Megan's Cure (15 page)

Chapter 30

ENZO LEE HAD left his grandmother sleeping peacefully at the Chinese Hospital and settled into his desk at the News.
 
He was working on the lead sentence of his daily story and trying to find the creative tightrope of fun and flippant without falling into either the juvenile or the heartless.
 
It was a daily balancing act.

The piece was the tale of a young socialite, Penny Hamilton, who had attempted the previous night to become the 1,224
^th
person to commit suicide by jumping off the Golden Gate Bridge.
 
The young woman had been jilted by her fiancé.
 
She fell 20 feet into a safety net set up for a painting crew which pulled her out and then escorted her to an all-night counseling center in the Haight.
 
It was a little more serious than his usual fluff.

Lee’s first try:
 
“A Penny saved is a Penny spurned.”

“Hmmm,” he thought, hitting the ‘delete’ key.
 
Perhaps a bit much given the circumstances.
 
He was gearing up for another try when his phone rang.

“Hello,” said Lee.

The man on the other end cleared his throat.

“Mister..uh…Lee?” he said.

“Speaking.”

“I…um…I’m Walter Novak.”

“Mr. Novak,” said Lee.
 
“Well, I’m glad to talk to you.
 
I guess Roxanne gave my number to you.”

“She did,” said Novak.
 
“She did some research.
 
Roxanne is impressed with your background.
 
And she thought maybe you can help.”

Lee waited for more. But Novak was silent on the other end.

“Okay,” said Lee finally.
 
“Look.
 
I guess I’m in the dark here.
 
I don’t really know what is going on with you.
 
What situation you’re in exactly.”

“Fair enough,” said Novak.
 
He sighed heavily.
 
Lee could hear the weariness in his voice.
 

“It’s such a long story,” the scientist continued.
 
“And it’s an unbelievable one.
 
I can hardly believe it myself.
 
People are trying to kill us.
 
Megan and me.”

So, he is with the girl then, thought Lee.
 
That part of the story was true.

“Is Megan okay?” asked Lee.

“Yes,” said Novak.
 
“We’ve had a close call.
 
But she is well.
 
She is alive at least.
 
Listen.
 
I think I need to see you.
 
I need to know I can trust you.
 
And I can show you what I have – evidence.
 
Otherwise…I don’t know...”

“Well.
 
You know the reason why I was trying to contact you to begin with, right?” said Lee.
 
“My grandmother.”

“Your grandmother” said Novak.
 
“Yes.
 
Roxanne told me.
 
I think we can help her.
 
But really it will be up to you. It will be a decision for you to make.”

Lee held the phone to his head and looked out the windows that ran across the front of the newsroom.
 
It was turning sunny outside.
 
He was thinking of his grandmother, a 10-year-old girl he didn’t know yet and a scientist who…well, he had no idea if he was a genius or what.
 
And he had to admit that he was curious.
 
His reporter’s sixth sense was kicking in big time as well, saying there was something here worth examining.
 
And even a remote chance that something could help his grandmother was better than nothing.

“Okay,” he finally said.
 
“Tell me how to find you.”

After he hung up, Lee placed a call to Alabama.

“Chief Davidson?” Lee said.

“Yessuh,” said Davidson.

“I’m a reporter in San Francisco,” said Lee.
 
“My name is Enzo Lee.”

“Yes.
 
All right then.
 
Bobbie Connors…Detective Connors said you would call,” said the police chief.
 
“And she filled me in a little about this Novak.”

“Right,” said Lee.
 
“I just got off the phone with him.
 
And…uh…I’m going to meet him.
 
I’m flying out tonight.
 
He’s in…uh…Georgia.
 
And he says he’s with the girl…Megan…and he says she’s fine.”

“Megan?
 
Megan Kim?
 
You know where she is?”

“Maybe,” said Lee.
 
“I’m supposed to see him.
 
See them.
 
Tomorrow.”

“Where are they?” said Davidson.

Lee didn’t answer.
 
He was debating what to tell Davidson.

“Listen,” said the police chief.
 
“Megan Kim is mine.
 
I mean she’s one of mine.
 
She lives here.
 
I need to know she is okay.
 
I
need
to know that!”

“I understand,” said Lee.
 
“But you need to understand that Novak is spooked.
 
I mean seriously spooked.
 
He’s convinced someone is trying to kill him and Megan, too.
 
I don’t know if he’s crazy or what.

“But I think he’ll show up,” he added.
 
“He sounds like he will.
 
But if he gets scared off, that’s it.
 
He’s gone again and that’s not what you want.
 
So, I’ll keep you in the loop.
 
I’ll check on Megan the best I can.
 
And…and I’ll try…I will try to get her home.”

Davidson was silent.

“Don’t have much choice, do I?” said Davidson at last.

“No,” said Lee.
 
“Don’t worry.
 
I’ll be in touch.”

Chapter 31

THE 12 MEN who rode the elevators to the basement of the Florentine Hotel and Casino in Macau and then made their way to a windowless conference room were the CEOs, board chairmen and other top executives of the largest pharmaceutical companies in the world.
 
Most of them had close ties to other drug behemoths and would informally represent their absent brethren here as well.
 

Each of the men had his own preoccupation as they greeted each other and traded small talk before the clandestine meeting began.

The lone Italian was thinking about the 28-year-old Korean woman he had left in his hotel room upstairs clad only in Victoria Secret’s panties that she had donned in a nod toward modesty after their post lunch tryst.
 
She was his company’s top salesperson in Seoul and their travel schedules regularly intersected whenever he was in Asia, which was four times more often than his predecessor had thought necessary.

