FanStory.com - The Devil Fights Back by Jim Wile

Note to readers: This story is a sequel to my previous novel, Duel with the Devil. It won’t be necessary to have read that novel to understand what happens in this one. I’m writing it with new readers in mind.

Chapter 1

Charlotte, North Carolina
October 2025

Fran

As I downed my second double Stoli on the rocks, I looked up when I heard, “Mind if I join you, hon? You look like you’ve got the weight of the world on your shoulders.”

The author of this remark was an attractive woman in her late 50s with shoulder-length, brown hair.

“It’s that obvious, huh?”

I was sitting at a table by myself in the bar of the Westin Alexandria hotel. I gestured to the seat across from me. She set her drink down, sat, extended her hand, and said, “Dana Padgett.”

“Nice to meet you, Dana,” I said, shaking her hand. “Fran Pekarsky.”

“Husband trouble?” she said, probably having noticed my wedding ring.

“No, nothing like that. He’s a rock. This is job-related.”

“What do you do, Fran?”

“I’m an IT security consultant.” This is a lie. I’m really an FBI field agent, but there are strict rules about divulging that information. In short, you don’t in casual conversation. And, of course, you never divulge anything about the work you are doing unless it is already public knowledge.

“So let me guess,” said Dana. “There’s some sort of computer virus wreaking havoc at some company, and you’re having trouble discovering its source?”

She’s amazingly close to the real problem—in theory, if not in practice. “Have you ever heard of kudzu, Dana?”

“Kudzu? Like the plant?”

“Exactly. Kudzu was brought to the United States in the late 1800s by a man named Frank N. Meyer. I believe a more fitting last name for him would have been Stein because of the monster he inadvertently created. He discovered it on his travels to Asia and brought samples back with him. People believed this fast-growing vine would be the perfect solution to prevent soil erosion. They also admired it for its attractive foliage and thought it would make a good ornamental vine. What poor Frank didn’t know was that this vine was pernicious and grew like a weed, taking over everything in its path and crowding out other species.”

“So, you’re faced with something spreading like kudzu, and you don’t know how to stop it.” She stated this as a fact, not as a question.

“Yep.”

“What’s the standard protocol in a case like that?”

“Find the bastard responsible and find out how he did it.”

“So how do you go about finding this bastard who’s responsible for spreading the ‘kudzu?’” she said, using air quotes.

“I have my suspicions, but that’s all they are at this point. I’ve got to figure out a way to confirm them. But that’s enough about me. How about you, Dana? What do you do?”

“I’m the assistant marketing director for Newman-Price Pharmaceuticals. I supervise all those pretty young things who advertise and sell our products to doctors, hospitals, and pharmacies.”

A little sexist perhaps to describe her pharma reps that way, but this gave me a clue about her personality. She seems like an unfiltered sort, the kind I actually admire in the politically correct environment of today.

This is something of a coincidence, though. Of all the fields she may have been in, it’s the one most closely related to my current problem. Strange! This triggered a thought that was only tangentially related to my mission and would be okay to discuss with her.

“Let me ask you: What do you know about a new painkiller that’s been discovered called Glyptophan? It’s supposedly non-addictive and promises to replace opioids. It’s just completed phase-1 human trials now.”

“I don’t know too much about the science behind it; that’s a little above my pay grade. But I do know that, if successful, it stands to put a major dent in my company’s business, as well as several other major pharma companies. Opioid painkillers are a big part of what we produce, and although we’ve been working on a drug like this because of all the problems with opioids, we are nowhere close to developing something like Glyptophan. The inventor is not too popular with us right about now. How do you happen to know about it?”

I didn’t want to divulge that it was my own brother who invented this drug. I was certainly proud of him and didn’t mind sharing this fact with most people, but she had just told me it stood to put a big crimp in her company’s business, and it just didn’t seem appropriate to go bragging to her about my brother.

I questioned her about it because I’d heard rumblings that Big Pharma was not at all pleased, and I wanted to get it right from the horse’s mouth. I suspect there might be some trouble bringing it to market and that there will undoubtedly be major efforts expended to discredit it.

In answer to her question of how I knew about it, I said, “I just happened to read an article online and wondered if it was the real deal.”

