Miracle Cure (1991)

by Harlan Coben

  "Speed is not always a good thing, you know."

  Watching Randall's face turn red, Cassandra spotted Michael in the bac k c orner, standing in a corner with that nothing doctor friend of his.

  Michael looked so damn handsome in his tux, the only man at the part y w ho would dare to wear a purple flowered bowtie and matching cumber bun d r ather than the standard black. But that was Michael. He was always a l ittle off center. Cassandra had not seen him for nearly six months, bu t h e still looked fantastic.

  It was strange really. Over the years Cassandra had stole nj all o f s ara's boyfriends, starting with her first high school beau, Eddi e m yles. Cassandra had orchestrated the seduction so that Sara would b e s ure to walk in on them.

  Which she did.

  Sara's eyes widened when she saw her boyfriend's pants lowered to hi s a nkles, Cassandra kneeling in front of him. Her face had crumbled int o a nguish. But Eddie was only the first.

  It became a game to Cassandra. A new challenge. Every time Sara riske d t rusting someone, her sister would pounce on him. With each seductio n s ara's wounds bled anew. Insecurity began to nestle into her psyche.

  Sara became more self-conscious about her health problems. He r c onfidence withered away. Sarcasm became her defense. Cassandra watche d h er sister distance herself from the outside world. She dedicate d h erself to her studies, staying alone in her room, blasting that awfu l h eavy metal music.

  Eventually, there were no boys left for Cassandra to chase away.

  But Sara had been playing possum. Somehow the sly bitch had landed th e b est of men.

  Michael, the bastard. The gorgeous, wonderful bastard.

  Cassandra stepped forward.

  "Excuse me a moment, gentlemen."

  The men parted to allow her to pass. Cassandra could not take her eye s o ff Michael. Six months had passed since they had last saw each other.

  And a lot of things might have changed in six months.

  Cassandra moved toward Michael.

  Sitting in the back of a studio limousine, Sara could not keep still.

  She tried to unwind from the excitement of the show, but the constan t f low of adrenalin would not allow it. She rocked back and forth in th e p lush leather seat, her mind whirling with anticipation. She had move d f rom Blue Oyster Cult into the more contemporary sounds of Depeche Mode , but she still wasn't slowing down. Midway through "Blasphemous Rumors," the limousine driver raised the soundproof windo w b etween them.

  Good.

  Soon she would see Michael. Corny to say, but the best part of days lik e t hese was reliving each detail with her husband.

  Wincing, Sara snapped off her brace and rubbed her foot. Leg | brace s h ad improved dramatically over the years, from the days | when she wor e a heavy metal one that gripped like a power-vise to the moder n f iberglass kind that felt more snug than compressing. Still, the brac e w as cumbersome and her leg throbbed painfully when she wore it a lon g t ime. She massaged her foot and lower leg with knowing hands. The bloo d b egan to circulate again.

  Born two months premature, Sara had been a sickly child from the start.

  Infections settled into her lungs, causing pneumonia and a childhood o f h ealth complications. The difficult birth had also permanently damaged a n erve in Sara's left foot.

  As a child Sara had needed a brace and metal crutches to walk.

  Now the crutches were gone, but the brace and occasionally a cane wer e s till evident.

  Her youth was filled with constant hospital visits and trips to medica l s pecialists and therapists. During endless sunny summer days Sara wa s f orced to stay shut up in her bedroom rather than play outside wit h o ther children. Tutors visited the house or the hospital because of al l t he school she missed. She had few friends. Schoolmates never teased o r t aunted her, but they shunned the strange child and treated her lik e s ome sort of outsider. Sara was not allowed to take gym class. She ha d t o sit on the steps during recess. Other children eyed her warily , almost frightened by the fragile, pale girl as though she represente d d eath in a place that only understood immortality.

  No matter how hard she tried not to be, Sara was always different , always coddled, always behind. She hated it. As she got older, Sar a l earned that the limp and brace were not as difficult to overcome a s p eople's perceptions. Whenever she suffered a setback, teachers wer e q uick to offer her health as an excuse.

