“Sure, Marty. But you’re not the one who’s being thrown into the breach. That’s what you just called it, right?”
“True,” Kosoy agreed. “But remember, I’m the one subject to the abuse of a home camp screaming for results. By the way, if things do go wrong ― remember ― my head will roll long before yours. Come on, I’ll walk you to your car.”
* * *
Building 16’s parking lot lights were haloed against an overcast sky. Nora slid behind the wheel and started the engine. Kosoy turned and melted into the dark humidity. In the background, a vast illumination ― reflecting all the verve and energy of Atlanta, running feverishly to the nonstop rhythm of the twenty-first century ― cast its glow upon the structures and moss-draped trees. Pulling out onto an almost deserted Clifton Road, Nora turned left on Michael Street and sped by the silhouettes of the Emory University buildings.
Inside the silent Toyota Tenaga, buffeted by overwhelming anxiety, all these new, unanticipated obligations and responsibilities suddenly flung in her direction, she bowed her head, scattered thoughts racing. All questions and no answers. How had she allowed herself to be so thoroughly victimized like this? Like a bad dream.
Accelerating along the 42 straightaway, she cracked the window. A blast of hot, humid Georgia smog swept into the car, stinking to high heaven of macadam and heavy industry. Immediately closing the window, she punched up the air-conditioning, took the I-85 ramp and merged onto the highway. Headlights fanned the road ahead, a snaking stream of sparsely spaced taillights stretching out into the surrounding suburbs. The prospect of getting horizontal after a brutal eighteen-hour workday beckoned.
She turned on the radio, punched up a local station. Maybe something to shorten the long drive home. A gravely voice emerged, rough and world-weary, barely singing in key, reminiscent of a lyrical genius popular in her adolescence. But Zim Dixon hadn’t released anything new in years, and this was definitely contemporary, some sort of stuttering reformed reggae. She had to strain to catch the lyrics.
Owned that gun for fourteen years
Then last night
Put the barrel in my mouth
For the first time ever
It was an option Nora hadn’t even considered. She hurriedly switched stations.
CHAPTER THREE
First Triumvirate
The Lord God hath given me a well-trained tongue, that I might know how to speak to the weary a word that will rouse them.
Isaiah 50:4
Outside the Tip Gaan Poey, three men were seated around a small table under a scarlet umbrella. Lyköan’s food lay untouched. Dark hair bobbing to the cadence of a stream of accusations, his face had grown purple, the crooked nose more pronounced.
“So, you’re telling me,” he shouted above the street noise, “Primrose is thinking of cutting me loose? That your message, Whitehall?”
Whitehall smiled. The apparent good humor only made Lyköan angrier. Dressed in Englishman-meets-the-tropics khaki, Whitehall was the very picture of reserved probity, his thoughts cloaked behind a bemused grin.
“I’m not saying anything of the sort, Lyköan. As I’ve already explained ― forget about Primrose. It’s Innovac you should be concerned with now. Yes, I was hired to investigate ― investigate you ― that’s true. But, no need to fret, my dear boy. You’ve already passed the examination with colors flying. Innovac only wanted me to make certain you were someone worth keeping. Someone who could be trusted.”
All around them, Krung Kasem Road was bleating with midday commerce. Hot engines growling in traffic, a teeth-rattling repetitive clang ringing from a nearby construction site, jackhammers pounding out an accompanying percussive beat. Ground level crew chiefs added unintelligible commands through static-filled bullhorns. Every centimeter of the sidewalk packed with humanity, including a liberal sprinkling of boom-box-toting street urchins on their way to God-only-knew-where, and every last one of the devilish devices blasting at full volume.
“To do what? Keep my mouth shut? Why? So I can be the perfect patsy when something goes wrong? I don’t like the smell of it, Whitehall. You seem more than ready to give me all the responsibility, while some hidden Innovac flunky ― like you ― wields all the power and makes all the decisions.”
Lyköan was still in shock. Whitehall had been following him. Not just today, but for weeks. On Innovac’s payroll. Primrose was obviously already in Innovac’s hip pocket. All those long months wasted. The subterfuge so perfectly executed that Lyköan had never once suspected.