“Well, if it is, it will be one of the most sought-after drugs in existence. I only wish our company had gotten the license to manufacture it if it proves successful. I believe some small company here in North Carolina got it. Lucky bastards.”

Yes, indeed. If successful, the drug should be worth billions to them.

The conversation lightened considerably after that, and we discussed things such as our husbands and their foibles. My husband, Mike, is a Homeland Security agent, so I was not at liberty to disclose that either, and said he was a lineman for Duke Energy. That’s the story he’d told me when we first met. I did, however, admit to his propensity for talking with his hands and getting very loud when he’s excited about a topic.

Dana is married to an investment banker who is a wine snob and, she said, makes the greatest show of ordering and tasting an expensive wine whenever they go out. To rub it in, she will often order a glass of the cheapest wine on the menu, just to watch his reaction.

Neither of us have kids. I am 40 years old and a little past my prime in that department, and Mike’s and my careers just weren’t conducive to raising a family.

I’m content to be an aunt, for that’s what I recently became since my brother Brian and my sister-in-law Julia, who we call Jules, gave birth to a baby boy in January. Johnny is now nine months old.

By the third double Stoli, I was finally feeling relaxed, which is something I haven’t felt since my troubles at work began. Dana and I told a few jokes, and the conversation was perfect to help relieve the funk I had been in.

“You know, Dana, this has been great meeting you. Thank you for stopping by and helping me take my mind off myself for a while.”

“I think the Stoli might have had more to do with it than meeting me, but I’ll accept your thanks. It was great meeting you too, Fran. Let me give you my business card. If you’d like to get together again, it has my phone number on it. I’ll be staying here another couple of days while my husband attends a conference.”

“I’ll give you mine too,” I said, as I dug a bogus one out of my purse. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

We said goodbye, and I left her there in the bar before taking the elevator back to my room on the eighth floor.

As soon as I got back to my room, the fatigue hit me. This has been a rough week full of surprises and thoughts that plague me. I undressed and stepped into the shower.

As the warm water cascaded over me, I tried to clear my mind by thinking of Dana and some of her funny stories. She’s a bit irreverent and sarcastic, but at the same time self-deprecating. She may strike some people as caustic and not afraid to say what she’s thinking, but I liked her honesty and sense of humor. I sensed a certain vulnerability about her too, as if when she was younger, she was hot stuff but had been taken down a peg or two by events in her life. Despite our age difference, I think I’ll definitely call her tomorrow. She was interesting and fun to talk to.

I stepped out of the shower, dried off, and wrapped my dirty blonde hair, which was just beginning to show a few grays, in a towel and began my fairly brief nighttime routine. I’m a big woman, and my looks are unremarkable. I’m extremely fit, though, which is essential for my job.

I was once a sheriff’s deputy, then a detective back in my home county in central North Carolina. Twelve years ago, I completed my college degree and joined the FBI. I’ve been a field agent in the Charlotte, NC branch ever since—until a few days ago when I was suspended.

Although physically tired, my mind wasn’t ready yet to give in to sleep, and, as I lay down on the bed, I began replaying the scene that gave rise to my suspension.

Author Notes CHARACTERS

Fran Pekarsky: One of three narrators of the story. She is an FBI agent from the North Carolina field office.

Dana Padgett: One of three narrators of the story. She is the assistant marketing director for a Big Pharma company.

Brian Kendrick: Fran's younger brother. He is the inventor of a new non-addictive painkiller.

Chapter 2
The Devil Fights Back - Ch. 2

By Jim Wile

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.

Recap of Chapter 1: Fran Pekarsky, an FBI field agent, finds solace in a bar in Charlotte, North Carolina. Dana Padgett, an older woman, joins Fran at her table because she appears to need some companionship. They get to discussing their jobs, although Fran must lie about her real job, claiming to be an IT security consultant. In couched terms, she describes an event that is spreading like kudzu that is troubling her.

Dana is the assistant marketing director of a Big Pharma company. Fran asks her about a new opioid-like painkiller that is non-addictive and is currently being tested, and Dana tells her this new drug, if successful, would put a big dent in her company’s profits. Fran doesn’t reveal that the drug, called Glyptophan, was invented by her brother.

Later, back in her room, Fran muses about what’s troubling her, and we learn she’s been suspended from the FBI.

