Roger Corbett wasn’t the typical corporate tour guide. He didn’t work in the marketing department, nor research and development. As the head of security, he managed a small army of well-trained guards. He had been in Simon Ming’s employ since the founding of Utopian-Bio. The pay was good, generous in fact, and he was smart enough to understand that that meant the science being done under Ming’s direction wasn’t exactly the type of work that would receive widespread approval.
Presently, he was standing outside one of Utopian-Bio’s clean rooms, looking in through a wall of safety glass. Each room was constructed to biosafety level 4 standards. The specialized lab was maintained at negative pressure so that any airborne pathogens would be forced through the sterilizing, high-efficiency filtration systems. Scientists clad in level A hazmat suits, complete with a full-facepiece and self-contained breathing apparatus, were busy tending to experiments in specially-designed hoods. Several benches ran perpendicular to the windows lining the hallway. The tops of the benches held a range of laboratory equipment, only some of which were recognized by Corbett—centrifuges, digital balances, automatic pipetting machines, incubators, and a bank of DNA sequencing machines lined up along the far wall.
Despite the safety protocols and equipment, Corbett preferred to be outside looking in through the windows which afforded visibility of everything going on in the room. With the approval of Simon Ming, he was taking Darnell Price on a confidential tour of the research labs. They were accompanied by a senior scientist and trusted member of Ming’s team.
“You believe you’ve manufactured the correct agent?” Darnell asked the scientist who was describing the work currently being undertaken. The scientist pointed to a figure inside the clean room who was holding a large culture flask with both hands for Darnell to examine. It contained an amber-colored fluid.
“We do,” the scientist explained. “Genetically engineered to be stable in water for a month, the virus is close to perfection in design. We drew on the genetic code—nothing more than a large collection of base pairs—from hepatitis C and mumps. This allowed our scientists to modify both the protein shell and membrane envelope surrounding the virus. Once ingested or inhaled, infection is guaranteed.”
“Sounds complicated. How confident are you in the effectiveness of this engineered virus?”
“We’ve tested the ability of the virus to infect human tissue cultures in limited trials in the lab,” the scientist explained. “In fact, that’s how we reproduce the virus—using human tissue medium.” He continued to explain that the virus was grown in a fluid suspension, and once mature, the pathogen was extracted and dried onto a water-soluble substrate.
Inside the clean room, the flask was returned to an incubation chamber, one of a dozen placed around the room. The scientist, with Corbett in tow, moved along the windows and directed Darnell’s attention to another section of the clean room where a machine was slowly removing liquid from a spinning suspension. “This is the drying operation,” he explained. “We have ten more batches after this one, and then we are done with production here.”
“Will the manufacturing process be carried out elsewhere?” Darnell asked.
“This is a pilot facility. Once any new process is validated, we always export volume manufacturing to other sites. That’s easily accomplished with the dry agent. We have a small supply in the refrigerator,” he motioned, Darnell’s gaze following.
In a corner of the clean room near the window was a large double-door refrigerator. The doors were glazed, and inside Darnell saw dozens of square, wide-mouth jars. The lids appeared to be sealed in place with a tamper resistant ring. “The dried agent is stored here until it is needed for testing or to seed off-site manufacturing operations. Refrigerated and dried, the virus agent can be stored for years and still remain viable. All of the containers you see here will be delivered to more than a dozen manufacturers around the country to begin their own cultures.”
“Why not simply produce the virus here?” Darnell asked.
“Given time, we could. And that would be easier,” the scientist replied. “But it might attract attention. Utopian-Bio is an R and D company, and if we started producing quantities of the virus, other employees might take notice. Only a handful of us are involved in this project—we compartmentalize the information and share only on a need-to-know basis.”
“That makes sense.”
“Do you have any other questions?” the scientist asked.
Darnell shook his head. “No, thank you. This is very impressive, and I commend you and your team. Brilliant work.”
The scientist thanked Darnell and excused himself.
“Very impressive,” Darnell repeated to Roger Corbett.
“Dr. Ming has impressed upon me how important it is that you have confidence in our operation.”
“Then I trust you are making arrangements for the volume manufacturing? I mean, other than preparing the virus as a dried powder, there are many details that will require attention in order to set up proper facilities. If our experiment goes well, we should begin production soon, I think.”
Corbett nodded. “Dr. Ming approved your suggestion to use an unregistered lab for the production.”
Darnell smiled at Corbett’s choice of wording. He knew from his career in the medical equipment business that illicit drug laboratories were typically provisioned with high-tech laboratory equipment stolen from chemistry labs and medical centers.
“Just to be clear,” Darnell said, “I have a lot of exposure here. This needs to be a clean operation. Nothing can be traced back to me. If anything goes wrong, I’m not taking the fall for anyone.”
Corbett narrowed his eyes. “Just to be clear, is that a threat?”
“No. It’s a fact.”
s
Darnell Price ran his fingers along the stainless-steel pipe, imagining the flow of water the pipe would carry during the bottling process.
“Working late again, Mr. Price?”
He turned, startled by the voice. It was the shift manager.
