“You really want it to not be Stone, don’t you?” Gilman said.
“Admittedly, I just don’t feel the pieces fit with her, even though they increasingly seem to. But… do you remember what Guofu Wong said a while back? About Johnson.”
Gilman looked into his partner’s face. “Johnson thought that Stone plagiarized his data,” he recalled.
“So he could have motive to frame her,” McMullan said.
“But like this? By terrorizing a prison?”
“He, too, is a doctor. And there’s something else that fits as well. Johnson is in the FBI. He leads the infectious disease division. He has access to personal information for other agents, and he knows that you and I are the two agents on the case. Johnson has all of the information necessary to be running this show. Katrina Stone doesn’t.”
Gilman was unconvinced. “With that logic, anyone at the FBI—especially any doctor, could be this Doctor.”
“Correct,” McMullan said, “but not everyone at the FBI has motive to go after Stone.”
“So I ask you again, why do you think Johnson would do any of this in the first place? Just to frame Stone? There are a million other things he could do to get even with her besides the anthrax prison attack. Things that would have been a lot simpler. He is in the FBI, after all.”
McMullan thought for a moment. “Do you remember that first meeting we had about this case? Do you remember how he and Guofu Wong argued about her?”
Gilman cast his mind back to the FBI meeting. “Wong wanted to fund her research and Johnson didn’t.”
“Yeah, but there was a bigger issue. Wong wanted to fund Stone’s research because he thought she could bring some really cutting-edge science to the forefront. Johnson was against the idea just like you were, and for similar reasons. He believed that scientists needed more time to earn their stripes than she had put in, but like you, he was also really old-fashioned in his thinking. Remember, this is a guy who has been in science since before there were computers. He probably chiseled his Ph.D. thesis on stone tablets. I think that Johnson didn’t want Katrina’s research to go forward for reasons other than just a lack of national funding.”
Gilman looked skeptically at his partner’s face, which had acquired a renewed enthusiasm as he spoke. “What do you mean?”
“I think,” McMullan continued, “that he didn’t want her technologies in the mainstream at all. I think he was afraid of what could happen if those technologies became commonplace and fell into the wrong hands.
“So maybe he released the Death Row strain in order to warn us. To show us what her work—those molecular screens she does—can produce. Maybe he knew from her preliminary data that those kinds of activators would be found in those molecular screens. In fact, maybe she even mentioned them in the grant proposal. Maybe he thought he could punish her, and stop the technology from going forward at the same time. Maybe he thought the release of the strain was a necessary way to show the world how catastrophic it could be.”
10:35 A.M. PST
In the back room of an Army Surplus Store, an Animal Liberation Front officer stopped talking upon hearing a knock on the door. He cast a questioning look around the table. It was met by equally confused glances. The officers were not expecting anyone else. The knock on the door came again, this time, more loudly.
“Yeah?” shouted the officer from inside.
A female voice came through the door. “Code word Lincoln.”
“Shit,” the officer muttered under his breath. And then to the table, “It’s Lexi! Cover this shit up!”
The five officers hurried to conceal a floor plan of Katrina Stone’s BSL-3 facility. After a cursory glance around the room to confirm that nothing was out of place, the speaker nodded to the boy nearest the door. The boy opened the door, and Alexis Stone entered the room. She was beaming.
“Hi!” Alexis said cheerily to the boy and tried to kiss him.
He pulled away, scowling. “What are you doing here? You know this meeting is officers only.”
“You won’t be mad when you hear what I’m about to say,” she said. She was still smiling but now there was hurt behind her eyes.
“OK then,” said the leader. “What do you have for us?”
Alexis popped her gum and grinned again. “So I was at my dad’s house a while ago, and I was supposed to go back to my mom’s tonight. My dad calls me into his bedroom to talk to me. He’s all serious. My step-mom is in there, too. They’re both, like, totally upset.” Another gum pop.
“Cut to the point, Lexi,” the leader said.
