by Rene Fomby
81
Rabat
Andy was listening in on the conference call as Gavin explained the problem to his FDA contact, Justin Newkirk.
“We were hoping that the original company had an investigational drug listed with you guys that carried over into the new company,” Gavin explained.
“Okay, I’ve been searching for that name while you were talking, but I’m afraid it came up empty. Evidently, they hadn’t yet reached that stage with any of their drugs when the company was sold.”
“How is that possible?” Andy asked. “Who would spend that kind of money on a company with not a single drug in the pipeline?”
“I’m afraid I can’t answer that,” Justin said. “It’s possible they were just on the verge of filing something, or maybe they had a promising new technological breakthrough. But, at any rate, there’s nothing at all about that company in our database.”
“What about the clinical trial in Tunis?” Gavin asked. “Shouldn’t that show up, or at least give us a short list of any companies that were running trials out there?”
“I checked on that, as well,” Justin explained. “But no luck there, either. The only trials we have listed are for companies that couldn’t possibly fit your profile. All of them are one hundred percent legitimate, and have been around forever. And that’s to be expected. The thing is, FDA doesn’t have any visibility into a lot of these Third World trials until after they’ve been successfully completed, and the data is filed as part of a Phase II or Phase III submission. And, to be frank, that’s been a big problem for us. Drug companies can run rogue, set up clinical trials with very minimal supervision, and we have almost zero control over any of it.”
Yet another dead end, Gavin thought. “I understand, Justin. We run into some of the same problems in our line of work, too. But I have to tell you, Andy and I are plumb out of ideas on this one. Do you have any suggestions at all of where we should look next, who we should talk to?”
Justin thought about that for a moment. “Well, it’s a long shot, but you might want to talk to a guy at the World Health Organization. They’ve set up a group that’s trying to keep track of all these rogue trials, a division of the ICTRP, the International Clinical Trials Registry Platform. It’s entirely possible they might be able to dig up a new lead for you. The name of a company, if nothing else.”
“Sounds perfect, Justin.” Gavin grabbed his pen and paper. “Who should I talk to?”
82
Rabat
Dr. Vivek Verma had been head of ICTRP since it was first created in 2004, following the Ministerial Summit on Health Research that took place that year in Mexico City. Since then, he had worked tirelessly, sometimes almost single-handedly, directing a staff that was constantly overworked and underfunded, trying to put some kind of lid on the mushrooming problem of poorly monitored Third World clinical trials.
“If I understand what you’re asking, what we’re looking for is an off-the-radar clinical trial that took place in Tunis several years ago.” he said. “Okay, I can probably help you there. Do you have any more information, though, on exactly who we’re dealing with?”
“The doctor’s name is Yves Marchant,” Gavin explained. “Before he set up the clinic in Tunis, he was affiliated for a time with Médecins Sans Frontières.”
“Yes, yes, I know him well. At one point, he was in consideration for my position, here at WHO. But he turned it down, preferring the practice of medicine to a bureaucratic desk job. Can’t say I really disagree with him on that, most days. But didn’t I hear that he disappeared a while back?”
“Yes, that’s right, Dr. Verma,” Andy pitched in, now somewhat hopeful that they had finally made a breakthrough in the case. “In fact, to be honest, that’s really why we’re chasing all this down. Dr. Marchant’s body turned up a few weeks ago, buried out in the desert. And the only clue we have as to who might have killed him was an invoice connecting him to Crismon Pharmaceuticals, which itself appears to have been a shell company, a front for yet another pharmaceutical company. A company that even all of the resources of the United States government can’t seem to identify. We’re hoping you might be able to help us with that. To be frank, you’re pretty much our last hope in locating Marchant’s killer.”
“Okay, no pressure, then,” Verma answered. He paused, and Gavin and Andy could hear him clicking away on his computer. “Ah, and we might be in luck, after all. Dr. Marchant was involved in a number of trials, which is not surprising, given his status in the research community. But all of them are well-established companies. All except one, that is.”
