Sleeping Secrets: Heather Chase FBI Series Book 7, page 16
“The value of the drug would decrease.”
“Yes. Yes, exactly, but that’s just the immediate result, Miss Case. The value of the drug decreases—maybe Novatide starts to lose confidence. Now, that’s not necessarily as easy as it sounds. After all, 28 RX-7 is the result of a decade’s work, and they wouldn’t want to immediately flush that away on a whim. That said—”
“After spending a decade on it, if it’s not up to scratch they’d also be reluctant to burn more money on it.”
“Quite right, Miss Case. But that right there would be the stupidest thing of all—because, as its primary researcher, I can tell you that RX-7 is the real deal. No matter what these studies say.”
“I’m not sure I follow.”
“Look—even if—if, mind you—these trials don’t go as we hoped, it’s not so conclusive. Some additional adjustments might be all it would take to get RX-7 to where it needs to be.”
“I see. And don’t Novatide understand that?”
“They do—to an extent. But remember that the management aren’t exactly lab geeks. They understand things in terms of public perception—to wit, based on the stock price of Novatide itself. If word got out about bad trials and the stock tanked—well, you can guess who’d be on the chopping block there.”
“You’re telling me that even if the drug could be easily fixed, Novatide could still temporarily suspend the project?”
“Suspend it—sure. But maybe not even that. Maybe they’d try to recuperate some of their investment.”
“And how would they do that?”
“How do you think? By selling the damn patents to vultures!”
Chase froze for a moment—time stood still as all the facts in her mind began rearranging themselves into a new pattern. Here was a new contingency she hadn’t seen before at all—simply because the ins and outs of the pharmaceutical industry weren’t so obvious at first glance. But thinking about it now, it made perfect sense.
“So, what you’re saying is,” Chase said, “some vulture, as you put it, sees the drug’s potential here at Medisource, then stages a way for the trials to fail. They leak the news and tank the stock, then sweep in and buy up all the patents. Then they work out the last kinks in the drug and make billions in profit...”
“You almost sound like a detective,” Alden said. “I’m not sure about all that, about staging a failure—that’s too over the top. But as for the rest, yes, I’ve seen it happen to colleagues in the past. It’s definitely a real thing, especially these days. There’s just no honor anymore. The world’s become such a cut throat place...”
But Alden’s words only barely touched Chase’s ear. She was still thinking of the possibilities here. What was Taylor aiming for? Would he wait for the trials to prove the drug effective so that he could somehow steal the formula from Alden and sell it on the black market to Russia or India? Or, was he taking a less overtly criminal approach, instead waiting for an opportunity to sabotage the trials so he could buy the patents up? If he spread the news about the trials failing he could also short Novatide’s stock—the patents would practically pay for themselves. It would be the perfect crime—and somehow, Chase thought, that seemed to fit Taylor’s character more than stealing the formula. It would also be more possible, given the enhanced security around Novatide now. The more she thought about it, the more this second option seemed the more prominent.
“Miss Case?” Alden said, taking her out of her thoughts.
“Right. No, yeah. I can see—I can see why you’d be worried, Mr. Alden.” She smiled comfortingly and put a hand on his shoulder. “But don’t worry—we’re no pushovers, are we?”
“No—I, I suppose not,” Alden said, trying to put on a brave face.
“And we’re not going to let any vultures sweep in and take your hard work away.”
Mr. Alden’s eyes swam a little and he seemed to relax. “Thank you, Miss Case. Who knew you’d be so reassuring? Suddenly, I feel like I’m in good hands.”
“You don’t know how good,” Chase said, then began to send Bob a text message:
Bob, look into Medisource, STAT. Taylor’s plan might be to tank the trials. If so, he must have an inside man.
Chapter 26
Alden, inspired by his chit-chat with Chase, had taken to beefing up his security measures even more than he had previously been doing. The first course of action was to put double check on every last pill that came down the pipeline before it ever entered the mouth of a trial patient. Even after Medisource had already checked the medication, the pills still had to go through Alden himself. That way no one could come in and tamper with the meds and manufacture an unwanted result.
