Drugs to Forget

by Martin Granger

  ‘What will you do with it?’

  Nathalie slipped off the desk. ‘Not sure yet, but I don’t want you to be caught with it. We’ll keep this to ourselves for the time being. We have other fish to fry for the moment.’ She looked at her watch. ‘You had better go and get washed and changed; Temba Murauzi will be waiting for you in the bar and you need to be at your best if you are going to persuade him to take part in entrapping WEXA.’

  There was hardly anyone in the bar. Looking around, Tom couldn’t see Temba so he purchased two whiskeys and took a table in one dimly lit part of the room. He was feeling really nervous. He knew Nathalie was depending on him to do this deal. He had implied that he would be able to persuade this talented scientist to go undercover and expose the WEXA terrorists. Now it was crunch time he really was not so sure.

  ‘Hi Tom, that drink for me?’ Temba was dressed in a blue linen jacket and cream chinos. His smile lit up the room.

  ‘Hope whiskey’s okay,’ said Tom standing. ‘You’re looking really good.’

  Temba waved at him to sit down, ‘Well, thank you, you don’t look bad yourself.’

  The two young men sipped their drinks and made small talk for a while. How was the club scene in Harare? What was George doing now? Was Temba dating at the moment? It became evident that Tom was stalling for time.

  Temba stood up taking the empty whiskey glasses between his two fingers. ‘Okay Tom, I’m going to recharge our glasses. While I’m doing that perhaps you could work out exactly how you’re going to tell me why you’ve met me here tonight.’

  The barman seemed to take an age and Tom was quite breathless by the time Temba returned.

  ‘I’m going to need that,’ he said, taking quite a large drink.

  ‘I’ll make it easy for you,’ said Temba also taking a draft. ‘I know this is something to do with your bioterror film, your director has hinted as much. What is it that you want me to do?’

  Tom told him the story. The WEXA group. Their threat to spread disease amongst innocent people. The need for a Zimbabwean they could trust to infiltrate them and to get hard evidence on tape. He knew it was dangerous but it was for a very good cause. It could save a lot of lives.

  The next morning Nathalie called an early breakfast meeting, ostensibly to set out the day’s filming, but really she was desperate to know the outcome of Tom’s negotiations.

  ‘So how did it go?’

  Tom played with his bread roll. ‘As you can imagine it was quite difficult. At first he said it was dangerous and why should he put his neck on the line.’

  Nathalie was becoming irritated. ‘Didn’t you play the empathy card, tell him he could help stop these guys?’

  ‘Yes I did all that, explained that all he had to do was to persuade them he was a sympathiser and could help out with anti-Ebola drugs to protect their carriers.’

  ‘And did that work?’

  ‘Not at first, but when I started relating the terrible symptoms that Ebola patients could get, it seemed to flick a switch.’

  ‘So you think he’ll do it?’

  Tom grinned from ear to ear, ‘Yep, hidden camera and all.’

  ‘Amazing Tom, well done,’ said Nathalie giving him a kiss on the cheek. ‘Ebola symptoms you say.’

  ‘That’s right, just listed things like fever, red eyes, nausea, vomiting…’

  Nathalie suddenly jumped up from the table nearly knocking the coffee cups over. ‘That’s it!’

  ‘That’s what?’ said Tom steadying a cup.

  ‘Where I’ve seen him before. I told you I never forget a face.’

  Twenty-nine

  The manufacturing plant was a modern low-rise building only a few tens of metres from the laboratories. The crew were fitted out with white overalls and headgear to prevent contamination. Axel remarked that they all looked like storm troopers out of a Star Wars movie.

  ‘I don’t suppose they had to wash their phaser guns down with disinfectant,’ moaned John McCord, scrubbing his camera tripod.

  ‘It’s the only way they’ll let us in,’ said Nathalie. ‘Unless you want to force your way through with light sabres.’

  ‘Light sabres?’ said Professor Townes, catching the last few words as he marched up to greet them.

  ‘Oh nothing,’ said Nathalie. ‘Bad joke amongst film crew. Pretending we are in a good mood this time of the morning. And you Professor, how are you today?’

