“Yes.”
“Such an adorable and precocious little girl. Was she enjoying the special day the senator and I arranged for her?”
The woman’s saccharine tone made Brynn want to grind her teeth. “I don’t know.” She looked at Timmy where he stood sentinel with Goliad in front of the double doors, now closed. “I was waylaid before I could see her.”
“What a pity. A wasted trip, then.”
Delores executed a graceful turn to welcome Nate with a quick hug and air kisses on both cheeks. Then she reached for her husband’s hand and clasped it between hers. “Finally. Let’s do this, for godsake.”
An IV pole had been positioned at the side of an oversize easy chair. Aimed toward it was a video camera already mounted on a tripod. Ancillary lights had been placed around the room, but, after looking through the camera, Nate decided he liked the warmer, cozier, non-clinical nuance created by lamplight alone. He dimmed the chandelier.
The camera set-up belonged to the Hunts, but Nate was both star and director of the video that would document what he referred to as “this monumental moment in medical history.”
Brynn was happy to be excluded. Even if he had invited her to share his limelight or to comment on camera, she would have declined.
The entire scene disgusted her. She felt like a stage prop in a surreal play, and wouldn’t have believed it was actually happening if she couldn’t feel Goliad’s unwavering dark stare on her. It was as though he’d been commissioned to see to it that she didn’t try to abort the infusion. If she made an attempt, he would stop her.
Days in advance, Nate had brought in all the apparatus he would need. A portable table had been set up for his use. He draped it and the senator’s chair with sterile sheets. He pulled on a pair of latex gloves, snapping them against his wrists. He inserted the IV shunt into the vein in the bend of the senator’s elbow.
Delores laughed and said, “We have everything except the drug. Who has it?”
Timmy sauntered forward and took it from his inside pocket.
Upon seeing the small familiar bundle, Brynn’s heart clenched.
Delores reached for it first and held it against her cheek, then handed it to her husband, who said, “There were times when I doubted this moment would ever come.”
Brynn watched as Richard passed it along to Nate. He tore away the bubble wrap and set the vial on the table next to a syringe.
Then, for the benefit of the camera, he explained what would take place next. “It’s remarkably easy. I will inject the syringe of GX-42 into this bag of a compatible IV fluid. It will take approximately an hour to drain the bag. After infusion, GX-42 goes to work.”
He expounded on the remarkable results achieved on laboratory animals. In greater and more scientific detail than she had used with Rye, he explained how the drug worked, and projected that it would be a breakthrough in the treatment of hematologic cancers.
A rumble of thunder drew Brynn’s attention to the shuttered window. The sky had turned dark, although it was only a little after five o’clock, not quite sundown. She wondered if Rye was already airborne.
Nate was putting his heart and soul into his speech, touting himself as a pioneer, willing to gamble on the drug’s efficacy when it hadn’t yet been officially FDA-approved for clinical trials. “Yet, at tremendous risk to my professional reputation, I did what I believed was right for my patient.”
Brynn was curious as to who would ever see this video except Nate himself. How much satisfaction could he derive from viewing it in private and celebrating his accomplishment alone?
The Hunts had been such sticklers for keeping the senator’s cancer under wraps that Brynn was surprised they had consented to Nate’s recording at all. Weren’t they the least bit worried that his ego would compel him to share it with colleagues whom he perceived as competition?
She looked over to where the senator sat in his chair, primed to receive the infusion. His wife sat on an ottoman near him. Each appeared to be listening, but like people who were trapped at a banquet with a boring after-dinner speaker at the podium.
Nate was so caught up in his own elocution, he didn’t realize that their interest was marginal at best. They were indifferent to what he was saying into the camera.
Suddenly, Brynn recalled Rye’s cautionary words about what would happen after Richard Hunt received the drug.
Are you sure they’ll call the dogs off?
She now realized why the Hunts looked complacent and smug, and were comfortable with Nate making the recording. So many factors would prevent him from ever exploiting it. First, he wouldn’t have access to it. The camera belonged to them. But even if Nate did somehow obtain it, he would be hesitant to share it. With his overblown speech, he had hanged himself. Lastly, if he ever was foolish enough to threaten to expose them, Richard and Delores wouldn’t be beyond taking measures—extreme measures—to ensure that he didn’t.
The skin on the back of Brynn’s neck prickled. She looked again at the picture-perfect couple. Their attentiveness to Nate was feigned. He wasn’t their focus.
She was.
Nate picked up the syringe. “Are we ready?”
“Not quite.” Delores gracefully stood. “This is such a personal moment for Richard and me. I wondered if we might clear the room.”