Julie opened a new browser tab. She entered “Prague + CN Hospital” as a new search string in Google and pressed the search button. The page refreshed with the search results. She scanned the list and clicked on a link she thought looked promising. The site was written entirely in Czech and had no English language option. As she scrolled, she quickly ruled out the site, as it was full of pictures of dogs, cats, and smiling veterinarians. She clicked back to Google and entered a new search string: “Vyrogen + Prague + CN Hospital.” The screen populated with a new list of links, and she read through them until one caught her eye. She clicked on the link and it took her to a BBC World News article reporting:
“. . . US-based multinational drug giant, Vyrogen Pharmaceuticals, has announced today that it has acquired Chiarek Norse, the fifth largest research hospital in the Czech Republic . . .”
“Holy shit! That’s it!” Will said, reading over her shoulder.
Julie looked up at him. “So it seems. I have one more hunch I want to check.”
She opened a third browser tab, and repeated the drill. This time she searched for “Vyrogen + CDC + Xavier Pope.” The first hit was a link to a Wall Street Journal article. She clicked on it and found an announcement listing:
“New Jersey-based Vyrogen Pharmaceuticals has announced today that Dr. Xavier Pope, formerly of the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, has been hired as the director of the company’s Immunological Therapeutics Division.”
“When did you enroll in the vaccine trial?”
“About five months ago.”
“Look at the date of this press announcement,” Julie said.
“Four months ago.” Will grimaced. “So, Vyrogen recruited Pope away from the CDC because of me.”
“Do you know how huge this is, Will?”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”
Julie rubbed her temples. She didn’t dare tell him that, technically, she worked for Vyrogen too. When she had accepted the position at Wien Bioscience five years ago, it had been an independent and privately held Austrian company. Eighteen months ago, Wien Bioscience had been acquired by Vyrogen. As was the Vyrogen strategic policy, any acquisition that had strong brand equity retained its name and was permitted to function with tolerable autonomy. Julie had never really considered herself as working for “Vyrogen,” but she knew who wrote her paychecks. She could only imagine how Will would react, if she told him. He would immediately reclassify her as the enemy and distance himself from her, if not physically, definitely emotionally. His trust in her would be obliterated.
Her mobile phone chimed. She retrieved it from her purse and checked the caller ID.
BLOCKED.
“Hmm,” she said, and then warily pressed the TALK button. “Hello?”
“Julie Ponte, my name is Meredith Morley,” said the voice on the line, “You have something that belongs to me, and you’re going to help me get it back . . .”
• • •
ASHEN-FACED, JULIE HUNG up her phone and turned to Will.
“What was that all about?”
“I’ll explain later. Right now, we need to get the hell out of here.” She darted to her closet, grabbed a backpack, and began stuffing it with essentials.
“Talk to me, Julie. Who was that on the phone?”
“Vyrogen. They know you’re with me. It’s only a matter of time before they come here.”
The look in her eyes was all the motivation he needed. He swiped her mobile phone from her hand and powered it off. “They can track us with this,” he said, handing it back to her. “Keep it turned off.” Then, he grabbed the computer printouts off the desk and began stuffing them into the bag.
“Shhhh—quiet,” she whispered.
Will froze. In the stillness, they heard the deadbolt click open on the apartment door.
“Shit, they’ve found us!”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
WILL DUCKED BEHIND the half-closed door to Julie’s bedroom. She handed him a pair of scissors from her desk, which he turned point downward and gripped like a knife. Her Viennese city apartment was small and bereft of hiding places. Their only hope was for Julie to distract the intruder momentarily so that he would have the element of surprise for an attack.
“Ask who’s there,” he whispered to her.
“Hello? Who is there?” Julie yelled out in German, still standing inside her bedroom behind the threshold.
Silence.
Her legs begin to quiver. Maybe they had been mistaken and it was not her front door that they had heard, but the tenant arriving home in the apartment above. If an intruder had entered, he would have had to break down the door. Unless, the intruder had picked the lock. Or, what if he had killed the building superintendent and taken her key. She could hear footsteps in the hall. She felt her courage wane, and her feet began to backpedal. She looked at Will, who put his index finger to his lips, and raised his hand holding the scissors in a striking position next to his temple.
A woman screamed.
Julie’s roommate, Isabella, stood in the doorway, her hand pressed against her chest. She exhaled with pursed lips and pulled a pair of white ear buds from her ears.
“Oh my God, you scared the hell out of me, Julie! I didn’t think anyone was home. I was walking by your room, on the way to mine, and out of the corner of my eye I saw someone standing in the doorway,” Isabella stammered in English flavored with an Italian accent.
“You scared me too! I thought someone had broken into the apartment. Did you not hear me call out?” Julie asked.
Isabella pointed to her iPod, peaking out of her front right jeans pocket. Will silently lowered the scissors from the ready position and set them down on the carpet. He shook his head to signal to Julie not to reveal his presence, but she was not looking at him.
“I thought you and Peter weren’t returning from Greece until tomorrow night?”
