Sam weighed what had been said.”What do you mean by 'a failed doctor'?" The research director consulted notes.”Since getting his medical degree, Mace has worked in five diffierent cities where he was employed by other physicians. After that, he was in practice on his own. As far as I can learn from those who know him, all those arrangements broke down because Mace doesn't get along with people. He didn't like the other doctors and, about quitting private practice, he says frankly he didn't like his patients.”
"From the found of it," Sam said, "they probably didn't love him. Why was he hired at FDAT' "You know the FDA situation. They have trouble getting anybody.” Sam said, "Yes, I do.”
Medical-scientific recruiting at FDA was a problem of long standing. Government salaries were notoriously low, and an M.D. Employed by FDA received less than half of what he or she could earn in private practice. In the case of scientists, the gap between those employed at FDA and drug company scientists with similar qualifications was even wider. There were other factors. One was professional prestige. In medical-scientific circles, working for FDA was not regarded as impressive. An appointment to the government's National Institutes of Health, for example, was much more sought after. Something else affecting M.D.'s at FDA was the absence of what most working doctors enjoyed-direct, "hands on" contacts with patients. There was only-as Sam once heard it described-"the vicarious practice of medicine through reading other people's case reports.” Again remarkably, and despite those limitations, the agency's ranks contained many highly qualified, dedicated professionals. But inevitably there were others. The unsuccessful. The soured and alienated who preferred comparative solitude to meeting many people. The dedicated self-protectors, avoiding difficult decisions. Alcoholics. The unbalanced, Clearly, as Sam and Vince Lord saw it, Dr. Gideon Mace was one of these. Sam asked, "is there anything I can do? Like going to the commissioner?" Lord answered, "I don't advise it. FDA commissioners are political; they come and go. But bureaucrats stay, and have long memories.”
"What you're saying," Sam said, "is that we might win with Staidpace but lose out badly later on.”
"Exactly.”
"What about Mace's alcoholism?" Lord shrugged.”Heavy drinking broke up his marriages, I hear. But he copes. He comes to work. He functions. He may keep a bottle in his desk, but if he does, no one I've talked to has seen him dipping into it.”
"Is the moonlighting, working in a private practice, against regulations?" "Apparently not, if Mace confines it to his free time, even though he may be tired next day when he comes to work. Other doctors at FDA do the same thing.”
"Then there's no way we can touch Mace?" "Not now," Lord said.”But he still has all that alimony to pay, and money troubles make people do strange things. So I'm going to keep watching. Who knows, something may turn up.”
Sam regarded the research director thoughtfully.”You've become a good company man, Vince. Handling this, which isn't pleasant. Looking out for all our interests. I'd like you to know that I appreciate it.”
"Well...”
Lord looked surprised, though not displeased.”I hadn't thought of it that way. All I've wanted is to nail that bastard, and have Staidpace approved. But maybe you're right.”
Vincent Lord, reflecting later, supposed that what Sam had said about his being a company man was true. Lord was now in his eighteenth year at Felding-Roth and, even if you didn't expect it to happen, in that length of time certain loyalties built up. Also, nowadays, introspective thoughts about whether he had been right or wrong in leaving academia for industry occupied him less than they once had. Much more of his thinking was directed toward his continuing research on the quenching of free radicals-whenever he could free himself from other responsibilities in the department. The answers Lord sought were still elusive. But he knew they were there. He would never, never give up. And there was a new incentive to his research. That was the company's institute in Britain where Peat-Smith, whom Vincent Lord had not yet met, was concentrating on the mental aging process. It was a competition. Who-Lord or Peat-Smith-would achieve a breakthrough first? It had been a disappointment to Lord when he had not been given authority over Felding-Roth research in Britain as well as in the United States. But Sam Hawthorne had been adamant about that, insisting that "over there" be independent and operate on its own. Well, Lord reasoned, as things had turned out, perhaps that was best after all. From rumors seeping back from Britain, it seemed that Peat-Smith was getting nowhere, had come up against a scientific brick wall. If true, Lord was divorced from any responsibility. Meanwhile, on the American pharmaceutical scene there was much to do. As to Dr. Gideon Mace, the opportunity Vincent Lord had hoped for-to "get" Mace--did arrive eventually, though not soon enough to help Staidpace which, after more delays and quibbling, was at last approved and went on sale in 1974. It was in January 1975, a day after he had returned from Washington, having been there to visit FDA about another matter, that Lord received an unusual telephone call.”There's a man on the phone," his secretary announced, "who won't give his name. But he's persistent and says you'll be glad if you speak to him.”
"Tell him no go to-no, wait!" Curiosity was inbred in Lord.”Put him on.”
Into the phone he said curtly, "Whoever you are, say what you want quickly, or I'll hang up.”
"You've been collecting information about Dr. Mace. I have some.”
The male voice sounded young, also educated. Lord was instantly curious.”What kind of information?" "Mace has broken the law. With what I have, you could send him to jail.”
"What makes you think I'd want to?" "Look," the voice said,- "you wanted me to be quick, but you're the one who's futzing around. Are you interested or not?" Lord was cautious, remembering that telephone conversations could be taped.”How has Dr. Mace broken the law?"
"He used confidential FDA information to make a profit for himself on the stock market. Twice.”
"How can you prove that?" "I have papers. But if you want them, Dr. Lord, I'll expect to be paid. Two thousand dollars.”
"Doesn't peddling that kind of information make you as bad as Mace?" The voice said calmly, "Perhaps. But that isn't the issue.”
Lord asked, "What's your name?" "I'll tell you when we meet in Washington.”
The bar was in Georgetown. It was elegantly decorated in subtle shades of red, beige and brown, with handsome bronze accoutrements. It was also, plainly, a rendezvous for homosexuals. Several faces looked up interestedly as Vincent Lord came in; he sensed himself being appraised and it made him uncomfortable. But before the feeling could persist, a young man who had been seated alone in a booth got up and came toward him. "Good evening, Dr. Lord. I'm Tony Redmond.”
He smiled knowingly.”The voice on the telephone.”
Lord muttered an acknowledgment and allowed his hand to be shaken. He had instantly recognized Redmond as an FDA employee; Lord recalled having seen him several times during other trips to Washington, though could not remember precisely where. Redmond, in his mid-twenties, had short, curly brown hair, baby blue eyes with prominent lashes, and was in other ways good-looking. He led the way back to the booth where they sat down, facing each other. Redmond already had a drink. Motioning, he asked, "Will you join me, Doctor?" Lord said, "I'll order myself " He had no intention of making this a friendly occasion. The sooner he finished what he had come here to do, the better he would like it.