“I don’t want the power, Lyköan,” Whitehall insisted. “No desire whatsoever. But Innovac does. And they have every right to expect it, don’t you agree?”
“You know what I meant, Whitehall.” Lyköan pushed back from the table in disgust.
Whitehall didn’t respond immediately. As the conversational pause lengthened, four dogs emerged from the shadows of a nearby soi, the alley running between the hotel and the adjacent building. Smelling the air, they began circling the table just out of reach.
Soi dogs had taken over Thailand in recent years. Over half a million in Bangkok alone. For the most part docile, even friendly, their pleading eyes and shuffling gait served them well. An oft repeated performance. Effective. Capable of eliciting pity from even the sternest heart – or breaking tension in the air.
Shifting his gaze, Whitehall took a cue from the animals, offering the most forward member of the pack, a brown-eyed mongrel with short dapple fur, a piece of his cooling plamik squid. The dog approached warily, accepting the morsel as the other three animals looked on. Swinging the squid as he turned, the dog padded off. Whitehall returned to his plate.
“Look, Lyköan, there’s nothing going on here, nothing more sinister than Innovac performing a bit of prudent due diligence. Simple as that. Good God, lad, are you always this suspicious?”
“Only when I smell Ban Kwan Prison in my future,” Lyköan replied, looking Whitehall straight in the eyes, “― because of something I don’t know ― something you’re not telling me.”
“But I understood that was why you had so brilliantly secured the services of this fine fellow?” Whitehall countered, indicating Jimmy with a sweep of his hand.
Flashing a devilish grin, Jimmy shoveled a final spoonful of the local cuisine into his mouth and, placing the empty bamboo container on the table, wiped his lips with a paper napkin.
Just what I need, another unreadable smile, Lyköan thought.
“Good man,” Jimmy beamed, black eyes sparkling. “Big connections. No trouble. No problem.”
“Maybe no problem for you,” Lyköan corrected, staring at the youth’s gaunt frame laughably drowning in a Caravaggio suit the color of wind-driven snow. “But the king’s nephew is sure to receive a few more byes and winks for his indiscretions than some unconnected farang – don’t you think?”
“Same-same, no trouble.” Jimmy’s bemused smile was unfaltering, stretched taut between the twin golden hoops swinging from each earlobe. “Innovac good company. Much respect. World respect.”
“Jimmy’s right, you know,” Whitehall agreed. “Innovac’s Hep C vaccine alone has made the company a household name around the globe. Other novel breakthroughs ― their small-molecule treatment for bone cancer and more recent work on autoimmune modulation ― have earned them a warehouse full of prestigious accolades. And income in the billions. Of pounds, Lyköan, not baht. The underlying molecular work alone almost assures their researchers a future Nobel Prize. Maybe more. They’re awash in cash, new products moving through every stage of clinical trial…” He let the list hang in the air.
It was all true. In less than a decade, Innovac Pharma had grown from an unknown biotech start-up to now rank among the largest pharmaceutical firms on the planet. Certainly the most innovative. Thus the name: Innovative Vaccines or Innovac.
Lyköan was willing to concede Whitehall’s point. “Then they hardly need my help, do they?” Something rang hollow in Whitehall’s argument. Lyk
öan couldn’t quite put his finger on what that something might be, but he had never regretted trusting his instincts.
When Whitehall didn’t answer, Lyköan continued in the same vein: “I may have secured all the relevant transfer logistics for Primrose ― warehousing, manufacture and the rest. But if I read between the lines of your argument, Whitehall ― the power of Innovac’s deep pockets – well they can buy Jimmy’s allegiance and secure smooth passage through customs and licensing just by flashing a little more cash. The local politicos and businessmen will come running. You don’t need me.”
“Not true, Egan,” Jimmy offered. “Need man who know whole plan. Not just one piece.”
Including the going rate for nepotism? Lyköan wondered.
