Endorphin Conspiracy, The (13 page)

Chapter 21

Josef Balassi stood by the viewing box in his office, studying the astonishing scan. His keen eyes darted from frame to frame, after a brief pause fixating on each one. When he reached the final frame, he scratched his beard, and with a nod of the head turned off the viewer, removed the scan from the box, placed it back on his desk.

Geoff stood beside Balassi, amazed at his apparent disinterest.

“How did you get these, Geoff?” Balassi asked with more than a hint of curiosity. He handed the scan back to Geoff. “We’ve been turning the film room upside down for almost a week trying to find the original hardcopies. I thought the digital images were lost as well.”

“I retrieved them from the Neurad system. Not without some difficulty.”

An awkward silence.

Balassi cleared his throat, motioned for Geoff to sit down. “Walter, Walter,” Balassi said. “You know, it’s hard to believe how someone so organized and thorough as Walter could be so computer illiterate at times! Some days I wonder if he remembers to screw his head back on the right way in the morning before he comes to the lab.” Balassi chuckled loudly, then began tapping the table with his index finger. “I bet you’re wondering about the unusual results on that final scan.”

“That did cross my mind.”

“Of course it did, Geoff, of course.” Balassi reached over and gave Geoff a pat on the shoulder. “I can understand you’re very upset by the loss of your patients, Geoff. First, the hang glider, then the little girl, now the cop. We’ve never had a patient jump out a window here before, at least not since the days when the psychiatric hospital was housed here. Tragic indeed, Geoff. But you must realize that patients with head injuries like these may have far more brain damage than we detect. It’s not unusual for their conditions to suddenly go downhill.”

“I suppose, in general, that may be true, but these patients were well on the road to neurological recovery.”

Balassi’s hard brown eyes showed a glimmer of compassion. He leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands together, staring at Geoff. “Well, tell me, what do you think it shows? You know as much about PET scanning as anyone, almost as much as I do.”

“It doesn’t take an expert to see that the brain’s totally saturated with endorphins.”

“It does appear that way, doesn’t it? Quite a spectacular discovery, Geoff. A patient with a head injury coming out of a coma suddenly relapses with cerebral edema, and we document the underlying cause
as it’s happening
, on a PET scan, a massive outpouring of the brain’s endorphins. The correlation appears perfect, doesn’t it? Do you have any theories?”

“Several.”

“Let’s hear them.” Balassi settled back in his chair, his chin resting on his intertwined hands.

“The first possibility I considered was that the endorphins were merely the result of generalized brain swelling. Of course, such massive levels of endorphin from brain swelling have never been documented. It’s really never been studied before in the lab or on PET scan.”

Balassi studied Geoff carefully. “A credible theory, to be sure, Geoff, but you don’t buy it, do you?”

“No, I don’t. For her endorphin level to be as high as it appeared on PET scan, every neuron and support cell in her brain had to be totally geared up as an endorphin factory to the exclusion of any other cellular function. The only thing that could do that might be something like a very fast acting virus infecting her brain, but I doubt we’ve discovered a new virus here. Anyway, viruses infecting the nervous system tend to be slow acting.”

“Highly unlikely, I agree. Go on.”

“Also out is traumatic aneurysm or meningitis. The brain appeared structurally normal on autopsy, according to Suz—the pathologist.”

“Ah, Dr. Gibson. A brilliant neuropathologist. She has done some excellent work on the brain’s biochemistry, hasn’t she?”

“That’s what I’ve heard. Yes.”

“Did she provide any insight into the girl’s death?”

Geoff took a deep breath and paused. He didn’t want to involve Suzanne, but a powerful figure like Balassi would find out sooner or later. Better he be told at least a partial truth of their discovery.

“The only logical explanation seems to be that it was drug-induced.”

“Oh?” Balassi furrowed his brow in apparent interest.

“I think she was given something—intentionally.”

