“Sure,” Priscilla said. “What is it?” The older woman took a seat across from Addie and leaned forward.
“My father is gravely ill. I have to return to Iraq to be with him.” Addie’s eyes started to tear and she reached into her briefcase for a pack of tissues.
“Here, Addie,” Priscilla already had a handful of Kleenex which she pressed into Addie’s hand.
“I may need to be away a while. I don’t know how long. And I came to ask about a leave of absence. I still want to be employed, but I can’t be physically here.”
“I see,” Priscilla said. “And I appreciate the timing of this request. When do you plan to leave?”
“Friday,” Addie said. “I can’t wait. He is desperately ill. I need to be there. I’m sure you understand.”
“I lost my father two years ago,” Priscilla said softly. “I still miss him terribly. I do understand. Problem is, this is not my decision. I recall your employment contract well. As a matter of fact, now that we are so close to having to pay you such a huge sum, I’m taking some flak for ‘giving away’ so much of the company’s money. But I keep reminding the board, ‘a contract is a contract,’ and we wouldn’t have Immunone at this phase without you. But I can tell you, they’re not likely to cut you a break here.”
“Can you ask them? Now?” Addie had to know. This was branch one on her decision tree. The tree that would mean life and death to many. Her family, yes. But what about future victims of mass bioterrorism? Isn’t that where they want her to dedicate her research?
“I’ll try to get our legal counsel if it’s that important to you.” Priscilla dialed, got passed through to the outside counsel Replica used. “But you should consider delaying—” She put her finger to her lips and whispered, “He’s on.”
Addie listened with an out-of-body sensation as Priscilla argued her case to the attorney on the other end. The attorney whose mission was to protect Replica. Addie could tell by Priscilla’s body language and her end of the conversation that the request for a leave was being denied.
When Priscilla hung up, she faced Addie and shook her head. “The contract is clear,” she said. “You need to be full-time employed in good standing. Of course, you could hire an attorney.”
“Work with an American attorney from Iraq? Communication there is nonexistent.” What Addie did not say was, as a woman, I’ll have no rights. No rights whatsoever.
“When would you like your last day to be? Or do you want to reconsider?” Priscilla looked crestfallen. “We’ll really miss you, Addie. You’re a brilliant scientist and a lovely person. Everybody on staff loves working with you. I’m so sorry about your father, but maybe…”
What should I tell her about my last day? I have so many decisions to make.
“I’m sure you understand if you are going to be leaving as early as Friday—two days from now—there’s paperwork that needs to be processed.”
No leave of absence. No millions of dollars.
“I will reconsider, Priscilla. Thanks for trying to help me. I will think it through and let you know.”
Addie all but shuffled back to her office, pulled down the window shades, and sat. She looked at her diplomas, her certificates of achievement, the trophy-like tokens she’d collected. They reflected her professional career, the years at the University of Michigan, the years at Replica. Now, all coming to an end. Would life be easier to accept if she’d never been sent to the United States? If she’d finished her training at Baghdad University, never having experienced the freedom and the pleasures of the Western world? Probably so. Wasn’t her sister perfectly happy? And she’d never been outside of Iraq.
Back to the here and now, her decision tree. Addie had the answer to her first question: no. Now she had to address her second one: whether to go through with her marriage to Jake. Would being a married woman prevent the arranged marriage her mother was negotiating? From any perspective, being married to Jake—even if they never saw each other again—would be better than life with Gabir Rahman. But would Jake want to marry her now that she’d not have the money? She was quite sure he would. Until now, money never seemed to be a factor in their relationship.
“Well,” she said aloud. “I’ll put that to the test when he finds out I will lose the Immunone money.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
WEDNESDAY, MARCH 4
FDA Deputy Director Sid Casey managed the drug side of the agency. The humongous agency consists of six product centers, one research center, and two offices. Of the six centers, the Center for Drug Evaluation and Research regulates over-the-counter and prescription medications. This was Casey’s bailiwick and he took it seriously, agonizing over any trouble, basking in any success.
