The Select (35 page)

Alston grinned and clapped his hands.
"Mr. Kleederman would be proud of you! Exactly his solution!
Running an investigational compound through the endless mandatory
animal studies only to learn later that it's completely worthless
in humans is a sinful waste of time and money."

"So what are you talking about? Trying
it on humans first?" He was afraid of the answer.

"Of course not."

"Good. For a moment there—"

"We run it through some
rodents and primates to make sure it's not toxic,
then
we try it on
humans."

Tim stared at him, not wanting to
believe this.

"The problem, of course,"
Alston went on, "is the supply of human
subjects—
sick
human subjects. Obviously we can't evaluate a drug's efficacy
against disease by giving it to healthy people. That's where The
Ingraham graduates come in."

Tim saw a mental image of the "Where
Are They Now" board and the pieces began to fall into
place.

"All those inner-city clinics, the
nursing homes..."

"Precisely. The inner
cities especially are loaded with disconnected people of no social
significance who do not care for their health and are consequently
rife with diseases—some of them might be described as ambulatory
pathology textbooks. We needed a way to funnel those patients to
the Kleederman medical centers where investigational compounds from
Kleederman Pharmaceuticals could be tested on their many and
various conditions. Since we could not count on enough
run-of-the-mill physicians to come through for us, no matter how
much of a bounty we offered them, the Foundation decided to produce
a custom-designed model of physician to serve its needs. And the
only way they could see to do that was start their own medical
school. They bought Laurel Hills hospital, turned it into a top
medical center, built a medical school adjacent, and
voila
, The
Ingraham."

"So you admit it, then!"
Christ, it was true. No reason for Alston to make this up.
"You
have
been
brainwashing us!"

"Brainwashing is such a loaded term,
Mr. Brown. Attitude adjustment is much more palatable. You see,
with its well-connected board, the Foundation had access to all
sorts of government agencies. The Vietnam war was going full swing
then, and one such agency developed something called a subliminal
learning and indoctrination unit for use on U.S. troops before they
went overseas—to give them the proper attitude toward the war
effort and their Viet Cong enemies. But the SLI proved impractical
for that use. It worked, but it took years to achieve its maximum
effect, so the project was defunded. The Foundation saw a use for
the SLI units and intercepted them on their way to the scrap heap.
They hired the original designers and technicians to perfect them
and retool them to the Foundation's needs, and the units have been
in use at The Ingraham with great success for almost two decades
now."

"That's brainwashing," Tim said. "Pure
and simple."

"No. Attitude adjustment. We don't
wash your brain, we don't change who you are, we simply mold your
attitudes concerning the appropriateness of certain sickly
individuals reimbursing society for all the benefits they have
reaped but never contributed to; or of allowing other individuals
with but a few useless years left to help make this world a better
place as they take leave of it. We also incite in you a desire to
practice where you are most likely to run across such patients. And
when you do find a disconnected individual suffering from one of
the more common ailments that afflict mankind, you feel a
compulsion to refer that individual to the nearest KMI medical
center."

Tim thought of Dorothy,
the cadaver he shared with Quinn. Her doctor had been an Ingraham
graduate who referred her to the medical center next door. She
didn't leave it alive. Had she been a human guinea pig? And he
thought again of all those Ingraham graduates working the inner
city clinics across the country, all connected to KMI medical
centers. This was
big
.

He swallowed his loathing.

"So all this talk about rationed
medical has been a smoke screen."

"Not completely. Rationed care is on
the way, I guarantee it. But that was merely a vehicle to introduce
the concept of social tiering to your conscious minds while the SLI
units were whispering it to your unconscious."

"How? I've never heard of a subliminal
method that's a hundred percent effective."

"None is. But The Ingraham
system
works
—not
by chance, but by careful selection of its students."

Dr. Alston pulled a chair closer and
sat a few feet before Tim, leaning forward, his face and hands more
animated than Tim had ever seen them. An air of suppressed
excitement crackled around him. He was really into his story
now.

"The special entrance exam is the key.
Because The Ingraham is the so-called '24-karat medical school,'
all the best pre-med students in the country apply here. From those
applications we choose the brightest and most outgoing, and we
invite them here to spend the day and night before the entrance
exam—actually, we insist on it, but we're euphemistic about it.
While they're asleep in the dorm the night before the exam, we
introduce them to the SLI unit by implanting information in their
unconscious minds about a non-existent formula called the
Kleederman equation. In the exam the following day, we ask them
three questions about the Kleederman equation. Those who answer
them correctly reveal themselves as being susceptible to the SLI's
influence. In one fell swoop we've identified the susceptible
subgroup out of our applicant population. We choose our students
exclusively from that." He barked a laugh. "Isn't it
brilliant?"

You son of a bitch, Tim
thought. You son of a
bitch!

"Not so brilliant," Verran said. "What
about Cleary?"

Tim stiffened at the mention of
Quinn's name. "What about her?"

"We've had some trouble with the SLI
unit in your girlfriend's room," Alston said.

"The unit's working fine," Verran
said. "The kid's not responding."

Alston seemed uncomfortable. "At this
time I am unable to explain Miss Cleary's apparent imperviousness
to the influence of the SLI. She answered two of the three
Kleederman equations on her test and got them both right. She
couldn't have done that unless she was susceptible to the SLI.
There's a variable here that I haven't been able to identify. But I
will. I assure you, I will."

