Authors: Natalie Standiford
Countdown (13 page)
“I noticed this chemical compound has a piperazine ring, which interacts with proteins in the body. . . .”
Nellie tensed up and tuned out as he spoke. She had no idea what he was talking about, and she knew from hard experience that hearing more would not help. “. . . when the receptor DRD2 is present; it causes yellow vision instead.” Was he still talking?
What about death?
she thought.
Have you figured out how to cure that particular side effect?
“Do you think there's a connection?”
“Um . . .” Nellie spun around in her fancy desk chair, tapping a pencil against her teeth. She didn't understand the question, obviously. “Are you asking if there's a connection between yellow vision and Osso Buco Syndrome?”
Whoops. She could tell from Dr. Beckelheimer's stiff, condescending smile that she'd said something wrong. “Did you just say âOsso Buco Syndrome'?”
“Did I?” Shoot. Osso buco was an Italian meat dish she'd been learning to prepare at cooking school in Boston before she got roped into going undercover at this drug factory.
His eyes narrowed. “I assume you meant Buccoglossal Syndrome.”
“Very good. I'm glad to see you know your stuff. Back to work. We've both got a lot to do.”
She tried her best to look stern and forbidding, an intimidating boss. It wasn't easy. But it was true that she had a lot of work to do. Nellie had been ordered to write a report synthesizing the biochemists' most recent findings on the side effects of the serum. She told herself not to freak out.
It's like a book report
, she thought.
No different.
That would have been true if she'd understood any of the “book” she'd read. She focused on an interesting side effect Sammy had noticed â that in late stages the serum could cause Xanthopsia, or â hey, look at that! â yellow vision, just like Dr. Beckelheimer had been saying. Nellie had heard a theory that the painter Vincent van Gogh had suffered from yellow vision, which had a big influence on the coloring of his paintings. She wrote about this in her report, trying to make a case that maybe yellow vision wasn't always such a bad thing. Maybe they could market the drug as something that
promoted
yellow vision, she suggested. The ads could say something like:
You, too, could paint like Vincent van Gogh!
Or maybe not.
She stayed late working on her report, but Dr. Beckelheimer was still busy working when she left. She passed him on her way out.
“Good night, Dr. Beckelheimer.”
“Good night, Dr. Gormey.” He had his eye glued to the eyepiece of his microscope. He didn't look up as she left.
The next morning she was called into her supervisor's office. Dr. Stevens didn't look pleased.
“Dr. Gormey, what's the meaning of this?” He waved a sheath of papers in her face. She caught a glimpse of
Vincent van Gogh
.
Beckelheimer. That smug gnome-lover had printed out her report and turned it in to Dr. Stevens before it was ready. He was out to get her.
“Is that my report on Buccoglossal Syndrome?” At least she'd gotten the term right this time.
“Yes, it is. And it's a travesty. I wouldn't even call this science.”
“I wasn't finished with it yet, sir. But â may I see it?”
“Certainly.” Dr. Stevens handed her the papers. Nellie glanced through it. She couldn't admit to him that she'd written it â he was right. The person who wrote this was clearly not a biochemist.
A marketing genius, maybe, but not a scientist.
And if she was exposed as a fraud, she'd be lucky just to be fired. “This is very serious,” Nellie said, pasting her most concerned expression on her face. “May I ask where you got it?”
“Never mind how I got it. The person who brought it to my attention has been concerned for some time that you are not qualified for your job. And based on this report, he's right.”
“Dr. Stevens, I didn't write this report. Someone is trying to frame me.”
“Dr. Beckelheimer showed it to me. He's one of our best scientists. I trust him completely.”
“You do?” Nellie raised one of her eyebrows as high as it would go, so Dr. Stevens wouldn't miss the hint. “I happen to know he's not trustworthy at all.”
“That is a serious allegation, Dr. Gormey. Do you have proof?”
“Let's just say I can convince you that Dr. Beckelheimer is a crackpot. Give me until lunchÂtime.”
“All right. You have until lunchtime. But if you don't convince me, I'll report you.”
“That won't be necessary,” Nellie said. “You'll see.”
She marched to her office and let out a deep breath. All this bluffing was taking a toll on her. A minute to breathe, and she went back into action. She took out her cell. “Pony, I've got a job for you,” she said when he answered. “And I think it's going to be pretty easy.”
