Miracle Drug

by Richard L. Mabry M. D.

  “Then you have your answer,” Josh said. He turned back to face his friend. “So, if you’re still willing to help, it’s time for us to put our heads together and start trying to dig up another four doses of RP-78 for David Madison.”

  ***

  “When can you get the vial of medication to me?”

  The voice on the other end of the phone call was faint, probably to forestall anyone eavesdropping. “I’m not certain when I can get away. Isn’t it enough that I have it?”

  “No. You have to get it to me, and I need it tonight.” There was a moment of silence. “Meet me at the loading dock in the rear of the hospital at six this evening.”

  “I don’t know. I’ll try.”

  It was time to be more forceful. “If you want the other half of your payment, you’ll do more than try. I’ll see you at six.”

  The caller’s voice was faint, but there was steel in the words. “I don’t think the amount we discussed is enough.”

  “We can talk about it when we meet. Be there. And be certain no one follows you.”

  ***

  Josh shrugged his shoulders and spread his hands in a gesture of defeat. “I don’t know where Dr. Chavez can be. I’ve called his cell phone number three times now, but he doesn’t answer.”

  Derek stood in front of Josh’s office window and looked out at the hospital parking lot. It was mid-afternoon, and cars were streaming in and out as visitors arrived and departed. “Could there be a problem because his cell phone is from Colombia?”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Josh said, joining Derek at the window. “When he arrived, Karen Marks provided him with a cell phone that had a local number so I could stay in touch with him—mainly for situations like this.”

  Derek stretched and yawned. “Man, I was hoping to get one good night’s sleep before I head back to Georgia, but it looks like I’ll be right here again tonight.”

  Josh held out his keys. “No need for you to stay up. You’re welcome to crash at my place. It’s a bachelor pad, but it’s nicer than one of the call rooms.”

  “We’ll see.” Derek pulled out his cell. “I’m assuming that Marks and Lang would let us know if they locate that missing vial of RP-78. Meanwhile, since you can’t find Dr. Chavez, let me try my boss at Argosy once more.”

  Josh slumped into the chair behind his desk and watched his friend dial. After a moment, Derek pocketed his cell phone. “No answer. I guess when he sees my number on caller ID, Dr. Gaschen lets it roll to voicemail because he doesn’t want to be responsible if this off-label use of RP-78 flops.”

  “So he’s willing to take the credit if it works, but put the blame on you if it doesn’t. Right?”

  “That’s pretty much what I think he was saying as I left the plant.”

  “Who actually developed RP-78?” Josh asked.

  “I guess you could say it was mine. I told you, I wanted to do something to cure the same type of cancer that took my wife. Matter of fact, I named it after Robin—robinoxine. And RP-78 are her initials—Robin Paige—and the year of her birth.” Derek sighed. “As it turned out, robinoxine wasn’t effective to kill tumors, but it was as an antibiotic.”

  “So if it’s successful, you should get the credit.”

  Derek frowned. “Poor, naive JP. That’s not how it works in the world of industry. If the drug works, Dr. Gaschen will label it the latest development from Argosy. Our stock will go up. He’ll get a bonus. And, if I’m lucky, my name will be mentioned somewhere in the press release.”

  Josh reached for the phone. “Let me have Dr. Gaschen’s cell phone number. I want to see if he’ll answer a call from this number, one he doesn’t recognize.”

  ***

  Karen Marks sat behind a cherry wood desk in her office in one wing of the Madison home. The desk was larger, the office more nicely appointed than the one she’d had for eight years on Capitol Hill. Of course, in that situation she’d had to be more circumspect, ever aware that her actions were subject to scrutiny by both the public and agencies like the General Services Administration. Here, she was free to make her own decisions. The furnishings of her office, the appointments of the room, even her salary all came out of the generous allowance afforded ex-presidents. And so long as she kept a low profile, no one would challenge any of her actions.

  “I thought that when we left the hospital, you or one of your agents would make sure you had the vial with the remaining doses of RP-78 for David Madison,” Karen said.