“Another perfect assessment,” Whitehall agreed. “While it’s true that Innovac may have the resources to apply more funding, what would they gain by doing so? Successful businesses don’t remain successful by operating the way you’re suggesting. They may be secretive, yes… But contrary to what you may have heard or chosen to believe ― they generally prefer to reward hard work and talent. They’re rarely criminal. Crime doesn’t pay in the long run. And most legitimate companies are in it for the long run. Remember what happened to the blokes at Enron and WorldCom?
“Cutting you out at this point would be outright theft ― pure and simple – theft of everything you’ve worked so diligently to put in place over the past year and more. And as your associate so charmingly put it, Innovac still needs a responsible manager to milestone this project; shepherd it down the critical path from Innovac’s London facilities, through customs and on to set-up, construction, integration and the smooth operation of the facility they’ll require to receive deliveries. And the sooner the better. Tell me, who are they likely to find who could possibly perform the requisite tasks any better than yourself?”
Whitehall raised an eyebrow. Receiving no acknowledgment from the object of his persuasion, he probed for agreement. “Is my argument beginning to play to a more receptive audience then? Well enough, anyway, to confide a little something and have your assurance that it won’t go beyond this conversation?”
“I’m all ears,” Lyköan deadpanned. He was exhausted. A payoff at the end of this wearying exchange still seemed doubtful.
“I’m quite serious, Lyköan,” Whitehall said with a reinforcing look.
“Okay then, sure, not a word to anyone.”
“Very well, then, I’m speaking to you as one man of honor to another now. The simple reason Innovac has been so insistent the Primrose acquisition be kept under wraps involves their plans to use the facility for sensitive research that has gone just about as far as it can in England – research that would be significantly furthered by studying the recent TAI outbreak here in Bangkok. Additional work here could conceivably lead to a universal, long-lasting, continuously-mutating multi-viral vaccine, a vaccine that would bring Innovac one step closer to being the undisputed leading pharmaceutical company in the world. You’ve worked your arse off setting up this transition, Lyköan. It’s your baby. You know Primrose inside and out. Innovac is willing to offer you an extremely lucrative contract if you’re willing to accept a supervisory role.”
“Before I give you my answer, how about answering a few more questions?”
“Anything, my boy. As long as I know the answers, that is.”
“Well, how about this? If everything is so legitimate, why all the cloak and dagger bullshit? Why not just check out my business references ― or just ask for my CV?”
Whitehall flashed a comforting grin before replying. “As you’re already well aware, Lyköan, corruption runs rampant in authoritarian states. Thailand is no exception. Innovac requires not only ability ― as you suggested, that can be purchased anywhere. But loyalty, that’s another matter all together. And there’s no doubt, with an honest operator at the helm and our friend here’s connections, success would be a given, right Jimmy?”
“You bet,” Jimmy piped in without hesitation.
“But discovering your methodology, Lyköan, that required a little snooping. We needed to be certain that the operation, with you in charge, wouldn’t corruptly collapse down around Innovac’s ears once put into motion. After my investigation, I can assure them it won’t. It’s really that simple.”
“How much does Primrose know? About the corporate espionage I mean.”
“Not their concern,” Whitehall explained. “Primrose Bio was a private company ― held in a few avaricious hands. Not much of a hurdle for Innovac. Little more than a clean room and spec manufacturer for anybody willing to pay the carry charges. All of which is about to change ― in a big way ― with the installation of Innovac’s new management. Right now all Jimmy and I want to know is, are you going to help them?”
Before Lyköan could reply, something interrupted. Reminiscent of an early videogame soundtrack, it was coming from Jimmy’s direction. Smiling effusively, Jimmy reached into his jacket and pulled out the tiniest double-bud Lyköan had ever seen. Pushing the device into one ear, Lyköan watched as the film-thin video screen floated almost magically into position.
“Excuse, please. Important call,” Jimmy said, gesturing apologetically.
A one-sided conversation ensued. Clipped, demurring hushed tones, all in Thai, which Lyköan, even after four years in Bangkok, still had not mastered. He had learned enough to order at a restaurant, barter at the market, even pass the time of day with his landlady, but this rapid dialog was well beyond his meager linguistic abilities.
