Deadly Treatment

DEADLY TREATMENT

David McLeod

Deadly Treatment

David McLeod

A catalogue record for this book is available from the National Library of New Zealand

ISBN (NZ) 978-
0-473-26037-8

First
published October 2013

Santel e-Publishing
[email protected]

Box 707  Orewa  0946
Auckland New Zealand

The moral rights of the author have been asserted.

Proofread/Copyedit: 
www.ProofreadNZ.co.nz

Design: Judith Sansweet
Cover illustration: Andrew Irving
 

© 2013 David McLeod

This book is copyright. Except for the purposes of fair reviewing, no part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author

Deadly Treatment

H
ow does a man, living on borrowed time, correct nearly a century of suppression, threats, litigation, treachery, and murder all having one sole aim: to ensure conventional medicine remains an extremely lucrative business?

Anthony Cain
’s cancer will kill him soon; he knows it and so does Elwood, the man contracted to find and bring him back — dead or alive. But before he dies, Cain is desperate to put an end to the unforgivable wrongs of the corporation he has worked for.

On the other side of town
, there’s young Joshua Costello:  while it’s true he’s no little angel, and it’s also true he’s given his mother, Erin, a fair share of problems, she knows her son is not just another runaway — despite what the LAPD think. She’s sure there’s something more sinister involved; and she’s also sure there’s only one man who can help to find him — Michael Malone.

In a cleverly contrived plot, the reader learns about the dark history of the suppression of alternative medicine’s therapies, while being led through interwoven kidnap situation
s that bring us up to date with Michael Malone and his associates we first met in McLeod’s earlier book,
Christ Clone
.

All in all, a real page-turner that exposes one of today’s most important stories.

Dedication

This book is dedicated to the memory of those who have ventured to explore and apply the protocols of alternative natural therapies, and to those who continue to share their
experiences.

Acknowledgment

With thanks to my loving family and friends

for their continued support —

and to Judi, a copyeditor
extraordinaire.

An early review . . .

After reading his first book,
Christ Clone
, I became a David McLeod fan. The plots twist and turn and the characters are believable. If you like the work of Lee Child, Michael Connolly, and the like, you won’t be disappointed. Put away the TV remote and read this book today! 

 
Tim Lawrence, Editor

M2 Magazine
the Complete Lifestyle Magazine
for the New Zealand man

In a quiet New York suburb a few years from now.

F
or Elwood, a twenty-two was the perfect choice of bullet for jobs like these. Generally a twenty-two would easily blast through the skin and bone of a victim’s head, but not have the power to create an exit wound; it just spent its energy bouncing around the skull turning the brain to mush. One hole, limited mess, guaranteed death, job done.

Elwood opened the door at the rear of the house and slipped into the pitch dark of the waiting night. He casually rounded the building and strode confidently down the driveway to his black SUV, lifted the door handle with his leather-gloved hand, and slid inside. Laying a silenced pistol on the passenger seat, he started the engine, put the transmission into drive, and softly pulled away, only switching on the vehicle lights when he exited the street.

A few blocks away, he pulled into the lot of an all-night diner and flipped open his cellphone. ‘Yeah it’s me. Consider his contract terminated… No, went as smooth as expected, and I retrieved the file. I’ll send you my report as usual.’ He snapped the phone shut and switched on his micro laptop. While the system booted, he separated the handgun from its silencer and stashed the pieces in their secret compartment in the dashboard.

Elwood’s report was brief and to the point; it outlined the basic details of the victim and the murder, a few lines on the victim’s final conversation with the man he was ultimately after, plus other accomplices they should be aware of. Then he opened the encrypted e-mail program, attached his
report and sent it to his boss, making sure, as always, to add the blind cc – in his line of work, it paid to be safe; he had long since made sure he always covered his ass.

Central San Francisco

The Sister’s room in the catholic school had remained vacant since her death years ago. That is, of course, if you could call it a room since it was little more than a converted janitor’s closet. Windowless and dimly lit, the space was made even more claustrophobic by its small single bed, a haggard wardrobe, and a tiny chest of drawers. Even kittens, if held by their tails, would barely make the full 360 degree rotation. As the would-be Abbess looked around the room, she wondered why Sister Elizabeth had felt so comfortable here.

She put down the packing box and moved to the wardrobe. Inside hung the dead Sister’s clothes, starched and rigid, ready for the day ahead, the day that had never come. Until now, there had been no need to clean the room; Sister Elizabeth had renounced her family, so there was nowhere to send her meager belongings, and because the school hadn’t needed the room, they had quite simply just closed the door. Now, with the school’s ever increasing popularity, it was time to reclaim the room.

