The Death Gods (A Shell Scott Mystery) (23 page)

“
I know Omega is supposed
to be A-one in medical research, top of the totem pole.” I assumed
he would like hearing that. I had to assume because I couldn’t tell
by looking at him. “But if you do work under NIH and CDC and DOD
contracts or grants, and it’s necessarily top secret, I guess I
wouldn’t know anything about it, or even who decided the secrecy
was necessary.”

Couldn’t get a wiggle out
of him one way or another. He just sat, gazing,
unmoving.

“
So I can’t see the
records,” I said. “Okay, if I ask you a question or two about
what’s in them?”

“
Certainly. If there is
information I can reveal, I will.”

“
No relatives listed? His
or her parents or brothers or sisters, or second
cousins?”

“
Parents listed, but
deceased. No brothers, sisters, children. Or second
cousins.”

“
References from previous
employers?” One-inch shake of head. “Dates of birth, time and place
of marriage, credit cards, social security numbers?”

“
Social Security. I believe
I can give you those.” He found them, read the numbers to me. I
wrote them down. And that, despite several more questions, was all
I could get from him about the Vungers. So I switched to a
different subject of some interest to me.

“
I got a little surprise
when I arrived here, Doctor, to find there’s not only a heavy fence
all around Omega, but a couple of guards at the entrance. Armed
guards.”

“
That should not surprise
you, Mr. Scott. It is no secret that the organized anti-science
fanatics and so-called animal-rights activists have increased their
disruptive activities during the past year. Several laboratories
have been physically invaded, actually broken into by these
ignorant zealots who seem more concerned about the welfare of mice
than of their fellow human beings. Surely you are not unaware of
these events.”

“
I’ve read several
newspaper reports about them, and there have been some reports on
TV newscasts.”

“
Precisely. Even here at
Omega, before we strengthened our security measures, we were
picketed twice by these maniacs, demonstrating wildly before TV
cameras they made certain would be present. But there have been no
such incidents during this past year, and I am determined there
will not be any. Our only problems have been internal, because of
the subversive actions of disloyal employees.”

He didn’t name any such
employees, and I didn’t press it. Instead I said, “What surprised
me about the guards I mentioned even more than their guns, was that
I met one of them earlier today. Calls himself Grinner. I’ve met
his kind before in my business, and it’s eight to five he’s a
hard-case hood.”

Wintersong didn’t even
blink. But he said, “Hood? You mean a criminal.”

“
You bet, a
criminal.”

“
That is most unlikely. But
I, of course, have nothing to do with employing such people. That
is the province of my Chief of Security, Mr. Baxter.”

He opened a desk drawer
and started to put the sheaf of papers back into it, then paused
and looked at me. “When you phoned, you said you wished to speak to
me about the Vungers, Mr. Scott. Am I to understand they are not at
their home?”

He glanced at the top
sheet still in his hand. “On Maple Street?”

“
That’s right. Apparently
haven’t been seen there for about nine days now.”

He cleared his throat
softly. “Normally I would not presume to suggest lines of
investigation to an investigator. But I assume you have already
consulted with the Vunger’s neighbors, followed your usual
procedure.”

“
Right. Neighbors don’t
know anything, just that they haven’t seen the Vungers around
lately.”

“
None of them know if the
Vungers might have left their home temporarily, possibly on a trip
or vacation, and if so when they left, or where they were
going?”

“
They know from
nothing.”

“
Has anyone looked inside
the house?”

For a moment I thought
that was an odd question. But then I remembered—shades of Mrs.
Brewster, I thought. But I simply said, “The house is
empty.”

“
In that case, if you have
not already done so I suggest you check with area
hospitals.”

“
Well, I haven’t done that
yet, but I suppose they could have had an accident. Except that the
Vunger’s car is still in their garage.”

