She held back a gasp when Dad lifted the table on its side without grimacing. Since she’d been home, he hadn’t even gotten out of his chair without obvious pain.
His color seemed less flushed than when she’d first come home. School started next week, and even though Dad refused to let her stay on his account, Kathy was now convinced that it wasn’t her imagination.
He was definitely showing signs of improvement.
“Katherine O’Reilly!” her mother snapped. “Why are you drinking out of your father’s glass?”
“What?” Kathy looked at her now-empty glass. “How is this Dad’s glass?”
Mom turned to Dad. “Frank, did you drink the glass I poured for you?”
Dad tightened a bolt on the table leg. “What glass?”
Mom rolled her eyes and huffed. “Damn it, Frank. I poured you that water to drink, and now Kathy’s drank whatever that stuff is.”
Kathy wrinkled her nose. “Sorry.”
Waving away her comment, Mom took the glass and walked to the kitchen as she grumbled something about distracted men.
Dad stood with only a slight wince, turned the coffee table back onto its legs, and put his weight on it. He nodded approvingly. “All better.”
Mom returned with a fresh glass of water and handed it to him. “Drink. Now,” she commanded.
Rolling his eyes, he downed the glass and gave her a quick kiss on the lips.
Ignoring that her father had lost weight, Kathy caught glimpses of the way he’d always been. He really did seem to be getting better, Kathy thought. Her only concern was the placebo effect. To her, that stuff tasted just like regular water. What if he was in the control group, and his improvements were just his mind believing in a cure?
Jasper walked past Dad, sniffed at him, then came over to Kathy and laid his head in her lap.
She stroked the top of his head and whispered, “I hope he’s really getting better.”
###
Juan took a seat in a small private conference room down the hall from Winslow’s office. Already present were Winslow and a man Juan recognized as Paul Hutchison, the head of AgriMed’s domestic security. Paul was a balding man in his sixties who had spent a career in the military, focused on information security.
“Juan,” said Winslow, “we’ve asked you to be in on this meeting because you’re from the Rochester site. We hope you might have some insight on some of the folks we’re going to talk about.” He turned to Paul and asked, “Paul, what are the results of the audit?”
Paul opened a file folder—one of many he had stacked before him. “At the time of the security audit, the Rochester site had 433 full-time employees and 37 temp workers. All 470 were asked, as a condition of employment, to submit themselves to polygraphs. Thirteen chose to terminate their relationship with the company. Seven of those were contractors; we informed the service through which we’d received them that they’re never to be submitted for AgriMed temp assignments again.”
He held up a stack of six folders. “That leaves six full-time employees who departed when faced with a polygraph. I’ve pulled their HR records so that we can go over them together. All of these were low-performing employees, according to the periodic reviews. However, two of them were at one time high performers, before allowing their performance to lapse.”
“Let’s start with the former high performers,” Winslow said.
Paul pulled the top two folders from the stack and opened the first. “The first one is a Melody Kolifrath. A biochemist who was developing an anti-inflammatory medicine for treating Crohn’s disease.” The man flipped through a few of the pages in her file and nodded. “According to her last review, and I’ll quote, ‘Melody hasn’t made any progress on her research in eighteen months, and frankly, I’m not sure if her heart’s in it anymore. She seems distracted. I warned her that if she’s ever going to get to trials, she needs much more lab work to justify it.’”
Winslow looked at Juan. “Do you know this Kolifrath?”
Juan remembered her. A curly-haired woman with thick glasses. “I didn’t socialize with her, but she had an office not far from mine. I know she was pregnant at one point, and then I got the impression something happened to the pregnancy. She’d been pretty smiley before that, and then suddenly I recall her not being pregnant and it was like she had a cloud hanging over her.” He shrugged at the other two men at the table. “Given her change in mood, I guessed she lost the baby, but I don’t know the details of what happened. It’s not the kind of thing you ask someone you barely know.”
