The RX Factor (35 page)

A wave of indignation washed over Ryan.
How had Jordan been taken in by this charlatan? Had the time they'd spent together over the past month meant nothing?
He wanted to argue with her, to set her straight, but he knew in his gut it was fruitless. The woman he had permitted himself to care so deeply for over the past month, if she had ever existed at all, was long gone. In her place stood a total stranger.

"How did McNally find you?"

"He didn't have to look far. He was a friend of the family for years. My uncle was a loyal supporter of the senator's father, and our families have been close ever since. We've talked on and off for years, and I often sought his advice, especially when dealing with the FDA. He encouraged me to move in a different direction—the clinic in Mexico. Our interests dovetailed: I wanted to save the terminally ill, and he wanted to secure a future for our country. You might disagree with his conclusions, but I'm convinced if you listened to him with an open mind you'd change your tune. Once I realized a true breakthrough is impossible the way things are now, I refocused my energy. I built the clinic, and I'll continue to develop and acquire new cures through any means necessary." Jordan was becoming more clear-eyed by the second, which meant Ryan was running out of time. "I know I can't save the world alone," she said, "but the senator has a master plan that I believe is our only long-term hope for the world."

"And what is the master plan?"

Senator McNally jumped back into the conversation, anxious to lay out his plan to Matthews. "I'll explain this to you in terminology you might actually understand, Matthews. Think of the four stages of ovarian cancer. Stage one was to get in bed with the international pharmaceutical companies in order to gain access to their discoveries. That was the easiest part of the plan. Stage two was setting up Jordan's clinic in Mexico with drugs we know are effective thanks to the pharmaceutical companies doing their drug trials in Third World countries. Stage three is to get my Social Security bill passed in both houses of Congress. And that is all but in the bag now."

"So what's stage four?" Ryan asked, his voice fading.

"What else?" McNally responded. "The death sentence. The United States will not survive with the elderly poor draining our money supply and exponentially growing our national debt with their monthly Social Security checks and Medicare expenses. Once one of our citizens is unable to support their own needs, they become expendable. Stage four is already well under way. We have already begun developing a virus that, once released, will spread around the world ending the misery of the habitually sick elderly population and stop them from sucking any more money out of their governments. Of course, before that virus can be released we need to have the antidote that will prevent harm to the world's productive citizens."

"And that is why we need you to join us," Jordan pleaded. "You're the greatest research mind of our generation, even if you insist on drinking yourself stupid. You invented Tricopatin, for god's sake. We need researchers like you to help with the completion of the virus and antidote along with the development of other cures that will ensure our continued survival."

"While hundreds of millions of people drop dead well before they need to?" Ryan questioned, still in shock.

"Yes," she said, "if that's what it takes to ensure the survival of humankind. These people would die anyway. We will be sparing them from the long-term misery that accompanies the end of life for so many while saving hundreds of billions of dollars that is spent each year keeping them alive."

"So you and the senator will be heading up the death panels?"

"Somebody has to step up and save us from ourselves."

"And Mendel? Did you kill him, too?"

Jordan shrugged. "He was a dirty ex-politi cian willing to expose the senator in order to save his own ass. He had to go. Please, Ryan, can't you understand? I care for you, and I want you to join us."

Her emotions seemed forced, as if she had already said goodbye. She had to know he would never sign off on the plan of a lunatic. There was no way to reason with her or the senator, who had begun pacing behind her. And he knew he couldn't fake loyalty to their madness. He was as good as dead.

"You're as crazy as the senator," he said, his jaw tightening. "I'll never join you people."

The senator rested a hand on Jordan's shoulder. "You tried," he said, affecting concern. "Now let's end it and get out of here before someone comes."

Jordan pointed the barrel of her pistol at Ryan's head. "Toss the tapes and both tape recorders over to the car," she said softly. "I don't want to rummage for them after . . ." She cocked her head to the side, training her ears toward a sound in the distance.

Ryan glanced past her and spotted two four-door sedans kicking up dust as they barreled toward them on the gravel road. Then three things happened simultaneously. Jordan turned toward the noise. As she did, the lead car flashed on its bright lights, temporarily blinding Jordan. Ryan rolled hard and fast towards his gun.

