Fatal Dose (3 page)

“We know that there is a cartel operating through small generic drug companies in eight Midwestern states. These companies are manufacturing and distributing fake drugs. Sometimes they perform their illegal activities inside legitimate companies, totally undetected. The Justice Department is building cases on the ones they know about, but there are new ones cropping up all the time. It is a slow, arduous process. It seems that as soon as we shut one down, another one takes its place. I guess from their point of view that’s just business as usual.

“We need to cut off the head of this monster to have any lasting effect. We have very limited resources and whenever we ask for more help we’re reminded that we are not the only agency working on the problem. There simply is not enough money or personnel to go around.

“At the same time there are multiple Congressional Committees looking into the matter, so Justice is putting the pressure on us for substantial results.” He stopped for a minute to take a sip of water.

“Excuse me, where are my manners? Can I get you something?”

“No thanks, Dennis, I’m good. How come I haven’t heard much about all this type of drug activity? Why would the mob get mixed up with prescription drugs? I can understand their getting involved in distributing illegal drugs, but I don’t see them messing with prescription meds and being involved with manufacturing facilities.”

“I don’t know the whole story, Mark, but from what I hear, a while back some poisoned crack and heroine got onto the street and a lot of addicts died. It scared so many users that street sales of drugs dropped over forty-eight percent overnight. When many of their previous customers switched to pharmaceutical drugs, including pain pills, for their highs, the mob apparently realized that they had themselves a potential new line of business-one with a respectable air.”

“A very adaptable group, aren’t they?”

“That’s for sure. We’ve zeroed in on a few of their distribution facilities, even managed to shut a few of them down. We know the main manufacturing for the eastern cartel is located here in Cleveland. The company is called Atronen Pharmaceuticals. They were a legit generic supplier when they first started, but the mob bought them out when the founder died about four years ago. They sort of made them an offer that couldn’t be refused, if you know what I mean.

“The man who runs the company is a retired CEO from a venture fund. His name is Mitchell Turner. As far as we can tell, he doesn’t have a direct connection to the mob, but it is clear that they’re pulling his strings. They may have something on him; we’re not sure. Anyway, this is the company that Justice wants us to bring down. That’s why I recruited Brice Bennett right after he graduated from Case Western Reserve, School of Medicine. He has a PharmD degree. He finished his eighteen-week training at Quantico three months ago with flying colors. During that time he was also busy sending out résumés as a cover for his training time. He applied for a job in Atronen’s research laboratory and thanks to a nationwide shortage of pharmacists he was hired on the spot. At our direction, he started stealing pills, a few at a time, just enough to get noticed. The plan was for him to get caught and it worked. As we hoped, instead of being fired or arrested he was recruited by their Vice President of Security, Marco Vennuti, who told Brice that he would overlook his stealing if he agreed to work on special projects for him on the side. Brice, of course, agreed.

“They’ve used him to transport merchandise and help set up mini-packaging shops. Recently, he fed us some information that led to the Cleveland Police Department pulling over a van loaded with stolen pills. The other day he told us about a shop he helped set up to re-package pills. We raided it and shut it down. That was Friday night and it was the last time I spoke to him. I’ve tried to be careful, to limit his exposure, but it looks as if I may not have been careful enough.”

“Is there any indication that they were on to him?”

“Nothing, other than his disappearance. He’s missing over forty-eight hours now.”

Dennis picked up the folder and removed a photo. “This is Brice’s picture. He’s six feet tall, weighs about one hundred eighty-five pounds. He’s twenty-five years old, although, as you can tell from this photo, he looks a lot younger.” He handed Mark the photo.

“I can see why no one would suspect him. He looks so young and innocent.”

“I met his parents at the Quantico graduation ceremony. Real nice people; they were so proud of him working for the government. Mark, I want you to work full time finding him. If you need help, just ask. I’ve arranged for a cubicle to be set up for you to use while you’re here. Of course the Super Computer Center is yours to use at will.”

