The Serophim Breach (The Serophim Breach Series)

by Tracy Serpa

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  No part of this work may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Kindle Press, Seattle, 2016

  A Kindle Scout selection

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, Kindle Scout, and Kindle Press are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  For David,

  who is my hero

  Contents

  Nanotechnology to Treat Depression More Effectively

  Prologue

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Nanotechnology to Treat Depression More Effectively

  Washington, November 5, 2009—by Marjorie Gershwin

  For patients throughout the country, the use of nanotechnology to control drug dosing and monitor side effects sounds like science fiction. But every day, Argo Pharmaceuticals moves closer to making that fiction a reality.

  “We are only a few short steps away from fully operational, ultra-small polymer particles capable of carrying drugs into the human body,” says Kate Dopplar, one of the top researchers at Argo. “The development of medical nanoparticles makes possible a precise feedback system that can safely regulate the release of drugs into the bloodstream, which for many patients means better results and far fewer side effects.”

  The research began as a project aimed at making pain relief safer for soldiers on the battlefield. Medics needed to balance the pain relief of morphine with a counterdrug that protected against accidental overdose. Achieving that equilibrium is a challenge outside of a hospital, and nearly impossible in combat situations.

  The combination drug that Argo scientists have developed promises to make balanced treatment possible even in combat zones. “The system could also improve pain management for millions of patients with chronic illness,” says Dopplar. Argo is in the final stages of screening compounds in the search for a successful prodrug, a drug that can release or become another drug. In the case of morphine, the desired counter is naloxone, a drug now used to offset morphine’s side effects. In laboratory tests using human plasma, Argo researchers have successfully employed the delivery method of one prodrug that sensed blood oxygen levels and turned on or off as needed.

  Chris Henry, an Argo spokesperson, has confirmed that the company is looking for other ways to use the same method in the marketplace. For now, the company is focusing on the treatment of depression and depression-related pain. Argo previously patented and tested the drug Serophim, which they hoped would be a giant leap forward in the treatment of these common conditions. But in clinical trials, a large number of patients experienced severe mood swings, increased aggression, listlessness, and an increase in addictive behaviors. “Now, with the possibility of reining in those side effects through highly accurate dosing and the use of counterbalanced drugs, we have the opportunity to offer a truly effective treatment to patients around the world,” said Henry.

  Researchers at Argo are currently proceeding with animal studies of the prodrug’s effects, using a nanoparticle platform technology previously developed at their lab. They hope to advance to more animal and eventually human studies in the very near future.

  Prologue

  Los Angeles, California—June 6

  It wasn’t until the building was empty that Josie nearly lost her nerve. Sitting in her car since clocking out four hours earlier had sapped the adrenaline from her system and left her feeling both edgy and exhausted. When she arrived at work that morning, she had circled the parking structure until she found a spot facing the building, anticipating the stakeout to come; from her front seat she watched the offices on the third floor—gene research, if she remembered correctly—as colleagues she had probably never met moved in silhouette against the opaque windows, leaving in small groups until the lights finally went out. Vaguely, she wondered how much they really understood about what they were working on.

  She glanced at herself in the rearview mirror and wished for a moment that she could go back to the days when she left the office excited by the day’s progress or frustrated by a problem she could discuss over pizza and beer with a few colleagues that night. For four days now, she had been looking over her shoulder, nervous and unable to enjoy a meal or sleep soundly. In retrospect, she probably should have anticipated the reaction she got at the meeting she had hastily arranged; instead, she had been caught completely off guard.

  “Ms. McCollum, you needed to speak with me?”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you for taking the meeting. I wanted to discuss the Serophim research with you; I’m concerned with some of the findings—”

  “Yes, I’ve been briefed.”

  Sitting across from one of the senior researchers, she felt the full impact of the difference in their age and experience in his casual dismissal of her introduction. She reminded herself that her diploma also said “MIT” on it, and continued. “Then you’re aware that several of the animals are having reactions that indicate—”

  “I’m aware that a few of the animals were improperly screened for cross contaminants. They all came from the same lab previously, the same project, and we believe that the therapy conducted there has interfered with the trial here.”

  Josie frowned. The explanation was a stretch.

  She continued, “Either way, their reactions render the findings inconclusive at best. We’ll have to start—”

  “Impossible. Funding has been very specifically allotted for certain contingencies, and we are expected to meet deadlines. We will reference the issue in the report, and continue. The animals will be treated and sent to their next destination.”

  “Dr. Rhodes, I can’t imagine this—”

  He cut her off with a curt wave of his hand and leaned back in his chair.

  “I’ve discussed it with the board, and that’s the conclusion we’ve reached.”

  In response to her skeptical, mildly accusatory glare, he slowly removed his glasses and set them on his desk. When he raised his eyes to hers again, they were hard and flat.

