The Delta Factor (26 page)

“Right. I've read the literature.” She frowned at the rearview mirror, slowed, speeded up again. “What is that clown doing?”

“What's the matter, Debs?”

“Nothing, probably just a little jumpy.”

The next turning came. She took it, her attention now split between what was behind her and the road in front. “Humulun is almost identical to what the healthy human pancreas produces. Before, they would buy hog and cattle pancreases from slaughterhouses and extract insulin. There were a lot of people with bad reactions to this alien substance. Almost all the contraindications have been eradicated with this new product. Genetically manipulated E coli bacteria were the growth medium. I personally think . . .” Deborah stopped, her attention caught by whatever it was she saw behind them.

Cliff swivelled around. “What's the matter?”

“I'm not sure,” she said worriedly. “Those headlights have stayed glued to my bumper through the past three turnings.” She shot him a glance. “Is your seat belt on?”

“Yes.”

“Then hang on.”

17

They were rammed at the worst possible point on the highway—a sharp curve alongside the intersection of two deep-water canals.

Had they been in any other automobile, they would have skidded down the ravine and plunged into the canal. But the Cherokee was big and heavy and sat on massive broad-grip tires. It slewed hard at the slamming, threw sparks high into the night, but clung gamely to the road. Cliff had a brief glance into the dark depths, a fleeting vision of descending into a watery grave. But the jeep held, and Deborah fought the bucking wheel like a pro. As soon as the Cherokee rocked back onto all four tires, she floored the accelerator and raced for safety.

The big dark car roared along behind them, fighting for another chance. But Deborah did not offer one.

She took the Pharmacon parking lot entrance-ramp so hard all four tires left the road. The dark car behind them squealed and swerved, slamming brakes and blowing up a cloud of burning rubber, and then produced a second cloud as the engine roared and the tires slewed around before the car powered away.

Her first words, when she was able to speak again, were, “Did you get the license plate?”

“Are you kidding?” Cliff puffed, swallowed, struggled to get enough air into his lungs. “I still don't know if it was a car or some kind of black killer bug.”

“It was a sedan. An Infiniti, I'm pretty sure.”

“You drove like that and still had a chance to see what kind of car was behind us?”

But she was already reaching for her door. “I think I've seen it before.”

Cliff followed her through the first set of bulletproof doors on rubbery legs. The guard was plastered to his outside window. He turned and hit the communications button. “What was
that?
”

“Call the police,” Deborah said, still gasping for breath. “Tell him a black Infiniti just tried to ram me off the road. I think I know who it was.”

“Have to be the sheriff's office,” the guard replied, reaching for the phone. “We're outside the city limits here.”

Deborah groaned softly.

“Dr. Givens?”

“What about the highway patrol?”

“We've got strict instructions to report everything directly to the sheriff,” the guard replied. “They can get awful sticky about jurisdiction.”

Deborah hesitated, then said, “I guess it couldn't hurt.”

“Right.” The guard started dialing.

Deborah turned to Cliff. “Okay if I leave you here for a minute while I check my messages? I can't let you come up without going through the whole rigmarole again.”

The guard broke in. “You're Mr. Devon, aren't you, sir?”

“That's right.”

“I can't let him come in anyway, Dr. Givens,” the guard said apologetically. “Strict instructions from Mr. Whitehurst. Sorry.”

Deborah gave Cliff an angry look. “Bean counters at work.”

“There's been four or five messages for you, though.”

Deborah turned back to the guard. “For me?”

“No ma'am, at least, nothing since I came on.” He pointed at Cliff. “The messages were for him. All from a man called Summers, I think, wait, I've got them here. Yeah, that's right. Ralph Summers. He wants you to call as soon as you can. I can pass you a mobile phone, if you like.”

“Cliff, good of you to call back. Sorry to disturb you over the weekend. Sandra said I'd probably find you there.”

“Ralph, I know you told me not to come down, but I can explain—”

“Too late for that, I'm afraid.” The man's voice was unusually somber. “Cliff, did you pass on samples of a drug under review to an outside laboratory?”

