Empty Promises

  Empty Promises

  A Novel by Edwin Dasso

  Book Six of the Jack Bass Black Cloud Chronicles

  Empty Promises

  Text Copyright 2018 Edwin Dasso

  All Rights Reserved

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold, given away to other people or replicated or distributed in any fashion without the express written approval of the author. If you would like to share this ebook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to events, names, places or persons, living or dead, are entirely coincidental and are purely fictional.

  Acknowledgements

  Thanks to my wonderful wife who is becoming quite an accomplished editor for me, not to mention her usual role of motivator. Thanks to my children, Brittany and Leo, for their ongoing support. Once again, they were all my major motivators for this effort as well as my life in general. Thanks to my friend, Dr. Jerry Frank, who continues to demonstrate his skill as a beta reader and editor; his comments always make my storytelling better. And, of course, thanks to my editor, Jill Noble, for assuring the book is an acceptable final product.

  Prologue

  Statistics cited >33,000 deaths in the U.S. due to opioids in 2015—more than half due to prescription opioid painkillers. The actual number is likely higher since many opioid-related deaths go unrecognized, especially in the elderly.

  The surge in opioid deaths is one of the reasons that United States’ life expectancy declined in 2015—for the first time in 22 years!

  2015 - The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention released data showing that overdose deaths caused by synthetic opioids such as fentanyl (the drug that was implicated in the death of rock star Prince) rose by nearly 75 percent in 2015. On the same day, federal prosecutors in Massachusetts announced the arrest of former employees, including a former CEO and two former vice presidents, of a pharmaceutical company. The arrested individuals are charged with bribing doctors and otherwise conspiring to induce the over-prescription of a fentanyl product. The company reported significant profits in 2015.

  A Washington Post article by Scott Higham and Lenny Bernstein noted that, in April 2016, at the height of the deadliest drug epidemic in U.S. history, Congress effectively stripped the Drug Enforcement Administration (DEA) of its most potent weapon against large drug companies suspected of spilling prescription narcotics onto the nation’s streets.

  According to the article, opioid-related deaths had claimed 200,000 lives in recent years, more than three times the number of U.S. military deaths in the Vietnam War. The article claims that overdose deaths continue to rise and there is no apparent end in sight to the worsening public health threat.

  The article further states that a handful of members of Congress, allied with the nation’s major drug distributors, prevailed upon the DEA and the Justice Department to agree to a more pharmacy industry-friendly law, undermining efforts to staunch the flow of pain pills onto the streets of this country. The DEA had apparently opposed this effort for years.

  The law change was seen as a crowning achievement of a multifaceted campaign by the drug industry to weaken DEA enforcement efforts against drug companies that were supplying corrupt doctors and pharmacists who then peddled narcotics to the black market.

  The article claims the pharmacy industry was known to work with lobbyists and key members of Congress, pouring more than a million dollars into the election campaigns of the involved Congressmen.

  Chapter 1

  “What the hell do you mean, the monkeys died last night?” The director of the well-known, Ohio-based zoo bolted upright in his chair and blinked rapidly several times.

  “I mean…they’re dead, sir—every last one of them!” the lead primate caretaker responded. He rocked from foot to foot as he stood in front of the director’s desk. “There’s not a live one left in that special enclosure you had us put them in.”

  The director leaned forward on his desk. “Did you give them the antidote? The one I provided you?”

  “Yes! I administered it immediately! Hell, some were barely breathing, so I didn’t waste any time.”

  The director loosened his tie and tugged at his collar as sweat began running down his neck. “As per the instructions?”

  “Yes! Of course—I’m not stupid, you know!”

  “And?”

  “That’s when they all died! Some just keeled over right then and there.” He yanked his collar down, pointing a shaking finger at bloody scratches on his neck. “Some went bat-shit crazy first…then died!”

  The director plopped his forehead onto his desk top, rolling his head slowly from side to side.

  “Shit, shit, shit!” he mumbled into his lap for a few seconds. He snapped his head up and hopped from his chair, leaning over his desk, eyes bulging. “Burn ‘em! Every last one of them!”

  “What?” The caretaker staggered back a step, shaking his head. “B-but…that’s not our usual protocol—”

  “I don’t give a shit!” the director screamed. “I said burn them!” He flopped back into his chair, his gaze darting around the room as he held a finger to his lips. “We’ll make up some story about them having symptoms like Ebola victims.” He nodded vigorously. “Yeah, that’s it! We’ll say we were afraid it might be contagious to zoo staff. No! Better yet—the zoo visitors.”

  “But…won’t that just get the CDC sniffing around?” The primate caretaker backed away and held his hands up in front of him, shaking his head. “I-I don’t want to get sucked into something that’s going to get me into hot water—especially with the government.”

  “Just shut the hell up and burn them! Every last carcass. I don’t want to see anything but a goddam pile of smoldering ashes when you’re done!”