“Of course not,” Winslow said. He turned to Paul. “A miscarriage would explain a lot of things.”
“I agree.” Paul nodded. “Let’s set Melody aside for now.” The man pulled open the next file and said, “We have a Steven Chalmers.”
Juan’s pulse quickened. Steve?
“A neurologist. He was focused on treatments for primary-progressive MS. Again, reading from his last performance review: ‘Steve has been away from the lab far too often. Even though the results of the phase-1 human trials were largely successful, Steve has repeatedly missed deadlines for the needed approvals to go to phase two. I told him that he’s giving me no choice but to reassign the trial ownership if he doesn’t get back with it.’”
Juan’s jaw dropped.
Winslow frowned. “Damn that guy. I hired Chalmers myself. I really thought we were going to have something big with his MS research.” He turned to Juan, “Did you know him?”
Juan felt two sets of eyes drilling into him.
“Yeah, I actually knew Steve pretty well. I knew about his MS research, but… I suppose I’m not sure what to make of that. I thought he was doing some phase-2 trial on a cancer treatment.”
“What in the world would give you that idea?” Winslow asked, a puzzled expression plain on his face.
Juan thought back to that meal at Toscano’s when his friend had referred Kathy’s father to the clinical trial to treat his cancer. “I guess maybe I was mistaken. I know someone whose father has bone cancer, and Steve told me about a trial going on. I just assumed he’d been behind the research.”
Paul leaned forward, putting his elbows on the table. “Why would you assume that? He’s not a cancer specialist.”
“Well…” Juan took a deep breath. “He explained how the MS treatment he was working on used chemotherapy as part of the treatment process, so I guess maybe I stitched two things together that didn’t belong together. And when I asked if that cancer trial was part of what he was working on, he said he couldn’t say—which at the time made perfect sense. I’d just been told to stay mum about my work, and I figured he’d received the same instructions.”
Winslow’s eyes narrowed and he shook his head. “There’s no way he’d be working on a phase-2 trial I didn’t know about. Regardless, it doesn’t explain why he’d let his research lapse, nor why he wouldn’t submit himself to a polygraph.” He wore a sour expression. He turned to Paul. “What do you think?”
The head of security frowned. “It’s curious. Let’s set the Chalmers case aside for now.”
A chill ran down Juan’s back.
What was his friend up to?
###
A woman answered Juan’s call. “Hello?”
“Kathy?” Juan said.
“No, this is her mother. Who may I say is calling?”
“Oh.” Juan laughed nervously. “You guys sound exactly alike. This is Dr.—uh, Juan Gutierrez.”
“One second. Let me go get her.”
Even though the voices were muffled, Juan heard Kathy’s mom yelling for her. Moments later, Kathy’s voice came through. “Juan? It’s so good to hear from you. I’m sorry I didn’t call earlier, but I was packing, getting ready to go back to school.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that. I was just wondering how your father is doing.”
“It’s so nice of you to ask. He’s actually doing great.” Her v
oice lowered to a whisper as she said, “At first I worried he might be getting a placebo, and, you know, he only thought he was getting better. But I swear—it’s only been a month, and I can tell that he’s not in nearly as much pain as he was before.”
“That’s really great. What did the doctors say about his progress? Did they do more scans to see how the tumors are reacting?”
Kathy huffed. “Dad’s a stubborn mule. He claims he tried calling the trial folks and left them a message. He keeps saying that since he feels fine, and since the VA isn’t harassing him for a follow-up, he’s not interested in going all that way. Mom’s going to work on getting him back for there for an office visit, but that’ll be after I’m back at school.”
Juan frowned into the phone. Any trial patient should be closely monitored. “I just hope things keep going on an upswing for him.”
“I hope so too. I really owe you big. I hope you’ll let me thank you, somehow.”
“There’s no need to thank me. I just hope your dad gets better.”
“You’re really sweet. How’s work going for you?”
