VECTOR

Chapter 4 The Lab

CHAPTER 4

The Lab

The birthday party was in the second building, the one Jasmine didn’t often visit. In fact, she shouldn't be going there now. The woman having a birthday party wasn't a close friend; she was hardly an acquaintance. Yet, Jasmine plastered a smile on her face as she swiped her ID card and smiled for the guards at the desk. As far as Jasmine as concerned, the guards were semi-literate goons who understood nothing about the work they protected. For them, this was a simple job that kept them busy and paid as well as could be expected. But then, Jasmine didn't have great faith in the researchers that occupied the building either. For the most part, they were competent enough, but they were not stars. They handled ordinary organisms that were not deadly. To Jasmine, it was simple work, which was why they were careless.

The party was on the second floor, and the conference room was filled with men, far more men than women. Women didn't fare well in the male-dominated world of Pakistan. Jasmine knew that had her work not been stellar, she would not have her job. How much brainpower was being lost because of antiquated attitudes? She didn't want to hazard a guess. If the future belonged to those who could think, then she was in the wrong place. What country could succeed with half its brains sitting idle?

She smiled and chatted with the three other women in the room. To chat too much with the men would be noted and reported, and she did not want to be reported for attending this birthday party. She wanted no scrutiny at all. When the gifts had been opened, and the cakes passed out, she told a woman that she needed the restroom. Slipping out of the conference room, she did start for the restroom. But she didn't stop there.

Parveen's lab was next to restroom. It was a small lab because she was the only person who worked there. The door was unlocked, and Jasmine moved quickly. Like most technicians, Parveen hadn't bothered to put anything away. After all, it was a birthday party attended only by those who worked in the complex. There was nothing to worry about. Jasmine had counted on that as she spotted the tray of 10 ML vials. The vials were sterile glass with butyl stoppers and colored aluminum seals. Sterilization was performed in an U.S. FDA inspected facility, operating to CGMP compliance. All sterilization processes were carried out under strict Class 100 U.S. Pharmacopoeia and Federal Code of Regulations methodologies. Assembled units met the FDA's mandated 14-day sterility testing protocol. Jasmine knew everything about the vials, and they would serve. She considered U.S. protocols to be among the best in the world.

The tray was like any other, glass vials in very slot. Researchers used syringes to fill them with whatever concoction was the order of the day. Luckily, they were the same for every lab. But in Jasmine's lab, the vials were counted. Her work had to be totally secure. Her vials were numbered and marked when they were provided, and if she broke one, she had to report it and turn in the shards. Nothing could get loose from the lab.

Parveen did not work under such constraints.

Jasmine didn't take a vial off the tray on the table. She reached under the counter and found a second tray. She grabbed a glass vial and it up her sleeve, into a small pouch she had sewn on the inside. It fit as snugly as it must. Then, she hurried out of the lab and into the restroom. She didn't know if there were cameras in the restroom, but she did not want to take chances. Had Parveen not revealed that the camera in her lab didn’t work, Jasmine would have chosen a different lab.

The party broke up shortly after Jasmine returned. She had promised herself that she would not be the first to leave. She had once read a story about Stalin, about him giving a speech. At the end of a Stalin speech, everyone stood and clapped. The quality of the speech made no difference. Everyone applauded. No one stopped. Hands became red and sore, and still no one stopped. Then, of course, someone had to be the first to stop clapping and sit. Invariably, the first to stop clapping was visited by the KGB. Often, the first was disappeared. So, the rule was never, ever stop clapping first. In Jasmine's case, she did not wish to be the first to leave.

Back in her lab, Jasmine waited patiently as her coworkers slipped out one by one. Too many eyes made her job far more dangerous.

There were two cameras in her lab, and she suspected that they were not recording all the time. They were deterrence, not backup. She also knew just how she could move so that what she planned to do would not be seen even if the cameras were working. She had practiced the move many times, but now that it was time to perform, she wasn’t sure she could do it. It was simple, wasn't it? Slip out the vial, turn just so, add the substance to the vial, stopper, and replace in sleeve.

Simple.

Not easy.

She took a deep breath and willed her hands to stop quivering. What would the monitors think if her hands were shaking? It would go exactly as planned.

The vial slipped out. For a moment, she thought it might pass right through her fingers and shatter on the floor. An extra vial would be as difficult to explain as a missing vial.

She turned, and the next step was automatic. She had filled vials for years.

The vial did exactly what it was supposed to do. There was some risk that the seal wouldn't be perfect, but that was a risk she was willing to take.

Back into the sleeve, into the pouch.

