The Foolproof Cure for Cancer (2 page)

 

*****

A week later, on his way back to the billionaire
'
s mansion, Tom could only think about two things. He stared at the inflight movie on the plane (he hadn
'
t rented the headsets, so he couldn
'
t hear the audio) and overheard the teenage girls chattering behind him, and he only thought about two things.

The first was this: in the oncologist
'
s examination room, which had been such a chamber of horrors for Tom and Sydney for so long, Sydney had thrown her arms around him and kissed him full on the lips.

Fifteen minutes before the kiss, Dr. Singh had shown them murky MRI scans and told them the good news while wagging her head in disbelief.

"
The tumor
'
s shrinking,
"
she had said.
"
I don
'
t know why, but it
'
s down to half the size.
"

Eyes wide in their shadowy caves, Sydney had stared at Tom, then turned back to the doctor.
"
You
'
re kidding,
"
Sydney had said slowly.
"
That can
'
t be.
"

"
How true,
"
Singh had said.
"
But it is. I
'
m reluctant to use the word
'
miracle,
'
but I
'
m at a loss to explain this development.
"

"
Will it keep shrinking?
"
Sydney had said, her voice stronger than it had sounded in weeks.
"
Will it shrink away to nothing?
"

Singh had shrugged and thrown her hands in the air.
"
Who knows? I don
'
t know what
'
s causing it, so I certainly can
'
t predict the course it will take.
"

"
But it
'
s half the size,
"
Tom had said.

"
Half, yes,
"
Singh had said, nodding, her expression more puzzled than pleased.

"
So it
'
s possible,
"
Tom had said,
"
that it could disappear altogether.
"

"
Anything
'
s possible.
"

It was then that Sydney had gotten up out of her chair, fragile as she was, and flung her arms around Tom and kissed him with tears in her eyes.

And he had felt happy for the first time in many months. He had felt hopeful that Sydney would yet survive.

If he could complete his
"
assignment
"
for Mayflower, that is, and obtain the remaining dose of the cure.

That was the second thing he thought about on the way back to the Billionaire Samaritan
'
s mansion: the
"
assignment.
"

"
You get the rest after you do a little work for me,
"
Mayflower had told him.
"
After you make someone else
'
s wish come true.
"

The more he thought about it, the more Tom was consumed with curiosity. What could someone like Mayflower possibly want from someone like him? What could Tom do to grant someone
'
s wish that a billionaire could not?

It didn
'
t make any sense. After months of sky-high medical bills (his HMO claimed the tumor was a pre-existing condition and wouldn
'
t pay for treatment), Tom
'
s meager resources were wiped out. Maybe Mayflower expected some kind of service from Tom in exchange for the dose...but if so, what service could Tom possibly provide that Mayflower couldn
'
t buy from someone else?

Maybe it was harmless after all. Maybe, Mayflower tried to perpetuate the cycle of good deeds by asking the recipients of his gifts to do something positive for someone else in return. Tom hadn
'
t read of such an angle in
Good as Gold
, but maybe it was as simple as that. It was certainly the explanation he liked best.

It was also the explanation that he thought was least likely to be true. If Mayflower had wanted him to do perform a good deed, Tom doubted he would have held out the second dose of the cancer cure until he completed his
"
assignment.
"

As the limousine whisked him out to Mayflower
'
s sprawling estate, Tom had a bad feeling. He tried to balance it out by remembering Sydney
'
s excited kiss in the oncologist
'
s office...but the closer he got to the Billionaire Samaritan, the more he focused on the possibilities that lay ahead, and the darker his mood became.

 

*****

"
This is Hiram Fleason,
"
said Mayflower, sliding an 8 by 10 photo across the glass-topped patio table.

Tom stared at the color photo of the thin-faced little man with wire-framed eyeglasses, a baggy brown suit, and a bad haircut. He was seated on a park bench, gazing blankly to one side, a brown paper bag in his lap and a sandwich wrapped in wax paper in his spindly hands.

Mayflower was wearing latex gloves like a doctor or dentist.
"
This is his address,
"
he said, sliding a slip of paper with typeset printing on it across the table.
"
He lives in Seattle. You
'
ll rent a car and drive up there this afternoon.
"

Frowning, Tom looked at the address without touching it. The bad feeling he
'
d had all day was getting stronger.

