HD66: Search for a cure or a killer?

by Babs Carryer

  We supported Saddam in Iraq as he gassed Iranian soldiers and villages in the Iran-Iraq war of the 1980s. Washington Post reporter Michael Dobbs wrote in 2002 that the Reagan administration was aware that materials we sold to Iraq were being used to manufacture chemical weapons. Dobbs noted that Iraq’s chemical weapons’ use was “hardly a secret,” with the Iraqi military issuing a warning in February 1984: “The invaders should know that for every harmful insect, there is an insecticide capable of annihilating it… and Iraq possesses this annihilation insecticide.” In 1988, Saddam used chemical weapons to quell Kurdish resistance forces within Iraq. Two decades later, the George W. Bush administration, led by Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld, cited Saddam’s use of chemical weapons against his own people as a justification for invading Iraq.

  This is all in spite of the Geneva Protocol of 1925, which banned countries from using chemical weapons first in a conflict. The Protocol was a result of almost 100,000 soldiers suffering the horrors of German mustard gas in World War I. In 1993, the world passed a tougher treaty, called the Chemical Weapons Convention, which sought to prohibit the production of chemical weapons and mandated their destruction. Many countries – 189 to be exact – signed the agreement, although two countries (Burma and Israel) signed but didn’t ratify the treaty, and five states (Angola, North Korea, Egypt, South Sudan and Syria) didn’t sign it at all. Syria, I note. Yahya’s country.

  As I finish reading, I reflect that chemical weapons have been around for a long time. If Errol really had invented a new one, it’s one more addition to an arsenal that many countries would value. Who, how, where – those are the questions for which I have no answers. A new page in my own notebook.

  Curled up on my couch, it seems like a stretch from the safe base of my cozy apartment to be thinking about all of this. What did I know about nerve agents beyond what I just read? Can I really help figure all of this out? Should I call Straler? What would I say? “Oh, by the way, Errol discovered deadly nerve agent. He might have gotten in over his head. Because it could be worth a lot of money to the right buyer.” It’s far-fetched, I caution myself as I sip the scotch.

  Arwen jumps into my lap and purrs. I carry her into the bedroom and get ready for bed. I wish Neal were here, but he is out of town. I am almost dozing when an idea pops into my head. I recall that Errol had made a few trips over the last couple of years to the Middle East. Conferences were the reasons for these trips. But what if there was something else? Come to think of it, some of the locations seemed baffling. Why would you want to go to Saudi Arabia under any circumstances? I had seen two references to trips there. They were not too long ago. I didn’t think that they were important. What if they were outside of his university work?

  Maybe I’m being harsh, but, in the dark of my room, I see Errol in a different light. What if these were not innocent trips but demonstrations of a product? Of a deadly product? To people who would value a death agent? It could be worth a lot of money. The salary of a research scientist, even a successful one, is nothing to write home about. The lure of the almighty dollar. Would he turn to the dark side? Maybe I never really knew him.

  I punch my pillow, sleep eluding me. I go back to my desk and stare at my notebook. What do I really know? What would tip Errol over the edge? Think, Brie.

  I start a new page in my notebook. Who could be customers for a deadly nerve agent? What is the market for such a product? Is there competition? How would you price it? I pour myself the last of my scotch and laugh with the irony that I am approaching solving the murder like a startup:

  What is the problem?

  What is the solution?

  Who are the customers?

  Other stakeholders?

  What is the value proposition?

  What are the channels to market?

  Who is the team?

  My notebook page looks like an outline for an investor PowerPoint deck. I cared about what happened to Errol before this because I cared about Errol, Amy, and Quixotic. He had trusted me. He wanted me to make sure that his work would continue. And I need to find out what Errol had for me. I’m deeply hooked on solving his murder. I have to get to the bottom of it. “The bottom,” I say out loud, grimacing at my empty glass.

  …….

  Early the next morning, I am groggy but awake. I know that I need more information from the lab. The students, they know about this. The only one I trust is Shala. I send her a text message to ask if she can meet me at the Starbucks in the Whole Foods parking lot at 8 a.m.

