After the Fall

by Patricia Gussin

  What could he say? How could he help Laura mourn the loss of her hands-on career? “What does Keystone have in the pipeline?” he asked, hoping they had something that would fully engage Laura’s talents.

  “Cancer,” she said. “Keystone’s new frontier is cancer. And the most promising lead is for lung carcinoma, so that’s right up my alley. God knows I’ve operated on enough lung cancers. So now, I’ll be trying to cure them with drugs.”

  “Sounds good,” Tim said. The potatoes in the oven, he went to get Laura’s medical supplies.

  When he returned, Laura looked more relaxed. He wondered whether he should disturb the ambiance of the evening by asking how she wanted to handle dinner with the kids, to bring them into the Patrick paternity loop. She’d decided to do it sometime, somewhere, on Friday night; she’d told Mike she would, okayed it with Patrick, but mustn’t this be weighing on her mind, with so much else going on?

  “I need to ask you something, Tim,” Laura said, interrupting his quandary. He’d just cut through the thick layers of bandages, loosening the pressure, watching with satisfaction as the color improved in Laura’s hand.

  Here it comes. “About dinner with the kids?”

  “No, though we do have to talk about that, too. This is about something weird that happened to me today.”

  “Okay,” Tim said, peeling off the final layer, exposing raw flesh in various stages of healing. Laura’s wound was healing by “primary intension,” that is, openly—no stitches, staples, or other closure devices. An ugly option, but the one that would prevent infection following extensive debridement surgery. “Can I get you a couple of Motrin?” he asked, before applying antibiotic ointment.

  Laura winced, held her breath for a moment, and said, “No. I’m okay. What I wanted to ask was whether or not I should call the police?”

  “What?” Tim stopped his rewrapping, and stared, clueless.

  Laura chuckled. “Oh, I guess I forgot to tell you. The other day, a Philadelphia detective stopped by my office to ask me about the night Fred Minn was killed outside the Four Seasons where we’d just had dinner.” She paused, Tim nodded, and she continued, “They wanted to know whether I’d seen anything that night. You know, the ‘anything at all’ line. Naturally, I wanted to help them. And I did think of something. I saw a dark-colored Jeep that night. Pulled out, headed the way Dr. Minn was walking. I actually did a double take because, at one point, Kevin had a Jeep that looked very similar, a Jeep Cherokee, I believe.”

  Tim heard a timer in the kitchen and jumped up. “Just a sec. Let me take the steak out of the marinade.” When he returned, he picked up where he’d left off in the bandaging process, as Laura went on. “Today, I was standing in the FDA parking lot with the woman doctor at Replica responsible for the discovery of Immunone. Adawia Abdul. And I saw what seemed to be a really similar Jeep—dark green. I found out this Jeep belongs to Jake Harter, Immunone project director at the FDA, the one who supposedly ‘couldn’t find’ that missing data. And, guess what?”

  “What?” Tim was not quite following the logic of her account.

  “Dr. Abdul, or Adawia—during our conversation we got to a first-name basis—said she and Jake Harter were getting married.”

  “So?” Tim asked. “Any law against that?”

  “Conflict of interest,” Laura said. “I’m getting steeped in all this corporate-government intrigue. Life was much easier in academia.”

  “So her fiancé is in the position to push her drug through. But wait a minute, why would he claim data was missing if that was the case?”

  “Beats me,” said Laura. “I may have said something I shouldn’t have, but I did tell her I’d just come from a meeting and the drug would be approved on Friday.”

  “She didn’t know?” Tim asked, still not sure where this was going.

  “She tried to get Jake Harter’s attention when he tore out of the FDA lot, but he didn’t see us. So, back to the Jeep: should I call the police and tell them?”

  “Sounds far-fetched to me, Laura. Must be a lot of dark-colored Jeeps. Philly’s a long way from Rockville, Maryland.”

  “You’re right,” she said, reaching over to the table for her purse. “The detective gave me his number just in case I thought of something. He did say they had a tire imprint from the car that had been parked where I saw it, the Jeep. I just wonder…but, you’re right, it sounds crazy.”

