“One objective of my mission here is to ensure Colonel Drake’s personal safety. Does he usually visit alone or with a team? And does he bring MPs for protection?”
“Colonel Drake always arrives alone. He usually meets with Mr. Finch.”
“I see. What do they discuss when they’re together?” asked Alton, casually looking down at a paper as he asked the question.
“Beats me.”
Romero didn’t mince words. Alton scarcely had time to improvise his next question. “What kind of work does the colonel inspect at the facility? Where does he go when he arrives? As a former soldier, Mr. Romero, you know the drill. To ensure the colonel’s safety, I need to know where he’s most likely to be.”
“He usually goes down the Pod Four corridor.”
“Okay…and what’s down there? Office space? Labs?”
Romero thought for a moment. “All labs. Phase Two trials for Claxoral and Kidasyn, Phase Three for Rabinil and Bloriacit.”
Alton knew he couldn’t make his next question too overt. “Does the colonel seem to show an interest in any particular section? He hasn’t briefed me yet, but I’m sure whichever section he visits the most, that’s where he’ll want the tightest security.”
“Hmm…I don’t always notice, but it seems like he and Mr. Finch usually head for the Rabinil trials.”
“I see. And has there been any unusual activity in Pod Four? Anything which could indicate security vulnerabilities? Any strange visitors?”
“No, not really.” Romero looked thoughtful. “You know this project is a bit of an obsession for Mr. Finch, right?”
“No, I didn’t,” replied Alton, surprised. “Why is that?”
“Mr. Finch and his son were camping on the Appalachian Trail a couple of years ago. His son was bitten by a rabid raccoon and barely made it. Mr. Finch has made the eradication of rabies—especially in wild animal populations—a bit of a personal crusade. He’s quite passionate about it.”
Alton mentally filed away this piece of information. He then decided to hunt for additional Briggsfield employees who might be good sources of information about the Rabinil project.
“Mr. Romero,” he asked, “do you know of any employees who might have secrets that could be used to blackmail them into giving away company information? You know—affairs, money troubles, immigration status? Obviously, anyone who falls into one of these categories represents a risk to the security of the company and its projects.” Alton’s actual plan—as suggested by Mallory—was to visit any employees Romero identified and use their secrets to force them to reveal more information about Briggsfield’s activities.
“Well, there’s Tanner Perkins. He always seems to have money issues. Of course, it’s never his fault,” he added sardonically. “Tanner’s car was recently repo’ed, and he’s been catching a ride to and from work the last month or so.”
“What’s his job?” asked Alton.
“Lab technician. He’s working on the Rabinil and Bloriacit projects at the moment. ”
“Does he have access to the test formulas for Rabinil?”
“Yes, of course. He needs them to do his job.”
“Mr. Romero, can you give me a list of everyone who has access to the different Rabinil test formulas or to the lab results?”
“Sure, it’s not too many people. That’s company confidential information. Mr. Finch intentionally keeps the list short. The fewer people who know the formulas, he says, the less chance of them falling into the hands of one of our competitors.”
“And that would be a bad thing?” asked Alton.
“Absolutely. It would cost us millions, maybe even billions, depending on the vaccine’s success. That’s why he likes to have vets like me around, I think—to help provide security for the project. By the way, do you need a listing of the current test formulas, too?”
Alton’s heart jumped, not believing his good luck. His outward expression, however, didn’t change. He had long nights of Texas Hold’Em in the deserts of Gazib to thank for that.
“Yes, I think that would be a good idea,” he said calmly. “If I know what ingredients are used, I can be more mindful to secure the locations where they’re stored onsite, and I can look for references to them in outbound company e-mail messages in case someone tries to sell the formulas.”
Romero handed Alton a flash drive from his pocket with the explanation, “I’m always being asked one question or another about the formulas–it’s the easiest way to keep the information at my fingertips.” He then began to write out the list of names Alton had requested as well as his own contact information.
