by Dorian Paul
– Home Runs (If We Connect)
She'd been proud to come up with a sports analogy for the mostly male team. But eyeing this international group she wished she chose soccer. She forged ahead anyway and before long the group had a sizable list of projects even if they couldn't agree on the three best ideas from each category. That she circumvented by listing each idea on a separate flip chart, posting the sheets along the walls, and asking each person to stand in front of the project he or she could have the greatest impact on. That narrowed the field, except Roscoe kept moving from poster to poster, so sure he could star in multiple shows. He had to be reined in.
The whole process took longer than she planned, but at least resulted in the creation of sub-teams with a good mix of practical and pie in the sky thinkers. Francine was the only one who refused to assign herself to one of the projects. Claire made an executive decision to put Francine on her team – theoretical. Best to keep a close eye in Francine in case she turned into a troublemaker.
"One final note. I've seen Tivaz TB do its work. It ate a child alive before my eyes. This is strictly Level 4. Airborne transmission is debatable, but bugs evolve. No shortcuts. No chances. Understood?" For emphasis she looked each person in the eye.
"The child who died," one colleague asked, "Was there evidence of antibody formation?"
"No. Tivaz TB proceeded so rapidly her specific immune response didn't have time to respond."
"Then I think we should prioritize Roscoe Smartz's idea for a DNA vaccine that includes a Toll receptor agonist," another scientist added.
"We need to work up all our ideas," she reminded them. "We need lots of back-up plans."
Some balked, and she listened intently to their opinions, supportive to a degree.
"Toll receptors make sense," a Finnish scientist said.
"They activate the nonspecific response immediately," someone else added.
"That means we can use Roscoe's DNA vaccine both pre- and post-exposure," an American chimed in.
At that point Roscoe snapped his fingers. "My idea's a go, then!"
Roscoe beamed like a little boy delighted to be the center of attention. But her decision that all teams work on multiple fronts was unwavering. "It's fine to make a quick hit of a DNA vaccine that targets Toll receptors, but I want our other quick hit ideas fleshed out at the same time. And I expect daily updates from all sub-teams. Everybody on board?"
She was relieved when even Roscoe nodded, and the meeting broke up. Francine approached her. "Is this how you work in America?"
She swallowed a sharp comeback on the tip of her tongue. "It's how I work."
"Well, I can see the logic."
Huh? But did Francine agree and if not, would it pose a problem? To succeed this TB project needed every advantage. Claire refused herself the luxury of pettiness. "Perhaps you could suggest how we might integrate methods you and Dr. Cook use. Maybe we can get some synergy going." She crossed her fingers figuratively.
"I'll think about it," Francine said and left the room.
Okay, please do. I need you inside my tent, not outside.
While she packed her briefcase, Roscoe came up, smiling. "Good meeting, Claire. We're off and running."
She actually appreciated his optimism. But of course, his star was ascending since the team adopted his idea right away. She measured her response so she could keep a lid on him if it turned out to be necessary. "Yes, a good start."
"Hey, here’s another idea. Let's have dinner tonight. Catch up with each other."
She took a deep breath. The last time they were together she told him in no uncertain terms he wasn't her type. And that wasn't about to change simply because she needed his brains and energy on this team. But at the end of the day she had to work with him. "Thanks, but no, I've got another engagement."
It was a small white lie. She had a dinner date with herself at Sherborne House since David Ruskin was overseas in Morocco. Better to dine alone than fight off Roscoe. And he was the last person she wanted to discuss her Tivaz experiences with. Her personal affairs were none of his business.
"Okay, another time soon," he said.
Any time would be too soon.
The rest of the day she checked in on her team members, getting to know them better and making sure they were committed to the decisions made at the kick-off meeting. It was dark when Ian Barker put her in the silver Bentley with Jim Borden behind the wheel.
"Evening, Dr. Ashe. Hope you're looking forward to dinner tonight. Maggie's made something special."
Too bad she had so little appetite after the strain of today.
