For most of the next hour, Cyrus Redding sat transfixed, moving only to turn the pages of the translation or to refer to specific photographs in the worn, yellowed text. John Ferguson was a physician and scientist named Dr. Wilhelm Becker. The photographs, though slightly blurred and taken nearly forty years before, left no doubt whatsoever. 'Amazing,'
Redding murmured as he read and reread the biography of his associate.
'Absolutely amazing.'
There were two snapshots of Wilhelm Becker, one a full-face identification photo and one a group shot with other physicians at the Ravensbruck Camp. There was also a shot of what remained of the laboratory in which Becker was purported to have died, with the bodies of the man and his staff sergeant still curled amidst the debris on the floor. Redding withdrew a large, ivory-handled magnifying glass from his desk and for several minutes studied the detail of the scene. The body identified as Willi Becker was little more than an ill-defined, charred lump. 'Nicely done, my friend, ' Redding said softly. 'Nicely done.'
Familiar now with the man and with his spurious death, Redding turned to the page and a half dealing with Becker's research, specifically, with his research on a substance called Estronate 250. Much of the information presented was gleaned from transcripts of the war crimes trial of a physician named Muller and another named Rendl, both of whom were sentened to Nuremberg Prison in large measure because of their association with the supposedly late Wilhelm Becker. Redding found the men in the Ravensbruck group photo. Muller had served five years at hard labor before certain Ravensbruck survivors were able to document his acts of heroism on their behalf and get his sentence commuted. For Rendl, the revelations of his humanitarianism came too late. Three years after his incarceration, he hanged himself in his cell. Redding read the Estronate material word by word, taking careful notes. By the time he had finished, he was absolutely certain that neither Wilhelm Becker nor the notebook containing his work on the hormone had perished in the Ravensbruck fire. A substance, harmless in every other way, that could render a woman sterile without her knowledge. Redding was staggered by the potential of such a drug. China, India, the African nations, the Arabs. What would governments be willing to pay for a secret that might selectively thin their populations and thereby solve so many of their economic and political woes? What would certain governments pay for a weapon which, if delivered properly, could decimate their enemies in a single generation without the violent loss of one life?
Redding's thoughts were soaring through the possibilities of Estronate 250 when, with a soft knock, Nunes entered the office, set a package on the desk, and retired to his observation room. For another hour, Redding sat alone, savoring his mint chip ice cream and deciding how he might best break the news to Dr. John Ferguson that their fifteen-year-old collaboration was about to take on a new dimension. + 'I love you, I miss you, and I don't want to not live with you anymore.'
Kate read Jared's note again and then again, drawing strength and confidence from it each time. She had returned to her office following two distressing and frightening visits. One was to Ellen, who was, for the first time, receiving a transfusion of packed red blood cells.
The second was to Norton Reese. If the connection between Metropolitan Hospital of Boston, the Ashburton Foundation, and Redding Pharmaceuticals was as intimate as Reese's clumsy evasions were leading her to believe, she would need all the strength and confidence she could muster. Thank you, Jared, she thought. Thank you for pulling me out from under the biggest pressure of all. Her meeting with Reese had started off cordially enough. In fact, the man had seemed at times to be inappropriately jovial and at ease. Ever since their confrontation before the board of trustees over his diversion of budgeted pathology department funds to the cardiac surgical program, Reese had dealt with her with the gingerliness of an apprentice handling high explosives.
Now, suddenly, he was all smiles. His congeniality lasted through several minutes of conversation about her department and Stan Willoughby's recommendation that she succeed him as chief, and ended abruptly with mention of the Ashburton Foundation. Whatever fortes the man might have, Kate mused at that moment, they certainly did not include poker faces. His eyes narrowed fractionally, but enough to deepen the fleshy crow's feet at their corners. His lips whitened, as did the tips of his fingers where they were touching one another. 'I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to open the Ashburton Foundation files to you,
' he had said, his eyes struggling to maintain contact with hers and failing. 'However, I shall be happy to answer what questions I can.'
'Okay, ' Kate said, shrugging. 'My first question is why aren't you at liberty to open the Ashburton Foundation fiies to me?'
'It's… it's part of the agreement we signed when we accepted a grant from them.' It was bizarre. In a very literal sense, the man was squirming in his seat. 'Well, suppose I wanted to apply for a grant for my department. How would I go about contacting them?'
'I'll have Gina give you the address on your way out. You can write them yourself.'
'I already have a post office box number in Washington, DC. Is that it?'
'Yes. I mean, probably.'
'Well, suppose I wanted to visit their offices in person. Could you ask Gina to give me a street address as well?' Reese continued to fidget.
'Look, ' he said, 'I'll give you their mailing address and phone number.
I'm sorry, but that's all I can do. Why do you want to know about the Ashburton Foundation anyway? ' he managed. 'Mr. Reese, ' Kate said calmly, 'If I answer that question, will you open their files to me?'
'Not without written permission from the Ashburton Foundation.'
'Well then, it appears we've got a Mexican standoff, doesn't it?
I'll tell you this much, ' her voice grew cold. 'Two women have died and a third may be dying. If I find out the Ashburton Foundation is connected in any way with what has happened to them, and you have kept significant information from me, I promise that I won't rest until everyone who matters knows what you have done. Is that clear? ' Her uncharacteristic anger had, she knew, been prodded by the sight of Ellen Sandler mutely watching the plastic bag dripping blood into her arm and by the knowledge that this was, in all likelihood, just the first of many transfusions to come. Reese checked his watch in a manner that was as inappropriate as it was unsubtle. It was as if he had left a message to be called at precisely nine-twelve and was wondering why the phone hadn't rung. 'Mr. Reese?'
The administrator shifted his gaze back to her. His face was pinched and gray with anger-no, she realized, it was something deeper than anger.
Hatred? Did the poor man actually hate her?
'You really think you're something, don't you, ' he rasped in a strained, muddy voice. 'I beg your pardon?'
'Who made you the crusader? Do you think that just because you have an MD degree and all that old family money you can ride all over people?'
'What? Mr. Reese, I nev-'
'Well, let me tell you something. You don't intimidate me like you do some around here. No, sir, not one bit. So you just ride off on that high horse of yours and let me and the department heads-the official department heads-worry about grants and foundations and such.'
Kate watched as the man sat there, panting from the exertion of his outburst. For five seconds, ten, her green eyes fixed on him. Then she rose from her chair and left, unwilling to dignify Reese's eruption with a response. Now, alone in her office, Kate sat, trying to crystallize her thoughts and doodling a calligraphic montage of the words 'Reese' and 'Asshole.' After finishing four versions of each, she began adding 'Ashburton' and 'Paquette.' First there was the bribery of Ian Toole, an act which seemed to her equivalent to shooting a chipmunk with an elephant gun. She would have been quite satisfied with an admission by Redding Pharmaceuticals that they had somehow allowed a batch of their generic vitamins to become contaminated and would gladly recall and replace them. Their illogically excessive response had to have been born out of either arrogance or fear. But fear of what?
'Omnicenter' made its first appearance in the montage. The Ashburton Foundation had endowed an entire ob-gyn department and subsidized a massive, modern women's health center. Philanthropic acts? Perhaps, she thought. But both of her calls to the foundation had gone unanswered by Dr. Thompson, the director, and her efforts, though modest, had failed to come up with an address for the place. Then there was Reese's refusal to discuss the organization that had been, at least in part, responsible for the resurgence of his hospital. At that moment, almost subconsciously, she began adding another name to the paper. Again and again she wrote it, first in