  …….

  Shala is already sipping tea when I walk into Starbucks the next morning. We exchange pleasantries, and then I get down to the reason for the coffee. “Shala, Amy had Errol’s lab notebook and gave it to me last night to read.”

  “Oh,” she says in her singsong tone. “Did you find anything interesting?” She coughs into her hands.

  “Yes, I found something very interesting. Something very important. Something that happened in the lab. That you must know about.”

  “Oh, what would that be?” she asks me innocently. Her eyes are oval and moist. “You know Dr. Errol is, was, such a smart man, a great scientist,” she says. “Much work that is done in the lab is very important, very good science,” she says and wipes her nose.

  “Yes, I realize that,” I say. “But I am talking about a discovery, something that seems to kill even with small doses. Do you know anything about this?”

  She takes in a breath and looks a little alarmed. Her brown eyes gleam. “Yes, I know about this. We call it DeathX. It is joke. Bad joke maybe. But it very important.” She stops talking and seems like she wants to say more.

  “Shala, if you know anything about this, about ideas that Errol had about using it, or selling it…” I end slowly. Shala looks panicked. “You can trust me,” I add. “I want to help.”

  “I must go now,” Shala says quickly looking at her phone. “They will be missing me at the lab. I open up, you see.” She gets up and fumbles for her things. “Brie, I email you later. I have some thoughts. I will tell you in the email. OK?”

  “Of course,” I respond and give her my gmail address. “Send it to this address, not to Quixotic, OK? Thank you for meeting me. I appreciate your help, Shala. I do. It’s important.”

  She walks slowly out the door, glancing back at me with a strained smile.

  …….

  That afternoon, I get an email from her.

  “Dear Brie, I am thinking all day about our talk. First, let me tell you we all surprised at this “discovery.” This not what we expect, what Dr. Errol expect. We didn’t think it at first a discovery. We thought it was mistake. I thought that it my fault that it was something I do wrong in the lab. I try over and over again for days to make it work, to not kill the mouses. But I am not successful. Dr. Errol, he try over and over. Then we realize that this was new thing.

  Patrick starts joke about it, about it killing. He talked that it might have value to bad people. Dr. Errol, he listen. And, I have to tell you, Yahya also talk about discovery. He want to repeat experiments, changing doses even after Dr. Errol gone. Why this? He is strange. All of these travels to New York. I don’t understand why he goes.

  We argue about what to do. Patrick says that we not say anything about this. He says that no one knows, then not matter. He tell us that we should move on to other work and leave death agent behind. Yahya says good idea – no tell anyone about DeathX. Why does he think this, I ask? And why is he doing experiments at night when he alone?

  Brie, I do not trust Yahya. I do not trust Patrick. I do not say this to detective. But I trust you, so I want you to know my bad feelings. You will know what to do.

  Thank you for the coffee and goodbye for now until I see you next time.

  Your friend,

  Shala”

  …….

  I go back to the lab the next day. Alone. No Straler. Shala looks better. She must be over her cold. She seems very glad to see me. Patrick, however, l
ooks worried; Yahya glowers behind dark eyebrows. I try to loosen him up by teasing him about New York. “You staying in the city?” I ask. “A girl?” He looks shocked. “Oh, sorry,” I quickly cover. “Just teasing you, Yahya.”

  “I go to friends,” he tells me.

  “Oh really, what part of the city? You driving or what?”

  “I take Megabus,” he responds reluctantly. It cheaper than train. And quick too.”

  “Yes, I’ve taken the Megabus too, but to DC. It’s great.” I pause. “Where are you staying?”

  He pauses, as if to think of the answer. He does not look at me. “I stay Hell’s Kitchen. With friends. You know New York?” he asks, looking up at me his brows knitted.

  “Yes,” I conclude. “I lived there for a job for a bit. I know the Hells’ Kitchen area. Well, have fun!” Shala looks at me but quickly looks away as Patrick tilts his head listening.

