Miracle Cure
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?”
“Absolutely not. The media came to me. They told me they heard about the clinic through a leak.” An idea finally broke into view. Harvey seized it. “They implied, Dr. Markey, that the leak came from Washington. Your offices, in fact.”
That’s it, Harv, lie like a cheap toupee. Put him on the defensive.
Markey tilted his head toward the ceiling, considering Harvey’s accusation. Then he said, “Maybe the leak came from Michael Silverman or Sara Lowell? I understand that they are both good friends of yours.”
Harvey shook his head. “They knew nothing about the clinic until the day before yesterday when we diagnosed Michael as being HIV positive. That reporter from NewsFlash—Donald Parker—knew about it over a week ago—”
Markey looked at him doubtfully. He leaned forward, “Forget that matter for a moment,” he said. “I think it’s time we stopped dancing around and got to the heart of the matter.”
You’re mixing your metaphors, Harvey wanted to scream. Panic and desperation coursed through him like tiny shards of glass.
“You lied to us, Dr. Riker. Your reports were falsified.”
“Falsified?”
“You know what I’m talking about. You experimented on Bradley Jenkins. There was no mention of him in any of your reports.”
Harvey cleared his throat. “A patient has a right to confidentiality, Doctor.”
“Not in this case, he doesn’t. There were no studies on him, no lab test results, nothing.”
“But—”
“You haven’t changed, Riker. You still don’t understand that there are rules that must be followed.”
“I know all about rules.”
“No, I don’t think you do. You’ve always been the same, always looking for the easy way.”
“Not the easy way,” Harvey corrected, fighting to hold back his growing fear and rage. “I look for the way with the least amount of bureaucratic bullshit to wade through. I look for the way that will save the most lives quickest.” He stopped, not wanting to continue but knowing he was powerless to stop. “You’d understand that if you were more of a doctor than a pencil pusher.”
Markey’s eyes widened behind his thick spectacles. His whole face became two angry eyes. “Who do you think you’re talking to?”
“Dr. Markey, if you’d just listen—”
“Do you understand the seriousness of your actions?” Markey interrupted. “You could have your grant revoked. The clinic could be shut down and all your findings labeled invalid.”
Harvey stared at him, frozen, afraid for a moment to speak or even move. Finally, his lips parted. “Senator Jenkins forced me to keep Bradley’s name out of the reports,” Harvey said, grasping at anything to stay afloat. “If you try to close us down, there will be a scandal like you’ve never seen before.”
“The senator’s good name has already been dragged through the mud,” Markey replied. “A little more isn’t going to hurt.”
“So what are you saying?”
“Simply this. I have a proposal for you.”
Harvey looked at him, confused. “Proposal?”
“What I am about to offer you is not negotiable. You either take it or we close the clinic. It’s your choice.”
“I’m listening.”
“You have falsified reports, which we both know is a very serious issue. All your findings are tainted. We could disregard them all together . . . or we could allow you to build upon them.”