Running Dark Part 8

BANNER CALLED STROMEYER TO TELL HER THAT EMMA CALDRIDGE was on her way to Berbera, and then he braced himself. He expected a tongue-las.h.i.+ng. After the DOD meeting, they'd talked in her car. Stromeyer looked as angry as he'd ever seen her. She'd made no secret of the fact that she did not agree with his plan.

"You can't send that woman into such a situation. Not so soon after Colombia. You know she's suffering from post-traumatic stress and is in no position to take on yet another risky venture." Banner had agreed, but he saw no other way.

"She has the expertise we need to a.n.a.lyze the vials, and she has a huge stake in the outcome."

Stromeyer pointed a finger at him. "You're using what you imagine to be her feelings for Sumner against her. You have no idea how she feels about him, and if she does care for him enough to do this, then she's really the wrong person for the job. You know as well as I do that strong emotions often lead the person having them to make mistakes. People in love will try to save their loved one against all odds, and usually they die right along with them."

"I agree in principle with what you're saying, but not when we're talking about Caldridge. She won't let that happen. She's tough and resourceful-Colombia's proven that, and she's already on the run. She'd be better off staying the h.e.l.l out of the States for a while. And you know that none of these attackers will follow her to Somalia. They'd be insane."

Stromeyer made a disgusted noise. "You're insane for sending her there. You can't seriously argue that she's safer in Somalia than here. Go home and get some rest. I can only imagine that sleep deprivation has scrambled your brains."

Now Banner listened to the phone ring and crossed his fingers that Stromeyer had altered her thinking on the subject. When Stromeyer picked up the phone, she dispensed with the usual h.e.l.lo and said, "Tell me you've seen the light now that you've rested."

So much for a change of heart. "Caldridge just called me. She's agreed to go help Sumner. I suggest we meet at Darkview to work out the rescue logistics. Want me to pick you up on the way?"

"Why the escort?"

"Caldridge said someone hit her with a strange medication after the bombing. I think there's safety in numbers."

"In that case, absolutely."

Half an hour later, Banner arrived on a motorcycle in front of Stromeyer's condominium building. He removed his helmet and looked around. She lived in the Georgetown area, a quiet, elegant neighborhood with tree-lined streets. Banner watched as several residents of the neighboring houses opened their doors to collect the morning paper. They were all women, and they all looked suspiciously alike. Each one glanced down the street, each one spotted him on his motorcycle, and each one frowned at him.

Stromeyer stepped out onto her porch. To Banner she looked different from the other women. More animated, less of a cookie cutout. She wore dark jeans and a short navy trench coat that she b.u.t.toned as she jogged down the steps. Her hair was loose. A triangular-shaped bag hung over her shoulder. Banner watched her take in the motorcycle.

"Planning on losing a tail?" she said.

"The women in your neighborhood all look alike. And every one of them frowned at me on this bike. Do I look disreputable?" He offered her a spare helmet.

She finished b.u.t.toning her trench, tied the belt, and did some magic with the bag's straps that turned it into a backpack. She swung a leg over the cycle.

"This area isn't known for its diversity, as you've noticed. A whole group of people here only ride in chauffeured limousines. Men on bikes are suspect."

Banner prepared to start the engine. "Lacking diversity is one thing, but imitating each other is something else entirely. Why do they all look alike?"

"Beltway hair. Affectionately called *helmet hair.' Designed to make the women look conservative. I'm surprised you haven't noticed it before now."

Banner shrugged. "I haven't really focused on it before." The motorcycle roared to life. He merged onto the street and headed to Darkview's offices.

He picked up the tail ten minutes into the ride. So must have Stromeyer. She leaned in to him at a stoplight.

"Brown Crown Vic."

Banner just nodded. He accelerated through the next intersection, barely making a yellow light. The Crown Vic stayed with him by blowing the red light. He sped up, splitting lanes and zipping past a MINI Cooper. The Crown Vic got caught behind the Cooper and a Honda Civic in the left lane. Through his rearview mirror, he watched the car swerve back and forth in an attempt to pa.s.s. He took an abrupt right turn, accelerated through the first half of the street, then turned left onto another. He kept zigzagging, taking pains to keep within the speed limit. The last thing he needed was to be pulled over. At first he thought he'd lost the tail, but after a few minutes he saw it turn onto the street behind him. It was over a block away, but still in the game. Even more so after he hit a red light.

"Alicia has a motorcycle," Stromeyer said. "I'll call her."