Chapter 2

Fran

It had been a typical Monday, and I was at my desk, researching a known link to a Mexican cartel responsible for smuggling fentanyl into the country, when my boss, whose name is Lou D’Onofrio, entered my office and said, “Francine, please follow me.”

I was leery of his tone. He was one of the few people who addresses me as Francine. To most, I’m just Fran, or Agent Pekarsky, or, to some old timers, Agent Fuckup.

This endearing moniker was given to me by my first partner on an assignment when I was a boot right out of Quantico. It wasn’t because I was known for fucking up, but rather because my initials are FKP for Francine Kendrick Pekarsky.

In fact, if anyone was a fuckup, it was him, the chauvinist asshole. Unfortunately, he called me that in front of others, and the name stuck for a while until the time I saved his ass in a gunfight, and everyone knew it. Although I’m rarely called that anymore, there are still a few old timers who do, but it’s more from affection now. They know what a competent agent I am. I’ve proven it enough times, and I no longer take offense to it.

I followed Lou to his office, and seated there at a conference table were two agents from the Inspection Division, whom I had previously seen from their occasional visits to the branch. The Inspection Division of the FBI is the equivalent of Internal Affairs in a police department. I don’t know these agents’ names, but they always come together, and some wit in the department began calling them Thing-1 and Thing-2.

Lou sat down next to them and gestured for me to take a seat opposite the three of them. My pulse quickened. I had no idea what this was about, but the stern expressions on their faces were not a good sign.

Thing-1 began. “A new opioid has recently been found on the streets of eight major US cities. It goes by the name of Dipraxa, or just Dip for short. It’s a pill.”

I was stunned by this revelation. My heart began pounding now, and my throat dried suddenly at this news.

Thing-2 continued, “Six months ago, you provided the FBI with a drug, also called Dipraxa, to use on a captive who subsequently gave up information that led to the quashing of a major weapons sale. Could you tell us how that came about?”

I looked inquiringly at Lou. This information was highly classified and not to be shared, even with the Inspection Division, unless they were authorized to hear it.

Lou said, “I’ve seen the authorization to divulge this information. You are to answer their questions.”

I asked to get a glass of water before beginning. This was to give my heart a moment to slow and to add a little moisture back to my throat.

Once seated again, I began. “You are correct. I had been assigned to a special task force to try to coerce this information from the captive, but our methods to date had proven ineffective since the rules of enhanced interrogation had become so stringent. Torture was off the table, but I had a sudden brainstorm at a meeting of this team, and I informed the attendees that I knew of a substance that could be more carrot than stick and that could get him to talk.”

I took another sip of water and continued.

“The idea was that we would give him a newly developed opioid that was extremely addictive because of the immense euphoria it induces. Once he was addicted, we would withhold it, and he would give up the information we sought to be provided with more of the drug. It was that pleasurable and addictive.”

Thing-1 looked puzzled. “Granted, it would cause pleasure, not pain, but wouldn’t withholding it cause withdrawal symptoms that would be considered torture? How did that ever pass the smell test?”

“The drug is psychologically addictive but not physically addictive. There are no physical withdrawal symptoms when you stop taking it. You will mentally crave it, but that soon passes and leaves no permanent psychological scars.”

“How did you know about this drug, Agent Pekarsky?” asked Thing-2.

This drug, Dipraxa, with the same name as the one now found on the streets of major cities, was the precursor of Glyptophan, the one Dana and I had been discussing that has just completed phase-1 human trials.

“My younger brother, Brian Kendrick, invented it at home in his own laboratory. He didn’t start out intending to invent the ultimate opioid. He is a neuroscientist who suffered from chronic back pain due to an injury he sustained in a car accident when he was 16. He became addicted to OxyContin that was prescribed to him. In the next few years, he suffered two overdoses and nearly died both times.

“Thereafter, it became a goal of his to study biochemistry in college and learn enough to create a non-addictive painkiller. Dipraxa was the result. He tested it on himself, and it worked perfectly until it didn’t. At the correct dosage, it cured his pain without producing any euphoria—the thing that makes opioids so highly addictive.