And that was good—for the trial. But it put Chase no closer to catching Taylor in the act. The key would be in finding the link between him and Medisource. A tall order. Bob had come up with bupkis so far. They’d need a good old-fashioned warrant for the list of employees, and such warrants weren’t given out like candy. Chase had taken a trip all the way back downtown to meet with one of her least favorite bureaucrats of all: District Attorney Warren. The bronze man himself.
“Ah, if it isn’t Special Agent Heather Chase,” he said in his usual snide tone. “To what do I owe this undeserved and unrequested pleasure?” He was wearing a suit that seemed so tight it should be bursting at the seams, yet somehow it fit his square, angular body. As usual, his skin was the color of old brass. Why did a figure like this spend so much time at the tanning salon? Chase could only imagine that it was because he was a cold-blooded creature who thrived on external heat.
Biting her lip, Chase sat across from him in the plush leather armchair for guests. Observed the trinkets lining his room—his various degrees and accreditations on the wall. The fine, thick walnut desk. The high pile carpet and dense shades. Everything had weight to it, a kind of solidity that reminded Chase for some reason of Lady Justice holding scales so heavy they made her crumple over...
“Well, District Attorney,” Chase said. “It’s like this. I need a warrant.”
“I’m beaten over by your effusion of manners, as always, Agent Chase. So, you want a warrant. Will wonders ever cease?” He folded his hands together, really getting into the whole routine of being the city’s main arbiter of red tape. Chase could practically hear him unsticking the roll. “So, who is it you want to disturb this time?”
“Is that what you call what I do?” Chase said, suddenly losing all hope of holding her tongue. “Sure, I go around town rousting the innocent and being a nuisance. That’s how I helped put away Vigotti, Bing, Bucky...”
“And Lieutenant Acre,” Warren said simply. A silence hung in the room for a while, collecting in the plush folds of leather and on the hard worn edges of old oak. It bounced, however, off the shiny tan skin of the district attorney.
“Okay,” Chase eventually said, quieter now. “And him too. But just what are you insinuating by that? That I had something to do with his—”
“I’m not insinuating anything,” DA Warren said, his out-of-season golden skin highlighted in the soft light coming through tall, narrow windows. Silence rang out like the NYSE Bell, loud and clear and reverberating in Chase’s skull...
“Anyway, what I need a warrant for is Medisource. Specifically—I need their employee records.”
“Medisource, Medisource,” Warren said, looking up the name with deft, nimble fingers. “This corporation that manages clinical trials?”
“Yes, one and the same.”
Warren’s eyebrows went up like a flag at noon on Memorial Day. “You need their employee records. And what, per se, do you need that for? What do you suspect Medisource of, Agent?”
“I suspect them of being infiltrated by someone with an agenda, that’s what I suspect them of.”
“An agenda,” he repeated flatly. “An agenda to do what?”
“Sink a currently ongoing trial for Novatide Pharmaceuticals.”
“Novatide...” Warren said, his fingers working away. “Infiltrators in a clinical trial. There’s a new one. And might you have any evidence for this outlandish claim?”
“That’s what I need the warrant for.”
Warren sighed exaggeratedly and leaned back on his soundless high-back chair. “So, it’s just a hunch then. Seems to be a running theme with you, doesn’t it, Agent Chase?”
Chase sat there with her arms folded—it was the only thing that would stop her from reaching across the table and grabbing this smarmy bozo up by his $500 Brioni tie, then using him as a human rag to wipe down this stupid oak desk. In the past, she’d had her reservations about using the FBI’s SET system to get access to unlimited data, but now she was back to kissing patent leather for it, she was beginning to miss it—a helluva lot.
