Mirrors (13 page)

“Puzzled?” Bird repeated. “My colleague, Dr. Jason Krispix, was the recipient of two business cards from your firm. Both had been left on the doormat of his home in recent days.”

“Business cards?” Oxford asked.

“Yes, one of yours and another from an employee named Giva Bhanjee. Do you know the name?”

“Of course, but I have no idea why the cards were left at Dr. Krispix’s house.”

“You didn’t leave your card there?”

“By no means.”

Flagstaff leaned forward in his chair. “So, let’s change topics—to the accounts of illnesses linked to tainted shrimp. Have you seen the stories in the newspaper?”

“Of course; front page material!” he replied.

“That’s why we’re here.
BioVironics
produces shrimp food, doesn’t it?”

“Certainly, but so do many other firms.”

“You supply feed to a shrimp farm in Ecuador from which the tainted shrimp may have come.”

“We’re a leading manufacturer in the shrimp feed market,” he said. “We have customers around the globe.”

“What’s in the feed?”

“Proteins, fatty acids, carbohydrates, and trace elements.”

“Do you produce the feed here?”

“Yes, in wing D. You’re not suggesting our feed was the source of the poisonings, are you?”

“We’re just collecting facts. Does your company deal with XK59 in any way?”

He drew back. “The protein that caused the bleeding? Of course not!”

“That’s interesting because we found XK59 in a bottle of one of your drinks.”

He clasped his hands. “Which one?”

From his jacket, Flagstaff removed the now-empty bottle I retrieved from California.

“My God,
Electric Jolt
? Where did you get that?”

“From a victim’s house. XK59 was present in the remnants.”

“But I saw no mention of that in the papers!”

“We withheld the news,” Flagstaff said. He relayed the details of Danny Rogers’ death.

“Sir,” Oxford said, boring his eyes into Flagstaff’s, “I cannot help you because I know nothing about XK59. My goal is to run a world class company and XK59 has no part in that. Clearly, someone tampered with one of our products.”

“Is there a reason for someone to have done so?” Flagstaff asked.

“I can only speculate. Our competitors may be threatened by our ability to develop innovative products from the sea. We’ve created a number of drugs from marine resources, and our achievements don’t cease there. We’ve made mind-blowing discoveries. Did you know certain sponges grow glass fibers that can transmit light more efficiently than the fiber-optic cables used today?” He splayed his arms. “You saw the design of our plant. What did it remind you of?”

“An octopus,” Bird said. “Eight arms branching from the dome.”

“Yes, a design I chose because, while doing my post-doc in molecular biology, I discovered a novel substance secreted by octopi that kills a wide range of viruses. I turned the agent into our first commercial product.”

“How do neutraceuticals fit into the picture?” I asked.

“Three-fourths of Americans resort to alternative remedies to treat their ailments, leading us to believe that neutraceuticals in the form of dietary supplements and medically-designed foods can provide immense benefits.”

“
Electric Jolt
being an example?”

“Yes, it’s an immune-booster for athletes.” He glanced at his watch and stood. “But enough talk. Let me
show
you the exceptional standards we employ here. Perhaps that will reassure you we have nothing to do with XK59.”

Flagstaff nodded. “Very well, a short tour, perhaps.”

“Follow me,” the CEO said.

We returned to the dome and entered a different arm of the facility, a vast, open space that contained steel and vinyl tanks connected by a tangle of pipes. Amidst hissing steam and purring motors, we heard water gurgle, splash, and lap.

“Our aquariums hold collections as extensive as any,” Oxford said. He led us to a tank the size of a basketball court. “Take a peek.”

I scaled a ladder and peered over the ledge. Below, turquoise water brimmed with coral and tropical fish.

“See the anemones?” Oxford asked.

Nodding, I watched their tentacles wave in the current along a craggy perimeter.

“They hold great promise for wound healing. A compound within them dissolves scabs, which, as you know, impede healing by serving as depots for dirt and bacteria. We’ve developed an ointment containing a substance from anemones that speeds wound healing.”