“Not of the drug itself,” Cliff replied, his blood going cold. “Of the roots used for manufacturing the extract, and of some other plants. You see—”

“Close enough.” The director released a long sigh. “I hate to do this, especially over the weekend and on the phone, but there's no choice, really. I'm afraid we're going to have to let you go.”

The chill of dread turned to ice. “What?”

“You know as well as I do how many policies you have flaunted with this action. Probably better than I do for that matter.”

“But, Ralph, there are serious dangers—”

“Just hear me out. I know your concerns, and believe me, if I had my druthers, I would let you pursue them. But things have moved beyond that point. Far beyond it, I'm afraid. Word has been leaked to Congressman Larson about your actions. He plans to use it as additional fuel in the news conference he has called for Monday. You can imagine what that's going to sound like. An FDA employee breaches the trust of the pharmaceutical company, while at the same time we continue to drag our heels over accepting European clinical trial data and refusing to release this new wonder drug,” Ralph paused, then went on, “I shudder to think what the newspapers are going to make of this.”

Cliff let his legs go limp, and fell onto the leather bench. “I understand,” he said dully.

“Believe me, son, it pains me to have to do this. But I don't have any choice in the matter. Our only hope at this point is to stay one step ahead of them and issue a press release of our own. First thing Monday morning we are going to do just that. How our own internal investigation turned up this matter, and how you were immediately released. I've been trying to reach you all day, wanting you to hear it from me first and not read it in the paper.”

“You've always treated me right, Ralph,” Cliff said, his heart thudding slow and heavy in his ears. “I'm really sorry about all this.”

“Not near as sorry as I am.” He sounded as though he truly meant the words. “I've always had the greatest respect for you, I really have.”

“Could I ask a favor?”

“Of course you can.”

Cliff did a swift run-through of the fears they had, of the kidnap attempt on Tom, of the stranger in the boat, and now of the ramming. “We still don't know exactly what's going on or who's behind it, but all this makes us increasingly certain we're onto something big.”

“If this had come from anybody but you,” Ralph said, “I'd have told them to roll over and go back to sleep.”

“This is real, Ralph. I can see the mangled fender on Deborah's jeep from where I'm sitting. The local sheriff thinks she's crazy. Could you maybe try to light a couple of fires up in Washington?”

“Not immediately,” he replied. “I'm going to have my hands full for the next few days. Damage control. I've got to try and garner support for the FDA over on Capitol Hill. But I'll have somebody spread the word now, and then work on it myself once things have settled down here.”

“Thanks, Ralph. I appreciate it.”

“Listen to this guy. Thanking me for giving him the ax. Where will you be in the meantime?”

“I guess I'll hang around here. Deborah's been given lab space up at UVA's Norfolk campus. I'll probably play gofer, save her the wear and tear.”

“Let me hear if you come up with anything definite, all right?”

“Sure, Ralph.”

There was another long sigh. “Take care of yourself, Cliff.”

“I'll try.”

“And stay in touch.”

Cliff switched off the phone, raised his head to where Deborah stood in the doorway watching him. “I've been canned.”

“So I gather.” She walked over and sat down beside him. “I'm so very, very sorry, Cliff. It's all my fault.”

“No it's not.”

“If I hadn't dragged you into this mess, none of it would have happened.”

“Well, it's too late for all that. I'm here and I'm in it.” He dredged up a small smile. “Way up over my head, from the sounds of things.”

“We'll figure something out.” She reached over and mussed his hair. “Cute hunk like you shouldn't have any trouble finding work. I could always use another techie myself, but the way things are right now, that might be the quickest hire and fire of your life.”

“Thanks, Debs. I appreciate that.”

Deborah rose to her feet. “Come on, let's go home. Things always look better in the light of a new day.”

When they were almost to the outer doors, the guard said, “Dr. Givens?”

“Yes?”

“The sheriff said to tell you that he would drop everything and rush right over. He asked for you to wait right here until he arrived.”

