Miracle Cure (1991) Page 6

  Lord knows she should be used to Cassandra by now.

  Sara cleared her throat and began to step toward them when somebod y b locked her path.

  "Good evening, Miss. Lowell."

  Sara looked up, surprised.

  "Good evening, Reverend Sanders." "Please," the minister said, hi s f amous smile spread across his face, "a moment of your time."

  He escorted her toward the empty corridor and out of view.

  "I didn't expect to see you here," Sara began.

  And what the hell are you doing here anyway?

  "The Holy Crusade is a large contributor to your father's organization,"

  he explained.

  "Your father had no choice but to invite a representative from ou r o rganization. Since I've always wanted to meet the prestigious Dr.

  Lowell, I decided to be that representative."

  "I see," Sara replied.

  "Yes, Miss. Lowell, despite your biased hatchet job on the Holy Crusad e a nd what we believe as God-fearing "

  "I did not mention beliefs in my report," Sara interrupted.

  "I discussed finances and taxes." Sanders smiled.

  "You think you are so clever, don't you, Miss. Lowell? Do you reall y t hink that your petty report can hurt my ministry? You are a stupi d w oman. In trying to destroy me, you have done the very opposite."

  Sara leaned against her cane.

  "I don't know what you're talking about, but if you'll excuse me ..."

  She began to hobble back toward the party, but Sanders reached out an d g ripped her elbow firmly.

  "The money has been pouring in since we went off the air, Miss. Lowell.

  My 800 number is ringing like crazy. The free publicity from the show "

  "Let go of me or start singing soprano."

  His grip tightened.

  "Your attacks on me have mobilized my supporters. The righteous see a t hreat, and they are rising to help-"

  "Is there a problem here?"

  Sanders released Sara's arm and spun quickly toward the voice. His smil e w as back in place.

  "Why, you're Michael Silverman! The basketball star! I'm a big fan o f y ours. Pleasure to meet you, sir."

  Sara watched as Sanders stuck out his hand. Michael's eyes were burning , his temper just barely reined in. Sara moved toward Michael and caresse d h is shoulder. Michael's muscles were taut and knotted. He continued t o i gnore the reverend's outstretched hand. A few seconds later Sander s w ithdrew it, his smile faltering just slightly.

  "Yes, well, it was nice chatting with you all," Sanders rambled, "but I r eally must be going back to the party now."

  "Oh must you?" Michael countered.

  Sanders was sweating profusely now.

  "I look forward to seeing you both at the party," he said.

  "Good-bye, Miss. Lowell."

  "Good-bye, Reverend."

  Sanders turned toward Michael.

  "Oh, by the way, Mr. Silverman, the Holy Crusade is a big supporter o f i srael. I thought you should know."

  Michael watched Sanders disappear down the corridor.

  "Permission to beat his head in."

  "Permission denied.. for now."

  "You never let me have fun anymore," Michael said, beginning to relax a l ittle.

  "I'm sorry."

  "And he's a big supporter of Israel. Isn't that nice, honi bet some o f h is best friends are Jewish."

  Sara nodded.

  "He probably wants to convert."

  "I'll perform the briss."

  Michael hugged Sara tightly.

  "You all right?" he asked.

  "Tine," Sara replied. She took off her glasses and wiped them wit h m ichael's handkerchief.

  "So what have you been up to tonight, my valiant hero?"

  Michael shrugged.

  "The usual saving small children from fires, fighting crime in th e s treets, getting pawed by your sister."

  Sara laughed.

  "Cassandra can be a tad aggressive."

  "Just a tad like Napoleon. You weren't upset, were you?" "Me?" Sar a a sked.

  "Never. I did, however, feel this strong desire to bash her head in wit h m y cane."

  "That's my girl."

  "You fought her off bravely, I suppose."

  He put his fist to his chest.

  "My chastity remains intact."

  "Good."

  "By the way, you were great tonight."

  She arched her eyebrows.

  "I meant on the show, silly girl. No wonder Sanders was pissed off.

