F Paul Wilson - Novel 02

by Implant (v2. 1)

  She'd been strangely distant all week.

  "Gerry, I need your help." Not a good start. She sounded frazzled.

  "Sure. What's wrong?"

  "It's about Duncan." Gerry suppressed a groan.

  Not that again. He wished he'd never mentioned that conspiracy theory to her.

  "What about him?"

  "He put a toxic implant in Senator Marsden."

  Gerry didn't reply immediately. Couldn't . . . too shocked to speak.

  "He did, Gerry. I know he did."

  "Gin," he said, finally finding his voice. "We've been through all that. We tested the solution, that secret sauce or whatever you call it, and it turned out to be,''

  "I'm not talking about the secret sauce. This is something else. This is a drug no one's ever heard of."

  "How'd you find out about it?" Now she paused. "I found it in one of his desk drawers."

  "He leaves it where anybody can find it?" Another pause. "No. He keeps it locked up."

  "So then how did you,?" And then it hit him.

  "Oh, no. You didn't."

  "I'm sorry, Gerry, but I had to."

  "Gin, you used the Bureau's pick to break into someone's office?"

  "Gerry, you've got a right to be angry, but please don't be. This is too important. I didn't break into his office, only the lock on his desk drawer."

  "Same thing. You could have been caught, arrested, maybe worse."

  "Look, I knew you'd react like this if I told you. That's why I didn't. But I had to get into that drawer."

  "I don't believe this. You,"

  "Gerry, two people may be dead because of him. Two others are crazy. This drug causes psychotic reactions. You saw the tape of Senator Vincent on the first day of the hearing, didn't you?"

  "Of course. Who didn't?"

  "Was he acting sane just before he convulsed?"

  "No," he admitted grudgingly. "I guess not." He reached for a pencil. "What's the name of this drug?"

  "Triptolinic diethylamide." She spelled it for him. "TPD for short."

  "And it makes you crazy?"

  "According to the FDA it does. Research was discontinued because of psychotic reactions in primates."

  "So if Lathram is dosing people with this stuff, why hasn't some medical examiner picked up on it?"

  "Because nobody's looking for it. Nobody even knows it exists. Gerry, thousands upon thousands of compounds are tested every year. Maybe one out of ten thousand ever reaches the public. It was an investigational drug that was dropped because of side effects. That's it. Goodbye. Sayonara. On to the next compound, and nobody gives the losers another thought."

  "So how'd Lathram get hold of this . . . " He glanced at the sheet. "TPD?"

  "His brother. Oliver used to work for the company that was investigating it."

  Gerry straightened and leaned forward in his chair.

  All the old suspicions he'd been trying to put to rest were dancing through his head again.

  "And you think he dosed Marsden with this stuff?"

  "I know it!"

  "Did you see him do it?"

  "No, but I saw the puncture wound in his thigh." She went on to tell him about seeing the bottle of TPD on Lathram's desk this morning along with an implant and something called a trocar.

  "But couldn't Lathram have simply given him a shot of something?"

  "Not there. And Duncan never gives injections. He has one of the nurses do it. I tell you, Gerry, Senator Marsden is lying down the hall with an implant full of TPD in his right thigh. I've got to get it out!"

  "Okay. Slow down for a second here and let me think." He leaned back again, trying to remain calm, to contain the excitement racing through him. This was heavy. A prominent, well-connected area surgeon and a very visible U. S. senator. Headline-grabbing stuff. It had the makings of a major case. Or a major embarrassment.

  If only Gin had actually seen Duncan insert the implant.

  "Do you think Marsden's in any immediate danger?"

  Gin hesitated, then, "No. Duncan's gone for the day. I think he wants to choose a specific time and place. Remember how both Allard and Vincent had their mishaps while the cameras were rolling. I think that's what Duncan might be waiting for."

  "But why, Gin? We're missing a motive here. Why should he want to do this?"

  "He hates the Guidelines committee and what it's trying to do."

  "So do lots of other doctors. But they're not,"

  "No. Listen. It's personal with Duncan." She went on to tell him about the stories in the Post and the Banner, and told him that Schulz had been on the original Guidelines committee.

