Read Online Panacea by F. Paul Wilson - Free Book Online Page A

“that’s not till Monday.”
    How could I ever forget?
    Marissa’s tutor, Natasha, arrived then, sparing Laura further embarrassment.

 
    3
    â€œDamn!”
    Nelson had never been to the Walter Reed complex before and realized he’d just sailed past the front gate.
    He’d shuttled down from LaGuardia to Reagan, then driven a rental into the hills of Bethesda. He was far more familiar with northern Virginia—Langley was there, after all—than Maryland.
    He doubled back. No wonder he’d missed it. Hardly his idea of what a world-famous medical center should look like. Maybe because a portion of it was given over to apartments for the wounded warriors. He’d read that if a soldier lost a limb in the line of duty, this was where he was treated, fitted with a prosthetic arm or leg, and trained how to live with it. The apartments were used to help acclimate to the activities of daily life in the real world.
    The guard at the gate gave him a map to a parking area near his destination. Nelson found a spot near the rear of the lot. As he walked toward the front entrance of the red brick building, he began to pray.
    Forgive me, Lord, for what is about to transpire. I know the ends do not justify the means, but I am sworn to protect Your Plan, and this is the only way I know to keep my vow.
    An MP let him through the glass doors. He checked Nelson’s ID, then escorted him to the fifth floor where Pickens waited. Nelson had called him last night with the news that he had two doses of the panacea. Pickens had called back to say he’d set up a test in Ward 35 where the results of the trial could be observed and reported by a disinterested third party.
    The deputy director had shuttled down earlier and his expression now mixed anxiety and impatience.
    â€œI can’t believe I’m going along with this,” he said in a low voice. “The more I think about it, the more foolish I feel.”
    Already setting us up for failure, Nelson thought.
    But he’d been expecting that. By this time tomorrow, one of them would be eating crow for breakfast, and Nelson was planning on scrambled eggs.
    â€œI’m sorry you feel that way, sir. But this is a means to settle our question once and for all, and perhaps do some good in the process.”
    Pickens gave a dubious grunt. “Ward Thirty-five should only be so lucky.”
    Ward 35 was reserved for CIA agents injured in the field. Their wounds weren’t always from blades or projectiles. Overt murders of agents too often provoked retaliation in kind, and streets littered with dead operatives were to no one’s advantage. So removal methods that looked like an illness or an unfortunate accident were devised. The nastiness of the method tended to rise in proportion to the enemy state’s rogue status.
    â€œWho did you choose?”
    â€œWe had six volunteers,” Pickens said. “Doctor Forman helped pick the two sickest. One is Jason Kim. He was dealing with a North Korean group working out of Shanghai when he became infected with a strain of staph that’s resistant to every antibiotic they’ve thrown at it. It’s spreading and the docs don’t give him a week. The other is Leo Ashcroft: acute radiation poisoning.”
    â€œRussians?”
    Pickens nodded. “He’s tested positive for polonium two-ten. The Russians swear up and down they had nothing to do with it, but the FSB is partial to polonium.”
    Right. Nelson remembered how they’d used it to kill Alexander Litvinenko back in ’06.
    â€œBastards.”
    â€œAshcroft has less than a week as well.”
    Nelson knew neither man, but he felt for them.
    â€œThen we’ve no time to waste, sir. What did you tell them?”
    â€œAn experimental treatment. They don’t care what it is, they’ll try anything. They’re desperate, even for something that even you don’t know will work.”
    â€œIt