Danielle Steel - Five Days in Paris

He had stayed at his desk late that afternoon, looking at the latest research. It looked good actually, except for one little blip that coordinated perfectly with some of the things Suchard had said in June, but Peter was entirely sure what the latest blip meant. According to the researchers, it dealt with a relatively minor issue, and Peter didn't even bother to call Frank about it. He knew what his take on it would be anyway. “Don't worry about it. Go to the hearings, and we'll work it all out later.” But Peter took the reports home with him anyway, and read them all again that night, and he was still troubled by them at two o'clock in the morning. Katie was asleep in the bed next to him. She wasn't staying at her father's anymore, and she was actually coming to Washington with him and had bought a new suit for it. She and her father were so pleased that he'd capitulated that they'd both been in high spirits ever since he'd agreed to go to Washington for them. It still felt like a mission from hell to him, and Katie had chided him for overreacting. She tried to pretend he was just nervous about appearing before Congress.

But as he sat in his study in Greenwich at four A.M., he was still thinking about the latest reports, and staring out the window. He wished there were someone knowledgeable he could talk to. He didn't know the men on the German and Swiss research teams personally, and he didn't have a good rapport with the new man in Paris. Frank had obviously hired him because he was malleable and a yes-man, but he was also difficult to understand, and so scientific in his approach to everything that it was like listening to Japanese to Peter. And then he thought of something, and flipped through the Rolodex on his desk. He wondered if he had the number at home and then he found it. It was ten o'clock in the morning in Paris, and with any luck at all he'd be there. He asked for him by name as soon as the switchboard answered. The phone beeped twice, with the sound of a friendly robot, and then the familiar voice was on the phone.

“Allo?” It was Paul-Louis. Peter had called him at the new company he worked for.

“Hi, Paul-Louis,” Peter said, sounding tired. It was four A.M. for him, and it had been an endless night. He wondered if Paul-Louis would be able to help him make a decision he could be comfortable with at least. It was the only reason he'd called him. “This is Benedict Arnold.”

“Qui? Allô? Who is this?” he asked, confused, and Peter smiled as he answered.

“He was a traitor who was shot a long time ago. Salut , Paul-Louis,” he said then in French, “it's Peter Haskell.”

“Ah … d'accord.” He understood instantly. “You're going to do it then? They forced you?” He knew the moment he heard him. Peter sounded ghastly.

“I wish I could say they forced me,” he said gallantly, although they had, but he was too gentlemanly to say that. “I volunteered, more or less, for a variety of reasons, Frank had a near-fatal heart attack nearly three weeks ago. Things haven't been quite the same since then.”

“I see,” he said solemnly. “What can I do for you?” He was working for a rival company, but he had a real fondness for Peter. “Is there something you want from me?” he asked bluntly.

“Absolution, I think, although I don't deserve it. I just got some new reports in, and I think they're fairly clean, if I understand them correctly. We substituted two of the materials and everyone seems to think that solved the problem. But there's one odd series of results that I'm not sure I understand, and I thought maybe you could shed some light on it for me. There's no one I can talk to candidly here. What I want to know is if we're going to kill anyone with Vicotec. It boils down to that basically. I want to know if you still think it's dangerous, or if we're well on our way now. Do you have time for me to go over this?” He didn't, but he was willing to make time for Peter. He told his secretary to hold all his calls, and was back on the line in an instant.

“Fax it to me now.” Peter did, and there was a long silence, while Paul-Louis read the memo. For the next hour they went backward and forward over the research, while Peter answered as many questions as he could, and then finally there was yet another long silence, and Peter sensed that Paul-Louis had made his mind up. “It's very subjective, you understand. At this stage, there is not necessarily a clear-cut interpretation. It is a good thing, of course. It is a wonderful product which will change our ability to cope with cancer. But there are additional elements that must be evaluated. It is that evaluation which is so difficult to give you. Nothing is sure in life. Nothing is without risk, or cost. The question is if you are willing to pay it.” He sounded very French in his philosophy, but Peter understood him.

“The question for us is how great the risk is.” “I understand that.” He understood it perfectly. It was what had worried him in June while Peter had been in Paris. “And the new research is good, unquestionably. They're on the right track now …” His voice trailed off as he frowned and lit a cigarette. All the scientists Peter had met in Europe were smokers.

“But are we there yet?” Peter asked hesitantly, almost afraid to hear the answer.

“No …not yet …” Suchard said sadly. “Perhaps soon, if they continue to work in this direction. But you are not there yet. In my opinion Vicotec is still potentially dangerous, particularly in unskilled hands,” which were precisely the hands it was meant for. It was being made for laymen to use, at home if necessary. It meant staying at home for chemotherapy, and not going to hospitals, or even doctors.

“Is it still a killer, Paul-Louis?” That was what he had called it in June. Peter could still hear him.

“I think so.” The voice on the other end sounded apologetic but clear. “You're not there yet, Peter. Give it time. You will be.”

“And the hearings?'

“When are they?”

Peter looked at his watch. It was five o'clock in the morning. “In nine hours. At two o'clock this afternoon. I'm leaving the house in two hours.” He was taking an eight o'clock plane, and planned to appear before Congress at eleven.

“I don't envy you, my friend. There is very little I can say. If you want to be honest, you must tell them that this will be a wonderful drug, but it is not ready yet. You are still in process.”

“You don't go before the FDA to say that. We're asking for permission for early clinical trials, based on our laboratory testing. Frank wants it on the market as soon as we can push it through all the phases of human trials, and get FDA approval.”

Suchard whistled at the other end. “That's frightening. Why is he pushing so hard?”

“He wants to retire in January. And he wants to know it's well on its way before that. This would have been his farewell gift to mankind. And mine. Instead it feels like a time bomb.”

“It is, Peter. You must know that.”

“I do. But no one else wants to hear it. He says he'll pull the product before the end of the year if we're not ready to use it on humans. But he's still insisting we go to Washington. To tell you the truth, it's a long story.” It had to do with the ego of an old man, and calculated risk in a billion-dollar business. But in this case, Frank's calculations were not good ones, and they were based on his ego. It was a dangerous move that could destroy his whole business, but he still refused to see that. And the odd thing was that Peter saw it so clearly. Frank was being stubborn to the point of insanity. Maybe he was getting senile, or just crazed with his own power. It was impossible to know that.

He thanked Paul-Louis for his help, and the Frenchman wished him luck, and when he hung up, Peter went to make a pot of coffee. He still had the option to back out, but he just couldn't see how to do that. He could also go to the hearings, and then resign from Wilson-Donovan, but that wouldn't protect the people he had tried to help and was being forced to put at risk now. The trouble was he didn't trust Frank to cancel its human trials, if their lab reports didn't improve radically in the immediate future. Something told Peter he was too willing to gamble. There was too much money to be made here, no matter what the risk to human life. The temptation was too great now.