“We’ll give you one week.” Chris startled us with his declaration directed at Neil.
“That’s not much time to work through the machinery of a multi-billion-dollar company.”
“One week. Until next Monday.” Chris was adamant. We had discussed this as our likely timeline, but it was obvious from the look on his face that he meant business. Good for him. “They go public in one week regardless of Regnum’s actions and they will have to deal with it then. Even one week is going to mean the deaths of hundreds more dogs, and everyone is very uncomfortable with that, but I think we all understand that they will have to have some time to confirm our findings. They won’t just take Claire’s word for it. But they will have only short window of time to do the right thing.”
Neil leaned back in his chair, stretched his arms up, and folded them behind his neck, tipping his chair back. “Okay, they get one week—what time is it?” He looked at this watch. “Geez, it’s one in the morning! I don’t know about you kids, but I don’t stay up this late any more. Anna, can you—”
“Already have,” she said as she pulled out a black notebook buried in the stack. This one was different. It had a formal cover on it that simply read Confidential, with the first page in the form of a letter I wrote summarizing our findings. The rest of the two-inch-thick binder held summary sheets of each part of our study—sequences found, variations in mRNA concentration, serial numbers of the lots of vaccine that had tested positive for the promoter.
Neil stood and quickly leafed through the pages with a nod of admiration, and looked to me.
“I’m the only one whose name appears in this document,” I said. “However, if Regnum gets any ideas that they can keep this quiet, I prepared duplicate copies for my Dean and the President of my university which I’ll deliver to them next Monday.”
Anna walked Neil to his car, with a single notebook in her arms. Neil leaned with his back against the door, as the two of them stood and talked for some time while Chris and I packed the notebooks into two boxes. Anna’s drawing remained alone on the table. Chris picked it up and sat down. “If it weren’t so heartbreaking, this would be really cool.”
“It is. It will be especially interesting to find out how the promoter got into the vaccine.” I shook my head. “I never considered it could have been deliberate. By the way, stop saying them, it’s we. You are a part of this.”
I left him sitting at the table and carried the pot and cups into the kitchen. The simplicity of rinsing the dishes and putting things in the dishwasher gave me a moment of solace. I gathered up the shriveled remains of the munchies and dropped them in their final resting place in the kitchen trash. Everything was put away. I turned off the kitchen light and walked toward the front door.
The light was off in the entry way and I stood and watched Anna and Neil still outside, leaning side by side on the car looking up at the clear night’s sky. Their exchanges were few. I tried to imagine the heavy burden we were sending off with Neil to carry, and I couldn’t imagine anything that Anna or any of us could offer as comfort.
I looked towards the dining room, Chris looked up from Anna’s drawing on the table. He stood and walked toward me, switching off the dining room light on the way. We wrapped up in each other’s arms and breathed slow and deep, both knowing that we would need to hold tight to one another, to Anna, to Neil and the rest of our team over the next few weeks. The lights from Neil’s rental car pulled away.
Anna silently opened and closed the door and walked past us without a glance. The dogs remained curled up on their beds too invested in sleep to give notice. In the dark she put on her coat, picked up her purse, and joined us in the entryway. She gave Chris an embrace and a kiss on the cheek and turned to me. Her eyes were red and swollen. She must have finally let herself cry with Neil at her side.
“At least I stopped this at my clinic.” She had pulled all the contaminated vials from use. “I’m going to call a few others who I can trust to keep this confidential and have them do the same.”
“Do you think that’s . . .” Her pained expression ended my words.
She put her arms around me and held me tight. The enormity of our discovery and the personal toll of having dealt with the repercussions of CRFS surged in my head and the dam broke open, releasing a flood of tears. “If only we could be this successful with Addison’s,” she whispered.
“If only.” I could barely speak.
She let go, shook it off. “I’ll call you in the morning. Love you guys.” And she quietly headed out into what remained of the night.
Sniveling as I brushed my teeth, I put on a T-shirt, crawled into bed, and turned off the light, hoping that sleep would take the place of exhaustion, but it was not to be. I resigned myself to my kindle and couch.
The softness of her paws on the hardwood floors ruffle the silence of the night. I know it’s her by the distinct sound of her gait, and because for thirteen years, this magnificent creature has been my constant companion, my heart-dog. Ania stops at the end of the hall and lifts her head, scanning the living room for me, then continues her journey. She gently places her front feet on the couch. I lean forward and offer my cheek. She snuffles, content, and climbs up next to me, collecting her legs around her, morphing into a warm, fuzzy ball. But before she tucks in her muzzle like a snow goose in a winter storm, she looks back at me and asks with her big brown eyes "You okay?” I rest my hand on her, absorbing the calm she radiates. She sighs, curls in, and falls sleep.
I exhale and settle into this perfect moment.
I close my eyes. A kaleidoscope of thoughts spin around in my head creating fleeting patterns, but none of them seem the right fit, leaving unanswered questions. Where is CRFS coming from and how can it be stopped?
Dogs are dying. By the thousands. And no one has yet figured out why.
