by Nancy Smith
His first interview was short and sweet. He spoke to a human resources person at Phiffer who said that they had extended a job offer to Maria Vedkka and had sent an email that included a request to come for a visit. They had not invited Kolli, only Maria. Kolli wasn’t a microbiologist like Maria was. Kolli was an inventor. They didn’t need that. Phiffer received a polite decline by return email. That was all there was to it.
Rory drove into the flat parking lot of a square cement building for his second interview. It was another anonymous structure similar to the morgue. This company wasn’t trying to call attention to itself. The sign said Austin Pharmaceuticals. There was no guard station or security force, so that said two things to Rory. One, they didn’t produce any drugs at this location, and two; they weren’t likely the owners of an army of SUV-driving thugs.
Rory entered the building and approached a reception desk manned with a single guard.
“Lamont Robinson, please.”
The guard looked skeptical.
“I called this morning and he agreed to meet with me,” Rory added.
The guard had Rory sign a log and gave him a numbered visitor ID. Permissions sorted out, an administrative assistant entered from a side door and escorted Rory down long, white halls broken up by hotel art-show paintings. She opened a door and lifted a hand inviting him to enter. He did.
“Mr. Burke.”
Lamont Robinson stood behind his desk. He looked like the lawyer he likely was—not a TV lawyer in a plush office with a view and an expensive suit, but a real lawyer in a square office and an off-the-rack suit.
“What can I do for you?” Robinson asked.
“Thank you for your time,” Rory started. He tried to find a tone that sounded like two guys about the same age chatting while doing their jobs. “I’m doing research into the deaths of the seventy-five last week.” He did not have had to explain “the seventy-five” any further. Everyone knew who the seventy-five were.
“Tragic,” Robinson said by rote.
“Yes,” Rory agreed with about as much feeling. “Were you aware that Kolli and Maria Vedkka were among the seventy-five?”
“Yes. I saw the list in the paper.”
“Isa Vedkka, their daughter, told me that you had made a job offer to the Vedkkas. Is that correct?”
“Yes. They were in that awful, unsafe basement. We thought they would be happy to make a move.”
“What was your offer to them?”
“All the lab space that the team required in return for production and distribution rights.”
“And they would receive what percent of the profit?”
He hesitated, likely weighing whether or not to release private company information. “Ten million up front and ten percent of the profit.”
“If they stayed where they were, they’d make one hundred percent of the profit.”
“No. They would have to hook up with someone. It was unlikely they could build a production facility and distribution network like we already have in place. It was a fair deal—generous even.”
“But they said no.”
“Didn’t even wish to talk about it. Cut me off right at the knees. Didn’t sit well with my bosses, I’ll tell you.”
“Oh?” Rory inquired.
Robinson blanched. “Oh, come on. They didn’t care enough to kill seventy-five people.”
“You sure about that?”
“We didn’t even know if it would work. There were several teams of scientists working on the same vaccine. Rumors were that Maria was getting close, but so were others. Who’s to say they’d be the winner?”
“But what if they were? What if the vaccine was complete?”
“It’d be a lot of money for the company eventually, but there would be years of testing. I still don’t see it,” Robinson shook his head. “No way.”
Rory stood and reached out his hand. “Well, thank you anyway Lamont.”
Robinson shook his hand and watched as Rory turned toward the door.
“You know,” Robinson said. “If I were making a guess, I’d look at the Wagner Company. It’s a well-know secret that all seventy-five left the Wagner Company under a vicious gray cloud.”
“What happened?”
“Don’t know, Robinson said. “Something about ownership.”
Rory nodded and headed out the door.
Rory drove by the massive building owned by the Wagner Company. He stopped the car in front of the main entrance and looked through the front windows. Guards. There were two of them, but they wore navy uniforms, not the olive green Rory had seen before.
Rory drove around the block. He wanted to enter the parking garage to check for a fleet of black SUVs, but there were guards in blue uniforms there as well. He would have to figure out how to get inside.
Rory pulled over into a loading zone and took out his phone.
“I’d like to make an appointment to speak with...,” he didn’t have a name. He took a guess. “Mr. Wagner, please.”
“Senior or Junior?” asked the person on the other end of the phone.
“Senior.”
“He’s not available.”
“Junior then.”
“Your name, please?”
“Rory Burke.”
“May I ask what this is regarding?”
“I would rather discuss that with Mr. Wagner.”
“Hold please.”
Rory listened to oldies. He found this just one step up from elevator music. He was on his third tune when the operator returned to the line.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Burke. Mr. Wagner does not speak to reporters under any circumstances.”
“No appointment then?”
“No. No appointment.”
“Is there someone else that I may speak with?”
“Thank you for calling, Mr. Burke.”
The operator hung up the phone.
Isa and Rory sat in her living room as they had every night for the last four days. They talked about what they knew, what they had learned that day, what they suspected, and what they feared.
“It feels as though the whole world is going backward,” Isa said. “People are becoming less enlightened and civilized.” She opened a bottle of white table wine.
