Startled, Logan looked up at Seth Shein. He’d deliberately chosen this spot—a bench in a quiet nook behind the Institute library—to avoid being bothered; and there was no one he wanted to see less than Shein. They’d scarcely exchanged a word in the several weeks since the unpleasantness in Shein’s office. “Just a letter.”
“Who from?”
“Just something to do with the protocol,” he evaded. “It’s nothing.”
“From a doc?”
“A researcher, retired. An old guy. It’s nothing.”
“They really come out of the woodwork, don’t they?” he said pleasantly. “You should see some of the kooks I hear from after starting a trial. All these losers with something to say.”
“Oh, yeah?” For the life of him, Logan couldn’t figure out why Shein was being so damn friendly. Was he ever going to figure out where he stood with this guy?
“The old ones, they’re the worst. Either they’re bored and want you to amuse them with details of the work, or they have advice to give you based on hundred-year-old science. Which one’s this one?”
Logan smiled. “He wants to hear about the work.” Worse, was he ever going to get past this need for Shein’s approval? Sabrina was right, it was like his father all over again!
“Lemme see it,” said Shein, sitting beside him on the bench.
“It’s a personal letter.”
“C’mon, will you?” He held out his hand. “I’ll show you mine if you’ll show me yours.”
Reluctantly, Logan handed it over—then, as the senior man started to read, watched for a reaction.
My dear Dr. Logan:
Greetings and best wishes. My name Rudolf Kistner. I live now in the city of Köln, as a pensioner. I write to you in the English that I learned years past in the Gymnasium in the time of the First War.
Shein looked up. “You didn’t say he was German. Stop holding out on me, Logan.”
“Holding out on you?”
“I’m joking, Logan. Jeez, when’d you get so damn sensitive?”
Formerly I am an organic chemist. I write you because I learn from my readings of the protocol you conduct at the American Cancer Foundation. This is interesting to me, because many years ago I worked also with compounds of sulfonate derivatives against cancer. In those times, we had many hopes for such drugs.
Surely, you are a busy man. But it would be a great favor if perhaps you could take a moment to tell me of your labors. I am old now, but I have much time to think and wonder. For this, one is never too old.
With very sincere regards, Rudolf Kistner
Shein handed back the letter. “Christ, the guy’s gotta be ninety years old. Straight outta the Dark Ages.”
“What do you think I should write him back?” For, in fact, given the letter’s place of origin, Logan’s curiosity was piqued.
“Tell him to go fuck himself.” Shein grinned. “Nicely—you’ve got the ACF’s reputation to consider.” He paused, turned more serious. “Sorry to hear about that woman’s prothrombin time problem. You got it under control?”
Logan hesitated, acutely aware that Hannah Dietz’s toxic reaction, mild as it was, could be used to slight the protocol. “Absolutely. The Vitamin K tuned her right up.”
“Good, that’s good.”
“We’re just going to have to keep a close watch on her.”
“Uh-huh.”
What now? Far from concerning Shein, the Dietz problem barely seemed to hold his interest.
A moment later he found out why.
“Listen, Logan,” he said, turning to face him, “I gotta tell you something. You really got that sick fuck going!”
It took a couple of seconds for Logan to figure it out. “Stillman?”
Shein laughed. “He’s scared to death he’s gonna be shown up by a bunch of punk kids!”
“Us?” asked Logan, reasonably. “Why?”
“Why?” Shein’s voice dropped. “Because Stillman’s finally faced the fact that his protocol’s gonna be a total disaster, that’s why. He has the evidence in hand. He knows the stuffs just gonna keep laying there and pretty soon everyone else will too.” He laughed again. “Poor son of a bitch!”
Logan didn’t need to ask how Shein knew—the guy had sources everywhere.
Anyway, just as meaningful to him at the moment was the revived sense of intimacy between the older man and himself.
“That’s great,” he said, uncertainly. “Are congratulations in order?”
Shein clapped him on the back. “Damn right they are, Logan. The bigger his failure, the bigger my success.” He stood up. “Now what I need from you is not to let up. Wring some activity outta that stuff of yours and it’ll be the stake through his heart!”
Sabrina, when she reached Logan that night from the hospital, was not amused by any of this. “This Shein cannot be listened to. Every minute he will change what he says.”
“I know that, Sabrina,” he said—though, in fact, he could not help but view the senior man’s latest attitude change more hopefully. “I’m the one he keeps jerking around.”
“Yes—but then you jerk me.” He could hear the exhaustion in her voice. It was the end of another very long day—one even longer than most. A couple of hours earlier word had come in that Judith Novick had died.
“You I don’t mind jerking,” he tried to lighten things up, “as long as you jerk me back.”
“Anyway, on the subject of Stillman, I have heard something today also. About Reston …”
“From who?”
“Rachel Meigs.” Her friend who was assisting on the Stillman protocol. “She says Reston makes fun of Compound J right in front of them. Even Atlas.”
Silence. What was there to say?
“He talks about the Hannah Dietz case. He makes these bleeding gums sound like, I don’t know, a massive coronary.”
Logan had no trouble at all imagining the scene. “He’s trying to protect his own miserable ass,” he said bitterly.
“I despise this guy.”
“You’re not gonna hear me argue, Sabrina. You were right all along.”
“It isn’t why I tell you this, to be right. But it is important to face. Because it is something we must to deal with.”
“Unless the protocol pans out. I know this guy. Believe me, if things start going better, Reston’ll be right back with the program.”