“I’ve been looking over the latest data on Elizabeth Rivers,” said Kenneth Markell, indicating the foot-high pile of folders on his desk. “I’ve spent the past two hours on it, as a matter of fact.”

Distractedly, he picked up the top folder and opened it. Like the others, it was marked “E. Cleveland” on its outside cover; the code name was the one Stillman had decided on right at the start, the afternoon three months before when the case had been tossed into his lap.

“I hear from that son of a bitch at the White House, Malcolm, almost every day. Did you know that?”

“I’m not surprised,” said Stillman evenly. “Our problem is also their problem.”

“The way they see it, their problem is our problem.” Markell paused. “And frankly, Greg, let me put this as bluntly as I can—as far as I’m concerned, our problem is your problem.”

Right, thought Stillman, as in, if the shit really hit the fan and the politicos went head-hunting at the ACF, his would be the one they’d be after. “I’ve been aware of that for some time, sir,” he said, “and I accept it.”

Markell flipped through the folder, as if on further study he might find some reason for encouragement. “Look, the bottom line is this: The standard chemo isn’t working.”

“It’s only been a month, she’s only had two cycles. I’d like to try at least one more.” In fact, the three drugs involved in the treatment—doxorubicin, cyclophosphamide, and 5-fluorouracil—were the most active established agents against breast malignancy. Over the years, both these men had used them with considerable success. “I do see some real positives. She tolerates this combination extremely well, there’ve been almost no side effects to speak of.”

“Christ, Stillman, the tumor’s growing right through the stuff! If I didn’t know better, I’d think the chemo was actually feeding the malignancy!”

Stillman nodded. “And how aware are they of her progress at the White House?”

“They’re not idiots, Marty. You don’t think much of Burke, neither do I, but he is an M.D. He can read X rays.”

The latest X rays were what had them both so concerned. Not only was the tumor in her lung growing, it now appeared as a nodular density.

“Well, then, he also shouldn’t expect magic,” countered Stillman, with quiet vehemence.

“Ah, but that’s the thing of it—they do. They’re looking for you to treat her with a goddamn magic wand.” Markell rose to his feet. “It’s time to try and give it to them. I want to go experimental. Let’s talk about the results of your protocol.”

Caught short, Stillman took a moment to collect himself. “Well,” he said, smiling, “I haven’t killed anybody.”

He was gratified to see Markell smile back. “That’s not exactly the kind of endorsement I had in mind.”

“Maybe not. But in experimental breast treatments around here lately, that makes it unique.”

“I agree, you were on target about that.” Markell shook his head. “That’s all our friends at the White House would have needed right now, a public stink about some kid doctor at the ACF hyping his results.”

“On breast cancer.”

“Where’s Logan going, anyway?”

“I have no idea. One of them’s still around, though—Reston, the one who came clean. He’s got promise, why not give him a break?”

Markell looked at him with sudden impatience; who the hell did Stillman think he was kidding with this show of ersatz magnanimity? “We’ve already had this conversation, Greg. What I want to hear about now is dyronium nitrate. Tell me about your results.”

“Look, I believe in this drug. Let’s begin with that.”

“Why? On the basis of what data?”

“We don’t have all our data in yet. But we’ve already had some encouraging responses. No appreciable tumor shrinkage, but seventeen of the thirty-eight women on the protocol have shown considerable periods of stabilization.”

“How considerable?”

“In several cases, we’re at six months and counting.”

Markell sat back down behind his desk. Briefly, he seemed to focus on an abstract painting at the far end of his large office. “I know you want to be a hero on this one, Greg,” he said, “I know that you want to make her well.”

“Isn’t that what they want?”

He nodded. “But I think it’s time to think about cutting losses. Let’s put her on this stuff of yours. Maybe she won’t get better—but your job right now is to see to it she doesn’t get worse.”