  There was no rancor in Jerry Lang’s voice as he replied, “And I thought you had taken it.”

  “Well, let’s not sit here playing the blame game,” Karen said. “Have you located it?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Are you saying your agents haven’t been able to find out who took that drug from David Madison’s room when we left the hospital?”

  “They’re still interviewing the people who had access to that mini-refrigerator over the past twenty hours, but they’ve had no luck thus far. Karen, it’s an impossible task,” Jerry Lang said. He patted his shirt pocket, remembered that he’d given up cigarettes years ago, and allowed a sardonic smile to cross his face.

  “We discovered the vial was gone when we arrived here,” she said. “That was shortly before noon today. According to the schedule Dr. Pearson was following, the next dose should be given in about two hours. You’ve had five hours to question perhaps a dozen people, yet your agents haven’t a clue as to who has the drug.” She frowned. “Jerry, that’s unacceptable.”

  “What do you want us to do?” Lang asked. “Shall we drag them all in and forcibly administer a polygraph to everyone? We don’t have enough evidence to ask for search warrants for each person’s house and automobile. There’s not a judge in this county who’d authorize our checking these people’s bank accounts for large deposits. We’re still sweating a couple of them, but right now all the thief has to do is keep saying, ‘I don’t know anything about it.’ And apparently, that’s what whoever’s responsible is doing.”

  “Let me call Dr. Pearson again. Maybe he has some ideas.”

  Lang shook his head. “I wouldn’t have the gall to do that—not after the way he was unceremoniously dumped earlier today. If I were in his position—”

  She lifted the phone and began to dial. “But you’re not. And I’m willing to do anything, including begging, if it means David Madison will get the medicine he needs.”

  ***

  Josh gave a thumbs-up gesture to Derek who was slouched in the chair across the desk from him. “Dr. Gaschen?”

  “Yes? Who is this? The caller ID says Prestonwood Hospital in Dallas. Is there some sort of problem with one of our drugs?”

  “You might say that,” Josh said. “I’m Dr. Josh Pearson, personal physician to David Madison.” Josh caught Derek’s raised eyebrows at this stretching of the truth, but that didn’t matter right now. “For reasons I can’t go into, we need about another three hundred fifty milligrams of RP-78 to complete a course of the medication, which has been successful thus far in treating a Bacillus decimus infection. Can you help us?”

  Josh held his breath. “What . . . Why . . . Well, I’m certainly glad the drug has helped your patient. But didn’t Dr. Johnson explain to you that he was bringing all the RP-78 he could find here?”

  “That was all he could find several days ago,” Josh said. “Surely since that time you’ve thought about where you might be able to put your hands on a bit more. Dr. Gaschen, this is critical. If we complete the course of treatment, I can almost guarantee that the FDA will take another look at RP-78. And even if they don’t, you could look into marketing it in South and Central America. I’d be surprised if there weren’t more cases of Bacillus decimus infections there once you start looking for them.”

  Josh could almost hear the wheels turning in Gaschen’s mind. Did he feel a humanitarian tug, an altruistic urge to leave no stone unturned to assist in saving the life that was at stake? Or was his focus on what it would mea
n for his company if RP-78 worked in this situation? Whatever Gaschen’s motivation, the reply when it came was what Josh hoped to hear. “I think perhaps I can help you.”

  ***

  “I don’t know why you’re going to all this trouble,” Derek said when Josh finally ended his call. “You’ve proven that the drug works, and that’s great. And you have enough RP-78 to treat Rachel. As for what happens with Madison from here on out, you can’t control that. He essentially fired you as his personal physician after you made a diagnosis most physicians would miss and then worked hard to round up enough of the only drug that might possibly treat the infection.”

  “Same answer as before,” Josh said as he pushed away from his desk. “Once I start dealing with a problem, I want to finish—and I want the patient to recover.”

  “So are you going to call Karen Marks or Dr. Dietz?”