Gavin was suddenly all ears. “And which company is that?”
“Well, it still doesn’t make much sense.” Verma did another quick search on his computer. “But, then again, maybe it does. The drug he was working on was ranoxifil, but you’ll know it better by its trade name. Allurea. It’s an allergy drug put out by a company called Labarum Pharmaceuticals. It’s been out about a year, now, and has quickly become the top-selling prescription allergy drug in the world, largely because of its spotless safety profile. That is, a record that was spotless up until about a month or so ago, when suddenly people started dying after taking it. What one might call a rather significant side effect.”
“Labarum,” Gavin muttered to himself. “It was on the list of new companies we pulled up.”
“Yes,” Verma added. “And more to the point, our records show six other trials for ranoxifil, spread across North Africa, Asia, and several of the ‘stan’ countries—Kyrgyzstan, Turkmenistan and Uzbekistan. And all of them ended suddenly, right about the time Dr. Marchant disappeared. I’ll email the details to you later today.”
“Gavin, I think we finally have our smoking gun,” Andy suggested. “Dr. Verma, I can’t thank you enough. You may have finally connected the last dots in this case. Dots that will lead us to whoever’s responsible for Dr. Marchant’s death. And the reason why.”
“My pleasure, Ms. Patterson. And I’m not just saying that. Although it pains me to learn that Dr. Marchant was murdered, at least the work we are doing here at ICTRP has proven to be useful after all, in some strange sense.”
“And I’ll be sure to pass that along to your superiors at the World Health Organization,” Gavin promised. “Thanks for everything.”
Gavin hung up the connection to Dr. Verma, leaving Andy still on the line. “So, now we have a name. Where do we go next? Check on the other clinical trial sites? Or head straight to wherever this Labarum Pharmaceuticals now calls home?”
Andy took a moment to consider that. “My guess is, the other six sites aren’t going to tell us anything we don’t know already. And I’ll bet dollars to donuts that they’ll all be just another case involving the mysterious disappearance of some doctor, along with his or her staff. Just more dead ends. Literally.”
“Okay, so that leaves us with Labarum,” Gavin agreed, checking his computer. “According to Google, Labarum Pharmaceuticals is headquartered in La Jolla, California, just north of San Diego.”
“Then it sounds like we’re in business. How soon can you put together an FBI task force to execute a raid?”
“Just a couple of phone calls, and we can have the entire Southern California office kicking in their doors before I can even get wheels up out of Morocco.”
“Right. In that case, let me check something.” Andy clicked away on her keyboard, as well. “A commercial flight back to the States will take you forever. And I don’t know about you, but I’m in no mood to wait that long. How would you feel about hitching a ride on a Navy jet? I can have one sitting on the tarmac in Rabat, fueled up and ready to go in about two hours. Will that leave you enough time to pack?”
83
La Jolla, California
Gavin marched straight up to the receptionist desk at Labarum, with Andy and the rest of the task force right on his heels. He motioned for the other agents to spread out quickly through the company’s office
s, before word of the raid got out and someone started deleting any embarrassing or incriminating files.
The receptionist was white-faced as Gavin turned to face her, badge in hand. “I’m Special Agent Gavin Larson, and I have a search warrant for any and all data related to an investigation into the drug ranoxifil. Who’s in charge here?”
The receptionist swallowed hard before speaking. “Uh—our CEO is Mr. Boucher, but he—he’s out of town at the moment.”
“Then who’s next in line below him?” Gavin demanded, placing one hand on his gun.
Her eyes went down to his hand, then back up. “There—there are a number of vice presidents, but I—I don’t know which one would be—”
Gavin leaned forward, placing his free left hand on the desk right in front of her, a move that caused her to shrink back subconsciously. “In that case, get on the phone immediately to every one of them, and tell them to drop whatever they’re doing and meet me in—do you have a large boardroom here?”
She nodded yes.
