Lethal Dose (27 page)

59

The news conference was a highly anticipated event. Rothery had readied the media and the American people for news of some substance. The cat was long since out of the bag, and it was common knowledge that an unknown terrorist cell, with suspected ties to al-Qaeda, had a deadly virus they were threatening to unleash on the United States.

Gordon and Jennifer were seated in the restaurant at the Fairfield Inn watching CNN, and when the Under Secretary of the Department of Homeland Defense strode into the press room and took the podium, the restaurant manager turned up the volume. A hush fell over the diners as Rothery shuffled a couple of papers about.

“What do you think he's going to say?” Gordon asked Jennifer, stirring some cream into his coffee.

She shrugged. “They're dealing with a hemorrhagic virus, Gordon. I'd be surprised if they've made any headway.”

“We have some good news to report this morning,” Rothery said, looking up from his notes into the camera. “This morning at 0630 hours, a task force consisting of FBI agents and Orlando Police Department SWAT teams raided an industrial bay near the Orlando International Airport. Inside the building was a fully functional laboratory, designed to produce the hemorrhagic virus that has been threatening our country. The building, identified as a target due to the large number of highly sophisticated HEPA filters that were found on-site, is owned by an American citizen, Ismail Zehaden, who showed up at the lab just as the raid was about to begin. Mr. Zehaden was captured inside the building, and when he tried to grab a container that police suspected may contain the virus, he was shot and killed.

“The lab and the surrounding buildings are under a strict quarantine at this time, and members of the Centers for Disease Control are assessing the situation. We are quite sure of one thing at this time. We have shut down the production facilities for the virus.” Rothery shifted his papers, then continued. “But that does not mean that this threat is not still very real. It is. There remains the possibility that the terrorists have moved some of the virus from the lab and may be prepared to use it against us. We cannot ignore this threat. It is very real.

“To that end, I have additional good news.” He turned and motioned to someone off camera. “Our task force enlisted not only the resources of the various government agencies with research-and-development capabilities, but also those companies in the private sector with similar resources. Many of the major pharmaceutical companies agreed to help and created research teams specifically geared to finding a drug that would combat the virus. One of these companies was successful.”

The camera widened a bit and the two men who had been just off to Rothery's left moved onto the podium and came into view: Bruce Andrews and a slender man of Chinese descent dressed in a three-piece suit.

“Well, I'll be damned,” Jennifer said, her hand, holding a teacup, stopping in midair. “Look who it is.”

“I'm joined this morning by the CEO of Veritas Pharmaceutical, Bruce Andrews, and one of his research scientists, Dr. Chiang Wai. Veritas Pharmaceutical has discovered a drug that can penetrate the virus and kill it. I'm going to leave the technical details to the scientists to explain, but the bottom line is this: These men and their team at Veritas have in a very short period of time and under incredible pressure created a drug capable of stopping the virus even after the victim has been infected. They have created a drug that will save lives, countless lives.”

He moved aside and Bruce Andrews stepped up to the microphone. He waited for the clapping to stop, then said, “I'm not the technical expert here, but my English is a little better than Dr. Wai's, so I'll try to explain the best I can. Initially, we had to concentrate on one of three distinct methods of attacking the virus: inhibiting viral attachment and entry, stopping the virus from uncoating or inhibiting the viral genome replication. We chose to use the genome replication method…”

“No way,” Jennifer said, shaking her head. “Absolutely no way.”

Gordon looked away from the television set, where Andrews was now using layman's terms to explain the process they had used to defeat the virus.“What do you mean, no way?” he asked.

“There is no way on earth that they found a method of inhibiting the genome replication of a hemorrhagic virus in one week. Not one chance in a million.”

“What are you saying?” Gordon asked.

“I'm not sure,” she said, setting her teacup on the table and listening to the rest of Andrews's monologue. When he had finished, she took a couple sips of tea. “You have problems in Montana with beetles killing the Ponderosa pines, don't you?”