“But one day, he accidentally took a double dose, which passed a threshold, and suddenly, he experienced the greatest euphoria he had ever felt, even on high doses of Oxy. It’s probably the most powerful psychologically addictive drug ever invented, and it turned him into a zombie. Once he began taking it, that’s all he wanted to do, and it was nearly impossible to stop. I say nearly, because he was able to quit with the help of his gem of a wife.

“Once he overcame the addiction, he figured out the problem with it and created version two—Glyptophan—which solved the euphoria and subsequent addiction problems, making it a highly potent pure analgesic that can target specific chronic pain such as back pain. That drug is currently undergoing human trials.”

Thing-1 said, “How did you convince your brother to give you some of the original drug, Dipraxa, without breaking confidentiality and telling him why you needed it?”

“I couldn’t at first. He wouldn’t give me any unless he knew what I wanted it for, and I wasn’t willing to tell him the reason.”

Lou broke in, “We received the necessary authorization to share the reason for it with Brian. Agent Pekarsky did everything by the book.”

I continued, “Only the team of agents assigned to the case and my brother knew about the decision to use Dipraxa, and I became the interrogator of the captive. It worked perfectly. We were able to extract the necessary information, which enabled us to catch the bad guys and prevent the weapons sale.”

No one else was ever supposed to know about this drug and what it was capable of. I even warned Brian once that if it got out to the general population, it would spell doom for mankind. He is an extremely disciplined and conscientious individual, and it nearly ruined him. Imagine what it would do to someone less motivated than him.

I knew what was about to happen now.

Thing-2 said, “Agent Pekarsky, our forensics lab has verified that the street drug Dipraxa is the exact same formulation as what you and your brother provided to the FBI. This drug is so widespread that we can only conclude a major producer has the formula. It’s beyond the scope of what your brother could produce in his home lab.”

Lou said, “Agent Pekarsky, I’m suspending you pending an investigation into how this happened. You are not to become involved in this investigation in any way. You will now turn over your firearm and credentials to me.”

I had known this was coming as soon as I heard that a drug called Dipraxa had been found on the street, and I set my gun and credentials on the table. “Sir, I understand the need for this, but let me assure you, my brother and I had nothing to do with it. I wish you would let me help investigate.”

Lou softened a little. “Look, Fran, you’ve worked for me for a number of years now, and you’ve proven your merit time and time again, but surely you understand the conflict of interest involved if you were assigned to investigate. You cannot be involved in this. I can’t emphasize that enough. This will be a paid suspension of indeterminate length. You are still employed as an FBI agent and still bound by all the rules and regulations pertaining to your position. Are we clear about this?”

“Yes, sir.”

So, what am I going to do with my time now, just days after that meeting where I was suspended? Why, investigate, of course.

Chapter 3
The Devil Fights Back - Ch. 3

By Jim Wile

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.

Recap of Chapter 2: Back in her hotel room after meeting Dana in the bar, Fran thinks back on her suspension from the FBI: She is summoned by her boss, Lou D’Onofrio, to his office, where two agents from the Inspection Division are there to question her. They tell her a new opioid-like drug called Dipraxa has hit the streets of eight US cities. Fran is shocked because this was never supposed to get out. She explains to the agents that she was part of a task force that used this drug to elicit information from a captive. It was invented by her brother and is highly addictive. It was the precursor to Glyptophan that Fran had discussed with Dana, and Glyptophan had solved the euphoria and addiction problems that Dipraxa has.

Lou suspends her pending an investigation as to how it got out. He tells her she must not involve herself in the investigation due to conflict of interest. The chapter ends as Fran decides to investigate anyway.

Chapter 3

Marie

“For Christ’s sake, Corinne! No vibrato here in measure 20. This is a baroque piece. Just straight tones.”

“I’m sorry, Dr. Schmidt. I just forgot.”

Did I detect a slight smirk on her face? No respect from these young ones. “And drop the ‘Dr. Schmidt.’ It’s just Marie. We’re not so formal here in these rehearsals.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Smartass. She does it to needle me.

I’m the principal second violin of the New York Philharmonic Orchestra. That means I’m the leader of the second violin section. Big fucking deal! I should be a first violin. In fact, I should be the concertmaster because I’m better than that old fart. But he’s held the job for the last hundred years or so and plans to drop dead before he’ll ever retire.