“Okay, meet me in the boardroom in five minutes.” He looked back at the entrance, spotting an agent he knew who was currently busy guarding the front door. “Gomez. Everything secure?”
“Yes, sir,” Gomez answered. “We have the place surrounded, and agents out back on the golf course watching for anyone trying to sneak out that way.”
“Excellent. Make sure someone’s headed to the server room, and get all of that locked down. I’ll go take care of dealing with the head of this snake.”
The receptionist indicated that she had finished making the calls, as instructed. “Good. In that case, show me to the boardroom. And make it quick.”
“But—what about the front desk? I’m not supposed to leave it—”
“Trust me, young lady,” Gavin answered. “Nobody is coming in or out of those doors until I say so. Now, where the hell is that boardroom?”
※
Gavin was confronted by an obviously outraged woman just as he stepped into the conference room.
“Just what is the meaning of this!” Even gray-haired and only five foot two, R&D Vice President Claire Johnson was clearly a person used to getting her way with people, and an FBI agent was no exception. “You have no right to do this! We’re in the middle of a relaunch of our top product, and any interference right now could ruin the company for good!”
“And you would be?” Gavin asked.
“Johnson. Claire Johnson. And who are you?”
Gavin gave her a slow, cold smile. “Ma’am, I’m fixing to be your worst nightmare if you don’t calm down and shut the hell up right this minute.” He turned back to Andy, who had followed him into the room. “Well, I guess we found the answer to the question ‘who’s in charge here?’ Problem is, she doesn’t seem to understand it isn’t her.” He turned back again to face Johnson. “I’m Special Agent Gavin Larson, FBI, and this is an active murder investigation, so I expect you and everyone else in this room to give me their full cooperation. We’ve put the company in complete lockdown mode, nobody in or out until everything is secured. In the meantime, I have agents preparing several offices inside the building for your individual statements.”
But Johnson hadn’t yet given up the fight. “The company—”
Gavin shook his head slowly, interrupting her. “Look, Ms. Johnson, I understand your concerns. All this is going to be very disruptive to the company, probably for some time. But, you know, an FBI investigation is a lot like one of your drugs. It has side effects, and if one of those side effects winds up being fatal for your company, well …” He made a show of shrugging it off.
A man in a black suit with thin white vertical stripes stepped forward. “Agent Larson, I’m Matt Towers, chief counsel for Labarum. May I please see your search warrant?”
“I’m afraid it’s been sealed for the time being,” Gavin told him. “I’ll get you a copy when the seal expires.”
Towers cleared his throat. “Then I’m sorry, I’ll have to advise my clients not to participate in any of your questioning.”
Gavin glared down his nose at the company lawyer. “Mr. Towers, I can appreciate that you think you know what you’re doing right now. But the thing is, you’re a contracts guy, not a criminal lawyer, so your knowledge of how this is going to go down plus five bucks would almost buy you a cup of coffee at Starbucks. Capisce?”
“No, Agent Larson, my clients—”
“As the firm’s chief counsel, your client is Labarum Pharmaceuticals,” Gavin informed him. “Not its employees, not even its officers. Their interests right now are not at all aligned with those of the company. Or with yours.” He stopped and swept his gaze around the room, scanning from face to face. “So here’s the deal. We’re going to give each and every one of you one chance to come clean as to what’s been happening around here. If you’re straight with us, we’ll take that into consideration when we start filing charges. Lie to us, or put up a fight, and it’s not going to be pretty. This is the FBI, not your local Keystone Kops. If I decide to take you down, you can bet your ass that I’ll find something to hang on you that’ll have you doing ten to twenty in federal, guaranteed. Are we clear on that?”
All around the room, heads were nodding, but Johnson and Towers still looked defiant. Towers stepped up closer, tipping his head slightly in Johnson’s direction. “Don’t worry, Claire, I got this under control.” He turned his focus back to Larson. “Look, Agent, I’m going to need access to a phone. One short call from me and I’m sure we can get this all straightened out.”