Alexis sighed. “Fine! OK, so, my dad tells me I can’t go back to my mom’s house tonight. Guess why!”
“I give up,” said her annoyed boyfriend.
“Because my mom is in jail! She got arrested because they found something on her computer the other day when those FBI guys busted into our house. I don’t know what she did, but it must be pretty bad, because I’m supposed to stay at my dad’s house, like, sort of indefinitely right now. I think it’s something having to do with her work. So maybe she won’t be able to finish the monkey studies she’s been doing! Maybe she’ll have to let the monkeys go!”
The leader exchanged a glance with Alexis’ boyfriend and then asked, “Aren’t you the least bit worried about your mom?”
“Oh, God no,” she said. “Whatever my mom did, it’s her own fault! Besides, she’s a heartless, hard-assed bitch! I’m sure she’ll be fine! It’s the monkeys I’m worried about! They’re the ones who can’t defend themselves!”
For a moment, nobody spoke. Finally, the lead officer said, “Lexi, can you give us a moment to talk amongst ourselves?”
Alexis looked thrilled to have been asked, rather than ordered out of the room. “Sure!” she said and skipped out the door.
“I told you we can trust her,” the boyfriend said when she was gone.
“I’m inclined to agree with young Kevin here,” the leader concurred. The others agreed. And there was so much more that Alexis could do for them. When Alexis re-entered the room, the leader sat her down. “We weren’t going to tell you this because we weren’t sure you could be trusted. No offense, but it is your mom. Anyway, what you just told us gave us confidence that we can let you in on the rest of our plans. When you and Kevin are at the biotech convention tomorrow, there will be a group breaking into Katrina’s BSL-3 facility. We’re going to free the uninfected monkeys. You and Kevin will be keeping the press and the scientists occupied in the meantime, and drumming up a bit of controversy over your mom’s work.”
Alexis thought for a moment, and then looked accusingly at Kevin. “I can’t believe you didn’t think you could trust me with that! Of course I’m happy to help you free the monkeys! Then, we just carry on with the plans like we said?”
Kevin looked at her warily, but felt relieved. She would get over her offense at his lack of faith in her. And, more importantly, she was on board. “Yeah, you and I just go down there like we planned,” he said. “These guys have everything else taken care of already.”
“So, really, it doesn’t even matter that she’s in jail,” Alexis said with disappointment.
“Oh, yes it does,” said the leader, smiling. He turned to Kevin, and said, “Call the media.”
11:43 A.M. PST
McMullan walked into a private consultation room, and Katrina glared when she saw him.
“If I wasn’t in handcuffs, I’d punch you,” she said.
McMullan dismissed the jail guard with a gesture and a flash of his FBI badge. Before the guard left the room, McMullan confiscated his keys. Then, he removed Katrina’s cuffs.
She struck him in the jaw—hard—with a closed fist.
McMullan took the blow. “Fair enough.” An angry, swelling welt began rising. He ran his tongue over his teeth and the inner lip. “But now, start talking.”
“You’ve got to get me out of here. I’m supposed to be talking at the biotechnology convention tomorrow, first thing
in the morning. If I’m not there because I’m in jail, my career is over. You know this. You know how hard I’ve worked for this career. You know that without it, I have nothing. And you also know that I’m innocent.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Because you’re here.”
McMullan sighed. “I can’t possibly get you out of here,” he said. “The evidence against you is too strong. So it’s irrelevant what I think.” He paused. “Explain something to me in lay terms, Katrina. How and why did you make that activator? And why in God’s name did you hide it from us? From me? What was your role? What was Jason Fischer’s role? We’ve already gathered that the data was from his notes.”
“OK,” she said. “Listen, McMullan. I wish you had your infectious disease experts here right now. They would back up the science of what I’m saying.”
“Well, then you won’t mind my recording this conversation and playing it back for them?” he said and clicked into the voice-recording app on his cell phone.
“Jason and I did make the activator.”
McMullan stared at her without speaking.
