The Ghost Pattern

…26

Dr. Adenauer’s mind wandered back to the place of his birth, and the disappeared loved ones in his family. He was born in 1963 in rural West Germany, in a small town called Marl, close enough to Dusseldorf to be modern, remote enough to be picturesque and serene. The youngest in a family still recovering from the wounds of war, and still mourning its dead and missing, Theo had very little to be joyful about in his early years. But the most poignant of memories, the one still haunting his thoughts and nightmares, was the memory of his sister, Helga.

Ten years his senior, Helga entered the whirlwind of bipolar affective disorder with the onset of puberty, just when Theo was starting to be old enough to understand and remember. Of course, there was little to understand at first, when he was just a pre-teen, and Helga’s mood swings left him crying and confused, unable to comprehend why his big sister, playful and fun just the day before, could turn into an angry monster, lashing out with words that hurt worse than fist blows.

With time, his parents explained what was going on. They told him that her mean words, crying spells, and bad behavior were not her fault; she was sick. Theo understood, and became committed to helping her. He suddenly realized, about the time that he entered puberty, what he was meant to do with his life. He would become a doctor, a great one, who could cure his sister and end the constant suffering of his family.

He studied hard, and worked desperately to understand everything that he could about the human brain. Since high school, he’d started devouring any book or medical publication he could get his hands on, absorbing, learning, analyzing.

He was admitted to the Universität Düsseldorf in 1981, and his grades gave him recognition from the dean and from his professors. Some took an interest in the highly motivated young man who had the most interesting questions about brain chemistry, about chemical imbalances in the brain, and about understanding the deep synergies among complex psychotropic drugs used in controlled combinations.

He still had a few weeks left before graduation when Helga jumped in front of a train, ending her desperation-filled days just before Theo could return home and help her.

He went home to Marl and mourned with his grief-stricken parents, not in the least concerned about the classes he was missing, or about the risk of being expelled. His guilt was tormenting him, eating at him from within. It was his fault that Helga died. He didn’t find the cure fast enough, didn’t graduate quickly enough.

The dean called one morning, when Theo was still spending his time staring into emptiness, at the home of his and Helga’s childhood, and somehow talked him into returning to school. He graduated a couple of months later, and immediately began the research work that had been his mission ever since he could remember.

His academic record brought him a choice of research engagements, and he chose the path that led him closest to what he wanted to do: heal the invisible wounds of the suffering brain. It was too late for Helga, but there were others just like her, others he could still save.

Achievement after achievement, conference after conference, and award after award, his career soared. But he never stopped, and never slowed down. The most remarkable of his achievements, a drug that reduced the risk of suicide by 90 percent in clinically depressed and bipolar patients, had brought him a nomination for the Nobel Prize. He almost missed the news; that was the year his parents died, within a few months of each other.

Sometimes he wondered if he was indeed arrogant, as many had said about him. He didn’t think so. He’d taken hard looks at himself many times, probing for signs of narcissism or other personality disorders, but, in his case, there was no foundation for such concern. It was just value, pure value. His record of achievement supported that, and he was well aware of his own worth. If that happened to come across as arrogance, well, that was unfortunate, but it wasn’t something he was willing to change. His career was nothing to be humble about.

It had been years since he’d wandered down memory lane, remembering Helga, and the things he held most dear in his heart. His commitment to help people. His entire life dedicated to ease the suffering of the chemically imbalanced brain. And now? What was he going to do? Let some terrorists, because that’s what they were, use him to gain access to a weapon meant to bring chemical imbalance to the brain? Then how could he live with himself?

Yet there was no easy choice. He could pretend to comply, and deliver weak formulations, as harmless as possible, stalling for as long as he could in the hope that something would eventually happen to free them from their hell. Or he could resist, refuse to deliver, and endanger the lives of hundreds of people.

This wasn’t really a choice.

May God have mercy on my soul…

He stood from his lab chair and rubbed his creased forehead for a little while.

“We’re ready,” he said, showing the other doctors two small containers with capsules.

They gathered around him quickly. Drs. Davis, Fortuin, and Chevalier, who had worked side by side with him, pulled their chairs closer.

“The red ones are a modified, diluted selective serotonin reuptake enhancer. We will tell them they need time to absorb and become effective, to preemptively account for the ineffectiveness of the compound. The green ones are equally diluted SSRIs. They’re just modified, low-dose Prozac essentially.”

He stopped talking and searched their eyes. Many reflected the same anguish he was feeling. Others, only deep sadness for what they were about to do.

“All right,” he said, taking a deep breath, “let’s call them.”

A few minutes after they had informed their omnipresent guard, Dr. Bogdanov entered the lab and took the two containers. Then he switched on a couple of monitors, image feeds from an empty room.

The doctors stood there, watching in silence the screens showing the empty room from different angles. Then the Russians started bringing in the test subjects, ten of them. One by one, they were dragged in there, screaming, pleading, sobbing, manhandled brutally by the guards. One by one, they had their mouths forced open and the capsules shoved down their throats. One by one, they chocked, fought, scratched at the strong arms holding them down, and had no option but to swallow the drugs. Then one by one, they settled down, sobbing quietly, fear and desperation engraved deeply on their weary faces.