The Fantasy Effect

By Russell Atchison

A serious side effect that causes patients to commit bizarre, violent acts, including homicides, has been associated with a blockbuster drug discovered by scientist Dr. Grant Matthews.
He must uncover the truth . . . if he can survive the reality he discovers.

Dr. Matthews needs to know more about the side effect. If the drug is taken off the market, his drug discovery lab will lose millions of dollars in royalties. Hundreds of patients will be denied the benefits of the best drug in its class.
He embarks on an extensive search for the answer and is drawn into a terrifying game of horror. Someone or something sinister is lurking in the shadows. Murders of key players, covert power plays, and struggles with personal demons blindside his investigation.
Who is working against him? Has he stumbled into a conspiracy? A drug company cover-up?
Persistent determination unearths surprises that put him on a collision course with a deadly nightmare.

The Fantasy Effect is a mystery-thriller that takes you behind the scenes into the dark side of the pharmaceutical industry. Author Russell Atchison will keep you mystified and challenged, as reality becomes a treacherous game of power, hidden agendas, and murders — interspersed with a little humor, romance, and science.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Russell Atchison
• Release date: Dec 20, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370994014

Russell Atchison

Russell Atchison’s attraction to mystery, thriller and suspense stories began at an early age when he discovered the Hardy Boys books and the writings of Edgar Allan Poe. Over the years, his passion for these genres has evolved into an aspiration to craft and write his own stories to share with readers for their enjoyment. His novel, The Fantasy Effect, is a mind challenging and captivating medical science mystery-thriller that draws from his education, expertise, and experience in pharmacy and the pharmaceutical industry. When he isn’t writing, he likes to read books or watch movies from his favorite genres. He also enjoys ham radio. He loves dogs and is an Eagle Scout with all three Palms. Russ and his wife reside in their native state of Kansas. They are enthusiastic fans of the KU Jayhawks, KC Chiefs, and KC Royals. They enjoy spending time with their two daughters and their families. They share a passion for raising butterflies and feeding birds. Unfortunately, they expend an inordinate amount of time and energy chasing Starlings and Grackles away from the backyard bird feeders.

Book preview

THE FANTASY EFFECT

RUSSELL ATCHISON

Copyright 2016 © by Russell Atchison

Smashwords Edition

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only and remains the copyrighted property of the author. It may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you enjoy this book, please encourage your friends to purchase their own copy from their favorite authorized retailer. Please respect the hard work of this author and do not participate in, or encourage, the piracy of copyrighted materials. Thank you for your support.

The Fantasy Effect is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is coincidental. Reproduction, in whole or in part, of this book, without express written consent by the author, is strictly prohibited.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

TITLE PAGE

TABLE OF CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

CHAPTER 27

CHAPTER 28

CHAPTER 29

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Prologue

It was a perfect night for the mission; the sky was black with no moon. Kenichi Otsuka looked out through the Zero’s windshield into the darkness. The steady hum and vibration from the plane’s powerful engine comforted him in his quest for immortality. Tonight, he would achieve honorable victory in the Imperial Navy Kamikaze tradition.

The Zero hurtled through the sky, heading toward the destiny waiting at the end of this sacred mission. The thousands of gallons of gasoline in the bomb tank would make a massive explosion, and kill hundreds of enemy sailors. A perfect hit would send a ship to the bottom.

There was motion to the right; the source soon became evident. It was the silhouette of an enemy ship. Seconds later, red flashes from anti-aircraft guns betrayed the boat’s exact location.

What good fortune. The enemy’s own weapons were showing the path to their destruction. He banked the plane into a slight right turn, exited the maneuver, and headed straight for the target. The ship crossed his path. He pointed the Zero straight down the middle, between the red flashes. The red Kanji Hinomaru, circle of the sun, symbol on his hachimaki glared back from the rearview mirror.

