Perimeter

by M. A. Rothman

  The nurse swiped an odd-looking wand across her forehead and read the digital reading aloud. “99.8 degrees. Well, you have just a slight fever. Do you normally run warm?”

  Kathy shrugged. “I don’t think so. But I don’t feel sick, just tired.”

  After the nurse left, Kathy had a few minutes while she waited for the doctor. She passed the time reading the posters about birth control and venereal diseases. It surprised her to see these at a Catholic-affiliated institution. Of course she’d heard about the hookup culture in college—girls and guys sleeping around without even being in a committed relationship—but for some reason she thought Georgetown would be different. Personally, the idea disgusted her. She’d only ever been with one person, and he was dead.

  A knock sounded on the door to the examination room, and an astonishingly tall doctor walked in. He was the tallest person she’d ever seen. He literally had to duck his head as he walked through the doorway. And when he shook Kathy’s hand, she couldn’t help but notice his hand was twice the size of her own. The man was a giant.

  “Katherine O’Reilly, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Dr. Al-Siddiqui.” He pulled up a chair, sat facing Kathy, and flipped open her chart. “It says here you’ve been suffering from fatigue.”

  “Yes. It’s not like I’m lacking strength, it’s just I feel… well, it’s almost as if I’m walking through water. Everything takes more effort than it should. It’s hard to explain.”

  The doctor scribbled something in the chart. He looked up at Kathy with a sympathetic expression. “Well, it seems like your vitals are all good. Your temperature is slightly elevated, but it’s warm outside and you might be catching a cold or something. That’s nothing to worry about.” He flipped a page in the chart. “Your bloodwork is mostly all good, but you do show some signs of having a low B12 and mild anemia. That might explain the fatigue you’re experiencing. Before you leave here, we’ll give you a B12 shot, but the anemia is something I’d rather treat with dietary changes. Are you by chance vegetarian?”

  “No, I’m a meat and potatoes girl, but I’ve been trying to stick to fish and chicken lately.”

  “Let me suggest you add some red meat—at least once or twice a week. Dark-green leafy vegetables, like spinach or kale, are also high in iron. And getting more iron in your system will help your blood transport oxygen—which should give you more of that oomph you feel you’re missing. You think you can do that?”

  Kathy smiled. “My dad’s a cattle rancher. So yeah, I’m pretty okay with beef.” The truth was, if her dad knew that the doctor had told her to eat more beef, he’d probably ship her half a cow in steak form, overnight.

  “Excellent, then that’s what we’ll do.” The doctor stood, a towering skyscraper of a man. “Let’s have you come back in a month so we can re-check your blood and see how the anemia is doing.”

  As Kathy stood, the doctor asked, “Any other questions?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Okay then, take care. If for some reason you feel the fatigue gets worse, don’t hesitate to come back and we’ll see what else we can do.”

  The doctor left and the gray-haired nurse handed Kathy a yellow lollipop. “I find that a sucker tends to help with the ouchies. I’ll be back in a second, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to stick you.”

  As the nurse left, Kathy smiled, unwrapped the lemon lollipop, and waited for her shot.

  ###

  Nate handed his supervisor the evidence report.

  “It’s all really suspicious, Jeff. The place was soaked with accelerant and burned to the ground. Whatever they were doing there, they wanted to hide it. And I know what AgriMed said they were doing there—farming some tropical medicinal plants—but the lab boys were able to get some serial numbers from what we found and—”

  Jeff was already flipping through the report. “Shit, German intelligence? CIA?” He read the relevant section aloud. “Six of the retrieved computers came from a shipment of twenty-five Dell Precision workstations ordered by the BND. The delivery address was confirmed to be one of the German offices of the Federal Intelligence Service.”

  He looked up at Nate. “What are you thinking?”