  “Josie, you’re a rising star here. Your colleagues respect you, your superiors enjoy working with you—you’ll be running trials in no time. I’d hate to see you make unnecessary sacrifices in your professional, perhaps even personal, life because of a screening error.”

  He had not said much, but the veiled threat reverberated through her like a shock wave.

  The next morning when she arrived at work, the normally friendly security guards searched her bag more thoroughly than necessary, and her access key “malfunctioned,” temporarily locking her out of the lab. The issue was quickly resolved, but a message had been sent: She was being monitored.

  Josie glanced in the mirror one more time, tucking a loose strand of dark blonde hair back into her ponytail. The orange glow of the streetlights made her loo
k sallow, her eyes bright and feverish. Six years at MIT had qualified her for life inside the lab; there, she could anticipate outcomes, explain behaviors, and quantify successes. As she checked the batteries in the tiny video camera she had purchased the night before, she felt utterly unprepared to take the steps she was about to take.

  At that moment, a white van pulled into the side street that ran parallel to the Argo Pharmaceuticals building and parked near the delivery bay door.

  “Shit,” she breathed, and her moment of hesitation broke. She slid out of her car quickly and pressed the door shut, then took off at a jog toward the nearest stairwell. She had waited too long; maybe some part of her brain had wanted this to happen, had wanted the cleanup team to arrive and save her from making the hard decision herself. But as she ran, she felt with certainty that she could not let this happen.

  They would know she had been in the building; the second she swiped her key, her entrance would be logged. But she couldn’t smuggle the camera in past the daytime security crew, and without video, she would be unable to make her case. All her hopes hinged on Frank, the night guard, who stood as she entered the building’s front lobby, smiling.

  “Hi, Frank,” she said breathlessly. “Sorry about this.”

  He returned her smile with a genuine one of his own, and hope swelled in her chest.

  “How’s it going, darlin’,” he asked, reaching out for the security clearance card she offered him.

  “Well, you’re not going to believe this”—she put on her best exasperated face and continued—“but my boyfriend proposed to me last night. He gave me this giant ring he can’t really afford—it’s incredible. Anyways, I had to take it off in the lab today—it’s so hard to get used to having it on my hand—and I left it up there. I’m meeting him for dinner in twenty minutes, and he’s just going to freak out if I don’t have it on.”

  She knew she had him when he sat back down in his chair, a knowing smile on his face.

  “Well, congratulations, you turkey,” he said warmly, a hint of scolding in his voice. “Go run and get it. I’d be upset too if I were him.”

  Josie thanked him and jogged toward the elevator, hoping she could make it upstairs before the cleanup crew got checked in themselves.

  She took the elevator to the fifth floor and stepped out into the quiet hallway. The fluorescent lights buzzed quietly, but she heard nothing else, so she strode down the hallway and pulled the video camera out of her bag, hitting the record button. As she rounded the last corner before the lab, the nerves in the pit of her stomach clenched into a tight ball, and her teeth began to chatter. She was feet from the door when a voice called out to her.

  “Hey, you! Aren’t you done for the night?”

  Horrified, she recognized Jeff Norton’s voice; he worked on the same floor in a different lab, and although their work seldom overlapped, she conversed with him from time to time in the employee lounge. She swallowed hard and lowered the camera to her side, hoping desperately he had not seen it in her hand. Smoothing out the tension on her face, she turned to look at him over her shoulder.

  “Yeah, I just left something in the lab. Frank was nice enough to let me come get it.”

  Jeff pulled a crooked grin and started back down the hall toward the elevators.

  “Well, have a good night. See you back here bright and early!”

  She waved at him as he went, the anxiety almost choking her. Stalling, she mumbled something about finding her key and fished through her purse until she heard the elevator ding. Then she lifted the camera again, unlocked the lab door, took a deep breath, and walked inside.

  One

  Haleiwa, Hawaii—July 23

  “Difficulty concentrating, fatigue, aches and pains, loss of interest, irritability, and anxiety.” Brandon repeated the symptoms under his breath. It had seemed fairly straightforward on WebMD, but sitting in the clinic waiting room with a clipboard in his hands, he felt less sure of himself. Everyone around him looked depressed: pallid skin, thin hair, dull eyes. He did his best to slacken his jaw and appear tired, but he knew there was no hiding his healthy tan and thick shock of dark hair. Before leaving his family’s home, he had tossed on a ratty pair of jeans and a stained T-shirt in an attempt to look the part, but now it felt like a ridiculous costume. These people looked miserable effortlessly and, more important, authentically. Next to him sat a woman who might have been in her late twenties or her early forties. It was impossible to tell. Her blonde hair hung lank on either side of her face, and she sat slumped against the wall, massaging her right arm.