He clenched his teeth and stared straight ahead, with total concentration on the task. There was no excuse for failure. He shifted gears and pushed the engine to full throttle. He gripped the controls. He must stay on a steady line toward the target. The plane closed on the ship, somehow missed by the barrage of anti-aircraft fire.

At the last moment, Kenichi Otsuka screamed Hissatsu and delivered his suicide bomb on target in a spectacular fireball of five thousand gallons of exploding gasoline.

Later that morning, the area news media reported that a gasoline tanker truck hit a freight train and caused a tremendous explosion at about 3:00 a.m. The highway patrol confirmed the crossing gates were down, and all red warning lights were flashing at the time of the accident. The absence of skid marks indicated the truck hit the train at full speed. A witness, who earlier passed the truck, reported the driver had on goggles and was wearing one of those white Japanese headbands with the red dot in the middle like you see in the movies.

Chapter 1

Dr. Grant Matthews glanced at the walnut-framed atomic wall clock for the third time during the last ten minutes. The time was 10:30 a.m. The deadline to send the PowerPoint was 5:00 p.m. It would take a heroic push to make it.

The presentation should have been done by now. It had been about two months since he accepted the invitation—more than enough time to complete the project. Again, he had let his work get in the way, and the eight weeks had almost passed. Things like this should not happen so often. One of these days, he would have to say no—but this topic was too timely and captivating.

The recent explosion of the so-called legal use of marijuana had stimulated renewed interest in the psychoactive cannabinoid chemicals. The program director for the annual meeting of the Academy of Pharmaceutical Scientists (APS), invited him to address the potential for discovering new drug entities hiding among the cannabinoid molecules.

Now, the last minute approached. Several file folders stuffed with research papers and notes lay scattered across the desk. The challenge was to turn this jungle of information into an organized overview of the myriad of cannabis chemicals.

He took another swig from his water bottle, swished the liquid around in his dry mouth, and let it trickle down his parched throat. He arched his back, rolled his shoulders, and stretched his neck. Time was running out.

Tomorrow morning he would be on I-70 driving west to the Sternberg Museum of Natural History at Hayes. There, he would join a month-long expedition to a dig site in the Smoky Hill chalk beds, where they would extract the fossil remains of a massive plesiosaur. It was harsh, blistering, dirty work, but he loved it. What could be more worthwhile and exhilarating than unearthing the skeleton of an ancient marine reptile millions of years old?

The intercom chimed. He dropped his half-eaten breakfast sandwich. The company’s administrative assistant was on the caller ID. He reached over and tapped the speakerphone button.

Dr. Matthews, a Kostantinos Papadakis insists he needs to talk to you immediately. He’s on line one.

Thanks, LaVonne. He reached for the blinking green button, then stopped. Kos was probably calling to schedule a chess match. On second thought, LaVonne, please tell Mr. Papadakis I’m unavailable now, and I’ll call him back later. After that, reschedule all my meetings and take messages for all calls. I’ll be busy the rest of the day.

Okay, I’ll take care of it. The line went blank.

Grant leaned back. Why didn’t he think to do that sooner? Now, he could work through the afternoon without interruption until he was finished. He took a bite of the cold sausage biscuit and turned his attention back to the files.

The chime sounded again. He threw his hands up. What is it, Lavonne?

I’m sorry, Dr. Matthews. I told Mr. Papadakis you were not able to accept calls. He said to tell you it is important, and he must talk to you right now. It’s about Esperil.

Esperil? What could it be? He should find out. Okay, I’ll take the call.

He punched the incoming call button. Hey, Kos, what’s up with Esperil?

I’m not sure. The voice lowered to a whisper. Listen, I have to make this short. I need to see you as soon as possible.

Kos, I’m tied up for the rest of the day. How about later this evening?

Kos cleared his throat. Grant, this can’t wait.

What’s it about?

I . . . I don’t want to talk about it on the phone. I think I’ve discovered an issue with Esperil. It could mean serious trouble for the drug. Its status may be in jeopardy.