She folded the garments and packed them into the box, and then moved to the chest of drawers. Sliding open the top drawer, she was greeted by the familiar sight of the Holy Bible. Lifting it out, she sat on the bed and slowly traced a finger around the cross that was embossed on the book’s thick leather front cover. Over decades, she had spent countless hours leafing through the psalms and scriptures, but she was a mere novice compared to the dedication and devotion shown by Sister Elizabeth.

As she absent-mindedly turned the well-used book over in her hands, an envelope slipped from beneath its inside cover and landed neatly in her lap. Laying the Bible beside her on the bed, she turned her attention to the aged, yellowed envelope. It was unaddressed and unstamped, and as she viewed it from all sides, she noted there were no tears or rips down any of the edges. Although the envelope looked well-handled, the flap had never been stuck down; so holding it in both hands, she slipped her thumbs under each side of the flap, carefully opened the envelope, and peered inside. A letter and a photograph looked out at her.

Removing the two items, she first studied the image on the six-by-four picture. It was a group photo of four young women and six young children who were gathered around a baby; on the table in front of them was a small cake with a solitary candle set in its middle. She didn’t recognize any of them, but then again she didn’t really expect to. They all looked happy as they smiled at the camera; their warmth and amusement brought a little brightness to the Sister’s dreary room. She turned the picture over, and written in ink on the back was the caption, Daniel’s first birthday. Putting the picture together with the envelope, she laid them both on top of the Bible and opened the letter.

Dear Daniel,

If you are reading this letter, then I am now with my Lord.

It is only now, as I speak to you from a higher place, that I have the strength to tell you the truth. For so many years, I have wanted to show you this photograph, and for so many years, I have not.

I’m afraid I have kept a secret from you, a secret that is not mine to keep.

The photo is of you and your mother; her name is Shannon Carter.

I have selfishly kept this from you as I know her to be a bad person.

You were always my special boy, and I have always wished you the very best, which is why I have done this horrible thing.

I hope you will find it in your heart to please forgive me.

Sister Elizabeth

M
ichael Malone was sitting at his desk in the new Los Angeles Missing Person’s Office; bored and somewhat frustrated, he checked his watch again. Normally, when asked his age, he would unhappily say he was fast approaching his mid-forties, but the rate the time was passing today, fast was a word he could strike from his vocabulary. It had only been a few months since the Salinas case, but already life had settled into a normal routine. Office work still made him restless, and despite, or maybe because of, more than a month of vacationing with his new partner, Taylor, and Daniel, who could best be described as their surrogate son, he was starting to wonder if it was time to change careers again. He was convinced it would be lunchtime by now, but the dial read 10:30. Malone tapped the glass face of his watch,
surely it must have stopped
, he thought; but alas, the second hand ticked slowly clockwise.

The noise on the other side of his office door started to increase and made it even harder for Malone to concentrate on his daily tasks. So, he welcomed the interruption when Veronica, the office manager, knocked on the door, stuck her head in, and asked, ‘Time for a break? Let’s shoot over the road and grab a coffee.’

Veronica was not only the office manager, but also the morale police; thankfully, for Malone, she seemed to have a sixth sense when it came to office motivation.

Almost a year ago, i
t had been her decision to hire him, and it had proved to be a fantastic call for all involved. He’d arrived at her office door looking for a place to belong. With his background of losing a daughter, his wife, and even his faith in the Lord almighty, he should have been more of a candidate for the funny farm than for a job in Missing Persons, but to Veronica — as she told him later, he seemed to have an air about him; he cared, and he could be trusted, two ideal traits for the job they had to do.

Subsequently, with his success in solving the missing Mary Salinas case — an international abduction and cloning case that had made worldwide news — Malone had turned out to be a bit of a celeb which was bitter/sweet for their office; not only had it increased their workload — many more missing person cases were being sent to them — but funding and donations were pouring in. It seemed that a lot of the corporate world was looking to grab a piece of the publicity action.

As usual, Starbucks was full; they ordered their coffees and found a recently vacated seat at the window. The small table between them was littered with sachets of sugar; their tops ripped open and messy trails of their contents leading up to two empty trademarked Grande Mugs. Veronica busily tidied the table, filling the mugs with the sachets as she opened the conversation.

‘So, how are you feeling, Champ? How’s the home life?’

Malone was about to respond, but Veronica continued.

‘You know, you really did a wonderful thing for the Salinas family; you not only saved a girl’s life, but you’ve given renewed hope to everyone who’s lost a child.’

