Four Days earlier—September 23, 2018
Galveston, Texas
Running his fingers through his close-cropped Afro, Bert Springer was glad to reach the Third Coast Hotel. The walk along the seawall in the bright September sun had been hot. Though travel from Oklahoma wasn’t hard, he was in the busy fall semester at O.U. where he taught a full course load in microbiology. This survey assignment with the U.S. Biosafety Association had been rather last minute. Apparently, he was filling in for another surveyor who had a medical emergency. As he waited for his room key, the concierge, a small, neat blonde, emerged from behind her desk in the lobby and cornered him.
“We are so excited to have you and your partner staying here. We hope that we can make your stay very pleasant. We’re always eager to support our Gulf National Laboratory,” the concierge gushed.
“It’s a lovely hotel,” Bert said as they waited for the slow-moving elevator.
“Oh, it’s just gorgeous and so historic. It was built ten years after the Great Storm of 1900 wiped out The Island. Of course, multiple storms followed, but the hotel is still standing. Every window leaked during Hurricane Harvey.” The concierge sounded strangely proud.
Bert hoped for clear skies.
Once inside his room, he tossed his carry-on onto the bed and looked around. Without any functional desk or work area, it seemed totally inadequate for a business trip.
Sitting in an armchair juggling his papers with his laptop, he reviewed the agenda for the next day’s work. He and his partner, Ernie Pedersen, were there to make a site survey of Gulf National Lab’s Insectary Services Division—a daunting assignment. The Gulf National Laboratory was one of a handful of Biosafety Level 4 labs—or as insiders say, BSL4—in the U.S. It was even more unusual in that it housed levels 2 and 3 in the same facility. Despite the lack of national standards for operating these facilities, the Gulf National Laboratory was eager for a stamp of approval to show they were on the up and up. As chairman of the survey, Bert had researched the pre-survey documents. This is going to be a big job.
The lab’s website stated: The Gulf National Laboratory is a high containment research facility that is fighting global infectious diseases. The lab’s researchers work on the world’s most threatening contagious diseases, including Ebola, dengue, plague, and Zika.
Bert’s job was to make sure that this one division, Insectary, which was dedicated to arthropod borne disease, was doing its job safely. The U.S. Biosafety Association would grant certification for two years if all was in order. This coveted certification indicated to the Centers for Disease Control that the lab operations met accepted safety and quality standards. To avoid sanctions and suspension of operations, the lab was meticulous in keeping all of its certifications up-to-date.
Being fully aware of the public scrutiny aimed at these facilities, Bert took his responsibility seriously. A recent syndicated article scared the pants off readers with examples of lab-created outbreaks, theft of pathogens such as anthrax, and deaths of researchers. Many scientists believed that the H1N1 flu re-emergence was actually an accidental release from a lab source. The Gulf National Laboratory had been quick to point out that there was no hint that any of these incidents had occurred at its facility.
While Bert had remained in the academic arena, his partner for the survey, Ernie, had accepted a job at a biomedical company for better pay. Both men were certified biosafety professionals. They did the surveys to enhance their résumés as well as for the supplemental income.
The U.S. Biosafety Association was careful to rotate surveyors so that no pair became too complacent, and to keep down the complaints when one guy didn’t pull his weight. That was Ernie’s reputation. He was a nice enough guy, but he didn’t prepare for the surveys, which made it hard to cover all the bases. More irksome was his generally distracted manner. He was often on his phone in one hallway or another. At least their names provided some comic relief when they introduced themselves.
Bert headed downstairs to meet Ernie for dinner and go over the game plan for the next day. He found Ernie in the bar staring at his cell phone with an empty glass at his elbow.
“Bertram!” he called out a little too loudly for the pre-dinner crowd. “So, we meet again. This one’s gonna be a bear. I started looking at protocols on the plane.”
“Hey there, Ernie. You bet it’s a toughie. A job like this used to take four days but with cutbacks, we get two.”
“I hear you,” Ernie agreed. “I sure as hell wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for the compensation. Last time I saw you was in Phoenix.”