As he was doing so, a woman—apparently also seeking solitude—sat down just a few tables away. She powered up her laptop, opened the “Rosetta Stone” foreign-language program, and began quietly speaking when prompted by the application.
“Is she speaking Arabic?” asked Alton in surprise.
“Yeah, that’s Amy Newton. She’s been learning it for a while.”
Amy was tall and thin, with mousy hair, plain clothes, and a distracted air.
“I’ve seen her in here pretty often,” continued Romero, “working away on her laptop during lunch.”
Alton glanced over at her, but she would not meet his gaze. She seemed determined to examine the floor as long as he looked in her direction. When she noticed Alton’s uniform and unwavering gaze, she casually slid a piece of paper on the table underneath her laptop.
“Why would she be interested in learning Arabic? Do you have any idea?”
“I wondered that myself. Finally last month, I found out she married a guy from Sudan. He speaks a little English, but she’s trying to help the marriage along by learning his language, too.”
Alton watched her practice for a few more minutes. She was already accomplished—very accomplished.
Just then, a voluptuous, thirty-something blonde approached Alton. “Can I help you, sir?”
Alton explained the purpose of his visit and asked, “May I ask who you are, miss?”
The blonde eyed him skeptically. “Emily Thatcher, Mr. Finch’s administrative assistant. He didn’t mention you were coming. I’ll need his authorization before I can allow you to visit any of the facility.”
Alton stared directly at her. “Mr. Finch didn’t authorize me, Miss Thatcher. Homeland Security did. That’s all the authority I need.” He paused. “However, I don’t need to inspect the labs today. The purpose of this visit is to assess your building’s overall security in support of Colonel Drake’s mission. I’ll return later to inspect the individual rooms.”
Thatcher simply stared without speaking, and Alton struggled for an exit. “Well, carry on, Miss Thatcher. I can see myself out.”
Before leaving, Alton turned to his escort. “Thanks again for your help, Mr. Romero. I enjoyed swapping stories with you.”
The veteran proudly removed a picture from his wallet and displayed it to Alton. “This is my three-year-old granddaughter Kaleigh. This is why my work here is important, to protect kids around the world from experiencing the ordeal Mr. Finch’s son went through. Rabinil is an airborne vaccine, you know. It could reduce the incidence of rabies in huge populations of wild animals. Thank you for helping us realize that dream.”
Alton nodded, exchanged a soldierly salute with his comrade, and left the building without speaking again.
CHAPTER 50
Research Triangle Park, North Carolina
The nightly backup of Briggsfield’s servers always began promptly at 2:00 a.m., an hour when the performance degradation caused by the massive synchronization of data to remote storage devices was least noticeable.
Most of the lab techs were gone by 5:00 p.m., but the molecular biologists and chemists remained a few more hours before retiring for the evening. By 9:00 p.m., though, the Briggsfield building resembled a ghost town.
A lone figure remained, however, and worked quickly and knowingly on a computer. With a Briggsfield name badge and familiar fac
e, no one questioned her presence in the building. She knew that at 2:00 a.m., any files changed during the day would also be changed on the remote backup devices. With this in mind, she copied all of the lab result files from the “Rabinil” folder directly to a flash drive, then replaced the original files with carefully-modified alternates which—other than the changes made to several key pieces of information—were indistinguishable from the originals. The figure quickly e-mailed the original files outside the company to a waiting recipient.
The server backup process ran at 2:00 a.m., and no one at Briggsfield could have known that the results of the week’s testing had been irrevocably changed, and the true results sent away.
CHAPTER 51
Centers for Disease Control, Atlanta, Georgia
Mallory and Alton arranged for a time to visit the CDC once again.
“Thanks for meeting with us again, Dr. Roland,” said Mallory, once they had arrived, “I wouldn’t trouble you, but we have a lead in the hemophilic anomaly case and need your expertise to understand it. Since we agreed to protect the confidentially of the data you provided, we can’t raise our questions with anyone else without potentially raising red flags, too.”
