"I'm giving it my best shot. I'm not sure how much good it would do if things don't work out and we get caught at this, but I'll give you a letter detailing this conversation and specifying that you're acting only at my urgent request. Maybe we can come up with some scam that makes it look like I'm blackmailing you. If you go down, I go down along with you, and you can plead extenuating circumstances. I'll back you up. I give you my word on that, and you'll have the letter to corroborate your story."
"Stuff your letter," he said softly, and narrowed his eyes. "It cost you something to come to me like this, didn't it?"
"Not really. After Frank turned me down, I couldn't think of any other option. These people, and particularly one of them, are important to me. Even if I did feel a little uncomfortable and humbled coming to you, that would be pretty petty stuff compared to what's going to happen to those ex-patients if I don't get more of their medication."
"Why you, Frederickson?"
"Why me what?"
"Why should you do this? I don't need any silly, self-incriminating letter from you to know that your ass is on the line right now, regardless of what I do or don't do for you. Before I give you an answer, I want you to explain to me why you'd risk so much for these people."
"What, are you bucking for psychiatrist? You're starting to piss me off, Mr. Kramer, and this may be the last time I buy you lunch. I don't have any explanation. I'm doing it because the situation fell into my lap, it has to be done, and I didn't see anyone else waiting in line to do it. Maybe I'm doing it because being around and talking to some of these people makes me a little more appreciative of what a marvelous gift it is to have my own brain in reasonable working order when I wake up each morning. Give me a break."
Now Bailey Kramer laughed; but it was a gentle, warm sound, with no trace of mockery. "You really are a goddamn professional do-gooder, aren't you? You're unreal, dude. You rescue fallen molecular chemists from their jobs as hack drivers and find them meaningful work, and you spend your own time and money, and maybe risk getting into big-time trouble with the law, to help a bunch of loonies, most of whom-if I'm reading correctly between the lines-don't even know who you are."
"Yeah, yeah, I'm a regular Mother Teresa."
"And now you're making this totally absurd request, trying to drop this particular little job in my lap because it has to be done, and you can't think of anybody else who can do it."
"Yep."
"Give me the capsule," Kramer said, picking up the printout with one hand and holding out the other. "I'll see what I can do. I should know within a day or two if I have any chance of success, and I'll let you know if the answer is negative. I won't keep you in suspense."
I handed him the capsule, resisting the strong impulse to throw my arms around his shoulders and kiss him. "People who accede to my totally absurd requests are granted permission to call me Mongo."
"I'll think on it, Frederickson."
"I haven't told you about the potential payoff-assuming, that is, you don't end up in prison."
"You said you couldn't pay me."
"I said I couldn't pay you a fraction of what the work is worth. If you're successful, I think the work could be worth millions. In addition to being very wealthy, you just might get back your career and reputation."
He stared at me for some time, then said quietly, "Explain how I might get back my career and reputation."
I smiled. "You mean as opposed to the millions I mentioned? You don't need that kind of spare change?"
"Obviously, Frederickson, you've never been totally humiliated and virtually destroyed because of your own stupidity. I don't need millions of dollars; I need a chance to take off the dunce's cap I put on myself. I need not to be a fool."
"I've been humiliated, Bailey, and I've been a fool on more than a few occasions. I hear what you're saying."
"Tell me."
"There are probably generic equivalents to all of the prescription drugs in this compound, so patents aren't a problem. But the unidentified drug is the engine that really drives this witch's brew. The people who designed, manufactured, and tested it weren't interested in helping schizophrenics to function normally; their only interest was in some bizarre side effects caused by the medication. Right now, your only concern is replicating the drug exactly as it is within the next two and a half weeks to allow the patients to live long enough for some researcher to come up with a safe substitute. That's in the future, and I could be looking at that researcher. The point is that, even with its toxicity and deadly side effects, to call the medication inside that capsule a wonder drug would be a gross understatement. I've seen how quickly and powerfully it works, and I think it's nothing short of downright stone miraculous. People who were hopelessly mad become sane and able to function normally. It's far and away more effective than anything on the market, and for all we know it may be useful in treating other kinds of psychoses. But it will have to be reformulated to make it safer before it can be submitted for FDA approval and human testing. Get me a batch of the original replicated, and then you can work on that reformulation at your leisure. Believe me, the people who designed that drug have never been in any patent office, and they're not going to follow you into one. They won't be looking to take any credit, and if I have my way they'll be spending the rest of their lives in prison."
"Interesting," Kramer said in a mild tone.
"I'm glad I've piqued your curiosity."
"This drug sounds like something the CIA would dream up."
He'd surprised me. "Why do you say that?"
"The CIA is always nosing around academia. They like to keep up with the latest research in chemistry, pharmacology, psychology-all sorts of areas. You'd be amazed at how much academic research is totally funded by the CIA, although they're almost never up front about it."
"I wouldn't be amazed at all."
"You're in danger, aren't you?"
There didn't seem to be much sense in denying it. "Ah, well, you know how it goes, Bailey. Mongo's the name, danger's my game."
"I'm serious. I've had dealings with these people, probably turned down close to two dozen research grants for odd jobs they wanted me to do. They're very strange."
"Tell me about it. My safety isn't your concern, Bailey. And you should be safe as long as you lie low while you're working on this, and don't talk to anybody else about what you're doing."
"You don't have to worry about that." He paused, lowered his gaze, then added softly, "Thanks."
"For what? Giving you the chance to get sent to prison?"
He looked back into my face, said, "For having the chutzpah to come to me with this totally absurd request."
"You can do it, Bailey."
"I don't need a pep talk, Frederickson," he said with a wry smile as he put the capsule in his pocket, picked up the computer printout, and rose to his feet.
"When will I hear from you?"
"When I have something to say. I told you I'd let you know in a day or two if I won't be able to do it."
"Call or fax me with a list of everything you need-amount of lab space, equipment, materials, general expenses, whatever. The phone and fax numbers are on the printout."
"Sure. I'm not doing this for the potential payoff, Frederickson- not the potential profits from marketing a safe version of the drug, and not even for the chance to get my old life back. At least, those aren't the major reasons."
"I don't care why you're doing it, Bailey. I'm grateful to you."
"Maybe your reasons are good enough for me; I'd like to save these people's lives."
"It wouldn't surprise me at all."
"I'll be in touch," he said, then turned and walked away.