“Anything for you, pretty schoolmarm.”
“What? Pony, did you just call me a schoolmarm?”
“I meant
Nellie
, of course. Nellie.”
“Pony, are you doing your digital cowboy thing again?”
Silence. She had her answer.
“I like you, Pony. But you need to get out more. Not yet, though. First get me what I need.”
“I'm on it like white on rice.”
Within an hour, Pony sent Nellie a dozen photos of Dr. Brent Beckelheimer participating in his unusual weekend activity: gnoming. Unlike most gnomers, Dr. Beckelheimer didn't steal people's garden gnomes and pose for pictures with them. He collected them and dressed up as one in his spare time. Beckelheimer's costume was a green velvet three-piece suit, shiny black shoes, a white beard, and wire-rim glasses, topped with a jolly green velvet cap. And was that belly padding?
No. Dr. Beckelheimer didn't need belly padding.
There was plenty of documentation. Nellie got to work printing out the most embarrassing photos.
“Thank you, Pony.”
“Any time, goddess. Next time give me something a little bit challenging, would ya?”
“Don't worry, Pony. Something challenging will come along. It always does.”
She gave Dr. Beckelheimer a warm smile as she passed his workstation on the way to Dr. Stevens's office. Dr. Beckelheimer nodded back warily. “Oh, you sense that I'm up to something?” Nellie muttered under her breath. “You're darn right I'm up to something. Wait until you find out. . . .”
Dr. Stevens was in a meeting, so she left the photos on his desk with a note.
I don't care what anyone does in his spare time
, she wrote.
But our work here is very sensitive, and I don't think we should risk letting it get into the hands of someone who may be â how shall I put this? â unstable.
Nellie felt a little bad. She really
didn't
care what people did in their spare time, as long as it didn't hurt anyone. Beckelheimer's gnome obsession seemed harmless, but his other extracurricular activities â trying to expose her as a fraud â were not.
Half an hour later, there was a commotion in the lab. Two security guards appeared at Dr. Beckelheimer's workstation.
“Sir, we're escorting you from the building. Please get your personal things and come with us.”
“What?” Dr. Beckelheimer protested. “What is this? What did I do?”
“Take that up with personnel. We've been ordered to escort you from the building. Please do not take any files or other property of Trilon Laboratories.”
Nellie didn't dare leave her office to watch Beckelheimer go. She didn't want to bait him. This wasn't about payback.
Okay, maybe a little bit.
But the most important thing was that she should stay in the good graces of the company â so she could take them down and help her kiddos.
Once things quieted down, Dr. Stevens called her into his office. “Nice work, Dr. Gormey. For helping us weed out dangerous characters, I've decided to promote you to vice president in charge of biochemical research.”
“Vice president? Me? I'm honored.”
Imagine that
, she thought.
Me, Nellie Gomez â I mean, Nadine Gormey â vice president of a drug company! Now that's something to brag about at my next high school reunion.
“Keep up the good work,” Dr. Stevens said.
“Thank you, Dr. Stevens. I will.”
She planned to work harder than ever â just not in the way Dr. Stevens expected her to.
Tikal, Guatemala
They'd spent the whole day searching for Olivia's book, to no avail. Now it was two o'clock in the morning, everyone else was asleep, but Amy was wide awake and pacing, thinking.
Five days to go.
Her thoughts raced in circles like a dog chasing its tail. The antidote. She needed the antidote. Yet for every pang of guilt she felt looking in Dan's eyes, there was a part of her that hoped she'd never take it. When she wasn't reeling from the side effects of the serum, she felt like she would live forever. Why would she want that feeling to end? No way would anything kill her, much less a few silly drops of liquid. She had a lifetime of accomplishments ahead of her. There were books practically writing themselves in her fingertips. Computer programs begging to burst forth from her brain. Her muscles were quivering for a chance to prove themselves in a triathlon, or on a trek up Everest! Taking a helicopter up like she and Dan had done didn't count; she was itching to do it properly â without oxygen!
She stopped short. That didn't make sense. The serum was poison. It was killing her. She'd seen with her own eyes what the serum had done to Ian's mother, Isabel Kabra. She'd felt the tremors.