  ‘Fine thank you Miss Thompson. I see my staff have kitted you out; sorry about the precautions but we can’t be too careful here.’

  ‘Quite understand Professor. Whilst the crew finish washing down their equipment, perhaps you could give Tom and me a quick tour so that we can plan what to shoot first.’

  Townes led them through a number of air-locked doors to one of the production areas. Axel’s reference to Star Wars couldn’t have been more appropriate; robotics and space-suited technicians everywhere.

  ‘This section is where we are preparing the prototype medications for our new Alzheimer’s drug,’ said Professor Townes waving towards a number of production benches. ‘We take the active ingredients here and combine them with a neutral compound before inserting them into dissolvable capsules.’

  ‘So this isn’t the final production operation then?’ asked Nathalie.

  ‘No, this is a very small batch production. The active molecules are prepared in the laboratory across the road and transported here to make the trial medication. However the process is the same; once the trial data has been approved we can scale up very quickly.’

  ‘And will that be soon?’

  ‘Oh yes, very soon. Hoped to be up and running by now but, you know how things are. We had a small hiatus but that’s all been smoothed out; by the end of the year I should think.’

  Nathalie was tempted to say that she didn’t think that Esther Phillips was a small hiatus but she bit her tongue.

  ‘And the Ebola vaccine?’

  ‘Ah, now that’s a different process altogether. If you think this looks impressive, follow me, I’ll show you the real thing.’

  Professor Townes strode with purpose across the floor of the building and led them through another series of airtight cubicles to a vast gleaming hall, ten times the space of the prototype area that they had just left. He stood there for a moment and proudly turned his head from side to side.

  ‘This, my dear guests,’ he pronounced rather melodramatically, ‘is what state-of-the-art pharmaceutical production looks like.’

  So this is why the guy had let them come to Morocco. He was an egotist; this plant was his baby and, although it was tucked away in some African desert, it was the acme of all his achievements. The rows of glittering robotics stretched for hundreds of metres. Hardly a human in sight. Almost silently the machines moved as if being choreographed in some strange ballet. The liquids and powders were moved through coiled glass tubes to stainless steel vats and then into glass vials. Finally, mechanical hands placed these shimmering objects into soft containers that were boxed and branded XEBO with the Biomedivac label.

  ‘Wow,’ said Tom. ‘That’s a lot of vaccine.’

  ‘At its peak, fifty million vials a year,’ said Townes not taking his eyes off the machines. ‘Enough to combat any future Ebola outbreak anywhere in the world.’

  Nathalie ran her hand across one of the Biomedivac boxes. The last time she had seen one was in Harare. It was being used to treat a woman who the hospital claimed did not have Ebola. And the woman had a brother, a young lecturer who believed that the hospital was hiding something. And now she knew who that young man was; they had interviewed him yesterday. No wonder he responded when Tom had mentioned the symptoms of Ebola. Temba Murauzi was still angry.

  The shoot went as smoothly as the day before. John, Sebastian and Axel swiftly rigged lights, took sound and photographed the space-age scenes to Nathalie’s direction. By the end of the day they had filmed practically every process, from the prototype Alzheimer’s drug production to the ma
nufacturing and packaging of James Townes’ ‘pride and joy’, the XEBO Ebola vaccine.

  ‘I hope you got a close-up of our logo,’ said Townes as he watched the crew store their equipment onto the trucks.

  ‘Absolutely Professor,’ said Nathalie. ‘Thanks for the access. Now all that remains is for you to sign the permission forms for our transmission and, if you don’t mind, I’ll take the crew to the social bar for a drink, I think they deserve it.’

  Townes signed the forms with a flourish and said, as he had a meeting in a nearby town, he would say his goodbyes at tomorrow’s breakfast. It was with relief that Nathalie and Tom made their way to the bar without him.

  ‘Smarmy bastard, isn’t he,’ remarked Tom as they picked out a table.

  ‘I don’t know about that,’ said Nathalie. ‘But he’ll do almost anything to keep this place up and running. It’s obviously his life’s achievement.’

