Arthur Hailey - Strong Medicine

Martin nodded without speaking, and the policeman led the way to the administrator's office. Inside, a young police constable was guarding a man and a woman. The woman, in her mid-thirties, was tall and slim. She had aquiline, haughty features and her hair was trimmed short. A lighted cigarette drooped from her lips. She wore tight jeans, a lumberjack shirt, and plastic, thigh-length boots. As the inspector and the others came in, she regarded them disdainfully, seemingly unconcerned about her capture. The man, of about the same age, was slight and in other circumstances could have been thought of as meek and mild. He looked like a clerk, was balding, slightly stooped, and wore steel-rimmed spectacles. He smiled thinly at the newcomers-and defiantly. "These are the pretty pair," the inspector said.”They've been cautioned legally, but they seem to want to talk. Real proud of themselves, they are.”

"And so we should be," the man said. His voice was reedy and unsteady; he coughed nervously to clear it.”We've done a noble deed.”

Martin exploded, his voice close to shouting.”Do you have any idea what you've done? How much important work you've wrecked and wasted?" "What we do know," the woman said, "is that we've saved some fellow creatures from the vivisectionists-tyrants like you who exploit animals for your selfish ends.”

"If you think that, you're ignorant fools.”

Martin wanted to lash out physically at the two in front of him, but restrained himself.”All the animals you released were born in captivity. Those outside can't survive. They'll die horribly. And those inside will have to be destroyed.”

"Better that," the woman said, "than suffer your inhumane cruelty.”

"He isn't inhumane! He isn't cruel!" It was Yvonne, her face flushed, her voice pitched high.”Dr. Peat-Smith is one of the kindest men who ever lived. He loves animals.”

The man sneered.”As pets, I suppose.”

"We don't approve of animals as pets," the woman said.”That's a master-slave relationship. We believe animal fights are equal to human rights. Furthermore, animals should not be restricted, confined, or have to suffer, merely to make humans happier or healthier.”

Her voice, measured and assured, had the tone of one blessed with total moral certainty. The man said, "Something else we believe is that the human species has no superiority over other species.”

"In your case," the inspector said, "I'd say that's true.”

Martin addressed the woman.”You and your fellow lunatics have just destroyed scientific research which will take years to repeat. And for all that time you'll have deprived thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands, of decent, deserving people of a medicine to make their lives better, more bearable...”

"Well, good for the Animal Rescue Army!" Scornfully, the woman interrupted, spitting words at Martin.”I'm delighted to hear our effort was successful. And if what you call scientific research, and I call barbarous atrocities, is repeated, I hope you die in agony doing it.”

"You maniac!" The words were a scream, spoken as Yvonne dived forward, hands extended. There was a second's stillness in which no one else realized what was happening, then Yvonne was attacking the woman fiercely, fingernails raking her face. Martin and the inspector between them pulled Yvonne away. Now the Animal Rescue woman screamed.”That was an assault! A criminal =assault.”

As two long red weals, one of them bleeding, flared on her face, she demanded of the two policemen, "Arrest that bitch! She must be criminally charged.”

"Arrest this lady?" The inspector seemed pained. He glanced toward Yvonne who was trembling and seemed in shock.”Arrest her for what? I didn't see any assault.”

He looked toward the constable.”Did you?" The other policeman answered, "No, sir. I reckon the prisoner got those marks on her face from the animals when she was opening some of those cages.”

Martin put his arm around Yvonne.”Let's get out of here. There's nothing to be gained by talking to these people.”

As they left, they heard the inspector ask, "Now how about being reasonable, and giving me the names of those others with you?" "Go screw yourself, copper," the woman said. Bentley had followed Martin and Yvonne. He told them, "Those two will go to jail.”

Yvonne said, "Oh, I hope so.”

"They will," the administrator assured her.”And they'll join others from that Animal Rescue Army who are there already because of other raids like this. The whole bunch see themselves as martyrs. I've read a lot about them. Supposedly they have hundreds of followers around the country.”

He added, glumly, "I'm sorry. I should have foreseen this.”

"None of us could have," Martin said. He sighed.”Tomorrow we'll start cleaning up and see what's left.”

7

The dispiriting task of assessing damage at the Harlow research institute took several days. At the end, Martin estimated that the "animal- rights" raid had caused a two-year setback. From the ashes of a burned pile of papers and other records outside the building, some assorted material was salvaged, but not much. Later, Nigel Bentley reported to Martin, "Those nut cases apparently knew what they were looking for, and where everything was. That means they had inside help which, according to the police, fits the pattern of other raids they've made. What they do, I'm told, is persuade people like cleaners and maintenance staff to become informers. I'll try to find out who were our Judases, though I haven't much hope.”

Bentley was also putting into effect strong and expensive security precautions for the future. As he expressed it, "In a way, it's an exercise in stable-door shutting, but those self-righteous people don't give up easily and could be back.”

Martin, in turn, reported to New Jersey by telephone the day after the raid. He talked with Celia Jordan. A few days earlier Martin had been delighted to learn of Celia's return to the company; now he expressed regret that their first conversation should involve bad news. Celia was shocked to learn of the Harlow devastation-so much in contrast to the recent heady progress reports concerning Peptide 7. She questioned Martin sharply about his estimate of delay. "What we'll have to do," he advised her, "is repeat all the animal experiments to recover our data, which will be needed, of course, to accompany any drug application the company eventually makes. It's a terrible time waste and cost, but there isn't any choice.”

"Are you sure about two years?" "That's the worst case. If we can shave a few months from that time, we will. We know a great deal more than we did two years ago, and some shortcuts may appear. We'll all do our best.”

"I want you to know," Celia said, "that Peptide 7 has become tremendously important to us here. Do you remember a conversation you and I had at your home? When you said that given more time, you'd produce an important medication which could make Felding-Roth enormously rich? Those last two words were yours.”

At the Harlow end of the line, Martin grimaced.”I'm afraid I do remember. I wasn't behaving like a scientist, and I hope that conversation doesn't go further than the two of us.”

"It won't. But I remind you of it because the first part of your prediction came true. Now we desperately need the rest.”

"Two years to get back where we were," Martin repeated.” Shortcuts or no, it won't be much less.”

But the conversation spurred him to hasten reorganizing. Replacement animals were ordered promptly from supply houses, and as they arrived the institute staff commenced the tiresome rote of repeating work begun long ago. As a result, within three weeks the data recovery process was moving at full speed. Through the entire ordeal, from the night of the raid onward, Yvonne sustained Martin in body and spirit. She took total charge of his domestic life, asking him nothing, doing everything, so that neither his attention nor energy was diverted from the institute. At other times she comforted him, seeming to know instinctively when to be silently attentive or, at other moments, to amuse him with cheerful chatter. Once, after an especially grueling day, she told him at bedtime to lie face down, and when he did, gave him a slow Swedish massage which sent him into a deep sleep that lasted until morning. When Martin asked next day how she learned to do such things, she answered, "I once roomed with a friend who was a masseuse. She taught me.”