Nathalie could see the marketing manager furiously whispering to his assistant asking why this had not all been cleared before. The solution was found by the doctor’s secretary, who said that she knew of a small lab undergoing refurbishment, and she strode off to find someone to sign an authoritative bit of paper. It was pointless getting the crew to pre-rig without that bit of paper so Nathalie stayed to listen to the next piece of argument. This was a classic. Could the doctor say that the vaccine under speculation was ‘safe’? According to the pharmaceutical lawyer, nothing was safe. Not even water. If even one patient turned up with a mild side effect they could sue, and suing meant millions of dollars. The marketing manager protested. The drug they were thinking of buying, and possibly developing, had a good safety record. They weren’t comparing this product to a foodstuff. It was a highly effective drug where any reported side-effects were minimal compared to its benefits. Instead of ameliorating the situation this argument added fuel to the lawyer’s fire.
‘Ah, effective,’ he said. ‘If you use that word you have to qualify it with data.’
Nathalie had made these sorts of films before. They ended up with miles and miles of tiny illegible captions that were scrolled across the screen during the interview, each sentence qualifying or even contradicting what the opinion leader seemed to be suggesting. This key opinion leader was looking very confused. It appeared that rather than express his, quite knowledgeable, opinion he was being asked to parrot some sort of benign script. He was about to make a comment on this when his secretary returned to the conference room. The hospital had agreed that they could use the small laboratory and that a donation to the fund would be gratefully received. The marketing manager nodded in acquiescence and it was with relief that Nathalie asked to be excused and show her film crew where to set up.
The location was less than desirable. It was cramped, it had a row of windows facing the sun, and it looked more like a storeroom than a laboratory. She asked the sparks to ND the windows. This meant taking a roll of neutral density gel and taping them up to filter the sunlight. A bit like sunglasses for the window panes. She gently persuaded the soundman – she knew it wasn’t really ‘his job’ – to see if he could rustle up some laboratory glassware that they could use as props. Nathalie then set to work with the cameraman rearranging the room. Perhaps they could sit the doctor behind some sort of bench containing agar plates. With a bit of backlight it would be quite atmospheric.
An hour later, the entourage turned up with a very nervous looking doctor in tow. Nathalie had pre-lit the room but wanted to see her interviewee in-situ before she made the final adjustments. He sat behind the desk on the chair that had been placed there for him, but protested when he saw some of the laboratory props.
‘We don’t use these in our antiviral experiments,’ he started to explain.
‘It’s just for a bit of atmosphere Doctor, the audience this is aimed at won’t know one end of the test tube from another,’ intervened the marketing assistant. ‘As long as you are happy with the notes that we’ve given you?’
Nathalie inwardly groaned. Notes. The last thing she wanted was the guy reading from a piece of paper. She decided it was time to take control.
‘Just want you to be comfortable Sir, if you would just like to lean against the desk and look towards me, not at the camera; try to forget that. Just try to explain to me personally what you want to say.’ She turned to the corporate employees. ‘If you would sit at the back of the room and face away from the doctor, I think he’ll find it more comfortable to speak. If at any time he says something that you think we will not be able to use, please would you wait until the end of the take and then address any comments to me. Are you okay with that?’
It was obvious that this young woman knew what she was doing so the lawyers and marketing men meekly huddled on their stools in the back of the room.
Nathalie took the list of questions she had been given and put them on her lap. ‘Now Doctor, perhaps you would put your notes to one side and I’ll ask you a question. My question will not be heard by the viewer, so it would be great if you could reflect the question in your answer. And one more thing, just before you answer, pause and look at me. I really am interested in knowing what you have to say and it would be difficult for us if you overlap my question. Okay, are we ready? Turnover and here we go.’
To everyone’s surprise Nathalie’s first few questions were nothing to do with the list that she had been given. They concerned the doctor’s background, how he had been appointed to the university and what first got him interested in the subject of Ebola. During this time the key opinion leader visibly relaxed and started to learn the tricks of the trade. Not to glance at the camera, avoid the overlaps, and become an expert in reflecting the question in the answer. By the time she began to address the questions the company wanted her to ask, he was eating out of her hands. But then came the inevitable gremlins.
