The Delta Factor by Thomas Locke Read Free Book Online

emerged through the window. Horace could not refrain from a tentative fondle before sliding it into his shapeless leather satchel—another item on the replacement list. He then plucked the disk from his pocket and handed it over. “It has everything you asked for. Initial trials, formula, doses, the works.”
    Despite the heat, the hand that reached for the disk wore an Italian driving glove. “We need more information from you.”
    Horace made his face as blank as he possibly could. He had known this was coming. He had spent a dozen sleepless nights working out what to say when the man with the dark liquid eyes and slicked-down black hair made the request. Horace knew the man was foreign. His heavy accent and aquiline features and languid gestures were unmistakably alien. Horace had decided the man was Spanish. He asked, “What else?”
    â€œWe need the exact method by which the drug was prepared. A step-by-step explanation of the production process.”
    Horace swallowed. “We don’t have that on file. The team’s microbiologist keeps that separately. With the final application, sure. But not now.”
    â€œCan you get it?”
    He pretended to think. “I have a friend in the patent office, a guy I play poker with. When a new drug is patented, the compound is usually listed both by molecular structure and process.”
    â€œHow much?”
    His bow tie was suddenly as tight as a noose. “Twice as much as this time,” he replied. “There will be two of us to pay.”
    A long moment passed while the blank-faced foreigner almost melted Horace with his inspection, then a single nod. “I must have it immediately.”
    â€œNext Wednesday. Same time. Here.”
    The window powered up. Horace stood and watched the car move off and moved his lips silently, working to commit the license plate to memory. All of this was going down in writing, to be kept in a safe place. There was never enough insurance when dealing with people like this. Horace turned and started down the street on rubbery legs.
    Another five days, and he could thumb his nose at the whole shooting match.
    Five days, and he was finally a free man.

3
    Cliff Devon crossed the Carolina border a very happy and a very heartsore young man.
    He was happy for two reasons. First and foremost, because he was finally going down to see his best friend in all the world. Second, because he was doing so alone.
    His reasons for the deep-down case of heartache were exactly the same.
    Deborah had been less than fully healthy for as long as he had known her, which had been since his sophomore year in college. It had been at that point that a brilliant researcher and part-time lecturer had taken pity on a bumbling student, coached him through biology, and refused to take payment for her services. A deep and abiding friendship had resulted.
    At that point, Deborah’s illness had been characterized by frequent bouts of flu and severe migraine headaches. His senior year, she had felt tingling sensations in her limbs. His first year with the FDA, she began to experience extensive numbness for no apparent reason.
    And all the while she had refused to go in for a medical checkup.
    The worse her condition became, the harder it had been for Cliff to stand by without knowing what was happening.
    Deborah, on the other hand, was a virologist. She had understood that a diagnosis would probably make no difference. For virtually every suspected cause of her symptoms, she had known there was no cure. Or at least that is what she had told him. And the knowledge had not helped him cope.
    Gripped with the fervor of watching a dear friend decline, Cliff had argued with a force that had wounded them both. She had turned understandably stubborn. He had stormed out, promising not to return until she came to terms with her illness. Deborah had shouted at his back that he was the one who couldn’t accept it.
    That had been exactly