by Mark Kelly
“Have you seen Dr. Mayer this morning?” he asked the researcher next to him.
The woman, a Nobel nominee from John Hopkins University was intently studying something on the computer in front of her. She answered without taking her eyes off it.
“She was here a couple of minutes ago…must have gone for a bathroom break.”
He leaned back and looked down the aisle. The other computer stations were occupied. I’ll work here until she comes back. With a few clicks of the mouse and a tap on the keyboard, he found the latest test results for the vaccine program and brought them up on the display.
They weren’t good.
The trial vaccine was supposed to be composed of artificially produced proteins identical in structure to the antigens associated with the three toxins. To accomplish this, they had to extract the DNA fragments responsible for the production of the toxins and genetically modify them. Once that was done, the modified DNA was inserted into yeast cells that were coaxed into over-producing the three antigens—but without the accompanying toxins.
Simple on paper, he thought, but nearly impossible to do in any reasonable length of time.
His task was to locate and extract the gene responsible for the binary toxin. He had managed to do that but hadn’t been able to modify it to produce only the antigens.
But that wasn’t the only problem.
The yeast-based vaccine production system they were using wasn’t working. The antigen proteins it created weren’t properly structured and secondary processing was required. Even if they could develop a vaccine, they’d never be able to produce enough of it for more than a tiny fraction of the population.
He stared at the screen and rocked back and forth. Maybe a Baculovirus-based production system could be used. Most people thought the only way to produce a vaccine was to inject the virus into a chicken egg and let it replicate, but some of the newer recombinant vaccines were produced using yeast-based production systems. Even more novel was the concept of using modified insect viruses to produce the antigen proteins. A system like that would allow them to quickly produce large quantities of the vaccine once they had rendered the toxin genes inert.
He sighed in frustration. Even if they were able to address the production challenges, he still had to sort out his issues with the binary toxin.
“Damn it.”
He didn’t realize he had spoken out loud. The scientist next to him gave him a sympathetic look. She had the same challenge, only with the A and B toxins. “You’ll figure it out,” she said and turned her attention back to her data.
She was right. Getting frustrated wouldn’t help anyone.
He started the lab’s genome browser application. It was state of the art software and enabled the researchers to study virtually every aspect of the bacteria’s genetic structure in a graphical interface.
He clicked on the menu item to open a file. A pop-up window displaying a list of folders appeared. Since he was using Dr. Mayer’s account, the software defaulted to her home directory. The files were organized in a structure that wasn’t immediately obvious to him. He scanned the list of names looking for something familiar. The bacteria’s genome data should be in here somewhere.
The directory labeled ‘CDIFF FINVER’ looked promising and he clicked on it. A long list of files appeared. They were named after the gene regions responsible for antibiotic resistance in different types of bacteria. There were dozens of them.
Intrigued, he clicked on one. The genomic data it contained described the genetic encoding for Metronidazole resistance. It looked similar, but not quite identical, to what he had found himself when he first looked at the bacteria. The timestamp on the file preceded his own work by a couple of weeks. That’s odd…must be an error.
“There she is.”
He looked to his side. The woman from John Hopkins was staring at him.
“Pardon?”
“Dr. Mayer—there she is.” She pointed at the figure emerging from the airlock.
He logged out of the computer, freeing it up for Dr. Mayer and stood as she arrived beside him.
“Please take your seat back. I’ll find another.”
“Thank you, Tony.” She looked at the monitor as she sat down. “Hmmm, I thought I had already logged in.
“You did. Sorry about that. I logged you out. I’m going to go find another station.”
The researcher from John Hopkins stood. “I’m finished for now. Take my seat, you won’t find another one free until lunch.”
She left and he took her spot. As he worked, he caught a glimpse of Dr. Mayer looking at him.
“Do you need something?”
She shook her head slowly and looked back at her monitor.
“No.”
THE DRYNESS in his eyes was annoying. He would have rubbed them but the clear polycarbonate visor that covered his face made it impossible. Instead, he settled for blinking a few times but that just made the soreness worse.
The digital clock on the wall showed 8:45 p.m. Dr. Mayer had left an hour earlier. He’d been in the lab for thirteen straight hours with one mid-afternoon bathroom break. It was time for some food and sleep.
He had caught her staring at him off and on throughout the day. At first, it was bothersome but after a while, he was able to ignore her and focus his energy on the binary toxin. He had a new idea on how to modify the gene to retain production of the antigens while eliminating the toxins. Pursuing it would have to wait for the morning. He wanted to bounce his thoughts off the scientist from John Hopkins first but she had just left and was in decontamination.
When she was finished, he would decontaminate and go see Dr. Mayer in her office. He still needed to talk to her about his idea to use a Baculovirus expression system to generate the vaccine.
He looked up, the light above the airlock was green.
He shut down his equipment, went through decontamination and put on his street clothes. Dr. Mayer’s office was across the grounds of the base, a quick fifteen-minute walk. The evening was cool, in the mid-fifties he guessed. Without a jacket, he found himself hurrying to stay warm.