  Bingo!

  That was the link he'd been searching for to connect the four legislators. She also told him of her call to the Virginia Board of Medical Examiners.

  By the time she finished he was convinced, but that wasn't enough.

  He'd have to convince Ketter.

  "Okay, look. Since the senator's in no immediate danger, we can take a little time to build a case here."

  "Gerry,"

  "Hear me out. We'll have someone keep an eye on the senator's home, make sure nobody's nosing around it. Meanwhile, don't you do anything to alert Lathram."

  "Don't worry."

  "Don't give him a chance to cover his tracks. I want him to think he's in complete control, that everything's status quo. And you keep your distance. No more Nancy Drew stuff. Leave the rest to me." He wanted Gin out of harm's way. No telling what Lathram would do if he felt cornered.

  "Okay. But are you sure the senator's going to be all right?"

  "Gin, " he said, "right now I'm not sure of anything. But I want to get moving on this and I don't make these decisions. I've got to build a case and bung it to the SSA, and he may have to take it higher. And the sooner I get moving on it, the better."

  She gave him the year and the months when the newspaper articles appeared, then said, "Keep me informed, okay?"

  "Don't worry. But one thing that can't be mentioned, now or ever, is how you got into Lathram's locked drawer. Understand?"

  "I got it. And I'm sorry. Really."

  "Accepted. Talk to you later." He sat for a long while after he hung up, making notes, organizing his facts, consulting his computer for the personal database he'd built on Dr. Lathram.

  Gerry was wired. He knew this could mean big things for him. He wasn't going to let this one get away from him, either. This was his baby. It meant a lot of extra work in the short run, but in the long run . . . breaking a case of this magnitude could make a career.

  And it looked pretty solid. The good doctor had access and opportunity.

  Gerry had to document his motive.

  He put in a call to research for any information anywhere on Duncan Lathram, MD, with special attention to links between Lathram and any of the fallen legislators. Gerry wanted those clippings in hand when he brought the case to Ketter.

  Gerry was surprised when an interoffice envelope from research appeared on his desk less than half an hour later. So soon?

  Quickly he shuffled through the sheets, mostly photocopies of old newspaper articles with Lathram's name highlighted along with those of Lane, Allard, Vincent . . . and Schulz.

  Here they were, villain and victims, all neatly cross-referenced in the pages of the Post. A long way from an open and-shut case, but these plus Gin's statement about the neurotoxin ought to be enough to get things rolling.

  He headed for Marvin Ketter's office.

  Ketter stood at his window, staring down at the rush hour traffic on EYE Street. His brow was furrowed in concentration, drawing his bushy eyebrows into a continuous line. Gerry knew he was trying to make up his mind.

  A cautious man, Ketter. Too cautious. Afraid of making a mistake.

  But no way was Gerry going to let him take a pass on this one.

  "Look," Gerry said, wandering the room, looking for a way to tilt the SSA his way. "Lathram has motive, means, and opportunity. What else do we need?"

/>   "It's all circumstantial."

  "Four members of the old committee are down or out. Dr. Panzella all but saw Lathram stick one of these implants of his into Senator Marsden. How long do we wait?"

  "All but saw isn't quite the same as seeing. You know that, Gerry. And Marsden wasn't a member of the original committee. So there goes your motive."

  "But he's chairing the new committee. Gin's right. I know she is."

  Ketter's eyebrows reached for his hairline. "Gin?"

  "Dr. Panzella. We went to high school together." He didn't want Ketter to know it was more than that. "That's why she came to me. Look, don't tell me you don't know in your gut there's something wrong here." Ketter patted the sprawl of papers Gerry had put before him.

  "Trust me, Gerry. There's nothing I'd like better than to uncover something like this. It would be good for both of us."

  Gerry took his turn at the window, watching the cars.

  Ketter wouldn't get off the damn fence, even though a coup like this would move him up and put Gerry in this very office. Gin would be proud of him, Senator Marsden would be grateful, and he'd have more time to devote to Martha. And to Gin.

  Christ, he wanted this.

  "So what do we do? Wait until Senator Marsden keels over?"

