Read Kingdom of the Seven Online
Authors: Jon Land
Kingdom of the Seven (4 page)
“The subway!” McCracken realized, back on his feet fast.
Ahmed El-Salarabi thundered across the women’s department and through one of the glass doors leading into the subway stop beneath Bloomingdale’s, briefcase flapping against his side. The jeans he had pulled on, even cuffed, were much too long, and they sagged low at the waist. His shirt, tags and all, hung clumsily over them. Confusion plagued him. The identities of the gunmen he had glimpsed on the street and then narrowly escaped upstairs remained a total mystery. El-Salarabi’s initial thought upon confronting McCracken in the men’s department was that they had been part of his team. But when their fire included the infidel in its spray, this assumption was proven wrong.
The terrorist hurdled over the turnstile without inserting his token, nearly snagging the bottoms of his too long jeans on steel in the process.
“Hey!” screamed a transit worker.
El-Salarabi turned only long enough to fire at the man before he could offer pursuit. A train was rolling to a halt before him. The doors hissed open. Before El-Salarabi
could enter the train, though, a barrage of automatic fire shattered the subway car window just to his right. The terrorist dropped to his knees and tried to use the cover of the panicked throng about him to slide along the train’s length toward the next door. It closed just before he reached it. The train started to move. El-Salarabi rose to a crouch and searched frantically for his assailant.
could enter the train, though, a barrage of automatic fire shattered the subway car window just to his right. The terrorist dropped to his knees and tried to use the cover of the panicked throng about him to slide along the train’s length toward the next door. It closed just before he reached it. The train started to move. El-Salarabi rose to a crouch and searched frantically for his assailant.
A stitch of automatic fire sliced into his midsection and jolted him backward. He slammed into the rolling train as it gathered speed and hung there briefly before the momentum pitched him back onto the platform. The gunman rushed over and reached down for the briefcase still in his grasp.
Before he could pry it from the terrorist’s death grip, Blaine and Johnny burst into the station with pistols spitting fire. The mystery gunman tried to reach his Mac-10, but bullets from both their guns thumped into his chest and midsection before he could grab it. Impact threw him backward down onto the tracks. McCracken reached the edge of the platform and fixed his gun upon the figure sprawled limply ten feet below, keeping it steady until satisfied the man was dead.
Johnny Wareagle, meanwhile, had unzipped the briefcase peeled from El-Salarabi’s death grip and withdrawn its contents. He scanned the first few pages before gazing over at McCracken.
“You better have a look at these, Blainey.”
“They’re ready for you, Dr. Raymond.”
Karen Raymond gathered the bound reports from her lap and rested the videocassette atop them. Steadying herself with a final deep breath, she rose and started for the conference room.
Gentlemen, the Jardine-Marra Company is now in possession of what may be the greatest discovery in the history of medical science … .
She had considered a hundred different opening lines for her presentation and summarily rejected them all. This was a moment she, along with the entire pharmaceutical and medical communities, had been anticipating for more than a decade. Dashed hopes and unrealistic expectations had marred those years for hundreds of research teams working for dozens of companies and institutions that dwarfed JM, not to mention the government itself. The best scientific minds in the business had been applied to this problem. That the solution might come from a pharmaceutical company too small to make anything but the
daily NASDAQ small-capital listings was nearly inconceivable.
daily NASDAQ small-capital listings was nearly inconceivable.
Jardine-Marra was located, appropriately enough, diagonally across from the Salk Institute in Torrey Pines Industrial Park. Situated in northern La Jolla, in actuality a part of San Diego, Torrey Pines contains a large number of biotech firms of the cutting edge of current technology. JM was the only pharmaceutical representative in the group, and up until today, perhaps the most innocuous of all the occupants.
Halfway to the conference room, Karen caught her own reflection in a mirror-glass piece of modern art hanging from the wall. She had mulled over her choice of outfits today longer and harder than even her opening line, ultimately settling on a conservative gray tweed suit. She questioned now leaving her hair down and tumbling instead of tying it up in a more conservative fashion. Her normal hairstyle made her look almost too youthful, more a graduate assistant than a research head. She also thought it might have been wise to forsake her contact lenses for glasses. She reflected that perhaps even her athletic, wellmuscled frame might work against her, a look achieved only by daily workouts on her exercise machines no matter how tired she might be after putting her two sons to bed.
Nonsense, she thought. This wouldn’t be the first time she had addressed JM’s directors, after all; only the first time she had been responsible for summoning them together.
The seven-man board, nary a woman, rose as their director of research and product development entered the room.
“I’m sorry we kept you waiting,” the company president, Alexander MacFarlane, greeted, stepping over to meet her near the door.
MacFarlane seemed to have been chiseled out of this very boardroom where he held court. His suits were inevitably brown, olive, or taupe, the dominant shades of the walls, floor, furniture, even the Oriental rug on which the conference table was perched. He was tall and lean, graceful
for his years, with teeth bright enough to be a schoolboy’s. The furniture in the boardroom was for the most part antique, any nicks and scratches carried as furrows of experience rather than scars, just like the creases on MacFarlane’s face. The table itself was rich mahogany, the chairs squared and heavy.
for his years, with teeth bright enough to be a schoolboy’s. The furniture in the boardroom was for the most part antique, any nicks and scratches carried as furrows of experience rather than scars, just like the creases on MacFarlane’s face. The table itself was rich mahogany, the chairs squared and heavy.