As he jogged down the sidewalk into the dimly lit area between two streetlights, he saw a figure step out of the building and look around. It was Raine. He hadn’t talked to him since their initial meeting and didn’t want to start now. He froze as the CIA man turned towards him, stared for a moment and then spoke.
“Professor Simmons, Good evening.”
Shit.
“Going somewhere?”
“To Dr. Mayer’s office,” Simmons answered. He moved out of the shadows, closer to Raine. “I have a few things to discuss with her.”
Raine looked at him suspiciously. “Like what?”
“Nothing too interesting—just some ideas on vaccine production.”
“Hmmm..anything else?”
“No, just that.” What is it with this guy and his constant questions?
Raine stared at him for a second, his shifty eyes darting about. He blinked once and turned. “Have a good night then.” In a matter of seconds, he had disappeared into the darkness.
Simmons shook his head. Guess that’s why they call them spooks. He headed inside.
Building A, the administration building, was laid out like an Escher drawing. He quickly found himself lost in the labyrinth of corridors. He was on the fifth floor, but the room numbers started with four and didn’t follow any type of scheme he could understand.
“Looking for something, Professor?”
Startled, he turned on his heels to find Colonel Young standing beside a partially closed door.
“Evening, Colonel. I was looking for Dr. Mayer’s office…but damned if I can find it in this maze.”
“One floor up and a corridor over…on the east side—room 523.” Seeing the confused look on his face, Young added, “Rooms on the first floor start with zero, second floor with one and so on. Dr. Mayer’s office is on the sixth floor. Oh—odd numbers are on the east side o
f the building and even on the west.”
Simmons shook his head in disbelief and Young grinned.
“Welcome to the US Army. But you won’t find her there, she left twenty minutes ago to get some sleep. I just finished a meeting with her and John Raine.”
Raine and Mayer with the colonel?
Young closed the door to his office and locked it without volunteering anything further. “Follow me and I’ll show you the way out.” He began to walk without waiting for an answer. He pointed at the stairs in front of them. “Mind if we take them? I’ve been sitting all day—could use the exercise.”
Simmons gave the colonel a once over. Not an ounce of fat on him. “Sure, no problem.”
They reached the main floor in short order and he followed Young into the lobby. Five floors and I’m winded. Thank God it was down and not up.
The colonel stopped and waited for him to catch up. “Would you like to join me for breakfast? You can bring me up to speed on your research.”
“That…would…be great,” he said between huffs.
“Let’s meet at 0700 hours in the enlisted mess hall. The chow there is better than the officer’s mess.”
“See you then.”
“Good night, Professor,” Young said and disappeared into the night.
A growl from Simmons’s stomach reminded him he still hadn’t eaten. The colonel was right, the food in the mess hall wasn’t bad, but a burger would hit the spot. There were a couple of restaurants in the strip mall just outside the base. He looked around, took his bearings and headed towards the main gate.
The road to the gate was busy and the rumble of trucks filled the air. Enthralled, he watched as a seemingly endless stream of large olive-colored 5-ton trucks passed by. He guessed most of them carried cargo of some type. The canvas canopy on one of them flapped open. He caught a quick glimpse of soldiers sitting solemnly on the seats that lined the back of the truck. The man nearest to the tailgate reached out and grabbed the flapping piece of canvas. He latched it closed as the truck drove away.
A few minutes later, Simmons approached the gate. A sentry with his M16 hanging loosely from a strap around his shoulder stepped forward.
“Can I help you, Sir?
He eyed the soldier and the gun warily. “I’m just going out for a bite to eat.”
“Can I have your name please, Sir, and some ID.”
“Simmons…Dr. Tony Simmons.” He reached for his wallet.
“Is there a Dr. Simmons on the list?” the soldier yelled to someone in the guardhouse.
The answer came back quickly. “No.”
Unsure what that meant, Simmons offered his driver’s license to the soldier who glanced at it but didn’t take it.
“You can put that away, sir. I don’t need it. You aren’t on the list.”
“I’m sorry, what list?” He moved towards the guardhouse to clear up the misunderstanding. “There must be some kind of mistake, can I see the—”
“Step away! Sir…now!”
The friendly tone from earlier was gone. The soldier raised his weapon and pointed it at him.
Simmons slowly raised his hands and stepped back from the guardhouse. “I d-don’t understand,” he mumbled, his face ashen.
The adrenaline-fed tension in the soldier’s eyes drained slightly. He lowered his weapon. “You’re not on the entry-exit list, Sir,” he explained.
“There must be a mistake. I’m working with Colonel Young and Dr. Mayer. Please call either of them to clear this up.”
“I don’t know about any mistakes, Sir. The colonel left a few minutes ago. Until you’re on the list, you can’t enter or exit the base. I suggest you return to your quarters and sort it out with the colonel in the morning.”
“Is there a problem?” a hard voice asked from inside the guardhouse.
Simmons knew he wouldn’t get anywhere with the soldiers. It’s just an over-sight…they’re following orders. He swallowed his indignation. “I understand, I’ll clear it up with the colonel in the morning.”
