Risking the World (11 page)

Like TB.  "Tuberculosis loves only human beings."

"Maybe the monkeys are wise after all," Francine joked.

She was afraid to laugh.  Humor was difficult to interpret. "How does Dr. Cook feel about animals?"

"Oh, she loves animals.  Not little ones like cats, but big ones.  Horses."

Thank God one species met her standards, since the woman appeared to have very little affection for Homo sapiens.

"Dr. Cook's on the verge of a major breakthrough with her lung cancer vaccine.  It's not easy for me to step aside at such a crucial time."

"Once I'm oriented, you can return to your work with Dr. Cook."

"No.  I'm assigned to you as part of our agreement with the government.  That's what they asked for, and that's what we agreed to."

The 'we' obviously referred to Francine and Sandra Cook.

"We need their grant money.  We're so close to a breakthrough."

"But to step aside with your project coming to fruition . . ."

"We've done whatever is necessary at each step to make our project succeed.  That's how we work here.  For the best interests of the lab.  And the future of the lab is as much mine as it is Dr. Cook's."

This woman expects to be Dr. Cook's successor?  In a U.S. lab, people would step all over her.

"Now, what else do you need, Dr. Ashe?"

A miracle.  Francine wasn't likely to deliver that.  As for the lab, it was well equipped but largely underutilized.  Finding desks and bench space for her roster of incoming scientists would not be difficult.  Clearly, the presence of the Tivaz TB project meant only one thing to Sandra and Francine – a welcome infusion of cash to supplement meager grant money.

Chapter 13

"Aren't you ready yet?"  Ever since Varat failed to kill Tiger on the steep slopes below Tivaz, his customary patience had worn to the thinnest veneer.  "I must leave tonight if I am to reach London in time."

Black shrugged.  "It takes care to create a fail-safe negative pressure seal."

Nonetheless, Varat would make sure Black began the demonstration immediately.  "Have you documented your progress to this point?"

Black balanced his hands, weighing options.  "Which would you prefer?  That I focus on the experiment, or play with your toys?"

He wanted both, because the demonstration was worthless without proof.

Black preened.  "My knowledge makes all this possible."

"Fine, then let's record your accomplishments.  Now!"

Varat began by pointing the small digital video at Black, who described the spraying of weaponized Tivaz TB into an airtight room.  Then he panned to where two men in Level 4 suits dragged their naked victim into the room and struggled to strap him down on a bare cot.  Observing Gray's struggles, Varat almost felt sorry for him.  The man had stepped forward to accept a bullet in his forehead after Tiger and Dr. Ashe fled Tivaz, but now he fought with the strength of the condemned.  As well he should, for the fate awaiting him far exceeded the terror of having his brains blown out and he knew it.

Varat screwed the camera to the tripod and moved closer to the window for a more personal view.  Gray's body was immobilized now but his head darted toward the movement at the window.  His eyes found Varat and he scowled in a last act of defiance.  Commendable.  "When will Gray exhibit symptoms?"

"Soon.  He's been pretreated with immunosuppressive drugs to make his immune system behave like that of a young child."

He checked the digital time stamp on the video camera, adjusted the lens for a wide shot and tightened the tripod.  The camera was set to capture the wave of infection, including administration of useless antibiotics, until Gray's body crested with an explosion of pustules that would painfully sweep him to the shores of extinction.  Gray's end would demonstrate to Varat's clients explicitly that not only was Black's Tivaz TB reconstituted, but fully weaponized.

Poetic justice how Dr. Ashe herself provided the clue when she stole a commonplace pressurized container with a vacuum seal to keep the TB sample alive while she and Tiger escaped.  She showed them the secret to weaponization of Tivaz TB lay not in stabilizing it so it could survive in the atmosphere, but in protecting it from the atmosphere.  After studying Dr. Ashe's method of defense, Black called in a comrade with the requisite biochemical skills to craft a molecular container for his toxic TB.  And
voilà
!

"You're 100% confident you've recreated your TB strain?"

"Of course.  Dr. Strong and Dr. Ashe shall soon discover I am the best."

They'd better.  "After Gray's incinerated, send the video according to my instructions."

