Miracle Cure (1991) Page 9

  Sara did. Every year when basketball season ended, she and Michael ha d j oined Reece and his Eurasian wife Kureen for a getaway-from-it-al l v acation. Five years ago, when Michael and Sara were first gettin g s erious, the four decided to charter a small cruise boat out of Florid a a nd explore the Keys and the Bahamas. The past basketball season ha d b een a particularly long one, ending when the Knicks bested the Seattl e s upersonics in a grueling, bruising seven-game showdown. All four o f t hem had been anxious to escape the world, the fans, and the press.

  On the third day of the voyage Michael and Reece had gotten up early , hired a kid with a speed boat, and gone water-skiing.

  The kid had gotten drunk and crashed the boat into a rock formatio n w hile Michael was on the water-skis. He had been rushed to a loca l b ahamian hospital, bleeding heavily, and spent the next three weeks i n b ed.

  "I remember," Sara said softly.

  "But Mikey is as one of the rookies would say a tough old dude. He'll b e o kay."

  Sara tried to take solace in Recce's words, but something kept jabbin g a t the back of her mind, telling her that he was not going to be okay , that nothing was ever going to be okay again.

  "what's going on?" Harvey asked.

  The young resident with the name tag John Richardson looked up and spok e w ith quick precision.

  "We're not sure yet. He's suffering severe abdominal pain. Physica l e xamination is remarkable for the liver being palpable four centimeter s b elow the right costal margin. It's extremely tender."

  "Hurts like hell is more like it," Michael managed from his pron e p osition on the table.

  "Vital signs?"

  "All stable."

  Harvey moved toward the bed.

  "Looking good, champ."

  "Feel like shit, coach."

  "I was only kidding. You look like shit too."

  Michael managed a chuckle.

  "I got the varsity in here now.

  How's it going, Eric?"

  "Fine. Should I page Dr. Sagarel, Harv?"

  Harvey nodded.

  "See you in a bit, Mike," Eric said.

  "I'll wait here for you." Michael turned his attention back to Harvey.

  "Who is Dr. Sagarel?"

  "A gastroenterologist."

  "Of course. I should have known."

  "Jesus, Michael, look at your shorts. They're horrendous even by you r s tandards."

  "I ask for a doctor. I get a fashion critic."

  Harvey probed the liver area.

  "Does that hurt?"

  "Like a son of a bitch."

  Harvey straightened his back and turned toward the resident.

  "Have you done the blood work yet?"

  "Yes."

  "Get him an abdominal flat plate done stat."

  ""I'll also need to get a better history," Richardson said.

  "It could be something he consumed "

  "Can't be. He's had this pain for weeks. And his skin is jaundiced."

  Eric came back into the room.

  "Dr. Sagarel will be here in about a half hour." "Michael," Harve y a sked, "have you noticed anything unusual in your urine lately?"

  "A Datson hatchback came out the other day."

  "Hilarious. Now answer my question."

  Harvey saw the fear gather around Michael's eyes.

  "I don't know. The color's been darker maybe."

  The doctor's exchanged knowing glances.

  "What?" Michael asked.

  "What have I got?"

  "I don't know yet. Eric, make sure they do a Hep screen on the blood.

  Also EBV and CMV titers. Then bring him down for an abdomina l u ltrasound."

  "One step ahead of you."

  "Now in English?" Michael asked.

  "All the signs point to hepatitis," Harvey explained.

  "Eric and Dr. Richardson are going to take you downstairs for x-ray s n ow, I'll see you in a little while."

  Dr. Raymond Markey, Assistant Secretary for Health of the Department o f h ealth and Human Services, stared out the window at the lush gree n c ompound in Bethesda, Maryland. To him, the National Institutes o f h ealth resembled a cross between a European spa and a military base.

  From his corner office the wilderness seemed to stretch for miles. Bu t m arkey knew better.

  He knew, for instance, that his big boss, the President of the Unite d s tates, was about ten miles away, beginning his weekly brunch meetin g w ith the Vice President. The two men met most Mondays for a light brunc h a nd a heavy discussion. Raymond had attended a few of those brunches. He d id not particularly care for the conversation or the food.