  Nate frowned and pressed his back against his chair, tilting it back just a bit. “I’m thinking there’s absolutely no reason for some farming outfit to have the equipment and tech they had on site. We didn’t find any evidence of electronically controlled irrigation or anything else that would be computer-controlled. It doesn’t make sense. Something is going on and I don’t buy the complainant’s story about some innocent little farm. And burning it all down? This all smells like a bunch of horseshit.”

  Binghamton nodded and tapped the end of a pencil on his desk. “I don’t understand it either. And the CIA connection is troubling. Are we sure about that? Because if we are—that puts a whole new flavor on this.”

  Nate reached over and flipped through the report, then pointed. “The receipts are right here. The items were delivered to the same address as CIA headquarters.”

  Binghamton frowned. “I’m sick of those guys pulling this crap on us. Maybe there’s something going on with the Germans and the agency, but what’s the role of the pharmaceutical company? I don’t see the connection. Shit. I have no idea if this is an authorized operation. It might be a black op we shouldn’t have stumbled into, or maybe some rogue activity that has some bad actors involved.” He shook his head, then pointed the pencil at Nate. “This is what I’m going to do. I’ll start procedures to get a FISA warrant. I want to know what the intelligence community knows about these guys and that island. As for the CIA, I’ll make a formal interdepartmental inquiry and see where that goes.”

  “Sir,” Nate said, “if you’ll approve the travel budget, I’d like to follow up on AgriMed’s story about the woman who was rescued from the island. See what she knows, if anything.”

  Binghamton asked, “Do you have a lead on her whereabouts?”

  “Not yet, but I’ve got a name from the initial report taken from the complainant. Her name sounds American. I was going to search through the passport and immigration database and assuming I get a hit, follow up with a banking records search to narrow down where she is. Assuming the name we got is real and she went through one of our border crossings or ports of entry, I think I have a fairly good chance of finding her.”

  “Fine. Do it. This whole thing stinks. Go ahead, track her down and bring her in for questioning. I’ll follow the other angles and we’ll meet in the middle on this. Keep me posted on your findings.”

  Nate paused. “Sir… what if this is an op we’re not supposed to know about?”

  “We’re all on the same team, Nate.”

  “With the Germans?”

  Binghamton grimaced. “God, I hope so. But… I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to make sure you have another agent with you. Watch each other’s backs.”

  Chapter Nine

  Kathy entered the conference center ten minutes after the talk was scheduled to start, just as a man was stepping up to the podium. She slipped into a seat as he began speaking, his deep voice broadcast from speakers all around the room.

  “Since you’re here, I’m assuming many of you students are either interested in the field of genetics or have curiosity about the topic. As a genetics researcher and a medical doctor, I know what the media would have you believe about GMOs and how anyone working on such research is something akin to the spawn of Satan.”

  “You bastards are giving us all cancer!” yelled someone from the back of the large room.

  A handful of students stood behind the seats, holding up posters with anti-GMO slogans. “Say no to GMO,” they began chanting. The crowd buzzed with disapproval.

  Kathy had always admired political activists, but in this case, she really just wanted them to shut up. She wanted to hear what the lecturer was saying.

  Campus security quickly took charge. They forcefully removed the prote
stors from the room and shut the door behind them, but not before one last shout of “You’re just monopolist pigs bilking cash from all of us!”

  When the doors finally slammed shut and the sound of the protests faded, the audience murmured with annoyance and turned their attention back to the lecturer.

  The guest speaker shook his head and sighed into the microphone. “Like I said, some of the things we do in genetic research are misunderstood. Some, like our friends in the back of the room, assert that the work I’m doing is giving people cancer. Sadly, they probably believe it. But if I can ask everyone in this room for one favor, it would be this: never get caught up in popular rhetoric. Don’t take what others say as gospel. Even the things I say should be questioned. Always do your own research before forming an opinion.”

  Something about this man struck Kathy as oddly familiar. He was young, thirties, possibly Hispanic. And he held a mournful expression that somehow made her feel sorry for him.