  “Sleep on it, Laura. It’s late, you’re exhausted, and I’m about to serve you champagne. Just a sip before you change. By then I’ll have dinner on the table.”

  Laura set down her purse. “I wish I could put off Friday night with the kids too.”

  “Let’s talk about that during dinner,” Tim said, helping Laura stand, supporting her right arm. “I have some ideas.”

  Tim had given Laura’s problem much thought. Based on his own shock when she’d told him she’d had a brief affair with the chief of surgery when she’d been a medical student, he wondered how her kids would respond. They were the “younger generation.” How important was marital fidelity to them? In general? With respect to their parents? He was too out of touch with twenty-year-olds to know.

  Patrick, himself, had reacted better than Tim would have predicted. Likely, based on his deep respect for his mother. And Patrick wanted this secret over and done with. And soon it would be. Friday night.

  Tim had taken the initiative and arranged for a private dining room at the Barclay Hotel. A public place would discourage any histrionics on the part of the kids. Tim wasn’t so worried about the boys, they seemed to take everything in stride. Case in point, Patrick did not go crazy on Laura. But the girls? To him, they seemed much more judgmental when it came to their mother.

  What am I getting into with Laura? She’s a handful herself—and her five kids? Tim smiled at how much meaning she’d added to his life.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  WEDNESDAY, MARCH 4

  Jake had crashed his Jeep into one mean bastard. Bad enough being shaken up at the impact, chest hurting like hell each time he took a breath, and a freaking bump on the head, but the man in the green truck knocked him out cold with a sucker punch. Jake woke up in the ambulance, oxygen tubes connected around his ears, a blood-pressure cuff on his arm, and a pulse oximeter clamped to his finger.

  He’d tried to sit up, but found himself strapped to a gurney, the EMT sitting beside him, forcing him back down flat with a heavy, knuckled hand.

  “I’m okay,” Jake told the big man, his temporary caretaker.

  The only reply, “Tell that to the ER docs.”

  “What about my Jeep?”

  “It’ll be towed.”

  That was it for chitchat on the way to the hospital. When Jake tried to move again, the broad strap across his abdomen held him back. When he struggled against the restraint, his caretaker’s big hand reached over to press him back. The combined movement and pressure on his chest made him moan in pain. He fell back prone, helpless and alarmed.

  Arriving at Suburban Hospital ER, his attendant and driver jostled him inside, lined up his gurney against the wall, filled out some forms, and left without saying another word.

  Still strapped down, now unplugged from the oxygen, Jake glanced around the busy ER. What could he do to convince them he did not have to be seen? He was awake, conscious, and could leave without the need for any paperwork.

  When a young female intern approached him with her clipboard, he told her he wanted to sign out. Go home. He was fine. “Just unstrap me.” But his demand seemed to fall on deaf ears.

  “I have to take a history,” the woman said. “And then examine you. With that head wound, we’ll need an MRI.”

  “Take off the strap,” he repeated. “I can’t breathe with that damn thing tying me down.”

  The young doctor hesitated, glancing around as heads started to turn toward them. “Sir, I can’t,” she said, looking up as two police officers in uniform approached.

  “You the guy in
volved in the altercation at Norbeck and Baltimore?” the stockier one asked. “Ran your Jeep into a guy’s truck? He knocked the shit out of you? We got you for reckless driving. You gonna press charges on the guy who punched you out?”

  Jake tried to take a deep breath to steady himself, but the pain in his right side stopped him short. Maybe he did need X-rays of his ribs, but so what if they were broken? There was no treatment; they just had to heal on their own.

  “Officers, I don’t want any more trouble. I’ll give the guy who hit me a break. I just want to get out of here. Where’s my car, anyway?”

  “Jeep’s been towed to city impound. Your insurance adjusters can check it out there. Front end’s a mess. You been drinking?” Both of the men leaned in closer to catch a whiff of Jake’s breath. “Don’t smell any,” the slimmer of the two said.

  “I’m feeling okay now,” Jake said. “I don’t need to be seen here. Leave the doctors for the real emergencies.”

  “Up to them,” the slim cop indicated the intern who waited at the foot of the gurney. “Right now, looks like Detective Booker and his partner are on their way here.”