That’s the thing about musicians in a major orchestra. Once you receive tenure after about three years of probation, you’ve pretty much got the job forever unless you really start screwing up.

It’s not like it was in high school where you could challenge someone for their chair. Auditions for chair placements are periodically held, but that’s only within the section, so there’s no way for me to become a first violin, no less concertmaster, unless a specific position opens in that section.

In the 13 years I’ve been in this orchestra, there have been only three retirements among the first violins. I auditioned each time for the positions but got beat out. They’re supposed to be blind auditions, meaning they can’t see you while you’re playing, but I’m convinced they know who’s playing, and that’s what’s holding me back. They don’t like me. Well, screw ‘em. I still make decent money, and I get to command these idiots in my section.

“Alright, folks, let’s take it again from measure 16, and no vibrato this time.”

When the section rehearsal was over, we were done for the day, and I headed back to my upper west side apartment just a few blocks from Lincoln Center, where we play. As I approached my apartment building, our new doorman saw me coming and opened the door for me.

“Good afternoon, Ms. Schmidt.”

He’s a young fellow and has only been employed here for a week or so. “It’s Dr. Schmidt, as I’ve told you before.”

“Oh, that’s right. Sorry. So, what kind of doctor are you? No, let me guess—pediatrician?”

He must be joking. Another smartass. “Does this look like a doctor’s bag?” I said, pointing to my violin case. “I have a doctorate in music. I’m a musician in the New York Philharmonic.”

“So, what do you play? No, let me guess. I’d say… you’re the tuba player.”

That’s actually amusing, considering what I’m carrying. I’m quite small and slender too. I don’t think I could even lift a tuba. I know he’s joking. I think I like this kid.

“Uh, close. I play the violin.”

“Darn. That was my second choice.”

“I’m sure it was, Cecil.”

“It’s Cedric, ma’am.”

“Whatever.”

I waited what seemed like ages for the elevator to my apartment on the tenth floor. I began punching the button again after a minute. I know it doesn’t do any good, but it feels good to do it. So does cursing at it. When it finally arrived, I stepped in, and naturally, it took forever for the door to close again. I started hitting the door-close button, and nothing happened. I realized I’d been hitting the door-open button by mistake. Can’t they use better symbols on these damn buttons? Finally, it closed and started up.

Once inside my apartment, I headed right to the liquor cabinet and made myself a martini. Very dry. I downed it fairly quickly and made another.

While I was pouring the second one, my cell phone rang. It was an unfamiliar number that said the call was from North Carolina. This was October of an off-year election year. I got the occasional political call, but nothing like last year, so I decided to answer it.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Mother. It’s Julia.”

I was silent. What do you say right off to your daughter, whom you haven’t spoken to in 13 years? Oh, I’ve kept up with her a little from afar, but I haven’t seen her in person nor communicated with her in any way since that one afternoon in 2011 when she was a sophomore at Juilliard.

At the time, the bad feelings had been building for a while between us, and we finally had it out that afternoon. She cursed me and stormed out with her drug addict boyfriend, and that was that.

I’ve had years to brood about it, and I still feel justified in what I said to her. She was throwing her life and talent away with that boy. She was a drug addict herself, and I could just picture the two of them bringing each other to ruin together. She was so talented and deserved much better.

I had trained her in the violin since she was three years old. She was superb—a more natural and gifted player than even me, although I never told her that.

And this boy was corrupting her. Why, he even took her bowling, and she smashed her finger right before her audition for Juilliard. I mean, really. Bowling?

My husband and I divorced about a year later, and we’ve occasionally talked in the intervening years. He fills me in on what she’s been up to. Plus, I’ve heard about her enough through my job—enough to know that she’s doing alright for herself.

I’ve occasionally been tempted to pick up the phone and call her, but those hateful words at our parting have always held me back. And she’s never called me either… until now.

“Hello, Julia. Is it your father?”

“No. He’s fine. Mother, I want to invite you to the christening of Brian’s and my baby son, John. Your grandson. He’s nine months old now.”

I haven’t spoken to her father in over a year, so this I hadn’t heard about. I knew she married that boy, Brian Kendrick, and they were living in Charlotte, but this was news that I’d become a grandmother.

I didn’t know what I was feeling right now. God, I needed another martini!