“Oh, yeah, I suppose so. This new filtration system cost a small fortune,” he said, indicating the array of cylindrical filter housings, pressure gauges, valves, and piping. Cascade Aqua normally only ran two shifts a day. But the bottling line had been down to complete the upgrades, so Darnell had temporarily implemented a third shift to catch up on production.
“The technicians just completed the installation an hour ago,” the manager explained. “We’ll be bringing it online real soon, following the shift change. The manufacturer says these filters will remove any single-cell bugs that might be in the water.”
Darnell nodded. “That’s the idea. The EPA and the Oregon Department of Environmental Quality are pushing out new regulations. After cryptosporidium and giardia were detected in the Bull Run watershed outside of Portland, I think it spooked the regulators. Everyone thought Bull Run had some of the cleanest water in the country.”
“I thought the new regulations won’t take effect until next year?” the manager asked.
“True, but just imagine the customer backlash if someone gets sick from my bottled water. The brand—the value of the product name Cascade Aqua Natural—is what sustains this business. Anyone can bottle water.”
“Pretty smart, Mr. Price. Staying ahead of the curve.”
He nodded again. “And, the marketing department is ready to roll out a series of ads touting our new, state-of-the-art filtration process to assure the health of our customers. It’ll send our competitors scrambling to catch up. I expect to erode at least five percent of their customer base.”
“Brilliant, Mr. Price. Well, I have to oversee to the shift change. Have a good evening, sir.”
Darnell watched as the manager walked away and rounded the corner. Then he donned latex gloves and popped open the clamp holding a flanged steel cap on the last filter housing in the array. Reaching into his pocket, he removed a sealed plastic bag holding less than an ounce of off-white granules. Using a ballpoint pen, he punched a hole through both sides of the bag, careful not to spill the contents. He removed the steel cap and dropped the bag into the filter housing, then replaced the cap and secured the clamp. The entire process took less than thirty seconds.
s
Ben Jarvis knocked on the door and then entered. “You wanted to see me, Mr. Price?”
Darnell looked up from the stack of checks he was signing. Even though he was already extremely successful and wealthy, he still maintained daily involvement in the management and operations of the company.
“Good morning, Ben. I understand the new filtration line worked well last night?”
“Yes. According to Operations, the graveyard shift had no issues at all with it. As you directed, they ran the line at a little more than half the normal production rate and everything was fine. No problems with the new filters. Pressure drop was within specifications. We should be fine to ramp up production.”
“Better to start slow and make sure there are no issues.”
“I completely agree, Mr. Price. Anyway, it’s all wrapped and on pallets, ready to ship.”
“Good,” Darnell said, his eyes again on the checks he continued to sign. “I want you to truck all of last night’s production to the Warm Springs reservation. The tribal council is expecting the donation.”
Ben’s eyes widened. “Excuse me, sir? But that’s more than seven thousand bottles. That’s a lot of product.”
“I can afford it, and it’s for a good cause.”
“But we’ve already donated more than a hundred cases to the tribal council.”
“Well, with about a third of the population living below the poverty line, I figure they could benefit from a little help. Besides, I won’t hold it against your sales targets.” Darnell knew what motivated his VP of sales. “Oh,” he added as an afterthought, “the entire output of the day shift is to be palletized for shipment to Nigeria.”
“Excuse me?” Ben said, certain he did not clearly hear this last directive.
“Nigeria. Africa. There’s a cholera outbreak there. It’s a small donation, but everything helps.”
“Okay, Mr. Price. You’re the boss.” Ben’s tone indicated it wasn’t okay, but he knew better than to press the issue. He closed the door on his way out. The operation was small by any standard, and that meant margins were always tight. The brand was gaining market share, but the competition was stiff.
Ben returned to his office and composed an email to the day-shift operations manager, but he couldn’t let go of the thought. He just didn’t understand why his boss was giving away bottled water—first to the Warm Springs tribes and now Africa. He’d never donated product before, instead staying focused on sales and margins. What could possibly be the reason for giving away so many cases of water? The company should be investing in the brand, not giving away the profits, slim as they were.
Darnell signed the last check, meticulously stacked the papers, and closed the folder. He delivered the folder to the accounting department before moving on to the Operations Manager. The door was open, and he saw the day-shift manager at the desk.
“Wendy, at the conclusion of your shift I want you to sterilize the new ultrafiltration line.”
She looked at Darnell with a confused expression. “But it just went into service last night. Those filters aren’t scheduled for cleaning for another four weeks.”
“I understand, but I’m not taking any chances that the technicians who did the installation did their job correctly. I’ve seen it before—the guys doing the work have their mind elsewhere and details get overlooked. At the end of the day, it’s my reputation and the reputation of this company that are on the line.”
“But—”
“Wendy, just humor me, okay? Shut the line down at the end of the shift and sterilize all the filter housings with bleach, along with the connecting pipes and valves. Then install new filters and flush the line thoroughly. I know it’s extra work, but I want to be certain the quality of our product is not sacrificed.”
Wendy rolled her eyes. “Okay, Mr. Price. If you say so. But the line will be shut down for at least four hours until the bleach is completely flushed.”