“Look DA Warren,” Chase said, forcing her blood to stop boiling. “It’s like this. Let’s say there really is someone infiltrating Medisource right now—and no, it’s not “just a hunch,” in fact, I’m currently up close and personal with a conman we suspect of being behind this plot. But let’s say there is someone in there. Even you must see that it poses a threat to public safety letting them freely tamper with and influence the results of clinical trials.”
She’d gone in with a hard hitter this time—she’d aimed for Warrens’ sweet spot. Public Safety. Those two little words blew through Warren’s ears like a slug from a .45. With no suppressor.
“Be that as it may—” Warren began.
“No, District Attorney, don’t come at me with all your usual caveats. There’s no time for definitive proof of this—by the time I got it, the deed’s gonna be done already. There’s an important trial going on as we speak, and I’ll have Bob send you the details but—we have real reason to believe it’s compromised. We’ve seen patients turning up with blood toxicity levels that shouldn’t be possible.”
Warren simply leaned back in his chair and observed Chase coolly, the way he’d done to her many times over in the past, and the way he probably did to all the hot-headed cops who came in here trying to do their job.
“And this isn’t just the result of bad meds?” He said, “How could you know?”
“I just do. I’ve been working closely with the drug’s inventor and—”
“Clearly, an unbiased witness,” Warren said dryly.
“Look, I’ll get you your evidence. But I need—”
Warren raised a hand to silence her. Chase just sat there bubbling and listening. “So, let’s say I buy this story about blood toxicity,” Warren said. “How does that lead to evidence of this trial being tampered with? That’s the key here—just cause for handing out a warrant, Agent Chase, not just one of your reasonable suspicions...”
“How’s this for proof? Those patients with heightened blood toxicity are right now showing past signs of abuse of alcohol or drugs.”
“Yes, and?”
“And this trial was supposed to have screened all such patients out. This first trial was supposed to be conducted on healthy, regular patients only.”
DA Warren’s lips tightened and he shifted his posture a little. It really was like pulling teeth with him. “Could have been a clerical error,” he finally said.
“Come off it. This thing stinks and you know it. I can even give you a motive—all the people who stand to gain by tanking this trial and shorting Novatide’s stock. As for the opportunity, that’s where Medisource’s employee records come in. And it’s what I need your help with.”
“I see,” Warren said, his face still blank and gold as an Academy Award.
“Look, I’m not trying to convince a jury here,” Chase said. “I’m not gonna have anything definitive yet because I’m still working the case. And that’s why I need that damn warrant!”
“Alright, alright, no need to get heated. I’ll peruse the evidence your uh—Bob sends me. And if I find enough evidence to justify your claims, you’ll get your warrant. But Agent Chase, I don’t want you to get your hopes up. This is a complicated scenario and I’m not sure a warrant will be forthcoming.”
“Gee, thank you so much, DA Warren,” Chase said, standing up as quickly as possible before she did something she would regret. “It’s always such a pleasure to visit.”
...
And that was that. A total bust. Chase’s intuition already told her Warren wouldn’t come through for her—that pussyfooted, jumped-up desk clerk wasn’t going to take the risk. That meant she was on her own.
She walked into Medisource, all white coats, white walls, white floors, and the whites of people’s eyes she tried to read. Everyone was a suspect now. It felt just like old times—being surrounded by an impenetrable conspiracy and only being able to rely on her own intuition to get through it.
Alden grabbed her aside the moment she walked in and led her quickly out of the room. “Where have you been? I’ve been trying to get in touch with you all morning!”
“I did call to say I’d be late, sir.”
“And where’s my coffee?”
Chase shrugged.
“Anyway,” Alden said, “never mind that now.” He practically dragged her along until they reached an empty office room. Taking her inside and closing the door, he then led her into the corner of the room.
“Alright,” he said quietly, looking discreetly around. “It’s like this, Miss Case. We got back a liver test from those suspicious subjects and it’s certain they are substance abusers. This is a big deal. And I don’t know who to trust with it, quite frankly.”
