by Jon Land
“Strange you haven’t asked me about this particular crusade yet.”
“I don’t have to. Van Dyne isn’t involved.”
“And if they were?”
Maggs remained silent.
“There’s a man out there who’s ready to turn tomorrow or the day after into Judgment Day, and I think Van Dyne’s connected. I don’t give a shit about your plans for their AIDS vaccine, Maggs, but I mean to find out what else they’re into that links them to one very scary dude named Harlan Frye.”
Maggs took a step backward and straightened his shoulders. “I’m afraid I can’t allow that.”
“I wasn’t aware I needed to ask for permission.”
Maggs was having trouble looking straight at him. “We’re going to take a walk now, McCracken. You don’t have to be hurt. You won’t be hurt. You’ll just be asked to relax under cover for a few months until approval for the vaccine is finalized.”
Blaine glanced around him. “So that’s why you chose Dupont Circle, the crowds, lots of people mingling … .”
“You don’t know where all of my people are, McCracken. Oh, maybe you’ll be able to spot a few—maybe you already have—but it only takes one, if you try to run.”
McCracken nodded. “One of the eight, Maggs?”
The little man’s eyes bulged and followed Blaine as he turned toward the east entrance to Dupont Circle. The large sprawled shape McCracken had stepped over en route to the monument was kneeling now, yesterday’s Post still clothing his shoulders beneath a gray-flecked black ponytail.
Johnny Wareagle!
“I figured you wouldn’t know them, either,” Blaine continued. “It’s the way men like you work, Maggs. But Johnny over there knew them. Stuck out eight fingers when I stepped over him. They’re in the park, all right, but they won’t be moving anytime soon.”
Maggs stood there frozen, eyes scanning Dupont Circle desperately, searching for the accomplices who had preceded him here. Prone and passed-out forms were scattered everywhere across benches and ground, a few leaning up against trees. The eight men could have been any of them.
“Don’t worry, Maggs,” McCracken continued, “I’m not going to hurt you. You’ve told me what I needed to know. The fact that Van Dyne’s secured protected status means they can get away with anything, have gotten away with whatever they needed to.”
He started to back away. Behind him Johnny Wareagle had risen to his feet.
“Trouble is, Maggs, they’re about to get away with more.”
Blaine continued to look at Maggs as the distance widened between them, wondering if the little man might draw the gun that made a bulge near his right armpit.
“Where to now, Blainey?” Johnny asked when McCracken reached him.
“San Diego, Indian. Van Dyne Pharmaceuticals.”
CHAPTER 23
The private side entrance to Van Dyne Pharmaceuticals slid open to reveal Freddy Levinger peering out through the crack.
“Hurry,” he whispered urgently, motioning for Karen Raymond to enter as his eyes darted about the courtyard.
She was inside almost before he had finished speaking. Levinger closed the door behind them.
“When we’re done tonight,” he followed nervously, “no matter what we find, my role in this is finished. I want your word on that.”
“You’ve got it,” she said softly back.
She had followed the instructions Levinger had given her that afternoon exactly. Van Dyne had outgrown their facilities in Torrey Pines Industrial Park years before and had moved out to their own private complex off the freeway heading north out of La Jolla. The complex included not only the company’s corporate headquarters and research wings, but also a self-contained manufacturing facility on the grounds that allowed Van Dyne the luxury of private production and distribution.
A pass Freddy Levinger had provided got Karen through the main gate, and his own identification card had permitted her access to the underground parking garage. The air of this parking garage smelled peculiarly clean, not anything like that of other such garages she’d walked through. Karen moved quickly yet warily toward the exit door he had indicated, anticipating the possibility of another car arriving or rattling footsteps that would force her to take cover. Neither intruded and she climbed up a staircase back to the surface. She emerged inside Van Dyne’s processing plant near its main entrance. She crept down another corridor toward a less obtrusive exit sign that took her out into the night.
The distance separating her from the courtyard contained within the U-shaped office and lab complex was considerable. But she could see no guard patrolling, and the spill of lights could be easily avoided. Karen covered the distance fast, stopping and pressing her shoulders against the cream-colored Van Dyne facade just before the open part of the U. She made sure to peer around the corner before entering the courtyard. When again there were no guards in sight, Karen dashed toward the door in the back right corner of the complex Levinger had directed her to.
She reached the door a minute early and waited, eyes scanning the courtyard frantically. This locked door had no specially tailored slot to accept the card Levinger had given her for easy access. Instead, she’d had to wait in this spot until he appeared to let her in.
“There’s a room upstairs they’ve converted into the nerve center for all data concerning the test group,” Levinger told her, leading the way down the corridor.
“Sounds like you’re not very familiar with it.”
“With good reason: I’ve only been inside once.”
“Even though you’re head of development?”
“This testing was considered too important for anyone other than a select few to handle. I’ve been briefed regularly on the test and documentation status. Beyond that, I couldn’t really tell you what’s been going on there.”
“‘There’ as in where, Freddy?”