  You tore his ass to pieces."

  "But he's probably right, Michael. All the expose will do is galvaniz e h is supporters and gain him a few new ones."

  "In the short run maybe. But even imbeciles learn eventually."

  "They're not imbeciles. A little gullible perhaps ..."

  "Whatever," he replied, taking her hand.

  "Ready to face your adoring public?"

  "Not really."

  "Good. Then follow me, my little kitten."

  "Where?"

  "You mentioned something earlier in the evening about my having my wa y w ith you."

  "Did I? I don't remember."

  "It was right after you referred to me as the Stud Machine."

  "Oh," she said, moving toward the stairwell.

  "Now I remember."

  "Senator Jenkins!"

  Stephen Jenkins turned toward the voice. His painted, vote gettin g s mile, already applied to his jowly face, was holding up quite nicely.

  "Hello, Reverend. How wonderful to see you!"

  Senator Jenkins and Reverend Sanders exchanged firm handshakes.

  Sanders, the senator knew, was one of the most influential men in th e s outh. Over the course of the past decade, the religious right had bee n c rucial in Senator Jenkins' reelection campaigns, and no one delivere d t heir votes like the Reverend Ernest Sanders. If Sanders was on you r s ide, he praised you as a descendant of the Prophets. If he was agains t y ou, well, Satan received kinder treatment in his sermons.

  Luckily for Jenkins, the reverend had backed him. Without his grassroot s s upport, the senator might have lost on the last go-around to tha t u pstart liberal the Democrats had pitted against him.

  "Thank you, Stephen. Quite a party, isn't it?"

  "Oh, yes," Jenkins replied.

  Without so much as a head nod or knowing glance, the two men steppe d d own the long corridor, out of earshot and sight.

  Their smiles quickly dissolved away. Ernest Sanders leaned towar d j enkins' ear, his face tight and set.

  "I'm not very happy about the guest list for this party," he said.

  "What do you mean?"

  "What the hell is Dr. Harvey Riker doing here?"

  "He's very close to John's daughter," Jenkins explained.

  "This is not good, Stephen. His being here.. it helps give him a certai n l egitimacy, don't you think?"

  The senator nodded, though he really did not agree. He also knew his ol d f riend John Lowell was a hell of a lot more upset at Sanders being her e t han Riker. John had made it very clear he did not want anyone to kno w o f his association with the televangelist.

  "A lot has been happening lately," Sanders continued.

  "We'd best prepare ourselves. I think we should all meet next week."

  "Where?"

  "At Bethesda."

  The senator nodded again.

  "Are you in town for long, Reverend?"

  "No," Sanders replied.

  "I'm leaving tomorrow afternoon. I only came up for the interview and..

  how should I put it?" He paused, thinking.

  "To keep the holy coalition together."

  Jenkins felt something cold skitter down his back.

  "I don't understand."

  Sanders looked straight at Stephen Jenkins.

  "Nothing to worry about, Stephen," he said. ""I'll take care o f e verything."

  Several hours later Harvey Riker spotted Sar
a standing by herself nea r t he bar. Finally, he thought, as something akin to relief drifte d t hrough him, a chance to speak with her alone. For the past fiftee n m inutes Harvey had watched Sara and Bradley Jenkins engage in wha t a ppeared to be a serious conversation.

  They were interrupted by Bradley's father, who moved between them an d p ulled Bradley away. No surprise there. Harvey knew that Bradle y c onfided in Sara. Senator Jenkins probably did too.

  Sara was leaning against her cane, sipping lightly at her drink.

  Harvey approached her.

  "There you are," he began. " I've been looking for you all night.

  Congratulations on the show."

  She kissed his cheek.

  "Thank you, Harvey. How are you doing?"

  "Fine."

  "And the clinic?"

  Harvey shrugged.

  "Okay."

  "Did Michael speak with you yet?"

  "About what?"

  "About his stomach."

  "No," he replied.

  "What about it?"

  Sara frowned.

  "I'm going to kill him."

  "What's wrong with his stomach?"

