Megan's Cure (20 page)

Chapter 39

MEGAN SWAM ALONG the bottom of the hotel pool, picking up the smooth black rocks that her best friend Lucy Quan had tossed in for her.
 
When she surfaced, she held them triumphantly in both hands.

“Got ‘em!” she said, water streaming down her arms and face.
 
Holding on to the side a few yards away in the deeper water, Lucy jumped outward and had time to clap her hands twice in appreciation before sinking beneath the surface.

On the steps, Megan’s two-year-old cousin sat and splashed the water while he shrieked.
 
He was stark naked.
 
Megan’s mother sat beside him on the edge of the pool.
 
She wore shorts, a button-up shirt and floppy hat.
 
She dangled her feet in the water as her eyes tracked Megan.

Enzo Lee and Walter Novak sat at a black metal patio table that stood in the shade of the hotel at the other end of the pool.
 
They saw Chief Cliff Davidson open the gate to the pool area and let it clang shut behind him.
 
He grinned and nodded at the kids in the water as he skirted the pool and made his way to Lee and Novak.
 
He set a shopping bag on the table as he relaxed into one of the patio chairs.

“Homework,” the police chief said in explanation.
 
“Her teacher’s not too worried about Megan missing class.
 
Says she’s one of her brightest kids.
 
But doesn’t want her to fall too far behind.”

Lee nodded his understanding.

“I wish I could come out there with y’all,” said Davidson.
 
“Never been to San Francisco.
 
Course I’d mainly like to know those sons of bitches aren’t messing with you.”

“Well, between Bobbie Connors and Walter writing some checks for some off-duty help, I think we should be okay,” said Lee.

“Happy to do it,” said Novak.
 
“I’d return all the money if I could stop what’s happening.”

Lee shrugged.

“Add it to the long list of things we can’t undo,” he said.
 

As Lee watched the kids playing in the pool, he thought about how much he was looking forward to getting back to San Francisco.
 
It was his home turf.
 
He felt more in control there.
 
Plus, he needed to get back to his grandmother.
 
He’d decided he would get her Novak’s Roxaten somehow…even if he had to learn how to give her an injection himself.
 
He’d become a believer in the few days he’d spent with Novak.
 
Besides, she didn’t have many good options at this stage.
 
It felt like her only hope and he didn’t want any more delays.

 
“You mind telling me again what exactly your theory is now,” said Davidson, interrupting Lee’s thoughts.
 
“How does this stop those bastards from trying to kill Megan…and maybe the rest of you for that matter?”

The police chief was watching Lee carefully, his eyebrows arched in query.
 
It was a good question.
 
Lee wished he had a better roadmap carefully connecting all the dots.
 
He didn’t.

“It’s pretty obvious that someone or some group is trying to bury Roxaten,” said Lee.
 
“They want to suppress it…keep it off the market.
 
Maybe we can make some guesses about who it might be.
 
But we don’t have the resources to find out, and certainly we couldn’t prove it.”

“If we can get the story out…let Roxaten have its day,” he continued.
 
“Whether it’s a miracle or a bust.
 
Whatever.
 
Just get it out in the open and let scientists debate it.
 
Let real trials and experiments determine what happens.
 
As long as it stays in the shadows, these goons with guns have leverage.

“The bigger the story,” said Lee.
 
“The more everyone knows about Roxaten and Megan, the safer she’ll be.
 
The scrutiny…the outrage.
 
All the stakes will be higher if we can just get this public in a big way. And suppose we get the trials going again.
 
If we can get a hundred patients – or even a thousand – in a Roxaten trial – then she’ll truly be safe.
 
They all will be potential Megans.”

An hour later, Davidson had left them to tend to his police chief responsibilities.
 
Lee and Novak still sat at the patio table, half watching the kids who were winding down their pool activities.
 
Megan and Lucy drifted together on two air mattresses pointing out the various cloud shapes above them.
 
Rabbit ears here.
 
An ice cream cone there.
 
A small order of French fries on the right.
 
Come to think of it, they were more than ready for lunch.

Lee had his laptop opened.
 
The medical reporter at the News had given him the name of an editor at the prestigious American Review of Medicine.
 
Lee had just sent an email that introduced himself to the editor and asked for a phone call later in the day.
 
Novak was jotting notes on a pad in front of him.
 
From what Lee could see, it was all numbers and rough diagrams.
 
Circles.
 
Lines.
 
Arrows.
 
Boxes.
 

 
“Walter,” said Lee.
 
“There’s something I need to talk to you about.
 
The whole idea of getting publicity about this…about Roxaten.
 
I want to start it now.
 