Bert laughed. “Never did figure out where that rat came from. At least it was the last presentation, and we got the incident logged.”
“And it didn’t run up my leg.” Ernie chuckled.
“Yeah, that lady doctor got the shock of her life.”
“Poor rat,” said Ernie.
Bert remembered the incident well. The lab was put on an every-six-month follow-up inspection for two years.
“Let’s hit the terrace and see if we can scare up a few more drinks,” Ernie said. “You ever been here before? It sure is toasty outside, but it’s damn cold in the A/C.”
Bert agreed. “It’s a constant battle between comfort and misery in this climate.”
The hotel didn’t have a patio bar. They settled for a sunny spot on the couches in an enclosed veranda. It offered a great view of the Gulf of Mexico through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
Bert had been to Galveston once before. He knew that the lab and medical school were nestled into a corner of the island between beaches, cruise ships, and cheap tourist dives. It’s what his mom would’ve called a Redneck Riviera. The sand was brown and the water browner. The hotel brochure described the sand as honey-colored and explained to the reader that the water in the Gulf was clean, just full of churned up silt. It claimed that the tar that got on your feet when walking on the beach was from a natural deposit offshore, not from unnatural industrial sources.
Looking out the windows, Bert could see that the beachgoers appeared to love it. The shoreline was full of families, dogs, pickup trucks, and fishermen. On the horizon, oil tankers were visible, waiting their turn to head up the ship channel to Houston, the Petro Metro. Once settled and in better light, Bert saw that Ernie looked a little rough around the edges, more so than he remembered. He had heard that Ernie had gotten divorced and remarried, to an Allison if he recalled correctly. He wondered if the new marriage was working out.
As the sun set over the Gulf, the line of tankers appeared like a string of party lights in the distance. The men found their way to the pastel toned dining room where the crowd was sparse.
“Slow night?” Ernie asked the waitress after placing his order.
“That’s how it is during the week. Unless it’s Mardi Gras or a Harley convention. Then it’s a whole other scene,” she said with a smile.
Their conversation was kept to generalities—weather, health, and sports.
In their own way, the two surveyors were content with the quiet setting. Bert wanted to continue prepping for the survey. He thought Ernie looked as if he was wrestling with his own problems.
After dinner, Bert headed to his room to work. He alternated between the armchair and the bed, never getting comfortable. He decamped for the bed and continued his reading and note taking until his neck and back complained too loudly. Nonetheless, he had finished reviewing the scope of the survey. He was glad they had only been assigned the Insectary Services Division.
He got ready for bed and drifted off, still mulling over topics such as maintenance, containment, and safe disposal of infected arthropods. Knowing what diseases these bugs could carry would only bring nightmares.
In his room, Ernie reviewed his dinner with his partner. Bert looked trim and fit. Was he ex-military? Feeling unkempt in comparison, Ernie wondered if Bert had noticed. His divorce settlement from his first marriage included paying for his daughter’s college tuition. This arrangement had added an additional pressure to Ernie’s financial woes. Of course, her mother had encouraged their daughter, Gigi, to go to a private school in the Midwest with a hefty price tag instead of the state school fifty miles from home. He could hear his ex-wife carrying on about it, “USA Today says it’s a top ten for students wanting to run for political office.”
Like Gigi was ever going to run for any office higher than social chairman of the Kappa house.
Tuition would have been manageable if he hadn’t lost so much of his savings in the stock market—not to mention his gambling habit. Ernie had tried to recoup some losses with an insider trading tip, but instead lost a bundle. He had long been aware that there were U.S. Biosafety Association surveyors making some money on the side through anonymous sources willing to pay for favorable reports or reports that omitted unfavorable details.
He had no problem following a lead and reaching a certain Susan in St. Louis. She had done such extracurricular work. Within a week, he had his first call.
His first few “assignments” were easy to pull off. It was mid-August when he received a call from Galveston where he was scheduled to perform a survey. The caller didn’t give too many details over the phone, but he indicated the price he was willing to pay for the right results—and that’s what got Ernie’s attention.
