F Wilson - Implant

She fumbled The tool into the opening and thumbed the switch. The tool did its thing. When she felt the pins slide into line, she removed the Electropick, inserted the tiny tosion bar, and twisted. She heard the bok snap into the lock position.

But when she tried to remove the bar, it wouldn't budge.

She moaned softly. "Oh, no! " What else could go wrong?

Her fingertips grew slick as she tried to wiggle it out. She thought she heard someone outside the office door. With one - last desperate, frantic tug she wrested the torsion bar from the lock and almost landed on her back.

Sweating, shaking, she jammed the Electropick and its - accessories into her pocket and hurried to the door. She pressed her ear against it and listened. Quiet. She opened it a crack and sneaked a look at Barbara's desk. Empty. Gin took a breath, stepped through, and walked out.

She passed Barbara in the hall, carrying a printout.

"You're still here? " Barbara said.

"Practically on my way out. Say, did I hear Dr. Lathram's voice before? " "Yeah. But you missed him. He's already come and gone. I think he forgot something. Probably back on the golf course already.

" Yeah. Right.

"Barbara, I just have to look something up, then I'm gone. See you Thursday. ".

She hurried to the records room. Carol the file clerk had left for the day, so Gin had the room to herself. Manila foldes lined every inch of wall except for the dictation area in the corner. A computer terminal on the desk there, and a short shelf of medical reference texts. Gin grabbed the PDR and thumbed through the generic and chemical name index.

No listing for triptolinic diethylamide.

Not surprising. It wasn't in a commercial container.

Next was the Mersk Index, a weighty, small-print tome that lisad the name and formula of just about every available chemical compound. But again she struck out.

Gin sat at the dictation desk and stared at the blank face of the computer screen before her, wondering where to look next.

Okay. If the Index didn't list the stuff, it was either brand new or had never been reported to it.

She snapped her fingers. An investigational compound. Something in development. Had to be.

But how to track it down? The properties of new compounds were kept close to the vest during the development stages. But their formulas were registered immediately for patent protection.

Gin picked up the phone.

"Hi, Barbara. Don't we have a linkup to the FDA database? " "Sure.

And NIH, and the American College of, " '"How do I access the FDA? " '"It's kinda complicated. I've got an instruction manual somewhere around here that tells, '' "I'll be right up." Gin trotted upstairs where Barbara made a relay team handoff of the manual as Gin passed her desk. A minute later she was seated before the records-room computer, logging heself into the FDA computet, and picking her way through the various menus until she got to investigational compDunds in development.

But again no listing for triptolinic diethylamide.

Double damn. This was like chasing a phantom. But she wasn't giving up yet. There had to be some other way. The label on the bottle .

.

. the GEM Pharma colophon. What if she used the company as a starting point and worked back from there?

It took a good forty minutes of running into dead ends and backtracking, but she finally located triptolinic diethyl amide in the vast cybernetic waste bin of discarded registered compounds on which further research had been canceled.

She downloaded the file and tagged it with her initials, RFP for Regina Francesca Panzella, then logged off the database. Back in the Lathram system again, she entered "TYPE RFPMORE" and began reading from the hard drive.

A small file. Triptolinic diethylamide, referred to as TPD in the file, started off its existence at GEM Pharma as an investigational compound with antidepressant properties. Early animal- trials in mice and rats were encouraging, but when testing moved up to primates, TPD was found to be toxic, inducing psychotic states. All further investigation was canceled and GEM Pharma moved on to more promising compounds.

- A sudden queasy feeling rippled through Gin's stomach.

Toxic . . . psychotic states . . . Senator Vincent's behavior before his seizure was certainly disturbed, might even fit the criteria for psychotic. And from what she'd heard, even though he hadn't had any further seizures, mentally he remained far out in left field.

And Duncan . . . Duncan had been there, right there in the hearing room when it had happened.

A few feet to her left, she heard the laser printer begin to - hum.

- And Congressman Allard . . . he'd had that nasty fall and cerebral concussion that had left him disoriented, not quite sure of who or where he was. But what if it wasn't the concussion that had scrambled his thoughts? What if his thoughts had been scrambled before the fall . . . as he was going down the steps? What if the scrambled thoughts had cagsed the fall?

Gin's own thoughts began to feel scrambled. She blinked and rubbed her eyes with an unsteady hand as the queasy feeling rippled toward nausea.

Footsteps behind her. Quickly Gin blanked the screen, then looked up to see Barbara retrieving her printout.

"You okay? " Barbara said, staring at her.

"Hmmm? Why do you ask? " "Because you don't look so hot. I mean, you looked fine when you picked up that manual, now you look like you're gonna be sick." Maybe I am.

Gin rubbed her upper abdomen. "My stomach's bothering me." That was no lie.

"You're working too hard. You're gonna give yourself an ulcer. " "Maybe I already have. ' "I've got some Mylanta, " "That's okay. ' Barbara pointed to the FDA database manual. "You finished with that?

" "Yes. Thanks."

"I'm getting ready to leave, " Barbara said as she picked up the manual.

"You want me to lock you in? " "No. I've done all I can do here. I'm on my way." As Barbara went back upstairs, Gin shut off the terminal and got to her feet. She felt weak, confused as she trudged upstairs, ninety years old at least.

She was barely aware of her surroundings. Somewhere along the way she said good-bye to Barbara, but when she reached her car, she didn't start the engine. She sat behind the wheel and stared at the back of Duncan's officer building.

Vincent . . . Allard . . . but what about Schulz? He jumped off his balcony. Was that psychotic? Maybe, maybe not. But it certainly wasn't rational. And Congressman Lane. He died in a car accident with a high blood-alcohol level. She couldn't link that to Duncan. But she couldn't rule it out, either. What if the TPD reacted with alcohol?

Or what if it kicked in while he was driving? The same disorientation that could make you fall could make you drive off the road.

I hate this, she thought. She pounded her fist against the steering wheel. Hate it!

Duncan couldn't be involved in this. Couldn't, Listen to me. Involved in wha? No evidence that there was anything for Duncan to be involved in.

Then why the TPD? What legitimate reason could Duncan have for keeping a psychosis-inducing compound locked in his desk drawer?

Okay . . . Oliver used to work for GEM Pharma, the company name on the label. That would explain how the bottle found its way to Duncan. But why have it at all? Why keep something of no therapeutic value, something that was a proven toxin?

And what about the trocar, perfect for inserting one of Oliver's large-size implants, loaded with TPD, maybe? , under someone's skin, where it could nestle in the fat until Duncan zapped it with an ultrasound beam?

Wait a minute. Ultrasound. That was where this whole insane scenario broke down. Sure, Duncan had been at the Guidelines committee hearing when Senator Vincent went off the deep end, but Gin hadn't noticed him wheeling an ultrasound machine through the room.