  The idea had hit me last night like a brick. Yahya knows about the nerve agent. It’s valuable, particularly on the black market. Given where he comes from, Yahya could be doing some kind of deal. I have to go to New York. To see for myself. If I find out anything important, Straler can take over.

  Back in my office I look at the Megabus schedule for Pittsburgh to New York. It takes eight hours. I can make it quicker by car if I leave really early. His bus leaves at 6 a.m., I realize grimly. To make sure I can beat him I should leave at 5 a.m. Ugh. I have to find parking too. But it’s a good plan. I’m curious more than anything else. My biggest concern is whether I tell Neal. Should I mention it to Jim? Straler? I’m not doing anything wrong, I reason. I won’t tell anyone because I don’t have a good reason why I would go. I recall Jim’s admonition: “It’s better to ask for forgiveness than permission.” He was talking about entrepreneurs. But then, I’m being entrepreneurial, aren’t I? I’ll tell everyone that I need a few days peace and quiet and that I am going home. They should only contact me if it’s really important. Knowing the situation with my dad, they won’t question me. I’ll put an away message on my email. I better mention it to my folks, so that we don’t get our wires crossed. I’ll tell my mom that I am visiting a friend in New York.

  …….

  When I arrive home, I am halted in my tracks by a sticky that I left on the kitchen table from last night. All it said was “Amy?” Checking my phone for the time, I realize that I would catch her at home. She picks up right away, sounding a bit anxious. “Amy, I read Errol’s lab book. And well it’s…”

  “It’s important, isn’t it, Brie? I thought so. Otherwise why would he bring it home? I mean he does things like that, bring his notebooks back and forth, but not that often and I just thought…” She trails off.

  “Amy, Errol discovered something that he documents in that notebook. I don’t know who else knows. We didn’t know anything about it at Quixotic. At least, I think that’s the case. I have to check to make sure of that. Anyway, I am not sure that this relates to Quixotic. You see, it’s out of his lab at the university. His students knew about it.”

  “Oh,” Amy says quietly. “Is it important?

  “I don’t know,” I reply honestly. “It’s a new invention; it’s really dangerous.” I let some silence happen over the line. “It’s something very powerful, very strong – and lethal. It could be of great value to someone somewhere…” I pause again and take a deep breath to get the next part out. “Because it could be used as a kind of weapon, a chemical weapon. I don’t know the details of how it’s made or how it could scale, but someone would be able to take this and do terrible things with it.”

  I hear Amy sputter a bit. “I don’t believe that Errol would…”

  “I know that this is a lot to take in, Amy, but I have a couple of questions. Can you handle this now?” I ask.

  “Just a minute, Brie.” I hear Amy talking to someone in the background. Of course, the kids are there, and she doesn’t want them to be a part of the conversation. It sounds like she changes phones, “OK, I’m in the office now,” she says. I remember that they have a lovely home office at the front of their house. Errol had custom-built the desks, and he had big windows looking out onto Sheridan Avenue.

  What must she be going through? Does she have anything to hide? “Amy, I need to ask about Errol’s travel to the Middle East in the last couple of years. What do you know about these trips? When, where, who, that kind of thing?”

  I pause. No response. The silence is long and painful.

  “Um, Amy, sorry to keep persisting, but did Errol have any contact with people, maybe even innocent contact, with people that might be interested in this kind of discovery?” I wait.

  “Do you mean that you suspect that Errol would try and sell this product to someone?”

  I breathe for a minute before I answer. Very important to be calm here and not alarm her. “Amy, I am not implying anything. Maybe he did nothing about this at all. Or maybe he did something legitimate. For all we know, Errol could be trying to enhance our own weapons, in this country. I mean, it is feasible that someone as smart as Errol would realize that, if this got out beyond our borders, it could be very dangerous to our whole country. Maybe he talked to people in Washington DC? Or maybe elsewhere? I’m just trying to understand.”