“It was an accident,” Katrina said. “Look McMullan, you know that my research involves screening for inhibitors of anthrax lethal factor. We have a very simple enzymatic assay. We program the robots, and the robots run hundreds of thousands of molecules through that assay. Inhibitors are found because the assay produces a fluorescent signal. When an inhibitor is in the mix, the signal is decreased. That’s all there is to it.
“Sometimes the assay can pick up activators as well. It’s not like we are looking for them—they just pop up. We see them in our data because all of a sudden, there’s an increase in the fluorescence produced by the assay when that particular molecule is tested.
“Activators are rare. But yeah, in hundreds of thousands of molecules screened, we do find a few. Jason found one a while back that was exceptionally good. He brought the data to me and asked me what to do with it. I told him to just hang on to it.”
“Why?” McMullan asked. “Why would you want to keep it, and more importantly, why did you try to hide it from us only to dig it out later?”
“I kept it because activators of an enzyme can be changed to convert them into an inhibitor. And I convinced Jason to help me hide the data because I knew that an activated strain of anthrax had been discovered. And we wanted to avoid this exact scenario—our lab being linked to that strain. And I dug it out to get rid of it when I didn’t think we needed it anymore.
“There are monkeys in our BSL-3 facility being inoculated as we speak. Those monkeys will be given the drug that we’ve redesigned since Christmas. I’m confident that it will work this time—so confident, in fact, that I’ve already scaled up the production of it. We’ve got a shitload of this drug. It’s the right one. I know it is.”
McMullan smiled. Even with her career and life falling apart around her, she was still focused on the cure. But then his smile faded. “I want to believe you,” he said. “But we still have a problem, Katrina. The DNA sequence is the same. The Death Row strain of anthrax doesn’t just have an activator in it. It has your activator in it.”
Part III: Con Science
FEBRUARY 9, 2016
7:30 A.M. PST
Jason Fischer stepped into Katrina Stone’s SDSU laboratory on the first day of the biotechnology convention. He had expected the lab to be abandoned, all of its normal occupants already en route to the convention. Instead, he was greeted by Joshua Attle, who was working frantically at a lab bench. “Hey, what are you still doing here?” Jason asked.
“I’m just getting an experiment going, and then I’m getting down to the convention,” Josh said. “What are you doing here?”
“I’ve got to get something off Katrina’s computer.” Jason walked through the main laboratory space and into Katrina’s office. He jumped when he saw Roger Gilman sitting behind her desk. “Jesus Christ, you scared the shit out of me.”
“A little jumpy, Dr. Fischer?” Gilman asked.
Jason ignored him. “Look, dude,” he said. “I need to get on that computer. So you mind moving your pudgy ass out of my way for a minute?”
“Actually, I do,” said Gilman. “I’m taking this computer. Sorry.” He feigned a sad face.
“I can get what I need off the Cloud, douchebag, so why don’t you just make it easier and move?”
Gilman scoffed. “Fine.” He stood from the desk and moved to a chair across the office. Then he changed the subject. “You and your advisor have a pretty close relationship, don’t you, Jason?”
Jason sat down at the computer monitor and began browsing. “Um, yeah,” he responded absently. “I guess so… we’ve been working together for years.” He found the file of Katrina’s presentation on her computer desktop and opened it, then scrolled quickly through the slides. Satisfied that the presentation was intact, he closed the file again and saved it to a portable memory stick, which he popped out and dropped into his pocket.
As he stood up, Jason was overwhelmed by a dizzy spell. He placed both hands onto the desk and stood quietly for a moment until it passed. A fever was coming on. Again. When he was certain he could walk normally, he brushed past Roger Gilman and walked out into the hall.
Gilman followed. “You’re looking a little unwell,” he said loudly as he walked closely behind Jason out of the office and toward the door to exit the laboratory. “Another impending herpes outbreak? You gotta watch out for those groupies, you know.” Gilman clicked his tongue and turned to Josh as he spoke, who had looked up at the goading remarks and was now gaping, slack-jawed, back at Gilman. Gilman grinned at him, and Josh shook his head and returned to his work.