“Peter’s boss called him and said that he needed him to come in because the head chef had taken ill, so we had to fly back early,” Isabella explained. “Speaking of being home early, shouldn’t you be at the lab?”
“Yes, but an old friend called me unexpectedly. He is in Vienna on business, so I agreed to meet with him.”
“Have I met him before? Is it that hot guy from Milano?”
Julie blushed, embarrassed and glanced back at Will. “Well, no, but . . .” She extended her hand toward the half-closed bedroom door. “Isabella, meet . . . Bob. Bob, meet my roommate, Isabella.”
Will stepped out from behind the door and raised his hand in an awkward half-wave. “Hello, I’m Bob . . . not from Milano. Sorry to disappoint.”
“Um . . . very nice to meet you, Bob,” Isabella stammered.
An awkward silence filled the bedroom as they all stood looking at one another.
“We had better get going, Bob, if we want to make our appointment,” Julie said, grabbing Will’s sleeve and tugging.
“I agree. Look at the time. It was nice to meet you, Isabella.”
Isabella shook Will’s hand. “Very nice to meet you too. Maybe we’ll see each other again.”
Julie quickly gathered her computer, her wallet, sunglasses, and the remainder of the printouts from the lab and stuffed them into the backpack; she gave Will a gentle push toward the door. He walked past Isabella and smiled at her.
Isabella raised her eyebrows at Julie and silently mouthed, “What is going on?”
Julie shrugged and gave her friend a devilish grin.
“Will you be back before dinner? Maybe the three of us can go out tonight, for dinner and dancing?” Isabella called after her.
“I wouldn’t count on it tonight. Let’s plan on dinner tomorrow night instead. Okay?”
“Great, then Peter can join us,” Isabella added. “Where are you headed off to now?”
“Just going to grab a coffee,” Julie replied. She then took a step backward and whispered into Isabella’s ear.
“If anyone comes
by the flat looking for me, tell them you haven’t seen me or talked to me recently okay?”
“Ummm, okay?”
“And don’t say anything about Bob.”
“Julie, what’s going on?”
“Nothing. Bob and I just need some alone time.”
Isabella eyed Will suspiciously and then grabbed Julie by the shoulders. “Are you sure you’re okay? You know I’m here for you if you need me. You can tell me anything.”
“I know. Really, everything is fine. But we need to go.”
“Okay, then. Ciao,” Isabella said as she gave her friend a hug.
“Ciao.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“SHE SAID HER name was Meredith Morley and that she worked for Vyrogen. She knew you were with me,” Julie said, as she whipped her Opel Astra around a corner so fast that the tires squealed. Her eyes darted right and left, combing the avenue ahead for an open parking spot. An instant later, she slammed on the brakes and jerked steering wheel to the right, bringing the little sedan to an abrupt halt in an open, angled slip. She turned the car off and immediately dropped her face into her hands.
“That name is not familiar. What else did she say?” Will asked.
“She said I needed to make a choice, between you and my career.”
“What? I don’t understand. How did she find us?”
“Isn’t it obvious? Bart Bennett at my lab must have contacted her. He was acting really strange after Jon brought me the test results. Never in a million years would I have thought he was connected to all this.”
“Awfully convenient to be a coincidence,” Will said, eyeing her.
She looked up at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I’m just saying, what are the odds that you’re helping me and your buddy Bart happens to be collaborating with Vyrogen.”
“I didn’t rat you out Will,” she said with heat. “I’m offended you’d even go there.”
They sat in silence for several minutes, before Julie confessed in a quiet voice, “There’s something I need to tell you . . . Vyrogen owns Wien Bioscience.”
Will choked on his own saliva. Coughing, he said, “Excuse me?”
“I didn’t know that Leighton-Harris was owned by Vyrogen—not until I ran the Internet search back at the apartment. I swear. I didn’t tell you then because I didn’t want to plant a seed of doubt in your mind that would grow and fester the longer we were together. Things were going so smooth between us, I didn’t want to poison the well with something that is outside our control. You’ve been through so much, Will. Emotionally, physically, psychologically. I made the unilateral decision at that moment that I would carry this burden for both of us, and that I would tell you when the time was right, and so I’m telling you now.”
He flashed with anger. Was there no one he could trust? How far would he have to run to escape Vyrogen’s reach? He looked at Julie. Unflinching, she met his gaze. Vyrogen had given her an ultimatum, and she had made her choice. She’d picked him. His anger ebbed and was replaced by something else: respect, gratitude . . . adoration?
He took a deep breath and grabbed her hand. “What next?”
“We need a safe, local hideaway with Internet access, where we can regroup.”
“How about the Vienna Public Library?”
“After what happened in Prague, I’d prefer to stay away from obvious hotspots like libraries and Internet cafés. I have different place in mind called the Four Bells—it’s a neighborhood Irish pub.” She glanced at her watch: 2:14 PM. “It should be completely deserted at this time of day, and I’ve known the owners and the waitstaff for years. We can trust them.”
Julie led Will inside the pub and after exchanging pleasantries with the lone waiter/bartender, they slid into a semicircular booth against the wall in the otherwise unoccupied pub.