Tim repressed a smile as
he realized
he
was the variable. He'd marked the correct answers on Quinn's
sheet as he'd passed on his way to hand in his test. Quinn hadn't
had the faintest idea what the Kleederman equations
were.

But the inner smile died
in the heat of Tim's mounting anger as it dawned on him how he'd
been duped and manipulated—how they'd
all
been duped and manipulated by
the Kleederman Foundation, by The Ingraham's
administration.

But how far did this conspiracy go?
How deep did it reach? It was big, no doubt about it. Johann
Kleederman controlled a multi-national empire, and apparently
people like former Senator Whitney jumped when he spoke. So it went
high, but how far down The Ingraham's academic tree did it reach?
The Ingraham wasn't a complete front. There was a real medical
center attached, and genuinely important research like Dr.
Emerson's was going on here.

"Is
everybody
on staff part of
this?"

"Heavens, no. The fewer people aware,
the less likelihood of a leak. Only key personnel in
Administration, the admissions committee, and part of the clinical
staff answer to the Foundation. The rest have no idea."

Who was friend, who was foe? Tim
wondered. And how could you tell?

Alston was still crowing. "But
occasional glitches aside, we've been extraordinarily successful
here at The Ingraham. As a result, every city of any consequence
has Ingraham graduates delivering healthcare to its neediest
citizens."

"How do you people do that to us and
live with yourselves?"

"Quid pro quo, Mr. Brown. You get the
world's finest education at no cost, and—"

"No
cost?
What about our
souls?"

"Please don't be so dramatic. Your
soul, should such a thing exist, remains quite intact. All we get
in return are a few referrals."

"Right. Referrals to an early
grave."

"Come, come. You make the
medical centers sound like death death camps. They are
anything
but. These are
sick people being referred to us. And we treat their
illnesses."

"With experimental drugs!"

"That very often work. We cure people
every day."

"And the ones you don't?"

"Then we try another."

"How many deaths on your hands,
Alston?"

He shook his head with annyance.
"Look, Brown, I'm not some megalomaniacal comic book villain. This
plan was already in development when I came to The Ingraham. The
Foundation's board, composed of some of the keenest minds in
industry, labor, and government, arrived at this policy after
months and years of debate. There's nothing haphazard or whimsical
here. It's all been carefully thought out."

"How'd they get you?"

"They recruited me. They'd heard me
speak, read some of my articles critical of FDA policies and
protocols; they scouted me, hired me, watched me very closely, and
eventually let me in on their grand plan. I joined
them—enthusiastically. I believe in what we're doing here. We're
bringing amazing new therapies to medicine, to the world. This is
the most important thing I will ever do with my life. And I'm proud
to do my part."

Am
I
being recruited? Tim wondered. He
decided that it might be in his best interests—and Quinn's, as
well—to bite back any critical remarks and feign a growing sympathy
with Alston's point of view.

"But I don't see how this can
work."

Alston smiled. "Oh,
it's
already
working, Mr. Brown. Kleederman's ability to bring a whole
array of new products to market has made it the top pharmaceutical
company in the world. Consider all the benefits being reaped by
patients on adriazepam and fenostatin and carbenamycin—compounds
that would still be lost in the investigational jungle if not for
our program. Lives have been saved by those drugs. And thousands
upon thousands of people are living better lives because of
them."

"I never looked at it that way," Tim
said, nodding slowly, thoughtfully, hoping he looked and sounded
convincing. "Maybe you're not as crazy as you sound."

"Crazy?" Alston frowned. "I see
nothing crazy about trying to remain on the leading edge of
technology and therapeutics. Do you want to practice with
second-rate tools, Mr. Brown?"

"No. Absolutely not." No lie
there.

"Then we must be willing to take
risks."

Risks, Tim thought. Right. But with
whose lives?

"It's a glorious challenge. Enormously
exciting. But if you're not with us, you're against us. So what do
you say, Mr. Brown? Do you want to be part of this? Do you want to
join Mr. Kleederman in advancing the frontiers of therapeutics and
leading medicine into the twenty-first century?"

What will happen to me if I say no?
Tim wondered.

He had relaxed while listening to Dr.
Alston's spiel, but suddenly he was afraid. He knew too much. If he
went to the papers, the FBI, or even the AMA, he could blow the lid
off The Ingraham and, at the very least, undo the decades of effort
and millions of dollars Kleederman had invested in this intricate,
monstrous conspiracy. The scandal could conceivably topple KMI
itself.

They had to get rid of him...unless
Tim convinced Alston that he'd play along. And now he realized why
Alston had taken all this time to explain everything to him—he
didn't want to have to get rid of Tim. It was easier, much less
complicated to simply enlist him. And Alston's monstrous ego had
absolute faith in his ability to make Tim see the light. He was
offering Tim a chance. Tim saw no choice but to take it.

And he
would
play along. He'd be a model
Ingraham student until he saw an opening, then he'd get the hell
out of here and blow the whistle loud and clear.

"Count me in," Tim said.

Alston was watching him closely. "Why
should I believe you?"

Tim met his gaze. "As you said, why
should I want to practice with second-rate tools?"

"Don't answer my question with another
question. Convince me, Mr. Brown."

"You're the one who's convincing, Dr.
Alston. You've made a powerful case. And by the way, can we
possibly arrange some KMI stock options for me?"