“No going to Mr. Cranshaw then?”
“Are you kidding me? Cranshaw’s in bed with Medisource. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s getting kickbacks—well, I mean I suppose there’s no need for such workplace gossip now. The fact of the matter is, this whole trial could be compromised.”
“Alright,” Chase said calmly, hoping to trigger Alden back into his usual composure. “I understand the situation. Let’s go over our options.”
“Our options?” He said, his eyes growing large behind his round glasses. “We’re fresh out of them, Miss Case. Unless we can catch the son of a gun who pulled a fast one on us.”
“Is there no way we can find that out? Surely there must be a paper trail.”
“There’s a paper trail, sure—but we don’t have access to it.”
“How do you know that?” Chase said. “It is our trial after all. Doesn’t Novatide Pharmaceuticals have some kind of employer’s privilege here?”
Alden ran this new fact over in his mind—Chase watched him put the pieces together. “Hmm. Maybe. There is one way—but in that case—the request would have to come from Cranshaw. And he’d never do anything to rock the boat like that.”
“Okay,” Chase said. “So, what if—and this is just an idea but—what if we made it look as if Cranshaw did request the list of staff involved in arranging our participants?”
Alden stopped again. Paced the corner a bit. Then finally sighed. “Yes. I see. That does seem to be one of the few realistic options here. But you know, posing as a superior like that, it could get one in seriously deep water.”
“But if I understand you right,” Chase said, playing the part of out-of-the-loop secretary, “We don’t have many other options here.”
“Quite frankly, none,” Alden admitted.
“And if this trial goes belly up, you also mentioned that some vulture could come and pull the whole rug out from under us,” Chase went on, urging him.
“Yes, yes that’s also true...”
“Then in the final analysis, wouldn’t assuming the role of Cranshaw is the less risky choice here—less risky by far?”
“Uh—I suppose you could say that. Speaking for the project, that is,” Alden said. He was visibly sweating now, had to even remove his glasses and wipe the steam off them. “But as for the individual...”
Chase could read him like a book: His logical side was battling his inveterate cowardice and the comfort of clinging to his career. No one who’s worked the same job for fifteen years is going to make such a daring move easily.
“How about I make the equation even easier to solve then?” Chase said, using terms she knew Alden would understand.
“For example...?”
“For example, what if I was the one who impersonated Cranshaw?”
“Uh yes—that would be far less uh...”
“Risky,” Chase said. Less risky for you, that is, Chase thought.
“Indeed.”
“What if I had a means of doing so?”
“How? It’s not as if we can hack his email or something.”
“Email wouldn’t work, Mr. Alden. Ever heard that Medisource’s administrator is uh... Well, no polite way to put it, old. Old as hell.”
“Yes. Mr. Gustabar is getting on in years.”
“Which means he’s set in his ways, I’d bet,” Chase said.
“Perhaps... Where exactly are you going with this, Miss Case?”
“Well, what does an old-school guy like that like to do the most at work?”
“Hmm... I’m not really sure.”
“Blather. They love to blather, Mr. Alden. And that’s the one thing email doesn’t let you do that a certain other device does. And what, Mr. Alden, is that certain other device?”
“Oh my goodness!” Alden said, his twisted face finally relaxing into a smile. “We can call his phone! But Miss Case, but you’re...”
“A woman.”
“Right,” Alden said.
“So, how could I possibly impersonate Cranshaw?”
“Right,” Alden said.
“Simple,” Chase said. “I get someone else to do it.”
Chapter 27
“Hello Mr. Cranshaw!” Gustabar said, flattery spilling out of his voice like packing peanuts from a torn box. It was the response of an inveterate salesman who had just landed a new account and knew who was making his bread.
“Felix! How are you?” Bob Fairfax said, matching Gustabar’s clammy intensity. He had a headset on and his voice was running through the computer, converting the crusty rough voice of Bob into Cranshaw’s slick oily tones.