  "He's been having terrible stomach pain for over a week now."

  Harvey nodded, finally understanding.

  "That explains his grimacing all night." "I can't believe him," Sar a c ontinued.

  "He1 promised me he would speak to you."

  "Don't blame him, Sara. I haven't been the most approachable compan y t his evening. He probably thought it was a bad time."

  "So what's wrong?"

  "I need to talk to you about something important." Despite Harvey's e arlier vow, he had gone well beyond that fourth martini.

  He took yet another swish, enjoying the feel of the cool liquid circlin g i n his mouth before he swallowed. He might have been a little tips y e arlier, but his mind became sober and alert now.

  "It involves the clinic," he began slowly, weighing each word in hi s h ead before it passed his lips, "and I think it involves Bruce's death."

  He stopped.

  He motioned with his hand.

  "Let's take a walk." They moved through the French doors and out ont o t he broad expanse of landscaped grounds. Many guests were outside now , the party spilling from the crowded ballroom onto the lawn and forma l g ardens beyond. The two strolled in silence past the pool, the cabana , the tennis courts. Sara led Harvey down toward the barn where her fathe r k ept the horses. She opened the barn door, releasing the smell of ha y a nd animals. They entered. A horse neighed.

  "This is a beautiful estate," Harvey said.

  "Yes, it is."

  He stroked the broad forehead of a large grey horse.

  "Do you do much riding?" he asked.

  Sara shook her head.

  "Cassandra's the rider in the family.

  The doctors did not like the idea of me on a horse as a child so I neve r g ot into it."

  "Oh."

  "So why don't you tell me what's up?"

  "You're going to think I'm crazy."

  "Nothing new there."

  Harvey chuckled and then scanned the area to make sure that no one wa s a round.

  "All right," he said slowly, "here goes. As you know, Bruce and I hav e b een running the clinic for almost three years now, trying our best t o k eep all results secret and avoiding the press at all costs."

  "I know," Sara replied," but I never understood why. Clinics and doctor s u sually crave media attention."

  "Usually, yes. And I, for one, am never against seeing my smiling fac e o n TV. But this is something different, Sara, something big. First, ou r t reatment is experimental. In such cases even a rumor of success bring s o n expectations which probably cannot be met. Second, we are workin g w ith only forty patients, many of whom do not want their cases mad e p ublic for obvious reasons. AIDS is still the evil plague in ou r s ociety, one that inspires prejudice and discrimination of the highes t o rder."

  "I see."

  "But a few new factors have entered the game."

  "Such as?"

  "Money," he stated flatly.

  "We're running out of it and we need more badly. Without some publi c p ressure on the federal government to extend our grant and without som e o utside donations, the clinic won't survive much longer, and ..." He s topped.

  "And there's something else," he said.

  "Something you have to swear to keep to yourself."

  "Go ahead."

  "Swear."

  She looked at him, puzzled.

  "I swear." He sighed deeply.

  "You've probably heard some of the rumors, Sara. No matter how hard w e t ried to keep things quiet, the word began to leak out. It started wit h t he success of the drug on the isolated virus in the lab. Then w e i njected it in mice. Over time, the HIV was destroyed in virtually ever y i nstance. The same thing happened when we moved up to monkeys."

  Sara swallowed.

  "What are you trying to say?"

  "You can't keep something like this a secret for very long," h e c ontinued, "and frankly speaking, we felt it was time to let the fact s b e known a little bit at a time, of course."

  Her mouth dropped open. She had heard a vague rumor or two and dismisse d t hem as wishful thinking.

  "Do you mean ...?"

  He nodded.

  "We have found a cure, or at the very least a strong treatment, for th e a IDS virus."

  "My God."

  "It doesn't work all the time yet," he continued quickly, "and it is no t a wonder cure in the classic sense. It is a long, often painful regimen , but in a number of cases we have had great success."

  "But why would you want to keep that secret?"

  He removed a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed the sweat from hi s f ace. Sara had never seen Harvey look so tense and strained.