Jasmine turned, her heart pounding. She had heard of some labs where the techs wore heart monitors. If the heart rate jumped too high, they were brought out and questioned. That was a Chinese lab as she recalled. How did one explain a sudden surge in pulse rate? Porn? That was her excuse if she needed one. Mental images.

The vial safely in place, she began her clean up and shut down. She knew the protocols. She never made a mistake. Today, she wouldn't hurry even though the vial seemed to sting her skin. That was anxiety. That was fear. She told herself to pretend she was alone with Ravi, that he had the whip. If she could remain calm there, she could certainly remain calm here.

Protocols.

Slow.

She would finish in minutes. Getting out the building was as difficult as getting in, especially since Akram manned the metal detector.

Jasmine and Akram played a little game. When she was the last to leave, he always insisted on a pat down, despite the fact that she never ever set off an alarm. During the pat down, Akram always sneaked in a little feel. His hand would brush her breast or pat her ass or run down her thigh with a little too much pressure. He never pushed the envelope. It was just his fantasy, and she obliged him because they both knew the camera was always recording. In a way, Jasmine liked the attention. In a pinch, she might need Akram’s trust—like this evening.

She walked through the metal detector while her briefcase passed through the scanner. As soon as she walked through, she raised her arms. Akram smiled.

“You are unlucky today,” Akram said.

“Why am I always unlucky when you are on duty?” she asked.

“I have no idea. Random searches are required, and you seem to get more than most.” “

"I get them all.”

He grinned as he stood in front of her and fell to one knee. She knew the drill. Hands would go up one leg and down the other. They would pass dangerously close to her nether region, but they would not touch. If he suspected anything, he would be obliged to call in a female guard. Jasmine was certain she would never survive a pat down from a dour female guard.

He stood and ran his hands up her sides, thumbs touching breasts, and across her tummy. Then, he moved behind and knelt again. The hands ran up the backs of her legs, lightly over her ass and over her back. He ran his hands down her right arm, and for a moment, she froze. If he checked her left arm?

“Finished?” she asked and turned, letting her right hand slide across his chest. She smiled and pushed just hard enough to make him feel her fingertips. “You know, some day, I'll have to give you the pat down.”

He blushed, just as she expected. Akram was basically a little boy in an adult uniform. She had no doubt that he dreamed of her, fevered dreams.

With a smile, she moved away and grabbed her briefcase. Akram had forgotten all about her left arm, and that suited her. She doubted that if the recording were reviewed, no one watching would notice either. They would skip through it because Akram had searched her a hundred times and found nothing. That was the trouble with familiarity. Sooner or later, things were taken for granted. She had counted on that with Akram, and she would count on it with Ravi. He had habits, a routine. It would be the death of him.

Jasmine called for Ravi when she entered the house, but she received no answer. Nevertheless, she checked every room before she removed the vial from her sleeve and hit it in her stockings drawer. While Ravi sometimes rifled her lingerie for just the right bra and panties, he never looked in the stocking drawer. That did not excite him. Still, she didn’t leave the vial in the open but slipped it into a wool sock, something as plain and ordinary as desert sand. Satisfied, she changed and started dinner. She had no idea when he would be home. When he met his brother in the coffee house, he sometimes didn't return until long after she went to bed. Those were not bad nights. When he was that drunk, he had little desire for anything but sleep.

Which was why she encouraged him to visit with his brother.

In the kitchen, she set up her laptop and logged into her secret account. She looked for an email from Jacques, but she found nothing. Disappointed, she read two emails from Claire. They were nothing special, ordinary details of an ordinary life. Sometimes, Jasmine wished she could change places with Claire. Jasmine imagined that a life in the United States would be heaven on earth. She knew the stories. She had seen the photos Claire had sent. While Jasmine had sampled the wonders of Paris, she had been told that the great cities of America were even better. Taller buildings, bigger lights, cities that vibrated with life every hour of the day. Like many in her country, Jasmine considered the stories so much propaganda. The western world spewed tales in order to breed discontent in other countries. Conquest was easy when the people were dispirited and seeking change. Yet, Jasmine was certain of Paris, of Jacques. If New York or Los Angeles were even better…

She wrote back to Claire, and even though her account was secret, Jasmine did not reveal anything of her plan or actions. She knew too many others who had been indiscreet. Those had ended up dead or in some prison where they wished they were dead. No, for now, Claire needed to know nothing. Well, Jasmine might include something about Akram and his pathetic attempts to steal a feel. Claire might find amusement in Akram, especially if Jasmine could find just the right words, just the right tone. She was halfway through the email when she heard the garage door rise.

Ravi was home.

Early.