Read Online Nefarious (The Blackwell Files Book 1) by Mr. Steven F. Freeman - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Mr. Steven F. Freeman
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virtually eliminated.”
“That’s an excellent question,” replied Finch. “Rabies kills upwards of seventy thousand people per year worldwide, mostly in undeveloped countries. Those same countries are also experiencing the most rapid population growth, so without an improved rabies vaccine, the problem is expected to get worse, not better.”
“Still,” pressed the doctor, “does that represent a sufficiently large patient population to break even? And what will we be able to charge for our product in third-world geographies?”
Finch brought up a backup slide from his presentation. “I asked myself those same questions. Existing rabies vaccines are administered in a series of injections. For citizens of impoverished countries, the vaccines are prohibitively expensive for individuals to buy on their own. Consequently, rabies vaccines are almost always purchased by national or state governments and administered as part of rabies-eradication programs. The price point a government is willing to pay—even a third-world government—is quite satisfactory, particularly since that government would be otherwise be saddled with substantially higher health-care expenses associated with caring for terminal rabies patients. A rabies vaccine, even a relatively costly one, is still a less expensive solution.”
The Board members began smiling and nodding, precisely the response Finch had expected. It was the right moment to close the deal.
“Of course, I recommend that my bonus be based on the eventual profitability of the product. No profit, no bonus.”
Sam Evans, Chairman of Briggsfield’s Board of Directors, spoke up. “Your timeline included successfully completing phase four trials within five years.”
“Yes,” replied Finch, “Constraining the research period limits our financial exposure.”
“If you agree to also tie your bonus to that five-year timeline, you have our approval to proceed on this project,” said Evans as the other Board members nodded in assent.
“Of course,” said Finch, wondering what choice he had. “Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. You won’t regret it.”
Six Months Later
CHAPTER 17
Kabul, Afghanistan
Over the next half year, Alton slowly acclimated to his new life in C 2 . The men under his command were competent but green, unschooled by the practical experiences of the field. Alton found some satisfaction in his new role, but it was a far cry from the field work he loved, the difference—he once told David—between watching a football game and playing in it.
Obsessed with achieving the rank of Major, Captain Graham treated Alton to alternating bouts of hypocrisy and anger, yet Graham appeared too fearful of Alton’s early warning to resort to outright subterfuge. One could only hope to endure the man.
Alton had visited Mastana almost daily while she remained in the camp hospital. She had healed well and been allowed to return home after three weeks. She had immediately sent Alton an e-mail message, telling him an interpreter lived nearby. Alton was relieved to no longer bear the burden of translating his messages between Pashto and English. With the ease of communication, he and Mastana exchanged e-mail messages every few days, a routine Alton found invariably cheered him up.
Alton accompanied David to Gandamak’s Lodge with increasing frequency. Within six months of his C 2 assignment, he joined the group two or three times per week. Alton felt a strange sense of anticipation for the gatherings. Like the rest of the patrons of “the Lodge,” he enjoyed the time he spend there: conversing, laughing, drinking, and eating the local snacks that were always laid out along the bar’s wooden countertop. To the troops, the Lodge represented an oasis of normalcy in the midst of the inherent insanity of a combat zone.
As he formed more friendships within the group, Alton experienced a gradual lifting of an immeasurable weight from his shoulders. Only as the
“That’s an excellent question,” replied Finch. “Rabies kills upwards of seventy thousand people per year worldwide, mostly in undeveloped countries. Those same countries are also experiencing the most rapid population growth, so without an improved rabies vaccine, the problem is expected to get worse, not better.”
“Still,” pressed the doctor, “does that represent a sufficiently large patient population to break even? And what will we be able to charge for our product in third-world geographies?”
Finch brought up a backup slide from his presentation. “I asked myself those same questions. Existing rabies vaccines are administered in a series of injections. For citizens of impoverished countries, the vaccines are prohibitively expensive for individuals to buy on their own. Consequently, rabies vaccines are almost always purchased by national or state governments and administered as part of rabies-eradication programs. The price point a government is willing to pay—even a third-world government—is quite satisfactory, particularly since that government would be otherwise be saddled with substantially higher health-care expenses associated with caring for terminal rabies patients. A rabies vaccine, even a relatively costly one, is still a less expensive solution.”
The Board members began smiling and nodding, precisely the response Finch had expected. It was the right moment to close the deal.
“Of course, I recommend that my bonus be based on the eventual profitability of the product. No profit, no bonus.”
Sam Evans, Chairman of Briggsfield’s Board of Directors, spoke up. “Your timeline included successfully completing phase four trials within five years.”
“Yes,” replied Finch, “Constraining the research period limits our financial exposure.”
“If you agree to also tie your bonus to that five-year timeline, you have our approval to proceed on this project,” said Evans as the other Board members nodded in assent.
“Of course,” said Finch, wondering what choice he had. “Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. You won’t regret it.”
Six Months Later
CHAPTER 17
Kabul, Afghanistan
Over the next half year, Alton slowly acclimated to his new life in C 2 . The men under his command were competent but green, unschooled by the practical experiences of the field. Alton found some satisfaction in his new role, but it was a far cry from the field work he loved, the difference—he once told David—between watching a football game and playing in it.
Obsessed with achieving the rank of Major, Captain Graham treated Alton to alternating bouts of hypocrisy and anger, yet Graham appeared too fearful of Alton’s early warning to resort to outright subterfuge. One could only hope to endure the man.
Alton had visited Mastana almost daily while she remained in the camp hospital. She had healed well and been allowed to return home after three weeks. She had immediately sent Alton an e-mail message, telling him an interpreter lived nearby. Alton was relieved to no longer bear the burden of translating his messages between Pashto and English. With the ease of communication, he and Mastana exchanged e-mail messages every few days, a routine Alton found invariably cheered him up.
Alton accompanied David to Gandamak’s Lodge with increasing frequency. Within six months of his C 2 assignment, he joined the group two or three times per week. Alton felt a strange sense of anticipation for the gatherings. Like the rest of the patrons of “the Lodge,” he enjoyed the time he spend there: conversing, laughing, drinking, and eating the local snacks that were always laid out along the bar’s wooden countertop. To the troops, the Lodge represented an oasis of normalcy in the midst of the inherent insanity of a combat zone.
As he formed more friendships within the group, Alton experienced a gradual lifting of an immeasurable weight from his shoulders. Only as the
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