He handed Mark Brice’s personnel file. “All his personal information and credit card numbers are in this file. Keep me in the loop.”

Mark picked up the file and turned to leave. “I’ll get right on it, Dennis. I’ll let you know when I find out anything.” He accessed the laptop on the desk in his temporary cubicle, knowing that he had at his disposal, if he needed it, the Super Center that Susan assembled, or, if necessary, the duplicate configuration in his home. He chose the later in case some processing was going on in the Super Center. Within minutes, he was connected.

He started with a routine check on Brice’s credit cards. That was a dead end. There was no activity on any of them for the past two weeks.

“Hi there, stranger. I heard you were in the building,” a voice said over the partition. Mark recognized the voice before he even looked up. It was that of John Wellman, Assistant Special Agent in Charge (ASAC); one of three at the Cleveland FBI office. John was the team leader during the successful search for Susan Harrigan when she was abducted.

“John, how’s it going, bud?”

“Just great, Mark. What brings you up to our neck of the woods? Is this a regular visit?”

“No, I’m working on a special project for Dennis. I know you guys can’t survive up here without seeing my mug every once while,” he quipped.

“Then maybe you’ll have time for a few beers later at O’Sheas. We can catch up on things.” Mark looked at his watch. It was almost noon already.

“That sounds doable, John. If I can make it, I’ll be there around seven.”

After John left, Mark accessed one of his special programs to look for any activity on Brice’s telephone card. As the program was processing, he went to the break room for some fresh-brewed coffee. He was adding two packs of sweetener to the cup when he happened to look up at the TV set that was tuned to a local news channel. A news bulletin suddenly scrolled down the screen:

ELEVATOR ACCIDENT CLAIMS THE LIFE OF A WAREHOUSE WORKER.

The Cleveland Police Department reported this afternoon that the body of an unidentified worker at the Atronen Pharmaceuticals warehouse was found in an elevator, pinned between two floors. Police speculate that the elevator was stuck between floors and that the man attempted to escape through a gap between the top of the elevator and the third floor. They theorize that the elevator moved unexpectedly and the man was crushed and
killed.

“Oh, my God,” Mark said out loud. There was no photo, but he knew that the victim was Brice Bennett. He left his coffee on the counter and rushed back to his desk to make a call. Within minutes, he was speaking with Walter Jacobsen, Cleveland’s Chief of Police. Jacobsen was an ex-FBI agent. “Walt, how have you been?”

“Just great, Mark. It’s so good to hear your voice again. Are you here in town?”

“Yes, I’m up here on a special assignment. That’s why I’m calling. I’m looking into the disappearance of one of our agents. I just saw a news flash on TV about a body found at the Atronen Pharmaceuticals warehouse. I’m thinking that that could be him. I sure hope not. Was there any ID on the body?”

“Hold on a minute, let me check,” the Chief said. A few minutes later he was back on the phone. “His pockets were empty except for some loose change and a comb. The people at Atronen are being very tight lipped about whether he was an employee or an intruder. We’re still investigating. Do you have a recent photo of your man? The ME’s got the body already. I can check it for you.”

“I sure do. Let me fax it over to you. Needless to say, this has to be kept quiet. Will you get back to me as soon as possible so I can update Dennis?”

“I’ll call you the minute I find out anything and of course, if this turns out to be your man, I’ll keep everything quiet at this end until I hear from Dennis about how he wants to handle it.”

“Thanks Walt. You’re a true friend of the Bureau.”

Mark faxed the photo from Brice’s file. It took Jacobsen about ten minutes to get back.

“I’m sorry I was so long, Mark, but I wanted to check it out personally. There is no doubt about it, he’s your man. The ME says he died of mechanical asphyxia caused by being crushed from two sides. Aside from chest and abdominal injuries, that would be consistent with this kind of accident. There were no other signs of trauma on the body. So, as of right now, we have a John Doe in our morgue that died from an accidental cause. I’ll sit on the file until I hear back from Dennis.”