Seeing Ryan make a move for his weapon, Jordan unloaded her gun at him. The first two shots missed, but as Ryan came to a halt and Jordan regained her full vision, the third shot grazed his left shoulder, the same shoulder that had already taken a slug several minutes earlier.

Ryan shrieked as he lifted his revolver. He did another full roll, this time back to his left, just as another bullet whizzed by his head. He popped up into a sitting position, steadied his aim, and fired a single shot that struck Jordan in the center of her chest.

Jordan reeled from the impact, her shoulders slumping forward as she stared back at him, wide-eyed and in shock. She fell to her knees, and the gun slipped from her grasp. Before she could choke out a single word, she collapsed on her side with her back to him, her body a contorted heap on the edge of the grass.

Seconds later, the sedans skidded to a stop a few yards away, and Jim Crawford and his men jumped out, guns drawn.

Ryan steadied himself and got to his feet. He
tossed Crawford the tape recorder that had logged the entire encounter with Jordan and Senator McNally. "Take the senator into custody, Jim. What's on that tape will bury him. But trust me, you better be sitting down when you listen to it. The shit you're going to hear is unbelievable."

Stunned, Crawford stared at the tape recorder in his hands. He looked up at Ryan and then shifted his glance to Jordan's limp body on the ground. "But why did you shoot her?" he asked as one of his men knelt down beside her to check for a pulse.

Ryan knew the agent would find no signs of life. "It was her or me. Listen to the tape. It will explain everything."

Senator McNally, flatfooted moments ago and no doubt shocked by the sudden turn of events, suddenly came to life. "I don't know who you think you are," he growled, wagging a finger at Crawford, "but you're out of your depth." He motioned to Ryan. "I want this man arrested— now!"

Ryan suddenly felt the world closing in around him. If he didn't stop the bleeding in his shoulder, he would soon be headed toward an unconscious abyss, and there was no telling what the senator would do or say while he was out. He tore the sleeve from his shirt and tried to wrap it around his shoulder to staunch the bleeding.

"That looks bad," Crawford said to Ryan, ignoring the senator. "I'm going to call in an ambulance. In the meantime, I'll have one of my men dress it properly."

"Thanks." Ryan dropped back down on the ground. He was too weak to stand.

The senator, for his part, wouldn't give up. He lit into Crawford. "Do you know who I am? I'm Senator Edward McNally—
the
Senator McNally. If you want to keep your job, you'll handcuff this man immediately and then take my statement."

Crawford removed a pair of cuffs from his belt loop and unceremoniously clamped them around the indignant senator's wrists. "It's a pleasure meeting you, Senator. I'm Jim Crawford, FBI. While I appreciate the advice, I can handle it from here."

The senator protested as he was read his rights and then was ushered by one of Crawford's men to a sedan. Ryan looked up at Crawford, who was smiling down at him and shaking his head.

"You sure like to do things the hard way."

"I guess so," Ryan agreed. "How the hell did you find me out here?"

"We tracked you via your cell phone. Next time you want to lose us, turn it off."

Ryan managed a quiet laugh and gingerly lowered himself the rest of the way to the ground. He lay still, resting his head on the dirt, as one of Crawford's men dressed the wound. He was going to make it—he was certain of that. But he wasn't sure how he'd live with what he'd done. True, he'd had no choice, and that was what he would tell himself, over and over, in the coming days. But no matter how he spun Jordan's death, he would never forget the feeling of betrayal that had hit him as hard as the impact of the bullet from her gun.

He thought of Cindy and shuddered. His love for her had never waned. If anything, it had empowered him to find the courage to move forward with his life, to feel and to care and to be perfectly human once again.

Ryan stood outside Rosey's Place and admired
the yachts floating in the marina. It felt good to be back in paradise, even if he was just stopping through. With his left arm in a sling and his right hand on the railing, he held his cell phone in the crook of his neck.

"Senator McNally was officially indicted today," Jim Crawford said on the other end of the line, "and will be going to jail for the rest of his life."

