Megan's Cure (34 page)

At least that was what Lee hoped was going through his mind.

Ten minutes later, the doors to Merrick’s office opened and Roth invited them back inside.
 
Again, everyone remained standing.

“There is no fucking way I’m giving a dime to you,” began Merrick.
 
“And how do I know you won’t send this out anyway…or leak it somehow?”

Lee shrugged.

“Because if I do, I assume you’ll follow through and I’ll be out of a profession and selling Slurpees or whatever,” said Lee.
 
“I’m sure you’ve got power and connections that I can’t even dream about.”

“You’re damned right I do!” said Merrick.

“Look,” said Lee. “There might be other copies of the Macau email out there.
 
I have no idea.
 
All this – the foundation…assigning the rights…a contribution – it’s all stuff that a public relations consultant might suggest.
 
Do it now before there’s any whiff of scandal.
 
Get ahead of it.
 
Make Roxaten a gift to the world.
 
Be proactive.”

 
Lee looked at his watch.
 
Five minutes to go.

“So, do we have a deal?” he asked.

“Yes, we do,” said Roth softly.
 
“You can use my computer.”
 
He pulled a laptop out of his briefcase.
 
The screen lit up as soon as he opened it.

Lee sat down and pulled the computer close to him so Merrick and Roth couldn’t see the screen.
 
Then he pulled up Yahoo and navigated to the baseball box scores so he could see how the Giants were doing in their afternoon game.
 
He punched a few meaningless keys.

When he had taken enough time, he closed the browser window and shut the laptop.

“We’re going to Walter’s lab now to get some of his notebooks,” Lee said.
 
“Will you call ahead so we can get in?”
 
Roth nodded.

Lee didn’t add that their first order of business would be getting another vial of Roxaten so he could give his grandmother her third dose.

“You know, of course, what will happen if you go back on any of this,” said Lee.
 
“Or I get any hint you’re trying to block this email – get a restraining order or something.
 
Bam.
 
The whole thing goes out to everyone.
 
It will only take me five seconds.
 
I’ll shoot first and ask questions later.”

Merrick remained silent, staring at Lee with cold anger.
 
Roth gave him another small nod.
 

On the way out to the elevator, Roth escorted Lee and Novak.
 
They didn’t bother to shake hands.
 
Roth waited until the elevator doors were about to close.

“How are the Giants doing?” he asked without a trace of a smile.

“Tied,” said Lee.
 
“Three to three in the sixth.”

Chapter 63

TROY AXMANN WAS surprised by Edwin Merrick’s cryptic order to cancel that day’s Novak-bashing press conference.
 
A former U.S. Surgeon General – who had demanded a guarantee of six paid speaking engagements to attend – headlined the event.
 
Other award-winning doctors and scientists had been flown in to fill out the program.

Equally mystifying was the message he received from his twin brother, Gray. Take the late Alaska Airlines flight from San Jose to Reno, said the email.
 
It included instructions on how to get to a small warehouse in nearby Sparks a few miles east of the downtown area.
 
Troy received no replies to his emails or phone calls to Gray.

It was past midnight when Troy Axmann pulled his rented white Malibu down the alley that led to the warehouse.
 
He left the car idling along a chain link fence.
 
Gray’s email had provided the combination to the lock that secured the thick chain that held a pair of tall gates together.
 
They blocked the opening to an asphalt parking area in front of a loading dock.

The gates fell open on their own once the chain holding them together was unlocked.
 
Troy got back in the car and backed through the opening until the rear bumper of the Malibu was six feet from the raised loading dock.

 
He sprang up the stairs to the loading dock surface.
 
A rollup metal door 20-feet across sealed the warehouse space from the outer loading area.
 
A single floodlight provided enough illumination for Axmann to unlock the second combination lock.
 
Troy made sure to use his legs when he lifted the door.
 
Fortunately it was well balanced.
 
But it still required a determined effort and the screech of the door rubbing against the tracks made Axmann wince.

Inside somewhere in the blackness was an office where Gray had said Troy should wait for him.
 
But sitting just inside the opening on the other side of the rollup door and illuminated by the outside light were two suitcases.
 
Troy used his phone to see them better.
 
Matched black leather with a diamond pattern.
 
Expensive.
 
They had tags embossed with the initials “GRA.”
 
They were Gray’s initials.
 

Alarms went off in Troy Axmann’s head.

“What the hell is going on?” he wondered to himself.

He was staring into the black void wondering where a light switch could be to turn on the interior lights when a car drove into the parking area, blocking his rental.
 
It was big and black, maybe a Lincoln.
 
He saw two men get out while a third remained behind the wheel.
 
He could only see the silhouettes as the pair mounted the steps.
 
One was huge, the other average size.
 
Neither was Gray.

They came up on either side of the pharmaceutical executive, each grabbing an arm.

“Whoa,” said Troy.
 
“I...uh…what is this?”

“Hi, Mr. Axmann,” said the smaller man.
 
Troy Axmann saw that he wore a leather jacket and jeans.
 
His dark hair had a single white streak running through it.
 
The other man looked as if he may have once played linebacker on a college football team.
 
Big and powerful.
 

“Do I know you?” said Axmann.
 
The man looked at him quizzically.

 
“It’s Whitey,” he said, stepping so the outside light could better show his face.
 
“I last saw you…when?
 
Was it Philly more than a year ago?
 
I guess it’s been all phones and email since then.
 
But, you haven’t changed much.
 
The hair, of course.
 
But they told me about that.”

 
“Whitey?
 
Oh.
 
I know.
 
Look.
 
You think I’m Gray.
 
I’m his brother, Troy.
 