It could take weeks for the results to filter back to NIH and for anything to happen.
 
That’s too long. Too long to keep Megan – and maybe all of us – safe.
 
We need to speed everything up.
 
Get things going at double-time…triple-time speed.
 
Take the offense.”

Novak nodded his agreement.

“It has an effect on you,” added Lee.
 
“I’ve been in this business for a long time.
 
I have a pretty good idea of what makes a story…what gets an editor excited.”

“Okay,” said Novak.
 
“And what is that?”

“Well, the testing itself isn’t enough,” said the reporter.
 
“There are thousands of drugs being tested every year.
 
Another one doesn’t stand out.
 
Maybe the results will eventually…but that could be months in the future.”

“I understand,” said Novak.

“But what will sell the story is you,” said Lee.
 
“The ‘brilliant but…ah…controversial scientist.’
 
The same facts that probably made you worry if you and Roxaten would get a fair hearing, will sell the story.”

Lee put his hands in front of him, thumbs and forefingers creating brackets in the air.

“Let’s be honest,” he said.
 
“The headlines will read something like this: ‘Novak Goes Rogue With Roxaten.
 
Cancer Cure or Fraud?’”

 
“A little over simplified, don’t you think?” said Novak.

“Sure,” said Lee. “The hallmark of journalism.
 
The point is that we’ve got serious people – scientists – taking a look at this now who don’t have a vested interested in the outcome.
 
A lot of that is because the Journal is involved.
 
It’s out on stage now.
 
So, let’s light a fire under it.
 
Force it onto the fast track.
 
We want reporters calling the researchers and NIH every day.
 
If the results are exciting, let’s get it on the evening news.”

“Okay,” said Novak.
 
“If you think that’s the way to go, I won’t argue.”

“I won’t lie to you,” said Lee.
 
“If we go this route, there will be people out there who will want to crush you.
 
Some may have good intentions.
 
Others will just make you a distraction.
 
Either way, they’ll be on you like a ton of bricks.”

Novak exhaled slowly.
 
He sank back into his chair as if already shouldering half of those bricks.

“If this is what it takes, then there’s really no choice,” he said.
 

* * *

The sun had been down for almost an hour when Mary Kim returned to the hotel.
 
They were leaving for the New Orleans airport early the next morning for the flight to San Francisco.
 
The researchers at the University of San Francisco Medical Center wanted Megan available for at least a week of tests.
 
They had arranged for her to stay at their hospital where all the test and diagnostic equipment was close at hand.
 
The schedule gave them time to duplicate any procedures in case they encountered problems along the way.

Mary Kim had agreed to the trip only grudgingly.
 
She didn’t understand why Megan needed to have more tests when her cancer was gone.
 
Lee and Novak…with Megan’s help…finally convinced her.
 
She decided to stay behind.
 
She said she couldn’t get so many days away from her job.
 
But Lee sensed that perhaps she was intimidated by the idea of traveling to a strange big city and being surrounded the entire time by doctors and scientists.
 

Chief Davidson also had shared his belief that Mary was torn between her concern for Megan and her own immigration fears.
 
As a reporter in a city full of new immigrants, Lee understood the special fear carried by anyone with unsettled status or who had fudged the truth to get here.
 
The public spotlight was exactly what they wanted to avoid.

This evening, Mary Kim had brought with her to the hotel a Winn Dixie grocery bag that held combs, beautician scissors and a white cotton cape.
 
She sat Megan on one of the patio chairs, fastened the cape around her neck and trimmed her hair.
 
The pair kept up a quiet murmur of conversation during the entire haircut.
 
It was a warm evening with a light breeze coming off the gulf that carried the smell of the ocean.
 
It felt like summer couldn’t be far behind.

Lee was back at a table on the other side of the pool with his laptop opened.
 
He was composing a detailed memo for the editor at the medical review.
 
It covered the basics – the promise of Roxaten, Novak’s treatment of Megan using the drug and the ongoing review commenced with the helpful nudge from the NIH.
 
Lee assumed the editor would use his own contacts to confirm the key elements and fill in gaps.

When she was finished with Megan’s hair, Mary took off the cape, shook it out and sent her daughter off to her room where Lucy was waiting for her to watch a video while they ate dinner.
 
Mary Kim walked over to Lee and sat in the chair next to him.

“Her hair looks very nice,” said Lee, looking up from his laptop and searching for something to say.

“Before…before Megan sick, her hair long.
 
Like Lucy,” said Mary Kim.
 
“I ask. ‘Why keep it short now?’
 
She say it easier if she need to cut it again.
 
Be bald.
 
Not mind so much.”