chief of staff at St. Barnabas Hospital in New Jersey, he had first encountered a brash young intern named Harvey Riker. Even back then Riker hated rules and regulations. And now that those rules and regulations came from the government, Markey knew Riker was even more apt to bend them. The man had tremendous talent but very little discipline. He needed to be watched. Closely.
Ah, here it was. On page two.
Page two of the confidential report listed all the staff members and patients at the Sidney Pavilion. Markey sifted through Riker’s report until he found the patient list. He counted them. Yes, forty-two in the confidential report. Forty-one in the doctor’s report. Which name was missing from Dr. Riker’s file?
It did not take long to find. The name might as well have been underlined.
His hand shaking, Raymond picked up the phone behind his desk. The office phone was probably bugged, but he carefully screened his private line on a daily basis.
“Yes?”
“I have the confidential report. It arrived this morning.”
“And?”
Markey swallowed. “I haven’t had a chance to go through it completely yet, but I think we better move fast. They’re getting close.”
“Then we might have to send someone to Bangkok. When can I get a copy?”
“I’ll mail it out today.”
“Good.”
“There’s something else.”
“Yes.”
“Dr. Riker is secretly working on an important patient,” Markey said. “He left the name out of his report.”
“Who is it?”
“Bradley Jenkins. The senator’s—”
“I know who he is.” There was a brief silence. “That explains a lot of things, Raymond.”
“I know,” Markey said.
“Get me that report right away.”
“I’ll send it out immediately. It’ll be on your desk tomorrow morning.”
“Thank you, Raymond. Good-bye.”
“Good-bye, Reverend Sanders.”
Still leaning heavily on her cane, Sara hobbled toward Michael’s room. So much was going on, so much happening at one time. Michael’s illness, the possibility of being pregnant, and this weird mystery surrounding Harvey’s clinic. Two patients murdered. Coincidence? Maybe, but Sara did not think so. She made a mental note to call Max Bernstein when the opportunity arose. He might know something.
She turned the corner and pushed open the door to Michael’s room. Her foot felt stiff today, more like an attached club than flesh and bones. Michael looked up from the bed. His face brightened when he saw her. She moved over to the bed and kissed him lightly.
“Feeling better?” she asked.
“Much,” he replied.
“You scared me half to death, you know. I called my father. He should be here soon.”
“Sara,” he said, “what were you doing at the hospital today?”
She hesitated. “I didn’t want to say anything to you until I was sure.”
Michael sat up, his voice unsettled. “Sure about what? Are you okay?”
She nodded. His concerned, tender gaze plucked at her heart. “You know about my time of the month?”
“I guess so,” he replied. “It was pretty well covered in seventh grade health class.”
She chuckled but the anxiety still would not leave Michael’s face. “Well, mine is six weeks late.”
His eyes widened. “You’re pregnant?”
“I don’t know yet. The test results should be back in a few hours.”
“Jesus, Sara, why didn’t you tell me?”
She sat next to him on the bed and took his hand in hers. “I didn’t want to get either of our hopes up if it was just another false alarm. I hate to see the disappointment in your face…” She turned away, but Michael gently tilted her face back toward him.
“Sara, I love you. Not being able to have kids is not going to change that.”
She nestled her face into his chest. “Mean it?”
He chuckled. “Yeah, mean it.”
“You got a lemon when you married me.”
“Yeah, but a pretty foxy lemon. Great in the sack too.”
“Fresh. You’re supposed to be sick.”
“I can still have a lewd thought now and again. Doctor said it’s good for me.”
“Funny, I didn’t hear him say that.”
“What did you hear him say?”
“Something about the fact that your skin was jaundiced and you may have hepatitis.”
“Well, is it true? Does my skin look jaundiced?”
She examined him. “You look like a Ticonderoga pencil.”
“Thanks.”
“But a cute pencil.”
There was a sharp knock on the door and then Sara’s father peeked his head through the opening. “Am I interrupting something?”
“Come in,” Michael called out. “I could use all the doctors I can get ahold of.”
John Lowell entered the room. He was of average height and extraordinarily good-looking. His neatly parted, full head of gray hair was the very definition of
“Harvey and Eric — you remember my friend Eric Blake?”
“Of course. I hear he is working with Dr. Riker at… at the clinic.”
John Lowell’s face shadowed at the mention of the clinic. Sara and Michael both noticed it. Michael decided to let it slide; Sara did not.
“Yes, he is,” Sara said. “The clinic is making marvelous progress.”
“Good,” her father said, his tone clearly ending any discussion of the clinic. “Now, then, Michael, what seems to be the problem with you?”
“They’re running some test, but they think it’s hepatitis.”
“What specialist is Harvey recommending?”
“Dr. Sagarel.”
John nodded his approval. “Good man. Listen to what Sagarel says, Michael, not those two epidemiologist friends of yours.”
Sara said, “You know Harvey Riker is an exceptional physician, one of the top men in his field.”
“I’m sure that is so—”
“And the clinic is on the threshold of a major breakthrough in the war against AIDS.”
“I’m happy to hear that,” John replied without enthusiasm. “The sooner, the better. We need those funds elsewhere.”
“How can you say that?”
“Let’s not start this again, okay?” he said. “It is a simple question of economics.”
“Economics?” Sara repeated. “Economics is more important than saving lives?”
“Please do not use that preachy, simplistic argument on me,” her father replied evenly. “I’ve used it too often myself in front of Senate subcommittees to fall for it now. The truth of the matter is that only X amount of dollars