The light turned, and Banner concentrated on driving. Behind him he heard Stromeyer telling Alicia to lock the office door and giving her their location. He pulled up to an empty parking s.p.a.ce next to a coffee shop. Both he and Stromeyer stayed seated. The Crown Vic slowed as it pa.s.sed them. The pa.s.senger, a man who appeared to be in his late thirties, with hard eyes and a menacing manner, glared at them through the gla.s.s. The car inched to the corner, crossed the street, then pulled to the right and parked.

Banner s.h.i.+fted a little to be able to see Stromeyer. "Did you get a look at the pa.s.senger? That was one rough character."

"Can you hit the street and turn right? I told Alicia to meet us near the White House."

"What's the plan?"

"Divide and conquer. You're going to park the cycle. Alicia is going to swing by and pick me up while you head off in another direction. We'll meet back at the office."

"What's the point? Surely they know where we work."

"Make them think we're off to meet someone. It'll give us a few minutes to speak freely at the office. Our latest sweep came up clean, but once they return and point a microphone at us, we're back on tape."

Banner fired up the cycle, swung into traffic, and blazed right at the corner. He shot down the street, keeping an eye on the rearview mirror. The Crown Vic cruised along with them, easily keeping pace. Banner swayed through the cars, each time getting farther and farther away. He reached the corner of their appointed meeting place and idled, waiting for Alicia. She appeared a few minutes later on a battered yellow Suzuki. She pulled up and flashed a smile.

"We get to lose a tail, huh? I love this! I feel like a spy. So much better than answering phones." Stromeyer crawled onto the back of the Suzuki. Banner glanced behind them. The Crown Vic turned a corner.

"Go," Banner said to Alicia.

"See ya, boss." Alicia revved the Suzuki out of the spot and back into traffic.

Banner sped off the other way. He was the lucky one that the Crown Vic decided to follow. He swerved down streets and around corners. The sedan lost more and more ground. After twenty minutes he couldn't see it at all. He changed course and headed to his office.

He entered the office and walked straight to the conference room, where he watched Stromeyer pace back and forth. Alicia sat at the table's head, nervously eyeing first Stromeyer, then him. She mouthed, "She's mad," at Banner when Stromeyer wasn't looking. Banner sighed. This much he knew. The phone on the conference room's table rang twice before being abruptly cut off on the third ring.

"What did you do with the phones?" he asked.

"Forwarded them to your cell."

Banner grimaced. Sure enough, his pocket started vibrating. He ignored it while Stromeyer continued to pace.

"Aren't you going to answer it?" Alicia asked. "I try to never let them go to voice mail."

"It's tapped," he said.

Alicia's eyes grew large. "So cool. Can I text my boyfriend and tell him?"

"No!" Both Stromeyer and Banner spoke at once.

Alicia put up a hand. "I was just kidding. Jeez, you guys are on edge today."

"Being hit with an investigation, audited by the IRS, followed by two goons, and having one's phone tapped does that to a person," Stromeyer said. She stopped wearing a path in the carpet and pointed a finger at Banner.

"Okay, I'm over it. She's made her choice, and for better or worse she'll need backup."

The phone started ringing. Alicia reached over to answer.

"Leave it," Banner said. "This is more important." After two short rings, the phone went silent. Seconds later his pocket started vibrating again. He ignored it. Stromeyer raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

Alicia pursed her lips. "What if it's someone important? Like the president of the United States?"

Banner laughed. "The president would never call here. At best he'd have one of his a.s.sistants contact us."

Alicia put her hands on her hips. "Even so. I'm taking Marketing 101, and the professor said that a company should endeavor to always have a living person answer its phones during business hours. Not to sends the wrong message."

"Alicia." Stromeyer's voice held a note of warning.

Banner retrieved his phone and looked at the readout. "I'll pick up this one."

"Yes." Alicia pumped a fist, waved at him, and swung out the gla.s.s doors, headed to her console.

"Just filing, no phone calls!" Stromeyer called after her.

Banner made an irritated sound and punched the green b.u.t.ton. "Banner," he barked into the phone.

"Is this the Mr. Banner who knows Emma Caldridge?" The female voice on the other end of the line was soft and spoke with a slight Asian accent.

"This is he."

"I work for Price Pharmaceuticals. Ms. Caldridge asked me to a.n.a.lyze some vials of blood and to give you the results. May I proceed?"

"Certainly," Banner said.

"The blood was negative for ricin, botulism, and anthrax. Also for HIV. As for her dopamine question, please tell her that people like her who engage in extreme sports will often exist in a state of continuously elevated dopamine levels."

Banner wasn't sure how to respond to this information. "Is that bad?"

