Praise for Richard L. Mabry’s Previous Books
Fatal Trauma
“Fatal Trauma asks big questions of faith, priorities, and meaning all within the context of a tightly crafted medical drama.”—Steven James, best-selling author of Placebo and Checkmate
“Grab your heart meds! This medical suspense is guaranteed to raise your blood pressure.”—DiAnn Mills, author of Firewall and Double Cross
Stress Test
“Packed with thrills, Stress Test is a lightning-paced read that you’ll read in one breath.”—Tess Gerritsen, New York Times best-selling author
“It is easy to understand why Mabry’s popularity has been skyrocketing. He is a fine, fine writer.”—Michael Palmer, New York Times best-selling author
“The plot moves along with plenty of action and empathy, and there’s suspense and suspicion enough to keep readers zipping to the last pages. Mabry’s novel arrives with a positive prognosis.”—Publishers Weekly
“You are not going to want to miss Dr. Richard Mabry’s newest thrill ride! Mabry combines his medical expertise with a story that will keep you on the edge of your seat.”—USA Today
Heart Failure
“Vintage Mabry. Heart Failure weaves an intricate plot of mystery and suspense that will leave you guessing until the final page.”—Billy Coffey, author of When Mockingbirds Sing
“Heart Failure is a well-written suspense story that sets you on the edge of your seat. Author of the Prescription for Trouble series, as well as Stress Test, Richard Mabry uses his background in medicine to his advantage as he draws the reader through this heart-stopping thriller.”—CBA Retailers and Resources
Critical Condition
“A riveting medical suspense tale from an author at the top of his game. If you love thrillers then you must be reading Richard’s books.”—Jordyn Redwood, author of the Bloodline Trilogy
“Mabry has the uncommon ability to take medical details and make them understandable while still maintaining accuracy and intrigue. He will leave you asking whodunit until the end.”—RT Book Reviews
The Prescription for Trouble Series
Code Blue
“A healthy dose of mystery, with ample injections of suspense and romance. Richard Mabry’s splendid debut novel is just what the doctor ordered.”
—James Scott Bell, best-selling author
“Dr. Mabry hits the mark with Code Blue, a tightly coiled thriller that could only have been penned by an insider.”—Brandt Dodson, author of Original Sin
Lethal Remedy
“Winner! Lethal Remedy spun my mind in ever tightening circles making me race to the final page. Dr. Richard L. Mabry has woven another tale his fans will devour.”—James L. Rubart, best-selling author of Rooms, Book of Days, and The Chair
“A fast-pacedb inspirational medical thriller that will hold you spellbound.”—FreshFiction.com
“Lethal Remedy boasts a gripping medical plot that only an insider could write so believably.”—Susan Sleeman, author of The Justice Agency series
“Lethal Remedy is the perfect cure for boredom: a first-rate medical thriller with humor, engaging characters, and realism that only a seasoned doctor could bring to the story.” —Rick Acker, author of When the Devil Whistles and Blood Brothers
Diagnosis Death
“Mabry writes like the medical insider he is. Realistic medical flavor graces a story rich with characters I loved and with enough twists and turns to keep the sleuth in me off center. Keep ’em coming!”—Dr. Harry Kraus, author of An Open Heart
“A traumatized doctor, a question of ethics, midnight phone calls, whispering revenge . . . Prepare for a ‘night shift’ of reaching. Dr Richard Mabry’s Diagnosis Death is impossible to put down.”—Candace Calvert, author of the Mercy Hospital series
Medical Error
“I was riveted by Richard Mabry’s Medical Error—compelling story and characters with fascinating medical detail. Move over Robin Cook! Mabry has a bright future.”—Colleen Coble, author of the Rock Harbor series
“If you like medical suspense, this one will keep you glued to your favorite reading chair!”—Angela Hunt, author of When Darkness Comes
Other Books by Richard L. Mabry, MD
Code Blue
Medical Error
Diagnosis Death
Lethal Remedy
Stress Test
Heart Failure
Critical Condition
Fatal Trauma
Miracle Drug
Copyright © 2015 by Richard L. Mabry
ISBN-13: 978-1-6308-8118-4
Published by Abingdon Press, 2222 Rosa L. Parks Blvd.,
PO Box 280988, Nashville, TN 37228-0988
www.abingdonpress.com
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form,
stored in any retrieval system, posted on any website,
or transmitted in any form or by any means—digital,
electronic, scanning, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without
written permission from the publisher, except for brief
quotations in printed reviews and articles.
The persons and events portrayed in this work of fiction
are the creations of the author, and any resemblance
to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
Macro Editor: Teri Wilhelms
Published in association with Books & Such Literary Agency
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Mabry, Richard L.
Miracle drug / Richard L. Mabry, MD.
1 online resource.
Description based on print version record and CIP data provided by
publisher; resource not viewed.
ISBN 978-1-6308-8119-1 (epub) — ISBN 978-1-6308-8118-4 (binding:
soft back)
I. Title.
PS3613.A2
813'.6—dc23
2015018617
For the unseen heroes of the publishing industry:
agents, editors, copyreaders, graphic designers, marketing specialists, and everyone else working behind the scenes
to bring the reading public the best possible product.