The senior member of the Swiss contingent was thinking of the 21-year-old Spaniard whom he expected would knock on his door in two hours.
 
They had met at the roulette table.
 
The tight undershirt the young man wore beneath his open work shirt sheathed his Michelangelo-quality abs like a latex glove.
 
The drug executive drooled at the thought of running his hands up and down – and above and below – those chiseled muscles.

Meanwhile, Takeo Hayashi, the 45-year-old vice chairman of Kimura Pharmaceutical, was planning how to win back the $300,000 he had lost at the craps table the previous night.
 
The gambling relapse, added to his previous losses over the past two years, had him once again pondering how he could kill himself without losing a $5 million life insurance payout.
 
He was running out of other options to ensure his three children the elite educations they deserved and his wife her comfortable retirement.

The meeting location, identities of the attendees and the substance of their discussions this afternoon was secret to avoid inevitable allegations of price fixing and colluding.
 
This was also the reason why Macau had been chosen as the meeting place.
 
It was far from both the attention and the jurisdiction of the United States and Europe where the regulators of Big Pharma were the most vigilant.
 
And, this center of gambling and conventions was a place any of the attendees might visit anyway, even if just to blow $50,000 on an evening of baccarat.
 

Edwin Merrick surveyed the other men sitting around the long, rectangular table.
 
All were long-term players in the pharmaceutical industry.
 
Most had started as scientists or salesmen and then used their intelligence, savvy, loyalty and dogged persistence over three decades to achieve their places in the corporate suites.
 

Merrick glanced down at the bright yellow page sitting in front of him.
 
Identical copies sat in front of each of the other attendees.
 
It was a list of the topics they were to discuss, appropriately vague to avoid any embarrassment if any of the pages should leave the room.

“Pricing” referred to the setting of floors for the amounts charged for drugs so the companies could keep their cash cows fat and lucrative and immune from price pressure.

“Regulation” contemplated coordinated efforts to influence key government officials to avoid laws and rules that would stop the drug companies from rewarding doctors who prescribed their drugs – with expensive vacations or outright cash.
 
Since the largest drug companies distributed worldwide, it made sense to combine forces and funnel payments to the regulators
 
– whether legal or not – through a single source.

“Third World” alluded to the pressures to drastically cut prices on drugs for AIDS, malaria and other widespread diseases in the poorest countries.
 
Since one company’s concession in this area would be used to browbeat the others, it was important to agree on a formula that would serve as the industry bottom line.

Merrick had invoked his status as the only top pharmaceutical executive who could trace both his lineage and name to his company’s original founders and had his own item inserted at the top of the agenda.

It simply read:
 
“New Business – E. Merrick”

Most of the Europeans sat on his left.
 
The Japanese contingent was on the right.
 
His fellow Americans sat across from him along with the Brits.

 
“We have a…a situation,” said Merrick.
 
“One of our scientists has found what looks to be a workable vaccine for cancer.
 
Our people think it could eventually be widely useful for most cancers, certainly the big ones.
 
The immunity could last a lifetime.”

Murmurs rippled around the table.

“Finally, a cure,” said one of the Swiss.

“Close,” said Merrick.
 
“As we continue to get better at finding genetic factors, those at high risk certainly will want the protection.
 
It’s not hard to imagine a day in the near future when everyone – at least in developed countries – receives this vaccine just as they do for mumps and measles today.

“You can imagine how aggressively the health agencies, foundations, cancer societies...everyone will push this,” he continued.
 
“One by one, they will attempt to eradicate their favorite cancers.
 
Rates will plummet.
 
Cancer cases could be cut by half…maybe more.”

Merrick paused while he let his words settle in.
 
He could see each of the executives working out the computations in his head.
 
How much revenue was generated by cancer medicines?
 
What were the implications of losing that?
 
Could they escape the disruption that could ravage stock prices, force consolidations and end careers?
 
How many years would they have to drift away into a quiet retirement?

“And tell us why this isn’t great news for you,” asked one of the British executives.

“Well…how do I put this?” said Merrick.
 
“Even if we were completely secure in our rights to this, we would have a few years of nice profit but at a long term sacrifice of a pillar of our business.
 
It would be as if we were burning down our house for a night of celebration.

“As it is,” he continued.
 
“We…ah…are less than completely confident that our patent rights are what they could be for this.
 
You know how complicated issues of prior art and publication can be.”

Everyone in the room realized that Merrick, while admitting nothing that could be used to undermine his company’s patent, was signaling that the rights to this cancer vaccine were compromised.
 
The implication was obvious.
 
The rights to the breakthrough could well be in the public domain already.
 
If so, the generic houses would manufacture and sell it at bargain-basement prices once it was approved by regulators.
 
A powerful, cheap cancer vaccine.
 
It would be disastrous for all of them.
 

“Edwin,” said the younger Japanese executive, momentarily abandoning thoughts of gambling losses and suicide.
 
“Please tell us why you don’t simply bury this if it is not…convenient?
 
We all have done this for drugs that won’t be profitable or that…what is the term…‘cannibalizes’ one that already is popular.”

Merrick slowly surveyed the room.
 
This was the embarrassing moment.

“We have lost some control of the situation,” he finally said.
 
“Our scientist has disappeared.
 
He has evidence of this drug…its potential.
 
When he…if he…contacts one of your scientists, approaches a university or health agency in your country, or goes to your media, you must tell us.
 

“We must deprive him of help and support, certainly from any fellow scientists,” said Merrick.
 
“We all must discredit this man.
 
Now you all know what he has.
 
If the world believes an effective cancer vaccine is in the offing…imagine the clamor.
 
We could not control it.
 
And it will cost us – all of us – untold billions.”