“It’s Nicolora’s call, but I have reason to believe a sampling op is warranted,” she said.
AJ’s stomach was in knots. Albane was convinced Meredith was hiding something, but breaking into the Vyrogen facility seemed extreme. What if they were wrong? Even worse, what if they were wrong and they got caught? They would probably end up in jail.
The phones of all the Tank team members in the room began to chime in unison. It was Parish signaling that new information was available for discussion.
VYROGEN CASE—ROUND TABLE SESSION—PRAGUE
R. Parish—RS:Coordinator: “The purpose of this conference is to report the findings of the tasking I was assigned during our last Round Table. Continued background investigation on Foster reveals that his life before Vyrogen was quite unremarkable. He has no criminal record, no legal action pending against him, and no discernible enemies.”
A. Mesnil—RS:Social: “What about insight into Foster’s professional life and personal life? What did Ms. Knight learn from her interviews with Foster’s work colleagues?”
R. Parish—RS:Coordinator: “Ms. Knight identified and interviewed one of Foster’s closest friends. She learned that he was laid off from his job nine months ago. His girlfriend at the time did not adjust well to his strained financial state and also let him go. From what Ms. Knight uncovered, we can conclude Foster was struggling, both financially and emotionally, around the time he became involved with Vyrogen.”
A. Mesnil—RS:Social: “How dire was his financial status?”
R. Parish—RS:Coordinator: “Foster had been living paycheck to paycheck. He carried a credit card balance and was still paying off his college tuition loan. His corporate 401(k) showed an early withdrawal, with penalty, a few weeks before he signed on as a test subject in the Leighton-Harris vaccine trial. He had also enrolled in another paid drug trial with Pfizer, but he did not participate because of the quarantine.”
K. Immel—RS:Physical: “Looks like we can add money to the list of possible motives.”
A. Mesnil—RS:Social: “Did you uncover any connections or relationships Foster may have had with other pharmaceutical companies?”
R. Parish—RS:Coordinator: “None, but we’re still looking.”
K. Immel—RS:Physical: “What about government contacts?”
R. Parish—RS:Coordinator: “Nothing.”
A. Archer—RS:Bio: “What accounts did Foster manage for his firm?”
R. Parish—RS:Coordinator: “Primarily, the Cluckers Fried Chicken account.”
A. Archer—RS:Bio: “Does Foster’s firm handle any pharmaceutical accounts at all?”
R. Parish—RS:Coordinator: “Yes. They manage the cholesterolbusting drug Plaxzer’s ad campaign, and were behind Synthgen’s infamous Stimulex erectile dysfunction drug ads.”
A. Archer—RS:Bio: “So, we can’t rule out contacts at Synthgen.”
R. Parish—RS:Coordinator: “No. I have a resource looking into it.”
K. Immel—RS:Physical: “Another detail has been nagging me. Why do you suppose Foster was transferred to Vyrogen’s Chiarek Norse facility in Prague instead of staying at the New Jersey campus? What’s so special about the Chiarek Norse facility that Vyrogen wanted Foster out of the country? In my opinion, Chiarek Norse is the white elephant in the room. If Meredith Morley is keeping something from us, we’ll find it in Chiarek Norse.”
E. VanCleave—RS:Technical: “What makes you so you sure that the information we need is inside Chiarek Norse?”
K. Immel—RS:Physical: “It’s obvious to me, but if you need a reason, then call it instinct.”
E. VanCleave—RS:Technical: “Instinct is not sufficient. Without an explanation of your decision-making processes, I am forced to conclude it is your testosterone talking, and not your intellect.”
K. Immel—RS:Physical: “You sound exactly like Briggs.”
E. VanCleave—RS:Technical: “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
A. Mesnil—RS:Social: “Enough with the schoolyard banter. I realize that everyone is tired and stressed, but we all need to take a deep breath and focus on the task at hand. Let’s shift gears. I reviewed the entire recording of Meredith Morley’s briefing in the Founder’s Forum, and I have ascertained that on at least three occasions Ms. Morley either withheld or misrepresented information about the case. Couple this with the fact that we have no hard evidence linking Will Foster to any external entity trying to steal Vyrogen’s formula, and the suspicious transfer of Foster to the Chiarek Norse in Prague, leads me to conclude that we have compelling reason to engage in a sampling operation. Opinions?”