  He sighed deeply, took off his glasses, and rubbed his eyes.

  He was excruciatingly nearsighted. When he viewed the sprawlin g l andscape without his glasses, the world turned into a large abstrac t p ainting. The bright colors bled into one another and seemed to move i n a kaleidoscope pattern.

  He put his glasses back on, turned away from the calming view, an d g lanced at the two reports on his desk. The first was marked "Confidential!" and there were numerous seal protectors on the envelop e s o that Markey could be sure that no one had opened it before him. Th e e nvelope was also specially treated so that its contents could not b e r ead by holding it up to a light.

  Any tampering left permanent scars. It was a lot of security, but '

  sometimes every bit of it was needed. n The second envelope read "Sidne y p avilion, Columbia !

  Presbyterian Medical Center, New York." The security surrounding thi s f ile, while significant, was somewhat more limited.

  Assistant Secretary for Health of the Department of Health and Huma n s ervices a long and rather unimpressive title, Raymond Markey thought.

  But he knew better. His office was in charge of the U. S. Public Healt h s ervice, controlling such agencies as the Food and Drug Administration , the Centers for Disease Control, and the National Institutes of Healt h h ardly an unimportant or ceremonial post.

  Markey reached for his letter opener and slit the confidential envelope.

  He then laid the reports side by side. The regular report had bee n f illed out by Dr. Harvey Riker and for the first time Dr. Brace Grey's s ignature had been omitted. Too bad. As for the confidential report..

  well, safer not to think about the source.

  Repeating the name of the author out loud could prove hazardous to one's h ealth. Even fatal.

  Markey skimmed the files for obvious discrepancies. One jumped out a t h im immediately.

  The number of patients.

  According to Hiker's report, they had been treating forty-one patients , two of whom had been murdered in recent weeks.

  Riker's write-up was factual, not drawing any conclusions, but he di d m ention the strange coincidence that two patients had died of multipl e s tab wounds within a couple of weeks of one another. Markey also notice d t hat Riker never referred to Grey's death as a suicide but as a "shock"

  and "death that made no sense."

  Curious description, Markey mused.

  He examined the reports again. The report stamped "Confidential"

  stated unequivocally that there had originally been forty-two patients , not forty-one. Why the discrepancy? Markey wondered. Raymond doubte d v ery much it was a mistake. No one made mistakes in these situations.

  There was a reason for the discrepancy. All he had to do was figure ou t w hat.

  Markey thumbed back to the beginning of the confidential report. He wa s s ure that Harvey Riker was behind the discrepancy. He knew Riker wel l a nd did not trust him. Many years earlier, when Raymond Markey had bee n c hief of staff at St. Barnabas Hospital in New Jersey, he had firs t e ncountered a brash, young intern named Harvey Riker. Even back the n r iker hated rules and regulations. And now that those rules an d r egulations came from the government, Markey knew Riker was even mor e a pt to bend them. The man had tremendous talent but very littl e d iscipline. He needed to be watched. Closely.

>   Ah, here it was. On page two.

  Page two of the confidential report listed all the staff members an d p atients at the Sidney Pavilion. Markey shifted through Rikef's repor t u ntil he found the patient list. He counted them.

  Yes, forty-two in the confidential report. Forty-one in the doctor's r eport. Which name was missing from Dr. Riker's file?

  It did not take long to find. The name might as well have bee n u nderlined.

  His hand shaking, Raymond picked up the phone behind his desk. Th e o ffice phone was probably bugged, but he carefully screened his privat e l ine on a daily basis. Can't be too careful.

  He dialed. The receiver on the other end was picked up after thre e r ings.

  "Yes?"

  "I have the confidential report. It arrived this morning."

  "And?"

  Markey swallowed.

  "I haven't had a chance to go through it completely yet, but I think w e b etter move fast. They're getting close."

  "Then we might have to send someone to Bangkok. When can I get a copy?"

  ""I'll mail it out today."

  "Good."

  "There's something else."

  "Yes."

  "Dr. Riker is secretly working on an important patient," Markey said.