You know we’re twins, right.
 
Fraternal.
 
You mentioned the hair.
 
Can’t you see mine’s brown?”

“I’m sorry,” said Whitey.
 
“You need to come with us.”
 
He pulled his Glock 19 out from his shoulder holster.
 
He held it in the light for a moment, making sure Axmann saw it.
 
He wore an apologetic expression.

Axmann tried to pull away, taking a step backward.
 
He pulled his arm away from Whitey but the ex-linebacker spun behind him and grabbed Troy’s shoulders.
 
He held him from behind by his biceps.
 
He let go with one hand and ran it along the side of Troy’s chest, then along his waistband, and finally along his leg outside and inside.
 
The big man repeated the operation with his other hand.
 
Then he grabbed Troy by both biceps again and marched him back down the stairs to the parking area.
 

“You’re making a mistake,” said Troy Axmann as he let himself be marched to the waiting car.
 
“Can’t you call Gray?
 
He can explain everything.”

The pair was silent.
 
When they reached their car linebacker opened the back and pushed Troy’s head down, cop style, to miss the door frame and climbed in next to him.
 
Whitey went back up the loading dock and hauled down the two suitcases.
 
He put them into the trunk of the car.
 

The four in the car rode in silence.
 
Troy’s mind was racing.
 
What was going on?
 
Were they taking him to Gray?
 
Was Gray in trouble?

“Can you tell me where we’re going?” said Troy.
 
Whitey glanced quickly back from the front seat and then turned back to the front.
 
He said nothing.

They passed through Reno’s downtown casino district and then turned down a narrow alley that led to a parking garage.
 
They went up several levels – Troy counted five – to the top, although the garage was empty.
 
They took him into an elevator and went down a half dozen floors to the basement.
 
It was bare except for pipes running overhead.
 
They walked down a corridor and into a room with two desks and four chairs.
 
They were old and solid.
 
All metal.
 

Linebacker guided Troy to one of the chairs.
 
He moved behind him and pulled Axmann’s hands back until they poked through the slats that made up the back of the chair.
 
Troy felt something being tightened over his hands.
 
He looked back and saw they were black plastic ties.
 
Disposable handcuffs.
 
That was when the real panic hit.
 
Until then, he felt as if a phone would ring and it would be over.
 
Mistake resolved.
 
There was something about the ties.
 
He had visions of Polish Jews lined up along a freshly dug pit.
 
Cambodians on their knees in the killing fields.
 

“Gray,” he said.
 
“Gray!”
 
He said it louder.
 
Finally, at the top of his voice.
 
“Gray!
 
Is he here somewhere?”

Whitey stood in front of him.
 
He had the gun out again, an expression of pity on his face.
 
He simply shook his head.

“Where is Gray?” said Troy.
 
“You know I’m not him, right? I’m his brother, Troy.
 
Can’t you tell me what’s going on here?
 
There’s a big mistake being made.
 
A really big mistake.
 
You’ve got to believe me.”

* * *

The knock on the door was soft and unsure.
 
Whitey opened the door a crack and murmured to the person on the other side.
 
He opened it further and Eileen looked inside.
 
Her eyes went instantly to Troy Axmann still sitting in the chair with his hands fastened behind his back.
 

He had been in the bare basement room for 13 hours. Twice they had cut the plastic cuffs, led him to a bathroom and fed him a sandwich before cuffing him again.
 
He’d not heard anyone else pass by the room during his entire confinement.
 
But he had overheard the one who called himself “Whitey” on his cell phone in the corridor.

“He was planning a trip,” Whitey had told the unknown person on the other end.
 
“A long one.
 
At least $50,000 in cash and more in traveler’s checks in his suitcase.”
 

After a pause, Whitey added: “You know I just saw him a few times.
 
We did everything by phone.
 
Can’t we do fingerprints or something?”
 

After that, Troy felt better.
 
They were taking seriously his protestations that he wasn’t Gray.
 
This would work itself out after all.
 

The attractive head dealer wore a light trench coat unbuttoned over a short dress, black with lace on the top.
 
It was what she had worn to work before receiving the short note telling her she needed to fly to Reno and watch for a man in baggage claim with her name on a sign.
 
Eileen could feel the eyes of all three men in the room exploring her body and she pulled the edges of the trench coat a little closer.

She stepped into the room, studying Troy Axmann carefully, looking him up and down as he sat in his chair.
 
Her gaze came back to his face as she moved across the room until she stood in front of him.

From high school on, Troy had been accustomed to seeing his brother with the best-looking woman in the room hanging on his arm.
 
It was a given.
 
He just hoped the woman in front of him was Gray’s current girlfriend so she could get word to him quickly that Troy was in trouble.
 
That should fix everything.
 
Whatever was wrong, Gray would take care of it.
 
He always had.

Eileen lingered in front of him, studying him.
 
Delaying.
 
Trying to decide what to do.
 
Then the indecision on her face vanished.
 
She knew.
 
She stepped close to Troy, placed her finger under his chin and lifted his face.
 
Then she bent down and kissed him.
 
Hard.
 
Troy was surprised but couldn’t stop himself from returning it.
 
He noticed how she smelled…a hint of cinnamon.
 
Then Eileen pulled away.

“Good-bye, Gray,” she said.
 
Then she whirled and walked quickly to the door which she shoved open.
 
She stalked quickly down the hallway back toward the elevator.
 
The sound of her heels echoed in the basement corridor.
 

When she reached the elevator, she heard Troy Axmann yell.

“No!” he screamed.
 
“No!
 
No!
 
No!”

She put her hands to her ears and willed the doors to close.