Levinger took a deep breath as they reached the top of the stairs. “The test group for our vaccine, numbering one hundred and eighty, has been confined to a single town, situated smack-dab in the middle of the Arizona desert where not many are likely to ask questions when so many new residents appear on the scene. That number includes entire families, and don’t ask me how Van Dyne came up with the volunteers. We moved them in about six months ago. Story went they were all associated with a fabricated water development project.”
“In the Arizona desert …”
“Fabricated, like I said.”
“But not the town.”
“No, the town’s real enough.” Levinger paused, as if to collect his thoughts. “It’s called Beaver Falls.”
McCracken pulled the Pacific Coast Security Services van up to the main gate of Van Dyne Pharmaceuticals. There had been no time to obtain a detailed schematic of the complex’s layout. The best he was able to come up with were some broad, overview photographs contained in a stockholder’s annual report he had obtained from a Washington brokerage firm following his meeting with Maggs.
If the Reverend Harlan Frye really did have Judgment Day in the offing, the pharmaceutical connection made perfect sense. The possibilities were endless. Since Van Dyne dominated the over-the-counter, nonprescription drug business, the number of people just in the United States they reached per year likely stretched well beyond a hundred million. But speculation was futile at this point. The answers would be inside Van Dyne, somewhere, leading ultimately to the company’s connection with Harlan Frye.
McCracken had expected security would be increased around the complex in the wake of his meeting that afternoon with Maggs. A picture in Van Dyne’s full-color annual report showed one of the guards clearly enough to read the label on his sleeve. Accordingly, upon arriving in San Diego, Blaine had driven out to Pacific Coast Security and “borrowed” one of their minivans. The original driver, a sergeant, was tied up in the back, certain to wake up in the morning with a terrible headache. He was about Blaine’s height but outweighed him by fifty pounds, making his cloth
es a poor fit.
The increase in security personnel on the grounds led the gate attendant to wave him in after only a cursory check. Blaine nodded and slid the van through the gate, heading it toward the underground parking garage. The minivan was equipped with a small drawer where the ashtray should have been, filled with clearly marked electronic access cards to a number of buildings on the company’s patrol. The only one for Van Dyne was marked GARAGE.
Recalling the complex’s layout from the overhead shot found on the cover of the company’s annual report, McCracken pulled his minivan up to a ramp built on a steep decline. A slot awaited him before the drop-off, easily accessible by simply extending his hand out the window. Blaine slid the access card in. The machine gulped it down briefly, then coughed it back out. The automatic door below began to rise, and McCracken headed the Pacific Coast Security minivan into the garage.
It thumped softly off the decline onto the macadam surface, the door falling again almost immediately. McCracken parked amidst the other PCS vehicles and climbed out of the minivan. He had barely closed the door behind him when he heard footsteps rattling his way from the west end of the garage. Confident in his disguise, Blaine paid them little heed until a familiar voice echoed his way.
“Nice to see you again.”
McCracken stepped away from his van and saw Maggs, a triumphant grin spreading across his face.
“It’s about time somebody cracked your balls, McCracken. I don’t think even your Indian friend would be able to spot all my people this time.”
The room Freddy Levinger had been referring to was located at the darkened end of a hallway on the building’s third floor, the only room in the general area. The door featured another electronic slot on its right and lacked a knob.
“I’ll need my access card back,” Levinger told Karen.
“Does it work up here as well?” she asked, handing the card over.
“It will,” he followed, and produced a strip of what looked like gray tape wrapped in cellophane from within his jacket pocket.
He carefully peeled back the cellophane and lifted up the tapelike strip over a nearly identical one that covered the entire lengths of both sides of his card. Levinger gazed back at Karen before easing the tampered card haltingly into the slot.
No light flashed this time. There was no beep, just a barely audible click as the door to the room parted electronically from its seal. Levinger pushed it the rest of the way open and entered, with Karen on his heels. The room was equipped with a heat sensor that automatically triggered the lighting upon their entry. The sudden brightness stole a breath from Karen, but it was Levinger who gasped audibly.
“My God,” was all he said.
The room was empty.
“What does it mean?” Karen demanded.
“I … don’t know.”
“You’ve got some ideas. You must!”
Levinger looked away from her, then back again. “All data was collected and collated in here. There were computers, state-of-the-art communications links.”
“What about the information?” she asked him. “Wouldn’t it still be somewhere in Van Dyne’s main data banks? You can find it, Freddy, I know you can.”
Levinger didn’t bother denying it. “There is one way.”
“Use it.”
“We find nothing and I’ll still end up losing my job if the intrusion gets noted.”
“But we know there’s something, don’t we? Something must have gone wrong in Beaver Falls, something they’re not telling you about. And whatever it is happened at almost the same time someone at Van Dyne decided they had to get their hands on my vaccine. Doesn’t that make you the least bit angry, the least bit suspicious? Look, I know you’ve been resisting everything I’ve said. I know you don’t want to believe it. Ask yourself for one moment, though, what happens if it’s all the truth? What does that say about Van Dyne? What does that say about their real methods and motivations?”
