Read Online The Informationist: A Thriller by Taylor Stevens - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Taylor Stevens
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overnight.”
“Consider it done,” Breeden replied. “Contact me if there’s anything else—you know I’m here if you need me.”
“Thanks,” Munroe said. “I’ll be in touch.”
Munroe returned to the lab, and when she located the technician with whom she’d originally spoken, he handed back the photograph of the wrapping and the sample she’d given him and, in exchange forpayment, a two-page printout. “In layperson’s terms,” he said as he handed it to her, “it’s mefloquine hydrochloride. This particular tablet is sold under the trade name Lariam—it’s an antimalarial typically used to treat against
Plasmodium falciparum
and also sometimes used as a prophylactic.”
It sounded right; after Emily’s bout with malaria, she’d been taking prophylactics. Lariam was what they’d used back then in chloroquine-resistant falciparum-endemic areas, and if there was ever a place that fit that description, the coastal region of West Central Africa was it. Lariam. The drug wasn’t prescribed as much these days—the side effects could be brutal: homicidal tendencies, hallucinations, and psychotic episodes, among others. The worst of the effects were supposedly rare, but the odds didn’t matter much when it was you or your loved one who was transformed into a raving psychotic. It would be a plausible explanation for Kristof’s behavior, except that all indicators pointed to his breakdown’s occurring long after he would have stopped taking the drug.
At the hotel Munroe put in the call to Burbank’s office, and instead of being passed to his executive assistant as expected, was transferred directly to Richard Burbank. “Michael,” he said in a half-chopped way that left the impression that someone else had been cut off as he switched lines to take the call, “I hadn’t expected to hear from you so soon. Is it good news?”
“It’s a little early to say,” she replied. “I’ve done all that I can here in Europe, and I’m leaving for Africa in a couple of days—as per our agreement, I’m informing you of my plans.”
“Where specifically are you headed?” he asked.
“I’m starting with Cameroon and Gabon,” she said, “and I’ll narrow the search from there.”
“Cameroon. Gabon.” His voice had a razor quality to it. “As far as we know, Emily never even got out of Namibia. Why aren’t you heading to Namibia?”
Munroe’s mouth tightened into a forced smile as if she were face-to-face with her client, and she waited before replying. “Mr. Burbank,” she said, “you hired me to do this job because so far nobody else has been able to do it. I’m reporting to you on my progress becausemy contract requires me to. Beyond that, either you allow me to do my job without micromanaging me or find someone else to locate your daughter.”
“You’re right,” he said. “I apologize. Obviously I’m anxious about this whole thing. When do you expect to leave?”
“I’m booked to fly out in two days.”
“I want Miles Bradford to accompany you,” he said. The request did not surprise her. That he made it so early into the assignment did.
“I’ll wait for him in Douala,” Munroe replied. “He’s going to need visas. There’s not enough time for him to get them and meet up with me here before my flight out.”
“Cancel the flight. He’ll be in Frankfurt in less than a week. You said Gabon and Cameroon—he’ll have the visas. The two of you fly to Africa together.”
Munroe shut her eyes, gripped the phone, and waited half a beat. “If it must be done that way, so be it. It’s your expense account, Mr. Burbank, and it’s your time.” She replaced the phone receiver and swore under her breath.
She tossed a few belongings into a backpack and slipped the Do Not Disturb sign on the door. On her way out of the hotel, she paid for the next five days and left instructions for packages and messages to be held until she returned. It was Burbank’s time and Burbank’s
“Consider it done,” Breeden replied. “Contact me if there’s anything else—you know I’m here if you need me.”
“Thanks,” Munroe said. “I’ll be in touch.”
Munroe returned to the lab, and when she located the technician with whom she’d originally spoken, he handed back the photograph of the wrapping and the sample she’d given him and, in exchange forpayment, a two-page printout. “In layperson’s terms,” he said as he handed it to her, “it’s mefloquine hydrochloride. This particular tablet is sold under the trade name Lariam—it’s an antimalarial typically used to treat against
Plasmodium falciparum
and also sometimes used as a prophylactic.”
It sounded right; after Emily’s bout with malaria, she’d been taking prophylactics. Lariam was what they’d used back then in chloroquine-resistant falciparum-endemic areas, and if there was ever a place that fit that description, the coastal region of West Central Africa was it. Lariam. The drug wasn’t prescribed as much these days—the side effects could be brutal: homicidal tendencies, hallucinations, and psychotic episodes, among others. The worst of the effects were supposedly rare, but the odds didn’t matter much when it was you or your loved one who was transformed into a raving psychotic. It would be a plausible explanation for Kristof’s behavior, except that all indicators pointed to his breakdown’s occurring long after he would have stopped taking the drug.
At the hotel Munroe put in the call to Burbank’s office, and instead of being passed to his executive assistant as expected, was transferred directly to Richard Burbank. “Michael,” he said in a half-chopped way that left the impression that someone else had been cut off as he switched lines to take the call, “I hadn’t expected to hear from you so soon. Is it good news?”
“It’s a little early to say,” she replied. “I’ve done all that I can here in Europe, and I’m leaving for Africa in a couple of days—as per our agreement, I’m informing you of my plans.”
“Where specifically are you headed?” he asked.
“I’m starting with Cameroon and Gabon,” she said, “and I’ll narrow the search from there.”
“Cameroon. Gabon.” His voice had a razor quality to it. “As far as we know, Emily never even got out of Namibia. Why aren’t you heading to Namibia?”
Munroe’s mouth tightened into a forced smile as if she were face-to-face with her client, and she waited before replying. “Mr. Burbank,” she said, “you hired me to do this job because so far nobody else has been able to do it. I’m reporting to you on my progress becausemy contract requires me to. Beyond that, either you allow me to do my job without micromanaging me or find someone else to locate your daughter.”
“You’re right,” he said. “I apologize. Obviously I’m anxious about this whole thing. When do you expect to leave?”
“I’m booked to fly out in two days.”
“I want Miles Bradford to accompany you,” he said. The request did not surprise her. That he made it so early into the assignment did.
“I’ll wait for him in Douala,” Munroe replied. “He’s going to need visas. There’s not enough time for him to get them and meet up with me here before my flight out.”
“Cancel the flight. He’ll be in Frankfurt in less than a week. You said Gabon and Cameroon—he’ll have the visas. The two of you fly to Africa together.”
Munroe shut her eyes, gripped the phone, and waited half a beat. “If it must be done that way, so be it. It’s your expense account, Mr. Burbank, and it’s your time.” She replaced the phone receiver and swore under her breath.
She tossed a few belongings into a backpack and slipped the Do Not Disturb sign on the door. On her way out of the hotel, she paid for the next five days and left instructions for packages and messages to be held until she returned. It was Burbank’s time and Burbank’s
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