Richard Mabry: Lethal Remedy

Ferguson, who continued to maintain her bedside vigil, one hand lightly touching her daughter's arm. The mother's lips moved in what Rip took to be silent prayer. He added one of his own. Please, Lord, help me make the right choice. He looked at Sara. Then he reached down and smoothed the hair that had fallen onto Chelsea's forehead. He took a deep breath. "Mrs. Ferguson, Chelsea has another infection-a serious one in her urinary tract. It's caused her blood pressure to go down.

If the infection is left unchecked, it could put her in grave danger.

I think we can get on top of it, but to do that, we're going to have to use some additional medications." "Does that mean she won't get any more of the drug you've been giving her? Until today, it seemed she was getting better." "No," Rip said. "I promise you, she'll keep getting the EpAm848 as well." He hoped he could deliver on that promise.

The phone dragged Dr. John Ramsey up from a dream of walking through a field of bluebonnets with Beth. No, please, I don't want to leave. I just got her back. The ringing continued, and gradually reality took hold. Beth was gone. He'd never see her again this side of heaven. Sometimes-actually, often-he wished he could go there now.

He'd never gone further than the idle thought, but now he understood why men and women who'd lost their spouses after many decades of marriage might find their will to live gone. He pushed himself up offthe sofa and blinked at the TV. The program he'd been watching had long since given way to two people arguing in front of a judge. With one hand he used the remote to silence the set; with the other he lifted the receiver. "Dr. Ramsey." "Dr. Ramsey, please hold for Dr.

Schaeffer." The female voice was much too perky for John. His mood was dark, so everyone's should be. He grunted a response and flexed his aching back muscles. "John, this is Donald Schaeffer. I hope I didn't catch you at a bad time." John's nerve endings tingled, and suddenly he was fully awake. "No, no. Just sat down to let my lunch settle and began watching a documentary on the Learning Channel." There was no need to let Schaeffer know the TV had been tuned to a MASH rerun.

"I've pulled every string I could, but there's no way I can swing an extra faculty member at this time." John's stomach did a back flip, and for a moment he was afraid the few bites of grilled cheese sandwich he'd choked down at lunch would come right back up. "Thanks, anyway," he mumbled. "I guess-" Schaeffer continued as though John hadn't spoken. "But I believe I can manage a part-time position for you. We're short in the GIM clinic, and you could pick up that slack for the next six months or so. By that time, we'll be into the next fiscal year, and I think I can swing a full-time appointment if it works for both of us." "General Internal Medicine sounds right up my alley, Donald. After all, that's what I did for forty years. How soon can I start?" "Why don't you come by tomorrow and see Kim, my department administrator? She can work out all the details." "I don't know how to thank-" John realized he was talking to a dead phone.

Schaeffer must have moved on to another of the message slips on his desk. He probably wouldn't think about this one again until he saw John in the halls of the department. But John would think about it constantly. Maybe this was the rope he could use to pull himself out of the depths of depression. He bowed his head. Okay, God. You came through on this one. But I still don't think we're even.

Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to flight 1084, from San Francisco to Dallas." Jack Ingersoll ignored the instructions that followed. He closed his eyes and prepared to enjoy the flight. Jandra had sprung for a first-class ticket, and when he got to the gate he was happy to see that the aircraft was a 757. Although there'd been a time when he enjoyed travel, with familiarity had come first boredom and then actual distaste. Now, when travel was necessary, he wanted as many creature comforts as possible for the journey. As soon as he felt the plane lift offthe runway, Ingersoll reclined his seat and settled back. He brushed aside the flight attendant's offer of a drink. He hadn't slept last night, replaying in his mind his conversation with Wolfe, but alcohol wasn't going to be the answer. Besides, he didn't want to be muzzyheaded when he reached Dallas. He'd need his wits about him as he tried to impress Dr. Pearson with the importance of making sure no adverse data crept into the reports of the EpAm848-that is, the Jandramycin cases. He was going to have a hard time getting used to the name, but he supposed it would help remind him of how much was riding on the success of this drug. He checked his watch.

Mid-morning in San Francisco. With the two-hour time difference and the length of the flight, there was no reason to consider going to the medical center after he landed. Even Pearson, never one to punch a time clock, would be gone by then. Tomorrow would have to be soon enough. Ingersoll pushed the call button. "Yes, sir?" One nice thing about flying first class. The service was much better than what one got back in coach. "I've changed my mind. I'll have a glass of white wine." He really should have called Pearson yesterday afternoon to check on the progress of his latest patient, but after his meeting with Wolfe, all Ingersoll wanted to do was go somewhere and clear his mind. He'd wandered the streets of San Francisco aimlessly for hours, had something totally forgettable from room service, and had fallen into bed to stare at the ceiling for most of the night. At least Jandra had been decent enough to put him up at the Sir Francis Drake.

On previous trips, his hotel was a La Quinta in Berkeley. He should have known something was up when they gave him his travel itinerary and he saw first-class travel and a nice hotel. First the carrot, then the stick. In addition to Wolfe's veiled threats, Ingersoll already had something to worry about, something he had to keep forcing from his consciousness. Even though Jandramycin-there, he remembered the word-Jandramycin was considered a true wonder drug, the Jandra researchers had only been able to postulate its mode of action. Not unusual, since sometimes the mechanism of action of a drug was clarified months, even years after its introduction, as data accumulated. Well, that suited him just fine. He knew exactly why it worked, and that knowledge was something he meant to keep to himself as long as possible. That and a few other things as well. Meanwhile, he would continue to build his reputation. He reached for his headset, ready to dial in some music, when an announcement rang through the aircraft. It was distorted a bit by a less-than-perfect PA system, but the message was clear. "Ladies and gentlemen, is there a doctor on board?" Ingersoll was always careful to balance the perks that might go with being recognized as a doctor with the responsibilities that accompanied that recognition. He reached into his shirt pocket and sneaked a glance at the name on his boarding pass: Jack Ingersoll. No MD after his name, no Dr. before it. He was safe. Five minutes later, there was another announcement, and this time the flight attendant's voice had an edge. "Ladies and gentlemen, this is urgent. If you're a doctor, please make your way to the aft galley. Thank you." The passengers in the first-class cabin stirred and looked around, each one apparently wondering if there was a doctor among them. No one moved. Ingersoll felt, almost heard, a collective sigh of relief go up. Not just that they were spared the responsibility of tending to someone who'd fallen ill, but that they'd escaped that fate themselves. They'd survived for one more hour, most likely for one more day, God willing for one more month or year. But life was fragile, and never seemed so much so as when someone else's life was threatened. From his seat in the last row of first class, Ingersoll craned his neck and looked down the aisle. A stocky black man on the aisle ten or twelve rows back beckoned a flight attendant over and said, loud enough for Ingersoll to hear him, "I'm not a doctor, but I'm an EMT. Can I help?" "Yes, please. We think one of the passengers is having a heart attack. I was about to get the AED and take it back." Great. A heart attack, and apparently they'd be using the automated external defibrillator. Ingersoll could almost write the scenario that was about to play out. Twenty minutes later, his fears were confirmed. "Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain. I'm sorry, but we're diverting to the nearest major city, Las Vegas, for a medical emergency. Please remain in your seats for the balance of the flight. We'll give you more information as soon as it's available."