The Prague Plot: The Cold War Meets the Jihad (Jeannine Ryan Series Book 3)

by Mosimann, James E.

  Jeannine placed a graph in front of Aileen.

  “This graph is from Hus-Kinetika’s response. They recorded severe reactions to Xolak in five states, Maryland, Virginia, Michigan, Illinois, and Wisconsin, almost half a million current users.”

  “Why does the graph start in 1986?”

  “The FDA only approved Xolak for use in the United States in 1985.”

  Aileen nodded and studied the graph. After 1993 there was a stable level of subjects with adverse allergic reactions. There was no increase in the numbers of new allergic cases.

  “But Jeannine, I can’t interpret this graph without knowing the total number of cases. If the number of users decreased, then a stable number of new cases would mean an increase in the per cent of adverse reactions.”

  “You’re right, of course, but the report gave the total cases too. They don’t change much since 1995. The graph shows no increase in new cases as numbers or per cents.”

  “So there’s no problem. What's worrying you?”

  “I have a bad feeling about this graph, that’s all!”

  Aileen was surprised. Normally Jeannine was driven by logic, math and analysis, not intuition.

  “OK, why does the graph worry you? Is it because of Dr. Zeleny? That guy is a jerk.”

  Dr. Zeleny, the neurologist who was the original complainant to the FDA about Xolak, had called Ryan Associates several times yesterday to schedule a visit. Aileen had taken the calls. He had treated her as a secretary.

  Jeannine started to speak, but the phone rang and Aileen picked up.

  “Ryan Associates, Dr. Harris speaking.”

  She covered the mouthpiece and held the phone to Jeannine.

  “It’s him! It’s Zeleny.”

  Jeannine took the instrument. Aileen heard only Jeannine’s side of the conversation.

  “Yes, this is Dr. Ryan. … ... Yes, Dr. Zeleny, I’m consulting with the FDA on the Hus-Kinetika report. … ... No, I didn’t know they had given you my name.”

  She motioned with her hand for the report in question. Aileen lifted a spiral-bound volume from the desk and handed it to her. Jeannine flipped the pages while keeping her ear to the phone. Finally she spoke.

  “Dr. Zeleny, I’m looking at the report right now. According to Hus-Kinetika the rise in adverse reactions at your clinic isn’t repeated elsewhere. Doesn't that concern you?”

  Aileen did not hear his reply. She only heard Jeannine.

  “Dr. Zeleny, I didn't realize you were in the area. I thought you were in Chicago. Of course I’ll meet with you. If you’re on Bradley Boulevard you’re only minutes away.”

  Jeannine hung up. Aileen spoke.

  “What was that all about?”

  “Dr. Zeleny is coming here. He was in Rockville at the Parklawn Building to see Larry Hodges. Zeleny says the number of reactions to Xolak is increasing at his clinic. He doesn’t believe the Hus-Kinetika report.”

  “So?”

  “So, Hodges warned me that Zeleny’s clinic is small. The increase in reactions there may not be typical. Maybe they’re doing something wrong. And too, Zeleny may be biased. Larry says Zeleny is a Czech who has no love for Hus-Kinetika.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Zeleny was a resident at the Motol Teaching Hospital in Prague when his mentor, a Dr. Pokorny, found fake data in one of the company’s clinical trials. Hus-Kinetika objected and complained to the medical school. There was some sort of scandal with a female student named Simek and Zeleny’s professor was canned. Zeleny hasn’t forgiven or forgotten.”

  Aileen frowned.

  “OK, so he doesn’t like Hus-Kinetika, and I don’t like him. What does he want from us?”

  Before Jeannine could answer, Aileen sniffed.

  “This jerk is biased against women.”

  A loud knock on the office door stopped further comment.

  Dr. Zeleny had arrived.

  ***

  Dr. Zeleny was not as Aileen had imagined. First he was young, trim and tall, the sort of man who turns eyes when he enters a room. He wore a loose gray sweater and fitted jeans. He turned towards Aileen. He spoke with a slight accent.

  “Dr. Ryan?”

  Jeannine stepped forward.

