During the trial, we monitored the test subjects’ general health and immunological response to the vaccine itself. To our surprise, Foster became ill during the trial period. Testing revealed that he was infected with a mutated strain of H1N1—but a different strain from the one we were targeting with the vaccine. This warranted placing him in quarantine and contacting the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention.”
AJ raised his hand, like a schoolboy, turned red and quickly lowered it. Meredith smiled and gestured for him to speak.
“It seems highly improbable to contract a mutated strain from a vaccine. Are you suggesting this was the result of an antigenic shift?”
“An excellent question. Your thinking is in line with our own at the time. Mr. Foster’s case took the staff by surprise, because an antigenic shift in an attenuated virus is highly improbable. However, improbable and impossible are not the same thing, and since we weren’t sure what we were dealing with, we placed Foster in quarantine and contacted the CDC. As a precaution, of course. We took additional blood samples from Foster to try to ascertain exactly what was happening. It was upon further investigation that we became convinced that the mutant strain of H1N1 that Foster was infected with originated outside of the Leighton-Harris vaccine trial.”
“Excuse me, Ms. Morley,” Albane interrupted, “but when you began this briefing you named William Foster, in no uncertain terms, as the primary suspect in a case of industrial espionage against Vyrogen. You went on to say—your words now—’think of William Foster as a human Trojan Horse.’ It sounds to me that you are suggesting Foster purposely infected himself with a mutated strain of H1N1 so he could infiltrate Vyrogen and steal your research? Why would a man subject himself to such risk?”
Meredith crossed her arms and tucked both her hands under her armpits. “If you would permit me to finish, you can draw your own conclusion.” She then unfolded her arms and smiled.
Albane stared at Meredith, but offered no rebuttal.
“As I was saying, we contacted the CDC and they sent a top director-level scientist in infectious diseases, Dr. Xavier Pope, to New Jersey to assist with the case. By the time Pope arrived, Foster’s condition had deteriorated. As the CDC is one of our key government clients, Pope had knowledge of a promising and experimental immune-boosting product in our pipeline. He asked me if Foster was a candidate for treatment with this experimental product. At that time, the product had only been tested on non-human primates, so Pope’s request caught us off guard. Besides ethical concerns, we faced legal complications. Ultimately, Foster was given the choice. He elected to undergo the experimental treatment. He was transferred to our Chiarek Norse research hospital in Prague to undergo the treatment regime. Unfortunately, Foster developed pneumonia as a complication of his H1N1 infection before we could start the trial. Foster’s condition deteriorated so quickly, the decision was made to place him on a ventilator and into a medically induced coma. Obviously, this prompted new concerns about administering an experimental treatment while he was in a drug-induced coma. As we argued internally about what to do, Foster’s condition continued to worsen. When all hope was lost for his recovery via conventional means, I made the decision to start the trial. It was a clinical trial of one that ended with resounding success. Our experimental product eradicated both the pneumonia and mutated H1N1 virus from his system. For the past six weeks, he’s been recovering and gaining his strength back. We were just about to clear him for discharge when he made his move. He broke into our main storage bank, stole a sample of the product, and then destroyed all of our remaining inventory. Then poof! He vanished into the night.” Meredith shook her head, defeated.
“I’m still not clear on how Foster became infected with a mutated H1N1 virus if not from your vaccine trial. Where would he gain access to such a virus?” Albane asked.
“I’ve told you everything we know. Many questions remain unanswered. Which is why we have come to your organization for help, Ms. Mesnil.” Meredith frowned. “Oh, and there is one more thing you should know. There is a possibility that Foster has in his possession a glass vial containing a particularly virulent strain of bubonic plague bacterium—also stolen from our Chiarek Norse facility. If he did steal a plague sample, then Mr. Foster is a deadly liability.”
“Excuse me! You’re saying Foster is on the loose, wandering around a city of nearly two million people in the middle of Europe, with a biological weapon in his possession?” VanCleave exclaimed, his voice pitched with agitation.
Meredith nodded. “That’s the worst case scenario, yes. At this time, we are not able to account for all numbered Yersinia pestis samples in our inventory.”
“Why would Foster do something so dangerous?” AJ asked.
“I think his message is pretty clear . . . pursue me at your own peril,” Nicolora said.
AJ looked at Albane. She gave him a subtle nod of understanding, but the blank expression on her face did not change. She returned her gaze to Meredith. AJ sensed a palpable tension between the two women.
“Ms. Morley, do you have any idea where Foster is now, or an educated guess about where he might try to go?” Albane inquired.
“He was last spotted in an Internet café in downtown Prague. I had some of our people out scouring the city for him. He got spooked and managed to slip away. I notified the Czech Government that he is on the loose and that he possesses a biohazard. Hopefully by now, they have circulated his picture among law enforcement personnel and the border patrol,” Meredith said. “As for his rendezvous location with the buyer, I haven’t a clue. After he turns over our formula, I imagine he’ll go into hiding a very rich man, and we’ll never see or hear from William Foster again.”
The room was silent. Meredith looked around the table, beckoning more questions and trading glances with everyone, everyone except Albane.