‘Fridge!’ interrupted the soundman.
Nathalie was cross. She had heard the machine switch on too, but she wanted to get to the end of the take before it was addressed.
‘Sorry for the interruption Doctor, could someone please kindly turn that off, it’s interfering with our sound.’
There was a delay of fifteen minutes or so whilst another discussion ensued about the legality of touching any of the equipment. In the end it was discovered that there was nothing in the fridge and a simple switch would solve the problem. Nathalie made a note on her pad to turn it on again before they left the room.
‘Okay, now if you’ll be patient with me, we will do those questions again but this time in a tight shot.’ She turned to the cameraman. ‘Really chunky, just crop the top of his head and down to his tie knot if that’s okay.’
He nodded back and adjusted the lens. ‘Framed. Ready when you are.’
Nathalie explained to the doctor that she needed this for editing reasons. ‘They don’t have to be exactly the same answers, just roughly what you said before. We’ll use the best bits.’
It was lunchtime by the time they finished. The shots weren’t too bad, the cameraman seemed to know what he was doing. Nicely framed, not too much space above the interviewee’s head, and pleasant lighting. As for the content, she wasn’t so sure. The corporate boys had been so restrictive on what he could and couldn’t say that the poor doctor ended up by not saying much at all. Ebola was a terrible disease and people were working on vaccines, but the words ‘safe’ and ‘effective’ were avoided at all costs. She did get one interesting bit of science out of him when she went off-piste from the client’s questions. Remembering her early discussion with Doctor Styne she asked her expert about lectins. He was surprised with her medical knowledge and enthusiastically launched into a detailed explanation of viral entry inhibitors which, against Nathalie’s rules, one of the clients had put a stop to. Shame, she had thought, that would have made good scientific television.
The afternoon session was entirely different. The interviewee was one of the corporate bigwigs and was definitely in charge. The lawyer and marketing manager kowtowed to him as if he was royalty and made no comments on what he had or had not to say. The doctor offered them his office as a location and was liberated back to work in his laboratory. Unfortunately the office was on the corner of one wing opposite a building that was about to be demolished. In true filming encounter, the ball and chain man decided to swing into operation the second that Nathalie asked the first question. The ‘suits’ were so intimidated by their boss that they tried to ignore the situation. Nathalie shouted ‘cut’ and sent the sparks with a hundred dollar bill to see if the guy would stop for half an hour. It seemed to work. Silence. When the sparks returned Nathalie began her question again and as soon as she did the ball crashed into the building opposite.
‘Sorry guys, we’re going to have to move,’ she said. ‘If you’d like to take five, I’ll see if we can get somewhere the other side of the building.’ They all looked on in amazement as she calmly strode out of
the room.
It was ten rather than five minutes later when she returned. ‘Along the corridor, elevator to one floor up and there’s a room in the opposite corner. Some kind research student says we can use it for an hour. If you would all come with me we will make it a wrap here and the crew will join us as soon as they can.’
The pharmaceutical group, including their hallowed leader, followed her like sheep as she led the way. The pristine corridor was full of white-coated scientists returning to their workstations. The first elevator car was full so they pushed the button and waited for a second. It arrived with a ‘ding’ and the doors slid open to reveal a large empty space. Nathalie gestured for them to enter, made her way in last and pressed the button for the next floor. She turned to watch the doors close. As they did so she thought she saw a familiar face in the crowded corridor. It was a fleeting glimpse but she was sure it was that of Rob Barnes.
Fifteen
‘I’m Jan Roszak, CEO, Acquisitions and Mergers, Zormax.’
