Vaccine Nation by David Lender Read Free Book Online

took in his office. The walls were covered with photographs of himself on the covers of The Wall Street Journal, The New York Times, The Financial Times, Time, Newsweek, BusinessWeek, Fortune and Forbes. His Humanitarian Award from the World Health Organization for his work on the measles vaccination program in Africa was prominent in the center of the cover photographs. Pictures of him shaking hands with various notables sat on the credenza, his coffee table, the end tables situated around the sofa and chairs in his conference area:Mayor Bloomberg, President Romney, and, before him, Presidents Obama and Bush. Senator Chuck Schumer, with whom he was on a first-name basis. He was a big guy in a big world. He walked back into the bathroom to drop the hand towel in the bin. He looked at his face in the mirror again and realized he was perspiring. That fucking prick contractor had disrespected him, rattled him, and now he felt like he needed to wash the stink of defeat off him. He splashed water on his face, dried himself.
    What the hell was with this contractor? Who was he? Some ex-Navy seal? Special Forces? Or just a scumbag who’d been trained how to kill? Why couldn’t he respect Madsen’s wishes as the client, put together the stuff that Madsen always got for his corporate deals.
    How would he go about it if he was working on a deal? He’d use Steve Stiles, his main man. He dialed the phone, and Stiles was in Madsen’s office within five minutes. Stiles looked like hell when he walked in: breathless, his face flushed, his unflappable CFO’s calm undone. “I just got a call from Morgan in Human Resources,” Stiles said. “One of our researchers was murdered in New York City this morning.” Stiles plunked down hard in a chair in front of Madsen’s desk. “One of our own.”
    “I know,” Madsen said, pursing his lips for effect. He stood up and walked over to close his office door, milking it for drama. “I know all about it. Not only that, I think someone in the industry had him murdered.”
    He got the reaction he wanted, Stiles exhaling, then distractedly fingering his bowtie.
    “Maguire was working on vaccines, some under development in joint ventures with other industry players. Maguire’s friend, McCloskey, was the whistleblower on KellerDorne’s Myriad painkiller. Bolton in R&D noticed Maguire was actingincreasingly withdrawn, even strange. So this morning, we think he had something in his hot little hand that seemed like dynamite he was ready to pass off to a girl who just won the award at the Tribeca Film Festival for best documentary, some shit about the impact of pharmaceutical drugs on our children. The same girl who interviewed McCloskey, the Myriad whistleblower.”
    Stiles’ eyes regained some of his accountant composure, like he was scrutinizing a balance sheet Madsen had handed him to review. “How’d you find this out?”
    “I told you. Bolton in R&D.”
    Stiles didn’t look convinced. He now examined Madsen like he was a column of numbers. That blank-eyed stare was back. It looked to Madsen like he was about to ask, “How the hell’d he find all this out?” but he said, “Sounds like Maguire had something that was damaging to the industry.”
    “We don’t know what he had, if he had anything at all, whether it was bogus, rigged, or for real. But it looks like somebody thought it was real and had him killed because of it. And now it seems this girl may have the data.”
    “I think I know where this is going.”
    “You got it. I need you to set up a war room. A full team of the appropriate experts, in this case heavy on the investigative guys you use for due diligence on deals. We’ll need a lot of feet pounding the pavement. And coordination with the NYPD, and whatever other police forces are involved.”
    Stiles was shaking his head. “This is crazy. We aren’t cops. And what do we need to find her for? Where is she?”
    “We don’t know. But the police think she killed a