In her past life, “investigations” usually involved a chromatography set-up, a spectrophotometer and a computer. But things had taken a dark turn. Now, all she required were binoculars and a fast getaway car. But mostly, she needed chutzpah.
She picked up the binoculars and focused them about a quarter block down the street where a wedding party posed for photos aboard four horse drawn carriages, then dismounted and followed a path through the onlookers to the entrance of The Tremont House hotel. She dared not blink for fear that David Crowley would slip through the crowd unobserved.
She was almost certain David was up to something. The BRI administrative call schedules had revealed he never took call on the first or third Sundays of the month. And if scheduled to do so, he changed with someone else. Not a big deal; but two weeks ago he had lied about his reasons for switching. And considering the negative report she had received from Jane Galvin at Texas A&M, plus Vincent’s suspicions about him… Granted, at this point, it only added up to an iron-clad inkling. But her intuition rarely failed her; David Crowley was somehow connected to the hidden forces orbiting BRI.
Similar things happen under similar circumstances, so there was a good chance David would show up there this afternoon. If he did, she’d play it by ear. She needed some answers.
Diane tapped her fingers on the steering wheel; this Mata Hari stuff was unnerving. She looked forward to her escape to the Caribbean next week for the conference and jungle trek with Olimpia, though she suspected it was going to be awkward seeing Gabriel Carrera while she was down there. Raymond Bellfort had told his cousin of her travel plans, and Gabriel emailed her inviting her to dinner.
Just then someone knocked on the window beside her. Diane jumped and looked out. A very tall man wearing a plaid sport coat stood beside her car. He probably belonged to the sports car she had squeezed in on the other side of her. She lowered her window, tilted her baseball cap back and looked up—at David Crowley. Why is it I always get caught?
“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” he chortled as he opened her car door and offered her his hand.
Diane flushed. If David were in the midst of something nefarious, why would he march right up to her car and announce his presence? Her voice came out in a squeak. “Hello David. What brings you here?”
“A meeting. Care to join me?”
He didn’t look a bit uncomfortable. In fact, he seemed amused. She weighed the situation. It was the middle of the day in a very public place. What could possibly happen if she went with him?
David hadn’t moved. “You’ve come this far,” he said.
She shrugged, stepped from the car and walked with him to the hotel. Neither of them spoke.
David led the way up the stairs through the sunlit atrium lobby. Two people entered the elevator with them, diluting the strain of their silence.
Then, David said, “I saw you here two weeks ago. I figured you’d come back.”
Diane stared straight ahead in silence. And at long last, the doors opened.
David led her down a corridor to a door labeled “Abstracts.” He knocked. A man answered. David entered first.
Several men and women sat around a conference table in the large room. They looked up at David and smiled. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said. “I’d like you to meet Dr. Diane Rose.” He turned and gestured for Diane to come forward.
The group stood up and moved toward her. The first man to reach her was dressed as she was—in denims, a baseball cap and T-shirt. He held out his hand. Diane froze. “You,” she said accusingly.
He was the man from the library—the one Vincent had caught stealing his research.
At a luxury hotel, fifty miles to the north of Galveston, The Houston Society of Biopreneurs’ selection committee passed a box around a mahogany conference table, then returned it to the chairwoman. She unfolded the ballots, counted the votes and announced to the group that they had chosen Raymond Bellfort of Bayside Research as their “Person of the Year.” He would be the first non-scientist in Houston’s biotechnology community to have this honor conferred upon him. The award would be presented at the society’s annual banquet in December.
“In 1991, the Office of Scientific Integrity (OSI) was formed by the National Institutes of Health to halt the rampant fraud discovered in research labs in the 1980’s. But OSI overreached themselves, using McCarthy-like tactics and bringing scandal and near-ruin to scores of ethical scientists while quite often the perpetrators of fraud went unnoticed.
“Embittered, a group of reputable research scientists, victims of the overzealous purge, formed a secret society they called the Lab Rats to monitor their peers and expose unethical practices when appropriate.
“Over the past two decades, our numbers have grown. And now our invitation-only membership includes working scientists and other well-placed individuals in the community who have agreed to assist in our investigations. But invitations are still rare. And they’re only extended after exhaustive vetting of credentials and character.”
David Crowley swept his arm over the heads of those now seated around the large, oval table, and turned to Diane. “Dr. Rose, I give you the Houston-Galveston branch of the Lab Rats.”
Diane had listened to David’s presentation with her mouth agape. Now she groped for words, but the only ones that came to mind were: Does everyone at BRI belong to some sort of secret society?
David came to her rescue. “You probably wonder why I invited you here.”
Diane managed a nod.
“Let me start at the beginning.” David stuffed his hands in his pockets and began pacing on the opposite side of the table.
“More than a year ago, it came to the attention of the Lab Rats that a disgruntled former BRI scientist, by then working on the West Coast, accused Raymond Bellfort of selling his intellectual property prematurely to an undisclosed buyer. It was an inhalant to cure nicotine addiction.
“The scientist had assigned his rights to BRI and was paid handsomely upon the sale. Then he was fired. And the product vanished.
“The researcher believed it had been buried, possibly bought off the market by someone who would suffer great financial loss by its introduction into the marketplace.
“At that same time, BRI was advertising for a staff veterinarian. I applied for the job to get a close look at the BRI organization. Bellfort is the only non-scientist our group has ever investigated.
“Figuring he was a mere business man, I arrived on the scene thinking I’d finesse the inhalant information out of him and be on my way. Then Harry Lee and his technology disappeared.
“I couldn’t help but wonder if Dr. Lee’s technology had traveled the same path to obscurity as the inhalant. Then Peruvase was gone.” His voice softened. “Then Vincent… I wish I had gotten to know him better.” He shook his head in disbelief.
After a moment’s silence, David went on. “Even a blind hog finds an acorn now and then. But I haven’t uncovered much. Bellfort’s as secretive as the CIA.” David smirked at a woman two seats away from Diane
Then his expression sobered, and he turned to Diane. We were planning to invite you to our next meeting, but here you are. And we’d like to ask for your help.”
Diane studied David for a moment. He was the person who had been there for her through the worst of her grief. And the one she was so quick to doubt. Now she smiled warmly. “You’ve got it. Whatever you need, David.”
In a semi-trance, Diane relived the previous weeks as she detailed excerpts from Vincent’s notes and the stolen video to the transfixed Lab Rats. She told them about her search for Peruvase and her discussion with Bellfort regarding his confidentiality policy. Then, certain that information unnecessary for their investigation would not leave that room, she recounted her pact with Maxine (omitting Maxine’s activism). That led to her trip to Leonard Everly’s ranch and her serendipitous discovery of TekTranz.