‘Thanks. Shame it didn’t turn out the same for me,’ he muttered.

‘What?’ Veronica asked, distracted by the Barista who called out their coffee orders.

‘Nothing. I just said thanks.’

Veronica went to the counter and brought back their drinks. ‘It’s still an unbelievable story; you three make an amazing team.’ She added as she sat down.

Malone nodded, knowing she was referring to Daniel, Taylor, and himself.

‘Back to normality now though,’ he said, changing the subject.

‘Yeah,
normality
, if that’s what you can call the madness of what we do,’ she joked, and they lapsed into small talk for the rest of their break.

Malone left work early; he decided to surprise Taylor and maybe take her out for dinner. She’d moved into his place only a few months ago, but they were already starting to bicker over silly things. And he knew a lot, if not most of it, was his fault. After his wife and daughter had been taken from him, he’d lived on his own for years. That was if you could call getting up around noon, taking a cab to the bar, drinking till some ungodly hour, and then sleeping till noon again – living. He was having real difficulty adjusting to the new lifestyle. Having Daniel live with him was one thing, but with the addition of Taylor and her cat, the house was starting to get a bit too busy.

He stopped by the florist on the way home and picked up a bunch of roses; he knew it wasn’t very creative, but still, wasn’t it the thought that counted?

When he arrived home, Taylor was sitting at the kitchen bench with the real estate pages of the newspaper spread out over the counter. She had a big red pen in one hand and a mug of coffee in the other. As she leaned forward over the paper, her long brown hair flowed down around her face, hiding her good looks and piercing blue eyes. She looked up as Malone entered the room, and her face lit up as he produced the bouquet from behind his back.

‘It’s not my birthday is it?’ she ribbed, accepting the flowers and giving him a big kiss.

‘Any more comments like that, and they’ll have to last until your birthday,’ he said laughing.

‘You’re full of surprises, Mr. Malone.’

She rummaged through the cupboards in search of a vase, and he stepped around the kitchen bench to take her in his arms.

‘It’s just my lame way of making an apology. I know I’ve been a bit flat since going back to work, and I also know I haven’t been very helpful with your search for our new house. It’s just…’

Taylor held his rugged but relatively handsome face in her hands and kissed him again, making him lose his train of thought.

‘How about we go out for dinner? Just the two of us,’ he suggested.

‘Sounds perfect,’ she replied.

‘Great, you go get ready, and I’ll go tell Daniel.’

Malone knocked on Daniel’s door and went in. Daniel was absorbed in some design on the computer, feverishly clicking his mouse, adding colors and images to the screen. His aptitude for computers never failed to impress Malone, and he stood and watched him work for a moment.

‘What can I do for you, Malone?’ Daniel asked, not looking up from the screen.

‘Just letting you know that Taylor and I are going out for something to eat. Do you want us to bring you back anything?’

‘Nah, I want to get on with this. There’s some leftover pizza, I’ll have some of that later. You guys go have a good time.’

Malone smiled as he thought about Daniel; sometimes he was mature, diligent, and hardworking, the complete antithesis of a normal early-twenty-year-old.

Anthony Cain knew he was being chased, and he knew he was on borrowed time, but there was no way he was going to die without trying to right some of the wrongs he’d committed – such colossal, unforgivable wrongs.

He’d slipped out of the hospital in the dead of night; only one person knew what he was up to, but he felt sure it wouldn’t take long for his employer to figure it out — and then all hell would break loose.

The obvious first place for him to go was to the press: tell them everything, vent his anger at the position he was put in, assuage his guilt, and somehow blow the lid off the whole thing. Unfortunately, it was such an obvious route he knew his pursuers would pick it too. Plus, he was sure a certain proportion of the media were on the payroll as well — one of the many ways his corporation had been able to get away with it for so long.

He thought about using the Internet, mass e-mailing, or blogging, or however the hell else he could get the word out quickly. But no doubt his message would just get lost among the hundreds of thousands of others — messages put there by people ranging from hoaxers and conspiracy theorists to the honest and truthful. Even his own corporation paid people to upload many misdirected rants just to keep the public confused. In the end, they were all branded some form of crazy. Sure, who he was and the position he held would offer a certain amount of credibility, but on an Internet full of fakes, his validity would take far too long to prove — and time for Anthony was running out fast.

With the press and the Internet off the menu, Anthony chose the only other option available, which was to go directly, personally to as many of the key people involved as possible, and confess. Hopefully, this would give them the strength to carry on the good fight.

He checked the Dallas address on his list again and looked at the building. Satisfied they were one and the same, he carefully eased his frail body out of the car.