Page 100 of Borrowed Pain
4:53 PM.
My phone rang again—different number.
"Ashcroft here."
"Mr. Ashcroft, this is Dr. Eileen Lemon from Harborview Research Ethics. I understand there are concerns about Dr. Harrow's current study protocols."
The administrator who'd dismissed Marcus's earlier call was now reaching out directly. Someone's pressure was working.
"Dr. Lemon, we believe Dr. McCabe is being held against his will under false pretenses of voluntary research participation."
"Mr. Ashcroft, I've been reviewing the documentation more carefully following some concerning inquiries from NIHoversight committees. There are irregularities in the approval process that require immediate investigation."
"What kind of irregularities?"
"The IRB committee that approved Dr. Harrow's protocols hasn't met in six months. The approval signatures appear to be forgeries." Dr. Lemon's professional composure cracked. "Mr. Ashcroft, if Dr. McCabe is participating in research that wasn't properly approved..."
"Then federal agents are protecting criminal activity disguised as legitimate medical research," I finished.
The institutional machinery was shifting, but it took time we didn't have. Miles was trapped in basement isolation, undergoing pharmaceutical manipulation that grew more dangerous with each passing minute.
The warehouse door suddenly opened. Ma McCabe stepped through carrying two canvas grocery bags. She assessed the room in seconds—Michael's tactical gear spread across the dining table, Marcus coordinating through emergency radio channels, and Matthew organizing medical supplies.
She stared directly at me. "Where's my son?"
Everyone stopped talking.
"Ma," Marcus began, "we're coordinating with federal—"
"I didn't ask about coordination. I asked where Miles is." She set the grocery bags on Matthew's counter. "And don't tell me he's participating in voluntary research. Miles wouldn't disappear for two or three hours without contact unless someone prevented him from calling."
"I've got Sadler on the phone again," I whispered.
Ma McCabe gestured for my phone. I complied. "Agent Sadler," Ma began, "I'm Miles McCabe's mother. I raised four boys who risk their lives to save others. I understand the difference between legitimate protection and bureaucratic games."
A pause.
"Agent Sadler, do you have children?"
We all waited.
"Then you understand that mothers know when their children are in danger. Miles has never missed a family check-in during a crisis. Never. If he could call me, he would call me. Someone is preventing my son from contacting his family. That's not voluntary research participation."
Ma McCabe handed the phone back to me. Victoria was already gone.
Through Dorian's monitors, I watched data streams flowing between federal agencies. Someone was rapidly verifying everything they'd been told about protecting breakthrough research. The institutional machinery was questioning its assumptions.
My phone buzzed with another update from the unknown number:
Unknown:Patient showing excellent therapeutic response. Medical team requests permission to extend intervention phase for optimal outcome achievement. Estimated completion delayed to Wednesday morning.
"They're extending the timeline," I announced to the room. "Now claiming completion won't be until Wednesday morning."
Matthew grabbed his phone and began calculating pharmaceutical metabolism timelines with emergency room precision. "Forty-eight to fifty hours of continuous intervention. That's not treatment—that's systematic neurological destruction."
Ma McCabe studied the text message. "In legitimate medical research, do timelines extend without patient consent?" she asked the room.
Alex spoke up. "No. Protocol modifications require ethics committee review and participant re-consent."