Alexander McFarlane had picked each piece out personally, testaments to his belief in substance. He approached the hiring of personnel with the same commitment, which meant meeting with each potential employee. It was MacFarlane who had brought Karen into the company, and he had personally overseen her advancement. Any number of companies had expressed initial interest based strictly on her academic record. But a shaky personal life that left her raising two small boys by herself turned all of them away from offering her a high-level position, with the exception of MacFarlane at JM. She had come to the company eight years before. Hard work and proven results had led to steady advancement, culminating in her being named chief of the research and development department eighteen months ago. Alex’s refusal to consider any other applicant despite the board’s recommendations was about to be vindicated.
Dr. Karen Raymond tightened her grip on the set of seven half-inch binders and curled her fingers over the boxed videocassette.
“Thank you for coming on such short notice, gentlemen,” she greeted. “It couldn’t be helped, I’m afraid. But in a few minutes I’m sure you’ll agree the trip was well worth it.”
Chairman of the Board Roger Updike, who had been the primary opponent to her promotion, shifted uneasily. Updike was a stocky, big-faced man who for some reason continued to comb hairs that looked to be in the single digits across the top of his head. The effect, coupled with the ever-present frown on his face, reminded Karen of the villainous Simon Bar Sinister character from the “Underdog” cartoon her younger son watched daily.
Eyeing him subtly, Karen reached the head of the conference table and stopped. The VCR was set up immediately to the right on a shelf beneath a thirty-two-inch Sony Trinitron. She rested the videocassette atop it and distributed the black Velobound reports down each side of the table, one to every member.
“You have before you the results of five years of research I initiated and have continued to supervise in my new capacity,” she announced.
The men, none of them chemists other than MacFarlane and having only a rudimentary understanding of the field, flipped through the pages, barely comprehending what was before them.
“My God,” muttered Alexander MacFarlane, eyes bulging as he read the contents of the third page.
“Pages three through seven accurately summarize the results of the study,” Karen continued. “In a nutshell, gentlemen, Jardine-Marra is now in possession of a vaccine for HIV, the virus that causes AIDS.”
The men’s mouths dropped as one. A few flipped quickly to the first page in question, adjusting their glasses. The rest simply sat there in dumbstruck amazement.
“Why weren’t we advised of this earlier?” demanded Roger Updike.
“You were,” Karen told him. “I have issued quarterly reports for the past four years on our progress with developing an AIDS vaccine. If you recall, my yearly report detailed the rather impressive results of our testing on chimpanzees.”
Updike’s eyes darted up from the summary material on page seven of the report before him. “Indeed. But at the same time I seem to recall that the federal government didn’t think much of the direction you were proceeding and refused to fund the project further.”
Karen swallowed hard. “I was able to find alternative methods to fund the preliminary human-stage testing.”
“I’ll take responsibility for that,” Alexander MacFarlane interjected. “Dr. Raymond came to me with a bare-bones budget to pursue the project, and I approved it.”
“Without our consent, obviously,” Updike snapped.
“I didn’t feel it was necessary to inform you.”
“And neither did you feel it necessary to keep us updated on the progress of the project.”
“On my insistence,” Karen said firmly. “I elected to hold that information back from all of you, including Mr. MacFarlane, as a matter of security.”
“Security?” raised Updike, veins pulsing along his temples.
“Until we were sure, you understand.”
“No, Dr. Raymond, I don’t.”
“We had to avoid leaks at all costs,” Karen told him. “Unwelcome scrutiny would have burdened us with more attention than we could afford as we took Lot 35 to the human testing stage.”
“Lot 35?” Updike questioned.
“That’s the clinical name we have given to the vaccine.” “Actually,” Alexander McFarlane corrected, “vaccine
candidate
at this stage.”
candidate
at this stage.”
“A very good candidate, though,” Karen said, a slight layer of defensiveness lacing her voice. “The results are all there before you, but let me summarize them. We gave the vaccine to thirty healthy volunteers. Twenty-seven of these developed antibodies that neutralized the AIDS virus in test tubes. Furthermore, we observed no significant side effects in the volunteers themselves.”
Karen moved to the VCR and popped in the tape she had brought with her.
“Alex, if you could get the lights, please …”
MacFarlane flipped switches until the only light was the glow off the television. The screen went black briefly and then lit up with what might have been a scene from a science fiction film; dozens of pinkish gray forms battling for space amidst a black grid.
“What you are about to see, gentlemen, is a computer
simulation of how HIV invades the system,” Karen narrated. “Each of the forms displayed before you represents a cell. The virus has to be able to bond to a cell in order to multiply and spread.”
simulation of how HIV invades the system,” Karen narrated. “Each of the forms displayed before you represents a cell. The virus has to be able to bond to a cell in order to multiply and spread.”