Until now.
SCENT MARKING
IN HAVANA, Cuba, feral dogs roam the streets wearing collars with tags. Every year, the dogs are rounded up, vaccinated, sterilized, and released with shiny new accessories. They walk in and out of stores, scrounge at the edge of restaurants, but mostly congregate in the parks looking fairly well-fed and behaved. Similarly in Asuncion, Paraguay, the more fortunate feral dogs are claimed by shopkeepers and residents on a designated day each year and a sweep is done to clear the city of unclaimed dogs. The lucky ones are vaccinated, sterilized, and released. There’s a philosophy that a nation shall be judged by the way it treats its most vulnerable members. While animal shelters are a luxury for many countries, I am humbled by the ways those with limited resources still find ways to live up to the promise owed through domestication, and treat their street dogs with compassion. Wrapped in the generic brownness of their coats and eyes lies the unspoken agreement, captured in Van Morrison’s words—to never never wonder why at all, I’m beside you.
Monday to Tuesday, Days 1 and 2
The lab hours are eerily simple and short. We’ve shelved all further efforts on CRFS and returned to our regular research, which seems less satisfying than the frenzied pace of the past three months.
I’ve heard nothing from Neil for close to forty-eight hours. I trust him to move quickly to help end this, but I’m starting to get concerned that we have thrown him to the wolves. I’m sitting at my desk looking over my computer out across the darkened campus. Evasive shadows skulk from path to path and into colorless buildings. March will hold a solid, cold grip on spring until the very last days.
Neil’s face lights up my phone screen. The fuzzy picture snapped three years ago, begrudgingly.
“Hi, you okay? I’ve been a bit worried.”
“I’ve been in meeting after meeting with Regnum.”
“I bet they haven’t been too happy to see you.”
“It’s been a bit of a mixed reaction. I started with a phone call to Jon Bosto who took over as CSO. Good guy, great scientist.”
“I remember him. We met two years ago when I was out for the vet med conferenc
e.” A split second of thought on what happened at the meeting this year flashes through my mind. I need to be more forgiving.
“He got it, and had me meet in their Washington office with some of their Board in person, while he and few others video conferenced in. He was ready to pull the lot even without confirmation.”
“But they didn’t? Are they serious?”
“The Board voted to investigate first.”
“Big of them.”
“Big to them. Huge. They see a big financial loss as a consequence of your findings and they felt they need to be able to claim their own role in investigating. They have their research arm testing all lots for contamination, doing a blind study, so they haven’t released the information to their in-house investigators on what lots are suspect.”
“Unbiased results are good, but this is going to take time. And it is all unnecessary.”
“You understand how monumental this is, correct?”
“Yes, I can picture a room full of dead dogs. Anything else?”
“No.”
“They have five days left.”
Wednesday, Day 3
Midafternoon less than twenty-four hours later, Neil is calling again. John flew in from California last night, as was the entire Board. “They’ve confirmed your results. They have stopped production, destroyed most of the lots, and recalled all that have been released for use.”
“Did they explain why in the recall?”
“No, they never do unless forced to.”
“Perhaps this time it might help stress the urgency. Anna says that it’s a pain when a recall comes in as you have to go through all the records, contact all the owners whose animals may have been affected and report all of this when you return the vials. It’s a lot of work for vets. In many cases, they are not inclined to do this; they simply just destroy what they have left and move on. She said the pharma companies actually like this as it results in less claims against them. They might not even get the link to CRFS if Regnum doesn’t disclose the association, and we will lose important data, and maybe more dogs.”
“I’m not in the position to agree or disagree with them or you. Just reporting the facts.”
“Wow. Okay. Did they offer you any Kool-Aid while you were there?”
“No . . . It’s just . . .” I’ve never heard him sound tentative.
“What? You’re creeping me out!”
“They want to talk to you.”
I’m thinking—trying to think—but there are a million possible reactions I could have. “Really, what else?”
“They would like to see your data.”
I snort. “They have the summaries, but they are not getting any of my raw data. What else?”
“They . . .” He’s hesitating, he’s concerned. I know him well.
A light bulb goes off in my head. “They would like to buy my silence.”
“They would like to reimburse you for your efforts and provide you compensation for your contribution.”
“You have got to be kidding me! This is the message that they asked you to convey?”
“Their exact words.” There is a seriousness in his tone that is unnerving.
“And you have no problem bringing me that message.”
“I didn’t say that. I’m just the middleman.”
“Middle? That implies that you are as close to our side as theirs. Does the middleman have an opinion? Off the record?”
“He does. He is advised by his and Regnum’s lawyers that he signed a non-disclosure agreement and that this happened on his watch.”
My heart is pounding and I feel a surge of fear—no, anger. “Are you fucking kidding me?! Are they threatening you?”
“Do you hear any chuckle in my voice? No, not kidding.” His voice is actually trembling.
Quieting my tone, I ask, “Neil, are you scared or are you angry?”
“Both.” He hesitates. “They would also like to know who the members of your team are. Who else knows about this?”