After twenty minutes in his room, Ernie quietly headed down to the elevator and out the back door of the hotel. With his cell phone in hand, he walked through quiet streets, following a GPS route to the assigned location.
It was warm, with what felt like 110% humidity still in the air. The light breeze carried the salty aroma of the Gulf. The streets behind the hotel were lettered and half lettered, such as N Avenue and N ½ Avenue. These ran at right angles to the numbered streets. It seemed odd to him to see such an organized grid layout in an unzoned, quasi-urban setting. Bars and tattoo parlors were nestled in between well-preserved southern mansions and elevated shanties. The latter had entryways at least a story up, approached by rickety steps. Even with the dim streetlights, he could see the houses were brightly painted. While others might find this mish-mash charming, he did not. He preferred his gated community back home with its strict overlay of architectural regulations and its harmonious appearance.
Arriving at the designated spot, he hesitated before entering the Fisherman’s Folly Bar and Grill. This place was seedy, even for Galveston. But considering his escalating financial ruin, there was no turning back. Though he was out of shape, he thought he could hold his own if need be. Plus, he had the foresight to carry a Glock 26, just in case. He assumed everyone in Texas was packing.
He took a seat at the bar and then looked at his watch…9:40. He was expecting a call at 9:45. With a beer in hand, he took a few minutes to soak up the atmosphere. There was no indication that the Folly had a working grill, despite its name. His khaki pants and pastel pink golf shirt were definitely out of place. The dress code was shorts, wife beaters for the guys, tank tops for the ladies, and flip flops for both sexes.
In one corner, there was a table of five White guys huddled over an iPad. They were watching something that had made them hi-five each other every few minutes.
His phone vibrated at the appointed time. After greetings and confirmation of identities, Ernie said, “Nice place you picked out.”
His contact responded, “I wanted you to have a real Island experience. Besides, I need you to know about this place in case we need you back here for some networking.”
Planning on his role ending with the conclusion of the survey, Ernie decided not to ask about further networking. The two dispensed with niceties and got to work on the details.
The guy on the other end of the line explained to Ernie that a scientist in the Insectary Division was deep into research of dengue fever. She had discovered a mutation of the virus which threatened to cause an epidemic in the U.S. The researcher’s premise was that the ever-increasing numbers of Aedes aegypti mosquitoes were delivering a dengue virus that would kill people. Lots of people. Mosquito populations were getting bigger, heading further north and often remaining active all year round. All as a result of the rising temperatures.
The scientist was pushing to get this in front of the CDC, the press, and anyone else who would listen. She wanted funding for a dengue vaccine that was effective and safe. She also wanted to show the imminent danger to human health from global warming right here in the U.S.A.
“Okay,” said Ernie. “Where do I come in?”
“Dr. Drake is going to present her research to you when you ask to review a current project. She knows you’re going to be looking at process and safety rather than the validity of her conclusions, but as I said, she wants to get this in front of everyone. We want you to keep it out of your report, and for that, my people are ready to pay you big money.”
“Okay,” he repeated. “Shouldn’t be a problem.” Ernie realized he would need to pull one over on Bert, but that could be managed. He had deep-sixed problem data before by padding other parts of his reports and no one was the wiser. “Anything else?”
“Perhaps there will be more later.” The voice paused before continuing. “Let’s see how the meeting goes. It’s essential that her research doesn’t see the light of day. Whatever it takes.”
Ernie was a bit surprised about the concepts of “more” and “whatever it takes,” but tried not to worry about it.
Starting to sweat, he wondered if a wet spot was appearing on his back. Fiddling with academic reports was one thing. I mean, who did that really hurt? Since his benefactors were often drug companies, he assumed his interventions would either help or hurt the development of new drugs. Don’t we have enough drugs already?
This little subterfuge would bring about an infusion of funds which would go a long way to solving his problems and allow him a fresh start financially. Eye on the prize.