Mayflower pushed a silver key across the table.
"
This is the key to the front door of Mr. Fleason
'
s house. Once you let yourself in, you
'
ll be pleased to know, there
'
s no security system to contend with.
"

Tom stared at the key, the bad feeling intensifying.

Next, Mayflower lifted a paper bag from under the table and put it down in front of Tom.
"
This is the gun you
'
ll use to kill him,
"
the billionaire said matter-of-factly.
"
I suggest you throw it off a pier when you
'
re done.
"

Tom
'
s stomach wrenched. His instincts had been correct; the price for his wife
'
s miracle cure was steep indeed.

"
I think you
'
ll find that a single shot between the eyes will be most effective,
"
said Mayflower.

"
Wait a minute,
"
Tom said quietly, leaning back from the table.
"
I don
'
t even know this man.
"

Mayflower grinned.
"
It
'
s better that way, don
'
t you think? Makes it easier.
"

"
I don
'
t know who you think I am,
"
said Tom,
"
but I
'
m no killer.
"

Mayflower laughed. He pulled a black cigarette from the case on the table and lit it.
"
Not entirely true, my friend,
"
he said.
"
You were a Marine, weren
'
t you? Fought in the Iraqi war, didn
'
t you?
"

Tom nodded grimly.

"
Killed your share of the enemy,
"
said Mayflower. Raising one hand, he extended the thumb and forefinger like the hammer and barrel of a gun pointing at Tom
'
s head.
"
Served with distinction,
"
he said, flicking the thumb down as if firing the imaginary gun.

"
That was different,
"
said Tom.

"
Not at all,
"
said Mayflower.
"
You killed for a cause. This time, the cause is saving your wife
'
s life.
"

Tom shook his head and pushed his chair back from the table.
"
That was war. This is murder.
"

"
Think of it this way,
"
said Mayflower, blowing out sweet-smelling smoke.
"
If someone put a gun to your wife
'
s head, wouldn
'
t you be willing to kill him to save her life?
"

"
This isn
'
t the same thing,
"
said Tom.

"
Yes, it is,
"
said Mayflower.
"
Because if you don
'
t kill Fleason, your wife will die. It
'
s really that simple.
"

Tom glared at the billionaire, infuriated at the way he was manipulating him...infuriated because he knew Mayflower was right. Killing a civilian outside the field of combat went against everything he believed...but if it was the only way to save Sydney from the cancer, how could he refuse?

Mayflower had him, they both knew it, and Tom hated him because of it.

"
Think of it as a deductible, if you like,
"
said Mayflower.
"
Your part of the payment for your wife
'
s medical care.
"

"
What has this guy done, that you want him dead?
"
Tom said darkly.

"
Who said
I
wanted him dead?
"
said Mayflower, smirking.
"
I never said it was
my
wish.
"

"
But what has he done?
"
said Tom.

"
You
'
re looking for justification,
"
said Mayflower.
"
You want me to ease your conscience by telling you he
'
s a serial killer or a pedophile or a terrorist...but I won
'
t do it. The less you know, the better off we
'
ll all be if something goes wrong and you end up questioned by the police.
"

Tom wanted to get up from his chair and walk away...but he couldn
'
t do it. If this was his only chance to save Sydney, he couldn
'
t throw it away.
"
You
'
re a billionaire,
"
he said.
"
Why can
'
t you just hire a professional hit man?
"

"
Because this is more entertaining,
"
said Mayflower.
"
Now, the question you should be asking is, do you love your wife enough to save her life?
"

Tom met the billionaire
'
s bemused gaze and said nothing.

"
In forty-eight hours,
"
said Mayflower,
"
if you
'
ve completed your assignment, the final dose of the cure for your wife
'
s cancer will be delivered to your door. If you have not done the job in that time-frame, you will not receive the cure. In fact, once the window of opportunity closes, you will never have another chance to reopen it. Any attempts to contact me will be refused.
"

Tom
'
s eyes flicked from Mayflower to the photo and came to rest on the brown bag holding the gun.

Mayflower stubbed out his cigarette and clapped his latex-gloved hands together.
"
The offer is on the table,
"
he said.
"
But the clock is ticking. What do you say, Mr. Porter?
"