Lethal Dose (26 page)

56

Things just kept getting better.

At two o'clock on Monday, September 19, less than two hours after the viral task force had met, J. D. Rothery received a call from Tony Warner at the National Security Agency. The news was beyond belief. “One of the pharmaceutical giants has discovered a drug that inhibits the virus from attaching to host cells. And while searching for the inhibitors, they uncovered a drug that appears to inhibit viral genome replication,” Warner said.

“What the hell does that mean?” Rothery asked Warner.

Tony Warner was so excited that he couldn't keep his voice from quivering as he spoke. “They've decoded the virus, J. D. They have a drug that targets the synthesis of viral polymerases. Even once the virus is in the body, this drug can immediately stop its progress. They've got the cure.”

“How sure are you of this?” J. D. asked, his breath coming quicker now.
Jesus, tell me they're positive they've nailed this thing.

“Ninety-nine-point-nine percent, J.D. The CEO and his leading researcher are ready to fly up to D.C. and meet with you. Initial tests are absolutely definitive. Their drug stopped the virus from encoding. And without genome replication, the virus is dead in the water.”

“Fantastic,” Rothery said, wiping his brow, surprised at the wetness on his hand. “Get them up here now.”

“Yeah, boss.”

“By the way, Tony, who did it? Which company?”

“Veritas Pharmaceutical. The guy you'll be meeting with is Bruce Andrews—he's the CEO. His lead researcher on this is Dr. Chiang Wai.”

“Tony, you are the man.”

“I'm the man, J. D.,” Warner said, and hung up.

Rothery stood on wobbly legs and walked to the window. Was this really happening? Were they cutting the threat off at the knees? If Jim Allenby and the SWAT team were successful in locating and shutting down the lab in Orlando and Veritas had the cure to the disease, they were out of the woods. What had appeared to be the mother of all terrorist threats was about to fizzle out. He leaned against the windowsill as he felt his knees buckle. God almighty, the American people had lived through enough of this crap, and they didn't need any more. And maybe that's who was behind the sudden surge of luck. Maybe there was a God and He
was
watching. Maybe He was sick of the horror these radicals inflicted on innocent people and He decided that enough was enough. Perhaps the answers had come from a higher place than the White House or the Pentagon this time. Maybe they had come from Him.

Andrews and Wai arrived at ten minutes to seven in the evening and were ushered directly into the Under Secretary's office. Craig Simms and Tony Warner were present. Jim Allenby was in Orlando, coordinating the raid set for seven o'clock the next morning. Allenby had insisted on having the proper containment equipment on hand when the raid went down, and that equipment took time to assemble. The three remaining members of the Viral Task Force, as the press had dubbed them, were waiting for Andrews and Wai, and all three rose and shook hands when the researchers arrived. They retook their seats and Rothery directed his first question to Bruce Andrews.

“How sure are you that you've got this thing beat?” he asked.

“We were at about ninety-five percent last night, Mr. Under Secretary,” Andrews replied. “But today we're at a hundred percent. We are positive we have a drug that will stop the virus once it's in the body.” Andrews accepted the coffee that was being distributed and continued. “Would you like me to explain? My English is probably a bit better than Dr. Wai's.”

“Please,” Rothery said.

“When we were given the sample of the virus, we immediately attacked the problem by looking at the viral inhibitor. We got lucky. Really lucky. We used a computer model based on the virus and cross-correlated that to the fusion-peptide exposed when the gp41 protein binds and its cellular receptors mutate. It took a few hundred thousand models to get the one we wanted, but where we got lucky was that we started out on the right track. And with the supercomputers we have at Veritas, the modeling was done in one one-millionth of the time it would have taken by conventional methods.”

“What made you decide to take the approach you did?” Rothery asked.

“We've had an antiviral drug sitting on the sidelines for about thirteen months now, waiting for FDA approval. We thought the base structure of that drug may have some bearing here, and we were right. Essentially, the drug we have to combat the virus is almost exactly the same as the drug we had ready for FDA approval. We needed to test it, of course, and that we've done. We are positive we have the drug to stop this virus.”

“Would your drug work on Ebola as well?” Rothery asked. “I understand this virus is quite similar to Ebola.”

“Similar in some aspects and very different in others. They are both hemorrhagic viruses, but their cellular structure is not at all the same. This drug cannot stop Ebola.”

“Well, what's important right now is that we've got a cure for the disease once it's been contracted.” Rothery turned to the researcher who had accompanied Bruce Andrews to the meeting. “Do you concur, Dr. Wai? Do we have a cure?”

“Yes,” Dr. Wai said. “That's what we have.”

“Excellent. Then let's get our teams working together to get the drug out of the labs and into the hands of emergency rooms and public and private clinics across the country. How long will it take you to move into a production stage, Mr. Andrews?”