  "It's not your fault, Sara. If you were in perfect health ..."

  But Sara wanted to scream every time they said that. She did not want t o h ear excuses or use them to justify her shortcomings she wanted t o o vercome them. Check that. She wanted to blow them away.

  The chauffeur turned off the road and headed up the driveway. There wer e c ars parked everywhere Rolls Royces, Mercedes, stretch limos of al l v arieties, cars with special government license plates. Some chauffeur s s tood around the driveway, smoking cigarettes and chatting with on e a nother.

  Others stayed in the car and read newspapers.

  When the limo reached the house, Sara snapped her brace back on, grabbe d h er cane, and proceeded as gracefully as she could toward the fron t d oor.

  Michael took another sip of Perrier. There was a steady ripping pain i n h is abdomen, but he did not mention it to Harvey. He had planned to sa y s omething, but Harvey was so distracted tonight that Michael decided t o w ait. He watched Harvey's eyes shift nervously over the guests in th e l arge ballroom. His overall appearance, always a touch disheveled, was a c omplete mess.

  "Are you all right, Harv?"

  "Fine," he replied quickly.

  "Something on your mind?"

  "I.. what time is Sara supposed to show up?"

  It was the third time he had asked.

  "Any minute now," Michael said.

  "What the hell is the big deal?"

  "Nothing," Harvey answered with a tight smile.

  "Your wife and I are having a torrid affair behind your back, that's a ll."

  "Again? I hate it when you steal my women, Harv."

  Harvey patted his paunch and tried to arrange his wild hair.

  "What can I say? I'm a stud."

  Michael took another sip of his water.

  "What do you have planned for next week?" he asked.

  "Next week?"

  "Your birthday, Harv." "Oh," Harvey said, "that."

  "You only turn fifty once, big fella."

  Harvey sloshed down the rest of his martini.

  "Don't remind me." "Fifty years old," Michael said with a whistle.

  "Five big decades."

  "Shut up, Michael."

  "Half a century. The golden anniversary. Hard to believe."

  "You're a pal, Mike. Thanks."

  Michael grinned.

  "Come on, Harv. You've never looked better."

  "Yeah, well, I do get tired of beating off the women with a stick."

  Harvey glanced over Michael's shoulder and spotted Cassandra walkin g t oward them.

  "Speaking of beating them off with a stick."

  "What?"

  "Sister-in-law alert."

  "Where?"

  Cassandra tapped his shoulder.

  "Hello, Michael."

  "Right behind you."

  "Thanks." Reluctantly, Michael turned toward Cassandra.

  "Good evening, Cassandra." "Long time, no see, Michael," she said, "Ver y l ong. Six months, I think."

  "About that. You remember my friend Harvey Riker?"

  "Ah, yes. The doctor."

  Harvey stepped forward.

  "Nice to see you again, Cassandra."

  She nodded slightly, ignoring him, her eyes never leaving Michael's f ace.

  "So how do I look this evening, Michael?"

  "Nice."

  "Nice?" she repeated.

  Michael shrugged.

  "Kind of noncommittal," Cassandra noted.

  He shrugged again.

  Cassandra turned her attention to Harvey for the bri
efest of moments.

  "Dr. Riker, do you agree with Michael's assessment?"

  Harvey cleared his throat.

  "Uh, a lot of words come to mind, Cassandra. Nice is not one of them."

  She smiled briefly, her gaze back upon Michael.

  "Michael, can we talk for a moment?"

  "Look, Cassandra "

  "It's okay," Harvey interrupted.

  "I need to freshen my drink anyway."

  They both watched him walk away. In front of the ballroom the band Dr.

  Lowell had hired finished their rendition of Tie A Yellow Ribbon an d m oved on to Feelings. The lead singer sounded like a cat caught in a c uisinart.

  "Care to dance?" Cassandra asked.

  "No, thanks."

  "Why not?".

  "I'm not in the mood. What did you want to talk to me about?"

  "Stop being rude, Michael. I'll get to it in a minute. Pretend this i s f oreplay. You've heard of foreplay, haven't you?"

