, "His fever's coming down." "Yes, he seems to be responding well. I looked in on him earlier this morning, and-" "I'll just pop in to see him myself." It only took Ingersoll a minute to make what Rip termed his usual cameo appearance: nod to the family, put a hand on the patient (didn't seem to matter where, it was the touching that counted), assure everyone that things were going well, and exit. "You have the lab results from yesterday?"