used the name Mark Sullivan. Jeremy had made these credentials for him so he could use them when he needed anonymity, and he had done the same for Jeremy, providing him fake Tribune press credentials.
“I’m doing a story on the growth of biotech companies in Cambridge and am hoping to be able to talk to your press relations person,” Bill said with a sincere smile.
The guard stared blankly at Bill for a long moment before telling Bill to take a seat. The only chair was placed on the opposite end of the lobby and the guard waited until Bill did as he was asked before he got on the phone. After a few minutes of talking over the phone in a voice too low for Bill to pick up what was being said, the guard put the receiver down and informed Bill that someone would be seeing him.
It didn’t take long after that, maybe three minutes, before a steel security door opened and a well-dressed man in a black power suit came out to greet Bill. The man looked a lot like Michael Douglas’s Gordon Gekko character from Wall Street , complete with a thick coating of gel greasing down his hair. His head tilted slightly to one side as he held out his hand. Bill took the man’s hand and introduced himself using his Boston Globe alias. The man kept quiet about his own name and position in the company.
“I hear you’re doing a story on the local biotech scene?” the man said with an overly friendly smile.
“You heard right.”
“I’m curious,” the man said. “How’d you pick us?”
“I’m looking into every company in the area and when I saw your web-site promising the next generation of immunology technologies I put you guys at the top of my list. I’m hoping you’ll be able to give me a few minutes of your time.”
“Of course, of course,” the man said. “Can I please see some identification? A driver’s license? Press credentials?”
Bill handed over his fake press credentials and a matching fake driver’s license. The man peered at them with disinterest before handing them back.
“Mr. Sullivan,” he said. “We’re at a very early stage in our development and need to operate in stealth mode so as not to give our competition any advantages. At this time we’re not seeking publicity, but when that changes, hopefully in the near future, I’ll be sure to give you a call. I’m sorry, but there’s not much more I can tell you.”
“Other than that you’re involved in immunology technologies,” Bill said.
The man smiled at that. “In the broadest terms, we’re trying to come up with a super-vaccine for the flu, something that will save thousands of lives yearly, as well as billions of lost dollars in productivity. I know that’s very vague and pie in the sky, but that’s all I can tell you. I hope that’s enough.”
“Very impressive,” Bill said.
“Yes, it is,” the man agreed.
“Very impressive security door over there also. Steel, huh? None of the other companies I’ve visited have bothered with anything like that.”
“As I mentioned, we’re working on a flu vaccine,” the man said, his smile cracking and a note of irritation in his voice. “We have hazardous biological materials that require this level of security. The door is appropriate.”
“Let me guess, machine gun turrets on the other side?”
The man’s thin smile disappeared, his expression all but saying that their discussion was over. He turned to walk away.
“How long did Tim Zhang work here?” Bill asked.
The man stopped and gave Bill a mildly amused look. “What?”
“Tim Zhang. An immunology scientist from MIT. He was stabbed to death a year and a half ago.”
“I have no idea who you’re talking about,” the man said.
“Yeah, well, I’m surprised by that. I know he worked here. Who’s funding you?”
The man faced Bill full on, a glint in his eyes. Bill also caught the signal he gave the security guard, as well as the guard talking quickly and softly over the phone.
“Let’s quit this nonsense.
“I’m doing a story on the growth of biotech companies in Cambridge and am hoping to be able to talk to your press relations person,” Bill said with a sincere smile.
The guard stared blankly at Bill for a long moment before telling Bill to take a seat. The only chair was placed on the opposite end of the lobby and the guard waited until Bill did as he was asked before he got on the phone. After a few minutes of talking over the phone in a voice too low for Bill to pick up what was being said, the guard put the receiver down and informed Bill that someone would be seeing him.
It didn’t take long after that, maybe three minutes, before a steel security door opened and a well-dressed man in a black power suit came out to greet Bill. The man looked a lot like Michael Douglas’s Gordon Gekko character from Wall Street , complete with a thick coating of gel greasing down his hair. His head tilted slightly to one side as he held out his hand. Bill took the man’s hand and introduced himself using his Boston Globe alias. The man kept quiet about his own name and position in the company.
“I hear you’re doing a story on the local biotech scene?” the man said with an overly friendly smile.
“You heard right.”
“I’m curious,” the man said. “How’d you pick us?”
“I’m looking into every company in the area and when I saw your web-site promising the next generation of immunology technologies I put you guys at the top of my list. I’m hoping you’ll be able to give me a few minutes of your time.”
“Of course, of course,” the man said. “Can I please see some identification? A driver’s license? Press credentials?”
Bill handed over his fake press credentials and a matching fake driver’s license. The man peered at them with disinterest before handing them back.
“Mr. Sullivan,” he said. “We’re at a very early stage in our development and need to operate in stealth mode so as not to give our competition any advantages. At this time we’re not seeking publicity, but when that changes, hopefully in the near future, I’ll be sure to give you a call. I’m sorry, but there’s not much more I can tell you.”
“Other than that you’re involved in immunology technologies,” Bill said.
The man smiled at that. “In the broadest terms, we’re trying to come up with a super-vaccine for the flu, something that will save thousands of lives yearly, as well as billions of lost dollars in productivity. I know that’s very vague and pie in the sky, but that’s all I can tell you. I hope that’s enough.”
“Very impressive,” Bill said.
“Yes, it is,” the man agreed.
“Very impressive security door over there also. Steel, huh? None of the other companies I’ve visited have bothered with anything like that.”
“As I mentioned, we’re working on a flu vaccine,” the man said, his smile cracking and a note of irritation in his voice. “We have hazardous biological materials that require this level of security. The door is appropriate.”
“Let me guess, machine gun turrets on the other side?”
The man’s thin smile disappeared, his expression all but saying that their discussion was over. He turned to walk away.
“How long did Tim Zhang work here?” Bill asked.
The man stopped and gave Bill a mildly amused look. “What?”
“Tim Zhang. An immunology scientist from MIT. He was stabbed to death a year and a half ago.”
“I have no idea who you’re talking about,” the man said.
“Yeah, well, I’m surprised by that. I know he worked here. Who’s funding you?”
The man faced Bill full on, a glint in his eyes. Bill also caught the signal he gave the security guard, as well as the guard talking quickly and softly over the phone.
“Let’s quit this nonsense.
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