  “I’ve been thinking about that. Dietz isn’t a bad man, but he’s much more an administrator than a clinician. It won’t surprise me if he designates someone familiar with clinical medicine as his right-hand man in dealing with the ex-president. If I get the word to Karen Marks that we’ve located enough RP-78 to finish Madison’s treatment, she can arrange to get it here and see that it’s given.”

  Josh still had Karen Mark’s number on his cell phone’s speed dial. He wondered how long it would be before he would remove it—either at her request or his desire. His call rang only once before she answered.

  “Karen, this is Josh Pearson. I’ve located another five hundred milligram vial of RP-78. That should be enough to finish Mr. Madison’s course of treatment. Dr. Gaschen at Argosy has the drug. I’ll give you his number, and you can arrange to get it here.”

  There was a somber tone to her voice as Marks said, “Thank you. I’ll call him, but in the meantime Jerry Lang’s been contacted by the person who has the missing drug.”

  “So this isn’t necessary after all,” Josh said, disappointment coloring his words.

  “Oh, that’s not really true. As a matter of fact, it will probably save the Madison Foundation a million dollars. That’s how much Dr. Chavez seems to want for the remaining RP-78 he’s holding.”

  18

  Allison paused at Josh’s office door. She gave a couple of tentative taps, then waited until she heard him say, “Come in.”

  She took a few steps inside before she stopped. “Am I interrupting anything?”

  Josh sat at his desk, staring out the window behind him. He looked up and said, “No, no. Come on in.”

  “Where’s Derek? You two have been sort of inseparable the past few days.”

  “He’s gone to my apartment to clean up and try for a good night’s sleep. Matter of fact, he took my car, so I’m going to have to ask you for a ride.”

  “No problem,” Allison said.

  Josh gestured to the chairs across the desk from him. “Have a seat. I don’t know how long it will be before they take this office back, but for now I guess it’s still mine.”

  Allison eased into a chair and crossed her legs, her crisply starched white coat making a brief crunching sound as she settled in. “Why don’t you go home, too? Your one active patient fired you. Rachel is doing well, and besides that, in case you’ve forgotten, I’m the one who’s taking care of her.”

  “I guess she’s had her daily dose of RP-78,” Josh said.

  “Just got it. I think Chavez’s idea about giving it intravenously until the patients were past the crisis point was good, but she’s received the last few doses of the drug by intramuscular injection. Her tracheotomy incision is almost healed already, she’s gaining strength every day, and I think she’ll be ready for discharge after she’s had her last dose, which should be . . .” She counted in her head. “That would be on Sunday.”

  “Good. I’ll go by and see her before I head home, if you can wait that long.”

  Allison leaned forward. “Josh, I know we’ve gotten crossways with each other a time or two during all this, but I attributed that to your frustration. It can’t be easy, being given responsibility for the medical care of an important man only to find that he was infected with a fatal disease.”

  Josh grimaced. “Thanks for being so understanding, Allison, but I still owe you an apology. There were times I was a little too impressed with my own importance.” He ran his hands through his hair. “I still wonder what Ben Lambert had in mind when he chose me to take over David Madison’s care if something happened to him. Why was I the one?”

  “Did you have any idea he’d done that?”

  “He mentioned it in passing—sort of a casual reference. What were his words? Oh, yeah. ‘In case something happens to me.’ Did he have a premonition? Was there something in the wind he knew about? And if so, why didn’t he leave me a message of some sort?”

  “Maybe he did. Where have you looked?”

  “I really haven’t. I went over Madison’s medical records. Then I looked through Ben’s records, including his most recent physical. That’s about it.”

  Allison stood. “Then I suggest we look, starting with Ben’s office at the clinic.”

  Josh rose from behind the desk. “I guess we could do that, but somehow searching for some kind of message from beyond the grave makes all this seem like a scene from a novel.”

  Allison grinned. “And you think the rest of this is business as usual?” She moved toward the door. “Come on, Josh. Let’s see if we can find the key that unlocks this puzzle.”

  ***

  Jerry Lang sat in Karen Marks’s office and listened as she arranged for an Air Force jet to ferry the last precious vial of RP-78 from Atlanta to Dallas.

