Risking the World

by Dorian Paul

  "Mind you, he never objects to my talking when I make excuses to his family for him. For that alone, he owes me a million favors. I fully intend to receive battle pay one day. And how do you like London, my dear?"

  Baffled by the torrent of words, and startled by the question, she said the first thing that popped into her head. "I don't really know London."

  "Ah. I can help. Do you like to shop?"

  Shopping was the farthest thing from her mind.

  "Not a shopper?" Elizabeth looked her over. "I have a remedy; we'll go to my shop. I'm a designer."

  "A designer?"

  Elizabeth gave her an incredulous but merry look. "Right. I design clothes."

  Claire shrank back and imagined herself in the eyes of a fashion designer, wearing nondescript functional clothing chosen by a stranger for a woman with a bum arm.

  Elizabeth pointed at her brace. "Must you wear that?"

  "For the time being, yes."

  Elizabeth made a moue. "How depressing."

  Not as depressing as being appraised by a chic designer.

  "Nothing that can't be remedied at my shop. We can go right now."

  Now? "I can't, I have to work."

  "But today's Sunday."

  "It's a high priority project. I'm sorry."

  Elizabeth fluffed her perfect hair. "All right then, I'll bring a selection for you next week."

  "That's not necessary."

  "But it is. You're lovely. Leggy, thin, great hair and coloring. May as well use a bit of magic to keep up your spirits."

  Elizabeth's opinion made her pleased and self-conscious. "I need practical things. Nothing too special."

  "Every woman needs something special." Elizabeth tilted her chin. "And you'll be my test case. I'm about to go international with a shop in New York City."

  "Really?" A businesswoman, and she's a relative of his?

  "I'm convinced New York's perfect if I can find some cheeky European designers to carry. I'm making the rounds of Rome, Paris, Madrid to find the ideal mix." Elizabeth licked her lips. "Tell me about you? You're one of David's secret colleagues?"

  "No, not at all. I'm a science researcher."

  "What kind of research? David's never brought people here to stay before."

  Uh, oh. She hated to lie, but caution was essential. If he wanted to tell his cousin what was going on, fine, but she wouldn't be caught in a trap. "I'm working on a joint project for our two governments."

  Elizabeth cocked her head. "And?"

  Why was Elizabeth so interested? "Space was at a premium," she answered evasively. "David offered to take someone."

  "Right. Have it your way, but I know my cousin. My brother was in this line of work too."

  So much for deception.

  "Tell me, where's your secret lab?"

  "The lab's at the Hampstead campus of University College London." How much hot water could she get in for that revelation?

  "Hampstead, I know it well. Excellent restaurants," Elizabeth said, and mercifully launched off on another tangent. "Even some decent shops that vie for my customers. But the movie stars in Belsize Park just down the hill prefer my things."

  Claire had to admit David's cousin was a breath of fresh air. How long had it been since she'd had a real girlfriend? She'd love to get to know Elizabeth Carlisle better, with her impish smile and big brown eyes. Life always brought her the right people at the wrong time.

  She'd moved from grad school to a high-powered position at a famous lab, then on to marrying Ben, and too soon after, mourning him. While she was glad Don Strong had encouraged her to take advantage of Morocco as a fresh start, neither of them could have imagined it would lead to Tivaz TB, and now London, where her life would be put on hold once more while she confronted the most difficult challenge of her career . . . of her life.

  ***

  "I'll take you directly to Dr. Cook's office," her MI6 escort, Ian Barker, said.

  "No. I want to see where they're keeping Tivaz TB first."

  After days cooped up with the deadly bug in Black's lab and nights speculating on its life cycle and survival preferences, the absence of the bacillus left a curious void and she longed to see her enemy more than she longed to meet Sandra Cook.

  "Right then, this way."