  "He left the name out of his report."

  "Who is it?"

  "Bradley Jenkins. The senator's "

  "I know who he is." There was a brief silence.

  "That explains a lot of things, Raymond." "I know," Markey said.

  "Get me that report right away."

  "I'll send it out immediately. It'll be on your desk tomorrow morning."

  "Thank you, Raymond. Good-bye."

  "Good-bye, Reverend Sanders."

  Still leaning heavily on her cane, Sara hobbled toward Michael's room.

  So much was going on, so much happening at one time. Michael's illness , the possibility of being pregnant, and this weird mystery surroundin g h arvey's clinic. Two patients murdered. Coincidence?

  Maybe, but Sara did not think so. She made a mental note to call Ma x b ernstein when the opportunity arose. He might know something.

  She turned the corner and pushed open the door to Michael's room. He r f oot felt stiff today, more like an attached club than flesh and bones.

  Michael looked up from the bed. His face brightened when he saw her.

  She moved over to the bed and kissed him lightly.

  "Feeling better?" she asked.

  "Much," he replied.

  "You scared me half to death, you know. I called my father.

  He should be here soon." "Sara," he said, "what were you doing at th e h ospital today?"

  She hesitated.

  "I didn't want to say anything to you until I was sure."

  Michael sat up, his voice unsettled.

  "Sure about what? Are you okay?"

  She nodded. His concerned, tender gaze plucked at her heart.

  "You know about my time of the month?"

  "I guess so," he replied.

  "It was pretty well covered in seventh grade health class."

  She chuckled but the anxiety still would not leave Michael's face.

  "Well, mine is six weeks late."

  His eyes widened.

  "You're pregnant?"

  "I don't know yet. The test results should be back in a few hours."

  "Jesus, Sara, why didn't you tell me?"

  She sat next to him on the bed and took his hand in hers.

  "I didn't want to get either of our hopes up if it was just anothe r f alse alarm. I hate to see the disappointment in your face ..."

  She turned away, but Michael gently tilted her face back toward him.

  "Sara, I love you. Not being able to have kids is not going to chang e t hat."

  She nestled her face into his chest.

  "Mean it?"

  He chuckled.

  "Yeah, mean it."

  "You got a lemon when you married me."

  "Yeah, but a pretty foxy lemon. Great in the sack too."

  "Fresh. You're supposed to be sick."

  "I can still have a lewd thought now and again. Doctor said it's goo d f or me."

  "Tunny, I didn't hear him say that."

  "What did you hear him say?"

  "Something about the fact that your skin was jaundiced and you may hav e h epatitis."

  "Well, is it true? Does my skin look jaundiced?"

  She examined him.

  "You look like a Ticonderoga pencil."

  "Thanks."

  "But a cute pencil."

  There was a sharp knock on the door and then Sara's father peeked hi s h ead through the opening.

  "Am I interrupting something?"

  "Come in," Michael called out.

  "I could use all the doctors I can get a hold of."

  John Lowell entered the room. He was of average height an d e xtraordinarily good looking. His neatly parted, full head of gray hai r w as the very definition of distinguished. His face boasted cheeks tha t d impled when he smiled and a cleft chin, but one's gaze was immediatel y d rawn to his eyes eyes as bright green I as Sara's. He crossed the room , kissed Sara, and shook Michael's hand.

  "I think I'm a little out of my field of expertise here. Who I examine d y ou?"

  "Harvey and Eric you remember my friend Eric Blake?"

  "Of course. I hear he is working with Dr. Riker at.. at the | clinic."

  John Lowell's face shadowed at the mention of the clinic. Sara an d m ichael both noticed it. Michael decided to let it slide; Sara did not.

  "Yes, he is," Sara said.

  "The clinic is making marvelous progress." "Good," her father said, hi s t one clearly ending any discussion of the clinic.

  "Now then, Michael, what seems to be the problem with you?"

  "They're running some test, but they think it's hepatitis."

  "What specialist is Harvey recommending?"

  "Doctor Sagarel."

  John nodded his approval.

