Miracle Cure

“Yes.”

“Very distressing,” Sanders continued. “There is going to be a tremendous outcry.”

“But Riker played into our hands when they mentioned Bradley Jenkins,” Markey said. “Now we have proof that his reports were falsified. His findings can be labeled invalid.”

“Maybe,” Sanders allowed, “but don’t count on it. We can use it, but it might not be enough. We might have to consider other plans.”

Markey cleared his throat. “If you think it’s necessary.”

“It is. Now that Riker has brought Silverman into this, I don’t see how we have any choice. I’ll contact Silverman’s stepfather.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Get on a plane to New York. I want you to confront Harvey Riker man-to-man.”

“Fine.” Markey paused. “There’s one other thing.”

“Yes?”

“The Gay Slasher killings — it’s all very strange.”

“I know what you mean.”

Markey paused again before asking, “Who do you think is behind it?”

Ernest Sanders weighed his words carefully. “To be honest, Ray,” he said at last, “I really don’t know.”

14

Early the next morning, Sara hobbled down the corridor and pushed open the door to Donald Parker’s office without knocking.

“You bastard.”

Donald looked up from his desk. If he had been surprised by her outburst, his face did not show it. “I’ve been expecting you.”

“You lied to me.”

“Sara—”

“You said you would leave Bradley Jenkins out of your report.”

“Sara, I’m sorry but I just couldn’t do it.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m a reporter,” Parker said. “I was assigned to cover the story, the full story—”

“Spare me the speech.”

“Hold on a minute, Sara. You were biased on this one. Your judgment was clouded.”

“What are you talking about?”

Parker adjusted his tie. “It’s simple. You don’t leave out a vital aspect of a story to protect a friend.”

“But I explained—”

“You explained what? That your friend, this Harvey Riker, lied to government officials? That he falsified reports?”

“He didn’t falsify anything. He allowed Bradley Jenkins the right to confidentiality.”

“Oh, come, Sara, you didn’t really expect me to give up the Gay Slasher story, did you? If I left Jenkins out of the report, what was the connection between the Gay Slasher’s victims? The whole idea was that they all came from Riker’s clinic. I couldn’t just skip over Bradley Jenkins, now, could I?”

Sara leaned against her cane. “You don’t realize the consequences.”

“Worrying about the consequences is not our job. You know that. We report the news and let the pieces fall where they may. We cannot choose to suppress important facts in order to achieve our personal goals. Reverse our roles for a minute. If you were doing a story and I came to you and asked you to leave out a vital part of the story in order to protect a friend of mine — a friend who tampered with government documents — would you?”

“I didn’t ask you to protect a friend. I asked you to protect the clinic. Don’t you see? Your report could close them down.”

He shook his head. “No way. After the show last night, the public would never allow it. The researchers at the clinic are overnight heroes. All of America is talking about them.”

“You still should have told me.”

“Maybe I should have,” he allowed, “but I didn’t think there was time.” He crossed the room and stood in front of her. “I’m sorry about your husband. He must be a very brave man to go public with something like this.”

She nodded and turned to go. “Thank you, Donald,” she said curtly. “I apologize for barging in.”

* * *

Dr. Harvey Riker tried to read the report at his desk, but it was pointless. After watching the NewsFlash report last night, sleep had kept a safe distance away from him. Now that the evening had given way to sunrise, his mind still churned with the same questions and doubts. Had he made a grave mistake in allowing the report to be aired? It had seemed like the perfect idea, the perfect way to keep the clinic going strong, but he had forgotten to add in the Bradley Jenkins factor, a factor that could very well destroy the clinic.

What was going to happen now?

The intercom on his desk buzzed.

“Yes?”

“Dr. Raymond Markey is here to see you.”

Harvey felt something twist in his abdomen. “He’s here? In the clinic?”

“Yes, Doctor.”

Oh God, oh God… “Show him in.”

Harvey sat back and began to gulp down large quantities of air. He waited, staring at the second hand of the clock above his door. It moved like it was being weighed down — no sweep, just a grudging crawl.

Markey already knew. The son of a bitch knew about Jenkins before the show. But how?

“Dr. Riker?”

Harvey put on a smile that was way too broad. “Dr. Markey, come in. What brings you here?”

“You don’t know?”

Harvey continued to smile, unfazed. “Should I?”

“We need to talk.”

Harvey was a touch confused by Markey’s tone. He had expected the man to be cool, calm, sure; instead, there was an undeniable strain in his voice. The Assistant Secretary of Health and Human Services was dressed in a blue pin-striped suit, black shoes that desperately needed a shine, and a solid red tie.

“Have a seat.”

“Thank you.” Markey fell heavily into the chair as though overcome by exhaustion.

“Some coffee?”

“No.” He leaned back and crossed his legs. “Dr. Riker, let me get to the point. I saw the television report on your clinic last night. I found it very informative… and disturbing.”

“Disturbing?” Harvey repeated with the same stupid smile glued to his face. He wondered how much longer he would get away with the dumb act. Not very, he surmised.

“I reread your findings and confidential reports last night,” Markey continued. “While they are not exactly contradictory to what the show said, they were, shall we say, vague.”

“It was not intentional,” Harvey tried, his brain scanning fiercely for escape avenues. “You see, Dr. Markey, I did not want to make any wild claims before I had full documentation to back them up.”

“But the show said—”

“Exactly. The show said — I didn’t. You know how the press operates. They exaggerate everything out of all proportion.”

“Then the TV coverage was not your idea?”