Calypso Directive

by Brian Andrews

  Having witnessed the entire drama, Kalen swept in with perfect timing.

  “Hey guys, you should come take a look at this,” he said. “You won’t believe what VanCleave found.”

  VanCleave cleared his throat. “Do you remember the data anomaly that Veronika briefed us on when we first arrived in Prague?”

  “Yes, the spike in homeless deaths and the coroner’s reporting of toxic shock as the cause of death,” Albane replied.

  “I think I’ve figured out why. Chiarek Norse was a participating hospital in the free vaccination program this winter in Prague. That’s how they found their test and control groups of human subjects,” said VanCleave.

  “Let me guess, they used homeless people to form the test group,” AJ said, aghast.

  “Twenty-five homeless persons were involuntarily enrolled in a project code-named the Calypso Directive and received treatments which ultimately culminated in twenty-one of their deaths,” said VanCleave.

  “Wait a minute, isn’t that unorthodox for a drug company?” Kalen interrupted.

  “Unorthodox, unethical, unfathomable . . . not to mention entirely illegal,” said AJ.

  “Why would they do something like that?” Kalen pressed.

  “Expediency. Greed. Complete madness, who knows,” AJ sighed.

  “Not true. You do know why,” Albane said.

  “I do?”

  “We all do. Project BioShield. Vyrogen needs to show BARDA proof of concept before the money dries up. They’re under pressure, racing against the clock, and so they’re rushing.”

  “During her briefing in Boston, Meredith implied that her wonder drug was in the final stages of testing,” said Kalen.

  “The evidence we’ve uncovered contradicts that,” VanCleave said.

  AJ nodded. “I agree. Vyrogen is still early in the development phase. The data I looked at indicates at least four different AAV DNA prime-boosted vaccine formulations were evaluated over the past three months.”

  “Say again, in English this time,” Kalen said.

  AJ sat down and faced the group. “Is anybody interested in a five-minute Immunology 101 course?”

  The group nodded.

  “Like an army, the human immune system also uses scouts to identify and tag foreign invaders that enter the body. These scouts are called lymphocytes. The invading pathogens have proteins, called antigens, on their surface that the scouts use to identify the pathogen as self or not-self. When a lymphocyte finds a pathogen, it tries to connect to the invader’s antigens. If it recognizes the antigen, in other words if the immune system has a memory of the pathogen, then it activates other lymphocytes to rapidly produce millions of antibodies specific to that particular invader. The antibodies spread throughout the body, latching onto the antigens of the invading pathogens. Sometimes, by binding to the pathogen, the antibodies are able to neutralize it. In other cases, the antibodies simply mark pathogens for destruction by macrophages.

  “But, if the immune system has no memory of a pathogen, the body doesn’t know which antibodies to produce. In these cases, the immune response takes longer. The scouts take the antigen back to the lymph nodes, aka central command, and recruit lymphocytes to manufacture antibodies that will work against the new threat. Once the antibodies are released, the rest of the immune system is alerted, and the macrophages and lymphocytes go to battle. The problem is that while the central command is gearing up for its retaliation, the invader is multiplying unfettered.”

  “That’s the reason for vaccines,” Kalen said, “to give a small dose of the bad stuff so the body can fight back if it ever sees the germ again.”

  “You get an A+,” AJ said.

  “But that’s not what Vyrogen is after, is it?” Albane said.

  “No. They’re investigating an entirely new path in medicine. They are trying to use gene therapy to prime or program a subject’s immune system to respond quickly to an infection, even in cases when the subject has no ‘memory’ of the invading pathogen.”

  “How can they accomplish that with gene therapy?” Kalen asked.

  “By copying my dissertation,” AJ said, laughing at the irony. “At BU, I was investigating the possibility of using gene therapy to program existing lymphocytes to recognize antigens they had never seen before and produce antibodies they had never produced before; thus, conferring immunity to the subject even after first contact with a new pathogen. I used a specific type of virus called an Adeno-associated vector virus, or AAV, to insert DNA into existing Memory B cells in mice. The new DNA contained instructions for making antigen-specific receptors and antibodies that the Memory B cells of the mice were not previously programmed to make. Then we injected the mice with a target pathogen to see if they would mount a robust immune response. To everyone’s utter disbelief, including mine, it worked.”

