“What made you do it?” he asked softly, more grateful than he had ever been to anyone in his life.

“I don't know. I felt I owed it to you. It didn't seem right to have the ability to give you something you wanted so much, or withhold it. You're not keeping me from anything I really want, except freedom. I want to write eventually, but that can wait.” She looked at him with interest, and for the first time in years, he realized that he never knew her.

“Thank you, Olivia,” he said quietly as he stood up.

“Good luck,” she said softly, and he nodded and left the room, without looking back at her. And she realized once he left that he'd never even kissed her.





Chapter Eight

When Peter's plane touched down at Kennedy, there was a limousine waiting for him. He had arranged it all from the plane, and Frank was waiting for him at the office. In some ways, the news wasn't as bad as Peter had feared it would be, but it still wasn't good. And he knew that it would all be new to Frank, and would take a lot of explaining. Everything had been looking so good only five days before, when Peter left Geneva.

The Friday night traffic into town was miserable. It was rush hour, and it was June. Cars were jammed everywhere, and it was after six o'clock when Peter finally got to Wilson-Donovan, and he looked both strained and exhausted. He had spent hours going over Suchard's reports and notes on the plane, and for once he wasn't even thinking of Olivia. All he could think of was Frank, and Vicotec, and their future. The worst news of all was that they would have to cancel the FDA hearings asking for early release, but that was a practical matter. But Peter knew Frank would be bitterly disappointed.

His father-in-law was waiting for him upstairs, on the forty-fifth floor of Wilson-Donovan, in the large corner suite that he had occupied for nearly thirty years since Wilson-Donovan had moved to the building. And his secretary was still outside. She offered Peter a drink when he arrived, but all he wanted was a glass of water.

“So, you made it!” Frank looked distinguished and jovial, in a dark pin-striped suit with a full mane of white hair, and Peter noticed out of the corner of his eye that there was a bottle of French champagne cooling in a silver bucket. “What's all this secrecy? It's very cloak-and-dagger!” The two men shook hands, and Peter asked if he was well. But Frank Donovan looked healthier than he did. He was seventy, but he was vital and in good health, and very much in charge of everything, as he was now. He almost ordered Peter to tell him what had happened in Paris.

“I met with Suchard today,” Peter said as he sat down, wishing now that he had said something to warn him on the phone before that. The unopened champagne was staring at him like an accusation. “He took forever on the tests, but I think it was worth it.” He felt his knees tremble like a lad's, and he almost wished he didn't have to be there.

“What does that mean? A clean bill of health, I assume.” He squinted at his son-in-law, and Peter shook his head and faced him squarely.

“I'm afraid not, sir. One of the secondary components went crazy on him in the first round of the tests, and he absolutely wouldn't give us clearance on it till he ran them all again and figured out if we had a serious problem here, or their testing systems were mistaken.”

“And which was it?” Both men looked grave now.

“Our product, I'm afraid. There's one single element we have to change. When we do, well be home free. But right now, in Suchard's words, as things stand, Vicotec is a killer.” Peter looked as though he were ready to face anything, but Frank merely shook his head in disbelief, and sat back in his chair, contemplating what Peter had just told him.

“That's ridiculous. We know better than that. Look at Berlin. Look at Geneva. They ran those tests for months, and we came up clean every time in their testing.”

“But we didn't in Paris. We can't ignore that. At least it only appears to be one single element, and he thinks it can be changed 'fairly easily.' “ He was quoting Suchard now.

“How easily?” Frank scowled at him, wanting only one answer.

“He thinks, if we're lucky, the research could take six months to a year. If not, maybe two years. But if we put on double teams again, I think we might get it ready by next calendar year. I don't think we can do it any sooner.” He had calculated it all meticulously on his computer on the flight over.

“That's nonsense. We're asking for early human trials from the FDA in three months. That's how long we've got, and that's what it'll take us. It's your job to see to it. Get that French fool over here to help, if we have to.”

“We can't do it in three months.” Peter looked horrified by what Frank was saying. “That's impossible. We have to withdraw the request for early trials from the FDA, and we'll have to postpone our appearance at the hearings.”

“I won't do that,” Frank bellowed at him. “We'll look ridiculous. You've got plenty of time to work the kinks out before we go before them.”

“And if we don't, and they give us the release we want, we'll kill someone. You heard what Suchard said, it's dangerous. Frank, I want to see this product on the market more than anyone. But I'm not going to sacrifice people to do it.”