“
I was not thinking of
accident or injury, Mr. Scott. They may now be ill enough to
require hospitalization, or even be dead and already in the
morgue.” He paused. “You may not be aware of this, even though Mr.
and Mrs. Vunger are known to have been patients of Dr. Hernandez
for a time, and Dr. Hernandez has now employed you. But both of the
Vungers are victims of IFAI.”

“
Yeah, I know they are. Or
were. Incidentally, it’s been suggested that they became infected
with the virus here, since it’s common knowledge Omega has, for at
least a couple of years, been working with the IFAI virus.” I kept
my gaze on his pale-gray eyes as I finished, “I assume that’s true,
particularly since I understand the Vungers were suddenly fired,
without warning or advance notice, by you personally. Am I
correct?”

“
You are approximately
correct about two of your three conclusions,” he said, adding
icily, “which I assume approximates your average percentage of
correct guesses.”

“
Sometimes I—”

Wintersong just kept on
going, “When one proceeds from a false or erroneous initial
assumption, no matter how rigorously logical every succeeding
accretion may appear to be, the resultant structure must inevitably
collapse upon its insufficient or non-existent foundation. I am, of
course, thinking of the insupportable pseudo-scientific accretions
embraced by many unorthodox and unscientific physicians like your
informant, Doctor Henry Hernandez.”

“
Surprise, the mentioned
suspicions were conveyed to me by one of the Vungers’ suspicious
neighbors. Well, that would be a percentage of—”

“
It is correct that here at
Omega we are engaged in intensive study of the virus that causes
IFAI, and one necessity of our research is that we possess pure
cultures of that virulent disease organism, among many other deadly
disease germs. But our safety measures are flawless, and not a
single associate or employee of this facility has ever become
infected by the IFAI microorganism or any other, and none ever will
be. It is impossible.”

“
Yeah, it’s impossible to
walk on the moon, too, because you’ll sink into the green
cheese—”

“
It is true that Mr. and
Mrs. Vunger tragically contracted the terminal disease during the
time they were employed at Omega. But I assure you they became
infected somewhere else, for they could not have contracted it
here. Indeed, that is the reason I personally discharged them, when
their routine blood tests revealed antibodies for the virus. The
Vungers were placing all other employees here at great
risk.”

“
Well, first,” I said, “as
of ten days or so ago, the Vungers were in the pink, not only alive
but vigorously so. And second—”

“
Mr. Scott, please.” He
smiled. He really did, and it was a quite normal smile, making him
appear, if not jolly, almost lukewarm. “I assure you, the Vungers
had IFAI, which as you must know is incurable. I would estimate the
probable time of the Vunger’s death to be approximately now.
Certainly within the next month or two, at the most.”

“
All I know is they were in
good shape the last time Doctor Hernandez saw them.”

“
Doctor Hernandez. Ah, yes,
Doctor Hernandez. How long have you known him, Mr.
Scott?”

“
Well, actually, I just met
him today. This morning, when he hired me—”

“
Did you see the Vungers?
Talk to them, observe them, determine for yourself that they were
in the pink, as you so quaintly phrased it?”

“
No, I haven’t actually
seen or talked quaintly to them. But, as I said, apparently
nobody’s seen them for several days now.”

“
So may I assume your
belief that they are well, even that they are alive, is based
solely upon statements—unsupported statements—made to you by your
new client, Dr. Hernandez?”

“
You may assume
that.”

Still smiling slightly,
Wintersong continued, “Probably he told you it is true they had
IFAI, but he cured them. What hundreds of thousands of other fine,
caring physicians are unable to do, he alone swiftly accomplished
in mysterious ways.”

“
Well, not
exactly.”

I wasn’t sure how to
answer this guy. The hell of it was what he’d said was not only
basically true but echoed questions I’d already asked myself.
Moreover, he was convincing, pushing the right buttons, reminding
me of earlier doubts. But then Wintersong, pressing on, pressed on
a little too far. At least too far for me.

“
Not exactly, eh?” he said,
apparently with much subdued amusement. “I imagine he impressed
upon you that he cured the Vungers of many things by somehow
calling forth the magical Wizard within their metaphysical Oz,
perhaps by sprinkling them with apricot kernels or powdered unicorn
horn. Something like that?”

