Indispensable Party (Sasha McCandless Legal Thriller No. 4) by Melissa F Miller Page B
Authors: Melissa F Miller
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brace himself as they jostled along.
“No, that’s one reason they were
trying to hire away our researchers—they lack the knowledge base to create a
vaccine. We’ve been very good at recruiting away junior academic researchers,
and they have had less success with that. They do claim to have created an
effective antiviral, though,” he said.
“An antiviral treats flu symptoms
and a vaccine prevents you from catching it in the first place, right? I mean,
basically?”
“Basically. A scientist would
cringe, but, yeah, that’s pretty much it. But we’re careful to always say a
vaccination will either provide immunity to a specific strain of the flu or lessen the severity and duration of the flu if the immunized person is
infected. It depends on the individual,” he said.
“Yeah. My brothers had all their
kids vaccinated for chicken pox, but Siobhan managed to catch it at preschool,
anyway. Ryan said she was mildly itchy on one thigh and ran a low fever for a
day, but that was it,” Sasha said.
“That’s actually pretty amazing,
if you think about it. I mean, I had the chickenpox when I was a kid. I was a
miserable, itchy mess. It was a rotten week stuck at home and taking baths in
that pink stuff,” Leo said. He had to resist the urge to scratch just
remembering it.
“Oh, definitely,” she agreed,
glancing over and giving him a quick smile, then she was all business again. “If
ViraGene has an antiviral now, why would they still care so much about your
vaccine? The stockpile won’t have anywhere near enough doses to immunize
everyone if the flu does hit. Won’t everyone else be begging for the antiviral?”
“Sure, people probably would, but
that’s not how ViraGene views it. We have a guaranteed contract for millions of
doses. They have nothing, unless the virus actually hits. And the government
has already come out and said they aren’t going to stockpile the antiviral.
Meanwhile, ViraGene has just spent a lot of money developing this drug.
I’m sure they’d love to find out that our vaccine doesn’t work as well as we
claim, or has some sort of horrible side effect, or that our production
schedule is backed up—anything they could take to the government to try to
convince them to switch horses.”
ViraGene’s increasing desperation
made perfect sense to Leo. In the short time he’d worked in the private sector,
he’d come to realize that shareholder confidence and the markets were the
altars at which corporations worshipped. They’d do just about anything to
appease those twin gods.
“I suppose,” Sasha murmured.
The gravel ended. A heavy metal
gate marked the beginning of Serumceutical’s property. The gate hung open, and
the parking lot had been cleared of snow. Sasha bumped the car up onto the
paved lot and headed across it to the nondescript, low-slung rectangular
building that sat at the far end.
As they neared the gunmetal gray
building, Leo spotted Ben Davenport, the collar of his coat turned up against
the cold, pacing back and forth in front of the glass-doored entrance. Ben
raised a hand in greeting, and Leo saw the worry etched on his face even from a
distance. Leo tensed.
“Something’s wrong,” he said more
to himself than to Sasha as she eased the car into a parking spot and killed
the engine.
She looked at him with bemusement
in her glittering green eyes. “What?”
“Never mind,” he said. They’d
find out soon enough if his feeling was right.
Ben walked over to the car to
greet them.
“Leo, Ms. McCandless. Hope the
drive wasn’t too bad,” he said with a smile and an extended hand.
Leo shook the warehouse manager’s
hand and searched his eyes. “Piece of cake; the roads are dry. How are you, Ben?”
“Good. Not used to the cold
anymore, though,” he said, barking out a laugh. “Let’s get inside.”
Ben turned to Sasha and
explained, “After Serumceutical shuttered this place when it ‘right-sized’
operations back in the 90s, I took
“No, that’s one reason they were
trying to hire away our researchers—they lack the knowledge base to create a
vaccine. We’ve been very good at recruiting away junior academic researchers,
and they have had less success with that. They do claim to have created an
effective antiviral, though,” he said.
“An antiviral treats flu symptoms
and a vaccine prevents you from catching it in the first place, right? I mean,
basically?”
“Basically. A scientist would
cringe, but, yeah, that’s pretty much it. But we’re careful to always say a
vaccination will either provide immunity to a specific strain of the flu or lessen the severity and duration of the flu if the immunized person is
infected. It depends on the individual,” he said.
“Yeah. My brothers had all their
kids vaccinated for chicken pox, but Siobhan managed to catch it at preschool,
anyway. Ryan said she was mildly itchy on one thigh and ran a low fever for a
day, but that was it,” Sasha said.
“That’s actually pretty amazing,
if you think about it. I mean, I had the chickenpox when I was a kid. I was a
miserable, itchy mess. It was a rotten week stuck at home and taking baths in
that pink stuff,” Leo said. He had to resist the urge to scratch just
remembering it.
“Oh, definitely,” she agreed,
glancing over and giving him a quick smile, then she was all business again. “If
ViraGene has an antiviral now, why would they still care so much about your
vaccine? The stockpile won’t have anywhere near enough doses to immunize
everyone if the flu does hit. Won’t everyone else be begging for the antiviral?”
“Sure, people probably would, but
that’s not how ViraGene views it. We have a guaranteed contract for millions of
doses. They have nothing, unless the virus actually hits. And the government
has already come out and said they aren’t going to stockpile the antiviral.
Meanwhile, ViraGene has just spent a lot of money developing this drug.
I’m sure they’d love to find out that our vaccine doesn’t work as well as we
claim, or has some sort of horrible side effect, or that our production
schedule is backed up—anything they could take to the government to try to
convince them to switch horses.”
ViraGene’s increasing desperation
made perfect sense to Leo. In the short time he’d worked in the private sector,
he’d come to realize that shareholder confidence and the markets were the
altars at which corporations worshipped. They’d do just about anything to
appease those twin gods.
“I suppose,” Sasha murmured.
The gravel ended. A heavy metal
gate marked the beginning of Serumceutical’s property. The gate hung open, and
the parking lot had been cleared of snow. Sasha bumped the car up onto the
paved lot and headed across it to the nondescript, low-slung rectangular
building that sat at the far end.
As they neared the gunmetal gray
building, Leo spotted Ben Davenport, the collar of his coat turned up against
the cold, pacing back and forth in front of the glass-doored entrance. Ben
raised a hand in greeting, and Leo saw the worry etched on his face even from a
distance. Leo tensed.
“Something’s wrong,” he said more
to himself than to Sasha as she eased the car into a parking spot and killed
the engine.
She looked at him with bemusement
in her glittering green eyes. “What?”
“Never mind,” he said. They’d
find out soon enough if his feeling was right.
Ben walked over to the car to
greet them.
“Leo, Ms. McCandless. Hope the
drive wasn’t too bad,” he said with a smile and an extended hand.
Leo shook the warehouse manager’s
hand and searched his eyes. “Piece of cake; the roads are dry. How are you, Ben?”
“Good. Not used to the cold
anymore, though,” he said, barking out a laugh. “Let’s get inside.”
Ben turned to Sasha and
explained, “After Serumceutical shuttered this place when it ‘right-sized’
operations back in the 90s, I took
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