Sula checked her watch: 4:18.
In the third and fourth drawers there were folders with drug names, but most were products already on the market. Shit. Sula wanted to get into Warner’s computer, but that was risky and possibly pointless. Without an access code to the R&D database, she likely wouldn’t find much. She opened the smaller filing cabinet.
There it was. A foot-thick Nexapra section, with folder after folder.
The reams of paper almost overwhelmed her. She could spend days looking through this stuff and still not find exactly what she needed. She checked her watch: 4:23. She had eight minutes left. She had promised herself she would be in and out in twenty minutes.
Sula frantically flipped through the files, looking for key words such as suicide or genetic response. The first half of the stack appeared to be about the preclinical development with many references to mice and rats. The second half looked more like a collection of personal notes and observations. She spotted a section with references to patients.
Sula pulled out a handful and rushed to the copier in the corner. She shoved the papers into the auto loader, and while they copied, went to the large desk drawers and began to search. If Warner’s genetic discovery was recent, perhaps her notes about it were kept in an active file around her desk. Sula checked her watch: 4:28. She decided to give herself a little more time.
Rudker had called a cab from the plane, so he only had to wait a few minutes in front of the airport. The dark green sedan pulled up and an elderly man with a Bin Laden beard got out to greet him. Rudker said “Prolabs” and hopped into the back seat. His butt made contact with something small and flat on the back of the seat. Rudker reached behind him and found a driver’s license belonging to Richard Morgenstern. The first thing he noticed was that the man shared his basic characteristics: late forties, blondish-gray, and wide jaw. Impulsively, he pocketed the license. It would come in handy for visiting some of Seattle’s private clubs while remaining anonymous.
Just knowing he could pretend to be someone else gave him a warm sexy vibe. He was already eager to use the ID. It made him impatient with the driver, who took his time jotting down information.
“It’s on Willow Creek Road,” he offered, hoping to get rolling.
“I know where it is.”
Of course he did. Prolabs was the biggest business in Eugene. It had started out twenty years ago as a little company that made drug discovery equipment. Then the founder, who had a talent for raising venture capital, had developed his own high-throughput screening lab. A couple of early hits, which the company had held onto instead of licensing out, had launched its drug making business. Rudker had been recruited to lead the company six years ago when the founder retired. Most days, it seemed like a good career move. Now he looked forward to the day that flying into Eugene meant only a quick trip to check on the factories.
The twelve-minute drive took twenty. First they hit blue-collar traffic going home from their factory jobs, then a quick stop for a soda took way longer than it should have.
Finally he was driving down Willow Creek toward the company. He could feel himself starting to relax a little. It would be such a relief to put this genetic test idea completely to rest.
As soon as they turned onto the lane leading up to corporate headquarters, Rudker knew something was wrong. For starters, a white media van was driving in front of them. Up ahead he saw a group of people with picket signs milling around in front of the main office. Goddamn protestors. What the hell was it this time? Giving drugs to poor little mice? People who complained about using animals to test drugs, then took any kind of pharmaceutical when they were sick or in pain, were hypocrites. How else could they get compounds through development?
Damn this was annoying. Rudker had no intention of dealing with any of it. He had real business to take of. His PR person had better be out there handling it. It’s what she was paid to do.
They reached the turnoff to the main parking lot. “Keep going,” he told the cabbie.
As they passed, Rudker peered out the window. A young man with dreadlocks climbed on top of an old green VW van and stood to address the crowd. Someone passed a sign up to him. He held it over his head. Rudker could barely make out the words, but he thought it said: Chemicals Kill. The scene faded from his sight as the cab moved down the lane. He snorted at the stupidity of the message.
Chapter 12
Cricket was pleased by the turnout. From the top of the van, he counted at least thirty people. Most were Love the Earth members but there were a few faces he didn’t recognize.
“Hey, Cricket, KRSL is here.” Troy, his friend and fellow earth protector, pointed at a white van coming down the long paved entry.
“Cool. Hand me my sign.”
Troy passed it up to him and Cricket held it high over his head. Sometimes drama was the only way to get people’s attention, especially the press. He had called Trina Waterman and spoke to her in person about the protest. She’d wished him luck and hung up. But now here she was. Or at least someone from her network was here. Cricket smiled. Must be another slow news day in Eugene.
He shouted, “No exceptions for polluters,” a few times and the small group joined him for another seven or so repetitions. He kept his eye on the van, only to see it stop and back out between the rows of cars. Once on the main entry road, it followed the taxi that had been behind it and was now headed for a back entrance.
Cricket was disappointed. The city council had voted two nights ago to allow Prolabs’ development to proceed. The bulldozers would resume immediately, and according to the building plans filed, the company was set to pour concrete in less than two weeks. Love the Earth would need a lot more public support than they currently had to stop it from happening. Otherwise, they would have to resort to sabotage.
The taxi reached the small auxiliary parking lot near the R&D building. “Let me off near the main door,” Rudker said abruptly. He paid the man and gave him a ten-dollar tip. Grabbing his shoulder bag, he’d hauled himself out of the cab. It irritated him that he would have to carry his bag back to his car in the main parking lot later, but it was better than facing the protestors.
