A. Mesnil—RS: Social: “Kalen, be serious.”
K. Immel—RS: Physical: “I am serious. She’s mad at work on a supposed cure-all drug, and before she can swoop in and claim all of what’s left of BioShield for Vyrogen, Congress starts stealing from the honey pot.”
A. Archer—RS: Bio: “He’s right. If Vyrogen really has discovered something that combats a range of viruses and bacteria, then the federal government has no reason to spread the wealth. Why continue to follow the One Bug, One Drug approach, when you could invest all the remaining funds in one silver bullet? Just like Parish said, BioShield hasn’t awarded a single contract to a broad-spectrum countermeasure. If what Meredith Morley told us is true, then Vyrogen’s product would be the first.”
E. VanCleave—RS: Technical: “If I were Vyrogen, I’d negotiate to use BioShield money to fund the remaining clinical testing for my miracle drug. Then, in addition to my government contract, I’d have an FDA-approved product I could turn around and sell in the private sector for tens of billions of dollars.”
A. Mesnil—RS: Social: “This product is like Excalibur. Whoever possesses it holds the power to rule Camelot. In this case, Camelot is the global market share for therapeutics associated with infectious disease.”
A. Archer—RS: Bio: “I think we have a working theory.”
E. VanCleave—RS: Technical: “Coordinator, we need a list of names, Director Level and above, in every company that competes with Vyrogen in the infectious disease and vaccine sector.”
R. Parish—RS: Coordinator: “Understood. Any other instructions?”
A. Mesnil—RS: Social: “Give us everything you have on Meredith Morley. I’m not ready to rule out her involvement.”
R. Parish—RS: Coordinator: “I’m sorry Ms. Mesnil, but Meredith Morley’s personal file is restricted access. Founder Level only.”
A. Mesnil—RS: Social: “What? On whose authority?”
R. Parish—RS: Coordinator: “Founder One. I’m sorry but you’ll have to take this matter up directly with Founder One.”
A. Mesnil—RS: Social: “Understood. While we’re waiting on the data to come back to us, we should focus on locating Foster before his trail goes cold. The first step is to—”
R. Parish—RS: Coordinator: “Excuse my interruption, but I just received a report from one of our assets in Prague that three individuals have checked into a hospital in Prague exhibiting plaguelike symptoms. They were immediately placed into quarantine and are undergoing further testing.”
K. Immel—RS: Physical: “Looks like Foster’s trail has just heated up.”
A. Mesnil—RS: Social: “Mr. Parish, please make the necessary transportation arrangements upon our landing. Interviewing the infected witnesses is our number one priority… that is, if they’re still alive by the time we get there.”
Chapter Sixteen
Julie stood at the back of the sedan fumbling with her keys. The border patrol officer stood next to her, impatiently tapping the toe of his boot on the pavement. She tried to steady her hand as she reached to unlock the trunk, but the keys rattled noticeably. The lock mechanism clicked when she turned the key, and the trunk popped up. She lifted the lid the rest of the way, and the young officer eagerly shined his flashlight inside.
After a quick survey, he turned to her. The look on his face was a mixture of both disappointment and suspicion. He stared at her a long moment, but said nothing. Except for an old gray blanket and the spare tire, the trunk was empty. The fugitive whom the officer was hoping to find was presently one kilometer to the west, hoofing it across the border.
“You can close the lid,” the officer said.
Julie exhaled and walked toward the driver’s side door.
“Ms. Ponte, are you certain you do not know this American, William Foster?” he said following her.
She paused. It was critical to sound convincing, but not too convincing. She told herself to imagine he was talking about someone else, a different William Foster. The man he was referring to probably called himself Bill or Billy. She had never met Billy Foster before.
“I’m sorry, but no, I do not know the man you are looking for.”
He fixed his icy stare on her. She surmised he was looking for nonverbal cues to indicate she was lying — rapid blinking, averting of the eyes, or maybe a tensing of the facial muscles. She knew trained interrogators used facial expressions as litmus tests for truth telling, but she was not an expert in such matters. In trying to manipulate her expression, she might inadvertently tip off to the very secret she was working so hard to conceal.
Then, like Apollo in his sun chariot chasing away the stygian night, the headlights of an approaching semi-truck illuminated the space around them. Someone brazenly honked. The traffic queue, now four vehicles deep, created psychological pressure for progression. An expectation of advancement. It was time for Julie Ponte to be on her way. With purpose, she reached for the door handle.
“Ms. Ponte?”
Her heart skipped a beat. “Yes, officer?”
“Don’t you want to close the lid?” he questioned, gesturing back to the open trunk.
“Oh, yes. Thank you for reminding me.”
A bead of sweat trickled down her forehead and fell to the ground, glistening in the yellow glow from the headlights of the car now idling ten feet behind her Opel.
She jogged back and shut the trunk lid.
“Is there anything else, or am I free to go home?”
The young border patrolman’s brow furrowed. His mouth twisted into the frustrated expression she had become so intimately familiar with over the past ten minutes. He clicked off the flashlight and slid it into a holster ring fastened to his belt.
“No more questions. Welcome back to Austria, Ms. Ponte.”
“Thank you. Gute Nacht.”
Chapter Seventeen
“Christ, Will, you scared me to death,” Julie said with one hand on her chest.
“You were asleep inside a locked car. How else was I supposed to get your attention besides by knocking on the window?”
“I mean back at the border. I watched you get into the trunk of the car. How did you pull off that Houdini act?”
“I started to get in, but at the last minute I panicked and ran for cover. I ducked into the field before the car behind us got close enough to see me in their headlights.”
She gave him a hard look. “At the border, they were looking for you, Will.”
“I told you.”
“Let’s get the hell out of here.” She started the engine and piloted the car onto the motorway in the direction of Vienna.
“How are you feeling?” he asked, tentatively.
“Panicked, now that I know you aren’t delusional,” she said. She was gripping the steering wheel so tightly that the skin on her knuckles was pulled taut and shown like eight tiny snowcapped peaks in the glow of breaking dawn.
“I knew I shouldn’t have involved you. It’s too dangerous.”
“Knock it off, Will. I just need time to think.”
After an awkward silence he said, “You’re not feeling sick, are you?”
“No.”
“Have you been sneezing, or coughing, or having chills?”