So where were these thoughts coming from? It was as if her own mind were working against her, sabotaging her. Were these her own genuine thoughts â or were they produced by the serum?
There was a soft knock on her door. She froze. Should she pretend to be asleep?
Before she had time to jump into bed and pull up the covers, Jake opened the door. “Amy â ? I thought I heard you walking around in here.”
He let himself in and shut the door.
“Did I say you could come in?” she snapped. “I didn't say â”
“Shhh.” He pressed a finger against his lips. “You'll wake the boys.”
“What do you want? It's the middle of the night.”
“I know it's the middle of the night. What I want to know is why you're still up. Can't you sleep?”
She sighed and sat down on her bed. What was the point of lying to him? He already knew the truth. “No. I haven't slept since I took the serum.”
His eyes widened. “Amy, I know every second is crucial right now, but you need to rest.”
“Why? I've got nothing but energy. I've got five days to live. Might as well make the most of them,” she joked lamely.
“Yeah, let's fly to Vegas, take the penthouse suite, bet everything you've got on roulette, and live the high life. One last blast before ┠He couldn't finish the joke. The reality was too grim.
She tried to keep the banter going. “Teasing me about my imminent demise,” she said. “That's sweet of you.”
He gave a rueful smile. “You know me. Mr. Hearts and Flowers.”
“Ha. Yeah. Always the romantic.”
He reached for the doorknob. “Look, are you going to go to sleep or not? That's all I came in for.”
“Yes. I'll sleep,” she lied. “Don't worry about me.” He just looked at her. “Don't say anything to Dan,” she added. “About me not sleeping, I mean. I don't want him to worry, either.”
“As if he could help it,” Jake said. “I'll say what I want to Dan. I don't take orders from you.” A few days ago, his words would've stung, but there was no malice in his tone.
“Hey, Jake?” she called as he turned to the door.
He twisted back around. “Yeah?”
“If something does happen to me, you'll take care of him, right? You're so great with Atticus, and Dan will need someone who . . .” She trailed off as Jake's face grew pale. “Never mind. I shouldn't have said anything.”
Jake pressed his lips together for a moment before he spoke. “Of course I will. That goes without saying. But it won't be necessary. We're going to find the ingredients. We'll get you the antidote.” He took a step forward, and for a second it looked like he was about to extend his hand, but then his arm fell back to his side. After everything she'd done to him, nothing short of a helicopter crash could induce Jake to touch her.
“Just get some rest. You'll feel better tomorrow.” He left the room and shut the door.
She knew he was right. She needed rest. She had to keep herself together.
She was the leader. She was in charge.
If she fell apart, so would everything else.
She woke up in the dark, feeling hot and sweaty. What time was it? She looked around for the glow-in-the-dark clock dial but couldn't see it. She couldn't see anything; the darkness was so thick she could almost feel it, she could smell its musty odor.
She lay back and closed her eyes, hoping this terrible feeling, whatever it was, would go away. Sweat poured off her forehead. Why was she so terribly hot? She sat up in a panic. Fire! It must be fire. She thought of her parents, the fire that had killed them both. Could someone want her to die the same way?
Pierce . . .
She jumped out of bed. She had to warn Dan, to save him, to get him out of the burning hotel. She fumbled through the inky darkness, looking for the door. Then she stopped. She heard something. The roar of the fire? No, it was lower, more ominous. A growl.
Was someone in the room with her? Frantically, she spun around. “Who's there?” she shouted.
No one answered. She froze, listening. Silence.
Pierce's men
, she thought.
They've come to get me. To stop me before I can stop them!
Another sound broke the silence. More growling.
That sound isn't human
, she realized.
It's a jaguar!
She groped around the room until she found a heavy book. A stick would have been better, but this would have to do.
In the corner of the room, she saw it: the red glow of the jaguar's eyes trained right at her.
She screamed and threw the book. The eyes merely blinked and inched closer. The jaguar growled soft and low, preparing to pounce. “No!” Amy screamed. She threw herself at the jaguar, attacking it before it could attack her. She reached for its neck, gripping it with her superstrong hands, shaking its head, hoping to keep its razor-sharp teeth from tearing her to shreds.