  “Yeah, what’s that all about?” the stocky cop wanted to know. “You in some kind of trouble with the law? Ran you through, nothin’ came up.”

  “No, I work at the FDA. I admit, I was going too fast. Distracted, I guess. I’m getting married tomorrow.”

  The detectives, however, did not show up. Must’ve been called to work another crime. The young doctor did proceed with her plan, subjecting Jake to a brain MRI—negative—and to a chest X-ray—two cracked ribs. Five hours later, now nine p.m., he left the hospital in a cab and headed to Addie’s apartment.

  Addie was home now, but not alone. She appeared to be in deep discussion with a Middle Eastern-looking man. Could this be Dru? Her friend from Detroit, originally from Iraq, the one who’d helped her out when she first came to the States as a university student in Ann Arbor. The one who was now acting as a liaison between her and her parents in Iraq.

  The man’s loud voice sounded angry, but he stopped talking when Jake entered the room.

  “Jake, this is Dru,” Addie said, hastening across the room to meet him. “He’s here to help me with my travel plans for Friday.”

  “Dru, this is Jake.” Not, this is Jake, my fiancé.

  Jake had so much to discuss with Addie. Immunone’s approval. Her status with Replica. Their wedding plans tomorrow. And why the hell had she been talking to Laura Nelson.

  “Glad to meet you, Dru. Addie’s told me about you. But now’s not a good time. We have—”

  “Jake, are you okay?” Addie had noticed the bruised left side of his face and the discoloration settling in his left eye socket.

  “Adawia, tell your guest to come back another time,” Dru said, dismissing Jake as if he’d just delivered a pizza.

  The pain in the back of his chest—the site of two fractured ribs—had escalated on the jostling cab ride. Jake now figured he should have taken the Percocet, but hadn’t, wanting to stay clearheaded as he sorted out this Addie-Laura Nelson relationship. Right now, he didn’t have the patience or the intention to deal with Addie’s friend.

  When Dru walked to him, placing the heel of his hand against his chest, Jake only wished he had his Glock. Pain or no pain, it’d be fun to scare the hell out of this creep.

  “Move,” Dru said. “Now. Out.”

  Jake was about to shove him, when Addie stepped between them.

  “Dru,” she said, tugging at the guy’s arm, “we’re about finished, aren’t we? I understand the urgency and the timing. I’ll be there.”

  “Be where?” Jake interrupted, taking a step back. Why was Addie having this cryptic conversation, now, when he needed her undivided attention? He had his own questions and concerns, and they didn’t involve this Iraqi dude from her past.

  “No.” Addie’s appeal had failed. “Get rid of him. Now.” Dru yanked his arm out of Addie’s grasp.

  “Jake, could you give me and Dru a few more minutes? Alone?”

  What was all that shit about the man’s dominance in Muslim relationships? Addie’s lack of deference to him, her future husband, was both startling and unacceptable.

  Jake faltered. His woman. He desperately needed to talk to her. This Arab creep had to go.

  The flashing of a knife, an extended four-inch steel blade, made his decision. It appeared so fast, demonstrating the user’s obvious expertise. If he’d had his piece, Jake wouldn’t have hesitated. He’d have taken out this bastard in four seconds. When the cops had been all over him in the ER today, he’d been grateful not to be carrying, but now—

  “You get the fuck outta here, man. And I mean forever. You and this woman are through. Forget you ever met her.”

  “Dru, this is Jake. I told you about him. About—”

  In a swift move, knife in one hand, Dru turned and slapped Addie. Hard. “You shut up and do as I tell you, Adawia.”

  Addie fell back against the arm of a sofa, a moaning sob escaping, breaking Jake’s heart. He may have shot a woman dead, but he’d never, ever, hit one. This asshole would pay.

  Dru bolted toward Jake, still hovering close to the door. The knife gleamed as light played on the steely surface. Jake recognized the fight stance and the determined, yet desperate, look in the eyes of his attacker. He backed to the door, his hands finding the knob. An easy twist and he all but fell into the opening door, sending a current of pain throughout his chest. He did not hesitate. He was gone. Out of Addie’s apartment, hustling down the hall to the elevator. Once on the street, he gingerly raised an arm to hail a cab to take him to the Budget Car Rental in Bethesda.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  WEDNESDAY, MARCH 4

  Dru flinched as Adawia fingered her bruised cheek. A unexpected pang of shame for striking a woman.

