"Hey, okay, " Bill said, making conciliatory motions with his hands.
"Don't get excited. Makes no difference to me. If you ain't missin' nothin', then I guess maybe I could be wrong. But it sure looks like the tip of a tension bar." Duncan's mind raced back over the contents of the drawer. The TPD, the trocar, Lisa's photo, the recorder, and some miscellaneous junk. All there when they'd opened. the drawer.
He modulated his tone. "Well, I'm not missing anything.
And I don't keep anything in there worth stealing in the first place.
So I guess that means the lock wasn't picked." Bill shrugged, averting his gaze. "You could say that. Could also say that the piece might've chipped off and jammed in there before whoever it was got the drawer open." Duncan winced as the spasm tightened its grip on his gut. He's right.
But who in the world . . . ?
"Yes, well, since nothing is missing, I think I'll just forget about it. But I'm certainly glad you brought it to my . . .
attention. "Hey, no problem." When Bill left, leaving a set of keys for the new ock, Duncan went to the appliance cabinet and checked the TPD bottle.
He hadn't memorized the previous fluid level but it appeared unchanged.
The autoclave envelope was still sealed around the trocar. He replaced both in the drawer and locked it. Then he leaned back in his desk chair and felt his gut slowly uncoil as he willed himself toward calm.
All right. Let's be rational. Very strange. And very unsettling.
But where was the logical reason for anyone to try to get into that drawer, and by picking the lock, of all things?
And what was there, really, to worry about? Even if someone had found the TPD, what could they do? They wouldn't know what it was. TPD was an orphaned, abandoned compound. The only record of its existence was in the dead files of GEM Pharma, and in the cavernous data banks of the .
. .
FDA.
Good Lord!
Duncan bolted from the chair and hurried out to the reception area.
'"Barbara! Did you use the FDA database yesterday? " "No, I, " "I saw the manual on your desk this morning." She leaned back from him, a startled expression on hex face. He hadn't intended to speak so harshly.
"I, I gave it to Dr. Panzella yesterday. She asked for it, so I dug it out for her." He was stunned. Gin?
"That was all right, wasn't it? " Gin?
"What? Oh, yes. Fine." Time for a little damage control. "I was just looking for it. I have to use it . . . need some data from the FDA myself." Barbara handed it to him and he returned to his office, shaking his head at the image of Gin attempting to pick a lock.
Absurd. Laughable.
And yet . . .
She certainly had access and opportunity. But why would she? No. No way.
And yet . . .
The jammed lock, Gin asking for the FDA manual . . . the juxtaposition was just a little too close.
Duncan returned to his desk and turned on his computer terminal. Maybe there was some way to find out just what she was after from the FDA.
Gin stiffened behind the wheel when she saw Duncan's car in the lot.
Not that unusual for him to be here on a Wednesday morning, but she'd been hoping and praying he'd have done whatever it was he did and be gone by now.
Well, she couldn't let that stop her. She jumped out of her car and hurried for the rear entrance.
She'd use the old, as yet untried Forgot-my-Senate-lDbadge excuse if anyone asked why she was here. The whole -ocedure would take ten seconds, log into the hard drive Del the file with the triptolinic diethylamide data, log out, , en get the hell out of Dodge.
Simple.
God, it better be.
. uncan had logged in to the FDA database but that was no elp. No way to tell what Gin had done. He'd even called the FDA, but three different clerks hadn't the vaguest idea ow to help him.
Seething with frustration, he exited the program and back, staring at the C-prompt. There had to be a way . . but what if there wasn't anything to find? And even if eye had been searching for TPD, she may never have found it. ars back, Duncan himself had had a devil of a time ccessing it and he'd known where to look. But if she had and it and simply read the information on the screen, There'd be no trail, no way for him to know. Only if she'd downloaded the file, Duncan straightened in his chair.
Download. She'd have to create a download file, have to a the incoming data before it could be written to the hard drive. He punched in DIR/OD and entered it. The entire contents of the hard drive, every directory and free file scrolled up before him at an unreadable pace.
No matter. If , in had downloaded directly to the hard drive, he'd find it >e, somewhere near the end of the list. If she'd routed the into one of the directories, he'd have to search it OUt srectory by directory. And if she'd erased it . . . well, then e'd just be wasting his time
And how would he recognize it, anyway? Would she have Lbeled it TPD?
Hardly.
And suddenly there it was, at the bottom of the screen.
eye last file. "RFP" followed by yesterday's date.
Regina F. Panzella. He'd forgotten what the F. stood for, as if that mattered. What was in that file?
He punched in TYPE RFP and watched the lines zip up the screen. When the scrolling stopped at the end of the file, he read the final line.
CURRENT STATUS, Further investigation of triptolinic diethylamide disrontinved.
No! He squeezed his eyes shut. He didn't want to see that.
He pushed away from the chair and wandered the room, turning this way and that with sharp, agitated movements. He couldn't be still. He felt as if some unseen force were at his back, propelling him around his office. This hurt like a sucker punch. Gin had been in his locked drawer, she'd picked the damn lock! How could she? Why would she?
That was the most unnerving question. Why? She couldn't suspect anything. He'd been too careful. He'd used a cuttingedge system only a few people were aware of to deliver a drug hardly anyone knew existed.
There had to be something else.
How much does she know?
Obviously she knows about the TPD. But what else?
And how to find out? He couldn't simply sit her down and ask her.
His peregrination took him near the door then and he heard Barbara call good-bye to someone. Suddenly he had to know who. His privacy had been violated, his little fortress had been broached. He wanted the name, rank, and serial number of everyone who walked through those doors.
He stuck his head through the door. "Who was that? " Barbara turned.
"Dr. Panzella."
"Really." He kept a calm facade as alarms clanged anew in his head.
"I hadn't realized she was here."
"Oh, she just popped in to pick up something she left yesterday." Her lock-picking kit? he wondered as he nodded and closed the door.
What was Gin up to now? What was she doing sneaking around here on her day off? Prying into more of his private affairs?
He made a fist.
Betrayed. By Gin.
He wanted to punch something.
I saved your life, f, hild!
How could she? And what had she done just now?
A thought struck him. He stepped back to his terminal and reran a DIR on the hard drive. The scroll of directories blurred past as before, but ended in a different place.
No "RFP" file.
She must have realized she'd left the file on the disk and came bacLa to cover her tracks. The perfidious little ingrate. What was she up to?
And dammit, how much did she Xenovv?
He had to have answers, and soon. Before next Friday.
GINA GINA YAWNED AND SHOOK HERSELF AS SHE WOVE through the traffic on Connecticut Avenue.
Tired.
Not just tired. Exhausted.