“Sure. Pine beetles. It's a huge problem.”

“Okay, then, here's an analogy. Pine beetles attack your forest, threatening to destroy three million acres of healthy pines. The forestry service panics, calls every company that produces pesticides, and asks them to concentrate on developing a spray that will kill the beetle and not harm the trees. They've got one week to find the answer. And guess what? One of the companies comes through. They have the answer to a problem that has eluded every research team at every pesticide company for years. The pine beetle problem is solved overnight. What are the chances?”

“Zero,” Gordon said, nodding. “Good analogy.”

“There's no way in hell Andrews came up with that drug in that short a time period. No way.” She stopped and stared at the television as Dr. Chiang Wai spoke in halting English. “I know that man,” she said. “But from where?”

“That's probably not unusual,” Gordon said. “You and he work at the same company.”

“It's a huge company, Gordon. And I've only seen him once or twice.” She racked her brain, trying to dredge up the memory. It wouldn't come. “Damn it, I can't remember.”

“Not a big deal,” Gordon said. “So what does all this mean, these totally unrealistic time frames?”

“I would say that Veritas already had the drug. In fact, that makes perfect sense. Andrews wouldn't release the drug to the market without FDA approval, and that takes time. It takes years. Which means Veritas had a drug in the pipeline, already in for NDA.”

“What's NDA?” Gordon asked.

“New Drug Application. It's the big hurdle with the FDA. They demand positive Phase III trials and make you jump through a number of very difficult hoops before they issue their approval on an NDA.”

“So you're saying Veritas already had this drug in its arsenal. ‘All dressed up and nowhere to go' sort of thing.”

“Yeah,” Jennifer said slowly. Then she snapped her fingers and said, “I know where I saw that researcher. He was at the White Oak facility back in late August when I got called out to check over some erroneous results in the lab. It was at the entrance to the brain chip lab. He was arguing with one of the moving men.” The color drained from her face and she stared at Gordon, her mouth open.

“What's wrong?” he asked.

She tried to speak, but nothing came. She picked up a glass of water and drank almost half of it. “Gordon, when I was in the lab the night I saw Dr. Wai—or whatever his name is—there was a moving crew there.”

“Right. You said Wai was arguing with one of them.”

“I didn't hear what he was saying, but I did see what they were moving.”

“What?” Gordon asked.

“High-efficiency HEPA filters.”

Gordon leaned back in his chair. “Like the ones they found this morning at the lab in Orlando?”

She nodded. “Probably. I can't say for sure. But I can certainly tell you that something isn't adding up here. Andrews has a drug ready for NDA approval that is capable of killing a virus that appears at just the right moment. And the task force locates the lab in the nick of time. How? How did they find the lab? It could have been anywhere on the planet, and they've only got a few days to sort through hundreds of thousands of tips from every person who thought they saw something unusual. Yet they key in on the right one and find the lab. What are the chances?”

“Pretty slim,” Gordon agreed.

“And then we've got extremely high-end HEPA filtration systems being moved out of White Oak while the clandestine lab was uncovered due to someone noticing high-efficiency HEPA filters in some obscure warehouse in Orlando. Christ, this is something out of a James Bond movie.”

“What are you suggesting?” Gordon asked, leaning forward.

Jennifer shook her head. “I don't know what I'm suggesting, Gordon. Just that something is all wrong here. Things are too perfect.” She leaned forward and cupped her head in her hands, staring at the table.“I've got to think, put this all together.”

Gordon watched her as she sat unmoving, her eyes closed and her fingers gently rubbing her temples.
What is going through that mind?
he wondered. She was a brilliant woman in more than just the sciences, and he felt almost privileged at times to have become a part of her life. She was intimate in bed, very giving. And to him, that was not out of context. Her very being was dedicated not to Jennifer Pearce but to the betterment of the world she touched. And that touch was far-reaching. Her work in pharmaceuticals was an extension of her desire to make the planet a more livable place. He liked that side of her character.

