Whatever satisfaction the exchange with Stillman gave them vanished the moment they reentered the room. At the table, where Boudin and Byrne had been, sat … Ray Coopersmith.

He wore the same anxious expression Logan remembered from their meeting at the Hotel Jefferson. How long ago was that? Nine months? Ten? Only, now his hair was neatly trimmed and his suit, gray with muted pinstripes, appeared to be brand-new.

“Dr. Coopersmith,” began Larsen, “we understand you met some time ago with Dr. Logan.”

“November sixth.” He looked around the room and smiled broadly. “A Saturday.”

“And this was at your instigation?”

“His.”

“That’s another lie,” said Logan.

“Dr. Logan, I am ready to conduct this hearing without you.”

“I’m just supposed to sit here? I don’t even get to present my side?”

Larsen’s voice grew even colder. “ ‘Your side?’ You had almost a year to inform me that you had met with Dr. Coopersmith. It was your choice not to do so. Unless you deny that such a meeting occurred.”

Logan made no response.

“I thought not.” He turned to Coopersmith. “I promise you, that won’t happen again. Now, perhaps you might fill us in on your background with this institution.”

Coopersmith exhaled dramatically. “I was a junior associate here five years ago. And I was good too.”

Larsen nodded. “That strikes me as a fair assessment.”

“But I screwed up. I was working on a Phase Two prostate cancer trial.” He momentarily stared down at the table, downcast. “I altered some data.”

There was a silence in the room—a sympathetic silence.

“It was stupid. I’m trying to live it down.”

“Why do you think Dr. Logan wanted to see you?”

“I knew it the moment I saw him, he’s one of these sons of bitches just out for the glory.”

They waited for him to continue, but instead he looked back down at the table.

“Yes …?”

“He wanted to know how to pull the same thing. Just in case.”

“He told you that?”

“Sure. How to rework data that wasn’t working for him, how to get away with underreporting toxicity, all that shit.”

To Logan, it was as if the talk was of someone else. It was so preposterous, under other circumstances he’d have been embarrassed for the guy. Who in his right mind would ever buy any of this?

“You talked about underreporting toxicity?”

“I told him it’s not that easy. It’s a shell game. To do it right, you need a ton of legitimate data so the bad stuff gets lost. You need people.”

“And what did Dr. Logan say to that?”

“He said that was no problem.”

What could they have offered to get him here? Reinstatement? Rightwhen Porky Pig becomes the head of the ACF! Probably nothing more than a few kind words.

Coopersmith gave a sudden maniacal grin. “Of course, he also wanted to talk about you, Dr. Larsen. And you, Dr. Stillman.”

“About Dr. Stillman and me?”

“He said you screwed him over every chance you got.” The grin grew even wider. “He told me he hated your fucking guts. He said you were scum.”

Larsen turned to glare at Logan. Despite himself, the moment actually gave him a surge of pleasure.

“He called you assholes.” Coopersmith, clearly improvising wildly, couldn’t have been enjoying himself more. “Fucking assholes. He said he wanted to show you up and I was the man to show him how.”

“And how would that happen?” Larsen soberly asked, as if the man before him were something other than a certifiable lunatic.

Logan felt a presence looming behind him. Instinctively, he turned—Seth Shein!

“He said he knew how fucked up you were, he’d play mind games with you. Both of you.”

Shein had been staring in bewilderment at Coopersmith, but at this last, Logan saw him break into a broad smile. It matched his own.

At last, someone was on their side!

“Did he make any other remarks about senior personnel at the ACF?”

“Yeah,” cut in Shein, “he said everyone was an asshole!” He began pointing around the table. “You, you, you, you, and me, assholes! That’s just the way we’ve all heard Dan Logan talk, isn’t it?” He eyed Larsen with contempt. “What the hell you think you’re doing here?”

But Larsen only smiled. “Dr. Shein, I’m so pleased you could join us. Won’t you take a seat?”

“I’m comfortable here.”

“Dr. Coopersmith, we thank you. You’ve been very helpful.”

“I should go?” he asked uncertainly.

“Please. Thank you.”

Rising from the table, he walked from the room, glancing blankly at Logan as he did so.

“So you found Dr. Coopersmith’s presentation enlightening?”

“Come off it, Larsen, it’s not news you’re an asshole! You really think anyone’s gonna believe this?”

At this, Larsen began going crimson. Logan felt like leaping from his chair and embracing Shein.

“The p-point,” stammered Larsen, “is that these people conspired with a known fraud. Dr. Logan’s clear intention was to fabricate data. We have just heard that—”

“We’ve heard bullshit. That’s all you’ve got, bullshit!”

“Forget that,” interrupted Stillman, “none of that matters. Let’s cut right to the chase. The real point, as Dr. Shein knows, is that this protocol has become an embarrassment.”

“Is that what I know?” shot back Shein.

“Forgive me—as Dr. Shein should know.” He cast Shein a malevolent glance. “But perhaps, being someone who gave a group of incompetent young doctors the power of life and death over a group of women, he really doesn’t know.”

Shein just glared at him.

“And the result,” continued Stillman, “has been tragic.” He stood to face his rival and indicated the empty chair at the table. “My question for you now is simple: Are you ready to go on record continuing to defend these people and their protocol?”

“This protocol has merit, Stillman,” he said, but with considerably less fire.

“Is that your answer? You are willing, then, to assume public responsibility for any further patient deaths that result?”

Shein stood there, his face at once showing anger and intense anxiety.

“Well, we’re waiting,” piled on Larsen, his pleasure at sticking it to his wiseass tormentor all too evident. “I should tell you that we are prepared to bring in Dr. Markell to offer his views.”

For a moment longer Shein stood silent. “Fuck it,” he announced finally, “the protocol’s a goddamn bust.”

Stillman beamed. “Would you care to elaborate?”

Shein glared his way. “You wanna hear me say it? All right, this kid Logan got in way over his head.” In the bat of an eyelash, his hesitancy gave way to resolve. “Logan’s got some talent, but he’s arrogant, he doesn’t know when to listen. He takes stupid risks.”

“Then we all agree,” said Stillman evenly. He nodded again at the chair. “I’d appreciate your joining us. Please.”

Logan and Sabrina, about to be cast to their fate, exchanged a glance as Shein assumed his place at the table.

“The three of you may leave now,” said Larsen, indicating the Compound J team.

The letters Logan and Sabrina received that evening were identical:

You are hereby advised that your contract with the American Cancer Foundation has been terminated, effective immediately.