The RX Factor (33 page)

Ryan could feel his hand shaking. Was he still acting? He could no longer tell. All he knew was that the trigger suddenly felt tantalizingly sensitive in his grip, practically ready to squeeze itself. Part of him wanted to pull the trigger, but another part wanted to see where this road led. He thought of Cindy and the children and felt his teeth grind. Stedman would never testify. He would find a way out. And he would never serve time. People like him never did. He would find a fall guy—and walk. Ryan thought of Dr. Mendel, who had been murdered before he could remake what was left of his life. Why should Stedman get a second chance?

A shot rang out, and Stedman, his eyes wide with horror, tried to speak, but his mouth moved silently. A bright red river ran south from a hole between his eyes, blood dripping from the end of his nose, and he slumped over in his chair, dead.

Ryan looked down at his gun in disbelief but saw that his finger, still on the trigger, hadn't moved. He turned to see Jordan, silent all this time, shaking violently, a gun in her hand.

"That's for killing my aunt and uncle, you son of a bitch."

Jordan closed her eyes. She couldn't stomach the
sight of Stedman, dead but still bleeding, his body awkwardly slumped in his chair. With his shoulders arched forward and his head drooping toward his desk, he looked smaller now. Almost human.

Jordan was an unapologetic animal lover, someone who went out of her way not to harm anything, be it a stray dog that had fleas or a fearsome spider that had made a home in one of her slippers. As for human life, she was devoting her career to helping the terminally ill recover from their illnesses, or at least die as gracefully and pain-free as possible.

But now?

There was no way to sugarcoat it. She was a murderer.

She opened her eyes to see Ryan methodically checking the safety on his gun before stowing it away in his jacket. He repeated the carefully orchestrated maneuver with her gun after gently prying it free from her grasp.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I . . ."

"You're shaking," Ryan said softly. "Are you okay?"

Jordan fumbled for an explanation. "I guess when I heard him pleading for his life, I got this sick feeling in my stomach that he was going to cut a deal, expose some political bigwig, and walk away with a slap on the wrist." She shook her head. "I just couldn't let that happen. He's the man responsible for my aunt and uncle's deaths, for the death of your family—given time, he would have killed us, too. We already have the evidence against the senator. If he's like most politicians, he'll simply expose someone else to save his own ass. That's what they do, isn't it?"

"Where'd you get the gun?"

"From Dr. Mendel's home. As you were securing him in his bedroom last night, I decided to search his study. While I didn't find anything incriminating, I did find his revolver and decided to take it, just in case."

"I was seconds away from pulling the trigger myself. But we have a dead body on our hands now, and several people know we were in this office. There will be no defense for what was done." He squeezed his temples and stood in silence before he spoke again. "Give me the gun. I'll take the rap. This was my fight first anyway, and I can't let you take the blame for what I should have done."

She took his hands in hers. "I can't let you do that." Then, suddenly, she had an idea. She motioned to Stedman. "What do you suppose he was reaching for in that drawer anyway?"

Ryan circled behind the desk and, mindful of the dead body next to him, carefully opened Stedman's desk drawer. With a bitter smile, he retrieved a shiny revolver. "It's loaded," he said after checking it.

Jordan moved quickly, pulling free a tissue from a Kleenex dispenser on the CEO's desk. After taking the gun from Ryan, she wiped Stedman's gun down and then pressed the weapon into Sted-man's right hand, careful not to leave any fingerprints. She lined up behind Stedman, aimed the revolver at the door, and squeezed the dead man's finger until his weapon fired.

"Jesus," Ryan said, looking on in astonishment. "Where'd you learn that?"

Jordan shrugged. "I've seen it on TV a million times," she said. She stepped closer to Ryan, her lips almost touching his. "Neither of us deserves to be punished for eliminating this animal."

Ryan motioned to the door. "Let's get out of here while we still can."

As they approached the parking garage exit at
FSW headquarters, Ryan tried not to look guilty. He slowed to a stop at the gatehouse and handed his parking ticket to the middle-aged guard, who, unlike Stedman's security guard inside, looked like he'd let himself go years ago.

The guard took his time validating the ticket. "That'll be eight-fifty," he said.

