Extreme Measures (1991)

by Michael Palmer

"Please, wait," Bernard said, squirming in his seat. "I have some questions I'd like to ask you ab--"

  "I had hoped you'd be a little more intellectually stimulating, being from Boston and all. I don't mind telling you, you're a great disappointment in that regard. A great disappointment. Well, sir, I suppose you will simply have to find another way to amuse and educate me."

  "Don't do it, Barber. Please listen to m--"

  "This dose is roughly ten times what your friends the Colsons received. Will it work ten times as fast? Will it work the same way? Will Little Nell find true happiness? Will E continue to equal MC squared?"

  Continuing a stream of nonsense questions, Barber reached out, grabbed Bernard's hair viciously with one hand, and meticulously smoothed the damp powder across both his cheeks with the other. At the man's touch, Bernard felt his heart stop, and truly believed it was going to end for him right there. Moments later, it began to beat again.

  "Whether or not I'm here to see it, you're through, Barber," he rasped.

  "Will the South rise again?" the man went on in his chilling, singsong voice. "Will there be peace in the valley someday?"

  He turned, scooped up the strongbox, and left the room.

  Gripped by fear unlike any he had ever known, Bernard first tried to rub his cheek against his shoulder. Then he hurled himself to the floor, attempting to scrape the powder off on the linoleum. Some of the poison did come off, but he knew it was not nearly enough.

  For a time, he could only lie there, silently praying that Barber's performance was a ruse--his version of the hideous charade that had been played with Eric Najarian. But as minutes passed and he began to feel a heaviness settling into his chest, he knew better.

  "I'm sorry, Maggie," he said softly. "I'm sorry for being so damn stupid."

  He struggled to his feet, threw himself on the bed, and rubbed what more he could from his cheeks onto the cotton blanket. Finally, totally winded by his efforts, he stopped.

  "I'm so damn sorry," he said again.

  Helpless now, Bernard closed his eyes, listened to the pounding of his heart in his ears, and waited.

  Carrying Donald Devine's ledgers, Eric entered White Memorial through a little-used side door, and took the subbasement tunnel and back staircase to Haven Darden's lab. Tucked carefully in the pocket of his jeans was the loaded syringe. As the medical chief had promised, the entire floor was deserted. Through the darkness of the lab Eric could see light spilling from Darden's inner office.

  He paused by the outer door, trying to solidify his composure and his resolve. He thought about Scott Enders and Loretta Leone; about Laura's torment and Reed Marshall's shattered career; about all those others who had suffered. And finally, he conjured up the images of the obscene, makeshift voodoo shrine and of the death's-head priest--quite possibly Darden himself--leering down at him through the candlelight. The man was evil--fully deserving of the terror he was about to experience.

  "No mercy," Eric whispered as he opened the door. "No mercy at all."

  He walked between a row of incubators and then turned left toward Darden's office. The medical chief, natty as usual in a custom-tailored shirt, silk tie, and black suspenders, met him at the door. Eric was pleased to see that he wore no suit coat.

  "Come in, Eric, come in," Darden said. "I was relieved to get your call. I'm sure it comes as no surprise that your friends here at White Memorial have been most concerned about you."

  "I didn't really feel I had any of those left," Eric forced himself to say.

  "Oh, you do. You do."

  Darden sat down behind his desk, but Eric remained standing, his hand cradling the syringe in his pocket. He imagined the man making love to Anna Delacroix, and sensed his anger and disgust grow even stronger. Haven Darden had a family, children. The woman--half his age, if that--was beautiful enough to have any man. How much was he paying her for her services? What did he lay out for her assistance in destroying Eric Najarian?

  No mercy.

  "Sit down, sit down," Darden said. "I don't mind telling you that the things you alluded to in your call have me most intrigued."

  Don't fool around. Don't wait!

  "I'd like you to look at this," Eric said, setting Devine's ledger on the desk. "It was taken from a safe in the Gates of Heaven Funeral Home."

  As Darden opened the cover Eric stepped behind him and slid the syringe free.

  "I'm not sure what I'm supposed to be seeing here," Darden said, suddenly swiveling around to face him.

  Eric thrust the syringe back into his pocket.

