After the Fall (37 page)

But festive was at the other end of Addie's emotional spectrum. Last night, she had witnessed the murder of Dru, her oldest friend in America, her Iraqi mentor, the one tasked by Saddam Hussein's regime to get her out of the US and back to Iraq—for good. She was numb from trauma, plagued by questions without answers. How could the person she thought she'd been in love with, kill Dru outright? What had Jake done with Dru's body? Had anyone found it? What if the police were now in her apartment? And when would the agents reappear who had interrogated her yesterday? Agent Sharkey said they would have more questions.

But Addie knew she must be present today at Replica. To be a part of the team, with her colleagues. To arrange for her money. Once she had the $7.5 million, she could at last decide. Go back to Iraq? Or disappear, and risk her family's lives by defying Saddam?

She wended her way through the Replica employees hanging out in the lobby, accepting congratulations with as much grace as she could muster. Once in her office, she closed
and locked her door. She simply sat, getting up only once, leaving her space to make a cup of tea, returning, locking the door. She must stay in close touch with Replica, but she must evade everyone else, the DIA investigators, and mainly, Jake. How to elude Jake? He'd be looking for her here, at Replica. What if he still expected her to marry him? That would be like Jake. Last night, after he shot Dru, he acted like nothing of import had happened. But she'd seen him shoot Dru. She was a witness. What if he decided to get rid of her too? She shivered when she remembered Jake's wife. Could he have killed her? She had to get out of here. Now.

She was about to pick up her purse and a few personal items when a knock at the door interrupted the silence. Her body froze. They must have let Jake in. With his FDA credentials he could enter any pharmaceutical establishment.

“Addie?”

Priscilla Fabre. Addie slumped back into her chair. Alarmed, she realized she had not informed Priscilla that she did indeed plan to stay with the company. That she would forgo her request for a leave of absence. As required by her contract, she'd be here on payout day.

“Yes, I'm here.”

“Can I come in?”

Addie unlocked and opened the door to an ebullient Priscilla.

Priscilla stepped toward Addie for an intended embrace, but then pulled back. “Addie, are you okay? I know you're worried about your father, but with Immunone's approval tomorrow…” Priscilla frowned. “Well, you don't look too good.”

“I didn't sleep well,” Addie admitted. Doesn't everybody use that excuse for an off day?

“You do know, don't you? We got the Immunone approval!”

Addie wasn't sure how to answer. Laura Nelson had told her in the parking lot yesterday, but said the news was confidential. Would Priscilla assume Jake had told her?

“I…heard it would happen tomorrow.” Addie couldn't
control a stammer. “I am thrilled because I'll be a full-time employee.”

“But you don't look too happy,” Priscilla said. With a frown she added, “Isn't that the same suit you wore yesterday?”

“I'm worried about my father,” Addie was quick to respond. “But I can put off going to him. Work something out with you. I just hope so much that he lives long enough.”

“Next week, once this thing gets approved, we can talk about your leave of absence. Take whatever time you need for your family. I do understand. I felt awful when the lawyers denied you yesterday.”

“Thanks, Priscilla, you've been so kind to me.” Addie was about to say, “I'll miss you,” but no use going into that right now. Just get through until tomorrow's approval.

“The reason I'm here right now is that we want you to play a role in tomorrow's press conference. Our biggest ever. For the medical and scientific press and the financial media. Television,
Wall Street Journal, Washington Post…”

“Why me?” Addie wanted to disappear, attention from the media was the worst scenario she could imagine.

“Replica hired you because you discovered the drug. You developed Immunone to the stage we could sell it to big pharma. Tell me, who could be a better choice?”

“I was not born in this country. My English—”

“Your English is fine. The board has discussed this, Addie. This is not a request. They want you out there, standing next to Keystone's media choice, Dr. Laura Nelson.”

“Laura Nelson,” Addie repeated. A woman she'd only met twice, but a woman she felt she could trust. And she had to trust
someone
. In ordinary times, she'd be honored to share a press conference with Laura Nelson. But these were not ordinary times.

“The Year of the Woman Scientist.” Priscilla grabbed Addie's hand. “Two beautiful, smart, incredibly successful scientists—the human interest angle is almost overwhelming.”

“Overwhelming,” Addie repeated, slumping back, resigned.

“Now, we have to get you the proper clothes. I'll call in my personal shopper,” Priscilla said, with a glance at her own perfectly tailored gray suit with just the finest of pinstripes. “I'll arrange for a hairdresser to do your hairstyle in the morning.” After a glance at Addie's hands, she added, “And a manicurist.”

Addie noticed only now that Priscilla was carrying a leather folder, offering it to her.

“This is for you,” she insisted, but politely. “Your talking points. You'll make a brief statement. It's all in here. Take a good look at all the possible questions, and the answers you need to have at your fingertips. A media consultant will go over this with you this afternoon. The idea is, no matter what they ask you, you answer with one of these points. You're okay with that?”

What could Addie say or do but nod her head, “yes,” accept the folder, and try to keep her hand from shaking?

“I'll leave these with you then. Really, Addie, you're perfect for this role. You'll do just great.”

When Priscilla closed the door behind her, Addie locked it. She went back to her desk, sat down, forced herself to breathe in and breathe out.
She must calm down
. Then she reached into her purse, found Laura Nelson's business card, dialed.