Have you discussed this with someone out there at CaseAnders?

No, and I won’t.

But, Kos, we have no control over the drug. You know we sold the manufacturing and marketing rights to CaseAnders after it cleared our animal studies. It’s your drug. You need to talk with someone there.

I can’t. There’s something funny going on here. You’re the only one I trust.

Grant’s neck throbbed; he wrung his hands. KARI received huge royalties from CaseAnders for this blockbuster drug. This year alone should be at least nine million dollars. Their share in ten years could be around thirty-eight million. Any potential problem that affected their revenues was a foremost concern, and the grim tone of Kos’s voice was distressing. "You’re the only one I trust." He had to know what Kos wanted to tell him.

Okay, Kos. We’ll meet. I’ll be at your office as soon as I can.

No. I don’t want anyone here to know we’ve talked.

Then, do you want to come to my office?

No. I don’t want to lose the time it would take. We should meet someplace isolated and quick for both of us.

What about Coyote Canyon? It’s about halfway between our facilities. How would that work?

A big sigh came over the phone. Perfect. I’m going to leave right after we hang up. I’m closer to the park than you are, so I’ll be waiting. See you there.

Grant took a sip of his coffee. It was cold and tasted bitter. He spat it back into the cup.

The Esperil product manager had just told him something alarming. "It could mean serious trouble for the drug."

What kind of trouble? Why didn’t Kos want to discuss it over the phone? Instead, he insisted on meeting in secret with palpable urgency.

He called LaVonne and told her he would be out of the office for a while.

On the way out, one of his pharmacologists stopped him in the hallway. The scientist was having trouble with a research assignment. It would be ill-advised to prolong the project, so Grant stopped to discuss the issue. He didn’t leave the building till about ten minutes later.

The drive took about thirty minutes. The packed-dirt entrance road to Coyote Canyon Park was bumpy and dry. A thick dust cloud, left by another vehicle, hung in the air. After about a mile, Grant crested a hill and descended into the valley. At the bottom, Cottonwood trees surrounded the secluded park.

A red Jeep Grand Cherokee sat in the gravel parking lot under a tree. Grant pulled in and parked beside the Jeep. He got out and scanned the area. Kos was nowhere in sight. He walked around to the other side of the SUV and stopped. Suddenly, he couldn’t breathe.

Kos was lying faceup and motionless on the ground, his eyelids closed. Grant shouted Kos’s name several times. There was no response. He knelt and put his fingers on Kos’s neck. The carotid was not pulsating, and his lips had a bluish tinge. He pulled the lower eyelids down. Fixed pupils stared back.

Grant started to stand but stopped midway. A white envelope was lying under the Jeep. He got on his hands and knees and reached under the vehicle to retrieve it. His name was scrawled across the front. He tore the envelope open and found a piece of notepaper with writing on it inside. He scanned the note:

16520 / KO / Francisco Estrada, MD / drove tanker truck into freight train / Esperil

It made little sense. He folded it and put it into his pocket with the envelope, then grabbed his iPhone, and called 9-1-1.

He waited for the authorities to arrive. The image of Kos lying dead on the ground kept invading his thoughts, impossible to ignore. What had happened? It must have been sudden, a heart attack, or perhaps a stroke or an aneurysm.

If he had not stopped to talk on his way out, he would have been here to help. Sweat ran down his forehead. He fumbled with his handkerchief and wiped it away. What had Kos wanted him to know? What was the pressing issue? "Its status may be in jeopardy." Was Esperil in danger of FDA action?

If that were the case, losing revenue from this drug would be catastrophic to the survival of their drug discovery lab, the Kanza Associated Research Institute (KARI).

Chapter 2

Same day (Wednesday), back at Grant’s office

The whirlwind of the last few hours had been overwhelming. Grant sagged into his office think tank—a dark brown, stuffed leather recliner. The sudden and mysterious events of the morning were perplexing, to say the least.