  "It ... it's the list beginning on the second page."

  Darden pulled open his desk drawer and reached inside.

  It's a gun! Eric's mind shrieked. Move, dammit, move!

  Before he could react, the medical chief pulled out a pair of reading glasses and slipped them on.

  "Perhaps I'd do better if I could see the words," he said, turning back to the desk.

  Once again Eric eased the loaded syringe free. He focused on Darden's left trapezius, the heavy muscle just at the base of his neck. A final, deep breath and ...

  Now!

  In synchronized motions, he shoved Darden's chair in, pinning him against the desk, locked his left arm tightly beneath the man's chin, pulled the plastic needle guard off with his teeth, and drove the needle down to the hilt in the spot he had chosen. Darden cried out at the pain and tried to squirm free, but Eric held him fast. He spat the needle guard onto the floor.

  "Move again and you're dead!" he said. "I mean it!"

  "What are you doing?" Darden rasped.

  "This syringe is loaded with succinylcholine," Eric said. "Two hundred milligrams--enough to paralyze you totally in a matter of fifteen or twenty seconds. At the slightest provocation, I'm ready to give you every bit of it, and you had better believe that."

  "Y-you're crazy!"

  "You bet I am, Doctor. It'll help us both if you remember that. It would also help if you think about what it's like to be paralyzed and unable to breathe while you're still wide awake. Surely you're an expert on that. Now, first you're going to tell me where Laura Enders is, and then you're going to tell me about Caduceus."

  "I ... I don't know what you're talking about."

  "Dammit," Eric rasped, forcing the needle down harder. "I don't have time for this. The only person in the world I care about right now is missing, and you know what's happened to her. Now, I know who you are. I know about Donald Devine and Norma Cullinet, and that goddam place in Utah. I even know about Anna Delacroix. My fuse is really short right now, so I'm warning you: Stop playing games with me!"

  Eric felt the tension in the man's muscles let up. Still, he continued to hold him fast, his thumb poised on the syringe.

  "Eric, listen to me," Darden said with sudden calm. "I know you've been through a lot. You may think that what you believe is right. But I promise you that I know nothing of what you're saying. Nothing!"

  "And I suppose it wasn't you who called me the morning of the committee vote and promised me the position if I joined Caduceus."

  "Eric, I have been your supporter in that matter all along. I told you that several weeks ago. It was Dr. Silver who changed his mind and asked for an extension of the vote. I swear to you it was."

  "I ... I don't believe you," Eric said, feeling the first sickening doubt begin to take hold. "And I suppose I was just imagining things when I saw you in a tender little clinch with Anna Delacroix."

  "I assure you, Eric, I know no one by that name. No one. I am a happily married man. Now, please, pull that needle out of me before you do something you'll regret for the rest of your life."

  "No. You're a liar and a goddam monster. There's no telling how many people have died because of you. Anna Delacroix or whoever the hell she is set me up, and I saw you with her on Charles Street just a few hours ago. Now I want the truth, dammit. Where is Laura?"

  "She's dead, Doctor. Now don't move. Don't move a muscle."

  Eric barely ma
naged to maintain his grip as his head spun toward the voice. The tall man standing just inside the doorway was wearing a police captain's uniform and holding a gun leveled at Eric's chest. Suddenly, his words registered.

  "What do you mean she's dead?" he asked, a horrible emptiness swelling in his chest.

  "Please, Officer," Haven Darden cried. "This man's crazy. Please get him to pull this needle out. He's trying to kill me."

  "Oh, I know what he's doing," Lester Wheeler said. "Why, thanks to the miracle of modem telecommunications, I knew what he had in mind almost as soon as he did. You really should have paid more attention to the two men repairing the phone line outside that apartment you were staying in, Doc."

  Eric's eyes narrowed.

  "Wheeler?" he asked.

  "At your service. Now, if you would be so kind as to administer that drug."

  "No, wait! You don't understand," Darden pleaded.

  "I understand exactly," Wheeler said. "Unfortunately, the good doctor has already shared far too much with you."

  "Darden's not Caduceus?" Eric said, loosening his grip around the man's neck.

