Vaccine Nation (7 page)

“McCloskey said they can get to me any way they want until the information is public.” She felt a tingle up her spine and stood up. “I’m going to see what’s on that USB flash memory drive.” She walked upstairs to the bedroom and took it out of her pocket. James had followed her and now they went into his office
and plugged it into his computer. The only file on it was an Excel spreadsheet. Her heart pounded.

“It looks like rows of raw data,” James said.

Dani scrolled down the spreadsheet. “Hundreds of them, maybe thousands,” she said. She scrolled to the left. No captions, just series of numbers separated by commas. Her hopes sank.
Now what?
She looked up at James.

“I don’t think it would’ve made any more sense to McCloskey if he’d seen it. Without Maguire to interpret it, I don’t think anyone will know what it means.”

“I can’t accept that.”

“I don’t see how you have any choice.”

“McCloskey said it couldn’t have been a coincidence that Maguire came to me after I won at Tribeca for
Drugging
and that the Senate vaccine hearings are only days away. This has to be something with significance to the hearings.”

“So go public with it. Take it to the police and tell them that. Maybe someone will step forward who can figure it out. Or maybe it’s in code, and someone can crack it. But whatever you do, you need to go to the police, because you’re in danger.”

Dani’s stomach turned over. “And going to the police might put me in more danger.” She turned back to the numbers on the screen. “McCloskey said Maguire was working on something for years, and this has to be the data from it.”

“Yes, but without anything to tell you what the data pertains to, it can’t be possible to interpret it.”

Dani heard his words but wasn’t really listening. “Does this mean anything to you?”

“I’m a corporate lawyer. Numbers aren’t my stock-in-trade. This is a waste of time. The police are after you, and so is that killer. Let me make a few phone calls and get you to safety.”

“I’m going to Washington,” Dani said.

“What?”

“I’m going to Washington. The Senate hearings are on Monday. This data must have something to do with vaccines. Maguire must’ve been killed because the industry didn’t want this information to influence those hearings.”

“Dani, your films are one thing. This isn’t your crusade—”

“Yes it is.” She felt a surge of energy. “This is something important that I need to do. Maguire knew he was risking his life to get me whatever’s on this flash memory drive, a gamble he lost. I owe it to him.”

“Stop trying to take care of everyone else’s problems and take care of yourself.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re everybody’s caretaker. Think about it. When Jack got really out of control, you’re the one who took two weeks off to bring him to Mexico to that ibogaine clinic to try and get him off painkillers. When your sister’s dog got lost while they were on vacation in Florida, you stayed up half the night googling for pet shelters in St. Augustine, making up “LOST DOG” flyers with Cooper’s photo and FedExing them to Florida. And your Mom? You’re always saying she’s the rock in your family—”

“She is. Don’t you dare—”

“—but you’re the one who drops everything to help her out all the time. Not your sister, not your older brother, and we all know Jack’s not in a position to do anything for her.”

“Where’s this going?” Dani leveled her eyes at him, her anger flaring.
Why this lecture?

He kept on. “And what about all those people who call and email you at work? You can’t get any of your own work done because
you spend half the day researching diseases and remedies for those people who can’t afford to see Dr. O.”

“What’s your point?” Dani was clenching her jaw.

“The point is, for once, take care of yourself.”

“That’s exactly what I’m doing.”

“Is it? You have no idea what’s on that flash memory drive, and it might get you killed.”

“I can’t think about that.”

“And Gabe? What about him?”

She felt panic, then anger.
That’s hitting below the belt.
“Stop trying to manipulate me.”

“I’m only trying to talk some sense into you.”

“Gabe is someplace safe.”

“Maybe. But what if he has to grow up without his mother because she got killed by some nut when she could have avoided it?”

“Stop it! I need you to support me, not try to scare me. I’m going to Washington.”

Stiles insisted that Madsen come to his office for a briefing on what he’d accomplished by the end of the day. Madsen didn’t see how it made any difference where they met, but he went anyhow. When he got there Madsen understood. Stiles had converted the conference room adjoining his office into a battle command center. Two whiteboards stood at one end of the conference table; a map of New York City and its boroughs, with pushpins all over it, was placed at the other. Notebooks, yellow legal pads and pens and pencils were scattered at the seats around the table, briefcases and files stacked next to some of them. Half-drunk coffee
cups and wrappers from snacks were scattered around the table. The room smelled like a high school gymnasium.

“I see you’ve been busy,” Madsen said. He wanted to loosen things up, given the way he and Stiles had parted earlier in the afternoon.

Stiles looked at him through impassive eyes. “We’ve been at it all afternoon. I sent the team out for dinner. Figured it would give us a chance to talk confidentially. They’ll be back in an hour or so and we can hit it again for as long as we need to.” Stiles sat down and waited for Madsen to take a chair. “I’ve got four firms involved,” Stiles continued. “Two are people we usually use for due diligence, the other two are more specialized for this kind of work. Altogether we’ve got 120 on the street already. And another fifty or sixty we can put our hands on pretty quickly tomorrow morning if we need them.” Stiles paused for a reaction.

“What’s all this?” Madsen said, pointing at the whiteboards, then at the map.