Jason stopped walking and turned. He walked back toward Gilman and stood inches from his face, his chest puffed out, his jaw working, his fists coiled.
Josh slipped quietly out of the laboratory.
Gilman recoiled as if preparing for a blow.
Jason only smiled. “Have you figured out yet that Oscar Morales spent six months as a research assistant in biology?” he asked.
Gilman paled. “What? Where? When?”
Jason stepped backward. Still smiling, he ignored Gilman’s question and turned to glance at his own reflection in the glass of one of the laboratory’s cold cabinets. He reached into the pocket of his pants and found a small band, with which he tied back his shoulder-length hair, smoothing the sides and the top until he was satisfied with it. “How do I look?” he asked, batting his eyelashes dramatically.
The truth was that he looked strikingly handsome and unusually professional. In contrast to his normal attire of ragged blue jeans, black t-shirts with band logos, and combat boots, Jason was currently dressed in a suit and tie. His loafers looked as if they had never before been worn. The fever Jason was battling lent a hint of color to his normally vampire-pale cheeks. The result was a healthy-looking glow on a face that rarely saw daylight. With his jet-black hair clean, combed, and now tied back at the nape of his neck, Jason looked every bit the respectable scientist.
Gilman only stared.
“Huh?” Jason said then. “Oh, yeah, that! Morales. Research assistant. Biology. Yeah.” Another long pause. “He was at UCLA in the lab of Qiang Zhao ten years ago. Even got himself co-authored on a paper once. He was fourth author, but still—it was him! His job was to make solutions and reagents, clean glassware, do literature searches for people, maintain cell lines, that sort of thing. He would have learned how to sustain a culture of bacteria, and he would have learned sterile technique. And those are the exact skills one would need to contain and distribute anthrax.
“But then I guess he decided that dealing drugs was a better way to make money. And frankly, he’s right. This career pays for shit. Morales must be smarter than I am.”
Gilman had lost his spunk. “How do you know all that?” he asked miserably.
“Because one of us is actually a competent investigator. And let me give you another hint,
Gilman. It’s not you.” Jason turned on the heels of his polished loafers and trotted cheerfully out of the lab.
10:42 A.M. EST
On the other side of the country, Teresa Wood was preparing an ESDA analysis. This time, the experiment would be performed on two greeting cards instead of one.
With gloved hands, she pulled both cards from their respective sealed envelopes and placed them onto the vacuum. She laid a clear, thin film over each card and watched the vacuum suck it down. She held the corona wire over each card independently to deposit the appropriate negative charge to its surface. And in the same order, to maintain her time frame, she filled the indentations with the tiny, toner-covered glass beads. The hand-written text intensified. And then, the traces became visible.
The procedure was one Teresa had performed a thousand times. She was always pleased to find a hidden indentation of some kind in a piece of mail. Usually, it was just a fragment of something. The circle of a keychain, adjacent to a partial indentation from a key itself. A dent from a piece of jewelry or a button from an article of clothing. A change in depth or pressure in a line of text, indicating that the document had been altered after its initial generation. When an ESDA trace produced a new writing, the task was even more cryptic, and even more rewarding to solve. Rarely were more than a few words revealed—a fragment of text copied onto another piece of paper over the questioned document.
This time, Teresa could barely process the information that came to light as each tiny bead occupied its own cavity in the two greeting cards. As the trace became increasingly visible, Teresa’s breath caught in her throat and she began to shiver. It was unlike anything she had ever seen before in an ESDA.
One card was devoid of trace indentations. The other contained an entirely new text. The writing was in English. It was as clear as the original text on the surface. It had obviously been etched deliberately for the ESDA trace to reveal. And it was addressed to Teresa by name.
The Death Row Complex (The Katrina Stone Novels Book 2) Page 20
