Enigma (FBI Thriller #21)(51)
Savich said thoughtfully, “So it seems he’s working something toxic out of his system? Have you gotten any information back about any drugs he was given?”
She placed her hand on his arm, drew a deep breath. “That’s why I called you. The reference lab found a cocktail of drugs in his system. The first was a natural supplement called quercetin that is marketed as a sort of über vitamin pill. There are claims it reduces the risk of cancer, the risk of heart disease, signs of aging—most medical problems under the sun, really, a cure-all. The FDA has warned there’s no proof for any of the claims, but still, it’s widely available.”
Savich shrugged. “As long as people need hope, some drug will claim to provide it.”
She nodded. “That’s the sad truth. At least, as far as I know, this supplement can’t hurt you. The second drug they found is called epoetin alfa. That’s a sophisticated drug that has to be given intravenously. It’s produced using recombinant DNA technology, acts like a natural hormone to stimulate the bone marrow to make more red blood cells. Someone has been treating his anemia with it. It can cause some increased blood clotting, but nothing like what John Doe is suffering.”
She drew a deep breath. “Now, the third drug they found, they couldn’t identify. They do know it’s chemically related to a drug called sirolimus, used to treat organ rejection. But the drug they found in his blood is new; it’s different. I think the mystery drug is what’s been so toxic to him, especially to his nervous system and his bone marrow. That toxicity could be why they gave him the epoetin, to counteract the bone marrow suppression the third drug was causing.”
“Aren’t there a great many drugs currently being tested that your lab couldn’t identify yet? Drugs that haven’t been approved or marketed?”
Dr. Wordsworth nodded. “Yes, of course. There are millions of untested and poorly tested compounds out there, many of them owned by pharmaceutical companies and universities. They’re often kept jumbled together in what they call compound libraries, in the hope that some of them will be useful as drugs someday.” She shrugged. “Fact is, most of them turn out to be ineffective, or toxic, or both. It takes a great deal of money and time and a bit of luck to find one with a valid use and bring it to market.”
“And if someone were giving him an experimental drug, an unapproved drug, that might explain his medical condition and why he’s improving now he’s no longer taking it?”
“Yes, luckily for him.” Dr. Wordsworth picked up John Doe’s arm, traced her fingertips over the neat line of needle marks. “At first I thought he might have volunteered for some kind of a drug trial, but if he was being given the drug legitimately, for therapeutic reasons, why can’t we find anything wrong with him other than what seems to be the toxic effects of a drug?”
She touched a finger to her earring, then shook her head at herself. “That attempt on his life last night, someone with medical knowledge did that. The syringe the murderer was going to inject into John Doe’s IV—it was filled with potassium chloride. It would have stopped his heart and killed him, and the murderer knew we would never have found it, even at autopsy. It would have looked like sudden cardiac arrest, death from natural causes.”
“And if Kara hadn’t been here to frighten the killer off, John Doe could never wake up to tell us otherwise, or about anything that’s happened to him.”
She took John Doe’s hand. “Whatever is happening here, it’s way beyond unethical; it’s scary. Please find these people before they try again.”
32
1701 ARCTURUS ROAD
ON THE POTOMAC
SOUTH OF ALEXANDRIA
TUESDAY LATE AFTERNOON
Henley flew the helicopter in from the south, staying low over the Potomac. As he maneuvered to land on a barren patch near the shore, Liam saw a Hardy 50 motor yacht tied to a wooden dock, not twenty yards from the landing field. It was a boat he knew well, an English boat he’d seen often in the bad old days of his smuggling forays along the Irish coast. It was seaworthy and powerful, but small enough to guide upriver without attracting too much attention. Probably the boss’s boat, an easy getaway to wherever he wanted to go.
Henley touched down on the dirt, and Liam watched the rotor blades slow as Henley went methodically through his shutdown checklist. When the blades finally stopped, it was quiet as a graveyard save for the light lapping of the Potomac against the wooden dock. Amazing for a place so close to Alexandria and the millions of people in the metro area. He’d seen no major roads, no close neighbors. It was private.
Henley stepped out and opened their door. He pointed. “Petrov’s house is through that mess of trees.”
Liam used a Swiss Army knife from the tool kit to cut Elena free from the helicopter seat arm and pulled her out. He winced from the weight he had to put on his heel as he set her down on the skids beside him. He started to cut the duct tape from around her legs to let her walk freely but he chanced to look at her, saw rage in her eyes, and knew in his gut she’d go for him, even with her arms and hands taped together. He was hobbled enough she might well take him down, even with the Walther. And Henley might help her.
“Sorry, love, I know you want to take a strip off me, so you’ll have to stay trussed up a while longer.” He patted her cheek, goading her, but she didn’t say anything.