Balassi’s smile froze for an instant, then the corners of his mouth turned upward, and he let out a loud belly laugh.

“I’m sorry, Geoff, I really am,” he said, obviously trying to harness his laughter. “You’re way out in left field on this one. I’d have thought you’d be smarter than to let Howard Kapinsky plant his ridiculous ideas in your head. That mercy killing conspiracy nonsense, really. If I were Pederson, I’d have thrown the fool out of the program by now.”

He shook his head, massaged his jaw. “Okay, let’s look at this wild accusation. You have three questions to answer, and I’m anxious to hear your responses. Who, why, and with what?”

Geoff felt acutely uncomfortable. He believed he was onto something, but Balassi was a master at holding his cards close to his chest and at power plays.

“I don’t know who or why, but I have a thought about what: some sort of an endorphin-inducing drug, a PCP-like compound.”

“You seem pretty sure of yourself, Geoff. Tell me, were there any unusual drugs on the toxicology screen?”

“No. At least none that have shown up yet.”

“Well then, your theory is blown out of the water for two reasons. First, and I’m surprised you haven’t considered this, eighty percent of any endorphin or endorphin-like substance injected intravenously would be metabolized by the liver before it ever reached the brain. The small amount that might make it that far would be a thousand times below levels that would give a PET scan picture like this.”

“True. But what if it was bound to a fat-soluble sphere like a liposome, then injected? The level reaching the brain would be much higher, wouldn’t it?”

“A good thought, Geoff, but the endorphin would still not reach such a level of saturation as we viewed a few moments ago. I’m afraid the answer lies in the study, not in the patient.”

“The study? What are you talking about?”

“The study was completely worthless! It was supposed to be a radioactive C-11 study of her endorphins, of course, but the entire batch of labeling compound was bad that day. All the scans done during the twelve-hour period had to be repeated. Unfortunately, she passed away before that could be accomplished. I was so furious with Walter and the lab tech I could have fired them both on the spot, but mistakes do happen now and then. Anyway, I had to forgive them. The cyclotron’s cooling system had a leak, and no one else knows how to trouble shoot that damn machine better than Walter.”

Geoff felt deflated, confused. He’d thought he had the puzzle of Jessica’s sudden deterioration neatly solved, that Dr. Balassi would confirm his theory. “How does that explain the entire brain lighting up on the scan?”

“It’s simple, really. The carbon atom was mistakenly tagged to glucose, and glucose, as you know, is ubiquitous throughout the brain. Hence, the spreading pattern culminating in the entire brain lighting up.”

“I see.” Geoff shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “That makes good sense, Dr. Balassi.”

Balassi smiled. “I apologize for our isotope lab. Of course, I must accept complete blame. It won’t happen again.”

“No problem, Dr. Balassi. I understand. You’re right about Kapinsky. I should stop listening to him. He’s nothing but trouble.”

Geoff wanted to get out of the lab quickly—with the scan—and compare it to the other scans Suzanne was trying to retrieve for him.

He was convinced Balassi was hiding key information from him. Balassi had not accounted for one major item: the
horseshoe
. The pattern was anything but random on Jessica’s scan. He wondered if the same pattern would show up on the other scans as well.

Partial truths, deceptions. Geoff thought about Kapinsky’s comment regarding the pharmacy log, wondered if Balassi had betrayed his trust. Only two people had known, or so he had thought, Balassi and Pederson.

Geoff stood to leave, clutching Jessica’s scan in his clammy palms.

Balassi stood as well, approached him. “So tell me, how were you able to retrieve this scan on the Neurad system when our own techs couldn’t do it?”

Geoff tried not to break his stare, but faltered for a split second, long enough, he was sure, for Balassi to make a mental note of his reaction. “It was simple, really. I just signed on and entered the patient’s hospital number. Just like I always do.” Geoff smiled.

