The RX Factor (17 page)

"Look, you're way off base. Several months after the FDA canceled the trial, the brass decided to take another look at Trico. They sent it back to the lab, and our scientists discovered what they believed to be the reason behind the drug's failure. The drug was then transferred to one of our subsidiaries. Fisher is not even directly involved with Tricopatin anymore. We receive royalties on each sale and have retained full rights to market and sell the drug in the states in the event of a future FDA approval. The drug being sold outside of the U.S. is a new and improved version. From what I have been told, the results are showing that it does indeed work. This is not, as you put it, a useless drug. And nobody is being ripped off in any way."

Ryan was skeptical. "What changes did they make? What did they find out?"

"I don't know. I wasn't part of the research team that made the discoveries." His eyes avoided Ryan's.

Eric's answer did not have even a whisper of truth to it. "You were not part of the team?" Ryan's voice rose. "You were not part of the team? Hell, you devoted years of your life to the drug. Why in the hell would you, of all people, not be part of the team?"

Sheepish, Eric said, "I honestly don't know. Maybe they wanted fresh eyes on the problem rather than using people who might taint their ideas or discoveries. Besides, you were the mind behind Tricopatin; I was nothing more than your glorified assistant. That's why you got the big bucks."

This explanation still didn't ring true to Ryan, and he leaned closer to the table as he opened his mouth for his next response.

Jordan's sudden pressure on his shirt sleeve calmed Ryan down. He tried, against his more basic impulses, to be diplomatic, settling back in his seat. "Okay, well, whether you were on the team or not, you have to know what the alterations were."

"You know I can't tell you any information about that. I wouldn't make it through the week at FSW if I did."

Desperation was creeping into Ryan's voice. "Come on, Eric. You know I have to know. This drug was my life. This is for me. Nobody else will ever have to know."

Eric's resolve increased in proportion to Ryan's efforts to make him crack. "Ryan, I
can't
get into it. Not now. You'd be shocked at how fast they can find and plug leaks."

Ryan took a deep breath. "I don't understand. If they think the drug works now, why aren't they going through another FDA trial?"

"Think about it, Ryan. The company spent almost two hundred million to buy Immugene in order to get their hands on Trico and sank another thirty to forty million in fast-tracking it into a phase two study. At the end of the day, they had zero to show for it. I'm not sure of all the details, but as I hear it, instead of writing off this quarter-of-a-billion-dollar disaster, they throw a few more million at the problem just to see if there is a simple fix. Amazingly, they think they can find a quick fix, but of course nothing's for sure. We all thought the original Trico was the answer. So instead of blowing another fifty million on a human trial, they take the drug outside the U.S. and try to recoup some of their investment while they get a sense of whether another FDA trial will pay off down the road."

"So they're experimenting with human lives?"

"Isn't that exactly what's done in an FDA clinical trial?" Eric snapped back.

At this point, Jordan could not hold her tongue any longer. "Yes, but the participants in a clinical trial are not paying five million to get an unproven treatment."

Eric grew defensive. "No, but half of the clinical trial patients are giving up traditional life-sustaining treatment to be given a sugar pill that has zero chance of curing them. The placebo group's chance of survival is zilch. They're the real guinea pigs."

"I don't disagree with that," she conceded, "but how can you charge five million dollars for an unproven drug? Or any drug for that matter?"

"This isn't just about science; this is a business, and these guys are in business to make money. Selling promising drugs outside the U.S. allows us to generate profits and determine if the drugs are worth the time and expense to put through the FDA approval process. Hell, these people are going to die anyway. Why not give them a fighting chance, get some research done for free, and generate a profit at the same time?"

Ryan shook his head. "You and the boys at FSW have it all figured out, don't you? But if that's all true, why was Jordan told that the drug would never be FDA approved?"

"I have no idea. Sounds like a marketing-exclusivity pitch to me. Listen, these sales guys make huge commissions on these drug sales. I'm sure they'll say just about anything to close a deal." He stopped and took a swig of his drink. "And before I receive an earful on that, listen. I don't make the rules, but if you want to be in the big leagues, you have to play by theirs."