  “Why is the gene therapy approach any different or better than using a vaccine?” VanCleave pressed.

  “Aaahh. The billion dollar question. There are three main problems with vaccines. First, many vaccines require dosing regimens of multiple shots, spread out over many months, with periodic boosters to confer immunity. Vaccines must be administered prior to infection to be effective. Once a person is sick, administering a vaccine is like handing a bulletproof vest to someone who has already been shot. Second, vaccines are not without side effects. In addition to introducing DNA from the target pathogen, vaccines also contain toxic adjuvants and unintentional viral or bacterial DNA that can cause systematic and lasting side effects in patients. Third and finally, many pathogens exist—Lyme disease, Ebola, HIV/AIDS, to name a few—that we don’t have vaccines for.”

  “Immune boosting through gene therapy appears to confer immunity much faster than vaccines do. Recent research on prime boosting for anthrax shows that subjects could have full immunity in as little as three weeks, as compared to eighteen months when relying on the existing anthrax vaccine. Even more exciting than that is the idea of using gene therapy as a therapeutic for patients that are already infected. In my experiment, I was able to elicit full-scale antibody production against a new pathogen in infected mice within seventy-two hours of treatment. Ideally, we’d like that surge to occur within half the time—”

  “This is all fascinating, but what does gene therapy have to do with Foster? And more importantly, why the hell is Vyrogen decoding his genome?” Kalen asked.

  AJ nodded. “Kalen is right, it doesn’t make sense. Back in Boston, Meredith Morley told us that Foster was infected with a mutated strain of H1N1, but I can’t see how sequencing Foster’s genome relates to that. As we collect more pieces of this puzzle, the less Foster seems like a mole and the more he looks like a test subject.”

  “How can we confirm that?” Kalen asked.

  “Maybe it’s time to ask him,” Albane said, with a straight face.

  Kalen laughed. “I think you’re forgetting something, my dear. We still don’t know where Foster is.”

  Albane smiled. “VanCleave, will you please show the others the probability matrix you’ve been working on?”

  VanCleave grabbed his tablet computer. “Using the data the Coordinators compiled investigating Foster’s background, I built a probability matrix to analyze his social network. I wanted to identify and rank the people he is most likely to contact for help. The top ranked prospect is this woman, Julie Ponte,” he said, turning the screen so the others could see her picture. “Ponte is thirty-two, unmarried. Graduated from Tulane University, Foster’s alma mater, one year after he did. According to her work visa, she lives in Vienna and is employed by an Austrian contract research company called Wein BioScience which, I might add, was purchased eighteen months ago by Vyrogen Pharmaceuticals.”

  “That can’t be a coincidence,” AJ said.

  VanCleave sniffed. “I don’t deal in coincidences, only in probabilities.”

  AJ laughed. “Okay, then I think the probability is high that we will be taking a road trip to Vienna in the very near future.�
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  Kalen jiggled the keys to his Ducati. “Race you there.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Boston, Massachusetts

  “HOW DID YOU get this number?” Meredith said into her iPhone.

  “From Xavier Pope. I’ve been trying to reach him for the past two hours, but he hasn’t been picking up. He gave me very specific instructions: in case of an emergency where he cannot be reached, I am to contact you directly . . . I think this qualifies as an emergency,” said Bart Bennett with a hint of trepidation in his voice.

  “You have my attention, Dr. Bennett. So please, start at the beginning.” She listened without interruption as he related the morning’s events. He went on to explain that Pope had sent him hundreds of samples for analysis over the previous two months, and how he believed the connection between today’s sample and the others was indisputable. When at last he fell silent, she said, “You did the right thing calling me. Loyalty and discretion are prized and rewarded in our organization. Since Vyrogen acquired Wien Bioscience eighteen months ago, your name has crossed my desk more than once as someone who is a rising star. It looks like that director position might have just opened up. Now, tell me, does anyone else know about this?”