Andrews scratched his chin thoughtfully. “We've got a hurdle to cross before we can get to that point, Mr. Rothery.”

Rothery's smile immediately disappeared. “What hurdle?” he asked. His voice was anxious.

“It's nothing that will hold us up, but it's something that must be done. Veritas cannot bring a drug to market without FDA approval. We will not allow even one pill outside our labs until the FDA stamps their approval on our technology.”

“Why hasn't that happened already?” Rothery asked.

“We're stuck in the NDA stage. That's the New Drug Application. We submitted our application complete with all our clinical trials about a year ago. We've been held up by red tape ever since.”

“Why?” Rothery asked. “Is there something wrong with the drug?”

Andrews shook his head. “Nothing that would make it stand out among all the other drugs on the market these days. There are side effects, but every drug has some sort of downside. Zancor is no different.”

“Zancor?”

“That's the trade name for this drug. When it hits the shelves, that's what retail customers will ask for, likeViagra or Accutane.”

“What can we do to get FDA approval?” Rothery asked.

Andrews shrugged. “I don't know. We've been dealing with one of their lead investigators, Barry Flath, since we first filed for an NDA. He's the guy you should talk to.”

“I'll call him,”Tony Warner said.“I've met Barry a few times at professional functions. He's not a bad guy.” He turned to Rothery. “I'll get him to contact you if he's got any problems with issuing an approval on short notice. These are extenuating circumstances. He'll come around.”

“Get him to come around quickly, Tony,” Rothery said. “We need that drug.”

57

By six-twelve, the sun was peeking over the eastern regions of Orlando. Streetlamps on timers switched off and traffic lights reverted back from in-ground sensors to timed operations. City crews pulled out of the lots and the first morning flights readied for departure at Orlando International. All in all, it was just another normal Tuesday morning in the city that was host to Walt Disney World. Everywhere except on a quiet stretch of Dowden Road.

Sixty-four law-enforcement officers, forty-one from the Orlando PD and twenty-three FBI agents, were in position and waiting for the word from Jim Allenby, who was directly across the street on the second floor of a similar industrial warehouse. At six-seventeen, Allenby had the two-way radio in his hand and was preparing to give the order when a Cadillac Escalade pulled into the parking lot and parked directly in front of the access door to the bay. A solitary figure was in the car. The backup lights flashed as the driver shifted the SUV into park, and a second later the door opened. Ismail Zehaden exited the vehicle.

“Everyone hold your positions,” Allenby said. “Our guy just showed up. Let's wait for him to get inside.”

Zehaden glanced about, walked to the main door, fumbled with his keys, opened the door, and entered the warehouse. A light went on in the front office and Allenby watched as Zehaden moved through the open space to the door that led to the rear of the bay. He opened the door and disappeared from view.

“All units go,” Allenby said. “And be advised we have one hostile in the rear of the building.”

Seven vehicles appeared in the next few seconds. Dark Bureau cars filled with FBI agents, marked Orlando police cars, and a SWAT van careened into position outside the front of the building and men poured from the vehicles, moving quickly into the target bay. Allenby's radio squawked and a voice came across the air informing him that the second team was moving into the rear of the building. He left his listening post and scrambled down the stairs. As he ran across the street, the reports came over the walkie-talkie. The building was secure, Ismail Zehaden in custody. He raced through the front door, crossed the office space, and entered the rear of the building.

Against the far side of the industrial bay was a series of five glass-enclosed tables, each one covered with radically differing types of glassware and three Acculab scales. A number of polarizing microscopes lined one table and two Eberbach shakers and a Turner spectrophotometer were among the highly technical electronic equipment. A HEPA filter was attached to each of the five glass structures. Adjacent to the five enclosed labs was a series of unprotected tables, some piled with black containers about one cubic foot each. Standing alone and in front of one of the tables was Ismail Zehaden. At least thirty guns were trained on the man.

“Ismail Zehaden?” Allenby asked as he walked into the open area between the SWAT troops and FBI agents and the terrorist.

“Yes, I am Ismail Zehaden,” the man said. “What is going on here?”

“Good question,” Allenby said. “What's with all the equipment?”

Zehaden glanced over his shoulder at the lab, then back to Allenby. “I have no idea. I've never seen this stuff before.”

“Do you own this warehouse?” Allenby asked.

“Yes.”

“Then who else would have set up this operation?”

The man's response was angry. “I don't know. I have nothing to do with any of this. And I want your men to stop pointing their guns at me immediately.”

“What you want is quite unimportant right now,” Allenby said. “Step away from the table.”

“What is all this stuff?” Zehaden said. “I demand to know what the hell is going on.”

“Step away from the table,” Allenby said. “Now.”

“I'm not moving until someone tells me what this is all about.” Zehaden turned and looked over the containers piled on the table behind him. “Where did all this equipment come from?”

