Робин Кук - Mortal Fear

“But aging is a natural process,” she repeated.

“Aging is a part of life,” agreed Jason. “Evolutionarily it is as important as growth. Yes, it is a natural process.” Jason laughed hollowly. “Hayes certainly was right when he described his discovery as ironic. With all the work being done to slow aging down, his work on growth resulted in a way to speed it up.”

“If aging and death have an evolutionary value,” Shirley persisted, “perhaps they have a social one as well.”

Jason looked at her with a growing sense of alarm. He wished he weren’t so tired. His brain was sending danger signals he felt too exhausted to decode. Taking his silence as assent, Shirley continued. “Let me put it another way. Medicine in general is faced with the challenge of providing quality care at low cost. But because of increasing life-spans, hospitals are swamped with an elderly population that they keep alive at an enormous price, draining not just their economic resources, but the energy of the medical personnel as well. GHP, for example, did very well when it first started, because the bulk of the subscribers were young and healthy. Now, twenty years later, they are all older and require a great deal more health care. If aging were speeded up in certain circumstances, it might be best for both the patients and the hospitals.

“The important point,” emphasized Shirley, “is that the old and infirm should age and die rapidly to avoid suffering as well as to avoid the over-utilization of expensive medical care.”

As Jason’s numb brain began to understand Shirley’s reasoning, he felt himself becoming paralyzed with horror. Although he wanted to shout that what she was implying was legalized murder, he found himself sitting dumbly on the edge of the couch like a bird confronted by a poisonous snake and frozen with fear.

“Jason, do you have any idea how much it costs to keep people alive during their last months of life in a hospital?” Shirley said, again mistaking his silence for acquiescence. “Do you? If medicine didn’t spend so much on the dying, it could do so much more to help the living. If GHP wasn’t swamped with mid-. die-aged patients destined to be ill because of their unhealthy lifestyles, think what we could do for the young. And aren’t patients who fail to take care of themselves, like heavy smokers and drinkers, or people who use drugs, voluntarily speeding up their own demise? Is it so wrong to hasten their deaths so they don’t burden the rest of society?”

Jason’s mouth finally opened in protest, but he couldn’t find the words to refute her. All he could do was shake his head in disbelief.

“I can’t believe you won’t accept the fact that medicine can no longer survive under the crushing burden of the chronic health problems presented by physically unfit people-those very patients who have spent thirty or forty years abusing the bodies God gave them.”

“That’s not for me or you to decide,” Jason shouted at last.

“Even if the aging process is simply speeded up by a natural substance?”

“That’s murder!” Jason stumbled to his feet. Shirley rose too, moving swiftly to the double doors leading to the dining room. “Come in, Mr. Díaz,” she said, flinging them open. “I’ve done what I could.”

Jason’s mouth went dry as he turned to face the man he’d last seen at the Salmon Inn. Juan’s darkly handsome face was alive with anticipation. He was carrying a small, German-made automatic muzzled with a cigar-sized silencer.

Jason backed up clumsily until his back struck the far wall. His eyes went from the gun to the killer’s strikingly handsome face, to Shirley, who eyed him as calmly as if she were in a board meeting.

“No tablecloth this time,” Díaz said, grinning to show movie-star-perfect white teeth. He advanced on Jason, putting the muzzle of the gun six inches from Jason’s head. “Good-bye,” he said with a friendly flick of his head.

“Mr. Díaz,” Shirley said.

“Yes,” Juan answered without taking his eyes off Jason.

“Don’t shoot him unless he forces you to. It will be better to deal with him the way we did with Mr. Hayes. I’ll bring you the material from the clinic tomorrow.”

Jason breathed out. He hadn’t realized he was holding his breath.

The smile vanished from Juan’s face. His nostrils flared; he was disappointed and angry. “I think it would be much safer if I killed him right now, Miss Montgomery.”

“I don’t care what you think — and I’m paying you. Now let’s get him into the cellar. And no rough stuff — I know what I’m doing.”

Juan moved the pistol so the cold metal touched Jason’s temple. Jason knew the man was hoping for the slightest excuse to shoot; he remained perfectly still, petrified by fear.

“Come on!” called Shirley from the front hall.

“Go!” said Juan, pulling the gun back from Jason’s head.

Jason walked stiffly, his arms pressed against his sides. Juan fell in behind, occasionally touching Jason’s back with the gun.

Shirley opened a door under the staircase across from the front entrance. Jason could see a flight of steps leading to the basement.

As Jason approached, he tried to catch Shirley’s eye, but she turned away. He stepped through the door and started down, Juan directly behind him.

“Doctors amaze me,” said Shirley, turning on the cellar light and closing the door behind her. “They think medicine is just a question of helping the sick. The truth is unless something is done about the chronically unhealthy, there won’t be money or manpower to help those who can actually recover.”

Looking at her calm, pretty face, the perfect clothes, Jason couldn’t believe it was the same woman he’d always admired.

She interrupted herself to direct Juan down a long narrow hallway to a heavy oak door. Squeezing by Juan and Jason, she unlocked it and flicked on the light, illuminating a large square room. Jason was pushed inside, where he saw an open doorway to the left, a workbench, and another heavy closed door to the right. Then the light went out, the door slammed, and total darkness surrounded him.

For a few minutes, Jason stood still, immobilized by shock and lack of vision. He could hear small sounds; water coursing through pipes, the heating system kicking on, and footsteps above his head. The darkness remained absolute: he could not even tell if his eyes were open or closed.

When Jason was finally able to move, he stepped back to the door through which he’d entered. He grabbed the door knob and tried to turn it. He pulled on the door. There was no doubt it was secure. Running his hands around the jamb, he felt for hinges. He gave that up when he remembered the door opened into the hall.

Leaving the door, Jason worked his way laterally, taking baby steps and gingerly sliding his hands along the wall. He came to the corner and turned ninety degrees. He continued moving step by miniature step until he felt the doorway of the open door. Carefully reaching inside, he felt for a wall switch. On the left side, about chest height, he found one. He threw the switch. Nothing happened.

Advancing into the side room, he began to feel the walls, trying to ascertain the dimensions. His fingers hit on a metal object on the wall whose front was glass. Feeling down at waist height he touched a sink. Over to the right was a toilet. The room was only about five by seven.

Returning to the main room, Jason continued his slow circuit. He encountered a second small room with a closed door just beyond the bathroom. When he opened the door, his nose told him it was a cedar closet. Inside he felt several garment bags filled with clothes.

Back in the main room, Jason came to another comer, and he turned again. Within a dozen small steps, he gently hit against the workbench, which stuck out about three feet into the room. Skirting the end of the bench, he felt beneath it, finding cabinets. The workbench, he estimated, was about ten to fifteen feet long. Beyond the workbench, he returned to the wall, encountering shelving with what felt like paint cans. Beyond the shelving was another corner.