  "Good man. Listen to what Sagarel says, Michael, not those tw o e pidemiologist friends of yours." Sara said, "You know Harvey Riker i s a n exceptional physician, one of the top men in his field."

  "I'm sure that is so "

  "And the clinic is on the threshold of a major breakthrough in the wa r a gainst AIDS."

  "I'm happy to hear that," John replied without enthusiasm.

  "The sooner, the better. We need those funds elsewhere."

  "How can you say that?"

  "Let's not start this again, okay?" he said.

  "It is a simple question of economics."

  "Economics?" Sara repeated.

  "Economics is more important than saving lives?"

  "Please do not use that preachy, simplistic argument on me," her fathe r r eplied evenly.

  "I've used it too often myself in front of Senate subcommittees to fal l f or it now. The truth of the matter is that only X amount of dollar s g oes into health care and medical research. X amount. Period. Some goe s t o the Heart Association, some to my own Cancer Center, and then ther e i s muscular dystrophy, rheumatism arthritis, senior citizens, whatever.

  We all compete for funds. Now AIDS comes along and gets an astronomica l n ot to mention disproportional slice of that pie."

  "You make it sound like some sort of contest," Sara said.

  "Doesn't compassion "

  "This is the real world," her father interrupted.

  "In the real world you have to deal with economic realities. Fact is , every dollar spent on AIDS is taken away from those othe r o rganizations."

  "Wrong," a voice pronounced. John Lowell turned. Harvey Riker stood i n t he doorway.

  "Donations toward AIDS research are often raised separately," Harve y c ontinued.

  "Some perhaps," Lowell replied, "but Liz Taylor and her friends can jus t a s easily hold garage sales for the Heart Association or the Cance r c enter. And let me ask you, Dr. Riker, who is the major contributo r t oward your clin
ic here at the hospital?" Harvey paused.

  "The federal government and the hospital board."

  "And where would that money go if not to your clinic? Toward the cure o f c ancer or arthritis or heart disease, that's where. Many people will di e o f AIDS this year, but how many thousands more will die from eithe r c ancer or heart disease? Innocent victims who do not indulge i n s elf-destructive and immoral activities "

  "Listen to yourself," Harvey interrupted.

  "You sound like Reverend Sanders."

  Lowell stepped toward Harvey, his eyes blazing. '1 don't know Sander s p ersonally, but don't you ever compare me to that money hungry pig, d o y ou understand? And stop playing the naive academic. You know that ther e h ave to be priorities in medical research to deny that is to den y r eality. Some illnesses have to take precedence over others."

  "And you don't think AIDS should be a priority case?"

  "The disease is almost one hundred percent preventable, Dr. Riker. Ca n y ou say the same about cancer? About heart disease?

  About arthritis? That's why I voted against funding your clinic at th e b oard meeting. Innocent people, people who weren't screwing strange me n b ehind sleazy bars or jamming needles filled with poison into thei r v eins are killed in horrifying ways.

  People who weren't engaging in sexual acts that boggle the mind you'r e n ot stupid, Dr. Riker. You know that the gay community ignored all th e w arning signs. Epstein-Barr ran rampant through them, but they ignore d i t. Cytomegalovirus and a host of other viruses infected a frighteningl y h igh percentage of the gay community, but they chose to maintain thei r w anton lifestyles."

  "So promiscuity should be punished with death?" Harvey shot back.

  "Is that what you're saying? Then a lot of heterosexuals better bewar e t oo."

  "I'm saying simply this: they were warned. Anyone who spoke out agains t t heir wild sexual behavior anyone who tried to tell them to slow dow n w as labeled a bigot and homophobic.

  With viral infections plaguing the entire gay community for years, wha t d id they expect to happen?"

  "That's ridiculous."

  "Is it? Weren't these men responsible for their narcissistic an d d angerous activities? Weren't they in some way asking for this?"

  "Dad!"

  Harvey's voice was cool.

  "They never asked to die, Dr. Lowell.

  Try as you might, you cannot get rid of this disease by denying it s e xistence. We're not talking about something that affects animals o r s trange creatures or some sort of subhumans.