  The caretaker chewed at his lip. “I-I just don’t know if I can do that—”

  “I’m not giving you a choice! Just do it!” The director leaped from his chair and stabbed his finger at his underling. “I swear, if I see so much as a tuft of fur left behind, I’ll make sure your career here will be nothing but a pile of ashes, too!”

  “All right, all right! You don’t have to go all psycho on me.” He turned and walked away, stopping at the door as he put a hand on the knob. “But I’m not going down with you if this blows up,” he grumbled over his shoulder. He yanked the door open and rushed out, slamming it behind him.

  The zoologist flopped back into his chair, resting his head on his palms.

  “Dammit! How the hell am I going to explain this?” He fingered the cellphone in his pocket for a few seconds then inched it out. He stared at it briefly then punched in a number—the number he’d been told not to keep in his phone “contacts” file. “I guess I better call and see if he has any ideas.”

  “Yes?” a man answered on the first ring.

  “Um…I’m afraid I, uh, have some…bad news.”

  “Yeah? What?”

  “They’re all dead.”

  “What? All of them?”

  “Yes.”

  “What the hell did you do to them?” the man on the phone yelled.

  The director jerked the phone away from his ear. “Nothing! The primate caretaker said he found them unconscious this morning—”

  “Did he give them the antidote immediately?”

  “Of course! He’s not stupid, you know! He gave them the reversal agent you sent me.”

  “And?”

  “And…they all fricking croaked. Right then and there!” He held an index finger up, as if to make a point. “But not before some of them went nuts…some attacked him before they died!” He blew out a long bre
ath. “He got pretty scratched up—he’s really pissed off right now.”

  “I could give a shit less about him. You sure he gave the right dose?’

  “I wasn’t there…but he’s competent, and there’s no reason to expect he didn’t.”

  “This could be a setback for me…”

  “A setback for you? Dammit, this could be the end of my career!”

  “Relax—you were well paid.”

  “Not well enough to lose my job,” the director groused.

  There was silence on the line for several seconds.

  “So, what are you doing with them?”

  “We’re burning them—just like you told me to if something went wrong.”

  “Good.”

  “I’ll make sure there’s nothing but ashes.”

  “That would be wise on your part.”

  “I’m worried, though—what if my primate caretaker tells somebody what happened?”

  “For his sake, let’s hope he doesn’t. If he does, I’ll have the issue addressed.” Again, silence filled the line for several seconds. “Did you get the serial MRIs done before they died?”

  “Yes,” the director mumbled.

  “Well, don’t keep me in suspense! Did they show the…desired changes in the ventral tegmental area?”

  The director huffed. “Are you serious? That’s what you’re worried about now?”

  “Yes. Very serious,” the man replied in a threatening tone.

  The director fidgeted with his laptop, rapidly flipping through the closed-circuit TV monitor images from various stations around the zoo. He stopped at a screen that showed his caretaker step into the cage with dead monkeys strewn about it. He flopped back in his chair, his gaze glued to the TV screen.

  “In a word…yes. The radiologist I’m using reviewed a series of films with me. She said she was amazed at how much actual anatomical change there was in such a short time.”

  “Excellent!”

  “I think it’s safe to say the changes occurred to a greater extent and much quicker than you’d expected.”

  “Well, it’s about time our overpaid research staff finally earned their keep.”

  “Say what? Who the hell you working for, anyway?” the director asked. “You with the government or something?”

  “That’s none of your concern. Besides, this experiment is more complex than someone like you could understand.” The man cackled condescendingly. “You just go sweep up the monkey shit and send me those MRIs—all of them! Then destroy any records you had of our little project.”

  The director watched on his screen as his primate caretaker dragged a monkey from the cage. He flipped his laptop closed. “Of course!” he snarled through gritted teeth. “Just remember, you told me there wouldn’t be any problems if I agreed to do this. Now I’ve got a bunch of dead animals to deal with.” He slapped his hand on the desk. “It’s not what you led me to expect!”

  The man on the phone laughed. “Don’t get haughty with me! You whored yourself out, and now you’re having to deal with some downside. Get over it!”

  The line went dead.

  Chapter 2

  Jack Bass, MD, licked at the salty tears dribbling over his lips as he stood from the overstuffed chair in Dr. Brent Love’s office. Dr. Love was a young, very talented psychiatrist who specialized in caring for people with PTSD, especially veterans. Jack had been referred to him years ago after he’d returned from Iraq, where Lori Darden, Jack’s first true love, had been horrendously killed right in front of him. Jack was now recovering from a gunshot to his chest, which had left him clinically dead. Though he’d survived, he had not fully recovered his memory. Dr. Love was struggling to determine if that deficit was due to an actual hypoxic injury to Jack’s brain when he’d died or if some psychological pathology was the root of the issue.

  “Brent, how the hell could I forget all of these things? Christ—I was married! My pregnant wife was murdered—and I can’t remember it!” He stared down at the plush carpeting he was rubbing the toe of his shoe on. “If it wasn’t for Amanda, I don’t know if I’d remember Lori, either. The mother of my daughter!” Jack walked to Brent’s desk and tossed his used tissue into a waste can. “Am I a nutcase?”