The television was still focused on the virus scare, and with Jennifer deep in thought he reverted his attention back to the screen. A reporter was standing on the doorstep of an elegant home, interviewing a hysterical woman. The small printing at the bottom of the screen indicated that the woman was Ismail Zehaden's widow. She was being supported by two other women as she alternated between sobbing and yelling.

“My husband was no terrorist,” she said. “He was a good American. A businessman who had done very well. He disliked some of the American foreign policy, but that was his right.”

“But the lab was discovered in a building your husband owns,” said the reporter, an attractive redhead in her late twenties.

“Ismail bought that warehouse as a storage facility. He was getting quotes from contractors on renovating it so he could move some of the raw materials he needed for his factory to another site. That warehouse was empty. It has been empty since he bought it.”

The reporter ignored any line of questioning that may have come from that statement and pressed ahead. “Your husband made frequent trips back to the Mideast,” she said. “Can you explain what those trips were for?”

“He had many friends and some family back in Iran. There are no laws saying my husband cannot visit his family and friends,” she snapped, obviously irritated with the direction the interview was going.

“Unless those friends are al-Qaeda,” the reporter said, sticking the microphone back in the widow's face.

“You heartless bitch,” she said as she turned and retreated into the house. She slammed the door and the camera focused on the reporter.

“Ismail Zehaden's widow, not denying that her husband was traveling back to Iran to connect with other al-Qaeda factions…”

Gordon shook his head and looked back to Jennifer. She was sitting upright, also watching the television. “Not a very good reporter,” he said.

“No, she treated that woman despicably. I hope the network gets sued.” She took a sip of cold tea and said, “I think the answer is at White Oak, Gordon. We have to get inside the lab where I saw Dr. Wai. We need to know what was in there.”

Gordon looked puzzled. “I thought you said it was the brain chip department. And that they were dismantling that part of the company. That would explain why the HEPA filters were being moved.”

“Perhaps,” she said. “But I have other suspicions. I want to get inside White Oak.”

“When?” he asked.

“Tonight.”

60

The first thing Bruce Andrews saw when he returned to his BioTech Five office after the press conference with J.D. Rothery was the Tuesday
Richmond Times-Dispatch.
After one look at the local headlines, he slammed the newspaper down on his desk and swore under his breath. How could this have happened? The front page of the second section featured a picture of Jennifer Pearce's Mazda RX-8, wrapped around a large hickory and smashed almost beyond recognition. The caption under the picture read, “Where is she?”

The article, two columns in length, raised more questions than it answered. It reported that the car belonging to the Ph.D. graduate pharmaceutical researcher had been found in the Shenandoah Mountains early Monday morning by hikers walking a seldom-used trail. The car was suspended above the path in the tree, but how long it had been there was unknown, as the trail was a demanding one and only seasoned hikers attempted it. Forensics experts from the state police had searched the car but had found nothing. No traces of blood. No traces of the woman. Nothing. It was a mystery.

And the media loves a mystery, especially when the person involved was a doctorate-level researcher in the pharmaceutical industry. A picture of Jennifer Pearce accompanied the article. One paragraph was dedicated to a brief history of her working life, including her current status at Veritas. And there was no chance that the reporters were going to miss the connection. Monday morning, a Veritas researcher's car shows up at the bottom of a cliff and the next day the company announces it has a drug to combat the virus. This was the last thing he needed right now. Goddamn Evan Ziegler all to hell. Why didn't he just kill her and dump her body? Now he had to deal with the aftermath.

Andrews checked his watch. Almost one o'clock. The news conference and the flight back from D.C. had taken the entire morning. He glanced down at the pile of correspondence and mail piled on the corner of his desk. He shuffled through it until he reached the fax from Barry Flath at the Food and Drug Administration. NDA approval came through quickly when you had J.D. Rothery at the Department of Homeland Security in your corner. He read through the document, a hint of a smile on his face. The paper was standard twenty-pound bond, but that one sheet was worth over two billion dollars to the company. He set it on his desk and stared at it for a minute or two before diving into the stack of mail. Even being the CEO had its mundane tasks.