Gavin stepped forward himself, until his face was now just inches from Towers’, his eyes unflinching. “Maybe you didn’t hear what I just said, Mr. Towers. I said we’re on lockdown. Nothing in or out, including phone calls. Especially phone calls. And if anything is going to get straight around here, it’s you. You either back away, back down right this moment, or you’re going straight into handcuffs, then straight to a federal holding cell. Your choice.”
Gavin held his gaze for several long seconds, until finally the company lawyer gave up and looked away, conceding the FBI’s authority for the time being. Gavin glanced quickly around the room. “Anyone else confused about the rules, here?” Nobody said a word. “Good. Let’s keep it that way.”
Standing behind him, Andy was impressed. Not even her Marine Corps drill instructor back at Officer Candidate School had been more commanding, more terrifying than the man standing in front of her. It was a side of Gavin Larson she hadn’t so much as gotten a whiff of up to now. He nodded at her curtly, then turned on his heel and strode forcefully from the room, with Andy and another agent following quickly behind.
※
Lunch had been cold sandwiches and ice tea brought in from outside after they had finished processing most of the employees, taking down their contact information and warning them not to leave the area before releasing them to go home. Only the company officers and several key employees from IT remained behind, the officers being questioned and requestioned, while the IT staff assisted with packing up the servers and several key desktop and laptop computers. The FBI team also boxed up and carted off two moving vans worth of paper records.
Gavin and Andy didn’t leave the building until well after four, heading back to their hotel to get cleaned up and caught up with their messages, then meeting downstairs at a high-end sushi restaurant attached to the hotel to debrief and share a glass or two of wine.
“So where are we now with the investigation? Where do we go from here?” Andy asked, dipping a piece of tuna sashimi into soy sauce and easing it to her lips.
“Well, surprisingly, that R&D lady turned out to be pretty helpful, despite how she handled things at the beginning. She pointed us to a secret file folder on one of the servers where records from the cancelled clinical trials had been hidden away. Probably by her predecessor, most likely as a kind of insurance policy against his boss, the missing Peter Boucher. She also showed us some record
s that indicate where that predecessor, a man by the name of Robert Kelley, checked out the company’s entire inventory of a pre-clinical drug, something called LP386. The ‘LP’ stands for ‘Labarum Pharmaceuticals.’ And that’s really disturbing, because apparently that drug is like a supercharged version of rohypnol, the date rape drug. And no wonder. Johnson says the drug is actually a carefully modified form of rohypnol, specifically designed to enhance the drug’s ability to leave its victims compliant to suggestion. She thinks those clinical supplies wound up in the hands of Peter Boucher, who’s planning on selling them to the CIA or some other unnamed federal agencies. I’ve already put out some feelers to see if anyone in the intelligence community knows something about that.”
“Good idea. I’ll follow up on that with my people, too.” She took a sip of wine to wash down a piece of sushi that she had accidentally soaked in too much wasabi. “And this Robert Kelley. What do we know about him?”
“He apparently committed suicide very recently. Checked out a vial of neurotoxin from the lab and bam, dead before he hit the ground. Unfortunate, too, because from all the evidence we’ve seen, he was very likely at the center of all of this. Now our best remaining lead, other than the computer files, is none other than Peter Boucher, and he’s in the wind. Probably for keeps, too, knowing his connection to William Tulley. Still, I put out a worldwide APB on him. If we somehow get lucky and reel him in, there’s a good chance we might be able to hook the Tulleys, as well.”
“So now it’s back to sit and wait.”
“Yeah. For you, at least. As for me, I’ve got to head back over the pond to visit with another member of the Tulley family. One who’s a Tulley by marriage.”
“Samantha Tulley,” Andy suggested.
“Exactly. I can tell you’ve really read up on all this. Anyway, I checked in with her earlier, and she’s on her way to Akko, a city in the northern part of Israel. Apparently there’s some kind of archaeological thing going on out there the day after tomorrow. So I’ll have to meet up with her there.”