“Mother, I’ve thought about our last time together often over the years, and I think maybe it’s finally time to try to get past it. There’ve been some major changes in Brian’s and my life lately, and I’m ready to put aside the differences you and I had. I think you might enjoy getting to know your grandson too.”

“When is it?”

“It will be on Sunday, November 9—about two weeks from now. I checked the schedule of the New York Philharmonic, and there’s nothing going on then. I hope you can come.”

Would I go? Should I go? I don’t know yet.

“No promises, but text me your address in case I can make it.”

“I will. I really hope you decide to come, Mother.”

“We’ll see.”

Author Notes CHARACTERS

Fran Pekarsky: One of three narrators of the story. She is an FBI agent from the North Carolina field office in Charlotte.

Dana Padgett: One of three narrators of the story. She is the assistant marketing director for a Big Pharma company.

Brian Kendrick: Fran's younger brother. He is the inventor of Dipraxa and Glyptophan.

Julia Kendrick: Brian's wife.

Dr. Marie Schmidt: Julia's mother.

Cedric (aka Cecil): The doorman at the apartment house where Marie lives.

Lou D'Onofrio: Fran's boss at the FBI.

Thing-1 and Thing-2: Two agents from the FBI's Inspection Division, the FBI equivalent of Internal Affairs.

Picture courtesy of Playground-v3

Chapter 4
The Devil Fights Back - Ch. 4

By Jim Wile

Recap of Chapter 3: We meet our third main character, Dr. Marie Schmidt, who is a violinist in the NY Philharmonic Orchestra. She is a snob, crude and impatient, and a thoroughly unlikable person. Following a section rehearsal, she returns to her upper west side apartment, where she receives a phone call from her estranged daughter, Julia. They haven’t seen or spoken to each other in 13 years following a falling-out they had when Julia was a college sophomore.

Julia is married to Brian Kendrick, who is Fran’s brother, and now has a nine-month-old baby who will be christened in two weeks. Julia extends an invitation to Marie to attend the christening and to try to mend their relationship. Marie is unsure if she will attend but asks Julia to text her her address in case she does.

Chapter 4

Fran

Sleep continued to elude me as I worried if I had the right guy in mind responsible for Dipraxa’s appearance on the streets. My boss, Lou, had told me to stay away from this investigation. I have great respect for him and usually follow his orders, but you don’t become a top agent without occasionally disobeying your boss. I’ve learned that it’s sometimes better to ask forgiveness than permission. Unless you’ve got a real by-the-book hardass for a boss, this can often work in your favor. Lou hasn’t come down too hard on me for this in the past because it usually has led to a break in a case.

So, when suspicion falls on me and it comes to a question of my integrity or that of my brother, I’m willing to disobey orders. Plus, I’m pretty sure I know how this release of Dipraxa to the general population might have happened. I think there’s a mole in the FBI, and I strongly suspect who it is.
Since so few knew about the decision to use Dipraxa to extract information from our captive, the most likely candidate would be from those assigned to the task force. I knew all of them from having worked various assignments with them over the years.

There were two other possible candidates who also knew about Dipraxa—the head of the Charlotte office forensics lab and a good friend of Brian’s who helped him develop the theory behind the drug. I would add them to the list of suspects if need be, but I had a much likelier candidate in mind to investigate first.

Kevin Glazer, who also worked out of the Charlotte field office and was on the task force with me, was my first choice. About a month after the successful completion of the Dipraxa op, my husband Mike and I were celebrating our 10th wedding anniversary with a special night out at Ruth’s Chris Steak House in Charlotte. We had a table by the window in front, and I was glancing out the window when I saw Kevin exit from a Porsche 911 that he’d pulled into the valet drop-off area. He was wearing what looked like a very expensive tailored suit, and he escorted a beautiful young woman into the restaurant.

Kevin was a GS-13-level agent who probably made $80k a year. He was divorced and often complained about the alimony he had to pay. Plus, he had a kid in college. He wasn’t rich by any means, and what I observed was incongruous. The Porsche 911 is a $100k car. But maybe he had recently come into an inheritance. Or perhaps he had even borrowed the Porsche and the suit from a friend to impress the woman. I didn’t give it any further thought at the time, but a few days ago, while thinking about possible suspects, this event came back to me.

