“As we told you in the past,” Dr. Mason said, “we believe some misguided demented individual is doing this. It’s becoming intolerable. It has to be stopped.
“I’ve asked you to make this your number-one priority. Have you been able to turn anything up?”
“I assure you, this problem has my undivided attention,” Harris said. “Following your advice I’ve done extensive background checks on most all of the professional staff. I’ve checked references by calling hundreds of institutions. No discrepancies have turned up so far. I’ll now be expanding the checks to other personnel who have access to patients. We tried to monitor some of the breast cancer patients, but there are too many to keep tabs on all the time. Perhaps we should consider putting security cameras in all the rooms.” Harris did not mention his suspicion of the possible connection between these cases and the death of a nurse and the attempted assault of another. After all, it was only a hunch.
“Maybe cameras in every breast cancer patient’s room is what we have to do,” Ms. Richmond said.
“It would be expensive,” Harris warned. “Not only the cost of the cameras and the installation, but also the additional personnel to watch the monitors.”
“Expense might be an academic concern,” Ms. Richmond said. “If this problem continues and the press gets hold of it, we might not have an institution.”
“I’ll look into it,” Harris promised.
“If you need additional manpower, let us know,” Dr. Mason said. “This has to be stopped.”
“I understand, sir,” Harris said. But he didn’t want help. He wanted to do this on his own. At this point it had become a matter of honor. No screwball psychotic was going to get the best of him.
“And what about this attack last night at the residence?” Ms. Richmond asked. “I have a hard enough time recruiting nursing personnel. We can’t have them attacked in the temporary housing we offer them.”
“It is the first time security has been a problem at the residence,” Harris said.
“Maybe we need security people there during the evening hours,” Ms. Richmond suggested.
“I’d be happy to put together a cost analysis,” Harris said.
“I think the patient issue is more important,” Dr. Mason said. “Don’t dilute your efforts at the present time.”
“Yes, sir,” Harris said.
Dr. Mason looked at Ms. Richmond. “Anything else?”
Ms. Richmond shook her head.
Dr. Mason glanced back at Harris. “We’re counting on you,” he said.
“Yes, sir,” Harris said as he got to his feet. By reflex he started to salute, but he caught himself in time.
“VERY IMPRESSIVE!” Sean said aloud. He was sitting by himself in the glass-enclosed office in the middle of his expansive lab. He was at an empty metal desk, and he had the copies of the thirty-three charts spread out in front of him. He’d chosen the office in case someone suddenly appeared. If they did he’d have enough time to sweep the charts into one of the empty file drawers. Then he’d pull over the ledger featuring the protocol he’d developed to immunize the mice with the Forbes glycoprotein.
What Sean found so impressive were the statistics concerning the medulloblastoma cases. The Forbes Cancer Center had indeed achieved a one hundred percent remission rate over the last two years, which contrasted sharply with the one hundred percent fatality rate over the eight years prior to that. Through follow-up MRI studies, even large tumors were shown to have completely disappeared after successful treatment. As far as Sean was concerned, such consistent results were unheard of in the treatment of cancer except for the situation of cancer
For the first time since he’d arrived, Sean had had a reasonable morning. No one had bothered him; he hadn’t seen Hiroshi or any of the other researchers. He’d started the day by injecting more of the mice which had given him a chance to get the copies of the charts up to his office. Then he’d toyed with the crystallization problem, growing a few crystals that he thought would keep Dr. Mason content for a week or so. He’d even had the director come down to see some of the crystals. Sean knew he’d been impressed. At that point, reasonably confident he wouldn’t be disturbed, Sean had retired into the glass office to review the charts.
First he’d read through all the charts to gain an overall impression. Then he’d gone back, checking on epidemiological aspects. He’d noted that the patients represented a wide range of ages and races. They were also of varying sex. But the predominant group consisted of middle-aged white males, not the typical group seen with medulloblastoma. Sean guessed that the statistics were skewed due to economic considerations. The Forbes was not a cheap hospital. People needed adequate medical insurance or sizable savings accounts to be patients there. He also noted that the cases came from various major cities around the country in a truly national distribution.
But then, as if to show how dangerous generalizations were, he discovered a case from a small southwestern Florida town: Naples, Florida. Sean had seen the town on a map. It was the southernmost town on the west coast of Florida, just north of the Everglades. The patient’s name was Malcolm Betencourt, and he was nearing two years since the commencement of his treatment. Sean noted the man’s address and phone number. He thought he might want to talk with him.
As for the tumors themselves, Sean noted that most were multifocal rather than being a single lesion, which was more common. Since they were multifocal, the attending physicians in most cases had initially believed they were dealing with a metastatic tumor, one that had spread to the brain from some other organ like lung, kidney, or colon. In all these cases, the referring physicians had expressed surprise when the lesions turned out to be primary brain tumors arising from primitive neural elements. Sean also noted that the tumors were particularly aggressive and fast-growing. They would have undoubtedly led to rapid death had not therapy been instituted.
Concerning therapy, Sean noted that it did not vary. The dosage and rate of administration of the coded medication was the same for all patients although it was adjusted for weight. All patients had experienced about a week of hospitalization and after discharge were followed in the outpatient clinic at intervals of two weeks, four weeks, two months, six months, then annually. Thirteen of the thirty-three patients had reached the annual-visit stage. Sequelae from the illness were minimal and were associated with mild neurological deficits secondary to the expanding tumor masses prior to treatment rather than to the treatment itself.
Sean was also impressed with the charts themselves. He knew he was looking at a wealth of material that would probably take him a week to digest.
Concentrating as deeply as he was, Sean was startled when the phone on his desk began to ring. It was the first time it had ever rung. He picked it up, expecting a wrong number. To his surprise, it was Janet.
“I have the medicine,” she said tersely.
“Great!” Sean said.
“Can you meet me in the cafeteria?” she asked.
“Absolutely,” Sean said. He could tell something was wrong. Her voice sounded strained. “What’s the matter?”
“Everything,” Janet said. “I’ll tell you when I see you. Can you leave now?”
“I’ll be there in five minutes,” Sean said.
After hiding all the charts, Sean descended in the elevator and crossed over the pedestrian bridge to the hospital. He guessed he was being observed by camera and felt like waving to indicate as much, but resisted the temptation.
When he arrived in the cafeteria Janet was already there, sitting at a table with a cup of coffee in front of her. She didn’t look happy.
Sean slid into a chair across from her.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“One of my patients is in a coma,” Janet said. “I’d just started an IV on her. One minute she was fine, the next minute not breathing.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Sean said. He’d had some exposure to the emotional traumas of hospital life, so he could empathize to an extent.
“At least I got the medicine,” she said.
“Was it difficult?” Sean asked.
“Emotionally more than anything else,” Janet said.
“So where is it?”