  Before Darden could respond, Wheeler leaped forward and, with animal quickness, slammed his fist down on the top of the syringe, emptying its contents into him. Darden screamed in pain as the policeman whirled and jammed the muzzle of his pistol up under Eric's chin.

  "Not a move!" he ordered.

  "Jesus," Eric said. "You just killed this man."

  "No, Doctor," Wheeler said smugly. "You did." He glanced at his watch and then looked down at Darden, who sat staring numbly up at the two of them. "Fifteen or twenty seconds. Isn't that what you said?"

  "I ... I don't know," Eric said, now forced to his tiptoes by the gun barrel. "Succinylcholine is the most powerful anesthetic we have, but its onset of action is unpredictable. I ... I never really intended to use it. Now please, if you'll just let me get to some equipment, I can save him."

  Haven Darden tried to rise, but Wheeler reached out and shoved him back into his seat.

  "Please," Darden whimpered. "Please help me."

  Already his speech was beginning to thicken and slur. In just another ten seconds, his arms and hands began to tremble.

  "No!" he cried. "Oh, God, no!"

  Wheeler forced Eric several steps back as the medical chief's body jerked spasmodically, his head twitching uncontrollably. Then, suddenly, he pitched from his chair onto the floor, his legs snapping and kicking. In less than half a minute it was over. The hideous contractions in his limbs vanished as quickly as they had appeared. His head lolled to one side and stopped moving, his cheek pressed helplessly against the linoleum, spittle oozing from the corner of his mouth.

  Wheeler quickly manacled Eric's hands behind him. Then he knelt down and peered at Darden for fully half a minute, assuring himself that the drug had done its job.

  "Okay. Now, Doc," he said, standing. "You and I are going right out the front door of this hospital to my cruiser. If you want to scream and kick, that's okay with me. I want everyone who will listen to know what you've done, and why I'm taking you in. They all think you're insane anyway."

  "What happened to Laura?"

  "Oh, yes, sweet Laura. Well, I'm afraid she and her brother discovered that the water in Boston Harbor wasn't to their liking."

  "She found Scott?"

  "She did. They were even together at the end. Now, let's get out of here."

  "You can't possibly get away with this," Eric said.

  Wheeler grabbed Eric by the back of the neck and shoved him over Haven Darden's inert body and out the door.

  "Wanna bet?" he asked.

  You have the right to remain silent," Lester Wheeler said as he half-shoved, half-dragged Eric into the elevator of the research building. "... If you choose to speak, anything you say may be used against you in a court of law or other proceeding...." He pushed Eric out of the elevator and into the bustling main thoroughfare of the hospital.

  "What happened to Laura? What did you do to her?"

  "... You have the right to consult with a lawyer before answering any questions and you may have him present with you during questioning...."

  "Dammit, Wheeler, give it up. You're not taking me out of this hospital," Eric said, increasing his resistance as they approached the main lobby.

  "Do us both a favor and make a break for it," Wheeler whispered. He continued in a voice loud enough for everyone around to hear. "... If you cannot afford a lawyer and you want one, a lawyer will be provided for you by the Commonwealth without cost to you. Do you understand what I have told you? Okay, move aside, folks. Please move aside."

  The crush of bewildered early-evening visitors parted like the Red Sea to allow the policeman and his prisoner to pass. Eric recognized several of the nurses and residents who were watching.

  "Find Dr. Silver for me, please," he called out as Wheeler hurried him past.

  "You've got no friends around this place," Wheeler said. "Least of all Dr. Silver. Earlier today he had the hospital attorneys file a restraining order to keep you out. Face it, you're finished." He tightened his grip on Eric's arm and continued loudly: "... You may also waive the right to counsel, and your right to remain--"

  "God damn it, I'm not going with you!" Eric screamed as they entered the busy main lobby.

  Instantly, the huge reception area was silent. A hundred or so people stopped milling about and froze, as one. A security guard, who was standing off to one side, spoke quickly into his radio and began moving toward the two men. Eric stumbled forward and fell to his knees, shouting words of protest. Wheeler grasped the handcuffs and pulled him to his feet by jerking his arms straight up behind his back. Eric hollered out in pain, twisted his body to one side, and fell heavily to the tiled floor. Bystanders tripped over one another, trying to move away. The guard reached them just as two more security men raced into the lobby.