“Oh?” Balassi massaged his bearded chin. “Somehow, I don’t think you’re giving me the full story. This is beginning to sound like an Agatha Christie novel, Geoff! Accusations of mysterious mercy killings, unnamed accomplices delving for information. Well, I won’t ask you to breach your code of confidentiality,” he said with a paternalistic smile.

Balassi lead Geoff to the doorway, then paused. Geoff felt a pull on the scan.

“I’ll take that back to the filing room myself. It may be the only hard copy we have until we find the original.”

***

“I told you never to call me on this line unless it was an emergency.”

“It is, in a manner of speaking, general,” Balassi replied. “I need to speak to Bluebird.”

Silence. He was only to use that salutation in the event of a condition red.

“Hold on. I’ll get him on the line and scramble the transmission.”

These government fools with their asinine names. Why had he let them stay involved?

Another minute passed, a dissonant whirring sound emanated from the phone. Reflexively, Balassi held the receiver a distance away from his ear.

“Bluebird’s on the line. Go ahead,” said the general.

“What the hell’s goin’ on down there Papa Bear?

“Why is it I always feel like I’m part of a children’s fairy tale when I talk to you gentlemen?” asked Balassi sarcastically. No response. Totally humorless. They were all the same.

“The line is secure,” said Bluebird.

“Then how about real names for a change?”

“I’d rather we didn’t. Is the project in jeopardy?”

“Not yet, but we’ve got a serious problem that could jeopardize everything if it’s not corrected right away.”

“What the hell does that mean? I don’t like surprises, Papa Bear.
The Sigma Project
is of the highest priority.”

“We’ve got a loose cannon here.”

“Is it the one we discussed last week?”

Balassi paused.

“Well?”

“The very same.”

“And your solution?” asked Bluebird.

“I’m trying to steer him away from—”

“He must be neutralized.”

“I really don’t think that’s necessary,” said Balassi, his voice hesitant. “I’m sure I can settle him. We’ve got leverage that should shut him up.”

“It’s really out of your hands now, Papa Bear,” interrupted Bluebird. “We’ll take care of everything on this end. You just see the project continues. We don’t want 1962 all over again.”

“I won’t allow it,” muttered Balassi, staring at the photograph on the wall behind his desk.

“What was that?”

“I said, don’t worry about it.”

“I won’t. Just let us handle it from here.” A few seconds of silence passed. “And Papa Bear, one more thing.”

“Yes?”

“I want that vial. Soon. Very soon.”

Chapter 22

Geoff sat alone in the house staff office staring blankly at the CRT. Things hadn’t felt right since the day he started back from his year in the lab. He had wondered why he was treated so well by Balassi and Pederson after last year’s pharmacy log incident, the accusations of drug abuse, though he passed the urine test. Now word of the incident had crept somehow to Kapinsky. The whole situation was beginning to smell rotten.

The e-mail icon flickered in the upper right-hand corner of the screen, indicating a new message had arrived in his electronic mailbox. His heart pounded, his palms felt clammy. Could it be another message from Proteus? Geoff maneuvered the mouse, clicked on the icon. There were three new messages.

MESSAGE #1

DATE: July 5, 2010

TIME: 13:38

FROM: Alpha Micronet.org/syssad

Received: NYTC.org, 5 July 2010, 13:37.

MESSAGE: Hi, big brother. Proteus routing messages through government and academic gateways, using expired addresses. I’m about halfway there. A few more messages and I may have point of origin nailed. He’s a professional, but so am I! Don’t forget, get a conversation going. Hold fast, and he may show his true self and answer your questions. I’ll call you.

Stefan

Geoff smiled. If anyone could track down Proteus, Stefan could. He thought about how much closer he and Stefan had become. After all this was over, they’d spend more time together, just the two of them. Maybe go on that fishing trip to Alaska they’d always talked about.

Geoff had always been too busy. Not anymore. He’d make the time.

Geoff checked the second message.