K. Immel—RS:Physical: “You already know my opinion . . . definitely worth a look inside.”
E. VanCleave—RS:Technical: “No surprise there.”
A. Mesnil—RS:Social: “Excuse me, Doctor, was that a yes or a no from you?”
E. VanCleave—RS:Technical: “Yes. But let the record show, a reluctant yes.”
A. Mesnil—RS:Social: “Fine. Bio?”
A. Archer—RS:Bio: “Yes. I’d like a peek inside.”
A. Mesnil—RS:Social: “Good. Then, we’re all in agreement. Time is our most precious commodity. Mr. Parish, contact Founder One and obtain authorization for a sampling operation at Chiarek Norse, commencing at the earliest opportunity.”
A. Archer—RS:Bio: “Hold on a minute. We’re going to break into the facility in broad daylight? Shouldn’t we wait until night?”
E. VanCleave—RS:Technical: “A common misconception popularized by television crime dramas. The reality is, at least for the Tank, that daytime ops have a statistically significant higher rate of success than nighttime efforts.”
A. Archer—RS:Bio: “What? I don’t see how that can be possible.”
K. Immel—RS:Physical: “Think of us not as thieves, but as illusionists. It’s a matter of redirecting your target’s attention. Like when I lifted your wallet in the Public Garden . . . while you were gawking at Albane’s tits. Or, a minute ago, when I lifted your phone while I was arguing with VanCleave.”
A. Archer—RS:Bio: “How do you do that?”
K. Immel—RS:Physical: “It’s called practice. With time, your talents will blossom too.”
A. Mesnil—RS:Social: “Kalen, how long do you need to prep?”
K. Immel—RS:Physical: “For which scenario?”
A. Mesnil—RS:Social: “I was thinking Bravo Eight Delta.”
K. Immel—RS:Physical: “Not bad. But I was thinking more along the lines of Bravo Fourteen Echo.”
A. Mesnil—RS:Social: “Interesting. I like it. VanCleave?”
E. VanCleave—RS:Technical: “Too dangerous. Archer has no training for an Echo scenario. I recommend Bravo Fourteen Delta.”
A. Mesnil—RS:Social: “Mr. Parish, your thoughts on executing Sampling Scenario Bravo Fourteen Delta?”
R. Parish—RS:Coordinator: “I concur with Bravo Fourteen Delta.”
A. Mesnil—RS:Social: “Kalen, how long do you need to prep?”
K. Immel—RS:Physical: “Ninety minutes to wheels up, assuming VanCleave can be ready in time.”
E. VanCleave—RS:Technical: “Of course I’ll be ready.”
A. Mesnil—RS:Social: “We’ll need paperwork.”
V. Viskaya—EMBED: Czech Ministry of Health: “I’ll take care of that.”
A. Mesnil—RS:Social: “And an Electrician.”
R. Parish—Coordinator: “We have two in Prague. I’ll make the calls.”
A. Mesnil—RS:Social: “We’ll probably need an ambulance too.”
K. Immel—RS:Physical: “We’ll definitely need an ambulance.”
R. Parish—Coordinator: “Understood.”
A. Mesnil—RS:Social: “Okay, then it’s decided, we prep and wait for the green light from Nicolora. Any questions?”
A. Archer—RS:Bio: “Um guys, could somebody please explain to me what a Bravo Fourteen Delta is?”
Chapter Twenty-One
Vienna, Austria
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WILL WOKE IN Julie’s bed, alone. He checked the clock on the bedside table. It read 10:47 AM. He did not hear Julie leave and had no idea what time to expect her return. She had not left a note, but he assumed she had gone to her lab to analyze his blood sample as they had agreed. He swung his legs off the side of the bed, stretched, and cracked his back. He took a hot shower and dressed grudgingly back in the same tired, dirty clothes he had worn since Miss Sophie’s.
