Fredric Stern - The Endorphin Conspiracy

“PETronics has given me complete control over my research with unlimited funds funneled through the corporation and all they ask in return is for me to develop and test compounds for them, leaving me to spend the majority of my energies on the PET scanner. It’s the ideal situation.”

“You’re mad, Balassi.”

“You think small, Geoff, like most physicians. Why don’t you join us? We can be even greater with you on board. You can remain on staff here and follow Pederson as Chairman of the Department. We can see to that. The professional rewards will be great, not to mention the phenomenal financial return.”

“Dr. Pederson had so much more to lose, Balassi. Why did he do it?”

“Ah, what do you think, Geoff? Ego, of course. He wanted to have his name associated with these new endorphin compounds we’re working on, ones that will cure chronic pain and schizophrenia. You see, Geoff, we can do so much good.”

“Except you have to induce these conditions in innocent people before you can study them and find a cure.”

“Don’t be a simple-minded fool, Geoff. The testing phase of the study won’t go on forever. Oh, the Agency may want us to periodically synthesize and test a new neurotransmitter here and there—”

“Talk about simple-minded, don’t you realize you’re the one being manipulated by this renegade group? They jerk you around like a puppet on a string. You’ve prostituted yourself to them.”

“I guess that means no, doesn’t it?” asked Balassi with regret.

“Kapinsky didn’t commit suicide did he?”

“According to the police, you killed him,” said Balassi with a smile.

“You ordered Walter to kill him, didn’t you, and forged the suicide note? He was just an innocent fool. Or was he about to spill the beans and expose you? I know how you and Pederson blackmailed him, how you held the constant threat of exposing his homosexuality over him.”

“I’m impressed with your resourcefulness, Geoff, I really am. You must have a good source for such private information. Was it personal experience?”

“Far better than that. I came across Kapinsky’s personal diary. It spells out your involvement and Pederson’s all too clearly. I also have— had I should say—a packet of information given to me by Suzanne Gibson before Walter tried to butcher her.”

“Excellent work, Geoff. You’d be a real asset to the project. She could have been, too, but like you, she was a small thinker.”

“Not as small as you might think, Balassi. You almost destroyed a second generation when Walter tried to kill her.”

Balassi’s eyes narrowed. He seemed confused. “What are you talking about?”

“Cameron Daniels was her father,” Geoff said.

The blood drained from Balassi’s face, leaving his complexion a chalky white. His jaw dropped. It was a name he had not heard in many years. “That’s not possible,” he whispered.

“It’s true, Balassi. Suzanne Gibson, Daniels at the time, was just an infant when her father jumped to his death. I’ve seen the newspaper clippings, Suzanne’s documents.”

“This, this evidence you speak of, it must be in a secure place—”

“All of the information is on its way by courier to Washington as we speak.” Geoff’s thoughts returned to Stefan. He had to know. “Why did you have the security guard killed, Balassi? He had nothing to do with this.”

“He simply stumbled into a scene he should have not been a witness to and needed to be taken out of the picture. When your gun turned up in the morgue, well, it was felt to be too good an opportunity to miss.”

Geoff tensed. “Pity about Walter.”

Balassi grimaced in anger, his fist stabbing the air. “The project will continue, Geoff, regardless of what you do! There are very powerful people involved, not only here but in Washington. We have the support of visionaries at the highest levels of government, Geoff, far beyond just the CIA. They will be able to make your piddley evidence disappear.”

Director Bennington will be unavailable for an indefinite period of time.

“You had great promise, Geoff. It’s truly a shame to waste your life in prison. Two murder convictions, more if they find enough evidence to link you to Walter, the little girl and Smithers. You’ll be put away for well over a hundred years!” He gave a loud belly laugh; his dark eyes shifted in their sockets. “They have quite a watertight case against you, Geoff, dating back to the mercy killing of your beloved wife—”

“You filthy scum!” Geoff lunged toward Balassi, grabbed him by the shirt, slammed his back to the wall.

“What’s another thirty years behind bars, eh Balassi? The judge will just tack it on.” Geoff rammed the point of the knife firmly under Balassi’s chin. “I wonder what a knife track in the brainstem would look like on PET scan.”

Balassi stared at the knife. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead, ran down the slope of his nose, landing on the coarse, grey hairs covering his upper lip.

Geoff pushed the knife further upward, causing Balassi to let out a choking sound. A drop of blood trickled down the blade, landed on the carpet.

Balassi struggled to get out the words. “Please, Geoff. Please. We can work—”

A police siren sounded faintly in the distance.

“I don’t make deals with the devil. I should kill you now and save humanity, but I’ll let you bring yourself down. It’s only a matter of time.”

Geoff withdrew the knife and bolted out the window and down the fire escape.

As Geoff ran up the steps to Kapinsky’s apartment, his anger gave way to determination. He entered the building, paused, looked around. No one seemed to pay any attention to him or the ubiquitous sirens. New Yorkers were used to sirens and emergency lights, especially near a hospital. He thought he’d be safe here for a little while longer. All he needed was an hour to plan and regroup. But pretty soon the police, or worse the group from the Sigma Project, would come looking here. Then he’d have nowhere to go.

Geoff carefully opened the apartment door a crack, peering through the opening to make sure no one was waiting for him.

It appeared empty. Things were just as he had left them earlier. No movement. No sounds. Once again he looked over his shoulder, then slithered inside and double-locked the door. He leaned his sweat-soaked back against the wall, took a long deep breath, removed the digital recorder from his pocket, placed it on the coffee table along with the pocketknife. He slumped down on the couch and rested his head in his hands. The tight knot in his stomach confirmed this wasn’t just a bad dream.

Balassi was finished. Geoff had gotten the entire conversation on disk. But who could he trust with the evidence? He had to think things through clearly. He must have one ally in the midst of this hornets’ nest, but who? Was Suzanne the only one? There had to be a back-up. There just had to be!

Geoff realized his next move would be the most important one of his life. It was like diffusing a time bomb without instructions or training. Two wires—one red, one black. Pull the right one and the trigger is deactivated. The other blows you to hell in a thousand pieces. Still, he had to be decisive and act quickly.

Faces popped in and out of his mind’s eye. If Balassi and Pederson were in on it, then no one at the Medical Center could be trusted. How about Spiros, Director of the ER? A man who had dedicated his life to patient care. It was hard to fathom, but he had to be in on it too. Who else could have directed the patients to Pederson and Balassi for their studies? The Medical Center had to be permeated and controlled by agents of the Sigma Project. Zelenkov and his group of international scientists, Trauma Center orderlies, nurses and technicians, infiltrators everywhere , at every level, all part of this vast, international conspiracy.