  “I’ll have an agent at the airport to receive the medicine,” she said. “And thank you again, Dr. Gaschen. I give you my word that Mr. Madison will contact the FDA to let them know how cooperative you’ve been and how helpful the drug was in this situation.”

  “How can you promise things on Madison’s behalf?” Lang asked after the call was over.

  “I’ve been doing that for years now. I’ve probably done it more since he left office than I ever did from the White House. He’s given me a lot of responsibility, but with it comes authority, and I’ve learned not to be shy using it.”

  “Well, now that we know more of that drug, robo-whatever, is on its way, Detective Warren and I can put a stop to Chavez’s little plan to extort a million dollars from the Madison Foundation.”

  Karen held up her hand. “Hang on. Tell me exactly what Chavez said.”

  “He said he’d ‘found’ the missing vial of medication, and he thought Madison would want to show his gratitude. I asked him how much gratitude he expected, and that’s when he said a million dollars sounded about right. I’m supposed to call him back in half an hour to set up an exchange.”

  “Does he really expect a million dollars?” she said. “Obviously, we don’t keep that kind of money around.”

  “I told him that. He said perhaps he could turn over the next dose as a good faith gesture. In return, he suggested we show our own good faith with something like fifty thousand dollars.”

  “And after that?”

  “We haven’t discussed how we’ll exchange the rest of the drug for more money, but you can bet he’s got something planned.”

  Karen looked at her watch. “I guess I’d better try to round up fifty thousand dollars so we can get that dose today.”

  Lang was already shaking his head. “Has it occurred to you that we have only Chavez’s word that what he gives us isn’t colored water? I think we should depend on the vial from the pharmaceutical company getting here—even a couple of hours probably won’t make that much difference—and let me set a trap for Chavez. When we have him, we can sweat the details out of him.”

  Marks chewed on a fingernail. Finally, she said, “I’ll have to leave that to you and Warren, then. In the meantime, I need to find out if Dietz is going to arrange for someone to give David Madison the remaining doses of the drug and follow
him for any kind of complication or recurrence. That’s something Dr. Pearson kept insisting was important.”

  “That’s the other thing I need to tell you,” Lang said. “Before the call from Chavez, I got a text from Dietz. It seems he’s learned more about the infection Madison’s had, and now he thinks Pearson should continue treating the ex-president until he’s completely clear.”

  “I don’t think that call to Dr. Pearson’s going to be very pleasant,” Marks said.

  Lang got to his feet. “That’s why I’m going to let you make it. Meanwhile, I need to get on the phone with Detective Warren and figure out how we’re going to trap an extortionist.”

  ***

  Rachel was reading a novel when the door to her hospital room opened and both Allison and Josh entered. She laid the book aside and said, “Wow, two doctors visiting at one time. Should I be worried that something’s gone wrong?”

  “Not at all,” Allison said. “I’m here as your doctor, just making evening rounds before I head home. Josh—well, I have no idea why he’s here.” She looked at her colleague and grinned.

  Josh leaned over and kissed Rachel’s forehead. “How are you doing?”

  “Better each day,” Rachel said. “Right about now, I must feel the way Lazarus did when he walked out of that tomb. I guess you have to almost die before you fully realize what a blessing life is.”

  Allison moved to the bedside, pulled her stethoscope from the pocket of her white coat, and listened to Rachel’s chest. “Lungs are clear.” She used a small pocket flashlight to check Rachel’s throat. “No redness. No swelling. Good airway.” Allison stepped back and looked at her patient. “No fever. Other than the healing tracheotomy wound, there’s not the slightest suggestion you were literally at death’s door less than a week ago. It’s almost like a miracle.”

  “Not ‘almost,’ ” Rachel said. “I prayed and I imagine some others did as well. The drug helped, I’m not doubting that, but I’m certain God had a hand in my healing as well.”

  “I remember a quotation from Ambroise Paré, the famous French surgeon,” Josh said. “At the time I first heard this I was in pre-med, and I thought it was interesting but hardly accurate. Now I believe there’s a lot of truth to it.”