Rudker checked his watch: 4:31. Peterson would still be here. A vehicle door slammed behind him. Rudker turned and saw that the media van had followed him back here. Damn. A blond little reporter tried to attract his attention. Rudker jogged for the R&D building.
When the van door slammed in the parking lot, Sula jumped so hard she smashed her knee on the underside of the desk. Unnerved, she shoved the drawer closed and bolted out of the chair. It was time to go.
Sula moved toward the door. As she reached it, she heard a faint click behind her, as if something had shifted or fallen. An odd little sound that she couldn’t ignore. She turned back and opened the drawer again. Lying on top of the green file folders—where nothing had been moments ago—was a CD case. Stuck to it were strips of scotch tape. It had been taped to the underside of the upper drawer and had fallen lose when she slammed the bottom drawer.
Heart still pounding, she grabbed the CD. If Warner had hidden it, it must be important. Sula wished like hell she had somewhere to put the disk. But neither her A-line black skirt nor her tailored button-up blouse had a pocket. She untucked her blouse, shoved the case under the waistband of her nylons, and started for the door again. As she grabbed the handle, she remembered the papers in the copier. Swearing under her breath, she turned back.
Moving quickly, Sula pulled the originals from the feeder tray and shoved them into the top drawer of the closest filing cabinet. She knew she should relock the cabinets, but her nerves would not let her stay a moment longer. She couldn’t even let herself stop and look at her watch. She snatched up the copies she’d made and bolted for the door.
In the hallway she turned left, intending to head back out the way she’d come in. Then she saw him and her heart missed a beat. Rudker was just inside the entrance and coming her way. For a split second, they made ey
e contact.
Sula spun around and strode in the other direction.
“Hey!” He called after her, but she kept going. She couldn’t be caught with the copied files. If not for the paperwork, she would have faced him. Running from the boss looked pretty bad, but it wasn’t necessarily grounds for termination. If she could only make it to the side exit.
A female voice came out of nowhere. “Stop. I want to talk to you.”
The busybody reporter caught up to Rudker and grabbed his arm. “I just want a short statement.” He shook her off and kept moving. That damn PR person had been standing in front of Warner’s office with a handful of paperwork. Now she was running from him. She had taken the papers from Warner’s files; he was sure of it.
“A shot of you running from the press will make great coverage for me and bad publicity for you,” the reporter yelled after him. Rudker hesitated. He saw Sula turn right at the end of the hall. Shit. There was a side door near the labs. Where would she go once she was outside? Across the courtyard to the corporate building? Through the parking lot? Rudker thought it might be better to head her off once she was outside the building.
He stopped and turned. The little newswoman was right in front of him and he nearly knocked her down. Her cameraman was huffing along right behind her.
“I’ll give you one short statement and you’ll leave me alone. And you can’t air any images of me walking away. Deal?” He didn’t know why the protestors were out front, but it didn’t matter. He knew what he would say.
“Deal.” She turned to the guy with the camera. “Ready?”
“Roll.”
She held out the microphone. Rudker smiled and said, “Making life-saving medicines is the greatest business in the world. Protesting against it demonstrates ignorance and a lack of compassion for people who are suffering.”
He closed his mouth and waited for the cameraman to get out of his away. When he did, Rudker pushed past both of them and ran out the main door. He didn’t see Sula in the courtyard, so he started around the side of the building.
Once outside, Sula’s instinct was to run to the front of the R&D lab, cross the courtyard, and scoot into main building where she could hide in the safety of her own office. She resisted the idea and turned right instead, running toward the back of the R&D building. From there, she had two choices: keep going up the hill into the trees or go right again and head for the auxiliary parking lot. Her instincts said trees. She loved the forest and always felt safe and happy there. She’d spent half her childhood hiking the hillside behind the family trailer.
Again, she resisted her impulse and sprinted across the narrow lawn that spanned the back of the building. The grass was soggy and her heels squished into the soil underneath, slowing her down. For a fleeting second, she wondered if any of the scientists were looking out the windows as she passed, wondering about the absurdity of her mad dash.
As she neared the corner, she slowed, chest heaving from exertion. It occurred to her that Rudker may have anticipated her moves. The last voice she’d heard behind her had not been his. Someone else, a woman, had spoken to him, perhaps slowing him down. To recoup that time, he had probably gone back out the front to cut her off. He could be right around the corner, waiting to grab her.
Sula stopped and gulped in air. A small cry of anguish rose in her throat. She fought the urge to sob. She had to be smart about this. Tall shrubs adorned the corner of the building, so she squatted between the greenery and the wall and peered around the corner. Her view was partially blocked by another shrub, so she slowly rose until she could see the full length of the building.
Rudker stood at the far corner, staring into the parking lot. Sula pulled back, stumbled through the shrub, and took off running—back the way she’d come, passing the same labs with the huge windows. Terrifying as it seemed, she decided to go back inside the R&D building. She would find a place to hide. Rudker might not think to look for her there. She hoped he would give up and go about his business.
Sula rounded the next corner, swinging wide around the shrubs. She sprinted for the side door, reached it, and turned the knob. It was locked.
