“What made you decide to take the approach you did?” Rothery asked.
“We’ve had an antiviral drug sitting on the sidelines for about thirteen months now, waiting for FDA approval. We thought the base structure of that drug may have some bearing here, and we were right. Essentially, the drug we have to combat the virus is almost exactly the same as the drug we had ready for FDA approval. We needed to test it, of course, and that we’ve done. We are positive we have the drug to stop this virus.”
“Would your drug work on Ebola as well?” Rothery asked. “I understand this virus is quite similar to Ebola.”
“Similar in some aspects and very different in others. They are both hemorrhagic viruses, but their cellular structure is not at all the same. This drug cannot stop Ebola.”
“Well, what’s important right now is that we’ve got a cure for the disease once it’s been contracted.” Rothery turned to the researcher who had accompanied Bruce Andrews to the meeting. “Do you concur, Dr. Wai? Do we have a cure?”
“Yes,” Dr. Wai said. “That’s what we have.”
“Excellent. Then let’s get our teams working together to get the drug out of the labs and into the hands of emergency rooms and public and private clinics across the country. How long will it take you to move into a production stage, Mr. Andrews?”
Andrews scratched his chin thoughtfully. “We’ve got a hurdle to cross before we can get to that point, Mr. Rothery.”
Rothery’s smile immediately disappeared. “What hurdle?” he asked. His voice was anxious.
“It’s nothing that will hold us up, but it’s something that must be done. Veritas cannot bring a drug to market without FDA approval. We will not allow even one pill outside our labs until the FDA stamps their approval on our technology.”
“Why hasn’t that happened already?” Rothery asked.
“We’re stuck in the NDA stage. That’s the New Drug Application. We submitted our application complete with all our clinical trials about a year ago. We’ve been held up by red tape ever since.”
“Why?” Rothery asked. “Is there something wrong with the drug?”
Andrews shook his head. “Nothing that would make it stand out among all the other drugs on the market these days. There are side effects, but every drug has some sort of downside. Zancor is no different.”
“Zancor?”
“That’s the trade name for this drug. When it hits the shelves, that’s what retail customers will ask for, likeViagra or Accutane.”
“What can we do to get FDA approval?” Rothery asked.
Andrews shrugged. “I don’t know. We’ve been dealing with one of their lead investigators, Barry Flath, since we first filed for an NDA. He’s the guy you should talk to.”
“I’ll call him,”Tony Warner said.“I’ve met Barry a few times at professional functions. He’s not a bad guy.” He turned to Rothery. “I’ll get him to contact you if he’s got any problems with issuing an approval on short notice. These are extenuating circumstances. He’ll come around.”
“Get him to come around quickly, Tony,” Rothery said. “We need that drug.”
57
By six-twelve, the sun was peeking over the eastern regions of Orlando. Streetlamps on timers switched off and traffic lights reverted back from in-ground sensors to timed operations. City crews pulled out of the lots and the first morning flights readied for departure at Orlando International. All in all, it was just another normal Tuesday morning in the city that was host to Walt Disney World. Everywhere except on a quiet stretch of Dowden Road.
Sixty-four law-enforcement officers, forty-one from the Orlando PD and twenty-three FBI agents, were in position and waiting for the word from Jim Allenby, who was directly across the street on the second floor of a similar industrial warehouse. At six-seventeen, Allenby had the two-way radio in his hand and was preparing to give the order when a Cadillac Escalade pulled into the parking lot and parked directly in front of the access door to the bay. A solitary figure was in the car. The backup lights flashed as the driver shifted the SUV into park, and a second later the door opened. Ismail Zehaden exited the vehicle.
“Everyone hold your positions,” Allenby said. “Our guy just showed up. Let’s wait for him to get inside.”
Zehaden glanced about, walked to the main door, fumbled with his keys, opened the door, and entered the warehouse. A light went on in the front office and Allenby watched as Zehaden moved through the open space to the door that led to the rear of the bay. He opened the door and disappeared from view.
“All units go,” Allenby said. “And be advised we have one hostile in the rear of the building.”
Seven vehicles appeared in the next few seconds. Dark Bureau cars filled with FBI agents, marked Orlando police cars, and a SWAT van careened into position outside the front of the building and men poured from the vehicles, moving quickly into the target bay. Allenby’s radio squawked and a voice came across the air informing him that the second team was moving into the rear of the building. He left his listening post and scrambled down the stairs. As he ran across the street, the reports came over the walkie-talkie. The building was secure, Ismail Zehaden in custody. He raced through the front door, crossed the office space, and entered the rear of the building.
Against the far side of the industrial bay was a series of five glass-enclosed tables, each one covered with radically differing types of glassware and three Acculab scales. A number of polarizing microscopes lined one table and two Eberbach shakers and a Turner spectrophotometer were among the highly technical electronic equipment. A HEPA filter was attached to each of the five glass structures. Adjacent to the five enclosed labs was a series of unprotected tables, some piled with black containers about one cubic foot each. Standing alone and in front of one of the tables was Ismail Zehaden. At least thirty guns were trained on the man.
“Ismail Zehaden?” Allenby asked as he walked into the open area between the SWAT troops and FBI agents and the terrorist.
“Yes, I am Ismail Zehaden,” the man said. “What is going on here?”
“Good question,” Allenby said. “What’s with all the equipment?”
Zehaden glanced over his shoulder at the lab, then back to Allenby. “I have no idea. I’ve never seen this stuff before.”
“Do you own this warehouse?” Allenby asked.
“Yes.”
“Then who else would have set up this operation?”
The man’s response was angry. “I don’t know. I have nothing to do with any of this. And I want your men to stop pointing their guns at me immediately.”
“What you want is quite unimportant right now,” Allenby said. “Step away from the table.”
“What is all this stuff?” Zehaden said. “I demand to know what the hell is going on.”
“Step away from the table,” Allenby said. “Now.”
“I’m not moving until someone tells me what this is all about.” Zehaden turned and looked over the containers piled on the table behind him. “Where did all this equipment come from?”
“Mr. Zehaden, it’s imperative you move away from that table and put your hands over your head immediately.”
Zehaden reached over and made a motion to pick up one of the containers. Allenby yelled for him to stop, but the man was intent on grabbing the closest box.
“It could contain the virus,” Allenby yelled. “Don’t let him pick it up.”
There was only one option open to the SWAT team. No one could get to Zehaden before he reached the containers. At least ten SWAT team members opened fire simultaneously, each with a single killing shot. Zehaden took every bullet in the chest, his body jerking spasmodically as the slugs tore through his flesh and ripped into his heart and lungs. The shots came from different angles, pushing his body one way then the other, the impacts canceling each other. The net result was a corpse, still standing where a live person had stood two seconds before. The gunfire, which sounded almost like a single shot, diminished and the echoes inside the warehouse died out. For another second or two, Zehaden remained upright, then gravity went to work and he collapsed in a bloody heap a couple of feet from the table with the containers.