Jordan jumped back into the conversation, scorn lacing her words. "Do the rules include eliminating the competition?"

Eric bristled. "That's not my end of the business, but I'm sure the less competition, the better, as far as the company's concerned."

"So murder is an acceptable way to eliminate the competition?" Jordan's eyes held an equal measure of fear and revulsion.

"Oh, god, of course not! I didn't mean it like that," Eric countered. "I have concerns myself, after hearing your story, but you need to understand that these clinics outside the U.S. are set up as foreign corporations, with no paper trail back to the big pharma companies. There can be numerous partners in these ventures; hell, I hear the top sales people are making an easy seven-figure income. If they thought you were cutting into their commission, I guess anything is possible."

"But you—" Jordan was interrupted by a look from Ryan.

Ryan held out his hand and clasped Eric's. For now, their discussion was over. "Hey, look, it's been great to see you again. Sorry for the Spanish Inquisition, but I hope you understand. You know I don't give a damn about the big-league rules. But, if the company is marketing my drug as a cure for ovarian cancer and charging five million bucks, they better be damn sure it works. God knows it didn't help Cindy."

Eric looked uneasy. "You know how terrible I feel about Cindy, but even her doctor agreed that participation in the trial was her only shot at long-term survival."

"I know, I know, and I pushed her into that trial. And if FSW found a way to reformulate Trico into an actual cure, then I will know that my work was not done in vain. If so, I can live with that; even if the bastards are charging an incredible fee for a drug that we know costs next to nothing to produce. But if I find out they're fucking with people's lives by shooting worthless shit into the bodies of the sick and desperate, I will take them down."

"Please step cautiously, Ryan. There's a lot of money involved, and as you've found out, this could get dangerous." Eric's remark contained a somber tone of finality.

After Eric left to go back to work, Ryan asked, "Do you still know how to get in touch with the rep who wanted you to push Trico at your clinic?"

Jordan pulled out her cell phone and began scrolling down a long list of saved contacts. "I think I may have the number stored in my phone. Just a second. Yep. Here it is. His name is Jerry Cottle."

On the drive back to the hotel, the afternoon
clouds, shaded a dark battleship gray, hung so low over the Carolina countryside that the tree-tops seemed to be holding them up. The weather matched Ryan's mood. Though Eric's revelations were disturbing, what their conversation revealed about Eric's character was even more troubling. He knew that Eric was more gifted as a businessman and leader than as a research scientist, but couldn't bring himself to believe that he would be involved with a company that was bilking the desperate out of their fortunes. Ryan still wanted to believe the best of his old friend, even if the industry Eric worked in had become unethical.

Ryan realized he was coming at the situation from too personal a perspective, considering what had happened to his family. He thought about what Eric had said: "I don't make the rules, but if you want to be in the big leagues, you have to play by theirs."
It's the big leagues, all right, the big leagues of heartless exploitation and corruption.

Yet when Ryan calmed down and thought about it, Eric was doing no more than what any loyal team player would do. In fact, he might not even agree with a lot of the decisions his company made; even as executive vice president, he was in no position to change the course of the entire ship.

The issue of Tricopatin was paramount. Ryan was curious about what FSW had done to his creation. Eric had been evasive, which made Ryan even more suspicious. What changes had they made and what exactly had they learned? Was this linked in any way to the people trying to eliminate Jordan? These were the questions that chased each other around in his mind. He hated not having the answers.

On the other hand, Ryan was somewhat encouraged. When he left the pharmaceutical world, the FDA had declared that his supposed wonder drug had only helped people die faster. Now, it seemed, the shrewd weasels at FSW were selling it for millions. But, if Eric
had
told the truth—if the drug did hold the promise of a cure— perhaps all of his research had not been in vain. It was a tantalizing, if unlikely, possibility.

As he was mulling this over, Jordan apparently had been doing some serious thinking of her own. She reached over, turned off the car stereo just as the latest Zac Brown Band hit finished playing, and said, "You're the former FBI guy. But when trying to solve any crime, don't they always say to follow the money?"