“Two major approaches. The experienced guys said we should operate under two assumptions: first, she has the data, and second, she doesn’t. Assuming she has the data, we try to figure out where she would go with it and what she would do with it.”

“And?” Madsen said.

“We assume she’ll take the data to somebody who can interpret it. Or go to the media. Or go public with it herself on the Internet. Or go to the cops.”

“The cops? I told you she’s on the run. They think she killed a cop at her apartment.”

Stiles squinted like he did when the numbers didn’t add up. “Our guys turned up that the cop had his throat slit and a knife jammed into his heart. They don’t buy that a one hundred-pound woman could pull that off, even if she had the nerve. And they
can’t figure out what her motive would’ve been. Our guys’ contacts with the NYPD said all that cop went over there for was to pick up her laptop, so they could check out her files. They found her laptop in the apartment.”

“So?”

“So they figure most likely she didn’t kill the guy. After she thinks about it a while, she realizes she’s got nothing to lose by turning herself in to the cops.”

Madsen tried not to show any reaction, but a wave of discomfort ran up to his chest from his stomach. “How do we stop that from happening?”

Madsen knew that Stiles was no dummy, understood Madsen didn’t want that information in the public domain. Stiles said, “We’re working on it. We’ve already tossed Maguire’s office. Didn’t find anything controversial in his files or on his computer hard drive he might have given her, but our techs are still running down the hard drive. We already got the records on his office phone from our internal computer and found fifteen calls back and forth from the woman over a three-week period. We’re running his cell phone now, but that will take longer.”

“That’s a lot of calls.”

“Yes. One of our guys came up with the idea to paint it that those two were having an affair, that it went bad and somehow she was involved in his murder. Feed that to the cops.”

Madsen rolled his eyes. “A little thin, isn’t it?”

“You never know. They say if we leak it to the press, and she hears that, it’ll help keep her from going to the cops.”

“Okay, next?”

“So back to our first assumption, that she has the data. Our guys don’t see any way we could stop her from going to the media, or blasting it out on the Internet, so we’re not wasting resources
on that. But we’re trying to figure out who she might go to for help in interpreting it.”

“Any preliminary ideas?”

“We know that Maguire and John McCloskey were friends. And the woman knows McCloskey. He’s at the top of our list.”

McCloskey.
That fucking prick who turned on KellerDorne. “You find out where he lives?”

“Here in the city. Found him in the phone book.”

“Anything else?”

“Yes, another possibility if she has the data. She goes to Washington.”

Madsen nodded.
Of course, the hearings.
“Take it directly to someone on the committee.”

“Exactly. That’s what we put most of our resources on. She either has to drive, fly or take the bus or train. We already figured out she doesn’t have a car, so unless she borrows one, she’d have to rent one.” Stiles turned and pointed at the map with the pushpins in it. “Believe it or not, there are only thirty-two car rental agencies in Manhattan. Not too many more in the other boroughs. We’ve got them all staked out. And we got anything going to Washington covered as well. The flights from LaGuardia, Kennedy and Newark airports, the busses from the Port Authority and the trains from Penn Station.”

Madsen was itching to get up. He started to stand.

Stiles said, “Wait a second. I haven’t covered what they think she does if she doesn’t have the data.”

Madsen headed for the door. “I don’t really give a shit. Good work, Steve. Stay on it,” he called over his shoulder. He fingered the prepaid cell phone in his pocket, anxious to get back to his office and call the contractor.
That fucking prick McCloskey.

The next morning, Saturday, Dani woke in the guest bed to James kneeling, fully dressed, beside her. “I’m working on a deal and I need to get to the office. If I can’t stop you from going to Washington, at least I can help you. I left an envelope downstairs on the breakfront with $2,000 in cash. It’s the most I could get from the ATMs in one day. Your instinct about your BlackBerry is correct; the police, and whoever else may be after you, can trace it. Keep it turned off unless it’s an emergency. If you change your mind you know how to reach me. I love you.” He kissed her.

Tears came to Dani’s eyes. “You know I love you, don’t you?” she said.

James stroked her hair. “I do. But I still don’t understand.” He stood up and walked to the door. “Be careful.”

Dani said, “I will,” but her words were swallowed by the lump in her throat.
What’s wrong with me?
Why had she left James? Even after she had, here he was, doing everything he could to help, to keep her safe. Even after he couldn’t talk her out of going to Washington instead of the police.

At Penn Station, Dani paid cash for a ticket on the 9:00 a.m. Amtrak to Washington. She checked the overhead clock, then walked out of the station, looking for a beauty salon. Two blocks uptown, she entered The Mane Attraction—why did they always pick such dumb names?—and sat down in the first chair.

“I want a new look,” she said. “Take it all off, to a few inches long, and let’s color it dark brown. I just broke up with my boyfriend.”

Forty-five minutes later, Dani entered a Duane Reade drug store and paid cash for four prepaid cell phones and 60minute time cards for each, and four $200 Vanilla Visa gift cards.
Next, she found a consignment shop, where she bought a pair of well-worn khakis, a button-down oxford shirt, sneakers and a windbreaker. She changed in the back and dumped the bag of her own clothes in a wastebasket on the street. She glanced back: she loved those Ralph Lauren riding boots; she’d miss them.
So, off to Washington, and what?
She felt a spasm of uncertainty in her chest.