Part 2 (1/2)
”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 finis.h.i.+ng 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-s.h.i.+rt, 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 b.u.t.ton-down s.h.i.+rt 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.
”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 s.h.i.+eld 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 s.h.i.+fted 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.”