MESSAGE #2

DATE: July 5, 2010

TIME: 15:45

FROM: S. Gibson/NYTC-P1/pthsjg

MESSAGE: I’ve got all the scans but Romero’s. See you at my place 7 p.m. We’ll make it a working dinner, okay?

Suzanne

Suzanne was nothing if not persistent. She was a bright, engaging woman, and Geoff had to admit he was attracted to her, though she did make him feel a little nervous. He hadn’t been with a woman since Sarah. Meet at her apartment instead of the lab? Interesting. Her apartment was safer, more secure, at least for reviewing the scans.
Whatever else happened maybe this was a good opportunity for him to move on, let go of Sarah more completely.

Geoff moved on to the third message.

MESSAGE #3

DATE: JULY 5, 2010

TIME: 16:44

FROM: Received by: Mercury, NYTC.org, 5 July 2010, 16:43; Received: Cobalt,telnet/locis.loc.gov, 5 July 2010, 16:41; Received: gopher/nih.gov, 5 July 2010, 16:38; Received: telnet/info.umd.edu, 5 July 2010, 16:34; Received: telnet/nasa.gov, 5 July 2010, 16:31; Received from: ber2759.USDA.gov, 5 July2010, 16:28.

MESSAGE: When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth. Proteus.

Great goddamn time for philosophy. He pondered the phrase. Truth, indeed. Who spoke the truth anymore around here? He read the message again, the familiar words nagging him. He knew the phrase from somewhere.

Geoff’s finger trailed across the screen, sifting through the internet gateways for any deviation in routing of the message. At first glance it seemed the same as the routing of previous messages, a convoluted pathway of government and public agencies. He punched in a command, entered Stefan’s email address, forwarded the latest message to him for analysis.

Geoff’s hands rested on the keyboard, his gaze fixed on the message. Stefan’s words tugged at him, egged him on.
Get a conversation going, hold fast and he may answer your questions.
Geoff made a decision, typed a reply.

What is the truth?

He sent his message, then waited. The odds of chatting real time with Proteus were slim. Particularly if he was as professional as Stefan thought he was. Geoff tapped his foot, checked his watch. Five p.m. He had to be at Suzanne’s at seven to review the scans. Plenty of time. Suzanne said she was able to retrieve all but Romero’s. Even with her sign-on, she couldn’t access it. Maybe they were onto her, too.

Minutes passed. No response from Proteus to his question. Geoff’s mind wandered back to Romero. Geoff needed hard evidence Romero had been a patient at the Trauma Center. He couldn’t find Romero’s scan or his chart, but there was one trail they might have neglected to cover up.

He toggled back to the menu screen and clicked on the appointment scheduling system, then the appointment history sub-menu. He entered Romero’s full name and waited. The cursor blinked, teased him. Seconds passed. The screen flickered, came up blank. Geoff muttered, bit his lower lip. Damn.

One more thought came to mind. Geoff switched back to the Neurad system, entered the schedule sub-menu. He thought back to the period of time he remembered Romero had his scan, sometime around Memorial Day. He entered the date.

Patient names and numbers filled the screen, the record of patients scheduled for PET scans on May 23, 2010. Geoff scanned the names, his finger gliding down the screen. No Jesus Romero. He scrolled through the days, one at a time, each attempt coming up empty. Until June second, two p.m., the date and time Jesus Romero, patient number 257-368, had his PET Scan.

“Yes!” Geoff pounded the table. He returned to the screen, checked the descriptive entry next to the appointment time. Admission scan. He continued scrolling, day by day. June 15, ten a.m., discharge scan. Jesus Romero
had
been a patient at the NYTC. He had had two PET scans performed. Someone let the information slip through. Hopefully he or she would get careless again. Geoff would have to watch for any other slivers of information that might creep through.

An icon lit up, flickered on the upper right corner of the screen. E-mail received. Geoff toggled to the e-mail screen.