  ‘Yeah, but he’s so smug about it. Like some sort of Lord overseeing his manor.’

  Nathalie took two ice-cold beers from the barman. ‘With downtrodden serfs you mean,’ she said, offering one to Tom.

  ‘Serfs?’

  ‘Like Rob Barnes. You can almost see his point. Gets stuffed by Townes, so wants his revenge.’

  ‘What do think happened to him?’

  ‘Lying low in the States I expect. Still hoping for the Biomedivac bubble to burst. With Roszak and Zormax behind him I wouldn’t be surprised if he eventually succeeded.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘If the Alzheimer’s trial scandal gets out, share prices will drop and they’ll move in.’

  Tom took a long gulp from his chilled lager and sighed, ‘Are we going to be the ones to do that?’

  ‘Yes, a dilemma isn’t it. Stuff Townes and abet Barnes. Neither very savoury characters. And all we’ve got is one grainy photo.’

  ‘We could take another look?’

  Nathalie looked at him puzzled.

  Tom held up a piece of plastic. ‘I’ve got the key card to his office, he was in such a state that he left it behind. I meant to give it to him this morning, but…’

  ‘Tom!’

  Tom blushed. ‘No, really I was but, you know what shoots are like, you get so…’

  ‘And you don’t think he knows you’ve got it?’

  ‘Why should he, he would have asked for it wouldn’t he?’

  Nathalie sat back and downed her last mouthful of beer. She looked around the bar. ‘So you left your wallet in his office.’

  It was Tom’s turn to look puzzled. ‘Wallet? You want me to pay for the beers?’

  ‘No Tom,’ Nathalie had exasperation in her voice. ‘If you’ve left your wallet in his room, after we’ve lined up some drinks for the crew, perhaps we should go and look for it.’

  They crept along the corridor, looking furtively to either side.

  ‘This is stupid,’ said Nathalie. ‘We look guilty, we should just walk normally, after all we’re only looking for your wallet.’

  Tom stood upright, looking even more conspicuous. ‘Here it is second door on the right. Are you sure he’s out of the compound?’

  ‘You were there, he said he had a meeting. Anyway best knock to be absolutely sure.’

  Tom knocked gently and put his ear to the door.

  ‘Not a sound,’ he whispered, carefully inserting the key card into the slot.

  The office looked a complete mess. Drawers open, files strewn everywhere.

  ‘Great,’ said Tom. ‘He’s not had time to clear up from our search for Rob Barnes’ documents. He won’t notice if we’ve moved anything.’

  Nathalie looked at him sharply.

  Tom grinned. ‘Whilst looking for my wallet,’ he added.

  ‘What was the file like?’ asked Nathalie, fingering through a few folders.

  ‘A4, red, word “confidential” stamped on the cover.’

  ‘Oh great,’ moaned Nathalie. ‘That makes me feel a lot better.’

  ‘You did ask. Why don’t you start over by the window and I’ll begin from this end.’

  The search was more difficult than they had anticipated. There were dozens of red files with the word ‘confidential’ written on the cover. What made it worse was their contents. Even though Tom had a microbiology degree, these papers were about high-end commercial pharmaceuticals. Most of them contained rows and rows of data and coded indexes.

  ‘This is hopeless,’ said Nathalie. ‘Can’t you remember where you found it?’

  ‘No, I was so concerned about not being seen that I just tucked it under a random pile of documents.’

  ‘But the folder, surely it must have had some distinguishing mark on it or something.’

  ‘No, it was pristine, exactly like this one,’ Tom suddenly paused and stared at the piece of paper inside the file he was holding.

  ‘What is it, have you found it?’

  Tom didn’t reply. He leaned over the paper and then sat down to study it even closer.

  ‘Tom?’

  Tom looked up. ‘No, it’s not the Alzheimer’s trial, but if this is what I think it is, it’s even more…’

  Nathalie snatched the paper from him and poured over the document. ‘Shit, I don’t believe it, the bastards.’

  She was brought up suddenly by a noise from behind them. The office door was slowly being opened. Tom and Nathalie rose to their feet and turned to confront the intruder.