  "Can we help?" he asked Wheeler.

  The captain flashed his shield.

  "I've just arrested this man for the murder of Dr. Haven Darden," he said. "His body is up in his lab."

  Several in the crowd gasped. A woman cried out.

  "We know Dr. Najarian," the guard said. "He was alone with one of our nurses when she died this morning. There's a restraining order out against him. We've been on the lookout for him all day."

  "Please," Eric begged, still on his side on the floor. "You've got to help me. I didn't kill anyone. He did. He did!"

  The two other security men arrived and spoke briefly with their colleague. One of them immediately sprinted off for Darden's office. The remaining pair helped Wheeler pull Eric to his feet. At that moment Joe Silver and two residents arrived.

  "I'm this man's chief of service," he said. "What on earth is going on now?" He looked stonily at Eric as he spoke.

  "Captain Wheeler, BPD," the officer explained calmly. "I've just arrested this man for the murder of Dr. Haven Darden by some sort of lethal injection. Haven is a personal friend of mine. He called me a short while ago and told me Najarian here had phoned and threatened him. I hurried over to escort him home, but when I got there, I was too late. I found this man with an empty syringe in his hand, standing over Haven's body."

  "Damn you, Najarian," Joe Silver said.

  "I didn't do anything," Eric pleaded. "It was this man. He's crazy. He's working with Dr. Darden. Craig Worrell was involved with them too. They're responsible for everything. For Norma, for Loretta Leone--everything."

  "Eric, just shut up and get the hell out of here," Silver said.

  "Come along now," Wheeler ordered. "And do it quietly."

  Once again Eric began to struggle.

  "I didn't kill anyone! They did! Why doesn't anyone believe me?"

  "I believe you," Haven Darden said loudly.

  The crowd fell away, revealing the medical chief standing calmly beside the security guard.

  "Now you must believe me that I had nothing to do with this Caduceus, or any other plot."<
br />
  Joe Silver, totally bewildered, stared at the man.

  "What in hell is going on?" he managed.

  "As soon as you called succinylcholine an anesthetic, Eric," Darden went on, "I knew it was water. Captain Wheeler is a criminal. Dr. Najarian meant only to frighten me. This man tried to murder me, and confessed to murdering someone named Laura. Sir, you are an animal."

  Before anyone could react, Lester Wheeler drew his pistol and fired. Darden grabbed at his left shoulder as he reeled backwards and dropped to the floor. People screamed, falling over one another as they scrambled to find cover. Wheeler managed to get off another shot, this one wild, before the security guards were on him. Groaning loudly with every step, he dragged the three guards toward the main entrance like a fullback hauling tacklers toward a touchdown. Two muscular young men raced from the crowd and helped wrestle him down. Suddenly, from within the melee, Wheeler's gun sounded again. Immediately the struggling stopped. The guards moved back. The policeman, on his knees, toppled over in slow motion and lay wide-eyed and motionless. Blood was rapidly soaking into his shirt from a dollar-sized hole in his chest.

  "Call a code Ninety-nine!" Joe Silver screamed at the receptionists. "Someone get to the E.R. and bring back two stretchers."

  He raced over to where Haven Darden lay while the residents hurried to tend to Wheeler.

  "The keys to these handcuffs," Eric said, scrambling to where the policeman lay. "They're in his shirt pocket."

  The residents were already stripping Wheeler's clothes away. The wound, Eric could see, was almost certainly mortal, even with immediate surgical help.

  One of the guards retrieved the keys and freed Eric's hands. A stretcher arrived, and Wheeler's lifeless body was transferred to it and rushed to the E.R.

  For a few frozen seconds Eric stood alone, trying desperately to sort out what had happened, what had been said. Laura and Scott both dead. Was Wheeler telling the truth about that? And Darden--how could he not be Caduceus?

  Numbly, he crossed to where Haven Darden lay. Joe Silver had already ripped the man's shirt away, exposing a wound that entered and exited through his shoulder. Darden, though in obvious pain, remained completely conscious and surprisingly calm.