He wandered into the kitchen and poured himself a small glass of orange juice. He sat down at the tiny kitchen table and considered his predicament. Even with Julie’s help, he still had plenty to worry about. His biggest problem was that he did not have any leverage over his adversaries. Nothing to level the playing field. He needed a bargaining chip. Something to trade besides just his body.
He retrieved the glass vial of synthesized product from of his pocket and held it between his thumb and index finger. This, he thought staring at it, could be the last of its kind. He had destroyed the rest of the inventory the night he escaped. However, for the sample to be effective leverage, he needed to find a safe place to hide it. That way, if he were captured, the sample would still be at large. The hiding place needed to be secure and yet easily accessible. He brainstormed, trying to imagine where such an oxymoronic place might exist:
Bank safety deposit box?
Banks had security cameras, restrictive hours, and would demand him to provide ID and paperwork. Strike one.
Post office box?
P.O. boxes aren’t like mailboxes; they’re unidirectional. He could place the vial in a self-addressed envelope and leave it inside. No one would take it out but him. Unfortunately, the postal service was a federal entity, and he was certain they would require ID and paperwork just like a bank. Strike two.
Julie’s apartment?
Easily accessible yes, but not particularly secure. Eventually his enemies would make the connection, and Julie’s apartment would be the first place they would look for him. Strike three.
Dread washed over him. He’d put Julie and her roommate at terrible risk by staying in the apartment, and it was tying his stomach in knots. He needed fresh air and decided to go for a walk. Although it galled him to do it, he left the apartment door unlocked so that he could get back in if he returned before Julie.
As he walked the streets of the embassy district, he scanned the landscape, hoping a survey of the surroundings would coax an idea. Rising skyward from behind a nearby building, he noticed twin spires and a green-tarnished copper cupola topped with a gold cross. He smiled. A church. A church met both of his criteria: freely accessible, yet ironically secure. He would find a dark inconspicuous place to hide the vial. Perhaps inside a confessional, or simply taped underneath a pew. With renewed spirit in his stride, he set off toward the nearby church.
• • •
“I WAS GETTING worried, you’ve been gone awhile,” Will said to Julie as she stepped across the threshold into the apartment. He glanced at a nearby wall clock. It was twelve thirty; she had been gone the entire morning. “How did it go?”
She shut the apartment door, leaned back against it, and exhaled deeply.
“Will, there is some really weird shit going on inside that body of yours.”
“Tell me something I don’t know,” he said. “What did you find? Were you able to figure out what they injected me with? Am I infected? Am I contagious?”
“The tests show that your blood is packed with antibodies.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that you’ve been exposed to many different pathogens.” Julie handed him a printout.
He scanned the list, aghast.
“Anthrax, smallpox, tularemia . . . I’ll be damned.”
“I know,” she said and then, echoing Jon Henning’s words added, “Your blood panel looks like a sample from either a special forces operative or a test monkey in a BSL-4 lab.”
Will spied an entry on the list that made him blanch. Yersinia pestis. That was the name written on the vial that Rutgers broke at Miss Sophie’s. He had forgotten the Latin name until now.
“What is this one?” he asked, pointing at the list.
She craned her neck to read the entry by his index finger. “Yersinia pestis, that’s bubonic plague.”
“Bubonic plague?”
She nodded.
“Everything on this list is something that I’m infected with?”
She smiled. “No Will, I wouldn’t be sitting at this table with you if you were infected with all of these horrible diseases.”
He cocked his head at her. “I thought you said all these pathogens were in my blood?”
“No. What I said was that you have antibodies in your blood for these pathogens.”
“So, I’m not infected or contagious right now?”
“No. In fact, if this analysis is correct, you are probably the least contagious person on Earth, because your immune system is primed to eradicate every disease on this list. But there’s more.” She spread out the SEM images on the table.
“What are those?”
“Scanning Electron Microscope images taken of lymphocytes in your blood.”
“Cool.”
“Cool does not even begin to describe this,” she exclaimed putting her arm around his shoulder as they stood hunched over the table. “We found a cell that we’ve never seen before . . . Oh my God, I’m such an idiot.”
