Enigma (FBI Thriller 21)

Dr. Zyon eyed him with some interest. “It was developed as an antifungal agent at first, which is how that bacterium uses it, but nowadays it’s used mostly as an immunosuppressive to prevent organ rejection.”

“Dr. Zyon, I really need to know what work you did on that drug, and why.”

Zyon crossed his arms and cocked his head to one side. “Tell me why the FBI wants to know about a drug that prevents organ rejection.”

“I will, but humor me, Doctor.”

Savich had sparked his interest, he saw it. Dr. Zyon looked thoughtful. “I recall Dr. Lister Maddox, our founder’s son, asked us to synthesize about a dozen chemical variants of rapamycin—congeners, we call them—in the hope we would find one that was less toxic, or bind it with a broader class of cellular receptors. I remember Dr. Maddox was particularly interested in the effects of those compounds on tissue aging.”

“And what did you find?”

“Some of the congeners showed promising results in our tissue cultures. They rejuvenated muscle and fat cells, some of the aging, senescent cells in the cultures died off, and even stem cell function improved. But when we moved on to testing laboratory mice, we had to quit.”

“Why?”

“It’s not a big mystery. The congeners we tested proved too toxic, particularly to the nervous system and bone marrow. We stopped then because there’s only so far a pharmaceutical company can venture into basic research like that. We survive by developing drugs we can sell, and being old isn’t a reimbursable medical condition. None of the insurance companies are set to pay for any such drug, and so extended work in an area like anti-aging isn’t in our financial interest. Even Dr. Maddox had to agree.”

Dr. Zyon paused and waved his plump hands. “Time to pay up, Agent Savich. What is this all about? I don’t understand your interest in these anti-aging experiments. Aren’t you young enough already?”

“Dr. Zyon, I asked you about this class of drugs because there’s a young man in a coma right now at Washington Memorial Hospital. They don’t understand why he’s in a coma, but they did find a drug in his bloodstream that’s similar to sirolimus, but not known to them. Can you tell me how that drug could have ended up in his bloodstream?”

Dr. Zyon shook his head. “No, no, that’s impossible. You would have to verify the drug in the young man’s system is indeed one of the compounds we actually developed here.”

“And if it were verified?”

“It would mean someone stole it from us, or at least stole the information about how to synthesize that particular compound. And then that someone gave it to the young man illegally.”

“Doctor, let’s say someone did steal your drug, how would they use it? What kind of testing would they do? You said you abandoned your research because the drugs were too toxic?”

“Since you’ve already put ethics aside, I have to say it depends on what they’re hoping to accomplish. I suppose they would give the drug in various doses to test subjects, evaluate them for toxicity and whether the drug is having the effects they’re hoping for. They might search for subjects who seem to tolerate the drug better, for whatever reason, and focus on that group for further study. Eventually they might give the drug in combination with others known to have a similar or synergistic effect. I have to say, the thought of anyone doing such a thing turns my stomach.”

Mine as well, Doctor, believe me. “Would these test subjects have to have a great many blood draws, enough to leave scars?”

“Possibly. Pharmaceutical research requires a great deal of blood testing, yes, often on a schedule after each dose is given. Even sizable volumes of plasma can be taken for harvesting, for testing, or for the immunoglobins or other proteins in the plasma that can be put to therapeutic use. Tell me why you ask.”

“Our John Doe—the man in the coma—has scars like that on his arms.”

Dr. Zyon stared at him. “I really don’t know what to say, Agent Savich. I will immediately begin a careful search of our computer records and our drug library for any evidence of tampering or unauthorized access. It sounds impossible.” Zyon shook his head. “I presume we will speak again?”

Savich smiled at the man he knew he could come to like, shook his hand. “You’ve given me a great deal to think about already, Dr. Zyon. Thank you for your time.” He walked to the door, turned back when Dr. Zyon said from behind him, “Agent Savich, everything you’ve told me is very disturbing. Can you tell me what you think has happened?”

“I’ll let you know when I’ve confirmed what I think, Dr. Zyon.”

When Savich stepped out of the elevator at the lobby, the two women at the counter were yelling.

“There’s a fire at the Annex!”

Savich ran out the door and toward billowing flames a hundred yards away. Sirens sounded in the distance. People were standing in small groups outside their buildings, staring. Savich saw a man and a woman in a white van driving slowly away, looking back at the fire. Savich stared at the driver, saw the face he’d seen on the hospital video, the face of Alex Moody’s kidnapper. The man looked back, met Savich’s eyes, and gunned the van. Savich drew his Glock and raced after it.

Savich aimed at the back tires and fired six rounds. The driver’s-side back tire exploded. The van swerved and hit a wire fence, tore through, and shot into a shallow water-filled ditch outside the compound. The van teetered, then landed back on its four tires. The rear doors flew open and Savich saw what looked like a freezer and medical equipment fall out the back. The man and woman burst out of the van, both of them carrying guns, and fired at him. It was the woman from the hospital video. Savich dove behind a can labeled REFUSE, flattened himself and fired back. He heard them yelling to each other, saw them running away from him, and from the van. He could have chased them but he had more important things to do. He called the Baltimore Field Office, spoke to SAC Jake Murphy. The local agents would find them. He dusted himself off, pulled out his cell, and called Sherlock.

56

THE WILLOWS

WEDNESDAY LATE AFTERNOON

Sherlock and Connie were standing by Sherlock’s Volvo when her cell rang. Sherlock held up a finger and listened to Dillon. When she punched off, she pumped her fist. “That’s it! We’ve got him!” She told Connie everything Dillon had found out from Dr. Zyon, and about Alex Moody’s kidnappers burning the Annex and the van they abandoned.