"It's a nice kidney pie, my favorite."
Kidney pie? Yuck. Her lack of appetite was a relief. An energy bar would do nicely.
"I never miss out on Maggie's kidney pie. Davvy's favorite too."
David's favorite? She had to admit she never tasted kidney pie and maybe it wasn't as bad as she imagined. And if they were willing to let her join them in the kitchen to sample something new she could use the opportunity to learn more about Davvy. Everybody was somebody's favorite and Jim and Maggie Borden obviously doted on their Davvy. What was she missing?
***
David eyed a line of sentries sizzling along the perimeter of the Governor's mansion, each man at attention and wearing more gold braid than an entire regiment of Buckingham Palace guards. Aziz Bouchta greeted them barefoot on the foyer's gleaming marble floor.
"You manage to be everywhere in Morocco," David remarked.
"I asked him to come," Bobby said casually. "He grew up in the same village as the Governor and I thought we might work that to our advantage."
Bobby plunked himself down on a carved rosewood bench, kicked off his loafers and peeled off his socks. Wondering what in bloody hell his friend was up to inviting Bouchta, David moved to the opposite wall and unlaced his English wingtips. Appropriately shoeless, they entered the Governor's reception hall where high windows illuminated a slight man dressed in a Saville Row suit with a white shirt open at the neck.
"I am gratified to see you again, Mr. Keane, and to meet Mr. Tiger in person."
"Please, call me by my given name, David Ruskin."
"Impossible," the Governor answered. "To Aziz and me you will always remain Tiger. The adventure of your escape lives in my memory."
And the shame of it in mine.
"Tell me, how is Dr. Ashe?"
"A full recovery with no complications is expected."
"Excellent. Aziz has told me of your plan for her safety."
What was the Governor getting at? "My plan?"
The Governor smiled. "To keep her in your own home under Tiger's watchful eye."
David scowled at Bobby. Why would he give Bouchta, and through him the Governor, everything but the keys to Sherborne House?
"Gentlemen," their host said. "Refreshments?" He pointed to a pedestal table broad enough for King Arthur's court and laden with pastries and fruit.
Bouchta bowed to the Governor. "You did not forget what I loved as a boy!" Then he gulped down a honey-dripping morsel before he raised his arms to heaven. "What is life without friends?"
David had a feeling he was about to find out, based on Bobby's conduct thus far.
"I have good news," the Governor said to Bobby. "We have identified Dr. Black for you."
Did Bobby know of this beforehand? "How did you find him, Governor?"
"We have our sources, Mr. Tiger."
And they were obviously better than his. David had screened multiple image banks without uncovering a trace of the scientist. "Such as?"
"Forgive me." The Governor averted his gaze. "I do not know the specifics."
Right, of course not. And you wouldn't share them if you did. He deplored how often this game played out across the globe, even among allies, as Bouchta withdrew a photograph from his coat pocket and placed it on the table. The image was grainy, but the diminutive despot who presided over the lab in Tivaz stared back at him.
"It translates as free and noble men," Bouchta explained.
"Unlike Algeria, our policy toward the Amazigh is one of inclusion," the Governor boasted, though that was questionable to David since Morocco refused to issue birth certificates with Amazigh names. "Omar Messina is allied with extremists," the Governor continued. "And their intention is to kill the Moroccan Royal family with this deadly TB and establish a state in which the Amazigh hold supreme power."
Bouchta waved his hands and jumped into the conversation asserting, "Omar Messina is obsessed with killing the King's children and therefore severing the royal line."
Equally agitated, the Governor sliced his arm across his throat. "If he attacks the King's children, our response will be quick and ruthless." His knife wielding gesture implied he was ready to act personally. "Believe me, we will not spare any of the extremists. Justice will be done."
Wonderful. Let us complicate the matter with genocide of the Amazigh.
The Governor licked his lips and addressed Bobby straightaway. "My government believes Messina's threat is credible. With which of you gentlemen should my government communicate?"
