Jamie Freveletti - Running Dark

“Why would he do that?”

“Don’t answer that,” Banner’s attorney said, a little louder.

Banner raised an eyebrow at the senator. “You’ve seen Ms. Caldridge.”

The room exploded in laughter. Senator Blowhard looked annoyed as hell. Banner put up a hand for quiet.

“The last hours in Colombia were some of the most dangerous in my career. We were all under siege, dodging sniper fire from several directions and grenades from above. Any one of these things could have caused the pipeline to blow. It is conceivable that both believe themselves responsible for the explosion.”

Senator Blowhard leaned forward. “Could you be responsible for blowing up the pipeline?”

Banner hesitated. Leaving Emma Caldridge and Cameron Sumner to shoulder the blame for the pipeline went against his personal code of ethics. If he could help them, he would. The room fell silent. Senator Blowhard got a triumphant look on his face, as if he believed he’d maneuvered Banner into a corner.

“You’re under oath, Mr. Banner.”

Banner nodded. Lying under oath went against his personal ethics as well, not to mention that it was illegal. He’d tell the truth and find some other way to help them.

“I’m aware of that, Senator. And no, I could not be responsible for blowing up the pipeline.” The senator’s triumphant look deflated in an instant.

“Why not?” he said.

“Because when I appeared on the scene, the pipeline was already blown.”

Sporadic clapping echoed in the room. Senator Blowhard looked supremely annoyed. He made a note on his pad, then shook his pen up and down, the way people do when they’ve run out of ink. The pen splattered all over his paper. The senator wiped the ink off his fingers with a tissue before announcing that testimony for the day was concluded. Banner walked out of the meeting with the distinct impression that the testimony for the day might have been over but the trouble brewing for Darkview was just beginning.

6

EMMA WOKE IN HER HOTEL AT EIGHT O’CLOCK IN THE EVENING,disoriented. After a minute the horrible details came back to her. The bombing, the injection. She ran through her mind what the EpiPen could have contained: anthrax, ricin, botulinum toxin, HIV. All were deadly, none contagious. She sat up. Although the abrupt movement caused stars to dance in her eyes, she felt otherwise completely normal. Her stomach growled, but her head no longer pounded. The cell phone next to her bed rang, the persistent beeping getting louder the more she ignored it. She answered it to find Karen on the line.

“I finished your sample. We were unable to find anything untoward or illegal. You tested clean.”

Emma hadn’t expected a negative test. Whatever was pumped into her had increased her athletic ability tenfold. There was no way she could have run as fast as she did and still felt as good as she had without some sort of chemical boost.

“That’s not possible. No trace of steroids? EPO for blood doping?”

“Nothing. If you had won this race, no one would know you’d been on medication. Just how much of a boost did this injection give you?”

“A huge one. I ran the last two hours faster than I’ve ever run. I reduced my split time by thirty minutes, and that’s after mile thirty-five.”

“And you have no other symptoms?” Karen asked.

“Only an extreme anxiety reaction bordering on paranoia.”

“You were just blown off your feet in a blast. I would think it’s natural to have some anxiety after that. In fact, you’d be crazy not to be anxious. Umm, Emma?” Karen sounded hesitant. “Could you have imagined the injection? I mean, you told me you were dazed for a few minutes after you landed.”

Emma considered Karen’s comment a moment.

“Unfortunately, I don’t think I imagined him. And to be honest, if it weren’t for the increased ability, I might entertain the idea. But the race splits speak volumes. There is no way I could decrease my time so dramatically so late in the game without the boost that injection gave me. Especially considering the condition I was in right before the blast. My feet were failing, my head was pounding from the heat, and I could feel dehydration setting in, but I was having a terrible time keeping down the gel. Whatever he pumped into me was a miracle drug. Maybe I’ll run a few more extensive tests of my own. Can I have access to your temporary facilities here?”

“Of course, but first, did you go to the police?”

“Yes. I gave them a report. Do you have a key card for the lab?”

“You’ll need to ask Mr. Stark for that. Do you have his number?”

Richard Stark was the CEO of Price. Emma not only had his phone number, but she was placing the finishing touches on a report that Pure Chemistry had prepared for him regarding a Price drug. The report contained devastating news, and she had hoped to delay speaking with him until after they were back in the States. As it was, she needed his facility, so she had to run the risk that he’d take the opportunity to ask about the findings. She hung up and called him. He listened in silence while she tried to make light of the reason for her need to use the temporary facility. She didn’t want him to object and demand she go to a hospital, as Karen had.

“I used some new supplements and had an outstanding race. Too outstanding, actually.” She told him that she’d given a urine sample that had tested negative.

“A negative sample? I wouldn’t worry, then,” he said.

“I just want to run down some ideas I have. Clarify a couple of things.”

“Fine. I’m going there now before I take the corporate jet to Nairobi. Meet me in, say, an hour?”

Emma got up and packed to go. She needed to figure out what had been pumped into her, and soon. Once she did, she wasn’t staying an extra minute in Pietermaritzburg if she could help it.

She shrugged into a pair of jeans, pulled on a T-shirt, and covered that with a lightweight linen blazer. She slipped on soft-soled black athletic shoes. She’d expected to stay in Africa just long enough to run the race. As a result she’d brought only the bare minimum in a small duffel.

She had a tiny makeup bag, a wallet that fit in the interior breast pocket of her blazer, as well as a thin metal case. The case contained a circle of lipstick, a square of eyeliner, a pot of transparent cheek color, and a small wand prefilled with mascara. The sleek case was designed by a high-end makeup brand, for sale to women who travel. Emma had formulated the colors inside it at Pure Chemistry. She placed a travel toothbrush and paste into an outside pocket of the duffel. She used the express checkout feature to pay her hotel bill and headed to the temporary labs.

The Price lab was located in a sleek building in downtown Pietermaritzburg. A doorman stood behind the reception desk. He nodded at her after she explained why she was there.

“Mr. Stark is waiting for you. Just take one of those elevators.”

Stark was standing in the hallway when she stepped out of the car. He looked haggard, but Emma was aware of his reputation as a chronic workaholic, so his appearance didn’t surprise her. His dark hair was wet, as if he’d just showered. Only thirty-five years old, he was tall, with brown eyes and clean-cut dark hair. Handsome in an East Coast, well-bred way, he owed his meteoric rise in the business world to his ability to focus on work to the exclusion of all else. Married young and divorced three years later, Stark, Emma had heard, required only four hours of sleep a night, a trait that stood him in good stead as the head of one of the largest pharmaceutical companies in the world.

His dark chinos and blue button-down shirt with sleeves rolled to the elbows was one of the rare relaxed outfits she’d ever seen him wear. She was interested to note that the casual clothes became him. They took the edge off his usual aloof manner. He still wore his expensive Patek Philippe watch. If not for that, he could have been mistaken for a “regular” guy, not the multimillionaire CEO of a Fortune 500 company. His eyes settled on her, not with a smile, nor a frown, but with a reticent air. He held the door to the lab open.