Then a bright light blinded her and another creature pounced on her, yanking at her arms, pulling her away from the jaguar.
“Stop it! Stop it!” she yelled. “Can't you see it's trying to kill me?”
“Amy! Amy, let go!”
Dan was yanking on her arms, trying to pull them off the jaguar's neck. But . . . it wasn't a jaguar.
It was Jake. She had her hands around his neck. He towered over her, firmly pushing her away, but she was too strong for him now. He grimaced, his eyes wide with terror. She relaxed her grip and collapsed in his arms. “Jake?” This was so confusing. What had happened to the jaguar? Jake led her to her bed. She blinked and rubbed her aching head, while he gingerly touched his sore neck. Dan sat beside her.
“What were you doing, Amy?” Dan asked. “It looked like you were trying to kill him!”
“No . . . no . . .” Dan had switched on the light. The darkness was gone. She could see clearly now. There was no jaguar, no fire. She wasn't hot anymore, though she was still drenched in sweat. In fact, in spite of the jungle heat, she was beginning to feel chilled.
“Jake, are you all right?” she asked.
“Yeah, I'm okay.” Jake rubbed his neck and tried to smile, but it was strained.
“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you, I swear. But I thought ┠She paused, knowing how crazy it would sound.
“Amy, tell me.” Dan was pressing her hand. “What just happened to you?”
“I'm not sure,” Amy said. “I thought a jaguar was in the room, attacking me.”
“I heard you shouting,” Jake explained. “So I came in to see if you were all right, and you leaped at me and ┠He didn't finish.
“Basically tried to strangle him,” Dan said.
Amy began to shake. She'd been hot only a few minutes before, but now she was freezing. “I could swear I heard growling. I saw the cat's glowing eyes right over there.” She pointed at the corner by the door.
“Maybe you were dreaming,” Dan suggested.
“Or hallucinating,” Jake added.
Hallucinating. Oh, no.
Amy tried to clear her mind, but it was still foggy. Her room had been on fire, she'd been sure of it. But then, no, it wasn't a fire, it was a jaguar . . . a jaguar had attacked her. It had seemed so real. . . .
She huddled under the covers, shivering. Her worst fear had come true. It had been nagging at her, this fear, all day, but she wanted so badly to deny it. She was suffering from the side effects.
The serum was affecting her mind. She couldn't trust herself. She was losing control of her muscles, her emotions, and her brain was misfiring, too. Her judgment was suspect. If she was capable of mistaking Jake for a jaguar, what other mistakes might she make?
Dan and Jake were watching her, concern etched on their faces. She felt a sudden rush of affection so intense it made her chest throb.
She had to make a decision now, a decision that was best for all of them. She knew what she had to do. “Dan.” She put her hand over his. “I need to talk to you alone.”
Jake left, shutting the door quietly behind him. Dan sat beside her on the bed, his whole body stiff with worry. “Dan,” Amy said. “I need your help.”
He nodded, still waiting.
“I know I'm asking a lot of you, something very big. I know you want out as soon as we're finished with Pierce. But I need you now . . . . If we don't find the antidote in time and something should happen to me, you'll be the one . . . I mean, you'll have to . . .”
Dan shook his head. “That's not going to happen, Amy. I won't let it. We're going to find the antidote in time, I promise.”
Tears sprang to her eyes and dropped down her cheeks. She wanted to believe him so badly. But she knew how much they were up against. “What I'm saying is, I need you to take charge of the mission. Now.” Dan bit his lip. “I know you don't want to do it,” she said. “But ┠She was surprised at how hard it was to ask for help at last, after refusing it all this time. It took all her strength to admit to weakness. “The serum is acting on me. You saw what just happened.”
“Amy, that wasn't you.”
“Exactly. I'm under the influence of the serum. I can't trust myself. And you shouldn't trust me, either.”
“What are you talking about?” His eyes darted around the room, not meeting hers. He knew where this conversation was headed.
“I'd like to think . . . I'd like to believe that, in spite of everything, if I needed you â really needed you, the way I do now â you could step in and do whatever needs to be done.”
That phrase hung in the air, full of questions, full of terror:
whatever needs to be done.
“Sure, of course, Amy,” he said too quickly. “You know I'll do whatever you need. Just tell me what you want me to do and â”