“I completely understand and agree with your decision to return here,” replied the doctor, who seemed pleased with their discretion.
“Dr. Roland,” said Mallory, “The military is involved in some way with the development of an experimental rabies vaccine called Rabinil, which is delivered as a spray rather than via the injections used by existing rabies treatments.” She explained much of the information Alton had gained on his visit to Briggsfield and gave Dr. Roland a list of the ingredients being used in the current Rabinil formulas.
“Our question is, why would the military care about this?” asked Mallory. “Could Rabinil be developed into some type of weapon?”
Dr. Roland studied the Rabinil formulas for a minute. “I don’t think so. Airborne agents are difficult to disperse and control, and unless they’re extremely potent, they’re not very effective as a weapon. More importantly, though, they’re banned by the Geneva Convention, so they’re not a practical military option.”
“Can you think of any other military application of this drug?” asked Mallory.
“The obvious answer is that they want to use it for its intended design, to control rabies in foreign lands. Let me pull up some numbers.” He quickly ran a query on his computer. “Some regions with heavy US troop deployment have experienced an increased incidence of rabies in wild animal populations in the last few years. A human case of rabies is almost always fatal if left untreated, and since the symptoms can take months to appear, that’s often the case. So I can see why the military would have an interest in reducing the risk of our troops contracting the virus. Also, unlike most other vaccinations, the rabies vaccines currently on the market require three separate doses within a month, have a number of side effects, and still aren’t always effective in preventing rabies. If Briggsfield is developing a truly effective airborne vaccine for both animals and humans, it would be a great leap forward, medically speaking. It would certainly be a boon to both troops and civilians alike.”
Alton felt stumped. “I can see why the Pentagon would have an interest,” he said, “but I don’t follow why they’d need to be so directly involved in the project or put such a tight ring of security around it. So you’re saying, Dr. Roland, that Rabinil has no properties that would make it suitable as a weapon?”
Dr. Roland studied the ingredients list once again for a few minutes. “Well, theoretically, if these formulas were intended to harm rather than heal, they would have some weapon-like qualities—those which would make it a good weapon.”
“Such as?” asked Mallory.
“The Rabinil formulas would be inexpensive to produce because—unlike existing rabies vaccines—they don’t require bovine serum, one of the most costly ingredients. The country in which the vaccine is produced would also make a big difference; Rabinil could be more easily and cheaply mass-produced in countries that have an inexpensive supply of mercury, since Thimerasol, a key ingredient in most of the Rabinil formulas being tested, is fifty percent mercury. If it could be made cheaply enough, Rabinil could be deployed in sufficient quantities to minimize the dispersion problem I previously mentioned.”
“If it were a weapon, which it’s not,” said Mallory. “Alton…uh, Mr. Blackwell, did you get a sense of any duplicity about the drug’s purpose when you visited the Briggsfield site?”
“No, not at all. As I mentioned, Finch’s son contracted rabies, so he—Jeffrey Finch, not his son—is on a bit of a crusade. It appears he’ll stop at nothing to develop the vaccine. I’d say Luis Romero is a crusader, too. He was passionate about the drug’s use to heal, and he’s overseeing the daily testing.”
Mallory and Alton wrapped up their time with Dr. Roland and drove away.
“Alton, I still feel like we’re missing something,” said Mallory. “There’s a piece to the puzzle we haven’t discovered yet. The government wouldn’t guard the Rabinil project so fiercely if it was undergoing standard clinical trials.”
“I agree, and I have an idea for our next step.”
CHAPTER 52
Raleigh, North Carolina
Alton suggested to Mallory that their best chance of uncovering more facts of the Rabinil project would be to contact someone close to the project, particularly someone who could be coerced into divulging detailed information. They reviewed the “persons of interest” list Alton had compiled from his visit to Briggsfield and decided to contact Amy Newton, the student of Arabic, and Tanner Perkins, the lab tech with financial issues.