  I hear a sniffle on the other end. “I don’t know, Brie. It’s so unlike him. I mean conferences, yes, he went to many of them. But doing business, selling an invention? I can’t imagine him… What would he wear? His Hawaiian shirts? Oh, it’s laughable.” And she chuckles, a soft, sad laugh.

  “Amy, let’s just consider this. Maybe it’s nothing. Objectively speaking, no assumptions, can you make a list of his travel in the last couple of years? I’ll do it on the Quixotic end. And I can ask someone at the university if they can give me any information about his speaking engagements and conferences. Then, at least we have some data. No assumptions. Just fact collecting. That OK with you?”

  “Of course. Let’s make sure we do this thoroughly, Brie. I want to rule this out, not in, you understand? But I get what you are saying. Examine all angles.”

  Chapter 26

  March 3

  The black cloud appeared on the horizon, and he knew that they had to hurry. His grandfather sees the cloud too and shouted the boy into action. He hauled in the nets, too early he thought; we don’t have a full hold of fish. He glanced into the deep well, less than half full of thrashing fish bodies. He needs more fish. We will have to come out again. His grandfather’s needs were simple and pure. The boy was here only for the summer. But his grandfather was here for all time.

  As he lashed the net to the port gunwale and secured the fish hold, the old boat lumbered to full speed. He was angry at being cheated out of what they came here for. We will get you, he raged. He was only a child, but he knew how to handle the unexpected at sea. His grandfather had taught him well.

  The boy looked, but his grandfather was not at the wheel. He entered the wheelhouse to take charge, to do as he was taught.

  “Always forward,” his grandfather would admonish. “Never go back. No matter what.” The boy had promised many times. He knew that his grandfather was to starboard, securing the fishing lines so that they wouldn’t get fouled in the propeller. He started to turn the boat around. He was the captain now. He recalled the stories his grandfather had told in his native Greek – of their forebears, and how their blood runs in the boy’s veins. He was scared, but he drew upon the courage of generations. The storm crackled and danced around the boat.

  The boy strained his head seeking his grandfather. The Kataigida has been his boat for as long as the boy could remember. It was named after the Greek word for storm. “This boat was belonged to an ancient in my village who sailed alone to flaunt Mother Nature. When he died, the boat passed to me. She taught me well. Her name comes from The Tempest, the Shakespeare play that starts with a storm.” He would quote the first lines of the play:

  “Heigh, my hearts! cheerly, cheerly, my hearts!

  yare, yare! Ta
ke in the topsail. Tend to the

  master's whistle. Blow, till thou burst thy wind,

  if room enough!”

  The boy’s thoughts were interrupted when a wave crashed over the starboard rail of the boat. He concentrated and brought her around and into the wind. But he could not see his grandfather. Suddenly afraid, he knew that stories wouldn’t help him. He rushed out of the wheelhouse. His grandfather was not on board. The boy was alone. He dare not go back. He had failed. It was his fault.

  Errol awoke from a cold sweat, shivering from the Voice.

  …….

  “Captain Bob, are you up there?” Errol shouted from the depths of the lock hold.

  “Sure I’m here. Whadda ya want, soldier? Comin’ back so soon?” Captain Bob smiled at the “Scoot” from 50 feet up as he dropped the rope down for the second time that night. Errol tied his long line to the shackle and Captain Bob pulled it up. Walking along as the “Scoot” slowly made its way forward, he said, “Ya up for any fishing?”

  “Not tonight,” Errol responded. “Busy,” he said as he gestured towards the bow.

  “Ah, aye, aye, cap’n,” he said, and saluted Errol as he pulled the last of his rope and coiled it neatly before stowing it in the “Scoot’s forward seat cabinet. “Watch the ice up river, eh?”

  “Will do.” Errol motored slowly out of the lock heading upriver.

  There were still small slabs of ice on the river. He had no trouble when he launched the boat and took her through the lock earlier that night. There had been a thaw last week and no new snow. The temperature had been unusually warm for this time of year. Which is why Errol had dared put the “Scoot” in the water and head out for a ride. I need to think.