  “I’m Dr. Ryan, and this is Dr. Harris. She’s my associate. You must be Dr. Zeleny.”

  Dr. Zeleny scanned the wall of the office. He took in the framed doctoral diplomas on the wall, and the two certificates of appreciation from the Israeli government, one each for Dr. Harris and Dr. Ryan. Impressive. His eyes bounced from Aileen to Jeannine and back. As a blonde, Aileen matched Jeannine’s auburn good looks. His smile grew.

  "I’m Peter. Larry, Dr. Hodges, at the FDA referred me to you. Do your husbands work here too?”

  Jeannine laughed. Kind of obvious, but I’ll play along.

  “No husbands. We’re both single, although I have a friend. His name is ‘Bill,’ and you?”

  “Sorry. I forget myself. I do not try to pry. I’m svobodný, that’s Czech for ‘free’ or ‘single,’ however you prefer to interpret it.”

  He glanced sideways at Aileen.

  “Now we’re introduced, maybe I can know your first name?”

  “I’m ‘Aileen’ and Dr. Ryan is ‘Jeannine,’ but do you treat all women as secretaries? Are you always so rude?”

  Peter fell silent. Aileen continued.

  “Dr. Zeleny, we all know this isn’t a social visit, so why, precisely, are you here?”

  Peter Zeleny’s brow furrowed. He sighed.

  “I think that Xolak has dangerous side effects. Some of my patients have been seriously hurt by it. Hodges, at the FDA, thinks I’m biased against Hus-Kinetika, but I can explain that.”

  He took a breath.

  “My problems with the company started after I completed my studies at the First Faculty of Medicine at Charles University in Prague. I took a position in the Motol Teaching Hospital of the Faculty. My mentor, Dr. Pokorny, had a dispute with Hus-Kinetika over one of their clinical trials.”

  Jeannine interrupted.

  “A dispute?”

  “Actually, he found faked data in one of their reports. They weren’t happy. They located a student of his, a woman named Simek. Her father had been an anti-socialist agitator, and everyone knew that my mentor, Dr. Pokorny, was a communist. It was a set up. This Simek woman was quite attractive.”

  He paused and looked at Aileen.

  “She looked like you, actually.”

  He turned back to Jeannine.

  “Simek claimed that Pokorny had offered her grades for sex. He denied it, but Hus-Kinetika pressured the university to fire him. Rather than be fired, my mentor resigned in disgrace.”

  “Did you believe the Simek woman?”

  “I don't know. My mentor had a reputation among women. Simek was American. After testifying she quit her studies in medicine and went back to the States. She studies philosophy in Chicago. All I really know is that her testimony was damned convenient for Hus-Kinetika. Maybe the rats paid her.”

  Jeannine fell silent. Aileen took over.

  “You don’t have any evidence that they did, do you? And why did you come to the U. S, and why pick Chicago?”

  “I wanted to do clinical research in neurology. I applied for several positions at home, but Hus-Kinetika is powerful there. I did not survive the interviews. I had a friend in Chicago’s Czech community. He told me about the Mental Health clinic that needed a neurologist. It was my only offer.”

  “So you come here and after a year you find problems with Hus-Kinetika’s premium drug, Xolak. You know that many people, including me, might think you are biased against them.”

  “What can I say? Anaphylactic shock is serious.”

  Aileen grew silent. Once again Jeannine stepped in.

  “All right, why don’t you tell us about the patients at your clinic, and what raised your first concerns about Xolak.”

  Peter Zeleny was troubled. His English lost its fluidity and his
accent became more pronounced. He searched for words as he described a patient’s seizure and how he had tried to help her.

  Aileen softened.

  “Peter, with the EEG you describe, you did the right thing. Any competent neurologist would have read that the same way.”

  He flashed her a look of thanks. The remaining conversation revealed little that Jeannine and Aileen did not already know.

  After a muted exchange of goodbyes, Dr. Zeleny left.

  ***

  ******

  Chapter 4

  Thursday, November 18

  In Corolla, North Carolina, Jim Harrigan drove slowly back to Duck. His thoughts were of a jacket with a bullet hole, and a bloodstained van. Soon, he would have nothing to do with the abandoned van, or the jacket. The Duck Police Department had no jurisdiction. The Currituck County Sheriff’s Office served Corolla.