Juan thought of his wrecked apartment, the fact that AgriMed had felt the need to assign security to him, and the concern that someone might have stolen pieces of his work.
“Oh, everything’s going great at work. Just really been slammed.”
“I understand what you mean. I’m back to school next week, and it’s going to be hectic. I’m taking two rather nasty weed-out classes that are supposed to be killers.”
“Well, if you need any help, just let me know.”
Kathy laughed. “I couldn’t do that. But maybe when we both have time, we can go do something relaxing. Like catch a movie or something.”
Juan’s heart skipped a beat. Did that mean she was interested? Of course, it was more likely that she was merely grateful for his help.
“I’d really love that. Just name a time and I’ll work it out.”
Through the phone connection, Juan heard someone talking in the background and he said, “Hey, I got to get going. Go spend time with your parents and I’ll see you when you’re in town.”
“I will,” Kathy said. “I’ll call you when I’m back in DC. Bye.”
The line went dead and Juan turned his attention to his phone contacts. Juan felt more trepidation over his next call—to Steve Chalmers. He wanted to thank him for helping Kathy’s dad—and also to ask him about why he left AgriMed.
But when he dialed Steve’s cell phone, he got a recording. “You have reached a number that has been disconnected or is no longer in service. If you believe you have reached—”
Juan ended the call.
What’s going on with you, Steve?
###
Nate walked into his supervisor’s office and took his seat just as the phone on Jeff’s desk rang. The gray-haired man tapped the speakerphone button. “Binghamton.”
“Jeff, it’s Paul Hutchison, long time no talk.”
“Oh shit, Chief Hutchison? Is that really you? It’s been what, ten years?”
Nate turned to go, but Jeff motioned for him to sit back down.
“Yeah, well, you know me. I don’t screw around and make random social calls. But I think I’ve got something that needs your attention.”
“Okay. What’s up?”
“Well, I’ve moved into the private sector, working as head of security for a pharmaceutical company called AgriMed. Anyway, let’s just say I’ve got a lead for you.”
“A lead? For me?” Jeff yanked open a desk drawer and grabbed a pen, while Nate pulled a small notebook from his jacket pocket and prepared to take notes. “Okay, Chief, I’ve got paper and pen.”
“I know you’re aware of the breach we had here, and I also know one of the guys who reports to you came down here and talked to one of our execs, so I thought, you might have as much interest in this as I do. But I need a favor.”
“You’ve got my attention,” Jeff said. “Tell me what you need.”
“Well, I don’t have subpoena power anymore, so I need you to go look into a former employee of ours. I’ll e-mail you the details of why I think he’s dirty, and I’d like you to follow the trail wherever it leads. I did a little digging myself, but it’s beyond my abilities in the private sector. There’s a CIA connection involved.”
“How the hell can you know that?” Jeff asked.
Nate wondered the same thing.
“Don’t bullshit me, Jeff. If I figured out there’s a connection, I know you know it as well. And if we both know it, then anyone associated with this guy is a suspect. This smells worse than a poorly dug latrine. I figured you’d be the right person to nudge. Am I right?”
Jeff leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping on the ends of his armrests. “Yeah, you’re right. I’m on this, Chief.”
“Word of warning. If you find that we’ve got members of the IC having gone bad, whatever you put onto the high side, that’ll be something they can see as well.”
It seemed this guy shared Nate’s suspicions that there were folks in the intelligence community involved in whatever this was. And given that, if someone put records on the “high side,” or in other words, higher classification servers, they wouldn’t be safe. Just like when the files he’d put into evidence had disappeared.
“I just emailed an encrypted package to your private email address. It has everything I’ve got on our guy, including a psychological workup of him and his suspected associates.” He shared the password to unlock the file.
Jeff checked his smartphone. “Roger that. Received. I won’t even ask how in the world you know my private e-mail address.”