She opened a browser window on her laptop and logged into the Four Bells free Wi-Fi. Then she turned to Will. “We know who is responsible, but we still don’t know the why. Is there anything else you haven’t told me yet? Anything at all?”
“Yes,” he said in a low, solemn voice. “The night of my escape, I stole a glass vial filled with a substance they had injected me with during the most recent round of experiments.”
“Do you know what that substance was?”
“Can I see that list of disease antibodies you showed me back in the apartment?”
She retrieved the printouts from the backpack and handed them to him. He leafed through the pages until he found it.
“This is it,” he said, pointing to the name on the list.
“Yersinia pestis? You think Vyrogen intentionally injected you with live plague cultures?”
“I know that they did.”
Julie’s mind started spinning. She had joked about the antibody test results, because she had made the logical assumption that Will had been inoculated with vaccines for each of the bugs on the list. Never in a million years would she have imagined the antibodies were from exposure to the live organisms.
“What you’re saying defies logic. You would be dead if you were injected with every pathogen on that list.”
“You said if I had the antibody for the bug, then that meant I had been exposed to the bug.”
“Exposed, as in vaccinated. That’s what vaccines do—they safely expose your immune system to a specific pathogen so that your immune system can develop antibodies against it. But the pathogen is weakened, dead, or altered in such a way that it is rendered benign. I didn’t mean to suggest that you were exposed to the actual live pathogens on this list.”
“But I was.”
“Are you sure that the vial you stole wasn’t a Yersinia pestis vaccine? The label you read was probably the vaccine label.”
“I know it wasn’t a vaccine because the vial accidentally broke when I was in Prague. I told you that during our IM chat. Remember the two college kids from the youth hostel that I said were sick?”
“Honestly, no I don’t, Will. I’m working off of only two hours sleep and my mind is mush right now. Besides, at the time, I thought you were delusional.”
“I don’t want to go into the whole story, but the vial of Yersinia pestis smashed on the floor and contaminated two kids who were staying in the same room as me. Twelve hours later, they looked like they were on their deathbeds. I don’t know what happened to them though because I had to run when some guys showed up at the hostel looking for me.”
Julie entered a new Google search: “Plague + Prague + youth hostel.” The search list populated, and to her astonishment, she saw several relevant hits. She clicked on one with English subtext.
“Two American tourists died in a Prague area hospital after contracting a virulent strain of bubonic plague. A local woman, who was also exposed, is in critical but stable condition and expected to survive. Czech Health Administration officials released a statement that the infection resulted from exposure to improperly disposed medical waste and that this isolated incident in no way threatens public safety . . .”
She looked at him, dumbfounded.
“Oh Jesus.” His lower lip began to tremble, and he fought back tears. He had been worried about Rutgers and Frankie, and the news that they had died uncorked a geyser of guilt and pain. “It’s my fault they died.”
She took his hands in hers. “It was an accident, Will. You didn’t know what was in the vial.”
“I should have been more careful.”
“It’s not like you intentionally infected those boys.”
He stood in silence and did not answer her.
“Will, I know you’re upset about those boys, but it doesn’t change the situation we’re in right now. I need you to focus. I need you to help me understand why Vyrogen would inject you with live Yersinia pestis cultures unless they were trying to kill you?”
“Because that’s exactly what they were trying to do.”
“Kill you?”
“No, trying to kill me. I was their experime
nt. They injected me with pathogens and watched to see what happened.”
“How did you survive? Did they give you antibiotics after they infected you?”
“No.”
“Then why didn’t the plague kill you?”
“Because my body was somehow able to overcome the infection.” He closed his eyes and reminded himself that she had proven her allegiance. It was time to tell her his secret. “Julie, in the time we were together, do you ever remember me getting sick?”
“Sure, don’t you remember the time you puked your brains out the morning after your twenty-first birthday?”
“I’m not talking about that sort of thing. Do you ever remember me getting a stomach bug or a cold or food poisoning or athlete’s foot or anything like that?”
“Actually, now that you mention it, no, I don’t. Even the time that nasty flu had me laid up for days, you didn’t catch it.”
“I know. It was the same when I was a kid too. I won the attendance award every year in school. It was the running joke with all my friends that Will Foster’s mom would never give him a sick day. In fact, when I think back on my childhood, I can’t remember ever being sick. There’s something inside me that’s different. Something unique about my immune system. It’s the reason I have immunity to all the bugs on your list. It’s the why you’ve been looking for.”
“I don’t know what to say,” she said.
“Do you believe me?”
“Of course, it finally all makes sense. The question is . . . what do we do now?”
“You need to tell me what these are?” he said, pointing to the SEM images of his mysterious lymphocyte.
“I’m an oncology researcher, Will. Not an immunologist.”
“So?”
“This is out of my league. We need someone with subject matter expertise to look at these.”
“Okay, then let’s go see an immunologist. Vienna is a major city. There has to be somebody local we can talk to. Do you know anybody who fits the bill?”
Calypso Directive Page 20