  The strapping young man led her through gray corridors, past dirty windows, and in front of doors marked by familiar scientific terms and symbols. She followed the biohazard path through the equivalent of Black's Tivaz kingdom – including showers, the suiting room, and finally to the air locked door of the negative pressure room. Each succeeding step led to the inner sanctum where her opponent waited. This scientific kingdom, soon to become hers, was every bit the equal of Dr. Black's. But did she have the brains to best him in an area of TB research she once believed she owned?

  Finally Ian pointed to the reinforced glass window that sealed the outside gray zone from the negative pressure chamber where Tivaz TB dwelled. From inside the room, a figure in a bulky suit looked up and waved with both arms.

  Roscoe. What's he doing here already?

  His voice blasted through a speaker mounted in the corridor above her head.

  "Claire, great to see you. This place's got everything we need. Awesome. And the helmets have mics so we can talk to each other."

  She spoke into the wall-mounted microphone. "I didn't expect to see you here so soon."

  "I dropped everything once I got word you'd picked me. I'm here since yesterday and hard at work on your behalf."

  Her behalf, as if Roscoe Smartz does anything that's not in his own best interests. "I'm glad you're going to be part of the team." It wasn't a complete lie.

  "I can come out now. We've got tons to talk about, Claire."

  "Not right now. We'll talk later." Way later, after everyone else gets here.

  But he wasn't so easily put off. "What a bug we've got! Really interesting. These folks haven't done squat 'cept culture it, and after an hour of that you know all you need to know about growth characteristics." He pumped his padded arms in pantomime of a jogger. "Fast bugger. Figured you'd want to know what makes our little guy tick, so I went ahead and started to map his DNA."

  "Good, we need that as baseline." But clever as he was, she'd keep a tight lid on him. No going off half-cocked before the rest of the team knew what he was up to.

  "Got enough of it done to run genotype matches against the TB database. Our critter shares the same IS6110 fingerprints as Strain W. You know what that means."

  "Yes." She'd hoped never to hear the words Strain W again.

  "I'm trying to identify a unique DNA strand, isolate it, pair it with a Toll receptor agonist, and make a vaccine in record time. What d' you think of my idea?"

  She thought it was pure Roscoe, to take the work being done in Colorado, tweak it, and call it his own. But she also knew he worked the bench like nobody's business, and could stitch together a vaccine prototype in record time. Which was why he was here. "I think you should bring it up at our first team meeting, tomorrow, after the others arrive."

  "Count me in."

  She was certain she could.

  "Can't wait to work with you on this, Claire. We were always a great team." He held one arm up in a mock cheer.

  "It's going to take more than the two of us to succeed," she cautioned. "And Roscoe, be careful in there. Don't rush. I've seen this bug at work, and it's not pretty."

  He saluted.

  She followed her guard back down the corridors. Working with Roscoe again wouldn't be simple. As far as running experiments together, they clicked. But he always wanted more. The week after Ben's funeral he showed up on her doorstep with flowers and candy, like a teenager on a first date. He was a few years younger than her, but that still put him near 30, and he should've known better. She sighed. What he lacked in subtlety he made up for with brains and energy. Unfortunately, 'no' wasn't part of a vocabulary he shared with the human race. So, when he left Don's lab for California she was re
lieved to have him on the opposite coast. And now she had to supervise him.

  "Dr. Cook's office," Ian said and knocked before opening the door like he owned the place.

  A mature woman, maybe as old as seventy, sat at a computer, only vaguely registering she had company. She didn't look up until she finished typing.

  "Dr. Cook. I'm Claire Ashe."

  The woman pursed her lips as if to say, 'you think I haven't figured that out already.' She didn't rise from her ancient desk chair to formally introduce herself, or ask Claire to take a seat on the scratched wooden chair nearby. She simply picked up her phone, punched in two digits and said, "She's here."

  Claire sat down without an invitation rather than tower above her. "Thank you for making room for us in your lab, Dr. Cook."

  "Sandra. Call me Sandra."

  "Sandra, our space requirements –"

  "Space wasn't the issue. We've got space, the government needs it, and my price was acceptable to them."

  Okay. Let's try a different tack. "Have they discussed my project with you?"