  "If he does, at least we'll know what to look for, and where to look for it."

  Gerry shot him a skeptical look.

  "I know, I know," Ketter said. "That won't do Marsden much good. But I won't go off half-cocked and embarrass the Bureau." All right, Gerry thought. If reason doesn't work, how about a threat?

  "I know one thing, Marvin. Anything happens to Marsden, Dr. Panzella's going to be screaming bloody murder. She's on Marsden's staff. Don't think she won't tell the press and Congress and anyone else who'll listen that she warned the FBI but we ignored her. You're worried about embarrassment, think about that." Ketter's eyebrows met again in the middle as he rubbed his jaw.

  He's almost there, Gerry thought. Just one more nudge . . .

  "Look, " Ketter said. "If there was some way we could confirm the existence of this implant without letting either Marsden or Lathram know what we're doing, I'd go for it. But the damn thing's supposedly in his leg. What do we do? Knock him out and drag him into a hospital and x-ray him?"

  Gerry turned and stared at Ketter. "Yes!"

  Ketter said, "What?"

  "I think I know how we can do it."

  26

  TRICKS

  GERRY RAISED HIS FIELD GLASSES AS A SILVER-GRAY LINcoln Town Car pulled out of the driveway and turned right. Senator Marsden sat behind the wheel. He felt the butterflies begin to flutter against the walls of his stomach. They'd been fluttering all night. A lot hung on this little operation. By Bureau standards it was no big deal in resources, a couple of vehicles, a couple of field agents, a couple of civilians.

  But it was a very big deal for him.

  Butterflies? More like a couple of angry roosters going at each other.

  Not many places to hide in this section of McLean. Mostly open horse country, zoned for high acreage, with big, sprawling homes set far back from the road. But Gerry had managed to find a stand of oaks that allowed him to pull off the road and keep an eye on Senator Marsden's driveway. Gin had called the senator's office and learned that he was expected in sometime between eight and nine.

  Even if Gerry hadn't known his face, the white bandage on the left ear would have confirmed the ID. And he was wearing his seat belt.

  Great.

  A sensible man. He glanced at his watch, 8:05 Prompt too.

  And as usual, he was driving himself. That had been a concern. As minor as the surgery was, there was always the possibility that the senator might order a limo to take him to his office. Fortunately he hadn't. An extra passenger or a different vehicle would complicate things.

  Gerry punched two buttons on his cellular phone and it called a preprogrammed number.

  "Okay. He's on his way. Using the Town Car. I'll keep you posted. " He eased his Bureau Ford into gear and followed Marsden as he wound past horse farms and meadows and turned north onto Dolley Madison Boulevard. They passed the CIA entrance and eventually fed into the traffic on the George Washington Memorial Parkway. He understood why Marsden took this route. It was beautiful. Wooded hills and vales undulated to the right, beginning their shift into fall colors, while the tranquil Potomac flowed far below on the left. Across the river the towers of Georgetown University pierced the morning sky. Gerry's tension mounted as they passed under Key Bridge. Marsden could choose from two bridges into the District from here, the Teddy Roosevelt or the Arlington Memorial. If he'd had more time, Gerry could have learned the senator's usual route, but it had been less than twenty-four hours since the surgery. Gerry had prepared for both routes, but he was hoping for the Memorial.

  He had to hand it to Ketter. Once his SSA got moving, he moved.

  They'd spent a lot of overtime last night getting approvals, securing personnel and equipment, but by seven this morning, everything was in place, waiting.

  When he saw Marsden go past the off-ramp for the Teddy, Gerry relaxed a little. But only a little.

  He called in again.

  "Okay, folks. He's right on course. Hitting the Memorial bridge now. Everybody be ready to roll as soon as he hits Constitution." Gerry didn't hang up this time, but kept the channel open as he passed the Seabees Memorial and cruised between the granite bald eagles that flanked the entry to the bridge. The massive white marble box of the Lincoln Memorial squatted directly ahead on the far side, and the Washington Monument loomed to his right. He followed Marsden around the Lincoln and onto the Henry Bacon diagonal to Constitution.