  "I think I read something about it in Cosmo."

  "Good. How do you like my dress?"

  "Divine. What do you want?"

  "Michael-"

  "You're not really going to start this shit again, are you?"

  "What shit?"

  "You know what shit, Cassandra."

  "I do?"

  "I'm married to Sara, for chrissake. You remember Sara blonde, petite , gorgeous, lousy taste in music, your sister."

  "So?"

  Michael rolled his eyes.

  "So why do you keep bothering me?

  Why do you always come on like some soap opera harlot?"

  She looked at him.

  "You don't approve of me, do you, Michael?"

  "It's not my place to approve or disapprove."

  "So what do you think of me then?" she asked, sipping her drink.

  "Really."

  "I think you're great," he said.

  "You're beautiful and funny and smart, but when you act like this" h e s hrugged "you kind of make me sick."

  "You're so sweet." Her hand reached out and rested on Michael's chest.

  Then she winked at him, leaned forward, and kissed his cheek.

  "What was that for?" he asked.

  She winked and pointed behind him.

  "That."

  Michael turned around. From the entrance way Sara stood watching them.

  A few hours ago George had successfully stolen a car and changed it s l icense plate. He circled the area near the Lowell estate for a littl e w hile, making sure he knew every possible escape route before parking i n a n abandoned lot several miles away. He spread goose-liver pate on a p iece of toast and poured himself a red wine. Very young.

  Beaujolais-Villages.

  A perfect picnic.

  When George had finished, he tidied the car, checked his watch, an d d rove back toward Dr. Lowell's mansion. He reached into the pocket o f h is Banana Republic khakis and took out his stiletto. He pressed th e s pring-release button with his thumb.

  The long, thin blade shot out with a sleek pop.

  Very nice.

  He closed the blade and put it back in his pocket. Enough games.

  Enough wine and song.

  It was time to go to work.

  Chapter 3.

  Harvey Riker helped himself to another martini.

  His third. Or was it his fourth? He was not sure.

  Harvey was not a heavy drinker, but lately he had found himself eyein g t he bottle with new respect and desire. So much had happened the pas t f ew weeks. Why now? Why when they were on the brink of cornering an d e ven destroying the AIDS virus did all this have to happen?

  He handed the glass back to the bartender.

  "Another," he said simply.

  The bartender hesitated but then took the glass.

  "Last one, okay?"

  Harvey nodded. The bartender was right. Enough was enough.

  He spun back toward the crowd. Michael was still talking with Cassandra.

  Man, she was something else. Talk about sizzle. A guy could get sunbur n j ust standing near her. Make that sunstroke.

  And how old is she, Harvey? Young enough to be your daughter, I suspect.

  He shrugged. No harm in fantasizing, was there?

  But his mind quickly returned to the other matter. The matter.

  His bloodshot eyes scanned the room, but there was still no sign o f s ara.

  "Hello, Dr. Riker."

  Harvey turned toward the familiar voice.

  "Hey, Bradley, how you feeling?"

  Bradley Jenkins, the senator's son, smiled at Harvey.

  "Much better, thanks."

  "Any problems?"

  Bradley shook his head.

  "Right now I feel great. It's like some sort of a miracle ...1 jus t d on't know how long it will last."

  Harvey looked at the soft-spoken young man. Sara had introduced Harve y t o Bradley years ago, well before Bradley had become his patient or eve n s uspected he had AIDS.

  "Neither do we, Bradley," he said in a serious tone.

  "The important thing is to continue the treatment. Stopping in th e m iddle can be more dangerous than the disease itself."

  "I'd be crazy to stop."

  "When is your next visit?"

  Bradley never answered because his father stepped between them.

  "Not another word," Senator Jenkins hissed at Harvey.

  "Ibllow me." Harvey did as the senator asked. He followed him down th e l ong corridor, keeping a yard or two between them. Senator Stephe n j enkins stopped at the last door, opened it, glanced back down th e c orridor to make sure no one was looking, and then waved for Harvey t o e nter. He closed the door behind them.

