Deborah proclaimed by telephone the next morning. “That’s impossible,” Cliff replied. “No,” Deborah corrected. “That’s Pharmacon. The suits couldn’t care less about anything as ludicrous as our worries. That is the word Whitehurst used—ludicrous. He said I should restrict my activities to the lab and refrain from any more psychedelic accusations. He couldn’t have cared less about Tom, either.” “Tom?” “The old guy at the hospital, the one who was approached by the foreigner looking for industrial secrets.” “Oh, right.” “When I asked them about that, they looked smug and said it was all taken care of.” Deborah sounded very worried. “That about sums up their whole attitude right now. Smug. Better watch out, Junior. It looks like they’re getting ready to launch a broadside at the FDA.” She paused, then added, “And to top it all off, I’ve been forbidden to see you, upon pain of corporate dismemberment.”