Black drew his slight frame up.  "I'm not your errand boy."

"The task I'm entrusting to you is important.  To prevail you must do as I say."

The temperamental scientist had worked day and night to reconstitute and weaponize Tivaz TB, but delivering videotape proof to the clients was just as important to the success of Varat's grand plan.  Unhappy over the delay and suspicious about Tiger's role, his sponsors were balking. He must reestablish their confidence.  Their participation in this plot was required if vengeance were to be his.

Besides, abandoning Tivaz and relocating to the north consumed his remaining funds and he needed his clients' long awaited progress payment.  Christie's was set to auction a gold-mounted horse-head shamshir. His grandfather and father, stretched out beside heavenly rivers flowing with wine and honey, would approve when he added the curved-blade sword to their collection.  Which meant he must be on hand personally to persuade his purchasing agent to advance the funds if his clients were late in depositing.

London.  He enjoyed London almost as much as Paris.  And this trip had much to offer – the antique blade, David Ruskin, and Dr. Ashe. Suddenly, the tedious trek ahead of him out of the Rif Mountains to Tetouan, and the choppy crossing to the privileged safety of the E.U., seemed a pleasant diversion.

Chapter 14

Francine set up a meeting room for the team's initial work session, but not the way Claire asked.  Instead of a U shape where everyone could see each other and build on each other's ideas, the small tables and chairs were arranged in lecture-style seating favored by Europeans.  Claire wanted a free exchange of ideas, not a bunch of jet-lagged scientists looking at her in the front of the room, waiting to be told what to do.  Without saying a word she rearranged the room while Francine watched with her lips pursed in the same expression she'd run into with Sandra that first day at the lab.

Once introductions were out of the way, Claire reviewed the key points in her briefing notes and was reassured to see her team members had done their homework. 
Now, let's see how they work together.
  She wrote down three categories on the chalkboard:

– Quick Hits

– Achievable With Time

– Home Runs (If We Connect)

She'd been proud to come up with a sports analogy for the mostly male team.  But eyeing this international group she wished she chose soccer.  She forged ahead anyway and before long the group had a sizable list of projects even if they couldn't agree on the three best ideas from each category.  That she circumvented by listing each idea on a separate flip chart, posting the sheets along the walls, and asking each person to stand in front of the project he or she could have the greatest impact on.  That narrowed the field, except Roscoe kept moving from poster to poster, so sure he could star in multiple shows.  He had to be reined in.

The whole process took longer than she planned, but at least resulted in the creation of sub-teams with a good mix of practical and pie in the sky thinkers.  Francine was the only one who refused to assign herself to one of the projects.  Claire made an executive decision to put Francine on her team – theoretical.  Best to keep a close eye in Francine in case she turned into a troublemaker.

"One final note.  I've seen Tivaz TB do its work.  It ate a child alive before my eyes.  This is strictly Level 4.  Airborne transmission is debatable, but bugs evolve.  No shortcuts.  No chances. Understood?"  For emphasis she looked each person in the eye.

"The child who died," one colleague asked, "Was there evidence of antibody formation?"

"No.  Tivaz TB proceeded so rapidly her specific immune response didn't have time to respond."

"Then I think we should prioritize Roscoe Smartz's idea for a DNA vaccine that includes a Toll receptor agonist," another scientist added.

"We need to work up all our ideas," she reminded them.  "We need lots of back-up plans."

Some balked, and she listened intently to their opinions, supportive to a degree.

"Toll receptors make sense," a Finnish scientist said.

"They activate the nonspecific response immediately," someone else added.

"That means we can use Roscoe's DNA vaccine both pre- and post-exposure," an American chimed in.

At that point Roscoe snapped his fingers.  "My idea's a go, then!"

Roscoe beamed like a little boy delighted to be the center of attention.  But her decision that all teams work on multiple fronts was unwavering.  "It's fine to make a quick hit of a DNA vaccine that targets Toll receptors, but I want our other quick hit ideas fleshed out at the same time.  And I expect daily updates from all sub-teams.  Everybody on board?"

She was relieved when even Roscoe nodded, and the meeting broke up.  Francine approached her.  "Is this how you work in America?"