It had all started with Kos’s call—a vague communication about Esperil with a disturbing sense of urgency. He had discovered something about Esperil that could be grave, but what could it be? Kos had died before he could divulge his secret. He was obviously under considerable stress at the time he called, so it seemed likely he had died from a heart attack.

What was the issue? How damaging could it be? Had Kos uncovered a severe clinical problem? Why did he insist on secrecy? Who or what was he afraid of at CaseAnders . . . and why?

The cryptic note was the only clue. What hidden message did it hold? Grant inhaled a deep breath, held it, and exhaled.

In a while, the tightness in his body relaxed and the lightness in his chest let up. Worry was premature. The issue’s details were still unknown, and it might be nothing. If there was a serious problem, he would have to give it his full attention until it was resolved. KARI’s business was too important to risk by overlooking Kos’s mysterious admonition. He unfolded the note.

16520 / KO / Francisco Estrada, MD / drove tanker truck into freight train / Esperil

He studied it for several minutes, his mind racing, and decided it might describe an accident between a truck and a train. What would Kos be doing with this? Did the report have something to do with Esperil? Who was Francisco Estrada? He had to find out.

The intercom chimed. It was Lori. He punched the speakerphone button. Hey, what’s up?

Could you come to my office and sign some papers?

Grant stood and stretched. You know, I need to take a break. I’ll be over in a minute or two.

A few minutes later, he tapped on her door and walked in. Lori was sitting at her desk, talking on the phone. She glanced his way and motioned for him to take a seat. My God, she’d changed her hair again. Now it was straw-colored blonde with spikes. Her eccentric behavior was sometimes annoying, but she was a damn good director of operations and an excellent business partner. He pulled a chair over to her desk, sat, and stared at her hair.

She finished the call, hung up the phone, and turned toward him. She looked over her reading glasses. Is there something wrong? What are you gawking at?

I see my sister’s changed her hair to another one of those funky styles for flakes.

She squinted. I see you’ve got your regular barbershop, professional, tidy cut . . . boring.

He laughed. You have some papers?

No, the truth is, I lied. She crossed her arms in front of her chest. You canceled your staff meeting at the last minute and left the building. Was there a problem?

Grant sat forward. Yes, there was.

He gave her a rundown of the day’s events, including Kos’s death and the note he had found. Once he was finished, she asked him what he thought might be going on.

Well, here’s how I see it so far: the worst case would be a serious adverse drug effect (ADE) that forced withdrawal from the market.

Lori cocked her head and started twisting one of the yellowish spikes around her index finger. I thought the clinical trial found no major side effects.

That’s right, only the typical nuisance adversities common to many drugs.

So, I don’t get it. Esperil has been out for over four years. It has an outstanding safety record. What gives?

Good question. Remember, the real world presents a ton of random variables. Many drugs deemed safe at approval, have been taken off the market years later because they’ve been connected with serious problems.

What if we’ve fallen into this trap? She took off her glasses. The color had drained from her face. We have a lot at stake if CaseAnders loses Esperil.

Of course . . . it’s worrisome, but you’re jumping to conclusions. Don’t get too shook up yet. We need more information. It may be something, or nothing at all—we’ll see.

You’ll keep me posted?

I will. He stood to leave, leaned over, and patted her on the shoulder. Don’t worry, I’m on the case.

Easy for you to say, Sherlock.

On his way out, she yelled, I don’t care what you think. I’ll wear my hair any way I want, Mr. Tidy Bowl-head.

Grant chuckled. She got him with the last shot, as usual.

He returned to his office and collapsed into the recliner. There was no way he could finish the presentation outline today. The day had been strenuous, and the stress had left him feeling utterly exhausted. He lay back and took several long, slow breaths. Within a few minutes, he was relaxed and able to focus.

He deliberated the options and decided if a potential problem had raised a threat to the continued sale and existence of Esperil, he must drop everything and do whatever it took to resolve it.