The CEO leaned comfortably in his chair looking at Nathalie who was sitting opposite. The lawyers and marketeers were positioned awkwardly standing at the back of the room avoiding eye contact. A click of the fingers and they would be practically genuflecting, thought Nathalie. She had no idea why these corporate suits were so frightened of their bosses. She had been asked to interview the guy but not to challenge any of his statements. If they wanted that, they had another thought coming.
‘And would you tell me Jan,’ she asked, purposely using his first name, ‘why you are investing in Ebola vaccines and how you think this will benefit your current portfolio?’
The answer came out like a scripted politician’s speech. It made sense but it was boring and definitely too long. She wasn’t being paid for this gig, but she had taken it on in good faith; the least she could do would be to repay Veronica with a professional job.
‘That’s great Jan, but somehow I’m not convinced, and I’m not sure if your employees will be either.’ She could hear a loud intake of breath from the back of the room. ‘Also, I’m afraid it’s too long and unless we can get it crisper I’m going to have to cut it down in the edit suite. Now if you can do it again, but this time more succinctly and from the heart then it will be your version rather than mine.’
She didn’t turn around but could imagine the blood draining from the faces of the subordinates behind her. She’d interviewed these types before. They were used to sycophants saying ‘yes’ but they didn’t get to be number one by chance. If you challenged them on their own level they would often come up with the goods. Her interviewee slowly pulled himself up in the chair.
‘So, exactly how long would you like my answer to be Miss Thompson?’
Nathalie looked at her watch. ‘One minute thirty would do it.’
Jan Roszak eyeballed her. ‘When you are ready then,’ he said calmly.
She directed the camera and asked him to begin ‘in your own time.’ The speech lasted exactly one minute and twenty-five seconds. It was to the point and contained a certain amount of emotion. It certainly felt like he meant it.
‘And cut,’ said Nathalie. ‘If that’s okay with sound, I think that’s a wrap. Thank you Mr Roszak.’
Roszak swept out of the room, towing his entourage behind him like kite tails in the wind. The crew were left staring at each other. Nathalie broke the silence with sarcasm.
‘And thank you Miss Thompson, nice to be working with you.’
The cameraman laughed. ‘Well I thought it was a good job, would like to stay on and have a chat but I’m afraid I’ve got to be somewhere. Joe and Billy will make you a digital backup and store the gear.’ He passed her his business card. ‘Nice working with you. Any time you need crew in LA please look me up.’
After doing a few last-minute checks to make sure that everything would be okay he left with a wave. Joe made her the backup whilst Billy struck the lights and packed them onto his trolley. He told Joe that he would wait for him in the van. Nathalie hated this part of the shoot. When she had used old-fashioned celluloid, the camera assistant would pass her the cans of undeveloped film and she would ship them off to the laboratory. Today, in this digital world, the soundman would often spend hours downloading the material as a safety backup in case the original became corrupted. ‘And this was meant to be progress,’ she thought. Joe could sense her irritation.
‘Not long now, just want to check this bit back and we’re ready to go.’
Nathalie was about to tell him to take his time – she’d rather be safe than sorry – when a squawk came from his sound mixer.
‘Is there a problem?’ she asked.
‘No, that’s not on our recording, I’m afraid it’s live. Your interviewee was so keen to get out of the room that he’s left the tram wireless mic on his lapel.’
‘Are you sure?’
Joe turned one of the knobs on his machine and handed her the headphones. ‘Yeah, listen that’s his voice isn’t it?’
Nathalie could hear the distinctive voice of Jan Roszak talking to someone. The few words that she caught made her make a quick decision.
‘You’re right, and if your tram isn’t here then he must have got it. I think you had better try and find him before he leaves the building. I’ll stay here and look after the gear.’
Joe looked undecided. ‘You sure?’
Nathalie was already feeling guilty but she knew that this was a great opportunity. ‘Yeah absolutely, you had better hurry, I know those things are expensive and knowing the sort of guy he is I doubt if he’ll return it.’
‘Okay, I’ll scour the corridors, you stay here. Don’t touch anything. I’ll be back as soon as I can.’ Joe left the room.