“Dr. Nelson is out of town, Dr. Abdul,” the kindly voice said. “I can leave her a message.”

“Just tell her Dr. Adawia Abdul called. It's important. Could she call me at my office?” She provided the number, speaking so fast she was asked to slow down and repeat it.

Hoping for a quick response from Laura, Addie opened the talking points folder. She read the remarks she was supposed to deliver. Easy. No practice needed. She moved to the Questions & Answers section. As Priscilla had warned, the questions varied, but the answers were all pretty much a variation of a list of a dozen responses. Addie found this baffling. Distracted, she left her office to make another cup of tea. Jake would be coming after her soon. She had to leave. But she'd try Laura's office one more
time. This time the kindly woman who answered advised her to contact Laura at the Hay-Adams Hotel in Washington, DC.

The clock on her desk, a graduation gift from her faculty advisor at University of Michigan, told her it was 10:10. Grabbing her purse, her briefcase, and the folder Priscilla had given her, Addie rushed out of her office, down the corridor, and out to her car.

T
HURSDAY
, M
ARCH
5

A knock at the Hay-Adams boardroom door introduced a bellman, presenting a cream-colored sheet of paper on a small silver tray. “A message for Dr. Laura Nelson,” he announced.

“Over here,” Laura said, getting up to accept the note.

For the last hour and a half, Laura had focused intently on instructions offered by her Keystone colleagues and their public relations consultants.

She welcomed any distraction, any excuse to end the rehearsal for tomorrow's press conference. The room went silent as she read the handwritten scrawling script: “Dr. Nelson, I am here in the lobby. I need to talk to you. I will wait.” Signed: “Adawia Abdul.”

“Okay, team,” Laura announced. “I'm ready for the reporters tomorrow. I thank you all for such diligent coaching. I have something I must attend to.” She stowed her documents in an Immunone press kit folder specially designed for the event. “So let's call it quits until the real deal in the morning. I think we're at the point of diminishing returns, anyway.”

“We're in good shape,” the senior media consultant said. “If a journalist asks anything we haven't gone over, Laura has her talking points for reference.”

Laura just hoped that tomorrow she would achieve the right balance of accuracy and spontaneity.

During the lunch break, Laura had slipped away to a desk in the hotel's business center to make some urgent calls. Her parents were delighted to hear her voice, but worried about her hand injury recovery. She'd called Tim, but he was still in surgery. She left a voice mail message, upbeat and encouraging, ending with “Love you, Tim.” To be able to say that, meaning it so deeply, felt right to her. Why had it taken so long to understand what she felt?

Out of old, ingrown habit, Laura had thought for a second about calling her kids. All adults now—not cool for Mommy to call in the middle of their day. She smiled, but the smile wilted when she remembered the family meeting planned for tomorrow night. Nothing she could do about that now. Stay focused. Compartmentalize.

At Keystone, her secretary had chatted about the cartons of champagne piling up in Paul Parnell's executive suite. But there was one message she had wanted to bring to Laura's attention, “From that woman doctor-scientist at Replica. Dr. Adawia Abdul. The callback number I have is her office at Replica.” Laura scribbled the number on her Immunone notepad. “She's anxious to talk to you. She sounded, well, distressed, even about to cry. I figured she should be upbeat with her drug being approved, but she definitely did not sound that way.”

“Okay,” Laura had responded, thinking about her early morning call about the Jeep to the Philadelphia police detective. Adawia Abdul had been the one to confirm that the suspicious dark-colored Jeep was Jake Harter's. “I'll try to reach her, but if she calls again, tell her she can get me here.”

“Will do. And, Dr. Nelson, have you seen anybody famous there at the Hay-Adams?”

“Not yet. This has not been a glamour gig—at least, not so far.”

Laura's left hand shook as she'd dialed the next number. The woman in Mayor Young's office sounded perky, “Mr. Greenwood is in Washington, DC, today. I know he wants to talk to you, Dr. Nelson. He has meetings with former DC Mayor Barry at the Hay-Adams today and tomorrow.” Laura had hesitated before
starting to disclose that she was at the same hotel, but, in the brief silence, the woman disconnected. Relief, if only temporary. Can't think about it now.

Next, she had called Replica and asked for Dr. Abdul. But Addie's line just rang and rang. And now, the note saying she was here, in the Hay-Adams, she said.

Laura got off the hotel elevator and scanned the grand lobby. All but hidden in a remote corner, Addie perched uncomfortably on a hardback chair, bent forward, head in her hands as if she were crying. “Addie?” Laura managed to get her attention from several feet away.

The young doctoral research star looked disheveled. Not her usual, stylish self. When she raised her head, the red-rimmed eyes, smudged mascara, and uneven makeup left no doubt that she had been in tears. But why, on the eve of her monumental success?

“Are you okay?”

“Dr. Nelson—”

“Laura, remember?”

Addie seemed to struggle for words, so Laura prompted, “My office said you called, but—”

“Yes. They told me you were here. I'm sorry to interrupt, but I need some advice. Desperately.”

“You're not interrupting. Actually, you saved me from another twenty minutes of grueling preparation for the press conference.” Hadn't someone told her Addie also would be on hand tomorrow, representing Replica, the little start-up company that beat tremendous odds against success in the pharmaceutical space?