“It’s going to make you feel real sexy.”
“I already feel real sexy. Come back to bed.”
They were making love again when she gasped and said, “I—I’m not feeling well.” She began to pant. “I can’t breathe.” Her eyes were closing.
“Miriam!” There was no response. She fell back on the bed. “Miriam!”
She lay there, unconscious.
Son of a bitch! Why are you doing this to me?
He got up and began to pace. He had given the liquid to a dozen women, and only once had it harmed anyone. He had to be careful. Unless he handled this right, it was going to be the end of everything. All his dreams, everything he had worked for. He could not let that happen. He stood at the side of the bed, looking down at her. He felt her pulse. She was still breathing, thank God. But he could not let her be discovered in this apartment. It would be traced back to him. He had to leave her somewhere where she would be found and be given medical help. He could trust her not to reveal his name.
It took him almost half an hour to get her dressed and to remove all traces of her from his apartment. He opened the door a crack to make sure that the hallway was empty, then picked her up, put her over his shoulder, and carried her downstairs and put her in the car. It was almost midnight, and the streets were deserted. It was beginning to rain. He drove to Juniper Hill Park, and when he was sure that no one was in sight, he lifted Miriam out of the car and gently laid her down on a park bench. He hated to leave her there, but he had no choice. None. His whole future was at stake.
There was a public phone booth a few feet away. He hurried over to it and dialed 911.
Jan was waiting up for Oliver when he returned home. “It’s after midnight,” she said. “What took you—?”
“I’m sorry, darling. We got into a long, boring discussion on the budget, and—well, everyone had a different opinion.”
“You look pale,” Jan said. “You must be exhausted.”
“I am a little tired,” he admitted.
She smiled suggestively. “Let’s go to bed.”
He kissed her on the forehead. “I’ve really got to get some sleep, Jan. That meeting knocked me out.”
The story was on the front page of the State Journal the following morning:
GOVERNOR’S SECRETARY FOUND UNCONSCIOUS IN PARK.
At two o’clock this morning, police found the unconscious woman, Miriam Friedland, lying on the bench in the rain and immediately called for an ambulance. She was taken to Memorial Hospital, where her condition is said to be critical.
As Oliver was reading the story, Peter came hurrying into his office, carrying a copy of the newspaper.
“Have you seen this?”
“Yes. It’s—it’s terrible. The press has been calling all morning.”
“What do you suppose happened?” Tager asked.
Oliver shook his head. “I don’t know. I just talked to the hospital. She’s in a coma. They’re trying to learn what caused it. The hospital is going to let me know as soon as they find out.”
Tager looked at Oliver. “I hope she’s going to be all right.”
Leslie Chambers missed seeing the newspaper stories. She was in Brazil, buying a television station.
The telephone call from the hospital came the following day. “Governor, we’ve just finished the laboratory tests. She’s ingested a substance called methylenedioxymethamphetamine, commonly known as Ecstasy. She took it in liquid form, which is even more lethal.”
“What’s her condition?”
“I’m afraid it’s critical. She’s in a coma. She could wake up or—” He hesitated. “It could go the other way.”
“Please keep me informed.”
“Of course. You must be very concerned, Governor.”
“I am.”
Oliver Russell was in a conference when a secretary buzzed.
“Excuse me, Governor. There’s a telephone call for you.”
“I told you no interruptions, Heather.”
“It’s Senator Davis on line three.”
“Oh.”
Oliver turned to the men in the room. “We’ll finish this later, gentlemen. If you’ll excuse me…”
He watched them leave the room, and when the door closed behind them, he picked up the telephone. “Todd?”