Panacea (51 page)

James hesitated, then complied. Rick fished something from his pocket—a zip tie—and bound James's wrists, then sat him down.

“Thousand and three uses,” he said as he secured his ankles.

She remembered what he'd said back in the Orkneys:
You're gonna need me …

“How did you—?”

“SEAL stuff.”

“But how did Stahlman know to be here?”

“I booked our flights with his credit card. I'm sure he's been tracking every transaction.”

“But why would he send someone to … to kidnap us?”

He rose. “If I'm gonna put myself in his head, I think it's a good bet he knows about your daughter—known about her all along.”

“And didn't tell me?”

“The last thing he wanted you to do was call off the hunt and rush back to the States. Now he thinks you're back to give the panacea to your daughter instead of him.”

“If I had any, the bastard could have it all!”

“We need to talk about that. But right now let's get moving. I'll get us out of the airport, you navigate from there. Never been to Stony Brook so you'll have to point the way.”

She estimated the distance as about the same as to her home—around fifty miles. An hour at least.

“Get us to the LIE,” she said. “And hurry.”

 

2

As Rick steered them out of JFK, she called the PICU.

After introducing herself as Marissa's mother and clearing the confusion over the difference in last names, she said, “How's her coma?”

“Level seven—that's counting a two on eye responses, a one on verbal, and four on motor responses but slipping there. Her condition is deteriorating quickly. Are you nearby? Your husband has been frantic.”

Laura didn't bother adding
ex
. She was running through what she remembered about the Glasgow classification of coma levels. A one meant no verbal responses; a two on eyes meant they opened in response to pain. She didn't recall much about the motor scale. Too long away from live patients.

“Doctor Lerner, the pulmonologist, has ordered a respirator for her.”

Her heart sank. “Aw, no.”

“Her O-two sat has been dropping steadily and he says it's time.”

She ended the call and Rick said, “Worse news?”

A sob blocked her throat, then broke free. “I'm going to lose her!”

He said nothing as he reached over and squeezed her hand.

They headed up the Cross Island Parkway and finally onto the LIE. The speed limit was fifty-five and the speedometer read sixty-eight as they raced east, but it felt like they were crawling.

“Can't we go faster?” she said.

“I'm pushing it as much as I dare. We get stopped, it'll waste lots more time, especially with a guy tied up in back.”

Oh, right. She'd already forgotten about James. All she could think about was Marissa.

Hold on, honeybunch. Mommy's coming.

Midday traffic wasn't bad and they made good time to the Northern State Parkway, but still had a ways to go.

“Here,” Rick said.

She tore her gaze from the road and saw that he was holding out three vials.

“What?”

“The panacea. Clotilde slipped them to me as we left the hotel.”

“But—”

“Just listen to me for one fucking minute, okay?”

He sounded angry. He'd always used a euphemism for “fucking” until now. Okay, she'd listen.

“Go ahead.”

“I know you think you've got to be all scientificky and always ask the next question and all that, but you've been doing more denying than questioning. You've closed your eyes to firsthand evidence. You knew that kid with arthritis, you knew how bad he was, and you autopsied him yourself and found no trace of it. Then there's Chaim's medical records versus what you found on autopsy. You can't explain it but you can't deny it's fucking
there
. So accept it.”

“But—”

“No buts! You have
got
to put all that aside and give Marissa a dose of this worm juice.”

Worm juice … seriously?

“Can I get a sentence in?”

“Go ahead.”

“My ‘but' was to say that I was just thinking that I'm so desperate, if I had a dose of Clotilde's tea, I'd give it to Marissa.”

He blinked. “You would?”

“Damn right!”

Worm juice
 … Marissa's immune system had already crashed. To add a dose of that bacteria- and mold-laden soup would be—

Stop it.

Not my life—Marissa's.

And so acceptance had passed beyond permissible to obligatory. If Marissa's condition was anywhere near as hopeless as the PICU nurse had described, nothing could make her worse. And if the chances of the
ikhar
working were one in a million—in a
billion
—how could she
not
give it to her?

“Desperate times,” she said. “Marissa's got nothing to lose.”

“And everything to gain.”

She took one of Clotilde's little tubes from him and held it up to the light.

How many had 536 killed and burned because of this … what? What did she call this cloudy goop? She was reminded of that famous line from
The Maltese Falcon
: the stuff dreams are made of.

“All the preposterous and unimaginable noise around this stuff. Fife's god made me a guide to Clotilde—called me a human pillar of fire—while Clotilde's All-Mother led me to her, and your vast, unsympathetic intelligences arranged my participation. It all comes down to
Laura Fanning: tool
.”

“One way of looking at it.”

She wrapped her fingers around the vial, forbidding herself to hope. Hope was a trap, an empty promise, a surrender. She could not allow herself to hope. Not even a little. But she would give Marissa the worm juice.

And then a thought struck like a bullet. “Oh, shit!”

Rick jumped in his seat and jerked the wheel. “What?”

“The respirator! They're going to intubate her!”

“That'll keep her alive, right?”

“But she won't be able to swallow.”

“Fuck it!” Rick said and floored the accelerator.

Laura grabbed her phone and called the PICU again.

“Has Marissa been intubated yet?”

“No, but the team is on its way.”

“Don't let them do that!”

“I'm sorry, Doctor Fanning. Your husband signed the consent and her O-sat just dropped below ninety.”

Oh, hell … below ninety. Still …

“Let me speak to my husband!”

A pause, then, “He seems to have stepped out. Perhaps to wash up. He's been at her bedside all night.”

“Damn-damn-
damn
!” She ended the call and pointed ahead. “Here's our exit.”

She directed Rick onto Nicolls Road and northward to the medical center.

