BOX SET of THREE TOP 10 MEDICAL THRILLERS

by Ian C. P. Irvine

  "I think you know that you have many, if not all of the symptoms that I have talked about. Over the past few months we have been trying to support your remaining kidney by treating it and your body in a number of different ways. For example, we've been trying to help stimulate the production of your red blood cell count, we've been giving you blood pressure medications and vitamins, and trying to help your body keep the balance of your electrolytes."

  "We've had some success, but at the same time your body has been fighting infections caught during your car accident, and your system has been under an enormous amount of physical stress resulting from the trauma it has been through."

  "Recently things have got worse. And that is why you were put on dialysis... How is it going?" the consultant asked, pausing for a breath, but also seemingly genuinely interested in the response.

  "Good," replied Peter. "At least, as good as can be expected. I feel better now than I did this time last week, if that means anything?"

  "It does. Great. A positive mental attitude really helps here..."

  The consultant paused.

  "There is another thing I wanted to discuss with you...Peter..., if I may?"

  Peter glanced quickly at his mother, then back to the consultant.

  "Certainly. Please go ahead..."

  "Great, you see, the thing is that, well, the last set of blood tests that we did gave me a little more insight into how your body is copying with everything...They told me a few more things that I didn't really know before and..."

  "Doctor, please,...it's just like you said earlier ...I'm finding this all really tiring. I really can't concentrate for too long anymore...I'm just too tired to think properly...Can you just tell me straight, whatever it is you want to say?"

  "Sorry, okay, I will. You see the thing is Peter, dialysis is helping, but I don't think that your body will be able to cope for too much longer. The bottom line is that you need a set of kidneys of your own. So, my recommendation is that we immediately try to find you a kidney donor. The sooner the better."

  "Or what?" Peter asked, anxiously, forcing himself to sit up in his chair, and tightening the grip on his mother's hand.

  "Or there is a risk that perhaps you could die. We need to find new kidneys for you Peter. And soon..."

  Chapter Thirteen

  .

  .

  Maciek's Story

  England

  Present Day

  September 6th

  .

  .

  For the hundredth time that night, Maciek congratulated himself on the choice he made when he had moved to this house. He had chosen it because of its location: effectively 'nowhere', and because of its proximity so close to the forest. Coupled with the fact that all paperwork linking him to the house was under a false identity,- one he had purchased from contacts in the black market that was so easily accessible to the economic sub-class of migrant worker that had now flooded England,- unless he was caught red-handed, Maciek knew there was probably no way of linking him to the body that now awaited disposal in his guest bedroom.

  He pushed hard on his spade and dug deeper.

  Maciek also patted himself on his back for his immaculate, although admittedly coincidental timing: tonight was a full moon. Bright natural light flooded the woods around him, and he was able to see easily without a torchlight.

  To prevent the moonlight helping others see him, he was clad from head-to-toe in thin black clothes, and he had darkened his face.

  He dug deeper.

  Maciek was a tall, powerful, young man. Far too good looking for his own good, -brown hair and eyebrows, mesmerizing blue eyes, and a slightly dark complexion-, combined with a lean, muscular frame with wide shoulders and visibly strong arms and legs. Although he had originally set out to be a doctor, he would have made a good male model. Still could. Perhaps. Although that would require too much commitment and give him too much visibility. For now, anonymity suited him fine. He was sweating hard now, but he resisted the temptation to remove his top, just in case the moonlight flashed on to the lighter skin of his muscular torso.

  The chance of being observed so far into the forest and away from the house was practically zero. It was three o'clock in the morning. No one, absolutely no one would be walking in the woods at this time, even if anyone lived anywhere near here who may want to do such a weird thing. And no one did.

  Apart from himself.

  He dug deeper.

  Adrenaline still coursed through his veins, even though it was now over five hours since he had killed his guest. As he dug, Maciek thought long and hard about the experience, recreating it over and over again in his mind's eye.

  Enjoying it again.

  And again.

  Every single second of it.

  .

  In truth, he had loved it.

  It was a strange thing to describe or explain, but killing a man,...this man...it was so very different from killing the women he had loved.

  Thankfully, although he had worried about being aroused during the act, when it eventually happened, it was not sexual in any way, unlike the act of killing his ex-girlfriends.

  Killing a man had been more primordial, more basic. It had made him feel more like a man. A warrior. The adrenaline rush had been greater.

  But the depth of the crash on the other side had been unexpected. The intensity of the tears and the sadness that had overwhelmed him, post deed, had been surprising.

  Afterwards, the high he normally rode for several weeks had immediately evaporated. Looking back now, he suddenly remembered the sound of the fox barking, and he realised that perhaps it was that which had connected him so quickly back to that other bedroom in Kraków, when a dog had started barking immediately after his mother had left him.

  Could animals really sense or see the departing or transition of a soul?

  .

  Or was the sadness due to something else?

  Previously, the women he had killed, had all meant something to him. There had been a serious, deep, and important connection with each and every one of them.

  He had loved them.

