F Wilson - Deep as the Marrow

“Here?” Tom said. “Now?” John somehow maneuvered a grin to his face. “I know you, Tom. I’ll write out a prescription and you’ll get it filled, and then you’ll put off taking it. ‘I’ll start next week.’ Am I right?”

“You know me too well.”

“Yes, I do. And I know next week never comes.” Somehow he managed to shake two capsules into Tom’s palm. Don’t think. Don’t feel anything but rage. “So here you go. I figure once I get you started, you’ll keep going. So I want to watch you take both of these right now.” John stepped over to a side table where a pitcher of water and glasses sat, and managed to half fill a tumbler.

He turned and handed it to Tom.

Tom took the glass and stared at him. “You sure you’re all right? You’re shaking like a moonshiner with DT’S.”

“The virus. I guess I’m not over it yet.” Fearing he might vomit, John turned away and stared out the windows at the south lawn. He couldn’t watch.

In half a minute it would be done. The gelatin capsules would be dissolving in Tom’s stomach acid, releasing their contents. The antibiotic within would begin making its way into his bloodstream, triggering the suicidal antibodies, releasing them to begin their kamikaze run on Tom’s bone marrow. And soon it would begin to die.

Soon— “No!” John spun and leaped toward Tom. “Stop! Don’t take those!” But Tom already had the glass to his lips. John knocked it from his hand and sent it flying across the room to smash on the floor. He clutched at Tom’s throat.

“Spit those out! For God’s sake, don’t swallow!” Tom’s eyes bulged in shock. He staggered back, knocking over the chair, but John stayed with him.

“Spit them out, dammit! Spit them out!” Tom wrenched free, turned, and spat on the floor. John saw both capsules on the carpet, then felt himself grabbed roughly from behind.

“Mr. President! Are you all right?” John recognized the voice: Bob Decker.

Tom leaned against his desk, rubbing his throat, and staring wide-eyed at John.

“I’m all right. But he isn’t. In God’s name, John, what’s wrong with you?” The Oval Office seemed to shrink around him. Decker was here… the Secret Service was involved now… and Snake said he’d kill Katie…

And suddenly he could pretend no longer. Three nights with no sleep, slowly dying inside as he tried to shoulder the entire burden on his own—he slumped in Decker’s grasp.

“Katie… they’ve got Katie!” Suddenly Tom was in front of him, gripping his shoulders.

“Katie? Who’s got Katie?”

John shook his head. “I don’t know. They took her Wednesday morning.”

“Kidnapped?” Tom said. “Oh, shit! Oh, Christ! Not Katie!” John felt Decker’s grip loosen. “If this is a kidnapping I’d better—”

“No!” John cried. “No, please! They’ll kill her.”

“Shut the door. Bob,” Tom said, “and let’s find out what this is all about.”

“But—”

“This is my godchild we’re talking about.” There was a sudden sharp edge on Tom’s voice. “Shut the goddamn door.”

“Yes, sir.”

2

“Her toe?” Tom slammed his fist on his desk.

His face had gone pasty white. “They sent you her toe?” John nodded.

He’d told them the whole story. A disjointed telling, but he didn’t think he’d missed anything important.

He glanced up from his seat at Decker, who stood to the side, hands behind his back, impassive, then back to Tom.

“Tom, I’m sorry. I didn’t… I don’t know what I was thinking… but I didn’t see that I had a choice…” I’ve doomed Katie. The thought kept hammering at him. Why couldn’t I have let Tom swallow those pills? What kind of a father am I? Snake will find out. And then he’ll…

“You didn’t have a choice,” Tom said, “but you still couldn’t go through with it. Even with poor Katie’s life at stake you couldn’t. Honestly, John, if positions were reversed, I’d have done the same.” He slammed his fist on the desk again. “The soulless bastards! I can’t believe this has happened.” He looked at Decker. “What do we do first. Bob?”

Decker rubbed his jaw, looking uncomfortable. “Well, the first thing I think we need to deal with is the crime that was committed a few moments ago.”

“What?”

“An attempt on the life of the President of the United States. That’s…”

Tom held up a hand. “Stop right there. As far as I’m concerned, nothing happened.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but I’m not permitted to ignore an…”

“Ignore what? Did you see anyone do anything to me, or attempt to do anything to me?”

“I heard his own statement about giving you those pills.”

“And you now have my statement that he didn’t. And without corroboration from the alleged victim, you don’t have a case. So we will drop that subject and move on. What do we do now?”

Decker sighed. “All right, first thing is to call in the FBI. They’re the kidnap experts and we’ll need access to their crime lab. Next—”

“No!” John said, rising from his chair. “You can’t do that. Once I’m exposed, I’m of no use to them. And if I’m of no value, neither is Katie. They’ll kill her!”

“We can keep it all under wraps,” Decker said. “We’ll—”

“No!” John could hear his voice rising but he didn’t care. He had to make them see. “They’ll know! They’ve got someone inside. Maybe right here in the White House.” He turned to Tom. “If they can find out about your chloramphenicol reaction, they can sure as hell find out that I didn’t give you those pills and I’ve told you what’s going on! Please! There’s got to be another way!”

“He’s right. Bob,” Tom said. “They must have one hell of an information pipeline. And by the way, any ideas about this ‘they’ we’re talking about?”

“Well, we know it’s drugs,” Decker said. “They told Dr. Vanduyne flat out they don’t want you showing up at The Hague conference. It’s probably Colombians, or maybe Mexicans.” He rubbed his jaw. “And I think you’re right about that high-level leak. They picked up the little girl the morning after your speech.”

Tom nodded. “Which means they knew what I was going to say and had the plan in place, ready to go.” He swiveled in his chair and spoke toward the windows. “Who is the son of a bitch? I swear, if I ever find out…” He swung back. “We’ll find him eventually. Question is, what do we do now?”

Decker said, “Let me think.” John watched the Secret Service man wander around the Oval Office, staring at the floor, at his shiny brown wingtips, then at the ceiling. John wished he could come up with his own plan, but his mind was numb, dead, empty.

Finally Decker returned to Tom’s desk.

“All right. Here’s an idea. It’s not perfect, but it’s the best I can do on such short notice. Why don’t we try a two-tier approach? Only three people know for sure you didn’t take those pills. Let’s keep it that way. We three will make up that first tier.”

“Who’s on the second tier?” Tom said.

“A small task force”—he glanced quickly at John—“a tiny task force consisting of select members of the Secret Service, the FBI, and the DEA that will—”

“They’re going to find out!” John said, feeling close to panic. “As soon as they find out there’s a task force, Katie’s dead!”

“Not if I limit it strictly to people I’ve known for a long time, and not if the President himself puts them on special assignment and forbids them to discuss the details with anyone, even their superiors.”

“Consider that done,” Tom said.

John didn’t know what to say. Did Decker know people who were absolutely trustworthy? Was anyone absolutely trustworthy? Maybe it could work. Maybe. But if it didn’t…