The master key Marcy had given her for Diane’s office was still in her right hand. Her left hand clutched the papers she’d copied. They were badly crumpled on one edge, but she still had them. A small sob escaped her throat. She had risked so much without even know if they had anything useful.
She remembered the disk and clutched at her stomach. It was still there. She could feel it through the layers of fabric. With trembling fingers, she shoved the key in the door knob and turned. It clicked. Thank God. She entered the building, found the hallway empty, and headed for the labs in the back.
The research area had glass on the top half of most of its interior walls, but the individual labs were separated by supply rooms with solid walls. In the first lab, Sula saw a young man sitting at a bench and peering into a microscope. She kept moving.
The second lab appeared empty, so she entered it and reached for the door to its supply room. Locked again. She used the master key, stepped inside, and closed the door behind her. Her watch said 4:48. The five-by-eight room was lined with shelves filled with clinical supplies: beakers, Petri dishes, and an assortment of things she didn’t recognize. Sula got her bearings, turned the light off, and took a seat on the floor. She planned to stay until it was dark enough to sneak out.
She crossed her legs, straightened her back, and turned her palms up on each knee. Meditating would be the only way she could get through the long, claustrophobic wait. It took ten minutes just to get her heart slowed down. Emptying her mind proved to be more difficult. The process was abruptly interrupted by someone entering the lab. The sounds were soft but distinctive, the creak of a door, the click of a light switch, soft footsteps across the floor. Her heart took off again, like a startled bird in flight. Rudker had found her.
She heard whistling. A happy sound, very un-Rudker like. She let out the breath she’d been holding and hoped whoever it was didn’t plan to work late. The possibility that he would enter the closet kept Sula on edge.
She checked her watch, which glowed pale blue in the dark: 5:01. A few minutes later, she heard the lab door swing open again, and a different voice called out, “Peterson. Got a minute to talk?”
“Sure.” The scientist’s voice was barely audible in comparison.
Rudker’s voice boomed again. “I just got back from Seattle and a meeting with JB’s board of directors. They want some assurance that Nexapra is on track, that its efficacy is as good as we say it is, and that its side-effect profile is as good as we say it is.”
“It’s even better. We’re always cautious in our assessments just to be on the safe side.”
Sula stood and stepped toward the door. Peterson was hard to hear.
“Do you have any concerns about adverse drug reactions once the product hits the general public?”
“None. Of course, there will be some ADRs. You know that. It’s part of the business. Why the sudden concern?”
“The board is reacting to the regulators who say people under eighteen shouldn’t take SSRIs because of the possibility of suicide.” Rudker was clearly dismissive of the idea. “They want assurance—before they spend millions on clinical trials and advertising—that the product won’t be recalled or given a black box warning before it produces an ROI.”
Sula sensed that Rudker was probing to see what Peterson knew or thought about a genetic flaw.
“A black box warning?” Peterson’s scorn was unmistakable. “That’s ridiculous. SSRIs are one of the safest developments to ever enter the market, and Nexapra is going to be the safest in the class. Is this about Warner’s theory?”
“Partially.”
“It’s conjecture,” Peterson responded. “Warner is a brilliant scientist, but she’s wrong about this. Yes, there are genetic, metabolic differences in the rate at which patients process chemicals through their systems. But pharmaceutica
ls never made anyone kill themselves. The people who commit suicide while taking antidepressants are reacting to their own disease state. The drug just gives them the physical energy to act on their impulses.”
Sula slumped in despair. Was Warner wrong? Had she risked her job—and possibly custody hearing—for nothing?
Rudker, on the other hand, was pleased. She could hear the happy tone in his voice when said, “That settles it. I’ll reassure the board that their concerns are unfounded. Thank you.”
She heard the outer door open and the room went quiet. Peterson started moving around, but he didn’t whistle. She realized he probably didn’t know Warner was dead. One of the things Marcy had asked her to do was to write a memo to the staff about the R&D director’s death, but Sula hadn’t circulated it yet. People in the corporate building probably knew because Serena wouldn’t be able to keep quiet about it, but the news had obviously not reached the researchers.
Sula started to sit back down, then hesitated. Peterson’s footsteps were moving toward the door.
Chapter 13
Rudker picked up his travel bag and headed out the front exit. He did not feel as relieved as he should have. For one thing, Sula had been in Warner’s office and had taken some of her papers. He may not have caught up with her yet, but he would. More important, Diane Warner had specifically said she found a genetic marker that made the two patients susceptible. After hearing Peterson’s views on the subject, it seemed Warner hadn’t shared her latest discovery with her partner. Because she knew Peterson was skeptical of the whole concept? Or because she didn’t have proof?
It also seemed clear that Sula had overheard Warner’s concerns and was trying to investigate. But why? Rudker rarely understood other people’s motives. He worried that she would go to the press and the negative publicity would scare JB’s board. If the FDA demanded to look at the early data, the agency might request additional clinical trials. The drug could be delayed by a year or more. Investors would dump Prolabs’ stock at the first hint of bad news, the share price would plummet, and he would be bankrupt. Rudker did not intend to allow any of that to happen.
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