  “Sorry, Adawia, I didn’t mean to hurt you,” Dru said, closing the door to her apartment, bolting it. “I had to get rid of that man.”

  “That’s Jake, the man I’m going to marry.”

  “Sit down, Adawia. I have a lot to talk to you about. I got picked up by the FBI and they took me to—”

  “The FBI? Dru, I saw you at—”

  “Come, please,” Dru interrupted, gesturing for her to take a seat on the sofa. When she complied, he continued, “They took me to the Pentagon. Left me there with agents that were more like the CIA, but they go by DIA. Defense Intelligence.”

  Dru paced as he let her absorb this. She seemed less shocked than he’d anticipated.

  “They know I’m connected to you and to your family, specifically, to your father. You see why I had to get rid of your friend Jake?” Dru stopped mid-step to stare at her. “Shit. Did you tell the bastard about your father? His connections in Baghdad?”

  “Of course not,” Addie said. “Nothing. Maybe after we’re married. Dru, do you share everything with your wife?”

  “Of course not,” he said. Especially not that I’m with you in your apartment tonight.

  “Oh,” Adawia sounded deflated. “We’re getting married tomorrow. I think being married will give me some stability with my family. Plus, an American husband will give me some protection.”

  “Are you out of your mind?” Dru couldn’t believe the woman’s naiveté “Your family has a husband picked out for you. Your father told me. Arrangements have been set.”

  “That’s exactly why I want to be married before I get there. I can’t stand even the thought of being married to the repulsive man they picked out for me.”

  “Gabir Rahman. He’s not so bad.” Dru considered the man a bastard, but this was not the time to share that opinion.

  Adawia jumped up and glowered at him. “You knew about Gabir?”

  “Let’s get back to reality. You’re not marrying Harter. And now that the American government is involved—”

  “Tomorrow, Dru. We have a Maryland marriage license. Jake and I are getting married tomorrow. That way, when I get
the Immunone money on Friday, I will have someone to take care of my affairs over here.”

  She turned away, sat down again on the sofa, and pulled up her knees.

  “You’re getting the money Friday?” Dru spun around, incredulous. “Since when?”

  “The FDA will approve Immunone on Friday. There’ll be a press conference. They may even want me to participate. Since my flight to London isn’t until 11:00 p.m., I should be okay.”

  Dru was trying to figure the implications of this distribution of money when Addie said, “I was at the Pentagon today too. Agents picked me up in the parking lot at the FDA. Same as you, DIA agents.”

  “What?” was all he could say.

  “They know about my father. They know about you. I saw you there when they were taking me out. What did you tell them?”

  They’d questioned Adawia?

  “What did you tell them? About me?” Dru could feel the sweat start to bead on his forehead, in his armpits. If she’d told them he’d been in Baghdad last week… Dru’s hand fingered the knife, now tucked into his pants pocket. If they’d known he’d lied, they surely wouldn’t have returned the knife. “Adawia,” his voice raised in an angry fear, “what did you tell those agents about me?”

  He had to leave the US. Join Shada in Canada. Get a new identity, a new life.

  But as Adawia repeated the agents’ questions and her answers, his desperation abated. She had not betrayed him. If she was telling him the truth, and he judged she was, their stories lined up perfectly.

  Although his priority was getting Adawia to Iraq as ordered, Dru found himself distracted by that $7.5 million coming to her in just two days. Friday, the day she was to leave for the homeland. Could he manipulate his way into at least of piece of that money? He could use it to establish a new life for Shada and the boys in Canada.

  Dru’s mind started to spin. Now that Immunone’s approval and Adawia’s payout were scheduled, could he, as her banker, handle the funds? She’d be in no position to invest the money from Iraq. Of course, she’d need to assign him power of attorney. Who better to trust? But first, he had to eliminate Jake Harter.