“Mr. Zehaden, it's imperative you move away from that table and put your hands over your head immediately.”

Zehaden reached over and made a motion to pick up one of the containers. Allenby yelled for him to stop, but the man was intent on grabbing the closest box.

“It could contain the virus,” Allenby yelled. “Don't let him pick it up.”

There was only one option open to the SWAT team. No one could get to Zehaden before he reached the containers. At least ten SWAT team members opened fire simultaneously, each with a single killing shot. Zehaden took every bullet in the chest, his body jerking spasmodically as the slugs tore through his flesh and ripped into his heart and lungs. The shots came from different angles, pushing his body one way then the other, the impacts canceling each other. The net result was a corpse, still standing where a live person had stood two seconds before. The gunfire, which sounded almost like a single shot, diminished and the echoes inside the warehouse died out. For another second or two, Zehaden remained upright, then gravity went to work and he collapsed in a bloody heap a couple of feet from the table with the containers.

Allenby was the first agent to reach the body. He stared down at the Arab with disgust and gave the corpse a nudge with the toe of his shoe. There was no movement. Blood was spreading out on the concrete, and he moved back so the thick brown liquid didn't soil his shoes.

“Secure the area,” he said to the leader of the SWAT team. He turned to his second in command. “Get the experts in here and let's find out if we've got the right place. I want to know if the virus is here, and if it is, in what quantity.”

“Yes, sir,” the agent said.

Allenby let his eyes run over the glass-enclosed lab. The operation was definitely high-tech. The tables were polished steel, with solid tubular legs and one stainless-steel chair in each enclosure. The equipment was clean and well organized, with rows upon rows of tubes and beakers, culture dishes, and state-of-the-art centrifuges. Including the HEPA filters, millions of dollars in hardware.

Millions of dollars spent with one goal in mind. To kill innocent people.

Jim Allenby turned his back on the scene and walked out. His people could clean up. He would wait for the experts to determine whether they had the right lab, then he would make a phone call. And right now, one man sat next to his phone in L'Enfant Plaza, wondering when that call would come, and when it did, what would be the news.

58

He was expecting the call, but when it came, he hesitated before picking up the phone. The next few seconds were crucial. The country was embroiled in severe crisis, fighting a horrific disease with a new wonder drug, but would they still be wondering where the production facilities were or would they know? That was the question this call would answer. Slowly, he closed his hand on the phone and lifted it to his ear.

“Rothery,” he said. At least to him, his voice sounded weak.

“We got it,” Jim Allenby said. “We got the lab, J. D.”

Rothery let out a long breath. “Are you sure, Jim?” he asked.

“Positive. The CDC guys are all over it. They've identified traces of the virus and have confirmed that the setup is correct for viral production. They've quarantined the building and will be dismantling the operation and moving it to the U.S. Army Medical Research Institute of Infectious Diseases at Fort Detrick. They'll put it in storage and keep it for evidence. Not that we'll be pressing charges against Ismail Zehaden.”

“Why not?” Rothery asked.

“Zehaden showed up just as we were getting ready to go in.

He made a move for a container we thought may contain the virus. The SWAT team took him out.”

“He's dead?”

“Very. Took at least ten bullets to the chest.”

“Okay, it shouldn't be hard to sell that to the general public. This guy is ready to dump a ton of lethal virus on us, and when we catch him in the lab we shoot him. Pretty cut-and-dried.”

“Yeah,” Allenby said. “But we do have one small problem, J. D.”

Rothery stiffened. Jim Allenby didn't play stupid games. Something was wrong. “What is it, Jim?”

“There's no stockpile of virus in the lab. Whatever was manufactured here has been moved.”

“Christ Almighty,” Rothery said. “So whatever plan Zehaden had in mind could potentially still play out. He's sure to have other members inside his cell that are responsible for getting the virus out into the community.”

“I would think so.”

“Jim, get every man and woman you have on this. Find out what's been going on around the warehouse in the last couple of weeks. Have there been delivery trucks, unmarked half-tons, or vans pulling in or out? Was there more human activity than normal? Were they working odd hours?Whatever. Find out if anyone noticed anything. We need to find out where that virus went.”

“Yes, sir,” Allenby said. “I've got a full contingent of agents with me. We're already on it.”

“Thanks, Jim,” Rothery said, hanging up the phone. He hit the intercom button and his receptionist came on the speakerphone. “Get me Barry Flath at the Food and Drug Administration.” He was getting impatient waiting for Tony Warner to get back to him with the results of his conversation with the FDA employee. Less than two minutes later, the phone buzzed.

“Barry Flath on line two, sir.”

“Barry,” Rothery said. “How are you this morning?”

“Well, thank you,” Flath said. “How can I help you, Mr. Rothery?”

“How are things going on approving Zancor?”