  He parked his F250 next to the door. Just inside, the secretary, Terri, intercepted him.

  “Jim, what’s going on, you’re not supposed to be on duty today.”

  “I’m not. I’m moonlighting, security work in Corolla, but I found this abandoned van with blood stains and that jacket. It’s got a bullet hole front and back.”

  He put the bloodstained jacket into a plastic bag and handed it to her.

  “Log this and put it in the evidence room. And there’s a minivan being towed here. Call Johnson in the Currituck Sheriff’s office to arrange to pick it up. They have a secure lot on the mainland, and it’s their case, not ours. They’ll need that jacket too.”

  At the sight of the jacket, the secretary’s eyes opened wide. Jim did not notice. He continued.

  “Terri, do you know a realtor named Mila Patekova? She handles the rental for the house near where I found the van.”

  “Of course. She’s a good friend of the family and she’s a sharp realtor. She handles the rentals for my mother’s beach house. She’s from the Czech Republic. I like her. She has a neat accent.”

  “Anything else?”

  “She’s single if that’s what you mean, and she’s darn good looking for over thirty. But you talked to her, so you know that. Why do you ask? Are you interested?”

  “Come on Terri. It’s only a case. I have a hunch that she knows a lot more about that van than what she told me. I don’t trust her. She knows something.”

  Terri shrugged. Big deal, you cops never trust anybody!

  She turned back to her work.

  ***

  After the policeman from Duck left, Mila retrieved the weapon from the sand under the walkway. She handled it with a paper towel, mounted the stairs to the top level, and stuffed the weapon under a cushion. Mila knew nothing of guns, and this handgun was heavy and felt unwieldy. Its mere presence distressed her.

  She. left the great room and went to the deck outside Anne’s bedroom. There she sat with her head down.

  The sun disappeared below the horizon to leave a blazing red sky interlaced with streaks of gray clouds. She scarcely noticed.

  Her thoughts raced. Whatever had gone wrong, she was to blame. She never should have arranged the meeting with Vaclav. And she should have told Anne who it was that wanted to see her. If she had, then perhaps Anne would have refused to meet him, and no one would have been hurt.

  Mila shuddered. Anne, have you been stupid? Did you shoot Vaclav? And where did you get that gun? I don’t think Vaclav had one.

  She stood up and looked out over the marsh, towards the sound. After a moment she decided. She would sleep here tonight. She stepped back into the bedroom. Clearly, Anne had been in the bed. The coverlet was off and the sheets rumpled.

  She returned to the great room. Anne had left her laptop open on the table. The screen was dark.

  At the base of the sliding panels were the towels and cloths that Anne had pushed against the sill to absorb the storm water. Ever the realtor, Mila collected the soggy clumps and took them to the dryer below. She returned upstairs and wiped the remaining moisture off the floor.

  Mila lay on the couch, eyes wide open. Should I call the police? Not yet. She shuddered. Damn it Anne, where are you? What did you do to Vaclav? Damn it, call me. I’ll help you.

  Finally, her eyes closed.

  ***

  At Ryan Associates in Bethesda, Jeannine sat at her desk. Aileen came over.

  “Jeannine, what are you doing? What are you staring at?”

  “It’s this Xolak graph that I don’t like.”

  Aileen looked.

  “It says that the points are ‘Three-point Moving Averages.’ What does that mean?”

  “It’s not a problem. The numbers are smoothed to show the general trend. Each year is the average of three consecutive years. The number of reactions for 1996, say, is the average of those for 1995, 1996 and 1997. Here’s the equation.”

  She turned to Aileen.

  “The numbers for the graph are in Table A in the Appendix. Here it is.”

  Together Jeannine and Aileen studied the Table. There was no increase in cases after 2004.

  “But Jeannine, Peter saw an increase in allergic reactions in his clinic in 2004.”

  “That’s what he says, but the numbers in the report don’t agree with him.”

  “That’s why Peter doesn’t believe the report. He observed an increase so these numbers must be wrong. They must be faked. Can you show that?”