MESSAGE #4

DATE: JULY 5, 2010

TIME: 1708

FROM: Received: Mercury, NYTC.org, 5 July 2010, 17:07; received: telnet/info.umd.edu, 5 July 2010, 17:06; received: telnet/nasa.gov, 5 July 2010, 17:04; received: ber2759.USDA.gov, 17:01; received cobalt, telnet/locis.loc.gov, 17:00; received: telnet/glis.cr.usgs.gov, 5 July 2010, 16:58. Sent: gopher/nih.gov, 5 July 2010, 16:55.

MESSAGE: The truth is a seven percent solution. Similar but different.

They had communicated real time! Proteus was sitting at a computer terminal somewhere at this very moment. Geoff tapped his foot, thought about the cryptic message.
Seven percent solution
. What did Proteus mean? Again, the familiarity of the phrase vexed him. The message could mean any number of things. Geoff’s mind raced through the possibilities. Seven percent of the internet gates? Maybe Proteus was trying to tell him something about a percentage of the isotopes on the PET scans, or a percentage of the neurosurgical patients on his service who would be in trouble. Nothing seemed to make sense.

Was Proteus simply playing games with him, stalling for time? Or was Geoff simply thinking too literally? If he kept the conversation going, held on, maybe he could find out more. Geoff typed another response.

Where can I find the seven percent solution?

Several minutes passed, another message arrived.

MESSAGE #5

DATE: JULY 5, 2010

TIME: 17:16

FROM: Received: Mercury, NYTC.org, 5 July 2010, 17:15; received: telnet/nasa.gov, 5 July 2010, 17:14; received: ber2759.USDA.gov, 5 July 2010, 17:12; received: cobalt, telnet/locis.loc.gov, 5 July 2010, 17:11; received: telnet/glis.cr.usgs.gov, 5 July 2010, 17:10; received: telnet/info.umd.edu, 5 July 2010, 1708; sent by: gopher/listserve.columbia.edu, 5 July 2010, 17:09.

MESSAGE: 221B Baker Street.

Geoff stared at the message, bit his lower lip. Two twenty-one B Baker Street? There was no Baker Street in New York, at least none he knew of. Geoff was getting tired of this game. So much for the real time conversation idea. Why didn’t Proteus just come out and tell him what he wanted Geoff to know? Was he being toyed with, or could it be the communications were being monitored?

Geoff flipped through the messages one more time, read them over. So cryptic, yet so familiar. He tapped his foot, thought.

The realization smacked him in the face like a cold bucket of water. Of course it seemed familiar. Any high school student could have put it all together.

Excitedly, Geoff entered his response:
The Sign of the Four.

Geoff hit the ‘enter’ key, bouncing the message back through the Internet gateways. He had to be right. And if he was, the treasure, in this case the truth, lay hidden in the one place truly fitting such a description.

Could he go there and simply explore unnoticed? It wouldn’t be easy, but his navy training had prepared him for far more difficult missions.

Several minutes passed, another message returned.

MESSAGE #6

DATE: JULY 5, 2010

TIME: 1738

FROM: Received: Mercury, NYTC.org, 5 July 2010, 17:37; received: cobalt, telnet/locis.loc.gov, 5 July 2010, 17:35; received: telnet/nasa.gov, 5 July 2010, 17:31; received ber2759.USDA.gov, 5 July 2010, 17:28; received: telnet/info.umd.edu, 5 July 2010 17:25; sent by: telnet/sklik.mcgilu.edu, 5 July 2010, 17:23.

MESSAGE: Elementary, Dr. Davis. Be on your guard; it’s a deadly game. No further communication possible for now. Good luck.

He was right. Geoff looked around, checked to make sure no one saw his communication. The room remained empty. He stared at the message, then forwarded it, same as the others, to Stefan. His mysterious electronic pen pal had to be close by, studying him, watching his movements. Proteus’ words seemed to pulsate on the screen.
Be on your guard, it’s a deadly game.
Geoff had held on long enough to get some answers.

It had been a deadly game already. Geoff couldn’t imagine things getting much worse.