  As a dark wedge of the Vietnam Wall in its depression slipped past on his right, he said, "Coming to Constitution. Go!" And now those stomach roosters were really kicking up. Timing was crucial here. It had to go down within the next few blocks, but the Bureau's stunt driver had to wait for an opportunity. Not only did he have to make contact, but he had to get away.

  A Nova . . . he'll be driving an old blue Chevy Nova.

  Cruising with the commuters as they paced the Potomac along Constitution Avenue, Gerry's gaze roamed side to side, flicked from mirror to mirror. Then he spotted the car, weaving through the traffic behind him. He pulled over to let it pass. A brief glimpse of the driver showed a knitted cap pulled low over the forehead, an old flannel shirt with the collar up. Gerry couldn't help a nervous smile.

  Trevor Hendricks looked to be anything but a special agent.

  "Don't miss, Hendricks," he whispered. "Please don't . . . miss."

  Gerry chewed his lip as he watched Hendricks edge nearer the senator's car, looking for his chance. He found it at Eighth, across from the Department of the Interior. Marsden was just pulling up to a red light when the Nova lunged ahead and swerved into the senator's Town Car.

  Only a glancing blow but enough to cave in the left front fender. The Lincoln lurched to a halt while the Chevy burned rubber and peeled off down Constitution.

  Gerry pulled to a halt directly in front of the senator and - trotted back to his window.

  "You okay?"

  "Yes," said Marsden, looking a little pale and shaken, but apparently uninjured. "Did you see that crazy son of a bitch?"

  Gerry stared down Constitution and saw the Nova make a right onto 17th.

  Hendricks would dump the car there, mingle with the tourists gathering around the Washington Monument, then walk the few blocks back to the Bureau. The car was a gift from the DEA, the unregistered, confiscated property of a drug mule.

  "Saw the whole thing." He pulled a card from his pocket.

  "If you need a witness, say . . . aren't you Senator Marsden?"

  "Yes. Yes, I am." Gerry thrust his card through the open window.

  "Canney. Special agent FBI. I'll call this in." Without giving Marsden a chance to reply, Gerry whipped out his cellular phone, flipped it open, and turned his back to the senator as he pre
tended to make a call.

  "The police should have someone here in a second," he said, turning back to the car. "You're sure you're all right?"

  "Positive. Look, we're blocking traffic here. Why don't I just pull ahead and see if I can get off the road."

  Gerry looked back and saw that they'd created a minor traffic jam by reducing inbound traffic from three lanes to two. But he didn't want Marsden going anywhere.

  "Don't know if that's such a good idea. Let me take a look at the damage here." He stepped toward the front fender and bent over it.

  Hendricks had done a perfect job, the metal was folded in against the tire.

  "I don't think you're going anywhere, sir." As he straightened he saw Marsden starting to get out. Gerry stepped up and gently eased him back into his seat.

  "Maybe you shouldn't move just yet, Senator."

  "I'm perfectly all right. It was just a fender bender."

  Gerry stood firm, blocking the door with his body. "Still, sir, I think it would be smarter and safer if you moved as little as possible until help arrives."

  "Don't be ridiculous! I'm perfectly fine and fully capable of," A blue and white unit roared up then, sirens wailing, lights flashing, followed closely by an ambulance and a mobile ICU, all with the Bureau.

  The senator was adamant against being taken to the hospital. He protested vigorously, but since his car wasn't going anywhere, and since the cop and the E.M.Ts weren't taking no for an answer, and G.W.U hospital was only six blocks up the street, he finally relented.

  As the ambulance wailed off, Gerry leaned back against the Lincoln's damaged fender and took a deep, relieved breath. The diciest part was over, and Marsden had come through without a scratch.

  Did it!

  Christ, what a feeling. Almost like sex. If he smoked he'd be reaching for a cigarerte.

  But now came the most important part, finding that implant.

  Gerry hoped to God it was findable. Because if they missed it, there was going to be hell to pay.

  Gin huddled in the dictation area of the records room and pressed the receiver against her ear to keep any trace of Gerry's voice from escaping.

  She hadn't wanted to come in today, but Gerry had thought it best not to deviate from her routine.