The soi pack reappeared from behind a nearby vending cart. Lyköan took the opportunity to set down his untouched tray on the sidewalk. Two of the mongrels, the leader and the next biggest dog, ambled over and began to feast.
From the remnants of the bami na plamik gung phak in his own container, Whitehall pulled out the last few prawns and threw them to the two animals that refused to approach. Taking a last swallow of tepid chamomile tea, he pushed back from the table.
“Atma Pandavas, Innovac’s CEO, will be flying into town over the weekend. He suggested that the three of us visit with him early next week. Don’t want to rush you, lad, but I need your answer. Now. Or Innovac will have to proceed to contingencies. They have a timetable too you know.”
“Okay, okay. I’m in.” Lyköan had heard enough to smell the buttered bread.
“Splendid,” Whitehall said, accepting the agreement by offering Lyköan his hand.
Shaking it firmly, Lyköan asked, “When do I learn the details of this new arrangement?”
“That’s between you and Innovac,” Whitehall explained. “Not my bailiwick, thank God.” Glancing at his watch, he added, “But now that you’re on board, I do have other things that require my attention.”
Rising from his chair, he threw a few bills on the table and, stepping to the curb, flagged down a passing tuk-tuk.
“Either of you chaps need a lift anywhere?” he asked from the curb. It would have been difficult to squeeze three into the barely motorized vehicle. Lyköan begged off. Jimmy shook his head and, finishing his conversation, slipped the double-bud back inside his coat.
Stepping into the vehicle, Whitehall turned. “Lyköan, you look exhausted. Don’t worry. The wisdom of your decision will become obvious after you’ve gotten a good night’s sleep. I’m staying at the Ayutt Haya. A far cry from this flea-bitten dump. Why don’t the two of you stop by in the morning?” As the three-wheeler sped away, he shouted, “By nine, if you would.”
“Sure thing, Whitehall,” Lyköan called back.
Once Whitehall was out of sight, he turned to Jimmy. “Just you and me now, buddy. And I got a few questions for you too.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Polar Crossing
Even sleepers are laborers and collaborators in what transpires in the universe.
Heraclites of Ephesus
Confused and frightened, Nora stood shivering in the darkness. Around her, deep shadows blanketed the barren ground, bro
ken only occasionally by indistinct irregularities rising out of the moonlit landscape. She was alone and lost, walking a ragged ridgeline at the edge of a windswept precipice. Her ears were ringing with the echo of surf crashing against the cliff base far below. White luminescent spray leapt from distant rocks and, falling again, disappeared into inky blackness, but it was uncomfortably out of synch with the heaving roar reaching her ears.
Turning around, she cast a fleeting glance back along the winding indigo ribbon of road down which she must surely have come. She could not recall when or explain why she might have done so. At the end of that road stood the forbidding outline of Building 16. As isolated and dangerous as this trail might be, she knew instinctively that it was far safer than that haunting place.
Turning from the palisade, she struck off inland at a run. Within half a dozen strides the bare rock beneath her feet had turned into dank-smelling turf. Rising ahead, a towering group of caliginous stones shone like flint in the moonlight. Stumbling up to them, enveloped by their suffocating shadow, she stretched out a trembling hand to steady herself. The surface was rough, moss covered and alive with a vibrant energy. Echoing from within, a languorously deep tolling rang out ― compelling, alluring, and at the same time utterly terrifying ― shaking the great stones like the sonorous beat of a living heart.
She stepped back unsteadily and, as she looked away, something in the distance caught her eye. Crouching in the darkness, a shadowy figure was watching her, its two eyes glowing like embers. It was impossible to tell from this distance whether the eyes occupied the head of a man or beast, but she felt compelled to investigate. She took a few steps towards the figure. The eyes advanced a similar distance towards her. She stopped. They stopped. She took another two steps and waited while the smoldering coals advanced towards her as though in a mirror.
The SONG of SHIVA Page 3