“I’m confused,” he said.
She pulled away and started pacing. “I can’t believe I didn’t realize it until now. This . . .” she said tapping the picture repeatedly with her index finger, “is why they took you. I need more information. Is there anything else you haven’t told me? Anything at all?”
Her question caught him off guard, and so he did not answer her.
“Come with me,” she said, tugging him by the arm. She led him into her bedroom and sat down at her desk. She booted up her notebook computer, logged into her Wi-Fi network, and opened a browser window. She typed in the words Leighton-Harris Pharmaceuticals and ran a search. Instantly, she found the company homepage and clicked on the “About” button on the menu bar. A new page loaded and she scanned the text until she confirmed her suspicion.
“. . . Leighton-Harris is a wholly-owned subsidiary of Vyrogen Pharmaceuticals.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Prague, Czech Repubic
“NERVOUS?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t be. You have the easy job. No acting, no speaking, just walking around looking for the servers,” Kalen said to AJ.
“You can’t be serious! I’m the one who has to sneak around the facility, break into secure rooms, and risk being shot by armed guards. Oh, and how can I forget, hold my breath the entire time so I don’t contract the plague.”
“You don’t have to hold your breath the entire time. Only when you run into patients with purple pulsating pustules.”
AJ shuddered.
“Any last minute questions before we go?” Albane asked the group.
“Yeah, just one. What percentage of Victoria’s Secret’s annual push-up bra sales do you generate anyway?” Kalen said staring at her liberal cleavage, strategically framed by the low-cut gray blouse that she wore.
“Any serious questions before we go?”
“Actually, I’m still a little foggy on my role,” AJ said.
“That’s because it’s open ended. Sometimes ops are fluid, sometimes dynamic, sometimes chaotic. The truth is these things don’t go down in the real world like they do in the movies. We never have all the answers before we go in. Once Veronika, Kalen, and I have obtained the facility floor plans, the Coordinator will tell you what to do. To use a military term, think of yourself as being in ‘Hot Standby.’ You’ll be waiting outside in case we need you. If VanCleave is able to hack into their servers remotely, then your entry will be aborted. If not, you’ll be going in,” she explained.
“All I have to do is plug this
device into the server rack, and VanCleave’s program will do the rest?” AJ said, holding up a memory stick with an Ethernet connection on one end, and a USB fitting on the other.
“Yes,” VanCleave replied, “Unless, of course, the server room is locked.”
“And if the server room is locked?”
“Hold out your hand,” VanCleave said.
AJ extended his hand, and VanCleave dropped in his open palm three, slightly flattened, oval-shaped objects. Each device was about the size of a grape and was constructed of black plastic and polished metal. A groove ran axially along the flattened side, and four smaller equally spaced lines radiated transversely outward from it. Upon further scrutiny, he noticed seams, as thin as hairs, scribing the entire surface in a complex geometric pattern.
“They look like mechanical origami. Whatever they are, they’re all folded up.” AJ said, inspecting the ovoids.
“Mechanical origami . . . I like that one,” VanCleave replied, “I’ll have to add that to the list.”
“What are these things?”
“They have lots of names: spiders, crawlers, Abbey’s ants, robo-bugs.”
“What do they do?”
“They crawl into wire ducts, server racks, computer terminals. They can plug themselves into ports, bite into data cables, and stream data wirelessly. They were my idea,” VanCleave sniffed. “The good old days when you could hack into anybody’s mainframe are gone. No organization concerned with file security would network their data centers to the Internet when their files contain ultra-sensitive information. Even the best firewall can be hacked. But the best hacker in the world can’t remotely access a physically segregated network.”
“You’re telling me these things are remote control bugs that hack computer networks?”
“Autonomous mechanical infiltrators . . . yes.”
“Next you’re going to tell me that the Coordinators aren’t actual people but Artificial Intelligence programs,” AJ said.
“Don’t be ridiculous. We’re at least five years away from having virtual Coordinators,” VanCleave replied stone-faced.
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