She swallowed a sharp comeback on the tip of her tongue.  "It's how I work."

"Well, I can see the logic."

Huh?  But did Francine agree and if not, would it pose a problem?  To succeed this TB project needed every advantage.  Claire refused herself the luxury of pettiness.  "Perhaps you could suggest how we might integrate methods you and Dr. Cook use.  Maybe we can get some synergy going."  She crossed her fingers figuratively.

"I'll think about it," Francine said and left the room.

Okay, please do.  I need you inside my tent, not outside.

While she packed her briefcase, Roscoe came up, smiling.  "Good meeting, Claire.  We're off and running."

She actually appreciated his optimism.  But of course, his star was ascending since the team adopted his idea right away.   She measured her response so she could keep a lid on him if it turned out to be necessary.  "Yes, a good start."

"Hey, here’s another idea.  Let's have dinner tonight. Catch up with each other."

She took a deep breath.  The last time they were together she told him in no uncertain terms he wasn't her type.  And that wasn't about to change simply because she needed his brains and energy on this team.  But at the end of the day she had to work with him.  "Thanks, but no, I've got another engagement."

It was a small white lie.  She had a dinner date with herself at Sherborne House since David Ruskin was overseas in Morocco.  Better to dine alone than fight off Roscoe.  And he was the last person she wanted to discuss her Tivaz experiences with.  Her personal affairs were none of his business.

"Okay, another time soon," he said.

Any time would be too soon.

The rest of the day she checked in on her team members, getting to know them better and making sure they were committed to the decisions made at the kick-off meeting.  It was dark when Ian Barker put her in the silver Bentley with Jim Borden behind the wheel.

"Evening, Dr. Ashe.  Hope you're looking forward to dinner tonight.  Maggie's made something special."

Too bad she had so little appetite after the strain of today.

"It's a nice kidney pie, my favorite."

Kidney pie?  Yuck.  Her lack of appetite was a relief.  An energy bar would do nicely.

"I never miss out on Maggie's kidney pie.  Davvy's favorite too."

David's favorite?  She had to admit she never tasted kidney pie and maybe it wasn't as bad as she imagined.  And if they were willing to let her join them in the kitchen to sample something new she could use the opportunity to learn more about Davvy.  Everybody was somebody's favorite and Jim and Maggie Borden obviously doted on their Davvy.  What was she missing?

***

David eyed a line of sentries sizzling along the perimeter of the Governor's mansion, each man at attention and wearing more gold braid than an entire regiment of Buckingham Palace guards.  Aziz Bouchta greeted them barefoot on the foyer's gleaming marble floor.

"You manage to be everywhere in Morocco," David remarked.

"I asked him to come," Bobby said casually.  "He grew up in the same village as the Governor and I thought we might work that to our advantage."

Bobby plunked himself down on a carved rosewood bench, kicked off his loafers and peeled off his socks.  Wondering what in bloody hell his friend was up to inviting Bouchta, David moved to the opposite wall and unlaced his English wingtips.  Appropriately shoeless, they entered the Governor's reception hall where high windows illuminated a slight man dressed in a Saville Row suit with a white shirt open at the neck. 

"I am gratified to see you again, Mr. Keane, and to meet Mr. Tiger in person."

"Please, call me by my given name, David Ruskin."

"Impossible," the Governor answered.  "To Aziz and me you will always remain Tiger.  The adventure of your escape lives in my memory."

And the shame of it in mine.

"Tell me, how is Dr. Ashe?"

"A full recovery with no complications is expected."

"Excellent.  Aziz has told me of your plan for her safety."

What was the Governor getting at?  "My plan?"

The Governor smiled.  "To keep her in your own home under Tiger's watchful eye."

David scowled at Bobby.  Why would he give Bouchta, and through him the Governor, everything but the keys to Sherborne House?

"Gentlemen," their host said. "Refreshments?" He pointed to a pedestal table broad enough for King Arthur's court and laden with pastries and fruit.

Bouchta bowed to the Governor.  "You did not forget what I loved as a boy!"  Then he gulped down a honey-dripping morsel before he raised his arms to heaven.  "What is life without friends?"