Alton took a week’s vacation from work to focus on their research. To “stay under the radar,” as Mallory’s supervisor Mark Sutton had requested, they avoided the paper trail left by air travel and instead drove Alton’s car the seven hours to central North Carolina. On the way, Mallory called for Amy Newton but was told she had just left the country for a few days to visit her husband at a conference in London.
“We’re zero for one so far,” she told Alton. “Newton just left the country and won’t be back until Friday.”
“If she comes back,” said Alton grimly. “I wonder if she got wind of our investigation somehow.”
Mallory called Tanner Perkins next and was more successful. She identified herself as an FBI agent and asked when they could meet to discuss a confidential matter regarding his work projects and national security. They agreed to meet that evening for dinner.
They met at Perkins’ suggested rendezvous point: Longhorn Steakhouse. With his cowboy boots and hat, it was clear why he had chosen this location. He was short and scrawny, and kept his hair rather long. When Mallory and Alton arrived, Perkins was in the midst of a phone conversation. Upon seeing them approach, he abruptly ended the call.
“Miss Wilson, Mr.…Blackwell, is it?” said Perkins.
“That’s Agent Wilson, Mr. Perkins,” corrected Mallory, showing her FBI badge.
“Well, Agent Wilson, the FBI is gonna pay for this meal, right? It was your idea after all.”
“Certainly, Mr. Perkins,” said Mallory. “That won’t be a problem.”
Mallory winced as Perkins ordered a filet mignon and two Millers from the menu. Since this case was under the radar, she was bearing all expenses herself, including the dinner of a potential informant.
“I’ve had some bad luck recently,” Perkins was saying. “I can’t seem to catch a break, so I gotta watch my coinage.”
“So you’ve had some financial difficulties, have you?” asked Mallory.
“You could say that. Frickin’ bank took my car last month, the bastards.” He turned to Alton. “It’s hard to impress the chicks without a ride. You know what I mean, bro?”
Alton stared at him. “That must be a grave problem.”
“Damn right. I used to live for the weekends—still do, I guess. But it’s hard to party if you ain’t got wheels
.”
“So you’d be eager to gain financial help, would you?” asked Mallory.
“Sure…” began Perkins, and then his countenance grew dark. “It depends on the kind of help, right? Why are you asking me all these questions? I thought you wanted to talk about my job.”
“You’re right,” said Mallory. “I understand you’re currently working on the development of Rabinil, a new rabies vaccine.”
“That’s right. What about it?”
“What would be the consequence if the Rabinil formula fell into the hands of one of Briggsfields’ competitors?”
“Right now? We’d be up shit creek.”
“Why is that, Mr. Perkins?”
“The other company wouldn’t have to spend all the money that we’ve spent trying figure out how to make it. We’re not finished with Rabinil all the way, so the other company wouldn’t be either. But we’re close. I don’t think it would be much work for some other company to wrap it up and start selling it.”
“So you’re saying the other company could make a large profit since it could reap the revenue from the vaccine without having to spend all the money to develop it, correct?” said Mallory.
“That’s right,” said Perkins, between bites of filet mignon. He ordered a third Miller.
“Since it would be worth a lot of money to a competitor,” asked Mallory, “they might be willing to pay someone for a chance to get a copy of those formulas, wouldn’t they?”
Perkins stopped in mid-chew and put down his knife and fork.
“I see what you’re trying to do here. I ain’t sold the formulas to nobody.”
“It would solve a lot of your financial woes, wouldn’t it? You’d get your car back. You’d be able to impress the ladies again, right?” asked Mallory.
“Did you know the Army keeps checking up on our work?” said Perkins. “Yeah, the money probably would be good, but there’s no way I’m gonna get arrested for that, especially by the Army. Who told you the formulas have been sold, anyway?”
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