Robin Cook - Seizure

Spencer leaned back and put his hands with fingers intertwined behind his head. He regarded the head of research, a title Paul had insisted upon, with a degree of condescension. Paul was a hard worker with vision, but he could be overly enthusiastic, and he lacked the practicality necessary to run a business properly. In the clinic’s previous incarnation in Massachusetts, he’d practically run it into the ground financially. Had Spencer not mortgaged the clinic to the hilt and socked away most of the clinic’s assets offshore, they wouldn’t have survived.

“What makes you so sure there will be a paper?” Spencer asked.

Paul’s face clouded over. “What are you talking about? We just discussed it on the phone, title and all, with Daniel. He’s the one who suggested it.”

“He suggested it, but how can we be sure it will happen? I agree, it would be great if it did, but he could just put it off indefinitely.”

“Why the hell would he do that?”

“I don’t know, but for some reason secrecy’s high on his list, and a paper would destroy that. He’s not going to want to write a paper, at least not soon enough for us, and if we went ahead and did it without him, he’d probably just deny any involvement in the case. If that happened, no one would publish it.”

“You’ve got a point,” Paul agreed.

The two men eyed each other across the expanse of Spencer’s desk. A jet on its final approach to Nassau International Airport thundered overhead. The clinic was sited just west of the airport, on dry, scrubby land. It was the only place they could reasonably buy adequate acreage and fence it in appropriately.

“Do you think he was being straight about using the Shroud of Turin?” Paul asked.

“I don’t know that either,” Spencer said. “It sounds a bit fishy to me, if you know what I mean.”

“On the contrary, the concept sounded intriguing to me.”

“Don’t get me wrong,” Spencer said. “The idea is interesting and certainly would make a damn good scientific paper and international news story, but when you put it all together, including the secrecy issue, there’s something decidedly dubious involved. I mean, did you buy his explanation when you asked him why he was going to all this trouble?”

“You mean about his wanting to prove HTSR to himself?”

“Precisely.”

“Not completely, although it is true that the U.S. Congress is thinking of banning HTSR. And now that you’ve got me thinking, he did accept the fees you suggested a bit too quickly, as if the price didn’t matter.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Spencer said. “I had no idea how much to ask to use our facilities, and I just pulled some figures out of the air and expected him to come back with a counteroffer. Hell, I should have asked for twice as much, as quickly as he agreed.”

“So, what is your take?”

“I think the identity of the patient is the issue,” Spencer said. “That’s the only thing that comes to mind that makes sense.”

“Like who?”

“I don’t know,” Spencer said. “But if I were forced to guess, my first thought would be a family member. My second guess would be someone wealthy, someone very wealthy and possibly famous and wealthy, which is where I’d put my money!”

“Wealthy!” Paul repeated. A slight smile appeared on his face. “A cure could be worth millions.”

“Exactly, which is why I think we should proceed with the rich-and-famous hypothesis. After all, why should Daniel Lowell potentially get millions while we get a paltry forty thousand!”

“Which means we have to find out the identity of this patient volunteer.”

“I was hoping you’d see this affair from my perspective. I was afraid you might feel it was worth it just to work with this renowned researcher.”

“Hell, no!” Paul snapped. “Not when we can’t get the promotional benefits we expected. He’s even implied we’re not going to get hands-on instruction in HTSR when he said he’d be doing his own cellular work. Originally, I thought that was a given. I still want to learn the procedure, though, so when he calls back, mention that that has to be part of the package.”

“I’ll be happy to tell him,” Spencer said. “I’m also going to tell him we want half of the money up front.”

“Tell him we also want special consideration in the future on licensing HTSR.”

“That’s a good idea,” Spencer said. “I’ll see what I can do about essentially renegotiating our deal without upping the cash. I don’t want to scare him off. Meanwhile, how about you taking responsibility for trying to find the identity of the patient? That’s a kind of activity you are better at than I.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It was meant as a compliment.”

Paul stood up. “I’ll get Kurt Hermann, our security chief, right on it. He loves this kind of assignment.”

“Tell the dishonorably discharged Green Beret, or whatever the hell he was, to kill as few people as possible. After all this investment and effort, let’s not wear out our welcome on the island.”

Paul laughed. “He’s really very careful and conservative.”

“That’s not my take,” Spencer said. He held up his hands to ward off an argument. “I don’t think the whores on Okinawa he knocked off would call him conservative, and he was a bit heavy-handed up in Massachusetts in our employ, but we’ve been over this. I admit he’s good at what he does, otherwise he wouldn’t still be on the staff. Just humor me and tell him to be discreet! That’s all I ask.”

“I’ll be happy to tell him.” Paul stood up. “But remember, since none of us, including Kurt, can go back to the States, he probably won’t be able to accomplish much until Daniel, his team, and the patient get here.”

“I don’t expect miracles,” Spencer said.

4:45 P.M., Friday, February 22, 2002

The sawtooth spires of the Manhattan skyline were silhouetted against the darkening midwinter sky as the Washington- New York shuttle descended in its final approach to LaGuardia Airport. The lights of the sprawling, pulsating city sparkled like so many jewels in the gathering gloom. Those of the many suspension bridges appeared like necklaces of illuminated pearls slung between the soaring stanchions. The undulating rows of headlights on the FDR Drive resembled strings of diamonds, while the taillights suggested rubies. A gaily bedecked cruise ship looked like a brooch, as it silently slid into a docking on the Hudson River.

Carol Manning turned from staring out the window at the inspiring scene to glance around the interior of the plane. There was no conversation. Oblivious to the majestic vista, the commuters were all absorbed by their newspapers, work documents, or laptops. Her eyes wandered to the senator seated in her row on the aisle one seat away. Like the other passengers, he was reading. His bulky hands gripped the stack of memoranda concerning the following day’s agenda he’d snatched from Dawn Shackelton as he and Carol had bolted from the office in hopes of catching the three-thirty shuttle flight. They’d made it with seconds to spare.

At Ashley’s insistence, Carol had phoned one of the cardinal’s personal secretaries that morning to set up an impromptu meeting that afternoon. She was instructed to say it concerned an urgent matter but would only take fifteen minutes at most. Father Maloney had said he’d see what he could do since the cardinal’s schedule was full, but he’d called back within the hour to say that the cardinal could see the senator sometime between five-thirty and six-thirty, following a formal reception for a visiting Italian cardinal and before a dinner with the mayor. Carol had said they’d be there.