  Love huffed. “Jack! Quit it. You’re one of the smartest doctors I’ve ever known—I don’t think I need to explain the concept of repressed traumatic memories to you.”

  “But…that’s for your other patients. Not me. I should be able to use intellect and training to control such things—”

  “Bullshit!” Love interjected. “How many times have we been over this?” He tossed his notepad onto his desk then stationed himself in front of Jack. “You know you have human frailties just like everybody else…in spite of the bullshit your father hammered into your head when you were a kid. You weren’t a wimp then and you’re not now. So, stop being so damn hard on yourself!”

  Jack smiled feebly at him. “Yeah, that’s another weakness of mine, I guess,” he muttered.

  “Jesus! You never miss a chance to take a shot at yourself, do you? It’s not a ‘weakness’—it’s who you are. And that’s okay.” He put a hand on Jack’s shoulder. “You’ve experienced multiple horrible, life-threatening events…and were even clinically dead back at the slave camp. You’ve had more physical and mental insults to your mind than I can keep track of, for chrissake! Stop looking for excuses to bash yourself.”

  Jack felt like a child being chastised as he stared silently at the floor. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

  Love sighed and flopped into the chair at his desk. “Look, let’s take this up on your next visit—and remember to use the positive imaging techniques as much as you can.”

  “Will do,” Jack muttered as he shuffled toward the door. He opened it, halting halfway through. “Do you think they’ll ever come back—my memories, I mean?”

  “Yes. I think they’re all still locked up somewhere in that marvelous mind. We’ll just have to be patient…and careful, helping you dig them out.”

  Jack nodded and stepped out of the office, softly pulling the door closed.

  Chapter 3

  Even though it was only nine in the morning, Carvin Schanlon, the new CEO of Pharmadosh, Inc., a large U.S. pharmaceutical company, savored the mouth-tingling, double-malt scotch as he gazed out from his penthouse office. He smiled as he took in the panorama of the surrounding landscape. He’d become an acknowledged doctorate-level chemist at MIT before he’d even started his business career. He’d used that training and gained corporate skills, soon firmly establishing his reputation in the pharmaceutical industry.

  While he was in his doctorate training, his studies were focused on understanding the chemical structure of narcotics that led to addiction. Early on in his commercial career, he’d recognized the business potential of chemical alterations that would increase the addictive properties of drugs, especially opioids. This was at the core of his growth plan for Pharmadosh, though some board members had looked reticent when hearing his ideas.

  Other Pharmadosh board members had resisted the idea of selecting him as CEO at his age, citing concerns about his lack of experience with running a large company. He’d overcome all of their concerns, though, when he’d shared his vision for the company’s growth during his final board interview.

  He took another sip of scotch, chuckling as he recalled looking around the large conference table and watching most of the board members nodding eagerly…greedily, as they’d listened to him. In the end, he had eloquently made his case for appointment, winning over even the staunchest skeptics and getting voted in unanimously.

  He was now a thirty-two-year-old, Ivy League whiz kid, the youngest CEO of any major US drug company, and a rising star.

  What he lacked in physical presence he made up for with a strong—many called it arrogant—personality. The fact that he almost always spoke to colleagues in a voice dripping with condescension did not help. Nevertheless, he’d proven to be effective at pushing em
ployees to higher levels of performance. His smugness, though, left him with a permanent smirk on his face, and he’d heard that many people who’d met him referred to him as “The Joker,” obviously a reference to the Batman character. His expression, they said, made them feel as if he was playing some private joke on them—this tended to make people wary of getting too close to him. He didn’t care. He’d littered his past with the broken careers of those who mistook his slight, elfin physique as encasing an equally slight ego.

  He took another sip. Screw ‘em, he thought.

  Soon after assuming his CEO role, he’d laid out his lofty goals and plans for Pharmadosh and shared them with his executive team. The company had been financially stable but had shown little growth over the past decade and had constantly struggled with getting new investors. He’d told them he wasn’t going to be satisfied with the “me, too” culture of the company that had left it firmly entrenched as a small-capital NASDAQ-traded company. No. He was going to change that. Quickly.

  “Follow my rules or get a job somewhere else,” he’d told his execs. “I won’t tolerate slackers or disloyalty.”

  He shook himself from his reverie and turned his gaze on Martin Lankin, the VP of research and development at Pharmadosh, who sat in front of Schanlon’s desk, an expectant look on his face.

  “Look, Mr. Schanlon, you know I’ve worked for this company for almost twenty-five years. I think that demonstrates that I’m a team player…but I-I’m not so sure about this,” Lankin said.

  “Martin, Martin, Martin,” Schanlon responded, smiling his “Joker” smile at Lankin and shaking his head slowly. He walked over to Lankin and rested a hand on his shoulder, squeezing hard enough to make Lankin wince. “Trust me. There’s nothing to be worried about. I know your research began for a weight-control drug, but the potential for this unexpected side-effect is too good to pass up! I’ve been looking for such a thing for years!”