The soldier gave him a sympathetic look. “Thank you, Sir.”
Simmons nodded goodnight and turned to leave, more annoyed than angry.
21
CONFUSED
April 5th, 11h50 GMT : Fort Detrick, Maryland
He spotted Colonel Young sitting alone at a table on the far side of the hall. Even at this early hour, the mess was busy with hungry soldiers and their trays full of food. He jostled his way through the crowd and reached the colonel’s table.
Young looked up, a fork full of food half-way to his mouth. “Morning, have a seat, Professor,” he said and motioned to a chair. “Do you want breakfast?”
Simmons shook his head and sat. “I’ll grab a piece of toast before I head into the lab.” He pushed the salt and pepper shakers out of his way and leaned in towards the colonel. “I didn’t know my access on and off the base was restricted. What’s that all about?”
“I’m sorry,” Young said, seeing the pinched expression on his face. “I should have told you but I honestly didn’t think you’d try and leave. We can’t afford to have anything happen to you and the other researchers.”
“What do you mean?” He spoke a little too loudly and the soldiers next to them glanced over. Young glared at them and they quickly looked away. No one wanted the colonel riding their ass.
“What’s really going on, Colonel?”
Young spoke quietly. “Let’s go to my office. We can talk there.” He pushed back his unfinished breakfast and stood. Simmons followed him out.
“Grab a seat, Professor,” Young said when they arrived at his office. He closed the door, walked to his desk and sat with his hands folded on the desktop in front of him.
“You know that I met with Dr. Mayer and John Raine last night?”
Simmons nodded tentatively. Maybe now he’ll tell me why.
“Dr. Mayer was concerned the project would suffer a major setback if we lost any of the researchers—you in particular. She feels we’ve made good progress in the last few days. You’ve been a critical part of that.”
Kind words but untrue, Simmons thought. It’s been a team effort and we still have a long way to go.
“Things outside are getting worse,” Young continued. “A couple of days ago, base security requested that I approve a lockdown. I argued it was too early but recent developments and Dr. Mayer’s comments changed my mind.”
“What developments?”
Young’s forehead wrinkled as he paused and then began to explain. “You would have heard about it in tomorrow’s briefing, but the President has declared martial law in most of the country. It’s not too bad here in Frederick yet but the bigger cities are a mess. We’ve started to move supplies inside the base where they can be better protected.”
Simmons tensed. “How bad is it, Colonel?”
Young spoke, carefully choosing his words. “I fear for our nation, Professor. We’re on day sixteen of the pandemic and the civil authorities are struggling to keep order. Curfews are in effect across most of the entire country. Grocery stores are running low on food and the restocking effort is haphazard. Even if a vaccine was available tomorrow, it would take months to regain order.”
Simmons felt the tightness in his stomach work its way up his chest. He took a deep breath and asked, “What happens if we aren’t successful?”
Young stared at him from across the desk. “Let’s not think about that.”
“Is the base still on communication lock-down?”
“Yes—Why? Is there someone you need to talk to?”
“A friend in New York and Emma Rice, the student whose father you knew.” All he could do was hope they were both all right. Hearing it from them would go a long way.
Young sighed and slid a piece of paper and pen across the table. “Write their contact details down. No promises, but I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thank you.” He wrote on the slip of paper and handed it back.
“I
need to go see Dr. Mayer now.”
“Good luck, Professor.”
“You too, Colonel.”
ONE FLOOR up and a corridor over was what the colonel had told him the night before. He opened the stairwell door and stepped onto the sixth floor. The hallway was busy with officers and enlisted personnel scurrying about. In his civilian clothing, he stuck out like a sore thumb.
“Can I help you, Sir?” a young soldier with her hair tucked up and pinned just above the collar of her uniform asked.
He smiled at her and opened his mouth to speak at the very instant Raine’s booming voice came at him from around the corner. Shit…I’m not in the mood to deal with him right now.
It was too far to make it back to the stairwell, but the sign on the door across the hallway read ‘Conference Room - 5A’ and the placard beside it was green. Unoccupied.
“Thank you, Private, my meeting’s in there.” He motioned at the door and was halfway through it when she corrected him.
“It’s corporal, Sir,“ she said as she pointed to the insignia on the sleeve of her uniform.
He nodded and shut the door as Raine came around the corner.
“—be watched.”
“—somewhere private.”
He could only hear fragments of their conversation. Dr. Mayer was with Raine. He leaned in closer to the door.
“What about in there?” he heard Raine ask.
Simmons fixed his eyes on the door knob and watched as it turned. His pulse raced as the door opened a crack. Shit…he’d never be able to explain his presence—especially to someone like Raine. His eyes darted around the room as he searched for a place to hide or another way out. The door at the other end of the conference room might be close enough. He turned towards it as Mayer spoke.
“We can go to my office.”
The latch closed with a click and the sound of their voices disappeared. His muscles went limp and he slumped into a chair pressed up against the wall.
A minute later he heard the sound of Raine’s voice again. This time it was muffled and coming from the room next door. He bolted upright and riveted his eyes on the door handle. It rattled twice.