AJ raised his hand.
“Mr. Archer.”
“Can you tell us anything more about the experimental product that Foster was treated with? What makes it so unique that he would gamble with his own life to steal it?”
“As I said before, the product is highly confidential. I’m not at liberty to disclose anything more than what I’ve told you already. Instead, I’ll leave you with this question to ponder: If Foster knew the product would save him, was he really gambling with his life? By making himself appear the victim, one could argue that Foster is the world’s most convincing and sympathetic thief.”
“Any other questions for Ms. Morley?” Nicolora said, but his intonation signaled the contrary. The Q&A session was officially over.
After ten seconds of silence Meredith added, “I cannot emphasize enough how dire this situation is. Foster must be found. We desperately need your help. My entire staff will be at your disposal twenty-four hours a day, for as long as you need us. Tell me what you need, and I’ll get it for you. Good luck, and God help us.”
Nicolora stood up, and on this cue, so did all the other members of The Tank. “Thank you, everyone. That will be all.” He turned to Albane. “Albane, you’re team leader for this assignment. The clock starts now. I want Foster located within twenty-four hours.”
Albane nodded and stared with unblinking eyes as he escorted Meredith out of the Founders’ Forum. She checked her watch. “All right team, you know the drill. Pack quickly. I want to be airborne and en route to Prague in ninety minutes.” Then, with narrowed eyes she added. “We have a man on the loose carrying around in his pocket the same disease that wiped out over a third of the population of Europe in the Middle Ages.”
AJ turned and looked at the picture of Will Foster still glowing on the screen; he smirked. He was certain that his experience over the past day was only the tip of the iceberg when it came to The Tank’s capabilities. Whoever Foster really was, one thing was certain . . . he didn’t stand a chance.
Chapter Twelve
Prague, Czech Republic
JULIE PONTE SMACKED her lips together. She had just finished applying
a fresh coat of lipstick, and was using the tiny lighted mirror of her car’s sun visor to make sure the job had been done properly. Adequate coverage with no smears. No red on her teeth. Good. She ran her fingers through her blonde hair, trying to fluff in some body. The shampooed luster and bounce from the previous morning’s shower was gone. She sighed and let her arms fall into her lap. She felt foolish.
“Why am I nervous? There is absolutely no reason to be nervous,” she muttered.
It had been over five years since she had last seen Will.
He shouldn’t have trouble recognizing her, she thought. Her hair was shorter, but only by three or four inches. Nothing a guy would notice. Her eyeglasses were new; her staff had commented that they made her “look serious.” She didn’t know about that. Realizing she was still wearing them, she quickly took the thin brown frames off and threw them in her purse. With one final peek in the mirror, she was ready. Five minutes was already too much time to have wasted primping in a parked car. She was late, and it was time to rescue Will.
She had visited Prague a number of times since moving to Europe, and she knew her way around the city center. From where she had parked, even at a brisk pace, it would take her ten minutes to reach the Astronomical Clock in the center of the Old Town. The walk would give her a few more minutes to stew.
There was much to be worried about. The abrupt way Will had ended their online IM conversation had scared her. Maybe the police had arrested him. Then, there was the babble about being kidnapped and put in quarantine. She had trouble swallowing that one. Finally, there was the issue of his health. Although she wanted to believe his claims, she had prepared herself for the possibility that Will was suffering from paranoid delusions.
She checked her watch: 2:11 AM. One more block to go.
As she rounded the corner, the pointed Gothic spires of the Church of Our Lady before Týn rose into the skyline. Like twin sentinels standing watch over the Old Town, they towered over every other structure in view. In keeping with gothic architectural coda of their era, the spires were built asymmetrically—with the broader right spire and the thin left spire representing the masculine and feminine elements of society. Her gaze shifted from the spires to the courtyard in front of the Astronomical Clock.
She scanned the faces of the sparse crowd for Will. A handful of people were loitering around the clock, even at this late hour, but Will was nowhere in sight. Her heart sank. He had logged off the computer before she could give him her mobile number. She had no choice but to wait. She would stay all night and through the next day if necessary. She spotted some chairs left out in front of one of the nearby cafés and decided to sit and wait for Will there.
As she approached the chairs, she noticed a man sleeping in one of them. The pose was unmistakable—classic Will Foster. Legs extended, crossed at the ankle. Chin against his chest with one fist jammed uncomfortably under his left cheek. Many a college night she had found him asleep in the library, in this position, with a textbook sprawled across his lap.
She smiled.
Up close, she was taken aback. He looked terrible. The dark circles under his eyes reminded her of how football players look with their grease paint before a game. The three days of stubble on his face was not enough to camouflage his sunken cheeks and unnatural pallor of his skin. Most disturbing of all, however, was that she had never seen him so thin. Her heart melted; she wanted to stroke his chestnut brown hair and tell him the nightmare was over. She was here to rescue him; she would take care of him now. But she resisted.
She stood over him, bent slightly at the waist, and tried to wake him. “Will, wake up. It’s Julie.”
Nothing.
She tried squeezing his shoulder. “Will, wake up. It’s me.”