A Note to the Reader
Perhaps I should start by saying that although the story of the volunteers who became infected with the Ebola virus while serving in Africa captured the attention of all of us during the time this story was being written, the manuscript was essentially complete before that scenario played out.
Next, I want to point out that there is no such drug as robinoxine or RP-78. On a happier note, there is no Bacillus decimus either. Both are products of this author’s imagination. It is true that all drug studies are done on volunteers, and it’s possible there could be one where convicts sentenced to life with no prospect of parole volunteer to receive drugs to treat a potentially fatal disease. However, I have no certain knowledge of such testing in Colombia or anywhere else.
Authors of fiction walk a fine line between accuracy and literary license, and this book is no exception. I appreciate the assistance of Agent Robert Hoback of the United States Secret Service in my quest for authenticity. Nevertheless, the characters and actions I have crafted that involve those brave men and women are purely fictional. Both the University of Texas Southwestern Medical Center and Johns Hopkins Medical Center are fine teaching and treatment facilities, and I am honored to have been a faculty member at one and a Visiting Professor at the other. Be that as it may, the people and events portrayed here and their relationship to those medical centers are purely a work of fiction. The same is true of the doctors and facilities of the fictional Prestonwood Hospital.
As always, I count
myself fortunate to have representation by a talented agent like Rachelle Gardner of Books and Such Literary. I’d like to express my appreciation to the Senior Acquisitions Editor at Abingdon Press, Ramona Richards, as well as to Editor Teri Wilhelms, for exercising their editorial skills on this manuscript. The Anderson Design Group came up with a dynamite cover. As always, Cat Hoort and her crew took the lead in making sure people know about the book. And, of course, without you, my reader, this novel would languish on bookshelves and storerooms without ever being read.
My wife, Kay, serves as my first reader and always makes a significant contribution to my work. In addition, and even more important, she continues to teach me how to smile and have fun once more. Thank you, dear.
My thanks to my family, for not only believing in me, but for expressing it so well and so often that I’ve never doubted their support.
I hope you enjoy this novel and any future ones God may grant me the ability and opportunity to write. Any praise for this or any of my work goes to Him.
Richard L. Mabry, MD
September 2014
1
Dr. Ben Lambert stood at the bathroom sink washing his hands. He sensed more than saw the movement behind him.
“You’re not supposed to be in here,” he said without turning. The intruder didn’t respond. Lambert repeated the words, this time in Spanish. “Se supone que no debe estar aquí.”
When there was still no answer, Lambert, his hands wet, the water still running, turned toward the intruder. That’s when he felt it—a sharp pain in his left upper arm. Within seconds, a burning pain swept over his extremities. His vision became fuzzy. He tried to reach out, but the commands his brain sent went unheeded by his arms and legs.
With agonizing slowness, Lambert crumpled to the ground. He felt his heart thud against his chest wall in an erratic rhythm, at first a fast gallop, then slower and more irregular. He tried to breathe but couldn’t satisfy his hunger for air. His calls for help came out as weak, strangled cries, like the mewling of a kitten.
Then the next wave of pain hit him—the worst pain he’d ever experienced, centered over his breastbone as though
someone had impaled him with a sword. Lambert struggled to move, to cry out for help, to breathe. Through half-closed eyelids, he could barely see a patch of worn linoleum, topped by an ever-enlarging puddle beneath the soapstone sink. Then that vision and the world around it faded to black, and Ben Lambert died.
***
Dr. Josh Pearson tapped on the office door. “Nadeel, you wanted to see me?”
Dr. Nadeel Kahn half-rose from behind his desk. Kahn was a small man—almost five eight compared with Josh’s six feet plus. His accent was almost non-existent, probably worn off through years of medical school, residency, and practice. Normally, Josh’s interaction with the managing partner of the Preston Medical Clinic was limited to an occasional “Hi” as they passed in the halls, plus phone calls about hematology patients Josh referred to the subspecialist. This summons to Kahn’s office had come as a surprise.
Kahn motioned Josh inside. “Thanks for coming. Close the door and have a seat, would you?”
Josh did as Kahn asked. “What’s up? I think this is the first time I’ve ever been called into your office.” He tried to summon up a grin. “Am I in trouble?”
Kahn’s expression never changed. “We’ll wait to decide that until you hear both pieces of news I have for you.” He leaned back in his desk chair and tented his fingertips under his chin. His dark eyes fixed on Josh’s. He took a moment, apparently deciding how to deliver his message. When he spoke, his tone had turned serious. “As you know, our colleague, Ben Lambert, left a few days ago to accompany former president Madison on a trip to South America. The delegation was to consider locations for a free clinic Madison’s foundation was considering setting up. Before he left, Ben approached me and said he thought it appropriate, as he got older, to prepare a younger colleague to care for David Madison should the need arise.”
An idea took faint shape in Josh’s mind, but he quickly rejected it. Surely not. He shook his head.
“Yes. He named you,” Kahn said. “Ben told me he had already discussed it with Madison. They’d known each other for years—actually grew up together—and Madison trusted his friend. He said he was willing to go along with Ben’s recommendation.”