“Guns in schools,” Rory nodded.
“Women being told what to do with their bodies,” Isa joined in.
“Is it true? Is it possible that there are still climate change deniers? Nearly every living scientist says that global warming trends are due to human activity. The world’s surface temperature has risen. Sea levels have risen. Ice is melting where it ought not.”
“Not to mention the ‘acts of god,” Isa said. “There have been so many hurricanes this year that they are going to have to start the alphabet over.”
“Flooding in the Midwest.”
“Drought and water shortage in the South and Southwest.”
“Blizzards on the East Coast, two deadly storms in one winter.”
“And the United States has had its first tsunami. How weird is that?”
“Seems like every year the weather report says it’s the hottest on record. It must be getting warmer if we break the record every year.”
“I agree,” Isa said. “How could any person with eyes and ears not believe in global warming? It doesn’t make sense. The evidence has piled up.”
Rory took the glass of wine that Isa offered. His first sip was more of a gulp like a man stranded on a desert island in need of water.
Isa sat on the couch next to Rory and curled her feet under her legs.
The news ran in the background of their conversation.
“—expected to be the worst year for flu this century,” the newscaster said.
Rory thought for a minute. “Will you do something for me?”
“Sure, of course,” Isa answered.
“Will you go to the police station and ask about getting your parents remains released?”
“I’ve asked a couple times, b
ut they say they won’t release,” she stumbled over what to call the charred ash of her mother, “them. Not until the investigation is over.”
“When’s the memorial planned? Don’t you want to have some representation of the dead, even if it’s just ashes?”
“I’ve asked.”
“I’m not talking about a polite asking. I want you to throw a real hissy fit.”
Isa smiled. “I can do that.”
Isa had gathered about a dozen of the other relatives of the dead. As they passed the metal scanner at the police station, she stepped to one side and called Rory on her phone. When he answered, she slipped the phone into the inside pocket of her jean jacket. Isa was certain that Rory could hear her heart pounding.
Detective Jimenez met them in the lobby area. He tried to lead them to a private conference room.
Isa started in before they had left the public area. “We don’t need a formal meeting. I need just one word from you. ‘Yes.’ Yes, you will release the remains of our loved ones so that we can show them the respect they deserve.”
Jimenez moved quickly down the hall, but Isa stopped before reaching the elevators.
“Why are you holding them?” Josie asked. Josie walked with a cane because of the neuropathy in her feet. Isa had known Josie her whole life. Josie was the mother of one of her mother’s best friends.
Rory had slipped into the lobby and moved as close as he dared to the action. He had brought a small camera and he took some clear video of Jimenez denying a gray-haired woman with a cane the right to bury her daughter. This would go on the prime time news.
Other family members began to join in the protest.
Isa ramped it up a bit. She brought tears to her eyes that Rory didn’t believe were fake ones. “I want my mother,” she said. “I want my mother any way I can get her. Please.”
Josie hugged Isa and began quietly crying herself. Soon others had joined in.
Jimenez looked defeated.
“Come to the conference room and wait a few minutes. I’ll see what I can do.”
Each survivor named a funeral home to which to send the remains of their loved ones. Isa had her parents sent to the Heavenly Rest facility near her house. Two others were also sent there.
As Isa and Rory waited for the bodies to arrive, another person approached them.
“Harry,” Rory said.
“Rory,” a smallish woman in scrubs answered.
A nondescript van pulled up. Three body bags were taken inside and laid out on stainless steel tables in the preparation room. The scene looked like the aftermath of the disaster it was.
One of the attendants approached the funeral-home director and whispered into his ear. “These three are confirmed. This one has to be the remaining body by process of elimination.”
The director discretely nodded. He ambled over to Harry.
“You have ten minutes, that’s it.”
Harry nodded her consent and the director walked out.
Harry started to open the first body bag, but Rory put a hand on her arm. He looked at Isa. “You can wait in the car. You don’t have to be here.”
“It’s okay,” Isa said, but when the first body bag was completely open she turned pale, felt sick, and left the room.
“What do you want?” asked Harry.
“DNA, toxicology, anything else you can get for me.”
“What should I be looking for?”
“Viruses, chemicals, and bullets.”
“Bullets. Really?”
“Really.”
Harry had been happy to help when Rory asked her. She wanted to know what was going on as much as Rory and Isa did.
Outside, Isa leaned against the brick wall of the funeral home. In her bag she rummaged for a bottle of water, found it, and took a sip.
The phone she still carried in her back pants pocket vibrated with a text message. It took her a moment to realize what it was and who the text might be from.
“Daddy?” she said.
9
Kolli ducked behind the dumpster at the free clinic when he heard the SUV zooming down the alley. He heard the explosion of fire from the clinic and he held his breath and closed his eyes. Kolli rolled himself into a little ball, his arms over his head, and waited the second or two it took for the billows of smoke to reach him. He held his breath.