“I guess I knew that it would be him; you always hold out hope, though. Look, Walt, it’ll probably take us a few hours. We’ll most likely be the ones to contact his parents. As I recall, they live in Berea.”

“Just have Dennis call me as soon as he’s ready and if you get a chance while you’re up here, stop by.”

“I’d like that. I know that Dennis will want to speak with you as soon as he can. Thanks again, Walt.”

Now Mark knew what Dennis meant about the pressure of the job. Being the bearer of this kind of news wasn’t going to be a picnic for him, either.

“You got a minute, sir?”

“Sure, Mark, come on in. What’s up?”

This time Mark didn’t wait to be asked to close the door. As he did, Dennis sensed what the subject was going to be. His facial muscles tightened as he tensed up for what he knew would be bad news. As he was updated on the TV flash and Mark’s conversation with Walt, his face turned ashen.

“My God,” he exclaimed. “Where does it end?”

It was a rhetorical question, of course. Even so, Mark had no answer to offer. Dennis sat very still for several minutes, mulling over the information. “We’re going to have to inform his parents. I just can’t do it, Mark. I can still hear what his mother said to me at his graduation in Quantico. She looked at me with tears of joy and pride in her eyes and said, ‘Take good care of my boy’. I assured her that I would. What I didn’t know then was that her other child, her son Peter, died in a Humvee bombing in Afghanistan a year earlier. Brice’s death will be a terrible blow for them.”

He got quiet for a few seconds, then said, “Mark, I’d like you to handle telling Brice’s parents. Take Special Agent Farrell with you. She’s done this before. She’ll know how to handle it. I’ll set it up.” Dennis looked up at Mark. “I’ll need it done right away. As soon as you’re finished, call me so I can work things out with Chief Jacobsen. Plan on meeting me here tomorrow morning at eight. I may want to assign you to the Pharmaceutical Drug Squad in Brice’s place. They’ll be shorthanded with him gone and your special set of skills will be especially useful to them. His eyes fixed on Mark as he said “I don’t know how to thank you enough. Your being here is very comforting to me.”

Mark returned to his cubicle. He made some notes from Brice’s file and waited for Special Agent Farrell to show.

A few minutes later she knocked on the partition.

“You must be Mark Matthews,” she said with assurance. “I’m Special Agent Wendy Farrell.”

“I’m glad to meet you, Wendy,” he said as he extended his hand. Her firm grip took Mark by surprise. It didn’t fit her stature.

“It looks like we have some unpleasant work to do. Where do his parents live?”

“In Berea, about twelve miles south of here. Here’s the file. There’s a bio on the parents, Brice and his brother Peter in there. You can look it over on the drive down. I’m glad you’re going with me. I’ve never had to do anything like this before. All I know is what I’ve seen in the movies and on TV. I hope it’s not that formal.”

“No I assure you, it’s not. I was on one of these a while back, so if it’s okay with you, I’ll take the lead. How did Brice die?”

“He was crushed between two floors of an elevator shaft. The police theorize that he was on a stalled elevator and got trapped-that he tried to crawl out just as the elevator started up again. The ME called it mechanical asphyxia. So far, the cause of death is listed as accidental.” Mark hesitated for a minute and said, “You know that he was undercover, right?”

“Yes. Actually, I met him at a few meetings. He was part of our Pharmaceutical Drug Squad. He was a really dedicated young man. He was only with us a short time.”

“Then you know that he was probably murdered. I don’t buy that accident crap. It’s just their attempt to cover up killing him. Dennis says that Brice suspected that he was being watched. It’s too much of a coincidence that this happened right afterwards.”

“I agree, but right now we’ve got a morbid job to do. Let’s get on with it.”

“You’re right. We’ll use my car if that’s okay with you.”

Twenty-five minutes later they pulled up in front of a two-story frame house on Rock River Road in Berea. Berea is a historic suburban community south of Cleveland and the home of Baldwin Wallace College, among other things.

Mark pressed the doorbell and waited for an answer. As he was about to press it for a second time, the door opened a crack and a soft female voice asked, “Yes, who is it?”