“I’m . . . I’m flattered, I guess, but I have no idea why he’d choose me.”
“Unfortunately, we can’t ask Ben that question. I just got a phone call that he died earlier today of an apparent heart attack.” Kahn rose from his chair. He reached across the desk and put his hand on Josh’s shoulder. “I don’t know whether to offer congratulations or sympathy. Josh, you’re now the personal physician for David Madison, former president of the United States.”
***
Tears formed in Rachel Moore’s eyes as she stood on the tarmac of El Dorado International Airport in Bogotá, Colombia, watching the special metal coffin holding the earthly remains of Dr. Ben Lambert disappear into the cargo hold of the private jet. Dr. Lambert, I’m so sorry. I wish I could have done more.
An older man, the silver waves of his hair blowing slightly in the wind, stood beside her. As though he could read her thoughts, he said, “Don’t beat yourself up, Rachel. No one could have predicted this. And you and the others did everything humanly possible. Ben was probably already dead when you found him.” Then David Madison put his arm gently around her shoulders and hugged her.
“I guess I know that,” she said. “But no one expected it. I mean, we all had physicals along with our immunizations before leaving, and he told me he was in tip-top shape for a man over sixty. Then, when we were eating lunch at the church, he was in the bathroom . . .”
“I know. It’s a shock. Ben Lambert was an old friend. We grew up together. And now he’s gone.” Madison took his arm away and looked down at the nurse. “You know you don’t have to be the one to accompany his body back to Dallas. One of the other members of the party could do it.”
“No, I think I need this to achieve some closure. You’ll be coming back in a couple more days, and if there’s a medical problem after I leave, you still have Dr. Dietz and Linda Gaston.”
The door to the cargo hold closed with a thud, and Rachel shivered despite the tropic heat. She lifted her carry-on bag and started to turn away, but Madison stopped her.
“Ben must have sensed something like this might happen, because before we left he spoke to me about another physician he thought should take care of me if he couldn’t.” Madison hesitated. “I think you know him. Matter of fact, I imagine he’s the one meeting you at the airport after you land.”
“You mean Josh?”
“When you see him, please tell Dr. Pearson I need to see him as soon as I return.”
***
The Preston Medical Clinic utilized cutting-edge technology in every aspect of its practice, and records were no exception. All the records were computerized, the information encrypted, ample backup in place. The primary difference between David Madison’s records and others was that the former president’s were more strongly encrypted and only available to the medical staff on a need-to-know basis. Now Josh had that need.
Most of the physicians had gone home for the day, but Josh was still at his computer studying David Madison’s medical records, trying to prepare himself for what he anticipated was going to be his biggest job ever as a physician.
Did Ben Lambert have a premonition something like this might happen? Was that why he named Josh as his successor before leaving on the trip? Maybe there was a clue in his medical records.
Closing down Madison’s record, Josh opened the one for Ben Lambert. His pre-trip physical had been just as thorough as the ex-president’s . . . maybe even more thorough. Then why would he have suffered a sudden heart attack and died? Josh figured it was something weird like a rhythm disturbance. He shook his head. No need for him to agonize over something that had already happene
d. Maybe the autopsy would tell them, maybe not.
But, no matter what was in Ben Lambert’s medical records, whatever his autopsy would show, one thing remained a certainty. Dr. Ben Lambert was dead, and Josh Pearson was now the personal physician for the immediate past president of the United States.
***
It would be wonderful to get back home to Josh, Rachel thought. They’d been dating for a year, and this was the longest they’d been apart. A mutual friend had introduced them, warning her that he was still a bit fragile from the death of his wife a couple of years earlier. But Rachel rationalized that since her fiancé had dumped her before she moved to Dallas, perhaps she and Josh would be kindred spirits. They proved to be more than that, though. And this absence from him cemented it—her feelings for him were more than friendship. She’d fallen in love with Josh. And she could hardly wait to see him, to pick the right time to let him know.
Rachel looked out the window of the plane, trying to discern landmarks below. She’d always envied people who could look down at the metropolitan sprawl that was Dallas and say, “Oh, I can see my house” or “There’s the building where I work.”
Sometimes, if she was lucky, she might recognize the sprawling campus of the University of Texas Southwestern Medical Center. On rare occasions, she might even be able to spot the Zale Lipshy Hospital where she worked—but not today. She wished she were there right now, checking on patients in the ICU, instead of escorting the body of a colleague back to his loved ones. A wave of guilt washed over her like the rain that streaked past the windows of the plane. Get over it, Rachel. You did all you could. But if that were true, why did something about it all simply feel wrong?
The plane dropped lower, and through the rain she was able to make out street lamps and car headlights. The touchdown was relatively smooth, and soon she heard the roar of reverse thrusters and the squeal of brakes as the pilot brought the jet to a slow rollout. This area of Love Field was reserved for VIPs, and certainly a plane chartered by former president David Madison qualified. She wondered who would meet her—besides Josh, of course. Exactly how would she accomplish the handoff of Dr. Lambert’s body?
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