  “I don’t see how. The numbers in Table A are only summary data.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “They’re summarized. Without the original records we can’t do much.”

  “Damn it, Jeannine, that’s not fair. Peter deserves a hearing. Get the FDA to make Hus-Kinetika give us the original data?”

  “The FDA tried that. Hus-Kinetika said that they had trouble with one of their servers and the original data files were lost. Since the summary data show no trend, the FDA wants to accept the report as is.”

  “Make Hus-Kinetika re-enter the numbers from the original data sheets.”

  “Because of privacy issues, the original written records were purposely destroyed after the data were coded and in the computer. The data in Table A are all that are available. Do you have any ideas?”

  “No, but you’re the one troubled by this graph.”

  “That’s true, but we’re stuck. This report exonerates Hus-Kinetika and we’ve got no way to show that it’s wrong. Besides, maybe there’s no problem with Xolak. Maybe Peter’s clinic is at fault. Maybe their protocols and dosages are bad. Hus-Kinetika can’t be blamed for their incompetence.”

  Aileen slammed her fist on the desk.

  “No they can’t, but I believe Peter.”

  “I thought you didn’t like him.”

  “He’s a sexist, but maybe not a complete jerk.”

  “I don’t think he’s a sexist. He’s from a different culture. In spite of everything, I think you like Dr. Zeleny.”

  Aileen frowned.

  ***

  At his room in the American Inn in Bethesda, Peter Zeleny was confused. He had just met two intelligent professional women, and had failed to convince them of Hus-Kinetika’s duplicity.

  Worse, for the first time, he doubted his own arguments. Maybe they’re right. Maybe I’m not objective? He went over his clinic’s regimens for Xolak.

  What am I missing? No! Our procedures are fine! And damn it, Mrs. Morgan’s anaphylactic shock nearly killed her! I can’t be that wrong!

  But Peter’s confusion was not simply because of Xolak.

  Aileen Harris had left him dazed. Peter was no stranger to women. Generally, they sought him, but Aileen was different. He wanted her to like him.

  Get hold of yourself.

  Damn it! Why was I rude on that phone? Despite his “democratic” life in Chicago, he had treated Aileen as an underling. “Old world” class distinctions had reasserted themselves at the worst moment. His boorish behavior had been inexcusable.

  Oddly, Aileen bore a strong resemblance to Anne Simek, the inst
rument Hus-Kinetika had wielded to cause Dr. Pokorny’s downfall. He had seen Anne at the Motol Hospital, but had paid little attention to her. He had been too busy launching his career.

  He lay on the bed, arms folded under his head, eyes open wide, and stared at the ceiling. What’s the matter with me?

  Thoughts of Hus-Kinetika faded as a pleasing image appeared in his mind, that intriguing blond, Aileen Harris. Then unexpectedly, the image morphed into one from years past, another blond, that troublemaker student, Anne Simek.

  She was smiling.

  ***

  In a room in North Carolina, Vaclav Pokorny awoke. Half conscious, eyes glazed in pain, he struggled to focus.

  Where?

  He tried to remember. The storm, the cold wind pushing sheets of rain into his eyes, his nose. A fall. The raging waters on the beach.

  His thoughts cleared enough to know that he was in a bed. He tried to turn, but his muscles shrieked and froze in pain.

  The gun!

  Through half-open lids he saw a face, a woman frowning.

  He fell back unconscious.

  ***

  At the office of Ryan Associates, Jeannine continued to study the Xolak report. She reached for her coffee cup, but the report fell on the floor. The pages flipped and exposed Table A.

  She stared a moment and cried out.

  “Aileen, It’s the decimals! They’re wrong!”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Hang on.”

  Jeannine clicked rapidly and brought up Table A but with only the decimal endings.

  “Aileen, look. From 2003 on the decimals are wrong. See the decimal for 2003 is 0.11, and for 2004 it’s 0.89. That can’t happen.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because when you divide a whole number by 3, to get the moving average, the remainder must be 0, 1, or 2, so that the decimal must be 0.00, 0.33 or 0.67. It can’t be 0.11 or 0.89.”