  “Yes, the woman who brought me the sample, Julie Ponte, and my lab assistant, Jon Henning.”

  “I want you to listen very carefully. All computer files and records associated with this event need to be deleted. All hard copies and prints need to be destroyed. Any slides or sample volumes need to be packaged and locked in the secure refrigeration unit for pick up by one of my couriers.”

  “Okay, I understand. What do you want me to tell my assistant, Jon?”

  “Don’t worry about Mr. Henning. He’s going to be reassigned.”

  “Reassigned? Nothing bad is going to happen to him, right? I mean, it’s not his fault he found out. He was just doing his job,” Bart protested feebly.

  “What would ever make you think such a terrible thing? Of course nothing is going to happen to him. We just need to occupy his mind with other things right now. A transatlantic reassignment will give Mr. Henning other things to think about besides antibodies and lymphocytes.”

  “He’s been a great lab technician. I’d hate to lose him.”

  “The world is full of great lab technicians. Besides, Director Bennett will have much more pressing responsibilities to fret over than the job satisfaction of lab technicians. Am I making things clear?”

  “Yes, crystal clear.”

  “Good. Now, tell me about the woman who brought you this sample, Julie Ponte. I want to know everything.”

  • • •

  MEREDITH COLLAPSED ONTO the king-sized bed in her hotel suite at the Copley Plaza and stared at the ceiling. Her morning had begun with a slap in the face, but thanks to Julie Ponte, she was officially back in the game. To say she was in control of the situation would be an overstatement, but at least she was equipped with knowledge she could use to influence each of the players’ next moves. As she lay there, still dressed in the frayed Princeton University T-shirt she wore as nightshirt, she weighed her options.

  The report from Pope needled her. Yes, the surprise Health Ministry inspection could have been legitimate, but she harbored doubts. If Nicolora had directed his minions to infiltrate her Chiarek Norse facility, then it was because he didn’t trust her. She wondered if he truly trusted anyone. When they were together, he was always probing, testing her loyalty. It had driven her crazy. One day, when she’d finally had enough, she blasted him in a fiery, accusatory assault. Instead of denying her allegations, he had argued vehemently that she adopt a similar philosophy, stating that trust is a luxury that people in power cannot afford. Surveillance is the cornerstone of prescience, he stated; intelligence collection the cornerstone of insight. She asked him to teach her to think as he did—like a field general in battle—and he had granted her request.

  In the years since their split, she had honed her skills.

  She had contemplated a variety of security breach scenarios concerning Chiarek Norse, and prepared for them. Tracks had been covered. Electronic files, paper documents, and official statements for multiple contingencies had been readied in advance. If the inspectors had been Nicolora’s team, she was confident they hadn’t discovered anything of consequence. Still, she couldn’t stand not knowing. Her lips curled into a coy little smile. It was time for her to spend some private time with her old teacher; collect some intelligence of her own. She had reserved her hotel room for an extra day for this very exigency. In her experience, a man’s mind was surprisingly unfettered after a fierce orgasm. She decided she would not tell Nicolora about Julie Ponte—at least not before she knew his true agenda.

  Her hunting dogs, the Zurns, were another matter. When she had last spoken to Raimond, he was still in Prague, trying to pick up Foster’s trail at the infamous cybercafé. His pride was bruised after the events in Prague; she was confident he would not underestimate Foster again. Still, he had threatened to blackmail her, could she rely on his discretion? She had already tried firing him, but that had only enraged him. She exhaled slowly. Realistically, she was stuck with the Zurns to the bitter end. With a single phone call, the brothers could be standing in Ponte’s apartment in less than four hours. Better to send them to Vienna now, while the window of opportunity was still open. There was no telling how long Foster would linger in one place before running again.