  Sandra glanced at the computer screen, and deleted something before answering. "I must warn you, I'm no microbiologist. Cancer's my field."

  "So I understand, and I hear you're first rate."

  "You've read my papers?"

  "Sorry, no."

  "Well, withhold your compliments until you have."

  Claire was relieved when the door opened.

  "Ah, here's Francine now. Claire Ashe, Francine Berger," Sandra said without further explanation.

  A timid bookish-looking woman with thin brown hair, perhaps forty-five years old, slipped inside the cramped office.

  "Sit down, Francie." Sandra gestured toward the beat-up metal stool wedged between the radiator and desk and began to speak to no one in particular. "The government drove a hard bargain, they always do. James Warner was particularly keen I assign my best person as liaison to your team."

  And this church mouse was the best you could do?

  "Off with you now," Sandra said, a wave of dismissal encompassing both women. "Time's a wasting."

  Francine scooted out but she hung back. "What do you think – ?"

  "I've no advice to give other than what I'm sure you know already," Sandra said, as though clearing herself of personal responsibility.

  Claire tried again. "I appreciate whatever advice you're willing to share."

  "Line up your vaccine manufacturers before you start. Lawsuits in the States have chased all but a handful of players from the field. And the E.U. is very fussy about First-In-Man filings. That's all I have to say."

  Sandra went back to typing, so she joined Francine outside. "Is she always like that?"

  "You mean no nonsense? I'd say so, yes."

  "Have you worked together long?"

  "I was her grad student and have been here ever since." Francine's accent was unusual, difficult to place. "Dr. Cook works very hard. She feels she hasn't much time left. She's taught me so much."

  Well, to each his own, but Sandra was a far cry from Don.

  "If you need help with the science, you can rely on her. That's what you want from her, yes?"

  Francine gave her a cursory tour of the lab. She noticed a suite set up for the study of primates. "Do you use this?"

  "Not any more. Animal rights organizations make it very difficult in Europe. Our only consolation is that monkeys do not provide the best animal model for all human diseases."

  Like TB. "Tuberculosis loves only human beings."

  "Maybe the monkeys are wise after all," Francine joked.

  She was afraid to laugh. Humor was difficult to interpret. "How does Dr. Cook feel about animals?"

  "Oh, she loves animals. Not little ones like cats, but big ones. Horses."

  Thank God one species met her standards, since the woman appeared to have very little affection for Homo sapiens.

  "Dr. Cook's on the verge of a major breakthrough with her lung cancer vaccine. It's not easy for me to step aside at such a crucial time."

  "Once I'm oriented, you can return to your work with Dr. Cook."

  "No. I'm assigned to you as part of our agreement with the government. That's what they asked for, and that's what we agreed to."

  The 'we' obviously referred to Francine and Sandra Cook.

  "We need their grant money. We're so close to a breakthrough."

  "But to step aside with your project coming to fruition . . ."

  "We've done whatever is necessary at each step to make our project succeed. That's how we work here. For the best interests of the lab. And the future of the lab is as much mine as it is Dr. Cook's."

  This woman expects to be Dr. Cook's successor? In a U.S. lab, people would step all over her.

  "Now, what else do you need, Dr. Ashe?"

  A miracle. Francine wasn't likely to deliver that. As for the lab, it was well equipped but largely underutilized. Finding desks and bench space for her roster of incoming scientists would not be difficult. Clearly, the presence of the Tivaz TB project meant only one thing to Sandra and Francine – a welcome infusion of cash to supplement meager grant money.

  Chapter 13

  "Aren't you ready yet?" Ever since Varat failed to kill Tiger on the steep slopes below Tivaz, his customary patience had worn to the thinnest veneer. "I must leave tonight if I am to reach London in time."

  Black shrugged. "It takes care to create a fail-safe negative pressure seal."

  Nonetheless, Varat would make sure Black began the demonstration immediately. "Have you documented your progress to this point?"

  Black balanced his hands, weighing options. "Which would you prefer? That I focus on the experiment, or play with your toys?"