I exchanged places with Bird, and after each of us had a chance to view the tank, we moved to another that held seahorses meandering through marine grass.

“Curious creatures,” Oxford said from an observation deck. “They have prehensile tails which they use to grasp things and snouts that suck food, but what I find most amazing is their loyalty. After the female bears her eggs in the male’s pouch, the monogamous male carries the eggs until they hatch and then assumes the brunt of childrearing.” He paused. “A model for us all.”

“What are you doing with the seahorses?” Flagstaff asked.

“They have a unique substance in their lateral lines that could be an antidote to vertigo.” He turned. “Come, there’s more.”

We double-backed to the dome to enter yet another arm, but before doing so, stepped first into a chamber that reminded me of the entryway to tennis bubbles used during winters. The chamber had two doorways, one connected to the outside world and another leading deeper into the wing. Along the inner doorway was a sign that read,
Pressurized—Ensure only one door opened at a time!

“We keep our drug manufacturing arms under continuous positive pressure to prevent contaminants from entering,” Oxford explained. He went to a sticky mat and placed both feet on it. Lifting one foot, he donned a shoe cover before repeating the process with the second shoe. He then put on a hair net, gown, mask, and gloves.

Following his lead, we did the same. A rush of air blew at us when we opened the second door. The area we entered was vast and contained stainless steel compartments the size of small houses that were connected by conveyer belts enclosed in glass sleeves. Replacing the tranquil notes of lapping waves were clanks, whirrs, and beeps.

We passed a belt carrying a stream of capsules.

“
NoVir
,” Oxford proclaimed, “a novel drug to treat dengue fever.” Yet another belt displayed jiggling blue tablets. “An anti-influenza drug called
EradaVir
.”

We moved to a station where plastic bottles were filled, labeled, and boxed. Forklifts darted about like flitting insects.

“We ship to about half the nations on the globe and plan to add the rest before long.”

We made a loop to the exit chamber where we disrobed. A brief sojourn through the dome brought us to the noisiest arm yet, a place with rattling cans, clanking bottles, and snapping lids.

“Our neutraceutical division,” Oxford announced. He guided us to a machine from which a creamy beige fluid flowed into plastic single-service containers. “That’s a pudding with calcium from oyster shells and chitin, a thickening agent from lobsters.”

A short stroll brought us to another product labeled
AllUNeed
.

“A medical food that contains shark liver oil for omega-3-fatty acids and squid ink for color and flavor. Very popular at nursing homes.”

We looped back to the dome where we caught an elevator to yet another arm housing the firm’s laboratories.

“We’re big on research,” Oxford noted, “which explains why we have a wing dedicated to labs.”

We came to a section where a man with a goatee and intense dark eyes rose from a stool to meet us.

“Dr. Gerald Mannino,” Oxford said, “director of virology.”

As I shook hands with the man, I noticed a woman behind him glare at me from a microscope the instant Oxford mentioned my name. She had long black hair and a pierced nose holding a silver bead. A sari flowed from beneath her lab coat.

“Dr. Mannino, I trust you will confirm that we have nothing to do with the protein XK59 here,” Oxford said.

The man’s eyebrows rose. “The protein in the newspaper?”

“Right.”

“Of course not! We focus on viruses here.”

“Which ones?” I asked.

“Marine viruses, chiefly. For example, we’re developing an antimalarial drug using a virus we found in ocean sediments.”

“Tell them about your anglerfish,” Oxford said.

Mannino beamed. “Ah, yes! We discovered a virus in anglerfish that kills
Salmonella
, a common foodborne bacterium.” He pointed to a photograph of the fish on the wall. “The virus came from that beast—the ‘black devil’ or, if you prefer its scientific name,
Melanocetus
.”