  But after the deed had been done tonight, the body on the floor had been just that. A massive hunk of flesh which had no, or little, emotional connection to Maciek.

  .

  Maciek dug deeper.

  .

  The truth was, Maciek didn't know. It was a mystery to him. But that mystery was all part of the experience. Not all experiences can be perfect.

  In reflection, it had been worth it. He had wanted to recreate the scene from Private Ryan, to recapture that moment just as it had been done so magically in the film, and he had succeeded.

  However, it was unlikely, Maciek decided, that he would ever kill a man again.

  Once was enough.

  Best stick to women.

  Maciek dug deeper.

  .

  --------------------

  .

  An hour later, the hole was deep enough.

  Maciek was an expert in digging holes and disposing of the bodies of his victims.

  The problem with dead people, Maciek knew, was that they often didn't stay put. Bodies had a tendency of moving. Either because the earth or the ground moved, or because the rotting flesh produced gases which helped bodies 'resurface' at the most inconvenient of times.

  A big mistake others made when disposing of bodies was simply not to bury them deep enough. Another mistake was not to weigh them down or cover them with heavy stones. A smaller mistake was to make it obvious that a hole had been dug, so that anyone passing a few days after the burial may be intrigued as to what had gone on there. Another was to bury them somewhere there was a likelihood of them being found. And a final mistake was not to take bearings of where the bodies had been buried: just in case you may have to relocate them and move them again at some time in the future...

  Five mistakes that Maciek never made. Particularly with respect to the last one. Maciek always made sure
that each chosen location was somewhere he could easily find again, either through triangulating several reference points, or by choosing somewhere which was defined easily by some natural phenomena or landmark that would not be likely to go anywhere fast...such as a point near a cliff edge, or a river, or a thousand year old oak tree.

  As in everything else that he did, Maciek took pride in the disposing of his victims. It wasn't because he believed that everyone deserved a decent last resting place.

  He just wanted to do it right.

  And he didn't want to get caught.

  Before digging the hole, Maciek had collected the pine needles and surface debris and put them into a bag. He had cut squares out of the first ten centimetres of the surface and tried to lay them side by side with a big spade on top of a large green tarpaulin. At the side of the hole he had assembled five large slabs of concrete paving that he had removed from the pathway in the garden at the back of his house. He had carried these into the forest one at a time over the past few nights, and hidden them under some leaves and pine needles until now.

  Then he had dug the hole.

  Deep.

  Almost a metre deep, and wider than the body.

  As he dug, he tossed the earth onto another green tarpaulin that he had rolled out across the edge of the grave that was on his left as he dug.

  Now it was done, the only missing ingredient to the perfect recipe was the body of his guest.

  Maciek wiped his forehead and looked at his watch. 3.30 a.m.

  .

  It took Maciek five minutes to jog back to the house. The body was already wrapped and assembled in the rubber matting upstairs. He had removed anything that could identify the body, smashed in the face with a spade and removed the upper and lower jaw...messy work but necessary: Maciek knew the power of teeth and their fillings in helping victims to speak again, especially to their dental records! His guest had had a few rings, and personal effects. Maciek took these and would dispose of these separately over the next few days, probably by throwing them over the side of a boat somewhere in deep water. The man had also had a wallet with a few cards in it. Maciek flicked through the wallet and then dropped it into his back pocket. It may come in handy. After this, Maciek may need to borrow a new identity for a few days. Just temporarily. And the identity that his guest could lend him was just perfect. Given who he was, it would be at least six months before anyone missed him.

  It then took Maciek thirty minutes to carry the body back into the forest and drop it into the hole.

  It fitted perfectly.

  Jumping in after him, Maciek took hold of each of the paving slabs in turn from the edge of the hole, and dragged them into the hole with him. He positioned them on top of the body in a row, completely covering the rubber matting, and then climbed out.

  It took twenty more minutes to scoop up and spade all the earth from the tarpaulin back into the hole, and then to carefully replace the squares of surface 'turf' that he had carved up so meticulously before. Then he scattered his earlier collection of pine-needles and debris from the forest floor, re-covering the ground which he had previously dug up.

  It took another six minutes to fold up both of the tarpaulins, scatter a few more pine needles over the area where they had made an impression on the ground, and then meticulously check the area for anything else, any other signs that could possibly signify that he had been there. As a matter of course, he would walk past that same spot within the next twenty four hours during daylight, just to re-check it all.

  But for now, the job was done.

  His guest, his housemate for a night, had now departed. Vanished.

  Never to be seen again.

  .

  He took one more look around him, confirming again the landmarks that helped Maciek mark out this spot. It would be easy to find it again in a hundred years time, let alone tomorrow.

  As Maciek walked back through the forest carrying his spade wrapped up in the tarpaulins, he felt the first twinge of remorse for what he had just done.

  Not for killing the man.

  Not for burying the man so unceremoniously.

  But for killing and burying him without his guest ever having a clue as to why he had been killed, why he had been chosen, or what he could possibly have done to make Maciek want to select him and not someone else.

  .