Susan Ridley and Karl Hayes were already in the deputy director’s conference room when Jake arrived.
“You bastard,” Susan seethed. “Jake, you fucked us over.”
“What are you talking about, Susan?”
“You know goddamned well. Immunone. All that shit about missing data about the death cases. Well, Jake, there is no missing data. As we speak, the Keystone Pharma folks are presenting the missing data to Sloan and to Casey himself. They started at seven thirty this morning, did not invite us. Told us to wait here. What kind of shit are you trying to pull?”
“And the cops were here yesterday, asking questions about you and the woman scientist at Replica,” young Karl added. “You been seeing her, I mean, romantically? Giving her confidential information?”
Okay so the shit’s hit the fan. How am I going to play this? Jake had been so distracted by Addie and marriage and her Iraqi plans that he’d not formulated a credible story; how had the data gone missing? What was he going to tell them?
The conference room door swung open as his boss, Charles Sloan, entered with Deputy Director Casey. A stern-faced Casey took the seat at the head of the table as two Keystone representatives marched in, wordlessly taking chairs. His adversaries. That obnoxious new vice president, Dr. Laura Nelson, and Louis Sigmund, Keystone’s regulatory affairs director, whom Jake had thought he could trust.
“We have an issue to resolve today, ladies and gentlemen,” the deputy director announced. “I am here to relay to you how urgently we want resolution. I want you all to solve this matter before you leave this room. There will be no minutes or record of this highly confidential meeting. Sloan, get this debacle corrected. The agency can’t tolerate negligence.”
Jake tried to look straight ahead, but his gaze met Karl and Susan’s hostile expressions. His eyes started to blink in rapid spasms so he squeezed them shut. Only when he heard Casey storm out of the room, did he open them to see the department’s secretary enter, pushing a cart with three stacks of thick reports.
“I’ll distribute,” Sloan said, dismissing the courier.
Jake’s eyes continued their involuntary blinking while Sloan handed out one report from each stack to each of the remaining attendees.
“I trust no introductions are necessary,” Sloan began. “Dr. Nelson?”
“I’m familiar with Doctors Ridley and Hayes and Mr. Harter,” Nelson said, with a nod to each in succession. “Although the last time we met, I was not yet a Keystone executive.”
“And you’ve spoken with Mr. Harter as recently as yesterday?”
Nelson nodded.
What was this, a fucking deposition?
“And what about Doctors Ridley and Hayes?”
This time she shook her head. “No, Dr. Sigmund in regulatory affairs advised me that FDA-industry protocol frowned on the vice president of R&D calling a medical reviewer directly.” She seemed to grimace, adding, “That was after I’d gone ahead and called Mr. Harter.” Nelson paused to adjust the cast-like appliance on her right arm. Her transparent bid for sympathy, of course. “I thought my problem was simply an administrative error and he, as project manager, could solve it.”
“How did your conversation with Mr. Harter go?”
“Keystone had received n
otice of missing information relevant to the deaths that occurred in the Immunone trials. I wanted to clarify with Mr. Harter directly, to assure him all required data had been provided. We sent the complete file package well in advance of the February 14th Advisory Committee meeting.”
Jake forced himself to stay in his seat, to control his input. He wanted to leap up and strangle this impertinent woman. Who was she to put him down? She didn’t know shit about how the pharmaceutical business worked. That when you dis’ the FDA, they bury you and your company. And with this bitch, bury was not just an expression. He would bury her.
“And Mr. Harter told you?” Sloan prompted.
Jake kept his head up, didn’t want to show weakness, but he did let his eyes wander to inspect the reaction of the medical reviewers. Would they back him up? Or would they throw him under the bus? Susan, usually so apathetic, looked alert and energized. And perky Karl, quite agitated, squirmed in his seat, eyes dilated.
“When I offered to have it hand delivered, he said normal channels would be sufficient, and it would take some time for him to get to it so…”
And right now, I don’t give a fuck about whether the drug gets approved in the next minute or if it takes forever. Addie will go back to Iraq either way. Damned ironic, the sooner the approval, the better now. If I hadn’t interfered, Addie would have her money, we’d be married, and I’d never have to worry about another job.