It was a ghoulish creature with a stubby body and a large head angled backwards. It seemed nature hadn’t intended the fish to close its mouth for its razor-sharp teeth were too long for it to do so. A pair of small pectoral fins jutted from its sides while a single dorsal fin, replete with spear-like projections, lined its back.

“We discovered the virus by chance,” Mannino continued. “A technician cleaned an anglerfish and inadvertently dripped intestinal contents onto an agar plate growing
Salmonella
. Within an hour, the
Salmonella
began dying.”

“How did you know it was a virus that killed the bacteria?” I asked.

“We blended the intestines from the fish and then divided the slurry into two portions, irradiating one to sterilize it. We then added aliquots from each portion to agar plates growing
Salmonella
. We discovered that only the non-irradiated portion was lethal, which led us to conclude a microbe was responsible for killing the
Salmonella
. That led us to the virus.”

“But, that wasn’t the novel finding,” Oxford interjected. “Microbiologists have known for years about ‘bacteriophages,’ viruses that infect bacteria. The novelty was the way we genetically engineered the virus to enhance its killing of not only
Salmonella
, but several other diarrhea-causing bacteria, and we did it in a way that prevented the virus from harming the helpful bacteria that reside in our guts. We hope to market this virus as a new form of antibiotic.”

“Did you genetically engineer the virus here?” I asked.

“Yes,” Mannino replied. “We have several geneticists here.” He looked me over. “What sort of physician are you?”

“A hematologist.”

He mulled the response. “Are you looking for a job? We’re hoping to expand into the hematologic realm, and with one of our scientists abroad currently, we could use the help.”

“Not the right time,” I replied.

“Dr. Mannino, if you’ll escort these gentlemen out, I have a meeting to attend,” Oxford said. To Flagstaff: “I hope you’re convinced we have nothing to do with XK59 here.”

Flagstaff nodded. “It appears that way, but before you go, let me ask you this: You have a consortium of boating interests called
Starboard
that funds you, in part, don’t you?”

Oxford nodded. “You’ve seen our Web site.”

“What is it, exactly, they’re funding?”

“Development of a product to kill an aggressive seaweed plugging parts of the Intracoastal Waterway. As you know, that’s a navigable inland waterway that extends 3,000 miles along the Atlantic and Gulf of Mexico coasts. With global warming, the seaweed has become a major issue.”

“But why’s
Starboard
paying for the project when the federal government maintains the waterway?” Bird asked.

“The feds
used
to maintain the waterway,” Oxford replied, suddenly animated. “The government’s destitute now. You can see that from our decaying infrastructure—bridges, dams, roads, and the like. The American Society of Civil Engineers recently assigned a grade of D- to America’s navigable waterways. Seaweed plugging the Intracoastal Waterway isn’t a priority even though it’s ruining beaches, stifling fishing, and causing havoc with boats.” He sighed. “Now Dr. Mannino, if you’ll see our guests to the lobby.”

Oxford shook our hands and left.

“Gentlemen, give me a moment to collect something before we depart,” Mannino said. He disappeared into an adjacent office.

While Bird and Flagstaff attended their phones, I reviewed a poster on a wall that summarized a project Mannino’s staff had presented at a conference. As I read it, I sensed someone approach me. It was the Indian woman I saw earlier at the microscope. She stopped at a sink beside me, but rather than wash a beaker she held, she looked at me with urgency.

“When can I see you?” she whispered, her accent British.

“Have we met?”

“I’m Giva Bhanjee. I left the business cards at your house.” She glanced over her shoulder.

“Cards?” I asked.

“Yes, one for Dr. Oxford and one for me.” She turned on the water. “We need to talk!”

“About what?”

“I’ll explain tonight. Meet me at the
Still Waters Inn
at midnight. Come alone.”

“Where?”

“The restaurant on MacArthur Boulevard near the Potomac River.”

“But—”

“Be there!”

She returned to the microscope.

“Gentlemen,” Mannino called. “Shall we go?”

As we left, I glanced over my shoulder and saw the young woman’s eyes locked on mine. Fear was written across her face.