“I have a problem with that, Mr. Rothery. I've already discussed this with Tony Warner.”

“What problem?” Rothery asked. The ice in his voice could have frozen the fiber-optic cable that connected the two men.

“Well, there are side effects to the drug that concern me. I'm not going to get technical with you, sir, but they can be quite serious at times.”

“Bruce Andrews at Veritas has indicated that many of the drugs the FDA has approved have serious side effects. Is that true?”

“Well, yes, I suppose. But we measure things by evaluating the benefits of the drug as they relate to the downside. Zancor is, in my opinion, not worthy of FDA approval. The benefits don't outweigh the corresponding side effects.”

“Listen to me very closely, Barry. Unless Zancor kills people outright, the benefits now far outweigh whatever the side effects are. This drug is necessary to stop the spread of a hemorrhagic virus that could be released in two days. I want the approval, Barry, and I want it today.”

“This is highly irregular, Mr. Rothery,” Flath said. “I'm not used to being threatened.”

“Well, Barry, get used to it. If you don't approve Zancor and people start to die because the cure is tied up in red tape, I'll make sure the entire world knows it was you who refused to okay the drug that could have stopped the virus in its tracks.You will be the most hated man in America, and a hero to al-Qaeda.”

“These threats are not necessary, Mr. Rothery.”

“Then what is?”

“I'm just concerned that once I approve this drug, it will become a household name and some people will suffer. I'm not kidding when I say there is a real downside to this medication. And if this hits the shelves, it will be widely used.”

“So just pull the approval down the road. You guys recall drugs all the time.”

“Recalls are not that simple, Mr. Rothery. “We need definitive proof that a drug is dangerous. And with the side effects that Zancor causes, that may be hard to prove.”

“Jesus, Barry, you're all over the map. First you say it's dangerous, now you tell me you won't be able to prove it's dangerous.”

“If you have the time, I can explain it to you, but it's complicated. Zancor is an antiviral medicine, and patients only take the meds when they're sick or have an infection. It's like Cipro, the Bayer Pharmaceuticals antibacterial drug that was so effective against the anthrax scare of 2003. Three hundred million people have taken Cipro, but none of those users have taken the drug long-term. So does Cipro have a downside? We don't think so, but without a test group who are on the meds for a long time, it's difficult to say. And that's the problem we'll run into with Zancor, except we know it has some ugly side effects.”

“I appreciate the explanation, Mr. Flath, but I'm running out of time. I have a press conference set for just after nine o'clock this morning. That's in about ten minutes. I need an answer right now.”

There was dead air on the phone for at least thirty seconds. Finally, Barry Flath said, “All right, Mr. Rothery, you've got your approval. I'll have the paperwork completed and sent over to Veritas by noon today.”

“Thank you, Barry. And could you please send a copy of that approval to my office as well?”

“Yes, sir.” The line died a quick death.

Rothery punched the intercom button again. “Are the guys from Veritas here?” he asked.

“Yes, Mr. Rothery.”

“I'll be right out. Call down and let the press know we're on our way.”

“Yes, sir.”

Rothery tidied up his desk, which entailed pushing one piece of paper to the side. He stared at the polished wood, then around the office. He had worked so hard for so long to achieve this position. And now he had proved to the nation that when the forest was on fire, he was the guy to douse it. He had put together a cohesive team that had checked their egos at the door and brought the resources of their respective agencies to the table. Through interagency cooperation on the highest level, they had found the source of the virus and had stimulated the private sector to find a cure. Christ, he couldn't have orchestrated a better outcome if he had tried. He checked his watch. Nine o'clock. Time to face the press.

He met Bruce Andrews and Dr. Chiang Wai in the reception area and the three of them proceeded down to the pressrelease room. Andrews just nodded that he understood when informed that FDA approval was immediately forthcoming on the new drug.

“That's good news, Mr. Under Secretary,” Andrews said. “We'll begin production without delay.”

“Excellent. Coordinate the release of the drugs through Tony Warner over at NSA. They've got a great network in place. Let's make use of it. You can bill his agency for the cost of the drugs, and I'll have him forward that to the appropriate department afterward.”

“Yes, sir,” Andrews said. They reached the elevator, and as they waited for it to arrive on their floor, Andrews asked, “What are we going to say at the press conference?”

Rothery smiled. “You and Dr. Wai are going to tell the nation that you've beat this thing. You've discovered a cure, and that the threat from the virus is almost nonexistent. You may want to mention what some of the early symptoms are, in case the terrorists manage to release the virus. That way anyone who is infected can get to the nearest medical center quickly.”

“I understand,” Andrews said.

The elevator doors opened and the three men moved inside. The doors closed and the elevator headed down to the main floor to where the press waited. An entire nation waited for the elevator. They waited by their television sets to hear what J.D. Rothery had to say. And today, the American people had some good news coming their way.