Jamie Freveletti - Running Dark

“Ms. Caldridge, please, come in.” He looked at his watch. “I should warn you that I need to leave for the airport in two hours.” Stark turned right without hesitation. When he reached a door with the number 3 on it, he took out a key card that he placed on the magnetic reader. The door sprang open.

Stark flipped on the lights. The lamp reflected off the room’s white walls, cabinets, and Formica countertops in a harsh glow, making Emma almost want to shield her eyes at first. The lab was large, but still a manageable size for one person to navigate, and laid out in a way that she thought was the most practical, with vials, pipettes, needles, and microscopes on long worktables within easy reach. Two Eppendorf microcentrifuges sat in the middle of each, along with test-tube holders. Emma headed to the nearest workstation, where labeled drawers itemized their contents. She removed surgical gloves, tubing, a needle with vials, alcohol swabs, and a Band-Aid and snapped on the gloves.

“What are you doing?” Stark asked.

“Drawing some blood.”

“Whose?”

“Mine.”

“Can you do that?”

“Yes. Unless you know how to do it?”

“No.”

She handed him the tubing. “Wrap this around my arm, could you? I’ll get the needle in, then you pull the plunger out. When the vial is full, you’ll need to pop on another.” She put three vials in a row.

Stark looked nervous. “Why are you drawing your own blood? The urine sample should have caught anything untoward.”

Emma went for the truth. “I was injected with something. During the bombing.”

Stark froze. Emma pulled open an alcohol swab to clean the inside of her elbow. When Stark still hadn’t moved or said anything, she looked up. He was ashen. His face held a frightened look that was unlike any expression she’d ever seen on him.

“You look scared to death. What is it?” She was holding a needle in one gloved hand and a vial in the other. He reached out and gently took the needle from her. He placed it on the table.

“You didn’t tell me someone had injected you. Tell me everything. Now.”

Emma gave him a short version of the man with the pen.

“Could you have been dreaming it? You said you’d taken a pretty hard fall.”

Emma was getting a little tired of people suggesting that she’d imagined the attacker.

“I still can’t account for my results. My feet had been swollen; they shrank back down, practically in front of my eyes. I was at the last third of the race, but my endurance increased a hundredfold.” Stark looked away. He appeared nervous—frightened, almost.

“Did you tell the authorities?”

Emma shook her head. “I told a police officer at the finish tent, but he was preoccupied with the bombing. He gave me an address and number to call in order to create a report. I did that, and I’ll contact the race organizers to tell them what happened after I get these test results back. Maybe there’s nothing there.” And maybe it’s a group targeting me from my last adventure, Emma thought. But there was no need to add that to the mix for Stark. That issue could be addressed best by Banner.

Stark nodded. “Sounds right. There’s nothing that can be done immediately.” He shifted on his feet. “Can you give me an idea of what’s in your report on Cardovin? As I told you, I have some unexpected business in Nairobi, and I won’t be able to attend the scheduled meeting.” He grabbed a stool, rolled it close, and sat on it.

Emma tensed. She had known that this moment would come, but she wanted to avoid it a little longer, if possible. She hated to be the bearer of such bad news.

“It’s in my report. You can read it when you finish in Nairobi.”

“What are you going to say to us?” Stark’s voice was flat and brooked no further delay.

Emma took a deep breath. No sense gilding the lily. Best be out with it fast and leave no room for doubt.

“Cardovin doesn’t work.”

Stark went still. All Emma could hear was the muffled sound of a car alarm, somewhere in the distance. She shot a glance at his face. He stared at her with a look that was a combination of anger and disbelief.

“What do you mean?” Stark’s voice was soft but held an intensity she hadn’t heard from him before.

“It doesn’t work.”

“At all?” He sounded shocked.

“At all,” Emma said. She felt some pity for him. The results were devastating. They would annihilate Price’s profits for a long time to come. The stool squeaked as Stark leaned toward her, his motion followed by a faint whiff of his cologne.

“Do you realize you’re telling me that a drug sold all over the world, that cardiovascular doctors in every teaching hospital in seventeen different countries prescribe every day, that represents over four billion dollars in sales for Price, doesn’t work?” Now he sounded incredulous.

“Yes.”

Stark shook his head. “You must be wrong.”

Emma bit back a retort. “I am not wrong. My methodology will stand up to any scrutiny your scientists at Price wish to subject it to. The drug doesn’t work. Period.”

“If what you say is true, how do you explain the conclusions reached by Price’s own scientists? Results that won us FDA approval? Clinical trials showing that not only does the drug work, but it works extremely well?”

Emma sighed. “Actually, at first I deliberately avoided reading their studies before undertaking my own, so as not to be swayed by their approach. Remember, you hired Pure Chemistry to test this drug and urged us to start from scratch. That’s exactly what we did.”

Stark nodded. “Go on.”

“After, I went back and looked at every test with a positive finding. None of them tested Cardovin on its own. All of them tested it in combination with other, well-proven cardiovascular drugs, which is why Cardovin is approved only as an adjunct to those drugs. When it was combined in this manner, the results were slightly higher, but not as high as the marketing materials for Cardovin would suggest.”

“And yours?”

“My study showed that it worked no better than a placebo.” She returned to preparing to draw blood. Stark grabbed her wrist to stop her.

“No better than a placebo! Are you serious? Just what am I supposed to tell the board of directors? The shareholders? Price is due to report last quarter’s earnings in a few days, and to project future sales. You expect me to tell them that our number-one seller doesn’t work? Wall Street will eat us alive.” Stark’s eyes were hard, furious.

Emma shook off his hand. “How you reveal these findings is up to you. My job was to analyze the drug. I did that. But, to be honest, I’m a little surprised by the depth of your reaction. You knew over two months ago that Cardovin had problems. I saw the memo from your head scientist telling you that he felt further action was required to analyze Cardovin’s efficacy. Price hired Pure Chemistry right after, so I assumed you were acting on the memo.”

Stark was up and pacing. “I was told that the drug had some questionable results, but not that it was a complete waste!” He stopped prowling the room and straightened. He pinned her with a stare. “I want a copy of that report e-mailed to me at your earliest convenience. Until that time I wish to remind you that Pure Chemistry is subject to a confidentiality agreement. You are not to release these findings to any scholarly journals, or to anyone else, without our express consent.” He delivered the order in a precise, clipped manner. It was all Emma could do to respond to him in a normal tone of voice.

“I’m aware of my responsibilities—and yours. Price cannot continue to sell a drug that it knows is worth no more than a sugar pill. Once your scientists review my findings and agree with them, Price will have to stop selling the drug. It’s that simple.”