“
No, doctor, I don’t
believe he mentioned Oz even once. He did say...” I paused,
remembering I’d agreed not to mention hyper-oxygenation therapy,
the ozone infusions Hank had given the Vungers, then went on,
“after eliminating the virus that causes—or rather, is associated
with IFAI—“

“
Causes, Mr. Scott. You
were correct the first time. Unquestionably, causes.”

“
After eliminating the
virus associated with something or other called IFAI,” I went on
doggedly, “and prescribing homeopathic remedies he felt were
indicated, Dr. Hernandez’ efforts were aimed at strengthening the
Vungers’ immune systems, organs and glands, generally building them
up.”

“
Building them up. I do not
recall seeing this description in the scientific literature. Could
you be more specific, Mr. Scott? Or is that the best you, and Dr.
Hernandez, can do?”

I’ll confess, I wanted to
spit in his eye. In fact, similar impulses had been nagging at me
for some time now. Possibly Wintersong sensed an imminent attack of
belligerent saliva. More likely, he detected external expression of
my growing internal discontent.

At any rate, his own
expression, which looked a bit too much like amused contempt to me,
changed quickly and he said, “I’m quite serious, Mr. Scott. In all
honesty, I believe Dr. Hernandez’ therapeutic methodologies to be
hogwash. But I would appreciate your being more specific, if you
can. I might even learn something not entirely without value
myself.”

“
Anything’s possible. But
okay, I’ll give you a layman’s specifics. After which, maybe you’ll
answer one or two specific questions of mine.”

“
Fair enough. If I
can.”

“
Well, as far as the
Vungers are concerned, and probably almost anyone else, I’d say
Hank’s—Dr. Hernandez’—methods are whole-person or holistic,
directed toward eliminating whatever the primary problem is instead
of secondary symptoms the problem causes. That is, treating basic
causes instead of effects—which requires somewhat different
treatment for each patient because, as he keeps saying, everybody’s
different. Essentially that means getting out of their bodies those
things that shouldn’t be in them, like harmful metals or trace
elements, pesticide and drug residues, various toxins. And the
getting into them whatever’s most needed for the individual, maybe
just improved nutrition, pure water and live foods instead of
over-processed or irradiated food-corpses, maybe biological and
glandular substances or extracts, vitamins and minerals almost
always including extra vitamin C. Yeah, a lot of C, megadoses of
ascorbate he calls it. And, well, that’s about it, that sort of
thing.”

“
That sort of thing, eh?
Priceless! I must share this scientific breakthrough with the other
physicians at my club. Dr. Hernandez puts into them vitamin C which
prevents scurvy, but also causes kidney stones and is otherwise
useless. And gets out of them disease-curing and life-saving
drugs.” The doctor shook his head, apparently baffled by the
enormity of Hernandez’ crimes against nature. “And he performs this
legerdemain after eliminating the virus which causes IFAI, eh? Tell
me, Mr. Scott, how does this medical Merlin of yours accomplish
that miracle?”

No mistaking the tone of
sarcasm this time. So I said slowly, as if trying to remember,
“Well, it wasn’t unicorn horn, but... would you believe powered
bull’s udder?”

And right then, for the
first time, there was real antagonism between us. We hadn’t been
buddies to begin with, but now there was sudden unmistakable anger
pouring from Wintersong. It was almost palpable, like a thin warm
fog rolling over me.

Wintersong leaned forward
saying, his voice higher and less mellow than it normally was, “Let
me tell you the truth about Dr. Henry Hernandez. Unlike many of my
colleagues, I seldom use the word quack to describe those
charlatans and frauds who only pretend to be physicians, who take
advantage of sick and dying human beings solely for personal gain,
for money. But I will, I must, use it now. That unconscionable
Mexican quack may be able to fool his ignorant patients, and people
like you, Mr. Scott—”