Shoofly Pie & Chop Shop (58 page)

“They probably have an IPO coming up,” Nick said. “You think all the talk is just smoke and mirrors?”

“There’s no way to tell,” Riley shrugged. “Pharmacogenomics is a promising field, but the problem is in doing the original research. Even with DNA micro array technology, looking for specific gene variations is a slow process. Then it’s hard to determine which genes are involved with each disease or condition—it’s hard to get the big picture. But the biggest problem is that, for their data to be reliable, they need an enormous population base to study. No one can afford to pay for it, so it all has to be done on a volunteer basis—that must be the Keystone Club they mentioned. PharmaGen’s success depends on the sheer goodwill of half a million Pennsylvania residents.”

“That’s a lot of goodwill,” Nick said. “Leo, check his e-mail. See if you can find any correspondence that might explain some of this.”

“I already did,” Leo said. “His e-mail has been selectively encrypted. I checked his installed program list; he’s running PGP. It’s a high-end encryption program. Without his key, we’re not going to get into it.”

Nick frowned. “I thought you guys could just type a few keys and hack your way into anything.”

Leo mirrored his expression. “I thought you guys could just ask the flies and they’d tell you how long they’ve been there.”

“So now what?”

“We can’t see what he’s e-mailed in the past,” Leo said, “but we can see what he sends in the future. In fact, we can see a lot more than that.” He took out a single, unlabeled disk and loaded it into the CD/DVD drive.

“What’s that?”

“For want of a more honorable term, it’s called spy ware. It hides on his computer, and it records every keystroke he makes. It records everything—e-mails, chats, instant messages, passwords—and it e-mails it all to us in tidy little reports. What’s more, we can even set up a remote screen connection that allows us to see what he’s seeing in real-time.”

“You can do that?” Riley said.

Leo smiled. “I’ve impressed you! A most satisfying achievement. Yes, dear Riley, you can do that. Welcome to the world of corporate surveillance. Employers want to know how their employees are spending their office hours, and this is their answer. A lot of suspicious spouses and jealous lovers are finding applications for it too.”

“But isn’t this … illegal?”

Leo glanced around at their surroundings. “A moot point, don’t you think?”

“So we can get his e-mails now? But won’t they still be encrypted?”

“E-mails are encrypted when they’re sent or stored. We won’t be intercepting his messages, we’ll be watching them as they’re being typed, key-by-key.”

“It sounds great,” Riley said, “but what do we do now, just sit around and watch Lassiter surf the Web? Do we just wait until the right e-mail comes along?”

There was a long pause.

“You know,” Nick said suddenly, “I feel a sudden surge of goodwill coming on. I don’t know about you two, but I think I’ll join the Keystone Club.”

Mr. Polchak? Mr. Nicholas Polchak?”

“That’s me,” Nick said, dropping his magazine on the side table and rising to meet the smiling young woman.

“Welcome to PharmaGen, Mr. Polchak. My name is Kelli. Thank you so much for your call.”

Her expression was warm and welcoming, and her eyes were round and bright. She extended her hand; her long fingers, tipped in a perfect French manicure, came almost to a knifepoint. Nick took the hand. It was as smooth and soft as Ultra suede, and he felt an almost irresistible urge to rotate it and study the surface more closely. Most impressive of all, she looked him almost perfectly in the eye. There was almost no hesitation at his enormous glasses, almost no fractional blink or subtle widening of the eye.

Almost.

“I’m a clinical research coordinator here at PharmaGen,” she smiled. “Will you follow me, please?” She placed one foot behind the other and pivoted with perfect balance, heading for a doorway beside a smoky glass-and-chrome reception desk.

Nick watched her as she walked ahead of him. Her deep umber hair was pulled back tightly, except for one casual strand that curled across her right eye, creating the perfect synergy of professionalism and sensuality. Her immaculately tailored jacket was wide and sharp at the shoulders, tapering tightly to the waist before a deep back vent allowed it to curve around her hips. She was, like the lavish waiting room around her, a calculated image of precision and professionalism. She was the glossy cover on a soon-to-be bestseller, a story of imminent success.

They entered a small sitting room, much warmer and more intimate than the futuristic reception area. The lighting was all
eye-level, without a trace of hospital-blue fluorescence anywhere. Golden light poured through textured lampshades, casting fireside shadows across the lush green plants and overstuffed furniture. On the walls, pastoral landscapes completed the image of friendship, trust, and security.

“Please have a seat, Mr. Polchak. Oh no, not there—try this one. It’s full grain calfskin. Now, isn’t that nice?”

“Like a big catcher’s mitt,” Nick said, settling back. He gave a quick thought to the ballpoint pen in his back pocket, but let it go.

“So—where did you come in from today?”

“Tarentum,” Nick said.

“Tarentum. I don’t believe I’ve heard of—”

“It’s about twenty miles up the Allegheny, across the river from New Kensington and Lower Burrell.” Nick leaned forward. “You have heard of Lower Burrell, haven’t you?”

“Of course,” she lied. “You know, you didn’t have to drive all the way down here.”

“You have offices in Tarentum?”

“We have offices in twenty-nine western Pennsylvania counties.”

“That’s remarkable for a company as young as yours,” Nick said. “I hope you plan to buy stock.”

“I’ll be first in line,” she said with a wink. She opened the chocolate-colored folder in her lap. “So you’re here to join our Keystone Club.”

“I’m here to learn more—this is all very new to me. I know the basics, of course: PharmaGen’s goal is to develop personalized medicines by identifying disease-causing genetic variants in the general population.”

“That’s very good, Mr. Polchak.”

“My mom says I have an aptitude for science. Tell me, does PharmaGen have a marketable product yet?”

