Miracle Cure

"Sara?"

"Yes."

"I hope Michael is okay."

Sara nodded, a thin smile on her lips.

"He is."

They heard the familiar sound of the Mercedes diesel engine.

Their father was home. With great effort Sara made her way to her feet. Cassandra did likewise. As they headed down the corridor, past portraits of ancestors and the fine wooden paneling, John Lowell entered.

John saw his two daughters immediately and stopped. He did not call out to them or try to back away. He just stood there for a moment, staring, a defeated look on his face.

Cassandra stepped forward.

"I told Sara. I'm sorry " John interrupted his daughter with a raised hand.

"You did the right thing," he said.

"what's going on, Dad?" Sara asked.

"Perhaps we can explain."

"We?" Cassandra repeated.

John lowered his head and stepped aside. From behind him Senator Stephen Jenkins entered the room. His appearance had changed radically since the Cancer Center gala two weeks ago.

Bradley's father looked drawn. His eyes were unfocused and bewildered.

The senator tried to smile.

"Hello, ladies."

The sisters shared a confused glance.

"Dad," Sara began, "I don't understand what's going on."

"I know you don't, honey," John said gently.

"Maybe we can explain it to you in the study."

Harvey's eyes were red. He had not been home in five days, and he had not seen Cassandra since their brief tryst in his office the day Michael had been kidnapped. His sleep came in infrequent periods of semiconsciousness at his desk, more like airplane dozing than genuine REM sleep. For several minutes at a time he had managed to push Michael from his mind and focus on work. But the minutes never lasted very long before his attention reverted back to Michael. Still, he felt keyed up by new developments. The changes in the SRI formula enhancements, really were going to achieve the desired effect, he was sure of it. He just had to buckle down a little more, push himself a little more.

As anyone who knew or worked with him could attest, motivation had never been a problem for Harvey. More than anyone, he understood the ramifications of his work. That knowledge spurred him on when others almost all others would quit.

The intercom buzzed.

"Dr. Riker?"

"Yes?"

"Mrs. Riker called again. She wanted me to remind you to call her as soon as possible. She said it was urgent." Harvey sighed. Urgent. Yeah, right. To be fair, Je

"Okay, thanks, I'll get back to her."

"Would you like me to place the call for you?"

Harvey thought for a moment and decided he might as well get it over with before Jen became hostile.

"That would be fine, thanks."

"I'll co

A few moments later Harvey heard the phone ringing.

19.

Lieutenant Max Bernstein sat at his desk and pondered the latest developments in the Gay Slasher case. Of course, Max never actually sat. He stood, paced, squatted, juggled day-old doughnuts (he was trying to master four at the same time), and drove those around him nuts.

He kept replaying his conversation with Winston O'Co

O'Co

There had to be a reason.

But what?

Okay, forget that for a moment. Move onto the murder of Riccardo Martino. Winston O'Co

The timing.

Okay, let's reconstruct. Harvey Riker had seen Riccardo Martino alive a few minutes before Winston O'Co

So what was the explanation?

Simple. The person who killed Martino was not the same person who attacked Dr. Riker.

Well, if Winston O'Co

The Gay Slasher.

Then why didn't the Slasher stab him like the others?

Hmmm. Good question.

Like that one, Max? I got a million more for you. Is the person who hired the Gay Slasher targeting the cured patients like Trian, Whitherson, and Martino? Or is he (or she let's not be sexist) after the secret patients like Jenkins and Michael? Or both? And what about the order of the deaths of the cured patients the three early patients dead, the three later patients alive? Is there any significance in that or is it just a faulty wire in the brain that keeps bringing you back to that seemingly irrelevant point?

And the bigger question, which Max doodled on the top of his desk repeatedly:

Who benefits from the murders?

Good question. Crucial.

The phone on his desk rang. Max dropped the doughnuts onto the floor.

He reached for the receiver without bothering to pick them up.

"Bernstein here."

"Good," Sergeant Willie Monticelli said, "you're still there.

You ain't go

"Where are you?"

"Downstairs. I got a police station in Bangkok on the phone.

A guy named Colonel something. I can't pronounce it."

Bangkok! Max sat down.

"What does he want?"

"I still have him on the line, Twitch. I want you to hear this for yourself."

"What is it?"

"I'd rather let him tell you himself."

"Patch him through."

"Just hold on. Damn, which button do I push?"

"The yellow one."

"Oh, right. Here goes."

Click. Static. Then: "Hello."

"Hello, Colonel," Max said, speaking slowly.

"My name is Lieutenant Max Bernstein. I am with the New York Police Department. With whom am I speaking?"

"Colonel Thaakavechikan. Bangkok Special Forces."

"Colonel Thaka-"

"Colonel will suffice, Lieutenant. I went to school in California so I know that Thai names are difficult for Americans."

"Thank you, Colonel. You have some information for us?"

"I believe so. I understand that you are in charge of the Gay Slasher homicides and the disappearance of Michael Silverman."

"Yes."

"Well, something has come to our attention which might be of interest to you. Have you ever heard of George Camron?"

"No."

"He is a professional hit man who lives in Bangkok, though he travels frequently. He is quite good and very deadly. We estimate that he has killed over two hundred people in the past decade."

"Jesus."

"When Camron is in Bangkok, he works out of a bar called the Eager Beaver on Patpong Street. He has been seen there quite frequently in recent days."

"Just recent days?"

"Yes. According to our sources, George Camron arrived in Bangkok within the week."

"Interesting," Max remarked.

"It gets more interesting, Lieutenant Bernstein."

"How so?"

"I have an American named Frank Reed sitting beside me.

Mr. Reed is a patron of the Eager Beaver Bar."

"Oh?"

"Let me preface this by mentioning that Mr. Reed admits to being drunk at the time he was in the bar."