“He didn't give you an idea how long he would be, did he?”

“He just said directly. That's all. He'd be over directly.”

Deborah turned back to the door. “If he ever shows up, tell him he'll find me home in bed.”

Cliff dug in his heels. “Are you sure that's safe, going back to your place?”

“Safe as anywhere else around here, and I'm too beat to look any farther.” She tugged him forward. “I'll stop by Reuben's and ask him to have a look around. Come on, Junior. You look as tired as I feel.”

Ralph Summers sat staring at the phone. In his entire career, he had never been forced to do anything that felt as wrong as firing Devon.

Try as he might, he could find no other alternative. Still, in this case, political expediency was not going to help him feel any better. No matter how necessary the move might have been, in his heart Summers knew the FDA had just lost a very good man.

And no matter how crazy it sounded, Summers was positive that Devon's concerns were not completely unfounded. Misguided perhaps, but nonetheless real.

Trying to hold his shaky alliance of congressional support was going to occupy him completely over the coming few days. He would have to give this to someone else.

Summers mulled it over, then grinned without humor and reached for the phone. He searched his directory and found Sandra Walters' home number. Yes, it would serve her right. Let her lose a weekend over this. He did not know exactly how, but he was positive her hand had been in this somewhere. Good. She could reap a little of the benefits now.

Summers sat and listened to the phone ring and thought again about Devon. He sighed. It did not look like he was going to get much sleep tonight.

As soon as they pulled away, the guard checked his clipboard and placed the call. When it was answered, he said, “Mr. Whitehurst? It's Jack, sir. You said to call if either one of them showed up. Yessir. Both of them together. Nossir, of course not, I didn't let him in. No, she just checked her messages and went home. Yessir, that's what she said, home to bed. But maybe you ought to know, sir, there was a problem . . . hello? Mr. Whitehurst?”

The guard stood there a moment, phone in hand, wondering. Then he shook his head and put the phone back down. Best not to get involved. What he didn't know couldn't hurt him.

Cliff was awakened by the sounds of gunfire and baying hounds.

He leapt out of what was the customary side of his bed at home, or at least tried to, and slammed square into a wall.

He rocked back prone, holding his forehead and moaning. Deborah came rushing in. “What was that? Are you all right?”

“Fine,” he groaned, and struggled to his feet.

A voice called from the darkness outside, “Miss Debs?”

“Reuben? Is that you?”

“Yes ma'am. It's safe for y'all to come on out now. They's gone.”

Deborah turned on the outside lights, wrapped her robe around her, unlocked her screen door, and walked down the porch steps. “Who is?”

“Whoever it was sneakin' up on you.” Reuben hefted the shotgun in his hand. “Sicked ol' Wilbur on 'em and fired a coupla bursts in the sky, them two was off like turpentined cats.”

“Did you see who it was?”

“No ma'am, not me.” He motioned to the grinning girl and boy half-hidden by night shadows. “You remember my two biggest gran'kids.”

“Of course I do. Good evening, Amy, Stanley. What on earth are you two doing up so late?”

“Guardin' your house,” Amy replied proudly. “I saw 'em good. Both of 'em.”

“Couldn't keep her in bed with a rope,” Reuben grumbled. “Ever since you helped with her mama's illness, that little gal won't stop goin' on about you.”

“They was white,” the girl offered. “Weren't no foreigner like Granddaddy saw.”

Deborah shot a baffled look toward Cliff. “You're sure?”

“Sure as sure can be,” Amy replied.

“I was there too,” the boy added. “She right. One of 'em, he had gray hair, the other was real blond.”

“You were that close?”

“Close enough to hear what they was saying,” Amy replied.

“That little gal is gonna be the death of me,” Reuben moaned. “I thought I could last the night, but danged if my eyes didn't start dropping like they was tied to weights. I go back for my son-in-law, but he's working nights this week, and by the time I get my daughter up, them gran'kids is just rarin' to go. Had their clothes on and was out the door faster'n greased lightning.”