  “That said, since the issue has been raised, let me address this cancer claim. Frankly it’s laughable. In fact, I am an oncologist—a cancer doctor—and the goal of my research has always been, ultimately, to treat cancer in humans. As to the accusation that I am a monopolist, I’ll admit that AgriMed, the company I work for, is a large corporation. There’s no denying that. But we’re hardly a monopoly. Moreover, I find the accusation ironic. Google serves up nearly ninety percent of all Internet searches and Android is the operating system on almost ninety percent of all smartphones, yet I don’t hear people protesting against them for having a very popular product that people want to use.”

  The room was getting warm. With the air conditioner clearly struggling with the number of bodies in the room, Kathy gathered her hair and tucked it under her baseball cap to keep it off her neck.

  “And finally, let me try to dispel the boogieman that is GMO.

  “We in the research field don’t purposefully invent things to cause harm to anyone. We’re usually investigating a problem that affects people, and we’re all trying to come up with the best solution.

  “For instance, there’s been ongoing research trying to solve the vitamin A deficiency that is an epidemic in some parts of the world. In 2005, 190 million children and 19 million pregnant women in 122 countries were estimated to be affected by vitamin A deficiency.

  “Many of you may not realize it, but this form of vitamin deficiency is a serious issue that’s responsible for 1 to 2 million deaths and 500,000 cases of irreversible blindness each and every year.

  “The problem is most prevalent in parts of the world where the diet relies heavily on rice. That’s because rice doesn’t provide vitamin A. But clinical researchers have discovered that by snipping the phytoene synthase gene from corn and combining it with another gene, they can produce a new strain of rice that is being called ‘golden rice.’ Just five ounces of golden rice provides a complete daily allowance of vitamin A. These protestors may be scared by the idea of science affecting food, but I assure you, the millions of people who suffer from vitamin A deficiency are not.”

  The man looked across the room. “But GMOs are just one type of genetic research. Some of the most exciting developments in the field have to do with gene therapy. Consider: What if you could treat a patient with cystic fibrosis by literally replacing the faulty gene causing the trouble, thus lengthening their life? Or what if I told you that sixteen heart disease patients—many of whom were at death’s door—received gene therapy targeted at their hearts, triggering blood vessel growth, resulting in either demonstrable improvement or complete relief of pain. It’s not science fiction; it’s happening.

  “We’re on the verge of a whole new world, and it’s all thanks to medical research. Now, if I could get back to my prepared talk, I’d like to share a little bit about what that research entails.”

  As the speaker continued, Kathy, for the first time, noticed the man sitting on a chair behind the lectern. A chill ran through her despite the warmth of the room.

  Anything the speaker said flew past her as she stared at the last person in the world she’d ever hoped to see again. The same man who’d had her sign a bunch of non-disclosure documents and paid her for her silence.

  She leaned over and whispered to the acne-scarred girl sitting next to her, “Who’s the guy sitting to the right of the lectern?”

  “You mean the older guy wearing the thousand-dollar suit? That’s Dr. Harry Winslow. I think he said he’s the head of research for some Big Pharma company. He’s the one who introduced the guy who’s speaking now.”

  Kathy stared daggers at the head researcher as his attention remained focused on the speaker.

  It annoyed Kathy that this man looked so dignified, so respected. Yet she was the only one here who knew that he was covering up some subtropical hellhole. One that was responsible for the death of her boyfriend.

  When the talk concluded, and everyone else began heading toward the exits, Kathy pushed against the tide and yelled across the crowd, “Dr. Winslow!”

  He looked her way, and for a moment, their eyes met. She saw a flicker of recognition. Then he turned and began walking away.

  She pushed harder against the flow of traffic, ignoring the annoyed grumbling of the other students. “Dr. Winslow!”

  The crowd pushed harder, and she found herself shunted to one side. Her foot caught on the leg of a chair, and she stumbled. The floor rushed up to meet her.

  An arm wrapped around her waist. “Whoa. Careful there. Are you okay?”