Nathalie waited a few moments and then opened the door to check the corridor. Joe had already disappeared around the corner. She quietly shut the door and returned to the sound mixer on the table. The volume had already been turned up so she didn’t have to touch it.
‘Nothing illegal here Nathalie,’ she said to herself. ‘Just rest my head on the table next to the cans, and if I hear something who’s to be the wiser.’
The voice of Jan Roszak came clearly out of the leather-padded earpiece. He was in conversation with someone but unfortunately for Nathalie that voice was off-mic and hardly audible. What had grabbed her attention were the words she had heard earlier, ‘Moroccan plant.’ This was the third time this North African location had been flagged up. She had to know why.
‘… and you’re absolutely sure you’ve left no paper trail between us and your requisition?’ Roszak’s tone of voice was far from the calm presence of his interview. ‘We want it done but if anyone…’
Roszak was interrupted by a muffled interjection. Nathalie moved as close as she could to the earpiece but she still couldn’t make out the words. She jumped as Roszak’s voice cut in again.
‘You’ve blown one chance, this is your last opportunity. If the Moroccan thing doesn’t work we’ll cut you out. Shit, now there’s someone at the door, I told one of my goons to keep this private. Keep your face to the window, I’ll get rid of them.’
There was a scraping noise as if someone had moved a chair across the floor and then an expletive before the tram went dead.
‘Joe’s found him,’ thought Nathalie. ‘Pity, it was just getting interesting.’ She backed off from the table, took out a notepad and started writing. When Joe returned she didn’t want to give him any clues that she might have been eavesdropping.
She didn’t have to wait long. Joe burst in triumphantly waving the microphone.
‘Got an ear-full, even though it was his own stupid fault for walking off with the thing.’
Nathalie looked up from her notes. ‘Did he know that it was live?’
‘Don’t think so, I said I found it missing from my kit, he just tore it from his lapel and almost threw it at me.’
‘No mention of his conversation being heard or recorded?’
Joe looked at her quizzi
cally. ‘No, don’t think he realised the range of these things; anyway we only heard a couple of words, and I didn’t say anything so…’
‘Okay, just don’t want any complaints to the production company; my first job for them.’
Joe nodded understandingly. ‘I don’t think you’ve got a problem there. He was just pissed off by being interrupted in his meeting. Gave his lackey on the door a real roasting. Anyway the recorder was packed away, there’s no record of it so no one will know that the mic was live.’
That answered Nathalie’s next question. She was hoping that she could hear more of the conversation. All she had was a few clips of the CEO talking to someone about Morocco. Could be completely innocent or could be very sinister. She suddenly remembered who she thought she had seen from the elevator earlier.
‘Joe, where was it you said you found the guy?’
‘I didn’t, why?’
‘I think I ought to go and apologise, say we should have taken the mic from him earlier.’
‘We couldn’t have, he just walked out, and besides I think he’s forgotten about it by now.’
‘I’d feel happier.’
‘You’re the director. Down the corridor, first left and about the fifth office along; could be room 502 or 503 I think. I’ll pack up here and bring the media drives to the van.’
Nathalie gave him the thumbs up and left the room. The corridor was empty. The cold neon tubes created an eerie green hue on its walls. Nathalie felt conspicuous as she turned the corner and squinted through the narrow glass panels that were paired with each office door. The first two rooms were empty and the third had a solitary occupant bent over a computer terminal. She sidled up to the pane of the next room numbered 502 and was just about to peer in when a door was flung open from the adjacent office. Two men stormed out in heated discussion. Jan Roszak was telling the man with him that they shouldn’t be seen together and to take different exits. The man with his back to her replied cursorily protesting that he had always been careful. She instantly recognised the voice of Rob Barnes and saw that he was about to turn towards her. If he recognised her she really would have some explaining to do. She turned on her heel and dived into the nearest office. It had been so quick that she didn’t know if he had seen her or not. Anyway it was too late now. The woman at the computer terminal looked up in surprise.
Drugs to Forget Page 14