  They were in Dr. Lowell's library now, a huge, two-level room jamme d f rom floor to high ceiling with thick, leather-covered books. There wa s a sliding ladder to facilitate getting volumes from the higher shelve s a nd a catwalk that circled the room like a running track. Dark oak wa s t he color of the shelves, the floor, the furniture.

  Senator Jenkins began to pace.

  "You should know better than to speak to my son in public."

  "We were just talking," Harvey said.

  "This is a party. People talk."

  "Do you know what would happen if people found out the truth abou t b radley?" Harvey paused.

  "Peace in the Middle East?"

  "Don't get cute with me, Riker."

  "Nuclear armageddon? The end of Friday the Thirteenth sequels?"

  "I owe you, Dr. Riker, but don't push me."

  Harvey's tone was brisk.

  "You don't owe me anything."

  "You saved my son's life."

  "We don't know that. Only time will tell for sure."

  "Still," the senator said, "it is encouraging. I'm very grateful."

  "I'm. touched."

  "I also heard about the death of your partner Dr. Grey. My condolences."

  "Care to make a public donation to his favorite charity?"

  The senator chuckled without humor.

  "No."

  "Then how about getting the Senate to vote us more funds?"

  "You know I can't do that. The media and my opponents will tear m e a part."

  "For helping cure a deadly disease?"

  "For spending the voters' hard-earned tax dollars to help a bunch o f i mmoral, limp-wristed perverts."

  "Like your son?"

  The senator lowered his head.

  "Low blow, Riker. Very low.

  If it ever got out that Bradley was ..." He stopped.

  "Gay?" Harvey finished for him.

  "Is that the word you're looking for? Well, it won't. Not from me, a t l east."

  "Then I'll do what I can to help the clinic discreetly, of course."

  Senator Jenkins paused for a moment, thinking.

  "Besides," he continued, "there are other ways to raise more mone y w ithout involving me."

  "Like how?"

  "Make your results p
ublic."

  "It's still too early."

  "It's never too early," Jenkins said.

  "You don't think there're rumors about your success in Washington? Ho w d o you think I found out about it? All you have to do is show the medi a s ome of your test cases. Show them that Krutzer kid or Raul Leander."

  Harvey almost smiled.

  "What about Bradley? The son of a senator would certainly draw mor e a ttention than a couple of unknown gays."

  "You can't use him."

  "Even if it means saving more lives or is your son the only homosexua l w orth saving?"

  "You cannot use Bradley, Riker. That's final. Do you understand?"

  "I understand, Senator. I understand that some things are more importan t t han human lives like reelection campaigns."

  The senator stepped closer. He was a big man and he towered over th e s maller doctor.

  "I'm getting a little tired of your moral outrage, Dr. Riker. You're ou t o f your league here, and I've seen smaller mistakes ruin a man."

  "Are you threatening me?"

  "No, I'm warning you. Someone might decide to step on you if you becom e t oo bothersome."

  Harvey returned the senator's glare.

  "You must be mistaking me for somebody who gives a shit," he replie d e venly.

  "If my clinic goes down the tubes, a certain right-wing, narrow-minde d s enator from Arkansas would go with me."

  Senator Jenkins shook his head. "You're so goddamn blind, Riker. Yo u d on't even understand what you're involved in here."

  "So tell me."

  "Your cause has more than its share of enemies," Jenkins continued.

  "There are plenty of people who would not mind putting an end to you r r esearch. Powerful people."

  "Like your Jenkins stepped back and shook his head.

  "I'm just trying to save my son's life," he said softly.

  "But there are important people who want the clinic closed..

  permanently."

  "I'm aware of that. I can handle it."

  Senator Stephen Jenkins walked toward the door and opened it.

  "No," he said, "I don't think you can."

  Sara stared at Michael and Cassandra. Her hand gripped her cane to th e p oint where her knuckles turned white. She fought off the desire to bas h c assandra with the same cane. She closed her eyes for a brief moment.

  Sara knew that she was playing into her sister's hand, that Cassandr a w as just trying to bait her. But Sara still felt a flush of anger an d j ealousy that colored her cheeks red.