Ryan resisted the urge to complain about the steep price for a two-hour visitor's pass and paid in cash. He eased his foot off the brake.

"Hold on a minute!" the guard ordered as the phone in the booth rang. He picked it up after the first ring, eyeing Ryan and Jordan as he listened to the caller.

Why would someone be calling the gatehouse? Had they already discovered Stedman's body? Ryan weighed his options, none of which were good. He did not want an overzealous security guard trying to detain them. And if he made a run for it, the local police would surely be called and the manhunt would be underway.

"Will do," the guard said and hung up. He returned his attention to Ryan but said nothing as he punched a few buttons on his cash register. Finally the machine spit out a receipt. "Here you go," he said, handing it to Ryan.

Once there were a few blocks between them and FSW, Ryan felt the tension in his muscles slowly recede. It was time to call Crawford.

"Where the hell are you?" Crawford barked as soon as the call went through.

"Newark. Had to pay a visit to Jacob Sted-man."

"You don't know when to quit, do you? Ryan, I've bent over backwards to protect you so far, but if you—"

"He's dead."

"Don't tell me . . ."

"He pulled a gun on us after we showed him the evidence Mendel gave us." "Mendel?"

"Dr. Alex Mendel, former commissioner of the FDA."

"The same Dr. Mendel who was murdered outside a bank in Chevy Chase Village this morning?"

"That's him. We met with him yesterday evening at his home. Turns out he signed off on the rigged Tricopatin results, although, in his defense, he wasn't fully aware of the implications. He got his orders from higher up. Once we filled him in on everything, he did the right thing and took us to the bank, where he had the test results plus a couple incriminating recordings stashed away in a safety-deposit box. We were leaving the bank when he was assassinated. The shooter tried to take me and Jordan out, too, but we got lucky. We then went straight to Stedman's office. I was trying to get him on tape confessing to everything and then planned on calling in you and your team to put this to rest. But he didn't take the bait and went for a gun in his desk drawer instead. I guess he didn't want to spend the rest of his life behind bars."

"Unbelievable. You guys are leaving a trail of dead bodies everywhere you go," Crawford said. "Listen, I want you and Jordan to find a safe place to hole up there in Newark before your luck runs out. We can be there in less than an hour by helicopter."

Ryan slowly exhaled. He wasn't quite ready to turn everything over to Crawford.

"Ryan," Crawford said, "you're through, okay? Time to let me do my job."

"I can't. Not yet. I've got one thing left to do before this is over."

"No! You're going to stay put and not do anything stupid, understand?"

"Don't worry, Jim," Ryan said, ignoring Crawford's pleas. "I'll call you as soon as it's finished and hand over the biggest fish in the bunch."

He hung up before Crawford could get in another word.

Ryan looked over at Jordan, who was tapping her foot and biting her lip. "It's all right," he said. "We're on the home stretch."

Ryan's next call was to 411. After following the computer-prompted instructions, he was connected to the D.C. office of Senator Edward McNally. "I need to speak to the senator," he said as soon as a woman from McNally's staff answered.

"I'm sorry, sir," the woman said, "the senator's very busy. But if you have a comment or a question for the senator, you're welcome to use our online form—"

"Tell the senator that Dr. Ryan Matthews is calling and that I have in my possession several tapes given to me by the former commissioner of the FDA, Dr. Mendel. I'm sure he will be very interested in hearing these tapes."

The woman paused. "Just one moment, please."

After leaving Ryan on hold for several minutes, the woman returned to the line. "I will patch you through to the senator now, Dr. Matthews."

"Ryan Matthews," McNally said with a chuckle once the call had been transferred. "You've been on quite a little adventure, haven't you? The problem is, you don't know when to quit."

"My days of quitting are over, Senator," Ryan said. "I wanted to let you know that before you had Dr. Mendel killed, he handed over to me several pieces of incriminating evidence—evidence that will bury you for good."

"I suppose it's time we meet," the senator replied calmly.

"Where are you?"

"I'm just leaving Manhattan."

"Good. I'm close by. Meet me at the entrance to the South Mountain Reservation in one hour."

The senator paused. "I'm afraid I don't know where that is."

"It's not far. Tell your driver to put it into the GPS."