  ‘Hi, you two, someone said you were seen in this corridor,’ John McCord, bearing a wide grin made the gesture of downing a glass of beer. ‘Thanks for standing us the first round but we think it’s our turn. Waiting for you in the bar.’

  Tom started to mutter something about his wallet but Nathalie shoved him in the back. She grabbed the piece of paper from the file and pushed it into the back pocket of her jeans. ‘Fantastic John, we’re really parched, lead the way and we’ll join you.’

  John McCord left the room without taking a further glance. Nathalie and Tom followed, Nathalie softly closing the door behind her.

  The breakfast room in Biomedivac’s Moroccan compound was similar to their staff canteen in London. More like a classy restaurant than corporate food service. Tom and the crew were already mopping up their scrambled eggs when Nathalie, bleary eyed, sat down beside them. They had had a late-night drinking session. John hadn’t even mentioned or asked why they were in Townes’ office. He probably didn’t even realise the office was his. Nathalie thought it best to act normally, it was the last day of the shoot, they would only be travelling today and it was convention to celebrate. She had downed her several glasses of lager and stayed with them till late, even though the document was burning a hole in her back pocket. When at last they had all turned in, she went to her room and plugged in her laptop. Line by line she went through the document, and line by line she checked it against the published data on the internet. She thought that she had a dilemma with disclosing the single trial data on the Alzheimer’s drug. This was a thousand times worse. A confidential report on the final phase trials of XEBO. It was true that the early results were highly effective, not just with prevention but also with speeding recovery. However, later data was revealing that the drug was only effective against certain strains of Ebola. These strains were taken from the terrible outbreak in Guinea. The report in her hands outlined a clear warning. The drug seemed totally ineffective against some of the later strains that were now emerging. The researcher had recommended retesting and further collection of data. So far nothing incriminating there but the shock came with the next few lines, neatly handwritten in blue ink. In effect, the author of this script was asking for a review of the technician’s credentials and suggesting that he should be fired for incompetence. The notes also instructed the various strains to be deleted from the documents and the generic name Zaire Ebola virus to be placed in their stead. Nathalie could of course check the handwriting against Professor Townes’ but, even if it wasn’t his, he must have known about it and, despite that, he was still pr
oducing fifty million vials a year of vaccine that might not work.

  ‘You look terrible,’ said Tom. ‘I told you that you shouldn’t have had that last beer.’

  ‘It’s not the beer Tom, it’s that document you found. We, or rather I, have stolen it and I really don’t know what to do.’

  Tom leaned over to whisper in her ear. ‘Have you photographed it?’

  ‘Of course, why?’

  ‘I’ve still got the key card. If you go over and say your goodbyes to Townes, keep him busy, I’ll put back the paper and leave the card in his room. It’ll give you time to think.’

  Nathalie reached into her bag and handed Tom the document. ‘You’re a star Tom, I owe you one. Be careful.’

  Tom secreted the paper in his jacket and left the restaurant. Nathalie put on a broad smile and walked up to James Townes.

  ‘Professor, thank you so much for allowing us to film here, very impressive. I think you’ll find the final programme very interesting.’

  The enigmatic sentence was lost on Townes. ‘Not at all, Miss Thompson, I thought you would find this high-tech institution to your liking. We really are pioneers you know.’

  Nathalie looked at the man. He was obviously in his own world, and no person nor data would get in his way.

  ‘It seems that way Professor. If you don’t mind we would like to have a brief chat with your exchange scientist, Doctor Murauzi, thank him for his help.’

  ‘Of course, please use the boardroom. I’m afraid I have to dash now, catch a plane to Paris, big convention there you know. Take all the time you need.’

  Townes snapped his fingers at his secretary and started to walk to the exit.

  Nathalie stood, grateful that he had not offered to shake her hand. ‘Oh, Professor?’

  Townes turned to see what she wanted.

  ‘If you hear what happened to Rob Barnes, you will let me know won’t you?’

  Townes’ face darkened. ‘If I never see that man again I won’t be sorry Miss Thompson. Goodbye to you, my staff will ensure you take the right road.’