  Next, her mind drifted to Julie Ponte, and how she could best use this new chess piece that had appeared on the board. Was Ponte a knight or a pawn? Could she intimidate Ponte into cooperating with her? From talking with Bennett, it was obvious that she was clever. Had Bennett not already been read into CALYPSO, Ponte would have succeeded in using his laboratory to uncover Foster’s secret—and possibly Meredith’s agenda—without anyone the wiser. If she had not yet pieced together the connection between Vyrogen, Leighton-Harris, and Chiarek Norse, she undoubtedly would in short order. Meredith inspected her fingernails. French-manicured, polished, elegant . . . nothing like the razor sharp claws she deployed in battle. If she were in Ponte’s position, she would size up her enemy, quickly realize it was a fight she couldn’t win, and ditch Foster. Actually, if she were Julie, she would negotiate a lucrative payoff and turn him in herself. This begged the question, what type of woman was Julie Ponte? How deeply did she care for Foster? Would she be willing to sacrifice her career to help him escape, or would she cave under pressure?

  Meredith picked up her iPhone. It was time to find out.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Prague, Czech Republic

  “I’M SORRY, BUT the hard disk from the computer at the cybercafé is a dead end,” announced Stefan Zurn to his brothers Raimond and Udo, as they walked into the hotel room carrying sandwiches. “Public computers in cybercafés are notorious for being infected with keystroke-logging spyware—a phenomenon I had hoped to exploit. But in this case, the computer had an updated security suite installed. Also, cookies were disabled in the browser, and there was nothing useful cached in virtual memory. I found no clues to help lead us to Foster.”

  “It’s okay. I know where he is,” Raimond replied, clapping his hand on his younger brother’s shoulder.

  “How?”

  “It appears the American made a fatal mistake—he trusted a woman,” Raimond said. Udo laughed loudly at the comment, too loudly, and it annoyed him. “As I was saying, Foster contacted a woman who lives in Wien and asked her for help. She’s also an American; her name is Julie Ponte.”

  “And your source is?”

  “Our employer, Frau Morley, she phoned me personally with the good news five minutes ago.”

  “Even the coldest of bitches eventually warm to your charms, brother. How do you do it?”

  Raimond laughed. “After you hacked her VoIP account, I called her directly in her office and blackmailed her. She’s been most cooperative ever since. The hack was a nice piece of work, by the way.”


  “Danke. It was nothing. A child could have done it,” Stefan said and then added, “Blackmail is terribly underrated in my opinion; it has been working so well for us all these years.”

  Raimond tapped the top of Stefan’s laptop computer screen and said, “Let’s find out where Julie Ponte lives, shall we? Ponte is spelled “P-O-N-T-E.”

  Stefan opened a browser window and performed an Internet search. “Hmm,” he mumbled as his eyes scanned the list. “I find only one woman in Wien named Julie Ponte. I’ll SMS the address to your phone.”

  Raimond’s phone chimed and the text message with Julie’s address appeared on the screen. Their job had become so much simpler with the advent of the Internet and mobile phones. Finding people had once been a tedious and painstaking endeavor, now it was as simple as a click of button.

  “What now?” asked Udo.

  “We pack the van and drive to Wien. It’s time to collect our fee.”

  “Tell me something, Raimond. Why is this American, Will Foster, so important?” Stefan asked.

  “They don’t tell me why, and I don’t ask. Remember, we are like garbage men; we get paid to clean up other people’s messes. They don’t want to see us. They don’t want to talk to us. And most of all, they don’t want to know what we do with the trash.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Vienna, Austria

  “OH, MY GOD,” Julie uttered. Will looked at the screen and then at Julie, perplexed, “Is it significant that Vyrogen owns Leighton-Harris?”

  She stole a glance at the maroon-colored mouse pad on her desk. Printed beneath the company logo in bright white letters were the words:

  Wien Bioscience

  a Vyrogen Company

  She repositioned the mouse so that it covered the text. Dodging his question, she redirected, “What was the name of the facility in Prague where you were held in quarantine?”

  “I don’t know. It was total information blackout at that place from the day I arrived. The facility was part research hospital, part laboratory. All I know is that my pants had the words ‘CN Hospital’ stenciled across the butt.”