"All right," the senator said. "I'll see you in one hour."

"A couple more things."

"Yes?"

"I need your cell phone number. And if I get the slightest suspicion that you're planning another ambush, you'll never even see me and one copy of the tapes will go to the FBI and the other, straight to the
New York Times."

The landscape slowly morphed from urban to wild as Ryan and Jordan neared the nature preserve in the Watchung Mountains.

"What's our plan?" Jordan asked.

"Well," Ryan ventured, "I'm not sure what we heard on the tapes goes far enough." He stopped himself. "If we were dealing with a normal citizen, it would be plenty. But the senator is a powerful man. We're going to need more to put him away. So my plan is to show him what we have and try to get him to make a specific admission regarding the Tricopatin trials."

"I just hope this doesn't escalate. Like you said, the senator's a powerful man."

"Don't worry. I've got it covered. His driver will certainly be packing, but we'll disarm him immediately and then strand him while we drive away with the senator in our car. There won't be enough time for the senator to bring in backup, and we'll be deep into the park by the time anyone else can arrive. Once we get a confession on tape, I'll call in the cavalry."

The sun was sinking low in the sky when Ryan
spotted the senator's black limousine approaching the entrance to the park. Ryan dialed the senator's cell phone number. "Have your driver pull over inside the main gate at the first parking lot. As soon as you stop, I want your driver to exit the car, remove his weapons, and lay them on the ground. And Senator, I know he will be carrying more than one gun, so I better see them all on the ground."

The black limo pulled into the largely deserted parking lot and came to a stop only twenty or so yards from where Ryan and Jordan sat inside their car.

Ryan waited with bated breath. Would the driver do as he had been told?

A stocky man wearing a black suit and sunglasses emerged from the driver's side front door. He reached inside his jacket and, using only his thumb and middle finger, pulled out what appeared to be a .45 and laid it on the pavement. He then reached down, lifted up his pant leg and, using the same two fingers, pulled a small revolver from his ankle holster and set it on the ground next to his other weapon.

Ryan stepped out of the car. "Toss your keys next to the guns!" he shouted.

The driver complied.

"Now get back in the car and keep both hands on the wheel at all times!"

As soon as the driver was inside, Ryan walked over to where the keys and guns lay and quickly scooped them up. He motioned for the senator to exit the limo.

The senator, whose tinted window was lowered halfway, calmly stepped out. He was a politician all right: cool, confident, and handsome. Ryan hated him already.

Ryan walked around to the back of the limo, tossed the keys to McNally and told him to open up the trunk. As the senator extended his hand to unlock the trunk, Ryan maneuvered around to the rear passenger side so he could keep one eye on the driver and another on the trunk. Ryan's gun was cocked. He was ready for any surprise the senator might have in store for him.

With the empty trunk opened up, Ryan called for the driver. As the driver circled around to the rear of the limo, Ryan used his gun to shoo the senator back several paces. Ryan frisked the man and then told him to get in the trunk. He complied without questions or hesitation. Ryan slammed the trunk lid closed and then led the senator to their car. He quickly frisked the senator before putting him in the front seat next to Jordan, who had taken over at the wheel. He then ducked into the backseat, directly behind the senator. "Go!" he said, and Jordan jumped on the gas.

No one said a word, and after they had covered several miles, with Jordan white-knuckling it the whole way, Ryan instructed her to pull off the main drag onto a narrow dirt road. They followed the dusty, deserted road a quarter of a mile or so before it ended at the mouth of a small grass meadow. Jordan stopped the car, and Ryan ordered the senator out first.

"How did you know about this place?" Jordan asked as they got out.

"When I worked for FSW, I often had time to kill after visiting the main office," he explained. "I'd come here while I was waiting for my flight." Ryan stepped toward the senator, who was waiting beside the car. "I used to work for Jacob Stedman," he said, addressing McNally, "but I suppose you already know all about me. I poured my life into a cure for ovarian cancer, and just as I thought I had a chance to save my wife, she and my children were taken from me. I blamed myself for years for their deaths, but over the past few days, I've found out the truth. And now I know that you, with the help of Stedman and the FDA, are responsible for killing Tricopatin."