"Either of us," Bobby answered.
Really? David believed he was running point on intelligence, and a clear chain of communication was essential. But he would not query Bobby in front of the Governor or show that he had cuffed him in the face. "We hope there will be little need for such communication, Governor. Omar Messina has yet to weaponize his TB, and we intend to find him before he does so. We do know, however, he is being assisted by a man called Varat, an arms dealer who's found someone willing to pay a steep price to see this bioweapon succeed."
"Whom do you suspect, Mr. Tiger?"
Varat was rumored to have traveled in and out of Iran and Claire's debrief said he'd spoken to her of Persia. It was not actionable intelligence, but unlike the Governor, he'd share it. "Definitive proof is lacking, but some signs point to Iran."
The Governor shook his head in disagreement. "They have no quarrel with us."
"Right. Yet they may be willing to help Messina if they have larger aims."
"Yep, Governor." Bobby pointed a finger at his own temple. "This TB's bound to be intended for the West. America is their great Satan."
"Forgive me, Mr. Keane, but you Americans see yourselves as the center of the universe."
"We are all at risk," David told them as they lingered near the refreshment table. Even should Omar Messina's obsession with Amazigh control of Morocco be real, he knew furthering someone else's politics wouldn't lure Varat. "My guess is Varat and Messina will look for help in Morocco to weaponize their TB. I've contacted the vaccine plant where Dr. Ashe worked, and no other scientists are missing, but I require your help with the universities."
"To see if anyone has disappeared from the classroom?" the Governor asked.
"More than that. I would like attendance records, including sick days for professors of science, their graduate students, and the employees of the vaccine plant. We seek a pattern of absences."
"Attendance records? That is a privacy matter, Mr. Tiger."
Damn him. "If Tivaz TB is released, privacy will be the least of your problems, begging your pardon, sir."
It took a moment, but the Governor finally granted his point. "I will see what can be done."
"I would also like to discuss border security."
"Our customs and immigration department is on full alert," the Governor proclaimed with a puffed out chest.
David struggled with his frustration. "My concern surrounds the informal routes – treks into the desert, mountain passes, small boats across the Mediterranean. You must increase surveillance."
"Impossible. Our coast is on two seas. The mountains are wild, as you are well aware, Mr. Tiger."
"We will assist with satellite imagery, but we need help from you on the ground. " He looked at Bobby who nodded agreement. "If a terrorist attack on the U.K. or the U.S. is traced back to Morocco, investment and tourism here will wither."
That threat caught the Governor's attention and by the time they bid good-bye the Governor had pledged full cooperation. David trusted him, more or less. You could never be too sure because Morocco operated in a less than straightforward manner. In his last visit he walked through Morocco's destitute underbelly seeking a terrorist hideaway and today he stood in a chamber where the fate of the local population was settled. In both cases, he sensed strings being pulled by an unseen puppet master. Today was more disturbing, however, because Bobby's hands were on the marionettes as well.
Standing in the heat outside the mansion, Bobby skimmed his fingers through his bushy short hair. "That went pretty good, d'ya think?"
"Perhaps it might have gone better if you hadn't surprised me with Bouchta's presence here, or telling them Claire Ashe was at Sherborne House –"
"C'mon, no big deal –"
"Not until you told the Governor he could contact either of us. That's not standard protocol, as you are well aware. Am I in charge of intelligence gathering?"
"There's a lot ridin' on this, pal."
"If I were your pal, you'd level with me."
"Hey, this ain't personal between you and me. But it's personal between you and Varat, and that worries me big-time. Revenge clouds a man's judgment."
"Are you suggesting I be removed from this operation?"
"Hell no. We need you on this mission."
"Then give me your word I have full operational authority, Bobby."
"Done. But I reserve the right to retract if you step over the line. That's the best I can do. Take it or leave it."
At this precise moment he didn't totally trust Bobby, but he'd take it. To get Varat, once and for all, he'd accept any terms. "Deal. But you must agree to keep me fully informed. No sins of omission, such as with Claire."