“I'm telling you,” his father-in-law spoke to him through clenched teeth. “You have three months to work it out before the hearing.”

“I'm not going to FDA hearings with a product that's dangerous, Frank. Do you understand what I'm saying?” Peter had raised his voice to him, which was a first for him. But he was tired, it had been a long flight, and he hadn't had a real night's sleep in days. And Frank was acting like a lunatic, insisting that they were going to the hearings to request they start human trials and put Vicotec on the “Fast Track,” when Suchard had just told them it was a killer. “Did you hear me?” He reiterated to Frank, and the older man shook his head in silent fury.

“No, I did not. You know what I want from you on this. Now do it. I'm not throwing more money down the tubes to develop this further. It's either going to fly now or it won't fly at all. Is that clear?”

“Very,” Peter said quietly, back in control again. “Then I guess it won't be flying. Whether or not to commit further research funds is your decision,” he said respectfully, but Frank only glared at him in anger.

“I'm giving you three months.”

“I need more than that, Frank. And you know it.”

“I don't care what you do. Just be sure you're ready for those September hearings.”

Peter wanted to tell him he was out of his mind, but he didn't dare. He had never known him to make dangerous decisions. He was being completely unreasonable and doing something that could bring the company down around them. It was ridiculous, and Peter could only assume he'd come to his senses in the morning. Like Peter, he was just disappointed.

“I'm sorry about the bad news,” Peter said quietly, wondering if Frank expected him to give him a ride to Greenwich in the limo. If so, the ride was going to be long and uncomfortable, but Peter was willing to do it.

“I think Suchard is out of his mind,” Frank said angrily, striding across his office and pulling open the door, as a sign for Peter to leave him.

“I was upset about it too,” he said honestly, but at least he had been more reasonable than Frank, who seemed not to understand the ramifications of what he was saying. You could not ask for early clinical trials, aiming toward early release on a product that was still clearly dangerous and had not been perfected, or you were just plain begging for trouble. And Peter just couldn't see why Frank refused to understand that.

“Is that why you stayed in Paris all week?” Frank asked, obviously still furious at him. It wasn't Peter's fault, but he was the bearer of bad tidings.

“It is. I thought he'd move more quickly if I was there, waiting.”

“Maybe we shouldn't have bothered to have him test it.” Peter couldn't believe what he was hearing.

“I'm sure you'll feel differently when you give it some thought, and read the reports.” Peter handed him a stack of papers from his briefcase.

“Give it to research.” Frank pushed it away impatiently. “I'm not going to read that garbage. They're just looking to delay us needlessly. I know the kind of work Suchard does for us. He's a nervous old woman.”

“He's a prize-winning scientist,” Peter said firmly, determined to hold his ground, but the meeting with Frank had been a nightmare from beginning to end, and he was anxious to leave, and get home to Greenwich. “I think we should discuss this further on Monday, when you've had some time to digest it.”

“There's nothing to digest. I'm not even going to discuss it. I'm sure Suchard's report is nothing more than hysteria, and I refuse to pay attention to it. If you want to, that's your business.” And then he narrowed his eyes and wagged a finger at him. “And I don't want this discussed with anyone. Tell both our research teams here to keep their mouths shut. All we need is this kind of gossip flying around and the FDA will withdraw our application for us.” Peter felt as though he were in a surrealistic movie. It really was time for Frank to step down, if he was going to make these kinds of decisions. They had no choice. They could not go to the FDA with Vicotec before it was ready. And he had no idea why Frank wouldn't listen. But Frank looked increasingly annoyed when he moved on to the next matter of business.

“We received notification from Congress, while you were gone,” he snapped at Peter. “They want us to appear in front of a subcommittee in the fall, to discuss the high prices of pharmaceutical products in today's market. More whining crap from the government, about why we're not handing out drugs free on street corners. We do plenty of that in clinics and third world countries. This is an industry for God's sake, not a foundation. And don't think we're going to price Vicotec like a giveaway. I won't have it!” The hair on Peter's neck stood up as his father-in-law said it. The whole purpose of the drug was to make it accessible to the masses, to make it available to people in remote or rural areas, or home situations that made it difficult, or even impossible, to get to medical practitioners for treatment, like his mother and sister. If Wilson-Donovan was going to price it like a luxury drug, they were going to defeat the purpose, and Peter had to fight back a wave of panic.