  "A good question," he replied.

  "HIV, the so-called Human Immunodeficiency Virus, is a very tricky bug.

  It was hard to know for sure if we were truly blocking its effect or i f t he virus was just taking it easy on us for a little while. HIV i s c onstantly changing, mutating, even hiding inside human cells. We didn't k now about the true, long-term effects of what we were doing.

  Imagine, Sara, if we came out claiming to have a cure for AIDS only t o f ind out we were wrong."

  "It would be catastrophic," she agreed.

  "To put it mildly. Plus we have the HHS to contend with."

  "The Department of Health and Human Services? What do they have to d o w ith this?"

  "Everything. They're a giant bureaucracy and bureaucrats have a way o f s lowing things down to a crawl. The Public Health Service hell, the Foo d a nd Drug Administration, the Centers for Disease Control, the Nationa l i nstitutes of Health all that is under the goddamn control of th e d epartment of HHS."

  "Bureaucrats on top of bureaucrats."

  "Exactly. That's one of the reasons we kept our safehouse out of th e c ountry, where no one from Health and Human Services could interfer e w henever they got bored or somebody's ego was bent out of shape."

  "I'm not following you."

  "You know that I served as a medic in Vietnam, right?"

  She nodded.

  "Well, I spent a lot of time in Southeast Asia. It's a quiet society.

  Mysterious. No one interferes with your business. Bruce and I decided t o k eep all our lab tests tissue specimens, blood samples, that kind o f t hing in Bangkok, where they would be not very accessible."

  "To avoid some of the bureaucracy?"

  He nodded.

  "While their function is certainly justifiable, the PDA, for example , has a habit of testing drugs for years to make sure they're safe.

  You've probably read about all the experimental drugs the PDA won't a llow AIDS patients to take."

  She nodded.

  "Never made much sense to me."

  "It's a complex debate, but I agree with you. If AIDS is a termina l i llness, what harm can
it cause a poor bastard who's already on deat h r ow to experiment? What we at the clinic hope to do was to provide th e p DA with so much evidence that any unnecessary delay would be prevented.

  At the same time we could test our compound without the panic and medi a a ttention that our results would cause." Sara thought for a moment.

  "But couldn't you just show the government your results in secret?

  They'd be sure to allocate more funds once they saw some positiv e r esults." He smiled.

  "You forgot that the people who decide these matters are politicians.

  Can you picture a politician being closemouthed about something thi s b ig? No way, Sara. They would try to milk this for all the votes i t c ould get them."

  "Good point."

  "And one other thing. Not all the bigwigs are in favor of our program.

  Your father, for one."

  "My father's objections to your clinic are different," she snappe d d efensively.

  "If he knew that a cure was being found "

  "Perhaps I spoke too hastily," he interrupted.

  "Your father is a dedicated healer and I would never question hi s c ommitment to stop human suffering. I don't agree with his stand o n a IDS, but I understand that it is a difference of opinion, not ideology.

  But there are others, Sara men like that bastard Sanders and hi s l obotomized followers who would do anything to stop our research."

  "But I don't see what all this has to do with Bruce's death.

  If you were so close to reaching your goal, why did he kill himself?"

  Harvey lowered his head. His bloodshot and tired eyes stared down at hi s s hoes.

  "That's just the point."

  "What is?"

  He fiddled with the mixing straw in his glass.

  "Let's say I wanted to prove to you that we really have found a cure fo r a IDS.

  What could I show you to prove our claim beyond a shadow of a doubt?"

  "Case studies."

  He nodded.

  "In other words, patients who have been cured, right?"

  "Right."

  "Bruce, Eric and I saw it the same way. The major part of our researc h i s our patients, Sara. Obviously, if we can present to the worl d p atients who are fully cured patients who are no longer HIV positiv e t hen we have the evidence needed to support our claim."

  "Understood."

  "The problem is that two of our best case studies Bill Whitherson an d s cott Trian are now dead." "AIDS-related?" she asked.

  He shook his head.

  "Murdered."