Suddenly on the screen small blue shapes appeared. They slid about between the digitized cells like characters in a video game, ultimately lodging themselves against the outer walls of perhaps a quarter of the pinkish gray cellular forms and then slowly penetrating them.
“We have known for some time,” Karen continued, “that the HIV virus will bind to certain cell shapes before others.”
“But all these look the same,” interrupted Roger Updike.
“I was speaking of
molecular
shape and composition, Mr. Updike, not physical structure. It’s nothing you can actually see and, until very recently, even were able to detect.” She turned toward the screen, where all the blue invaders had found homes within the pinkish gray cellular forms. “We thought the invasion process was simply random. The discovery that something far more specific and identifiable was going on became the launching point for our research. As you can see in this computer-enhanced demonstration, the infection spreads by reproducing itself in the cell and then entering the blood once the cell dies. But if it were trapped in the receptor and couldn’t get out, then the virus would be rendered impotent. And we know there are many more receptors than free virus in the blood.”
molecular
shape and composition, Mr. Updike, not physical structure. It’s nothing you can actually see and, until very recently, even were able to detect.” She turned toward the screen, where all the blue invaders had found homes within the pinkish gray cellular forms. “We thought the invasion process was simply random. The discovery that something far more specific and identifiable was going on became the launching point for our research. As you can see in this computer-enhanced demonstration, the infection spreads by reproducing itself in the cell and then entering the blood once the cell dies. But if it were trapped in the receptor and couldn’t get out, then the virus would be rendered impotent. And we know there are many more receptors than free virus in the blood.”
As if on cue, the screen changed to a fresh scene of untouched cells. This time forms outlined in white had joined the pinkish gray shapes in battling for position across the black grid. Karen waited silently for another wave of blue simulated HIV viral capsules to make their appearance, repeating the same swimming dance as before. This time, though, the only cells they lodged against were the ones outlined in white.
“The white forms that the HIV has bonded to this time are modified human blood cells,” she explained, “modified
to contain attached receptors that mimic the molecular structure that HIV is unalterably most attracted to. But since they contain no DNA, there is no way for HIV to reproduce—a deadend. In essence, we defeat the virus by tricking it. Once injected, our vaccine produces the mimic receptors that attach to the red blood cells, which then act like magnets for any HIV cells entering the body. If infection does occur, it can’t reproduce and thus it can’t spread.”
to contain attached receptors that mimic the molecular structure that HIV is unalterably most attracted to. But since they contain no DNA, there is no way for HIV to reproduce—a deadend. In essence, we defeat the virus by tricking it. Once injected, our vaccine produces the mimic receptors that attach to the red blood cells, which then act like magnets for any HIV cells entering the body. If infection does occur, it can’t reproduce and thus it can’t spread.”
Karen hit STILL and the picture froze in place. “This is an offshoot of the Trojan horse approach that’s been tried unsuccessfully in the past with AIDS vaccines, both preventative and therapeutic. Because the federal government saw our methods as just another variation, they refused further funding. I admit it was a long shot. All the hard work aside, the bottom line is we got lucky.”
“So did Salk with polio,” MacFarlane reminded.
“Are you saying Lot 35 is actually a therapeutic vaccine as well as a preventative one?” asked a third director, the youngest on the board.
“I’m afraid not. Our research has found that once HIV begins its rampant invasion of the body through the blood, its virulence is such that it is no longer limited to a narrow choice of receptor shapes. Any, in fact, will do, so the Trojan horse approach would have only a limited impact.”
“But what you are saying,” picked up a suddenly conciliatory Roger Updike, “is that Lot 35 never gives the virus a chance to get that far in previously uninfected subjects.”
“In fact, Lot 35 never gives HIV a chance to get anywhere at all. Keep in mind, gentlemen, that this is a treacherous disease we’re dealing with, treacherous because it doesn’t play by the normal rules. A vaccine that tests positive in one person may not in another because of the infinite number of forms the virus is capable of taking on. But the principles Lot 35 was founded on suggest it will work on
all
of them, because Lot 35 lets, actually encourages, the virus in any form to do what it does best:
bond to the cells it is most attracted to.” She paused long enough to swing her gaze about the men before her. “I called you all here today because, in spite of all this, we still lack the hard documentation needed to change the government’s mind about further funding for this project. Proceeding thus means doing so on our own.”
all
of them, because Lot 35 lets, actually encourages, the virus in any form to do what it does best:
bond to the cells it is most attracted to.” She paused long enough to swing her gaze about the men before her. “I called you all here today because, in spite of all this, we still lack the hard documentation needed to change the government’s mind about further funding for this project. Proceeding thus means doing so on our own.”
“Entailing …”
“Entailing, Mr. Updike, a large-scale study involving in the area of one thousand test subjects.”
“Timetable?”
“Eighteen months before we could present the necessary documentation to the FDA.”
“Cost?”
Karen didn’t waver. “Seventy-five million dollars.”
The members of the board of directors traded uneasy glances.
“That’s a tremendous amount of money for us to come up with, Doctor,” Updike said. “Failure on your part could mean the bankrupting of Jardine-Marra.”
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