BLIND TRIAL, Brian Deer [top 10 motivational books .txt] 📗

Back and forth went his knee. Back and forth, showing skin. Left knee to the sky; right knee pointing her way. Black hair below his navel. Back and forth.

She watched him through the Ray Bans, while not being seen watching. How much would she have wished to lie beside him? What would Wilson matter, or a few lost to follow-ups, against a sunny afternoon in this man’s arms? “With respect, Dr. Mayr, Trudy, we have no protection against the potential impact of his behavior. We simply don’t know, do we?”

“For goodness sake, we’ve got nearly twenty-seven thousand subjects.”

“So? From how many of those is the vaccine’s efficacy actually derived? Only the seroconversions.”

“Alright, I’m hearing what you say. And I’m taking it seriously.” Cigarette smoke gusted in the breeze. “I’ll speak with Frank, Monday. I’ll call him at the center and see what he’s got to say about all this. But you must understand, all big trials have their ups and downs.”

“A chimpanzee could run it better than him.”

The knee rocked back and forth.

Dr. Mayr plucked at a ribbon around the hat. “What I’m suggesting is you recognize that fretting about Frank’s personality and trying to second guess data on the basis of vanishingly improbable speculations isn’t how you run a clinical trial.”

“I think what I’m saying may be relevant.”

“Then you should have raised your concerns months ago, if you had to. Of course, we’ll look into what you’re saying. Give us a report. That’ll help us mightily. We can learn from this. You’ve done us a service.”

“And Wilson gets away with it?”

“Not at all. Judging by Marcia this morning, Frank’s run his last trial for us. That’s if what you’re saying’s correct.”

“It is correct.” Her gaze broke away from Ben’s hairy crab ladder. “And what if it comes out how screwed-up everything was at the center I worked at? What happens to my reputation?”

“Your reputation? Honestly. Nobody will know you had anything to do with it unless you tell them. Name’s not on the paper. Maybe the online supplement, it’s true. But if you don’t want it there, we’ll take it off for you—although that would be a mistake on your part.”

Ben sat up. “Could come over to us. Atlanta. There’s MD vacancies all the time if you look online. And they can’t get enough docs out at Athens.”

Trudy Mayr nodded. “That’s a good idea. Look, if you don’t care to work with Frank, Ben’s right. There’s alternatives. Better alternatives. I’ve still got some influence you know.”

“I’ve quite enough alternatives already, thank you.”

Ben’s lips pressed a pout. “Was only a suggestion. Atlanta’s cooler than you think, most probably.”

“You know, I actually thought this would be a proper meeting, a discussion to consider the facts. I thought you’d be concerned about the science.”

Sumiko sprang from the towel, folded it into the shopping bag, and hurried off down the hill.

Eight

HE CAUGHT up with her in the shade of an American elm avenue on the north side of the Mall’s Reflecting Pool. She’d walked so fast from the Washington Monument that at times he was sprinting to close the distance. But now she’d stopped to admire a flock of Canada geese honking and thrashing on the water.

Even softened by a backdrop of birds on a pond, she looked tense. Her fists were clenched. Her right hand clutched the loops of the Macy’s paper shopping bag, bursting with the red-and-yellow towel.

She looked hot when she was angry. She was one foxy lady. She’d an ass to follow on foot round the Beltway. But some part of the fury she must be feeling right now was definitely aimed at him.

She swung the bag. “Told you, didn’t I? I was a fool even to open my mouth.”

He sank to a crouch. “Yeah, maybe I miscalculated. But she didn’t seem that hostile, and you were still right to tell her. Professional duty. Your conscience is clear.”

Her fists pressed the belt of her black leather miniskirt. “And where was your duty? I didn’t hear you back me up. Jobs in Atlanta. Nice.”

“What could I say? I’m not a doctor or a scientist or anything. And besides, they’re blaming me for this. They’re saying I cranked you up to badmouth Wilson. I’m probably losing my job over this.”

“You won’t lose your job. That’s not how they work. They only control us while we’re taking their money.”

She’d got a point there, but she didn’t know the story. She didn’t know they knew about his father. The best thing now was to switch to something light. Be social, skip business, and chill. “Want to go see the patron saint of Illinois? What you say? Might as well now we’re here. What you say?”

They strolled along the avenue to the steps of the Lincoln Memorial ascending, white and bright, beyond the trees. Ben took the bag. Squirrels leaped and scurried. Crows stabbed beaks in trash cans.

Inside, Ben gazed up at the sixteenth president, enthroned in his church-hollow hall. Around them, cameras beeped and tourists murmured as if the Bearded One himself might speak. A shiny-headed guy silently mouthed an inscription: “With malice toward none,” and so forth. And three little girls in fairy-pink dresses held hands for cellphone snaps.

Ben scanned the faces of the Apostle Abe’s admirers, then realized he’d snagged one of his own. Once—no, twice—his gaze met another: that of a guy with a mustache and one earring. He looked like Jimi Hendrix, with an afro haircut and tie-dye vest. He was glancing round the plinth, pretty sly.

Guys had hit on Ben since before he knew why. They’d trailed him through life like store detectives. But, without wishing to stereotype, this one was unusual: too off-center; too one-of-a-kind. Luke always said gay guys were like photographs and straight guys more like sketches. When d’you last meet a gay guy who plays guitar? He usually had to admit Luke was right.

Sumiko stood quiet, a fist clenched like old Abe’s. But she was definitely cooling down, chilling out. Ben nudged