  He wanted both, because the demonstration was worthless without proof.

  Black preened. "My knowledge makes all this possible."

  "Fine, then let's record your accomplishments. Now!"

  Varat began by pointing the small digital video at Black, who described the spraying of weaponized Tivaz TB into an airtight room. Then he panned to where two men in Level 4 suits dragged their naked victim into the room and struggled to strap him down on a bare cot. Observing Gray's struggles, Varat almost felt sorry for him. The man had stepped forward to accept a bullet in his forehead after Tiger and Dr. Ashe fled Tivaz, but now he fought with the strength of the condemned. As well he should, for the fate awaiting him far exceeded the terror of having his brains blown out and he knew it.

  Varat screwed the camera to the tripod and moved closer to the window for a more personal view. Gray's body was immobilized now but his head darted toward the movement at the window. His eyes found Varat and he scowled in a last act of defiance. Commendable. "When will Gray exhibit symptoms?"

  "Soon. He's been pretreated with immunosuppressive drugs to make his immune system behave like that of a young child."

  He checked the digital time stamp on the video camera, adjusted the lens for a wide shot and tightened the tripod. The camera was set to capture the wave of infection, including administration of useless antibiotics, until Gray's body crested with an explosion of pustules that would painfully sweep him to the shores of extinction. Gray's end would demonstrate to Varat's clients explicitly that not only was Black's Tivaz TB reconstituted, but fully weaponized.

  Poetic justice how Dr. Ashe herself provided the clue when she stole a commonplace pressurized container with a vacuum seal to keep the TB sample alive while she and Tiger escaped. She showed them the secret to weaponization of Tivaz TB lay not in stabilizing it so it could survive in the atmosphere, but in protecting it from the atmosphere. After studying Dr. Ashe's method of defense, Black called in a comrade with the requisite biochemical skills to craft a molecular container for his toxic TB. And voilà!

  "You're 100% confident you've recreated your TB strain?"

  "Of course. Dr. Strong and Dr. Ashe shall soon discover I am the best."

  They'd better. "After Gray's incinerated, send the video acco
rding to my instructions."

  Black drew his slight frame up. "I'm not your errand boy."

  "The task I'm entrusting to you is important. To prevail you must do as I say."

  The temperamental scientist had worked day and night to reconstitute and weaponize Tivaz TB, but delivering videotape proof to the clients was just as important to the success of Varat's grand plan. Unhappy over the delay and suspicious about Tiger's role, his sponsors were balking. He must reestablish their confidence. Their participation in this plot was required if vengeance were to be his.

  Besides, abandoning Tivaz and relocating to the north consumed his remaining funds and he needed his clients' long awaited progress payment. Christie's was set to auction a gold-mounted horse-head shamshir. His grandfather and father, stretched out beside heavenly rivers flowing with wine and honey, would approve when he added the curved-blade sword to their collection. Which meant he must be on hand personally to persuade his purchasing agent to advance the funds if his clients were late in depositing.

  London. He enjoyed London almost as much as Paris. And this trip had much to offer – the antique blade, David Ruskin, and Dr. Ashe. Suddenly, the tedious trek ahead of him out of the Rif Mountains to Tetouan, and the choppy crossing to the privileged safety of the E.U., seemed a pleasant diversion.

  Chapter 14

  Francine set up a meeting room for the team's initial work session, but not the way Claire asked. Instead of a U shape where everyone could see each other and build on each other's ideas, the small tables and chairs were arranged in lecture-style seating favored by Europeans. Claire wanted a free exchange of ideas, not a bunch of jet-lagged scientists looking at her in the front of the room, waiting to be told what to do. Without saying a word she rearranged the room while Francine watched with her lips pursed in the same expression she'd run into with Sandra that first day at the lab.

  Once introductions were out of the way, Claire reviewed the key points in her briefing notes and was reassured to see her team members had done their homework. Now, let's see how they work together. She wrote down three categories on the chalkboard:

  – Quick Hits

  – Achievable With Time