Robin Cook: Cure

Laurie glared at Jack, feigning anger. “Have you been talking about me?”

“I always talk about you,” Jack confessed, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “But I assure you I had zero input into Lou’s assessment.”

FBI Special Agent Gene Stackhouse had been selected as the overall leader of the task force comprising representatives of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, the Central Intelligence Agency, the Secret Service, and the New York City Police Department. He, like the other agents except for the group from the NYPD, was dressed in a dark blue uniform with black lettering indicating his agency. Most carried weapons, either Glocks or M15 rifles. The NYPD agents, all SWAT team members, were dressed in the usual black and carried a wider variety of firepower. Everyone wore helmets and bulletproof vests. Everyone had been fully briefed and were impatient for the word “go!”

Special Agent Stackhouse was particularly wired and ready to explode into the highly choreographed activity he’d planned the moment the second hand of his chronograph reached twelve. The start time was to be exactly eleven o’clock a.m. at all three sites to eliminate any chance of one company calling another to hide evidence.

“Masks on!” he yelled, as the second hand of his watch passed three. A small microphone clipped to his shoulder epaulet flap conveyed his voice to all nine unmarked vans: three at each location, with six people in each van, for a total of fifty-four law-enforcement officers.

Gene Stackhouse was in the passenger seat of the first van at his location, which was on the left side of Fifth Avenue just north of 57th Street. The two other vans were directly behind. When the second hand swept past the number eleven, he counted: “ten, nine, eight...” He unsnapped his holstered Glock pistol. “Four, three, two, one. Go!” All four doors of the three vans sprang open, shocking the various pedestrians on Fifth Avenue. The team dashed across the wide sidewalk, threw open the doors of the building where iPS USA was quartered, and swarmed the security desk. The guards were ordered not to communicate with any of the building’s tenants, particularly iPS USA.

“What’s going on?” one of the building security guards demanded, trying to sound authoritative. He’d been impressed and terrified at seeing the intruders’ firepower but relieved when he saw FBI, SECRET SERVICE, CIA, and NYPD on the backs of jackets.

“We are executing a number of warrants.” Stackhouse yelled, directing his men toward a waiting elevator. “Remain seated! No talking! No phoning!” Snapping his fingers toward a CIA agent, Stackhouse directed him to stay with the building’s security people to make sure the orders were followed.

Once all the remaining agents were in the elevator, its doors closed and it shot up to the iPS USA floor. When it arrived, it was as if the elevator belched out the eager agents, who dashed past the shocked Clair Bourse and fanned out in the iPS USA office in predetermined directions. Clair would have screamed if she hadn’t been so immobilized by one of the initial agents running directly up to her, pointing his gun at her, and commanding, “Freeze!” The idea of the rapid, assault-like entrance was to deny anyone the opportunity to do anything at all to any evidence. Jacqueline, hearing the freeze command out in reception, had reached behind her to try to close the safe but had been specifically commanded not to do so by the two agents who had charged into her office.

Having studied the floor plan in advance, everyone knew exactly where to go. Stackhouse and another FBI agent, Tony Gualario, had run directly to Benjamin Corey’s corner office. They caught the CEO and the CFO, Carl Harris, having a meeting.

As Stackhouse and Gualario swept into the room with their pistols drawn, Ben started to leap to his feet.

“Remain seated!” Stackhouse commanded. He leveled his gun at Ben, who immediately sank back into his leather desk chair. The same thing transpired with Gualario, who was aiming his weapon at Carl.

“Are you Benjamin Corey of five-ninety-one Edgewood Road in Englewood Cliffs, New Jersey?” Stackhouse demanded.

“I am,” Ben said with shock that quickly changed to fear. Suddenly he knew exactly what was happening.

“I am Special Agent Gene Stackhouse of the FBI. I am here to execute a number of warrants, including the search of iPS USA and seizure of all evidence pertaining to money laundering, wire fraud, mail fraud, conspiracy to defraud the U.S. government, and tax evasion. I also have a warrant for your arrest for violation of the same federal statutes.”

Stackhouse paused, cleared his throat, and pulled out a single sheet of paper from his pocket. “I have yet another warrant for your arrest, but I better read it, since I’ve never personally served such a warrant.” He cleared his throat again. “Interpol arrest warrant: IP10067892431. Benjamin G. Corey of Five-ninety-one Edgewood Road, Englewood Cliffs, New Jersey, USA. Interpol requests the arrest and extradition from the USA to Japan of the above named individual, pursuant to treaty arrangements between the two countries to stand trial for first-degree murder on or about February twenty-eighth, 2010, in the Prefecture of Kyoto, Japan.”

“What?” Ben demanded. “I never—”

“Hold up!” Stackhouse ordered. “Don’t say anything until I Mirandize you.”

“I found the missing lab books,” one of the FBI agents said, coming in through the connecting door from Jacqueline’s office and presenting them to Stackhouse.

“That’s great, George,” Stackhouse said, seeing the two blue books and recognizing George by his voice. “The Japanese government will be pleased. But let me finish up here reading the Miranda rights. If you want to do something else useful, call the other two teams and make sure their raids have gone down as planned.”

Stackhouse cleared his throat again. He’d taken out a three-by-five card, on which he’d written the Miranda rights, to be sure he got them right.

“I already know my Miranda rights,” Ben groused. He was incensed that the Japanese government would charge him with a crime that he’d gone out of his way to try to prevent.

“I still have to read them,” Stackhouse insisted, and he proceeded to do so, as did Tony with Carl.

After Ben and Carl had been handcuffed, George came back into Ben’s office. “Both the other raids went flawlessly,” he said. “All the principals have been arrested, and a ton of evidence has been collected.”

“Perfect,” Stackhouse said. “Let’s get on with collecting all the evidence in this office. Remember! We’re to get everything: every computer, storage device, fax machine, and cell phone. Plus every document, letter, or memorandum. Let’s do it!”

APRIL 18, 2010

SUNDAY, 1:45 p.m.

NEW YORK CITY

Here he comes,” Laurie said, spotting Lou Soldano walking north on Columbus Avenue. Laurie, Jack, and JJ were sitting at an outside table at one of their favorite haunts, Espresso Et. Al., which was located just south of the Museum of Natural History. Actually, only Laurie and Jack were sitting, because JJ was, at the moment, sleeping in his reclined stroller. Thanks to the café’s location on the east side of the avenue, it was catching all the sunshine available on a beautiful, warm spring day.

Laurie scraped back her metal chair and waved her hands above her head to get Lou’s attention. Lou waved back and adjusted his trajectory so as not to have to wade through the long line at the café’s main entrance. Instead, he simply stepped over the low chain stretched between potted plants that defined the café’s outdoor terrace.

After a quick hug with Laurie and a high five with Jack, Lou sat down in the chair saved for him. He looked like he’d just gotten out of bed, with his hair brushed haphazardly and his eyelids still heavy with sleep. He had, however, taken the time to shave, and there was still a bit of shaving cream clinging to his right earlobe.