  Kathy glanced in the direction that Winslow had disappeared and her throat tightened. The anger morphed into bitter frustration as she fought to keep herself together.

  “Are you okay?” the man repeated. “Did you hit your head at all?”

  Kathy turned to find that the man who caught her was the Hispanic speaker. He looked concerned as his warm brown eyes inspected her as if looking for any damage.

  “I’m—I’m fine.” Kathy took a deep calming breath. “I just tripped.”

  “Was there something you wanted to ask Dr. Winslow? He had to run to catch a flight, but I can probably answer your questions.” He paused… and then a smile grew on his face. “You’re Katherine O’Reilly.”

  Kathy wracked her brain trying to figure out how he knew her—and why he looked familiar.

  He chuckled and extended his hand. “I’m the guy who found your wallet at the airport a few months back. Juan Gutierrez.”

  “Oh my god!” Kathy shook his hand. “What a bizarre coincidence.”

  “Indeed. So, did you have any questions I could answer for you?”

  Kathy felt warmth creep up her neck and into her cheeks. She didn’t even know what she would have said to Winslow if she had caught up to him. But it wasn’t a question this man could answer. “I guess the question popped out of my head when I fell.”

  “Oh.” Juan looked almost… disappointed. He hesitated, then cleared his throat. “Well, my flight isn’t until tomorrow and I’m starving. Do you… uh… do you have any recommendations for a decent meal around here?”

  “Oh, sure. My roommate was gushing about the Mai Kai. It’s a new Asian fusion restaurant, supposed to be really nice. I can’t vouch for it myself though—haven’t tried it.”

  Juan’s face brightened. “Well, why don’t you join me? Maybe over dinner you’ll remember what you were going to ask Winslow.”

  Kathy blinked rapidly. Did he just ask me out? The last thing she wanted right now was a date.

  “Umm…”

  Juan gave her a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, it’s nothing weird. I just hate eating alone. It kind of sucks. And bonus, the company will pay for the meal.”

  Kathy had worked bars for a few years, so she’d experienced her share of sleazy bastards. This guy didn’t seem like that. He seemed… sincere. She knew better than most how being alone in a strange place really did suck.

  “I’ll have to let my roommate know
that I’m going out, but okay. When did you want to leave?”

  He smiled. “How about now?”

  ###

  Juan sipped his iced tea and took in the strange surroundings of the restaurant. It had a Polynesian style, decorated with palm fronds and tiki statues. Live on-stage entertainment involved hula dancers and fiery swords, and the waitresses were all in island dress. If he didn’t know better, he’d have thought he was somewhere in the Hawaiian Islands.

  Their seat gave them a poor view of the stage, but that was fine by Juan. He’d much rather have an excuse to keep looking at the stunning coed.

  “So,” he said. “You’re twenty-five, a former singer, and a now a freshman at college. There’s got to be a good story behind that. How’d you end up at Georgetown?”

  Keeping her gaze on her drink, Kathy swirled her soda with a straw and shrugged. “To be honest, college was never something I’d planned. I mean, I was always good at school, but the only thing I had in mind during my senior year in high school was to get away from home.”

  Juan’s mind raced to likely causes. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

  “Oh, no, nothing like that,” Kathy said quickly, looking up from her drink. “Don’t get me wrong—my parents are awesome and I love them to death. But they live on a small ranch in Nevada, and I hated it. I knew that if I stuck around, I’d never get out of there. I wanted to see the world a bit, and I figured I probably had a good enough voice for singing at bars and stuff, so I left.”

  “And what made you give up that dream for college?”

  Kathy cocked her head.

  Even though the lighting in the large restaurant was purposefully dim, Juan felt mesmerized by her green-eyed gaze.

  “You’re making fun of me. Nobody in their right mind would think singing in a bar is anyone’s dream.”

  “I wasn’t…” Juan paused as he replayed in his mind what he’d said. “Sorry, I guess that came off as sarcastic, but I didn’t mean it that way. Being able to travel and do what you like seems pretty awesome.”