Without warning, his left hand shot out and clamped onto her throat. His eyelids popped open, revealing fully dilated pupils. His right hand balled into a fist, which he recoiled into the “cocked and ready” position beside his temple.
She yelped. His hand was a vice on her throat. The carotid artery in her neck throbbed, and it was becoming difficult to breathe.
Will did not remember falling asleep. One minute he was sitting waiting for Julie—admiring the twin spires of a church whose name he did not know—and the next minute they’d found him. Like thieves in the night, they had snuck up on him, and grabbed him on the shoulder. His heart was in his throat. One thing was certain, he would not go quietly.
“Will! Stop. It’s me,” she managed in a raspy whisper.
Like a lighthouse beacon guiding a ship into safe harbor, her voice drew him out of his fog. The scowling orderly in a white lab coat morphed into an angel.
He released her throat.
“Julie?”
She rubbed her neck with her fingers, and took a step backward, trembling. “Christ, Will. If you could’ve seen the look in your eyes . . . For a moment there, I thought you were going to kill me.”
Standing up, he opened his arms wide to her. “I’m so sorry, Julie. I thought you were . . .” At first, her mouth crinkled with doubt, but then the corners of her lips curled into a grin. She stepped in and they hugged each other for a long moment, and for the first time in months Will felt the touch of human warmth against his cheek.
Like an alarm siren in his mind, an image of Rutgers and Frankie, writhing in misery, popped into his conscious. Abruptly, he pulled away from her.
“Julie, we need to keep a buffer between us. I don’t know if I’m contagious. If you became infected like the others I’ve been in contact with, I don’t know what I’d do.”
“For you, it’s a risk I’m willing to take. Besides, if you were infected with something that virulent, then you’d probably already be . . .”
“Dead?”
She grabbed him firmly on both his arms. “It’s obvious you’re not well. I mean Jesus, Will, I’ve never seen you so thin. But, don’t worry about me. Would it make you feel any better to know I have Ciprofloxacin, Streptomycin, and Doxycycline in my purse?”
“What are those?”
“They’re three of the most powerful antibiotics on the market. So if you have a dangerous infection—an infection worthy of being quarantined, like tuberculosis—then you’ll start popping pills, and I’ll start popping pills, and we’ll find a way to get through this. On the other hand, if you have a virus, then even the best antibiotics won’t help you. Either way, we need to get you checked into the research hospital in Vienna.”
“No hospitals. Absolutely not.”
Julie considered arguing the point, but they didn’t have time.
“Okay. No hospitals.” She grabbed his hand, and with a tug, she began leading him back to the car. “Let’s go.”
Her confidence bolstered his spirit.
“God, you’re a sight for sore eyes,” he said.
She smiled. It had been a long time since anybody had told her that.
“Thanks. You too.”
• • •
“NICE,” WILL EXCLAIMED as she unlocked the driver’s side door of her 2005 navy blue Opel Astra.
“What? This is Europe, Will. Not everyone drives an SUV here. Europeans are very practical, you know. Besides, this car has more personality than some of the technicians in my lab.”
Within ten minutes they had reached motorway D1 heading south out of Prague. At two thirty in the morning, traffic was light.
“God, this is so surreal . . . you being here,” Julie said.
“Surreal for you. The end of a nightmare for me.” He looked over his shoulder and out the rear window for the third time in as many minutes.
“Why do you keep doing that?”
“To see if we’re being followed.”
“We’re not being followed.”
“The only way to know if we’re being followed is to watch and see if we’re being followed. Those same headlights have been behind us for a while now.”
Julie sighed. “That car was already on the motorway when we got on. I
merged in front of him. Relax. No one is following us.”
“Easy for you to say. You don’t know what they’re capable of,” he grumbled.
Julie was silent for a moment. It was as good of an opportunity as she was going to get. Enough small talk, it was time to learn what she was dealing with.
“Will, tell me what happened to you.”
He nodded but didn’t answer. He wanted to talk to her; he wanted to tell her everything. He also desperately wanted to sleep. His aching body reminded him that he still had not fully recovered from his four-story plummet in the stairwell. He rubbed his eyes, trying to organize his thoughts.
“Start at the beginning. I’m here to help, not to judge,” she pressed.
He exhaled a deeply. “It started with Natalie. No, actually it started when I lost my job.”
“You were fired?”
“Yeah. The recession hit my firm pretty hard. I made it through the first round of cuts, but not the second. Then, not even a month after I was axed, Natalie dumped me. Things sort of spiraled out of control from there.”
“That sounds like Natalie. What did you ever see in her anyway?” Julie said, with a hint of wry satisfaction.
He sighed. “You never even met Natalie.”
“I’m sorry, go on.”
“Anyway, things got rough for me. Try living in Manhattan without a job—that equation doesn’t factor very well. Plus, Natalie spent money like a fiend, so my cash situation was shit.”
“Did you get severance?”
“Three months, but I used it to pay the rent, the bills, and to eat. I was freaking out. I needed a job desperately, but there was nothing. Nuh - thing. Nobody was hiring. I couldn’t even land an interview.”
Calypso Directive Page 9