The manager at the Fairfield Inn ripped out one article, then set the newspaper on the concierge desk and took the elevator to the fourth floor. He knocked lightly on the hotel room door and waited. A few moments later, the door opened and Jennifer Pearce looked out.

“Can I help you?” she asked. She recognized him as the hotel manager.

“I'm Donald Sarka, with the hotel. Could I speak with you, Dr. Pearce?” he asked.

The sound of the man using her name stunned her for a few seconds, then she backed off from the door and let him in. The door closed behind him. He handed her the article he had torn from the newspaper. “Have you read the paper today?” he asked her.

She stared at her picture. It was a good one, the same picture the paper had run for the announcement that she was moving to Veritas. There was no denying it was she. “Well, I guess you know the answer to that question,” she said, reading the headline.

“I don't want to pry, Dr. Pearce, but I've already stretched one of our rules by allowing you and your friend to pay for your room in cash, without a credit card authorization. And now this. I like my job, Dr. Pearce, and I don't want to get fired for knowingly harboring someone the police are looking for. I think it would be fair if you told me what was going on.”

Jennifer motioned to the small couch against the wall. The manager sat on the cushions, and Jennifer swung one of the chairs from the table and sat facing him. “It's kind of a long story, and I'd rather give you the short version, if that's okay.”

“Short version would be fine, Dr. Pearce.”

“Veritas Pharmaceutical is a dangerous place to work, Mr. Sarka. Two employees, one who was on my team, are dead. And I suspect both those people were killed. Right now, because of some knowledge that I have, I'm concerned for my own safety.”

The look on Donald Sarka's face was almost amusing. He went a strange off-white color and almost choked when he tried to talk. “I'm used to teenagers running up and down the halls, Dr. Pearce, not companies killing their employees. This is a little out of my league.”

“We'll move immediately,” she said. “You're not the only person who will have seen us here. The police will be stopping by at some point, I'm sure.”

The sound of a card being inserted in the slot caused both Jennifer and Sarka to look at the door. It opened and Gordon Buchanan entered. He focused on the hotel manager as he moved toward them. Then he held up a copy of the newspaper and asked, “Is this why you're here?”

Sarka nodded. “I wanted to know what was going on,” he said. “Dr. Pearce has given me a quick explanation.”

Jennifer added, “I told Mr. Sarka we would be leaving right away.”

“I think that's a good idea,” Gordon said. “It'll just take a few minutes for us to pack.”

Sarka rose from the couch. “I'll work out your bill and bring the leftover cash back up to the room,” he said. “It shouldn't take me more than five minutes.”

“That would be appreciated,” Jennifer said. “And thanks for asking us what was going on rather than just calling the police.”

“Not a problem,” he said. “I'll be right back.” He let himself out, the door closing quietly behind him.

Gordon dug into the bag he was carrying. He pulled out a blond wig. “It's real hair, for whatever that's worth. I picked it up at the mall after I saw the article in the paper.”

“I've always wanted to be a blonde,” she said, pulling the wig over her real hair. “What do you think?”

He surveyed the new look and shook his head. “Not as good as the original, but still pretty darn nice.”

She walked over to the mirror and adjusted it so none of her natural hair showed. “Where do we go from here?” she asked.

“Not sure. We'll see if you look different enough with the wig and sunglasses for us to go out in public. A lot of people around Richmond will have seen your picture. If no one recognizes you, we can have dinner before we head for White Oak.”

“You're sure you're up to checking out the technology park?” she asked. “It could get dangerous.”

He came up behind her and slipped his arms around her waist, breathing lightly on the back of her neck. Her body relaxed into his and they were quiet for a minute. “You know, ever since we met, just being near you has been dangerous,” he said.

“I think it may be the other way around,” she said.

“Well, whichever way it is, I'm sure tonight will be no different.”