"That's good news, Jim."

"It gets better. McNally spilled his guts. The FDA commissioner, Carl Wiley, and several bigwig CEOs are about to be indicted. So, Ryan, if you're still looking for a job, I think several will be opening up real soon."

Ryan smiled. "Thanks, but I think I'll stick with research."

Before hanging up, Crawford added one more revelation. "Turns out Senator McNally's old man was fraternity brothers with Henry Carver in college. We even found a photograph in the senator's office of the two together on the Carvers' yacht," Crawford continued. "The Carvers and the McNallys go way back."

"Yeah, Jordan mentioned something about that just after she shot me," Ryan quipped. "That would have been useful information to have a few months ago."

"I'll remember to check that out next time buddy," Crawford shot back.

"Thanks, Jim. For everything."

Ryan sauntered into Rosey's and took a seat at the bar next to his friend, Franklin Rolle.

"Well, look who's back in town," Franklin said, shaking Ryan's good hand with both of his. "I heard the big news. Dat's great your drug is going back into clinical trials."

"Thanks. I'm looking forward to that day when late-stage ovarian cancer will no longer be a death sentence."

"So what's next? Are you going back to work in da States?"

"I think it's time, Franklin. I miss the research."

Franklin took a big swig from his drink. "We'll miss you in Exuma."

"No, you won't. I'm keeping my place and will be back to visit as often as possible. And hey, I'm not going anywhere for another three weeks. I need a vacation. So you'll just have to put up with me until then."

Rosey, who had just finished with another customer, greeted Ryan from behind the bar. "There he is, the man of the hour. What can I get you? The usual?"

Ryan considered ordering a double but caught himself. Instead, he steeled himself for the battle that lay ahead. "Iced tea," he said. "Don't bother with the lemon."

Rosey returned a moment later with the drink, the ice cubes clinking against each other in a frosty glass.

Just then a drop-dead gorgeous brunette wandered into the bar, weighed down with an armload of shopping bags. She had long legs, ample curves in just the right places, and lips as luscious as any Ryan had ever seen. As she struggled with her bags, Ryan took a sip of his iced tea, turned to Franklin, and put to rest the question on everyone's mind. "Not on your life."

The fictional story you have just read was
inspired by numerous true events, including the two news articles at the beginning of the book. There are other horrific tales that cannot be put into print due to a lack of verifiable evidence. However, like the news stories, the following is a verifiable true account of one of the top ten best-selling drugs of all time:

Tagamet, an anti-ulcer drug, was developed and marketed by the pharmaceutical giant SmithKline Beecham in the late seventies. Hailed as a medical breakthrough, this blockbuster drug gave relief to millions of people suffering from peptic ulcers. In 1977, the Food and Drug Administration approved Tagamet for sale in the United States.

Tagamet works by reducing the amount of acid released into the digestive tract, which reduces the pain associated with ulcers. Since the drug only masks the symptoms and does not cure ulcers, patients had no choice but to continue to take this maintenance drug on a regular basis for as long as the ulcer persisted (1, 2).

But patients who experienced significant pain relief from peptic ulcers didn't seem to mind, and insurance companies were more than happy to cover the drug cost, with higher premiums of course. Over the seventeen years following its introduction, sales of Tagamet exceeded $14 billion (3). In the early nineties, the anti-ulcer drug market was estimated to be over $8 billion dollars a year (1, 4). By any account, Tagamet was a true pharmaceutical success story—for both SmithKline Beecham and the millions suffering from peptic ulcers.

However, there is more to the story.

Soon after Tagamet (and other anti-ulcer drugs like Zantac) hit the market, two Australian physicians, Dr. Barry Marshall and Dr. Robbin Warren, were conducting research to determine the true cause of peptic ulcers, in hopes of finding a cure. In 1983, they announced that they had discovered the cause of almost all peptic ulcers, a tiny bacterium known as
Helicobacter pylori (H. pylori).
They determined that this bacterium is immune to the harsh acidic conditions of the stomach and is attracted to the stomach's lining. They found
H. pylori
in over 90 percent of the ulcer patients they examined.