  There was, however, a good reason. One that made perfect sense to Maciek. And it would have given him some extra pleasure in telling the man why.

  But it was too late. The occasion had not arisen when it would have been appropriate, and now was not the time to have any regrets.

  Maciek never had any regrets.

  Ever.

  Chapter Fourteen

  .

  .

  StemPharma Corp Development Laboratories

  3rd Level

  Underground Bunker

  Delaware

  Present Day 2 p.m.

  September 7th

  .

  .

  Nic White sat nervously at the virtual 'table' he was sharing with the Vice President of Sales and Marketing, Philip Grant, via their high definition 'telepresence' video conference.

  Philip Grant was busy scanning the PowerPoint slides that Nic was projecting onto their shared screen at the end of the room. Nic had spent several days collating the information from the most recent analysis and surveys, and he had done his best to present it in as simple a way as possible.

  From experience, he knew that executives were not interested in too much detail. They just wanted facts. Simple facts. Facts that weren't too 'factual', just in case they didn't understand them.

  To make it more official, and provide Philip with all the information he could possibly need, just in case it was asked for, Nic had collated a portfolio of information in a folder that now sat on the desk in front of Philip. It contained a USB with all the digital files that Nic had used in his analysis, the PowerPoint slide deck he was presenting now, and the official business case that Philip and the other executives had signed off at the start of the project.

  It also contained all the sales collateral, the advertising and marketing campaigns, and most importantly...the revenue statistics from sales of the product since it had been launched.

  The VP had it all.

  The VP of Sales was known throughout the company for his directness and it was said that he was not the most pleasant of men to work with. So far, Nic's experience of the man had not been as bad as others. The VP had always been quite pleasant to him.

  But now, six months after the first treatment that used Nic's new technology had been launched, Philip Grant had a completely different demeanour about him.

  There was no small chat, no pleasantries, no 'How is life in the bunker?' Philip Grant had turned up for the meeting thirty minutes late, simply walked into the videoconferencing room in New York, said 'Hi', waved his hand at Nic across the virtual video conferencing meeting link, and sat down. He then proceeded to look at his watch and say that he had another meeting, a conference call, in thirty minutes, and he was going to use the same video conferencing room for it.

  In other words, 'Nic, you have thirty minutes of my time, and then we have to drop the call. Okay?'

  The fact that Nic had managed to get the meeting agreed with the VP at such short notice was a small miracle in itself. After he finally got the presentation and the project update portfolio together, he had looked the VP up on the internal system, miraculously found a time in Outlook that seemed to be free, and sent the invite. That was several days ago. That same day, the VP had accepted the meeting, and Nic had the material he had prepared passed through the neutron radiation cleanser- (thus killing all and any bugs that may be lurking or hiding inside the material)- and sent it up in the secure service elevator to the outside world, where it had been collected and swiftly couriered to the New York office. The fact that the VP had so quickly accepted and agreed to attend the video conferencing meeting was an indicati
on in itself that at this point in time, many of the eyes of the Executives in the company were firmly focussed on the work that Nic and his team were doing. And on the new treatment and drug that they had just released.

  And now, through the wonders of modern technology and high-definition video conferencing, Nic was trying to explain to the VP of Sales just why he was worried. Why he had called the meeting. And why he thought the VP should decide to do 'something', ...although what that 'something' was, Nic had not yet completely decided.

  But something had to be done.

  Having read the feedback and analysed the results, it was Nic's duty to alert the VP. Nic trusted that once he carefully explained what the feedback was, the VP would take the appropriate action.

  Nic had now finished his presentation, the VP was recapping and examining the slides on the screen that they shared between them. He watched as the VP advanced through the slide deck. Philip Grant coughed. Perhaps a little nervously. Then Nic saw the VP turn his attention to the presentation pack on his desk. He started to open it up, and was just about to take out the detailed report that Nic had referenced, when rather abruptly the VP slid it back into its container and turned to face Nic on the screen.

  "So, Nic...," Philip Grant started. "What you are basically telling me, is that SP-X4 is a runaway success...?"

  Philip Grant smiled, letting the question hang in the air, demanding a response.

  It took a second for the question to fully register in Nic's mind.

  There was something in the way that the VP had asked the question that worried Nic. The man had the facts, and Nic knew that he was not stupid. He looked at Philip again, perhaps for the first time seeing him in a different light.

  Philip Grant was tall...although you couldn't see that on the video screen, bald, broad shouldered, and had dark, brown eyes. He oozed authority and strength, and because of his height, he almost always commanded automatic respect from people. Whether it was deserved or not.

  Mr Grant was waiting for an answer.

  "Actually...," Nic began, still not too sure what he was going to say. "I'm not exactly saying that..."

  "I'm sorry? But that's what I heard." The VP immediately replied. "Listen Nic, everyone on the Board thinks that you have done a fantastic job. Only you could have done this. You've done a great job...! The drug treatment does exactly as it was designed to do. The sales figures prove that. In the whole history of modern medicine, no drug has had such a successful launch. Sales are up. The share price has gone up 35% in two months...And that's just the beginning."