“Rather than wait, this morning we delivered two packages of reports: one from Keystone’s files, the other from my files at Tampa City Hospital, where I was the primary investigator for the clinical trials. These documents are identical to those that already had been provided to the FDA for the Advisory Committee.”
“Mr. Harter,” Sloan said, his tone chillingly formal, “after we spoke yesterday, I asked Doctors Ridley and Hayes to assemble the data you’d declared missing. They did and I inspected it with Keystone’s representatives this morning.” Sloan gestured to the piles of documents on the table. “In front of you, you have three packages. Each contains the exact information you found missing: ours, Keystone’s, and Dr. Nelson’s from Tampa. I want you to review the reports, side by side. We want you to review each, personally. Now. While we wait. So there can be no misunderstanding.”
“You want me to what?” Jake asked. “You mean, right here with all of you watching?”
“Exactly. I want this settled here and now, so there will be no cloud over the approval of this drug. If you find a discrepancy, or a missing data point, inform us now and we will deal with it. To make it easy for you, we developed a checklist of the components you could not locate. You check them out to your satisfaction. Take as long as you like.”
The room remained silent except for the clinking of coffee cups on saucers.
Options? Did he have any? Five pairs of eyes focused on him as he opened the FDA report, cross-referenced it with the checklist, and started checking off the boxes. Thirteen patients: four on Immunone; nine on placebo. EKG reports and lab values.
“Yes,” Jake spoke after thirty-five minutes of pretending to pore over the report. “The data I’d been unable to locate are here. I see no need to go over the Keystone version or the Tampa version. I don’t know how this had gotten misplaced, but I’m glad we found it. Thanks, Susan and Karl.”
What else could he say? He’d tried to deep-six some of the reports, but the FDA has an amazing backup system. But what the fuck. The approval of Immunone right now, today, would now be of benefit to him.
“Indeed,” Sloan said. “Doctors Ridley and Hayes pulled this together very efficiently. So, Mr. Harter, as project manager, you are satisfied we have no problem with missing data, our records are intact?”
“Yes, sir,” Jake said. He almost added, “Cover Your Ass.” At the FDA, even the lowliest employee could blow the whistle about anything that smacked of impropriety.
“Then let’s get this drug approved,” Sloan announced.
Jake wanted to slap the smile off of Nelson’s face. A violent slap, one that would teach her never to fuck with Jake Harter. Instead, he directed a menacing gaze at her lackey, a man he’d worked with in the past, a man who should not have betrayed him, the sycophant, Louis Sigmund.
“Mr. Harter, please prepare the documents for approval. The commissioner will sign the approval in the morning, and we’ll have a press conference in the lobby at noon tomorrow. Doctors Ridley and Hayes, thank you very much for your extraordinary efforts in bringing this to resolution.”
The Keystone duet, all bubbly with smiles, had already pushed their chairs back, anxious to report to their buddies in the company and start the celebration. On their way out, they shook the hands of Sid, Susan, and Karl, ignoring Jake. “Ignore me at your risk,” he mumbled, before realizing he’d no longer be a risk to Keystone or any other pharma company. He’d be basking in wealth with his gorgeous bride. Wait until Addie heard the news! How could she leave for Iraq at the pinnacle of her success?
As the jubilant pharmaceutical executives filed out the door, a shadow of a storm crossed Jake’s face. He’d always paid his debts, be they financial or otherwise. And he owed Dr. Laura Nelson a debt of retribution.
“Jake, don’t leave yet,” Sloan said, once the others had cleared the room.
Jake remained seated as his boss took a chair across from him.
“I don’t know what kind of a game you tried to play with that missing data claim, and I really don’t care. You’re either losing it or you have an ulterior motive. No matter, you have a bigger problem. The police have been by to ask about you and the woman doctor at Replica. They say they have evidence you were having an affair with her during the time you were responsible for Immunone. Since she has a substantial financial stake in that drug, you’ve got a major problem with conflict of interest. When Casey found out, he decided—”
“Well, you tell Casey,” Jake interrupted, “that Adawia Abdul and I are getting married. And, I will be leaving the FDA.”