The caller chuckled. "No. But it does reduce their sensitivity to certain stimuli. The body learns to accommodate the levels by forming a tolerance, much like that formed by individuals addicted to substances. For example, a Formula One race-car driver may feel intense excitement during his first race, when his body dumps dopamine into his system, but over time he will lose the jittery feeling and adjust to the new levels. Likewise Ms. Caldridge, as an extreme runner, has probably grown used to the excess chemicals created when she runs. She is undoubtedly capable of functioning normally under higher blood-saturation levels than less acclimated people."

"And what would happen to those less acclimated?"

"I'm sorry to say that these people would likely behave in a highly erratic and possibly dangerous fas.h.i.+on. Moreover, excessive amounts-say, in successive doses-could stress the heart to levels that can kill."

Banner thanked the woman and hung up, not quite sure what to do with the information just given to him.

"That call was for Caldridge," he said. He consulted his watch. "She should be landing in Nairobi soon. I told her to wait at the airport before heading to Berbera."

"Good idea. We have a contact there. Ahmed. Remember him? I'll let him know to look for her, and I'll send Roducci to meet her in Nairobi."

Giovanni Roducci was a disreputable Italian who ran around Europe pretending to be an entrepreneur distantly related to the Borgias. Roducci could produce fake doc.u.ments, real weapons, and any number of vehicles on a moment's notice. He fawned over Stromeyer. Whenever she called, they engaged in a spirited negotiation that usually ended with Roducci pretending bankruptcy and Stromeyer claiming she was robbed. Banner steered clear of these conversations. Roducci wore him out with his breezy gamesmans.h.i.+p.

"Roducci can get her whatever she might need to a.n.a.lyze the vials. He's a notorious gossip, so I'll keep him out of it until I can determine what she may require." Stromeyer headed toward the gla.s.s doors, trench coat in her hand.

"Aren't you going to yell at me about sending her?"

Stromeyer turned back. She shook her head. "Seems to me like she took matters into her own hands. It's not what I would have done if I were her, but she's proven she can take care of herself."

"I doubt she has a Kenyan visa."

Stromeyer halted. She held the door while she stood halfway in, halfway out. Banner could almost see her mind whirring. Working out the details.

"That's not an insurmountable problem. I'll get it arranged."

Banner followed her out of the conference room, his thoughts on the task ahead. The idea that a chemical weapon could soon be in the hands of pirates disturbed him, as did the fact that he had no idea of its composition.

And that didn't even take into consideration the ricin.

18.

STARK ESCORTED EMMA THROUGH THE AIRPORT.

"Come on. We won't need to go through security," he told her.

Emma followed him to a private exit. Stark pushed open a metal door that led directly onto the tarmac. Jets lined up on both sides of them, glowing under the sodium lights. He walked toward a large, sleek number parked fifty feet away and proceeded up the ladder to the main door. The inside of the aircraft was plush but surprisingly compact. Each leather seat was the size of a commercial plane's first-cla.s.s seat, but there were only eight of them in two groups of four. Each grouping had a small coffee table in the center, and one had a tray with a laptop already up and running. Two men were in the c.o.c.kpit, writing on clipboards. The first smiled when he saw Stark.

"We're all set. Flight should be a breeze. We'll be there in time for your meeting. Strap in. We'll leave in ten minutes."

Stark put his bags in an overhead compartment and shut it. He lowered himself into a nearby chair. Emma did the same. True to the pilot's word, they were in the air within ten minutes in a smooth takeoff.

Stark spent the first twenty minutes of the flight taking call after call on a hands-free unit. He talked to various Price executives, two organizers of the Comrades race, and to the main office in the States. He would hang up, and the phone would ring again immediately. After he was done with the calls, he turned to Emma.

"Let's talk about Cardovin."

Emma took a deep breath. She wouldn't feel guilty about her findings, no matter how devastating they were. "You had some questions?"

Stark grimaced. "I have so many I don't know where to start. You said Cardovin does nothing to clear one's blood of the plaque that can form on arteries, but are there any conditions the drug can treat?"

Emma thought for a moment. She could see where he was heading, but she wasn't sure she wanted to make any statements she couldn't support.

"Are you thinking of an off-label effect?"

Stark nodded. "An off-label use would save us. We could still sell it, we wouldn't need renewed FDA approval, and the drug would be beneficial to someone."

Emma ran the clinical test results through her head. She didn't see how any of them would support off-label use.

"I don't think so. Most off-label benefits are noted anecdotally by the physicians who prescribe the drug for its approved use. I'm not aware of any for Cardovin."

"But what if there were a disease that it could affect?"