He would start by learning as much as he could about Kos’s secret. He would have to be careful how he went about it, though.

Chapter 3

Thursday

Grant tossed and turned all night. The previous day’s events interrupted his sleep time and again, along with a troublesome feeling about the future.

About 5:00 o’clock, he decided he might as well get up and go to work. He had to get started on exploring Kos’s worrisome behavior.

Half asleep, he wandered into the kitchen and put a cup of leftover coffee in the microwave. The liquid overheated, filling the air with an acrid, burnt odor. It was too hot to drink. He set the cup on the little table next to his stuffed leather chair and sank into the soft cushion.

About half an hour later, he awoke to something wet and noisy slurping in his ear. It was Lucy, giving his ear a good licking. He pulled her close and rubbed her head. He didn’t know what he would have done without her. For the last year and a half, she had become a close companion and filled a dark void in his life. He was thankful he had picked her from the litter of six-month-old Doberman Pinschers.

It was almost 6:00 a.m. Thank goodness she had awakened him. He needed to get to the office and follow up on Kos’s note.

Before long, he was racing down the mile-long access road that led to the county highway. A thick grove of wild Redbud trees lined both sides of the road. The early morning sunlight illuminated the blossoms with an intensity that gave them the appearance of glowing, bright pink, neon lights. He emerged from the iridescent corridor and stopped at the intersection with the county road. The dirt cloud following the car swirled past.

The KARI parking lot was barren at this early hour, except for a few vehicles that belonged to the skeleton crew of night-shift technicians, housekeeping, and maintenance workers. He stopped before he entered the building and inhaled a lungful of the cool morning air.

He went straight to his office. The room was warm and stuffy. Once he had taken a few steps inside, he stopped and took a lengthy stretch and let out a gigantic yawn. It was 6:32 a.m.

The note he’d found yesterday was still lying on his desk. It was the only clue into Kos’s secret. Where should he start?

He picked it up and studied it for several minutes.

16520 / KO / Francisco Estrada, MD / drove tanker truck into freight train / Esperil

His best guess was it might pertain to an accident. If that was correct, there would likely be something on the Internet. The search words: accident, tanker truck, and train, returned a mixture of hits from locations all over the country. A majority came from major newspaper accounts.

He scanned the display for listings that involved tanker trucks and collisions with trains. All the notations on the first screen indicated reports that involved trucks hit by trains, not the opposite. However, as he glanced over the second screen, one of the headlines jumped out:

Gasoline Tanker Collides with BNSF Freight

He clicked the link, which propagated an article dated May 4 from the Salina, Kansas, newspaper.

On Friday, at approximately 3:00 a.m., a gasoline tanker truck eastbound on Kansas Highway K-4 crashed through downed crossing gates, and struck a southbound BNSF freight broadside. The impact resulted in a massive explosion that sent flames over two hundred feet into the air.

The intense heat destroyed the truck and several of the freight cars.

The driver of the tank truck, Kenneth J. Otteson, fifty-six, of Komo Station, Kansas, died in the inferno.

Grant raised his arm and pumped his fist. Excellento! If his guess was correct, the note involved this accident. The event happened right here in his backyard, less than two hundred miles from Kansas City.

His heart raced. He had to share this discovery with Lori. He punched in her intercom code. After four rings, her answering recorder came on. He left a voice mail.

Damn. She was late again. She had a lackadaisical attitude toward her schedule. The only time he could rely on her to be on time was if there was something important on her agenda. Sometimes her conduct was exasperating.

It was already 8:37 a.m.—an excellent opportunity to stop and take care of his morning chores. E-mail and voice messages took about forty minutes. Once that was out of the way, he called the curator at the Sternberg Fossil Museum and told him he was not going to be able to participate in the dig. With business taken care of, he could give his attention to his discovery.

The newspaper article had to be the key to Kos’s note. What did the two have in common? He reached for the note. A knock at the door stopped him before he could pick it up. Lori was standing in the