“Like hell I will tell them.”
“They will find out on their own. It’s not hard to figure out.”
“Let them. What the hell are you saying?”
“Claire, it’s getting pretty weird. I have never experienced anything like this. The consequences to Regnum are huge. This could actually bring a multi-billion-dollar company to its knees just in terms of recalls and lawsuits, never mind how their stock will plummet if the public finds out.”
“You mean when the public finds out.”
“Obviously they are hoping for if.”
“And they think they can buy my silence?”
“They have pretty deep pockets.”
“They have a lot of pockets to fill. Mine, Anna’s, Megan’s, Jamie’s, all the folks down the hall, and you.”
“I’m not a factor.”
“You’re doing this for fun?”
“I’m simply the messenger.”
“A messenger maybe. A liar you are not.”
“Perhaps we should have lunch. After you meet with them.”
“I’m not going to meet with them. They can go fuck themselves if they think I am going to let them go quietly into the night with the secret of the origin of CRFS.”
“They won’t go quietly, trust me on that.”
“Is that a threat?”
“I sense that is not beyond their thinking.”
“Oh my God! Do they think that they can keep close to a dozen people quiet with money and threats? Are they going to just pull the lots and not tell anyone about the connection to CRFS? This is the stuff of a bad movie.”
“You can’t make this stuff up. Perhaps we can sell the rights to this one someday.” There is a flatness to his voice.
Ignoring his attempt at easing some of the tension, I say, “Let’s just say that in their wildest dreams, we were all interested in a big house on the lake. With a big endowment for our research. What about the public, what about all the people who lost dogs, what about the scientific community that will spend millions more chasing a ghost that no longer exists, money that could go towards other real research needs?”
“What about folks who will never trust a vaccine again, and the unvaccinated dogs that will die? What about putting out of business a company that for the most part, has saved countless dog lives with cutting-edge discoveries?”
“Are those your words or theirs?”
“Mine actually. I just thought of them. Do you like?”
“No I don’t. Whose side are you on? Ours or theirs. Pick one.”
“You know where my allegiance is, but at this point, I’d rather help in the best way I can, by trying to facilitate an agreement.”
“Sorry, I’m not playing. Not if they start the game by writing all the rules in their favor. Besides, there’s no agreement to be made. They need to announce the origin of CRFS and their plans for moving forward.”
“You should at least know what you are dealing with. You need to meet with them.”
“Then I am adding another person to my team.”
“I can’t join you.”
“Not you. A very good lawyer. One that they will be paying for by the time this is all over.”
I call Anna to fill her in on my call with Neil. “They are scent-marking,” she declares. “They think this is all their territory and they are making sure we know it.” She is ready for a fight.
Thursday, Day 4
Spring brings renewal, hope. The morning is only chilly and Chris and I sit wrapped in blankets at the table on the porch warming our hands around our mugs. The morning light is not yet firmly in place; everything is veiled in a yellow hue. We watch the dogs float down the hill half-heartedly giving chase to the deer who spring away, bouncing over the fence as if attached to a bungee cord. Ania and Sofie trot back, content to start their day with a good romp.
I get up, ask if he wants any more coffee. Chris stares at me as if it is a monumental decision. “Are you worried?” I ask.
>
“No, you got this.”
“Then?”
“I’m thinking what a waste. What a ridiculous amount of energy and angst we will expend in the next few days, when we all know how this is going to end. They are going to have to go public to convince the public it is over.”
“But it’s all about control. He who controls the message wins.”
“I suppose. But while we want to control the integrity of science, they want to control their profit margin.”
“Yup. That’s what we each win if we control the message.”
I put on my only suit. That’s the good thing about business attire, it forestalls any initial assumptions about who I am based on the way I dress. I am not giving away anything.
We gather our pack, picking Anna up. It’s at least a two-hour drive, but in Washington traffic, it could be days. Anna looks radiant, confident. There will not be another CRFS death in her clinic. We talk of everything except the looming conflict.
Our lawyer, Rachelle Swavek, waits for us. She’s an old friend of Neil’s who was occasionally opposing counsel on cases against Regnum. Big companies are always the target for someone’s get-rich-quick scheme, but Neil said she only took valid cases and has an instinct that made Regnum settle them quickly, out of court. Apparently, Neil had called her two days ago and asked her to stand by, and at my mention of a lawyer on our call, he gave me her contact information. I spoke with her only briefly last night but she assured me she knows how to end this quickly.
We are sitting in the coffee shop down the block from the Regnum legislative office. Rachelle has a commanding presence. Tall and graceful, African-American, with high cheekbones that give her a regal and an impervious persona. I suspect she is an enigma to her opponents. I’m not sure how well Neil had briefed her until she says, “Claire, you will do most of the talking. I won’t say anything unless I feel they are straying off topic. You don’t have to be here. You are here as a courtesy to them. You don’t owe them anything but they do need you. Do not agree to anything. Agree only to consider and get back to them, and I advise that you don’t even hint at considering a payoff.”
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