He nodded grudgingly. “It’ll take a few minutes before the computer notes and reports the intrusion. I’m giving you five, Karen, and that’s it. After that you can do anything you want to me.”
Freddy Levinger’s office was located in another wing of the corporate section of the Van Dyne complex, outfitted for a busy executive rather than a man committed to science and research. Clearly Levinger’s role as head of development had been redefined by Van Dyne’s upper echelon to fit their needs. He was a figurehead more than anything, a man whose job it was to travel the country giving update reports on new and exciting products to stockholders’ meetings and medical conventions.
Levinger closed the door to his office and pulled his chair over so it faced the computer sitting on his L-shaped desk. He didn’t offer Karen a chair and she didn’t bother to take one.
“Okay,” he started, “this will take a few minutes.”
“You sound nervous.”
“To get on line, I’m going to have to shut down all the power in the complex, except for the manufacturing plant, for several seconds, long enough to make the machine reboot. Big chance to take. Makes it too easy to identify where the intrusion originated from.” He called up the proper command sequence on his screen. “Here we go, Karen.”
Five armed men, none of them wearing Pacific Coast Security uniforms, converged on McCracken’s position. Blaine looked fast toward Maggs, but the little man was smart enough to keep his distance this time.
“I know what you’re thinking,” he taunted. “Stop. You’ll never get all of them. I haven’t even signaled all of them. It would be a senseless waste if you fired. Get rid of the temptation, McCracken: Drop your gun, a SIG-Sauer nine, I believe.”
Blaine let it fall to the floor. “I’m impressed.”
“Don’t be. Two men are going to come forward to search you thoroughly. After they’re done, we’re going to take a little walk.”
Maggs’s two henchmen searched him with surprising restraint, finding nothing. One of them held his wrists behind him, while the other moved to fasten on the handcuffs.
The steel had just grazed McCracken’s hand when the lights died, plunging the parking garage into utter darkness.
Levinger left the power off for ten seconds before reactivating Van Dyne’s internal power grid. As the mainframe-based computer system started to reboot, Freddy logged on to the Beaver Falls file in the midst of the process.
Levinger checked his watch before beginning his scan of the material. Karen tried to read over his shoulder, but the data on the screen were changing too fast for her to keep up with.
“Doesn’t look like there’s anything here out of the ordinary,” Freddy said as he scrolled through the material. “Nothing’s out of place. Everything just as they told—” His voice froze in midsentence as he halted his rapid scrolling.
“What? What is it?”
He ignored her and continued scrolling until the screen locked on a half-empty page, the data at its end. Levinger sat there with his finger still on the PAGE DOWN key. Even in the black starkness of the CRT screen, his face reflected back ghost white. Karen could see him trying to swallow.
“What is it?” she asked.
He turned and looked at her. “The entries, all the data, end on Sunday. There’s been nothing since.”
“What’s it mean?”
He was still looking at her, his stare considerably harder. “Something went wrong, something big.”
“With the test group. That’s what you’re suggesting, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know what I’m suggesting. All I know now is that everything was status quo up until Sunday when—”
Levinger broke off his words when the screen in front of him went dark. He lurched up from his chair, fear blazing over his features.
“They’ve isolated the intrusion into the network! We’ve got to get out of here!”
CHAPTER 24
McCracken seized the advantage the darkness gave him instantly. He pulled from the stunned and weakened
grasp of his captor and bolted away.
“Shoot him!” he heard Maggs’s voice order. “Shoot him!”
Gunshots erupted, echoing, identifiable only as orange muzzle flashes. Blaine chose the widest path between the gunmen available, which had brought him to the start of a corridor when the lighting returned. He thundered down the hall and burst through a heavy fire door at its end. A stairwell lay before him, and McCracken took it two steps at a time and charged straight for another heavy door marked PLANT ENTRANCE. He threw his shoulder into it and surged into Van Dyne’s massive drug manufacturing center.
Virtually all of the company’s drugs, both over-the-counter and prescription, were produced within this plant. In one section cough and cold liquids were dispensed automatically into the proper-sized bottles, then sent to another station to be fitted with child-guard caps before being labeled and boxed. In another powders were sifted and refined by machines en route to being pressed and molded into tablets, or packed into capsules. Some of the tablets were sent on to a machine that sprayed a microencapsulating coating over them to make them time-release. From there the pills and time capsules were automatically apportioned in foil push-out packs, and then shrink-wrap was fastened tightly around the completed packages.
McCracken ran swiftly into the very center of this mammoth manufacturing complex. He hoped to avoid the eyes of the token shift that monitored the process. They wore earplugs to guard them from the pounding racket kept from the rest of the complex by the specially reinforced walls. It was those earplugs that kept them from hearing the staccato bursts of gunfire aimed at McCracken when Maggs’s team entered the plant on his trail.
Avoiding the bullets was as easy as ducking beneath one of the huge lines of machinery, but Blaine knew now that reaching an exit door under the circumstances was impossible. He had to neutralize this enemy force first, and for that he had to figure out a way to use the only weapons available to him: the machines themselves.