Panacea (17 page)

She remembered his snarky remark. “Have
you
bought into it?”

“I reserve judgment.
Something
is going on. But in practical terms, it doesn't have to
be
real to make me wary of people who
believe
it's real and are desperate to get hold of it.”

“So, you're warning me?”

“Just want to make sure your eyes are open and you're aware of the risks. You're already on the 536 radar. If you go hunting the panacea, they may decide they don't want competition. Remember Hanrahan and Brody.”

Laura felt the muscles at the back of her neck tighten. Good point.

“What I'm hearing is you think I should hire a bodyguard if I go.”

He made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a grunt. “No need to hire. Stahlman has made it clear: If you go, I go.”

Traveling into the jungles of Mesoamerica with this guy?

“I don't think so.”

“Not your choice. Not mine either. Stahlman's. He'll want me along to protect his investment.”

“I'm sure there are plenty of other—”

He was shaking his head. “I'm the best.”

“Oh, really?”

“Really.”

No compromised self-esteem issues with this guy.

“You mean ex-SEAL and all that.”

“And all that. He'll want you to have every chance to succeed. You are, after all, the perfect match for this assignment.”

Something in his tone …

“You say that as if it's a bad thing.”

“It could be when you're
too
perfect.”

“How so?”

“‘Too perfect' doesn't just happen. It needs to be arranged.”

She couldn't help taking offense. “Not by me. I assure you this morning was the first time I've ever heard someone mention the existence of a panacea with a straight face.”

“Oh, I believe that. But that doesn't mean events weren't arranged. One degree of separation, remember?”

“You said that before. You mean between me and Tommy Cochran—because I knew him?”

“Exactly. How does that happen?”

“Simple. He died in Suffolk County. We have one chief medical examiner and three deputies—a one-in-four chance of his ending with me. Not exactly long odds. Besides, his mother asked for me.”

“Asked for the same ME who just happened to autopsy the fellow who gave her son … whatever he gave him? What are those odds?”

Laura still wasn't impressed. “Nothing to write home about. What's your point? Who would be doing this arranging? Stahlman?”

“No. Not him. If you're interested, we can get into all that when you decide to go. If you don't, it's all moot.” He gave her a hard stare. “You look like good people. Whatever you expect to be dealing with down there in Mexico, the reality will be worse. Think hard on this, Doc.”

He waved and re-entered the van.

Though he seemed to have her well-being in mind, something about that guy still rubbed her the wrong way. Something was off.

She hadn't liked hearing that the reality she'd find would be worse than her expectations. What did he know about her expectations? But something else he'd said disturbed her more.

Too perfect … arranged …

Could it be?

She'd intended to totally veg this weekend. Now she had an irresistible urge to check in at her office.

She headed for her car.

 

5

Nelson almost knocked into Bradsher as he exited the elevator. He'd been thinking about tumors. He'd done some online research about metastatic melanoma. The prognosis for stage IV was grim but improving.

“I was just coming to see you, sir.”

“And I was just going to lunch.”

Nelson had been off his feed since hearing about the X-ray yesterday, and he'd wanted to vomit after talking to Forman, but his stomach had settled and was now insistent on sustenance.

“I have news.”

“Can you tell me as I walk?” he said as headed across the Federal Building's lobby toward the front doors.

Bradsher fell into step beside him. “I think so.”

“Good or bad?”

“Depends. The news itself is not good, but the fact that we know it in advance is good.”

Nelson liked Bradsher's precision, but now couldn't help but find it annoying.

“Talk.”

“As you requested, Brother Simon not only stole Doctor Fanning's phone but also managed to pin a pickup to the inside of her shoulder bag.”

“Excellent. And I gather by your presence that our plant has borne fruit already.”

“Yessir. A man named Clayton Stahlman has offered her millions to follow Chaim Brody's path into Mexico in search of the panacea.”

The news brought Nelson to a sudden halt. So sudden that someone bumped into him from behind.

No doubt about it now. The Serpent was at work here.

“Who is this Stahlman?”

“We're referencing him now, but I gather from the recording that he's terminally ill.”

Terminally ill
 … that had a too-familiar ring.

“A lot of that going around these days.”

“Pardon?”

“Nothing. That would explain his zeal for the panacea. I don't foresee a deputy ME from Long Island posing much competition.”

“Well, she did bioprospecting down there for years, so she knows the area well. She's also half Mayan and speaks their language.”

“What?”
Nelson stopped again. This time no one ran into him. “The stench of the Serpent is strong here.”

He began moving again and pushed through the doors into the midday sun of downtown Manhattan.

Bradsher said, “In our favor is the fact that Doctor Fanning is a skeptic, believes the panacea is a fairy tale.”

“God bless the skeptics.”

They'd all rot in hell for eternity if they didn't see the Light before their final day, but in the meantime both the panaceans and the Brotherhood had benefited from science's offhand dismissal of the possible existence of such a thing as a panacea. It made it so much easier to keep the truth secret.

“This Stahlman says he's got a lead on a
curandero
in the Yucatán jungles who supposedly performs miracles.”

Curandero
 … Nelson wasn't fluent in Spanish but he did know that word. It meant “healer.”

“Well, if a civilian can find him, we certainly can. Get on it. Have our brother … what's his name?”

“The one in Chetumal watching the girl from the photo? That's Miguel.”

“Have Brother Miguel leave the girl for now and start asking about a special
curandero
in the jungle. If he gets a hit he's to contact you immediately.”

“And if this
curandero
has the tattoo?”

Nelson stopped and checked out the food carts lined up along the curb across the street as he thought about that. If this
curandero
had the tattoo, he was certainly a panacean. The Brotherhood had a set protocol for dealing with them, but this new wrinkle of willing themselves to drop dead had greatly complicated matters.