As they approached the front entrance, Rick called back over his shoulder. “If I cut you loose, James, can I count on your best behavior?”

“It's a little late for anything else, don't you think?”

“That's my man.” He turned to Laura and handed her a second tube. “I'm keeping one for Stahlman. I'll get it to him as soon as you finish inside.”

“I'm not a fan of Stahlman's right now.”

He may not have blocked her from learning of Marissa's condition, but he'd withheld what he knew.

“Neither am I. But I hired on to get you back safe with a dose of that stuff for him. I'm only half done.”

Duty … staying true to his word … finishing the job. Instilled or inherent? She suspected the latter.

“And let's face it,” he added. “You'd have
zero
options right now without him.”

Good point. But if Marissa was intubated, she'd be back to zero.

As soon as Rick pulled to a stop just short of the entrance, he jumped out of his seat and went back to snip James's ties.

“Wait one second.”

But Laura couldn't wait—not while Marissa was somewhere within those walls.

As she opened her door and hopped out, she heard him say to James, “Hang here for a bit and maybe we'll both come through this smelling rosy.”

Then she was racing inside. She wasn't familiar with Stony Brook's layout and had to ask directions to the PICU. When she reached it, she skidded to a stop before the doors. She didn't want to see this.

Rick caught up to her then, stopping beside her but saying nothing.

“You don't have to come in,” she told him. “In fact, I'd rather you wouldn't.”

His expression was grim. “Tell you the truth, I'd rather not myself. But I've got a feeling you're gonna need me.”

“You keep saying that.”

“I'll stop as soon as I'm proven wrong.” As she started forward, she felt his hand grip her shoulder. “Give me a signal when you're ready to make your move.”

“What?”

“They'll most likely have CCTV in there. If so, put yourself between Marissa and the camera. I'll make sure no one's watching.”

A camera … that hadn't occurred to her.

With Rick close behind, she pushed through the doors into the beeping, blinking, wheezing cocoon of an ICU. She didn't have to ask which bed was Marissa's because she immediately spotted Steven's blue-and-red Rangers jacket draped over a chair to the right of a bed holding a child she barely recognized.

So pale, eyes closed with lids so dark and sunken.

A woman in scrubs bustled toward her. “Can I help you?”

Laura continued forward. She tried to answer but words wouldn't come.

“Ma'am, you just can't come in here.” Her name plate read
H. Sayers, RN.

“I-I'm Marissa's mother.”

“Doctor Fanning? I spoke to you before. We—”

“What level?”

“Six—she's down to one on eye response. I'm so glad you made it.”

“Swallow reflex?”

“Still there the last time we swabbed her mouth.” She pointed to a man and woman in scrubs behind the nursing station. “The intubation team is here.”

Laura froze. For the first time she noticed the ventilator on Marissa's left, next to the bed on the far side from Steven. If she was going to do this, she had to act now.

She glanced around for the camera and found it—up near the ceiling and angled toward the side of the bed opposite the still dozing Steven. She caught Rick's eye and gave him a quick nod.

He winked and ducked behind the nursing station where he began pulling open random drawers.

“Where's the good stuff?” he shouted. “Show me the good stuff!”

Nurse Sayers made a beeline for Rick. “Sir! Sir! What do you think you're doing?”

Laura moved in the opposite direction, unstoppering the vial as she neared the bed.

Sayers's voice well behind her now: “Wait! Stop! You can't go in there!” Other protesting voices joined her. “Help! Call security!”

“Just want a little taste!” Rick shouted.

Squeezing between the silent ventilator and the bed, placing her back to the camera to block her hands and Marissa's head, she tilted her daughter's chin up and parted her jaw. She then tipped the vial and poured its contents into Marissa's mouth, then sealed her lips.

Marissa made a choking sound, then coughed, but not before swallowing.

“Laura!” Steven said, looking confused and concerned as he came up behind her. “You're back!”

“Finally. In time, I hope.”

She turned to see Rick watching her as he struggled with Sayers and two other nurses, one male. She gave him another nod. Smiling, he wrenched free and headed for the doors.

“You people are no fun. I'm outta here.”

Watching him go, she realized she could love a man like that.

Steven looked baffled as he tried to grasp the situation by the nursing station, then he turned to Laura. “You've got a hell of a lot of explaining to do.”

“You don't know the half of it.”

Nurse Sayers hurried over to her. “Do you know him?”

“He followed me in.”

Steven was turning in a slow circle. “What just happened here?”

“I wish I knew,” Laura said. “I wish I knew.”

 

THE IKHAR

 

1

12:16
A.M.

“I still don't understand about the phones and the texts,” Steven said.

She'd spent the rest of Saturday afternoon and much of the evening trying to explain it as best she could. Why wouldn't he just drop it for now?

Midnight had come and gone and now on Sunday morning they were seated on either side of Marissa's bed, each holding a hand. Activity in the twilit PICU had dropped to sleep-time level. Laura had convinced a very reluctant Dr. Lerner to hold off on the ventilator a little longer.

It hadn't been easy. Her heart had quailed when he'd shown her the X-rays. The CMV pneumonia was steadily taking over her lungs. Most adults were immune to the virus, so chance of spread to others was low. But Marissa had never been exposed to it, and it had overwhelmed her compromised immune system, clogging her airways. Even on nasal oxygen, her pulse ox was running only 89 or 90 percent. Lerner told her when—Laura had noted that he didn't say “if”—her oxygen saturation dropped to 88, he'd be obliged to intubate her and start the ventilator.

“I barely understand it myself,” she told Steven, “but this isn't the time or place to discuss it.”

He shook his head, accepting the fact, but obviously not liking it.

Really, Steven? Our daughter is slipping away before our eyes and you want to discuss phones?

“I take it you didn't find what you were sent for.”

“What do you think?”