A cloud of noxious fumes descended on him. He held on as long as he could, and then sucked in a gasp of the chemical burn into his lungs. He coughed and wheezed, his body trying to get a good lungful of air.
His skin burned where exposed, especially his hands as they had protected the top of his head. Kolli could feel the red patches popping up. He needed to get home and wash the chemicals from his skin.
In a few minutes, he stood. He opened his eyes a tiny slit. They burned, and he could tell that they were swollen, but he could see. He made his way down the alley.
Kolli’s house was less than a mile from the clinic. That was part of the reason he and Maria had bought this particular house when they had moved from Cupertino. Housing prices were better in Austin and they could have gone with a much bigger property, but he and Maria wanted a character house that was close to the university.
Kolli could knock off a bit of distance by cutting through yards where the property wasn’t fenced in. All he wanted was to get home as fast as possible.
Kolli realized that he didn’t have his keys, so he approached the house from the back. He stopped. There was a team of bad guys in his kitchen. Two muscle men tore his kitchen, likely his whole house, apart. Kolli watched them from behind his neighbor’s azalea bush. He shuffled from foot to foot as his skin continued to burn. He just wanted them to go away.
A cold front had poured through the night before, promising two or three days of cooler— meaning seventy in lieu of ninety degree—weather. Although the weather was perfect for a hoodie, neither bad guy wore one, as good burglars should. Kolli wished he had one a hoodie almost as much as he wanted to get into the house. He thought about how different it would have been had he been wearing a hoodie in the alley behind the lab. A hoodie would have covered his hands, arms, and, maybe if he was fast enough, his head.
These guys wore olive uniforms, a military color. And they did not feel the need to be quiet or careful. They seemed entitled. To what? Kolli had to wonder.
His neighbor, Blanche Naylor, came out of her house. She stood by her car, keys in hand, and stared at the black SUV parked out front. She tilted her head one way and then another before she got into her car and drove away.
The Naylor’s had gone keyless and, good neighbors that they were, the Vedkka’s knew the numbers to unlock their back door so that they could feed the family dog when the Naylor’s were out of town. Kolli waited for the intruders in his kitchen to move on to another room, one not visible to the back yard. He picked an opportune moment and walked as casually as possible to the Naylor’s door and keyed in the numbers.
Once inside, Kolli locked the door. He gave the dog a pat on the head and refreshed his bowl of food. Kolli found trash bags under the sink. He pulled one out and went into the bathroom.
Fully clothed, Kolli stood under a warm shower for what seemed like a comforting, soothing forever. As he pulled off his contaminated clothes, he put them into the trash bag. Then, he lathered his skin with a bar of pure Ivory soap. It’s the kind of soap Kolli would expect the Naylor’s to have—fragrance free and gentle.
Out of the shower, Kolli dried all the surfaces in the bathroom as best he could and then wrapped the damp towel around his waist. He checked out the Naylor’s cabinets. He washed out his eyes with some preservative free eye drops he found. He thought about putting some antibiotic ointment on the worst of the burns, but decided against it. He thought he remembered reading somewhere that sometimes that made the burn worse.
Except for his lungs, Kolli felt much better. Wearing only the large towel, Kolli stood at the back door and watched as four soldier guys in a black SUV
cleared out of his house. When he felt certain it was clear, he slipped across the yard.
Kolli was in and out in ten minutes. He put on some clothes and threw a couple more outfits into an overnight case. He pulled the go-bag from its secret place behind the bookcase in his office, adding the notebooks, the cash from Maria’s bag, as well as the photos. He paused on the pictures, but he couldn’t stop now. He couldn’t let them bring him down. He had to keep going. He selected one of the photos and, with a magnet, put it on the refrigerator door for Isa to find and then was gone. This photo will tell Isa where he planned to go.
Kolli walked to the corner bus stop. No one was waiting for the bus, but there was a lot of traffic on the street. In his muddled mind, Kolli couldn’t figure out how to hide himself from anyone in a car looking for him. Finally, he turned to the posted route schedule and stared at it intently, his back to the road. He caught the bus to the main transfer station downtown. From there, he got on another bus out of town.
The bus was about half-full. There were a couple of girls about college age and a person obviously drink-impaired sitting near him. The drunken man was attempting to engage one of the coeds. After one or two polite responses, she stopped answering him. It was an unwritten rule of the public transit system; don’t talk back to the drunks. The driver of the bus was a no-nonsense type. After a ten or twelve miles of listening to this, the driver stopped the bus and admonished the drunk.
“Keep it up, and I’ll kick you off this bus. Nonsense like this puts us all behind schedule,” the driver complained. “Don’t test me. I’ll do it.”
In the sudden quiet, Kolli settled in and tried to take a little nap. He closed his eyes and Maria, as she looked the first time they met, appeared on the back of his eyelids. She had been almost thirty and wore a gray suit and a black blouse. Her long hair was pulled back from her face in a conservative bun. She wore very little make-up. Maria walked to the front of the conference room where she was presenting a paper. And then she smiled and he was lost.
