Harlan Coben - Miracle Cure

Harvey looked at him, confused.

"Proposal?"

"What I am about to offer you is not negotiable. You either take it or we close the clinic. It's your choice."

"I'm listening."

"You have falsified reports which we both know is a very serious issue.

All your findings are tainted. We could disregard them all together... or we could allow you to build upon them."

"I don't understand."

"Michael Silverman is your most recently admitted patient.

Correct?"

"So?"

"Not much work has been done on him yet?"

"Very little. He's been on SRI for less than 24 hours."

"Good. We are going to watch his progress. I am bringing in my own men to monitor everything that happens with Silverman. They will chart every detail of his treatment. When and if he becomes HIV negative, we'll be able to reexamine your other findings and begin testing "

"It could take years!" "You should have thought of that before you tampered with NIH reports," Markey snapped.

Oh God, oh God, what do I do now? I'm trapped..."I didn't tamper with evidence," Harvey half-shouted.

"I tampered with a goddamn patient list, that's all. One goddamn name."

"The point remains. If you could falsify reports on one thing, you could do it for others."

"But we've already cured six patients."

"Only three of whom are still alive. And how do we know' that your findings on them are not distorted?"

"Test them, for chrissake!" Harvey shouted.

"I'm not going to let you get away with this. I'll do whatever it takes ".

"Simmer down."

"I'll go to the press."

Harvey was sure he saw fear in the man's face, but Markey just smiled at him.

"An unwise move, Dr. Riker. First off, I'll immediately cut off your grant. Then I'll reveal to the world that you falsified reports, that you would not allow us access to your patients, that you have never cured anybody, and anything else I can make up. Our PR men will make you look like some charlatan selling snake oil. You won't be able to get a job cleaning bedpans by the time they're finished with you."

Harvey's mind battled back his mounting panic.

"The facts will prove you're lying," he said.

"Eventually, perhaps if you haven't falsified them. But by the time they do, I'll already have stalled you into the next century."

Harvey stared at him in horror. He knew Markey was semi bluffing that he did not want to be forced into a confrontation, but what he was saying was also true. He could destroy everything. Even if Harvey cleared his name and proved that Markey was lying, it would take months. Years maybe. And in the meantime the money would stop. A cure would be delayed indefinitely.

Raymond Markey stood and moved toward the door.

"My people will be here tomorrow afternoon. Please inform your staff."

Michael came to consciousness slowly. He heard the TV. A man talking.

Sounded like the news. His eyes blinked open.

"Good morning, handsome," Sara said.

He felt groggy. His vision was blurred. He rolled over and kissed Sara, who was lying next to him. There was a book in her hand.

"Good morning, nurse. You better get out of here before my wife gets here."

"Funny."

"What time is it?"

"Almost noon. How do you feel?"

He tried to sit up.

"Like a small animal died in my stomach."

"Yuck. Guess what I have here."

"What?"

She held the book closer to his face. Michael squinted and read the title out loud. "1000 Names For Your Baby? I already thought of a name."

"Oh?"

"Moahmar."

"And if it's a girl?"

"That is for a girl. So what's happening?"

"Let's see. What do you remember last?"

He thought.

"Eric taking my blood, the little vampire."

"Well, nothing much has happened since then."

Their conversation was interrupted by the television.

"CNN Headline News. Today's major story surrounds the still unnamed AIDS clinic that is treating basketball star Michael Silverman.

Thousands of gay activists marched upon Washington today, demanding that the PDA approve nationwide testing of the little-known drug called SRI. Donations to the financially troubled institution have been pouring in from all over since the Neivsflash story aired last evening.

According to reports, the anonymous AIDS clinic has made amazing strides in its fight to cure the AIDS virus with injections of a new drug called SRI.

With us now is Dr. Eli Samuels from the Mallacy AIDS Center in San Francisco."

The doctor appeared on the screen, his left hand holding an earplug in place. On the bottom of the screen the words

"San Francisco, California" appeared in white.

"Dr. Samuels, what is the reaction of the medical community to last night's Newsflash story?"

"Cautiously intrigued," the doctor replied.

"Could you elaborate for us?"

"Certainly. While the press may want to have a field day by celebrating the discovery of this supposed cure, the medical community has to question the authenticity of the report. This unnamed clinic has released no results yet, no firm findings, has not written a paper for The New England Journal of Medicine or a similar periodical. It's all highly unusual."

"Are you suggesting fraud?"

"I'm not suggesting anything, but I do believe that the media and the medical community would be acting irresponsibly if we accepted these claims as fact without further evidence."

"Thank you, Doctor."

The anchorman spun his chair in order to face forward.

"In a related story, New York Knick basketball superstar Michael Silverman shocked the sports world last night with his announcement that he had contracted the AIDS virus. According to clinic doctors and last night's report on Newsflash, Michael Silverman contracted the virus during a blood transfusion in the Bahamas several years ago after a serious boating accident. There are those, however, who doubt the story and believe that the clinic is trying to cover up Mr. Silverman's true sexual orientation."

Another face came on the screen. Michael's body stiffened.

"It can't be," he uttered.

"Michael, what is it? What's the matter?"

Michael continued to stare at the image on the screen. The face had changed very little in the past twenty years. A little grey around the temples. A little more sag on the jawline and neck.

The overall appearance, however, was radically different. A tailored sports coat. Nice tie. Nice neat haircut. Just your typical, friendly Joe.

The anchorman continued.

"With us now from Lincoln, Nebraska, is Mr. Martin Johnson, the stepfather who raised Michael Silverman. Mr. Johnson, thank you for joining us."

"My pleasure, Chuck."

"Mr. Johnson, what do you think about the reports that your stepson contracted AIDS through a blood transfusion?"

Martin Johnson shrugged.

"Might be. I would never want to speak ill of the boy, but..."

"But?"

"Well, it seems to me that there is a far greater likelihood that he got it from one of his boyfriends."

The anchorman was nearly salivating.

"Then Mr. Silverman is gay?"

"Well, I wouldn't want to say that. I'd say he's more like one of those bisexuals. He's had plenty of sex with both men and women.

Started at a young age. But he prefers men, I'm almost sure."

Michael flew up from the bed.

"Turn it off!"

Sara grabbed the remote control and snapped the off button.

The picture turned into a bright dot before fading away.

"You okay?"

He nodded.

"Lying son of a bitch. I haven't seen him since I was ten years old."

Sara flicked the switch on Michael's portable tape deck. Bach gently blew into the room, but it did little to assuage him.

"It's strange," she said.

"Why do you think he'd lie like that?"