Sloan’s face registered shock. “So soon after Karolee…?”
“I can’t bring my wife back,” Jake said, delivering the lie effectively, he hoped. “Karolee would want me to get on with my life.”
“Twenty-five years at the FDA,” Sloan leaned back in his chair, the surprised look replaced by one of relief. “Hate to see you go, but your resignation will make life easier. We were going to have to put you on paid leave until this conflict of interest situation was investigated.”
“You’ll have my resignation.”
“And Jake, the FBI came to see me.”
“What?” Could this have to do with Minn or Karolee’s murders? Both local police matters. So why the FBI?
“Apparently, your bride-to-be has some scary stuff in her background. That’s the impression I got. Iraqi connections that have them scrambling.”
Scrambling? More like his brain was scrambling.
He made an effort to come to Addie’s defense. “She’s a wonderful woman, very smart—obviously, as her discovery of Immunone proves.”
Jake was finding it hard to make sense of what he’d just heard. What could the FBI want with Addie? Could she be in some kind of trouble? Is that why she wants to return to Iraq?
“I have to say, Jake,” Sloan went on, “I’m shocked by your affair with the Replica doctor. And your sudden marriage to her? Does your son know about this?” Sloan did know Karolee left all her money to Mark. Jake had confided that during a weak moment.
Now Jake was up and at the door. “No, Mark does not know, and I don’t intend to tell him. After he screwed me over with Karolee’s money, I don’t need him or his miserly wife.”
Without a good-bye to Sloan, Jake left. He needed Addie, wanted to hold her in his arms, to help her if she was in some kind of trouble. What was all that about the FBI? Plus, he would tell her the confidential news: Immunone would be approved tomorrow.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
WEDNESDAY, MARCH 4
“The name Bad
ur Hammadi mean anything to you two? NSA Deputy Director Mack Long asked his two direct reports in the NSA’s Information Assurance Directorate—IAD.”
Long ran stubby fingers through his steely-gray, close-cropped hair. A Stanford-trained, mathematical-computer genius, Long had served his country in the navy as a vice admiral. Now, he headed up the domestic arm of NSA’s surveillance—eavesdropping—and supercomputer mission. He found it suited him. More pressure, maybe, but of a more intellectual nature. Following his daily briefing at the Pentagon, he’d called to his office his two closest aides.
He watched as their two heads—one blond, the other black—shook in unison. These two not only fascinated him, they’d won his respect: the lanky, former special service agent, Tommy Mintner, and Paula Sharkey, the African-American microbiologist from USAMRIID. Long’s brownish skin reflected his own biracial genes, and he did all he could to promote racial diversity in the agency.
“Should we?” Mintner asked, perplexed.
“CIA’s had an interest in him for a while,” Long said, drawing a photo out of a manila folder. Both heads shook again as they scrutinized the photo of a young, tan-skinned man in stylish Western garb.
“Iraqi?” Sharkey guessed.
“Yep, and seen recently in the vicinity of an Iraqi scientist, Dr. Jamail Abdul. Abdul has close ties with—”
“I know Dr. Abdul by reputation,” interrupted Sharkey. “Saddam Hussein. His name comes up in scans for anthrax-related intel as well as other organisms with mass destruction potential. What’s the connection?”
“Turns out Abdul’s daughter has been in the States right under our noses for twelve years. She got here via the University of Michigan. Got a PhD and went to a start-up drug company in Bethesda. The one in the news lately with a new drug for transplant patients that’s about to hit the market.”
“So, she’s been under surveillance,” Mintner said, “by what agency?”
“Negative. Best not to make assumptions when it comes to the silos of our intel systems. Abdul’s daughter has avoided NSA radar. She’s used her own name, filed all the necessary paperwork, the connection just never surfaced.”
After the Fall Page 21