“If he's definitely a panacean, have Brother Miguel run a variation on the protocol: Be prepared to sedate him immediately, before he can stop his heart or whatever it is they do. Then proceed as usual.”

“Including Leviticus?”

“Of course.” A burnt offering, as mentioned in the Book, was an integral part of the protocol. “Why wouldn't he?”

“Just being sure, since we're talking about sanctioning a foreign national.”

“He's a panacean. They have no nation, only their pagan goddess.”

“What about sanctioning Doctor Fanning? That would allow us to take our time in Mexico.”

Nothing Nelson would like better, but the Brotherhood had rules and he was obliged to follow them.

He gave Bradsher a withering look. “She's not a candidate for a Leviticus Sanction and you know it.”

“But she's—”

“She's
chasing
the panacea, just like we are. If she starts
making
it, that's a whole other story. Then she becomes subject to Leviticus and we will not hesitate to invoke it. But … not being a panacean exempts her only from the Leviticus Sanction, not from simpler, more mundane methods of termination. And your suggestion about removing her from the picture has merit.”

“Meaning?”

“Contact Brother Simon again. Maybe we should allow him to redeem himself by performing a quick, clean removal within the next few days.”

Not only had she crippled Uncle Jim but she was a tool of the Serpent.

“I'll contact him right after lunch.”

“Excellent.” He rubbed his hands together. “Now that that's settled, let's get some food. My treat.” He pointed to the pushcarts. “What do you recommend?”

Bradsher shook his head. “Oh, I don't think you'll like—”

“I'm having meat today, agent.
Meat
.”

Bradsher's voice rose an octave. “Sir?”

Nelson almost laughed. He'd been a vegetarian for at least a decade now, believing it would increase his odds of living a long and healthy life. Well, fat lot of good that had done him.

Bradsher led him across to a cart labeled
Haque's Halal,
manned by a bearded Afghan who ladled chopped dark mystery meat—purportedly chicken—and long-grained rice from his griddle onto a pita, doused it with red, white, and green mystery sauces from squirt bottles, then folded the mess and placed it on a paper plate.

Nelson stared at it. This was everything he'd taught himself to avoid.

But he had a tumor on his neck and another in his lung, and he was pretty damn sure one was lurking in his brain too. So fuck it, he was gonna eat some
meat
.

Call it a celebration of the impending end of Laura Fanning.

 

6

“Well, look what the cat drug in!”

Laura recognized the voice. She swiveled from her computer to find Deputy Lawson standing in her office doorway.

“Hello, Phil.”

She was feeling too unsettled to deal with him now, but she didn't see that she had much choice.

“I heard about what happened last night. You okay? I—oh, jeez, your jaw.”

She touched the tender spot. “That obvious?”

“A little. The bastard got away, huh?”

“Yeah. With my phone. Might have been worse but for a Good Samaritan jogging by.”

Yeah. Rick Hayden … Good Samaritan for hire.

“I read the perp's description in the report. We're keeping a special eye out.”

“Thanks.”

“Hey, I thought this was your weekend off.”

She leaned back in her chair. “It is. What are
you
doing here?”

“They found a floater in one of the lagoons on Indian Island last night. Looks like it might be foul play. And since it's a state park…”

“You're involved.”

“Yeah, just waiting on the autopsy. Looks like she's been wet awhile. What brings you in?”

She didn't want to get into that with him.

“Just needed to check my computer for something.”

“Hey, that reminds me. Remember those photos you sent me? Well, they've vanished from the department computers. I must have erased them by accident. You think you could—?”

“Resend?” She shook her head. “Sorry. They're gone from our system too.”

His eyebrows rose. “No kidding?”

“No kidding.”

She'd just finished searching every jpeg uploaded since Wednesday. Not a trace. Same with the department cameras—nothing. Just as Hayden had said …

Bet if you check your office you'll find all evidence wiped clean.

Had Hayden known, or just guessed lucky?

Lucky for her she'd made hard-copy printouts of Chaim and the woman and of Chaim's tattoo for reference in case a third dead grower showed up. She'd checked her bottom drawer and found them right where she'd left them. Someone had been thorough but not thorough enough.

Someone … she kept coming back to Hayden's certainty. Could it have been Hayden himself?

“Can I ask you something?” she said.

“Sure.”

“How hard would it be to run a background check on someone?”

“Well, anybody can do it through the Internet. Sites will dig up arrest records and court cases, but it takes time and patience and money, because the better ones don't do it for free.”

“How about for someone like you?”

He grinned. “Easy peasy. We do it all the time. Why? Interested in someone?”

She'd looked up Clayton Stahlman. No trouble finding him. Wikipedia and other sources all told the same story he'd outlined for her in the van, but in much greater detail. The photos she found online weren't recent, but no question the man they showed was a younger version of the one she'd met this morning. If estimates of his net worth were anywhere near correct, the sum he'd offered her was indeed chump change for Clayton Stahlman.

Rick Hayden, however, was another matter. She'd found a listing for a business with the Hayden name, but that was about it.

Maybe she was being overly cautious, but … she hadn't decided to get involved with these two yet, and forewarned was forearmed.

“My Good Samaritan from last night. He stopped by this morning and I'm curious about him.”

“We talking romantic interest?”

Oh, please.

“Just the opposite. He's kind of an odd duck and I'm curious.”

“I can check him out, no prob. Where's he live?”

“No idea. I found a ‘Hayden Investigations and Security' in Westchester, but that might not be him.”

“You got anything on him besides his name?” He smiled. “A soshe would seal the deal, but his approximate age would help.”