  Brandon tried to gauge the ages of the other patients in the room, wondering if he was actually the youngest person to show up for the clinical trial. Someone who looked to be about his age sat across the room, hunched over his iPod; clad in a flannel shirt and cutoff khakis, he might have been in his early twenties. Everyone else looked older. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, the faux leather cushion sticky against the backs of his legs.

  Relax, he thought. Being nervous is the quickest way to get into trouble. He turned his attention to the room itself, which only added to the claustrophobic feeling of gloominess settling on his skin like fog. The white walls had a slight green tinge to them, and below the chair rail, the textured wallpaper was beginning to curl at the edges. There were only two doors in the room: the front door, flanked by two small windows that looked out onto the parking lot, and a second door marked “Authorized Personnel Only: Please Turn Off Cell Phones.” He wasn’t sure where it led, since no one had come in or out of it yet. A television in the corner mumbled quietly about Argo Pharmaceuticals and their numerous medical breakthroughs over the past five years. Smiling faces, happy families, optimistic-looking cancer patients flashed onscreen; it was an almost comical backdrop to the mood that hung heavily in the air.

  Two weeks earlier, he had heard an advertisement for the clinical study on the radio while driving to a party with his brother, Paul, and a few friends.

  Do you suffer from severe depression and the physical pain associated with depression? Argo Pharmaceuticals is conducting a clinical trial for a new depression medication and drug delivery method, and you may be eligible to participate. You may be eligible for up to $4,500 in compensation, as well as all treatment and checkups free of charge. Call 1-800-CBPHARMA for more information.

  They had all commented on the possibility of an easy $4,500; Brandon had quietly taken the number down and called the next day.

  Technically, he wasn’t depressed. He was, however, in over his head with student loans and credit cards. Two months had passed since his graduation from college, and only four months remained before the first of his significant loan payments would come due. There was no chance of getting help from his father; the farm was struggling to stay afloat, as usual. And he hadn’t been nearly as successful finding a real job as he had expected. It seemed no one was impressed by his agricultural chemistry degree; one interviewer actually told him, “A bachelor’s degree is the new high school diploma. Everyone has one.” He had even exhausted his resources through his college fraternity to no avail. So while he had hoped to stay on the mainland after graduation, he moved home to Oahu instead and started working for his father.

  The pay was nothing near what he had planned on making when he was an honor student at Purdue. Balancing a heavy academic load and a decent social life had only left room for a part-time job at a sandwich shop, and he hadn’t managed to save up more than a few hundred dollars. Any concern he felt about his ever-increasing debt had been shrugged off with the thought of instantaneous employment after graduation by a superfarm on the mainland, which had proven to be not-so-instantaneous. His dad contributed to his savings account when he could and paid him a salary for his work on their small farm, but $4,500 would go a long way toward getting him through the end of the year. He was still sending out resumes to companies on the mainland, telling himself that he would find employment before too long. Until then, he just needed a lit
tle cushion, and it seemed that an opportunity had presented itself.

  Then again, there was always the possibility he was actually depressed. A brief Internet search had turned up statistics like “One in four adults suffer from depression,” along with checklists and suggestions from pharmaceutical companies on how to seek treatment. All in all, the condition seemed pretty common, and he certainly exhibited several of the symptoms, most notably anxiety. The family doctor had given him the referral he needed, so he signed up for the study after giving what he considered a convincing performance on the phone to a screener.

  The clinic that Argo rented was located on the windy side of the island, far enough away from his home that he felt comfortable leaving his family out of the loop. Knowing he was acting as a human guinea pig would only make his father feel guilty. So he had borrowed the truck under the pretense of a date, and made the drive across the island.

  Now, sitting in the waiting room, he wondered if he really had any shot in hell of fooling the researchers. Just as he finished the last of his paperwork, the front door opened, and in walked Boomer, one of Paul’s friends who had heard the advertisement as well. He caught Brandon’s eye, giving him a quick look and then moving on. He shuffled into the waiting room and headed for a seat on the opposite wall. Inwardly, Brandon felt a twinge of irritation at Boomer’s arrival. Somehow it seemed to make his chances of getting into the study less likely. He assumed the look had meant they should avoid acknowledging one another, and he agreed, so he stood casually and returned his clipboard to the young woman behind the desk at the front of the room.

  “Great, thanks,” she said, taking it from him. “Someone will be right out to take you back for a briefing.”

  Brandon nodded. He was heading back to his chair and pointedly ignoring Boomer when the “Authorized Personnel” door swung open, and a middle-aged man stepped through. He had shaggy gray hair and huge, thick, tortoise-shell glasses resting on the bridge of his substantial nose. As the man surveyed the room, Brandon had the strange feeling he was being categorized. After noisily clearing his throat, the man introduced himself to everyone as Dr. Marvin Rhodes.