“It’s not all that difficult. Listen to me, Jeff. I strongly suggest that you keep this and all of your related communications off the high side or any other government e-mail services. I’ll bet you they’re compromised by someone on the inside. All e-mails on this subject should be encrypted—different passwords for each transmission, and use scrambled phones when telling the recipient the password. That’ll at least slow down whoever’s watching.”
“Okay, I’ll get right on this. Is there anything else I should know?”
“Don’t trust anyone. You and whoever you assign to this, just watch your sixes. You got me?”
“Got you, Chief.”
“It’s been good talking. Say hi to Margaret for me.”
The line went dead and Jeff slapped the speakerphone button, turning off the droning sound of a dial tone.
“Holy shit,” said Nate. “Who was that guy?”
Jeff gave Nate a rueful smile. “That was former Chief Warrant Officer Paul Hutchison, a legendary CID agent. I trained under him. Let’s just say that there isn’t a man alive who knows more about fraud investigations, crisis and hostage negotiations, and protective services. Oh, and despite his being in his mid-sixties, he’s a computer and cryptography genius.”
“And now he smells a rat at AgriMed. You really think this is related to my case?”
“Do you?”
Nate nodded.
“Yeah, me too.”
Jeff pulled a tablet PC from his desk drawer. “This is my personal tablet. I’ll set up a wireless hotspot off my phone and transfer his data over.”
“Keeping things off the government intranet?”
“Hell yes. Let’s just say that there’s nothing that the chief said that didn’t jibe with what you and I already suspected, so I’m doing this on the QT.” Jeff laid the tablet on his desk and motioned for Nate to come closer.
Nate wheeled his chair around Binghamton’s desk. And for the first time in his career, he watched an Assistant Director of the FBI breach investigative protocol.
###
Nate whistled appreciatively as he stepped out of his car and looked across the twenty acres of well-manicured lawn. In the middle of the ocean of green stood a massive three-story home with tall columns across its front. It reminded him of Montice
llo, Thomas Jefferson’s ancestral home.
At the edges of the property, other agents were establishing a perimeter. He walked purposefully along the stamped concrete walkway leading them through the well-manicured lawn.
Nate glanced at his partner on this case, Agent Alexandra Ragheb, a woman he’d worked with a few times before. “Pretty nice digs for a research scientist, don’t you think?”
The slim dark-haired agent frowned. “I’ll say. This whole thing seems off.” She gestured to the agents in the distance. “Why so many others? Are we expecting trouble?”
“I hope not,” Nate said, “but it’s best to be prepared.” He reseated his Glock in its shoulder holster and smoothed out the wrinkles in his suit jacket.
As they approached the home’s entrance, he couldn’t help but be impressed. The front doors were ten feet tall and looked as though they were carved out of solid mahogany. Nate guessed they were over five hundred pounds each. When he pressed the doorbell, fancy chimes sounded somewhere inside the home.
“One minute,” a woman’s voice called from somewhere in the house.
After a few moments, the doors opened, and they were greeted by a short black-haired woman in an apron.
Nate held up his credentials. “Ma’am, I’m Agent Carrington,” he pointed toward Alex, “and this is Agent Ragheb. We’re with the FBI. Is Dr. Chalmers at home? We need to talk to him.”
The woman wrung her apron in her hands. “No. Doctor’s no home now, I’m sorry.” She had a strong Spanish accent.
“May I ask for your name?”
“F-Felicia,” the woman said nervously. “I’m the housekeeper for Dr. Chalmers. He’s no going to be back until the evening. I tell him you come to see him.”
Nate tried to keep the frown from his face.
“Felicia,” Alex said. Her voice was pleasant and soothing. She was good at this. “Could you give us Dr. Chalmers’s cell phone number? It’s pretty important we reach him right away.”
Felicia bit her lower lip and for a moment seemed uncertain.
“He’d definitely want us to get in touch with him,” Alex said, sounding immensely reassuring.
Felicia nodded curtly. “Okay, I’ll be right back.” She scurried back into the house, leaving the door ajar.
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