“You son of a bitch.”
The smile grew broader, happier. Power always had that effect on him. “I wonder what gentle, beautiful Sara would think of her sweet little ol’ daddy after hearing this tape? Or the press?”
“You’d be taking yourself down too.”
“No, I don’t think so, John. You see, this tape is edited. Only your voice is on it.”
“I’d reveal everything.”
“But you’d have no proof, John. And let’s face facts. Your accusations would only strengthen my hand with the religious right. They would see me as a leader who is willing to do more than just talk. You, on the other hand, would be ruined—along with the Cancer Center.”
John opened his mouth but ended up saying nothing.
“Yes, John, the Lord doth move in mysterious ways. Ah, but do not be upset with me. You are doing what is right. You are going to help destroy something that is evil, and in turn, you are going to benefit cancer research. You are truly helping mankind.”
“Get out.”
“I have a plan that I am sure you will find satisfactory—one that will help us all, including your son-in-law. You can find out all about it at our next meeting. Raymond will call you. In the meantime I would advise you to keep all of this to yourself. Loose lips sink ships, you know.”
He winked, flashed one last smile, and then headed for the door. “After all, John, you are one of us.”
After he was gone, Lowell just sat there alone in his study. He stared unseeing at a bookshelf, weighing his options. After five minutes had passed, he stood and went out of the room, closing the door to his study behind him.
After the door closed, the door to a closet swung open. Cassandra pushed away her father’s Burberry coat and stepped out. She was still shuddering.
LIEUTENANT Max Bernstein headed down the Sidney Pavilion’s third-floor hallway. He was about to enter the laboratory when he heard Dr. Eric Blake’s voice coming from just inside the door:
“Maybe what Markey is suggesting isn’t so terrible,” Eric said.
There was a small pause. Then Harvey replied, “Don’t you see what he is trying to do?”
“Of course I do, but maybe we can twist it into our favor.”
“How?”
“If he keeps his word,” Eric continued, “the government will have to finance the clinic for a few more years yet—until Michael’s prognosis is determined anyway—plus we have the new donations coming in on the toll-free line. That may give us the time to perfect SR1—”
“And delay its implementation by two or three years,” Harvey interrupted. “Markey is trying to make us start all over again.”
“Well, it could have been worse. He could have closed us down all together.”
Max waited to hear Harvey’s response, but when none was forthcoming, he stepped into view. “Good morning, Doctors.”
They were both standing over a microscope. Their heads swiveled toward the doorway at the sound of Max’s voice. “Good morning, Lieutenant.”
Max’s eyes moved about the room. “Where’s your lab chief this morning?”
“Winston O’Connor? He’s taken a few days off.”
Max nodded vigorously, his fingers twirling a pencil as though it were a baton. He began to circle the lab, picking up and putting down items at random. “You two look lousy,” he said.
“Been a bad day,” Harvey replied.
“How so?”
“I received a visit from Ray Markey this morning.”
“The guy from Washington?”
“That’s right.”
“What did he have to say?”
Harvey recounted his conversation with Dr. Raymond Markey. Max nodded, continuously moving about the lab, his eyes never swerving in the general direction of the speaker. To those who did not know him, he appeared not to be paying attention.
He did, however, stop and examine Eric Blake as though seeing him for the first time. Nice shoes, expensive suit, monogrammed dress shirt, power tie, matching suspenders. Looked a little stiff. Acted more than a little stiff. Actually, Eric looked more like a Wall Street wheeler-dealer than an altruistic doctor.
When Harvey finished, Max picked up a test tube, examined it, and said, “Interesting.”
Eric snatched the tube from the lieutenant’s hand. “Do you mind?” he asked irritably. “These are important experiments.”
“Sorry.” Max paced off in another direction. Judging by the few sentences Max had overheard in the hallway, Eric Blake did not see Dr. Markey’s visit as reason to panic. In fact, he did not seem concerned at all. Again, interesting.
You’re missing something here, Max. Something big. Think, damn it.
But nothing came to him, just a steady, annoying nudge in his brain.
“So let me get this straight,” he said. “Markey wants to turn Michael into a guinea pig to see if SR1 works?”
“Something like that, yes.”
Once again Max nodded. “Then we can’t hide Michael with the other patients. But then again, there’s no reason to hide him anyway, is there?”
Eric stepped forward. “Hide him? What are you talking about?”
“It’s okay, Eric,” Harvey replied. “The lieutenant and I have talked it over already. We’ve decided to place the cured patients in a police safe house to protect them from this Gay Slasher.”
“Where?”
Max smiled. “It’s a secret—hence the words safe house.”
“From us?”
“Yes.”
“But I don’t see why,” Eric continued. “Can’t we just improve security and leave them in here?”
“We could,” Harvey said, “but we both felt this was the better solution. It would be much too disruptive to have a ton of policemen all over the place and try to operate a first-class medical facility. And another thing. Martino was killed in this very building while I was still here. It would be impossible to guarantee their safety.”
“What about their medical treatment?” Eric asked.
“The lieutenant has assured me that he has a qualified man who will follow our very specific instructions. Right, Lieutenant?”
“Correct. We won’t touch them without your go ahead.”
“And for right now I have informed the lieutenant that the patients are not to be touched or handled in any manner.”
Eric said nothing.
Max cleared his throat. “Now that we have that settled, how many cured patients are still alive?”