“Not yet, but we’re very, very close. Currently, we’re focusing most of our resources on our population study. That’s the Keystone Club.”

“Half a million strong,” Nick quoted. “That’s an enormous research base. Do you have anywhere near that number signed up?”

“We will—with the help of people like you.”

Nick nodded. “Tell me, how does one go about enlisting the cooperation of half a million people? They can’t get that many people to vote.”

“By making it easy to do, Mr. Polchak—that’s the key. PharmaGen has formed a partnership with the University of Pittsburgh Medical Center. UPMC is the largest healthcare system in western Pennsylvania. Their facilities include twenty hospitals, four hundred doctors’ offices and outpatient centers, fifty different rehab facilities—they even do in-home care. There are five thousand physicians in the UPMC network, and every one of them can sign you up for the Keystone Club. It’s as simple as going to the doctor—even people who don’t vote have to go to the doctor.”

“Very clever,” Nick said. “And what’s in it for UPMC?”

“A big chunk of the company I’ll bet—but you didn’t hear that from me.”

“OK, so I go to the doctor for my yearly exam. What happens then?”

“First of all, you’ll find our brochures in every waiting area and exam room—brochures like this one.” She handed Nick a slick four-color trifold with many of the same images and graphics from the Web site. “We also train nurses and phlebotomists to introduce our program to their patients, so you’re very likely to hear about us face to face.”

“And if I agree to participate? What happens next?”

“Here’s the beauty of it, Mr. Polchak. All it requires of you is a signature, a blood draw, and a brief interview.”

“The blood gives you the DNA sample—what about the signature? What exactly am I signing?”

“A simple release form, allowing PharmaGen access to your personal medical history.”

“Whoa,” Nick said. “I’m signing over my entire—”

“Anonymously,”
she interjected with surgical precision, anticipating the objection. “Your name is removed from all medical records and replaced by a numerical code—the same code is attached to your blood sample. Our researchers never know who you are, Mr. Polchak; they only need to know that
this
blood sample goes with
this
medical history. Complete confidentiality is assured.”

“And the interview—what’s that about?”

“It’s a family history questionnaire. We want to know about your environment and background, especially the incidence of certain diseases and conditions in your family—but once again, the information is encoded and remains completely confidential.”

“So PharmaGen has my blood, my personal medical record, and the history of disease in my family—and that allows them to search for predictable variants in my DNA.”

“Variants that could predict diseases like asthma, diabetes, hypertension, and certain cancers—those are some of the ones we’re working on first.”

“Let’s go back to the subject of confidentiality for a minute.”

“Everyone does,” she said with a reassuring smile. “It’s perfectly understandable. Let me tell you this: The results of your DNA analysis will not be revealed to employers, insurance companies, or anyone else who doesn’t have a legal right to know. In fact, PharmaGen has obtained a Certificate of Confidentiality from the National Institutes of Health. That certificate prevents our researchers from revealing any information that might identify you,
even if subpoenaed by a court.
”

Her presentation was polished, and her enthusiasm was genuine. Nick smiled.

She was, without a doubt, a future stockholder.

“You’re very good,” he said. “Would you mind if I asked a couple of …
harder
questions?”

She gave him a mischievous grin. “I’m ready for you. Fire away.”

“When is my name removed from my medical records—before they leave the doctor’s office or after they arrive at PharmaGen?”

“Well, I … I have to admit, I’ve never been asked that—”

“Think it over. The doctor’s role is merely to release the medical records and to obtain the blood sample. Who assigns the confidential numerical code?”

She knew this one. “PharmaGen does that.”

“That means my records are
not
confidential when they leave the doctor’s office, and not when they first arrive at PharmaGen.”

“Perhaps—but immediately after arrival, they—”

“How
long
after arrival? And who specifically removes the name and assigns the numerical code? Do you know?”

The young woman said nothing.

“Let me try a different question. We have an aging population in the United States. In the future, the demand for safe and effective pharmaceuticals will continue to skyrocket. I can see how PharmaGen is poised to make an enormous amount of money—
if
they can come up with a product. My question is: just how far away is the first
personalized medicine
?”

“We’re very, very close—”

“It wasn’t a fair question,” Nick said, ignoring her stock response. “That’s PharmaGen’s deepest secret, now, isn’t it? You haven’t gone public yet, so you’re surviving off venture capital and up-front investments—and to keep those investments coming in, success
has
to seem very, very close. This company survives on the promise of success, and you’re very good at promising. The waiting area, this room, even you, Kelli—everything about this place says, ‘I promise.’ ”

She did her best to maintain her confident smile, but she seemed to grow awkwardly self-aware.

“PharmaGen survives on trust,” he said. “It’s worth more to you right now than any amount of venture capital. For you to succeed, the public has to trust you. What I want to know is: can you be trusted, Kelli?”

The young woman closed the folder in her lap. “I think your questions are a little over my head,” she said. “If you’d care to speak to my supervisor—”

“Better yet,” Nick said, “who runs the company?”

She did an obvious double take now, the first real crack in her flawless image.

“Well … I … our founder and CEO is Tucker Truett, but—”

“Where can I find him?”

“Mr. Polchak, you can’t just—”

“Is he here? Is his office in this building?”

“No. I mean yes, but you can’t possibly see him without—”

“You never know. Let’s give it a try,” Nick said, rising from the chair and heading for the door. “Let’s see: We came from that direction, so the offices must be …
this
way.”

“Mr. Polchak! Wait!” As Nick disappeared out the doorway, she grabbed for the phone and dialed a single number.

Just a few yards past the reception area the cosmetic image of success suddenly fell away, revealing underneath the raw flesh and driving pulse of an ambitious young company. Nick picked up a coffee mug from the first unattended desk and walked confidently past a series of crowded desks and buzzing cubicles.