"And where do you think that leads us?"

"As your friend said, sales people earning seven-figure commissions would have a lot of incentive to eliminate the competition."

Ryan had been thinking the same thing. "When you come right down to it, that's the only thing that makes any sense. Money is the clearest motive for anyone wanting to . . . harm you." He tiptoed around the word "kill."

"There has to be a way to find out more— maybe this Jerry Cottle can shed some light on the situation," Jordan suggested.

After parking in the hotel's lot, Ryan smiled at her as he opened his door. "I have a plan."

The plan required that they register in the hotel under a shared false name. Once in the hotel room, Ryan went straight to work. He picked up the phone and dialed. "Good afternoon. May I speak to Jerry Cottle, please?"

After a pause, the other party replied, "This is Jerry. How can I assist you?"

"My name is Lawrence Calk. I got your name from a good friend who heard about your service. Look, my wife has ovarian cancer. The doctors have painted a bleak picture, but they haven't said the word 'terminal' yet. I figure they don't want us to start looking for a miracle cure."

"Yes," Cottle said. "I'm sure you're right."

"My wife and I are rational people, and we listened to everything they had to say and we both concluded that she probably
is
terminal. According to the research we've done on the side, we think she has maybe six months to live. I . . . I . . ." Ryan let some emotion creep into his voice for authenticity. It wasn't difficult: all he had to do was remember the events surrounding Cindy's stage IV diagnosis.

Cottle was quick to express sympathy and to let the caller know that he had heard the same sad story on numerous occasions. He assured his caller that there was still hope.

"Sorry," Ryan sniffed. "This is hard for me. I heard that you had a connection to a clinic out of the country that may be able to help her." He injected desperation into his voice. "I know this treatment is expensive, but I don't care. I can't put a price tag on my wife. So what's the next step?"

He listened as Cottle went into his sales pitch, clearly eager to reel in the fish that had unexpectedly jumped out of the ocean and flopped down at his feet. Ryan glanced at Jordan, who was sitting up on the edge of the bed, all ears. Cottle finally got around to mentioning the $5 million dollars, paid in three equal installments: one-third up front, one-third at the end of treatment, and the final one-third to be held in escrow and released once the cancer was in complete remission.

"Whew!" Ryan let out a forced cry. "I knew it would cost a lot. I just didn't realize how much. It might not be easy to come up with that."

Cottle plunged in with the remainder of his pitch. "I understand. Unfortunately I am not at liberty to negotiate on the price. If this is something you cannot afford . . ."

Ryan cut him off. "No. I have the money. If we decide to do this, I would just need time to liquidate some of my holdings."

"I understand. We deal with this situation frequently. There is nothing due until you have visited our facilities and signed on for treatment. And then only one-third of the total is due at the start of treatment. When you decide to move forward, will that be an issue?"

"No, I can come up with the initial payment in fairly short order. But if we decide to move forward, I would need a month or so to free up the remainder."

"That will not be a problem." With the client pre-qualified, Cottle continued his song and dance. "I sense that you are hesitant and I'm sure you're worried about dealing with a foreign company as well as concerned about what results might be achieved. So let me give you the facts. We have a drug that has cured stage four ovarian cancer on numerous occasions and all those who have received the treatment remain in full remission. When you meet with the clinic director, view our five-star facilities, and hear the testimonials from other patients, I am sure you will realize that this is the only real option you have."

Ryan hesitated. "You know, Mr. Cottle, you're right. We really don't have another option. If your cure doesn't save my wife, I'll lose her."

"That's the unfortunate fact, Mr. Calk."

"Still, I'm not the kind of man who can make such a big decision so quickly. Let me talk to my wife, and I'll call you back." He hung up. Jordan's mouth opened, but Ryan spoke before she could say anything. "If I said yes too quickly, he might get suspicious. We need to string him along. When I call him tomorrow and tell him we've decided to move forward, he'll have no reason to doubt me."