"What's she got to do with it?"
"You didn't fully brief her in hospital. She arrived at Sherborne House with certain misimpressions."
Bobby shrugged his broad shoulders. "What didn't get through?"
"For starters, that Sherborne House was my residence. She expected government accommodations."
"I told her you had a house that was safe, and figured she'd get my drift."
"You also neglected to make the security arrangements absolutely clear. She sees me as her prison guard."
"Hey, gimme a break. She was in pain that day. I figured as long as she knew the risks involved, you could handle the details."
"I'd have preferred you covered the ground rules. You don't have to live with her."
Bobby grinned as though he knew Claire was a handful. "How's she holding up?"
David wasn't ready to give in to their typical camaraderie. "She held up in Tivaz with Varat, no doubt she'll survive me."
Bobby turned serious. "But do you think she can come up with a cure for Tivaz TB?"
He waved the thick file on Omar Messina from the Governor in Bobby's face. "Let us hope this provides her with useful clues."
"If she can't crack it, then you gotta find Varat before he releases this TB shit."
"I intend to."
Bobby's deep blue eyes didn't blink for a full count of ten. "I'm counting on you. Go for it, pal."
Chapter 15
"I'll run you home tonight, Dr. Ashe." Ian Barker looked as bushed as she felt. "Jim's been sent to Heathrow to collect Mr. Ruskin."
She was surprised to hear he was coming home tonight. But why should she be? He was under no obligation to inform her of his comings and goings. She gathered her things quickly and walked out with Ian. She hated keeping Ian late, especially since he wore a wedding ring. "I'm sure these late nights are tough on your family. My apologies to your wife."
"Goes with the territory. They learn to be understanding, right?"
So, h
e'd noticed her wedding band, too. She shouldn't wear it in the lab but wasn't ready to give it up to a jewelry box either. She'd think about it some other time. At the moment all she wanted was to get home and get some sleep.
The trip to Sherborne House coincided with the West End theatres emptying out. Animated people swirled through the streets unaware life as they knew it might evaporate in an instant . . . unless she figured out a way to kill Dr. Black's TB. Or better yet, David Ruskin rolled up the terror plot before its execution. Funny. As much as Tiger unsettled her, she'd missed him.
"Dr. Ashe," Maggie said when she arrived at Sherborne House, "I was about to set out Davvy's meal. Plenty to share, luv."
Tired as she was, the aroma of Maggie's dinner competed with her exhaustion and won. "Maggie, I'll take care of the food. I need to speak to David about some things anyway."
The coy smile on Maggie's face irritated her, but she shrugged it off. It was true she wanted to see him and she'd convinced herself that finding out what he learned in Morocco would do more to help her sleep tonight than anything. She ran upstairs, took off her arm brace, and changed into one of the outfits Elizabeth brought by earlier. She smiled to think her friend chose this lovely outfit for her to wear to work. Even protected by a lab coat it wasn't what you wore around pipettes and petri dishes. She gathered her unruly hair in a pretty silk scarf, one of her small indulgences, and went downstairs to wait for him.
Because setting the table always soothed her she inspected the Sherborne china closets more closely. She chose a beautiful Elizabethan-inspired pattern with an embellished central medallion on a pale ivory field edged in gold. It reminded her of Aunt Carrie's china pattern, which waited for her, boxed in storage in Boston, along with her mother's dishes. Originally she planned to select her own china pattern when she married, but never did. Now she had no need. Carefully she removed two plates from the Ruskin family china cabinet, glad for a change from white everyday dishes.
The vestibule door opened. She heard him speak to Jim, and saw he entered with a suitcase and huge briefcase that he carried in one hand as easily as if they were two empty boxes. Unaware she watched from the dining room, he set the suitcase down and started up the stairs with his briefcase. His tie was loosened, but he managed to look formal in a well-cut brown suit that clung to his lean musculature. Not for the first time she wished he weren't so attractive; it only complicated things between them.