Kevin was smart enough not to drive the Porsche to work or wear his fancy suit, but five months later, I now had my suspicions about him. Plus, I never particularly liked him nor had much respect for him as an agent. He was sloppy and lazy. Not that that would make him guilty of passing classified secrets, but I couldn’t think of a more likely candidate on the task force than he.

Although I had some computer skills, I needed the help of an expert to confirm my suspicions. I certainly couldn’t ask anyone at my office for help, so I thought of a friend of mine, Patty Mattson, who I’d originally met at college. As it turns out, she is a real IT security consultant, like the kind I told Dana Padgett I was.

We see each other often, and she knows I’m an FBI agent. I remember well the conversation I had with her over lunch just a few days ago because it struck me what a loyal friend she is.

“Patty, I’m in trouble at work. I can’t tell you the details, but I’ve been suspended pending an investigation. I can’t just sit around, so I’m investigating on my own, although I’ve been forbidden to do so. I have a strong suspicion who’s responsible, but I need help proving it and clearing my name of any culpability.”

Patty is an attractive blonde, who is a southern belle type. Her looks and her strong yet endearing accent belie her extraordinary hacking skills. She’s certainly not the stereotypical image of a speed-typing, socially inept, computer geek you see in movies. She is deliberate and genteel and very sweet.

“Ah’m so sorry to hear about your troubles, sweetie. What can ah do to help you? You know ah will if ah can.”

“It’s nothing you haven’t done many times before, and with your skills, I’m sure you can do it anonymously. I don’t need you to hack into any secure government databases or anything like that; I just need someone’s private cell phone call log from their cellular company.”

“We’ll get this figured out. Don’t you worry. We’ll just go back to ma office after lunch and get you what you need.”

I was on edge, but we had a pleasant lunch together. Later, back at her office, I gave her the name Kevin Glazer, and she was able to produce the list I needed, complete with the names and addresses of the other parties, within 10 minutes. She’s incredible.

“Thank you so much, Patty. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this. You’re an amazing friend.”

“Oh, sweetie, bless your heart. This was nothing. Don’t trouble yourself about it. Ah just hope you find what you need from it to clear yourself. You let me know if you need anything else.”

That evening, just three nights ago, I found what I needed to confirm my suspicions. I was looking for an incoming call from a northern Virginia area code shortly after the conclusion of the task force. Sure enough, there was a call from a Brittany Edwards of Springfield, Virginia about two weeks later.

I looked Brittany up on social media and found out that she worked at the US Patent and Trademark Office, or the USPTO, whose central headquarters was in Alexandria, Virginia, just a short commute from Springfield, where Brittany lived. This is exactly what I was hoping to find because, from talking with my brother, I was positive the patent office was the only other reasonable entity that knew about Dipraxa.

Brian had originally filed a composition of matter patent with the USPTO for Dipraxa after his initial testing of it. This was before he had begun testing it on himself. Once he realized how harmful it was, he rescinded the patent, but that wouldn’t erase it from their database.

My guess is that Kevin Glazer figured out there might be a patent for it. He either already had a contact in the USPTO named Brittany Edwards, or he made her acquaintance with the intention of using her to get him a copy of the Dipraxa file. From the information I had given the task force, he knew the name of the drug and that my brother, Brian Kendrick, invented it. This much would enable Brittany to locate the patent file.

But Kevin made a serious mistake. He should have had Brittany call him on a burner phone instead of his regular phone, but he was far from the sharpest knife in the drawer, and he was sloppy, as I said before.

Then again, I might have been totally wrong about him. It wasn’t conclusive proof by any means. Britanny might have been an old friend or girlfriend who just happened to live near Alexandria, but my instincts told me no. The fact that she worked at the USPTO is what clinched it for me. It’s what I was hoping to find, but to prove that it wasn’t just confirmation bias, what I really needed was direct evidence of the crime.

I had a basic plan for tomorrow, but it would be risky, and I might not even find what I’d be looking for. The uncertainties behind the plan were what kept me awake, and I continued going over the details in my mind until I eventually drifted off.

Chapter 5
The Devil Fights Back - Ch. 5

By Jim Wile

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.

Recap of Chapter 4: Fran decides to ignore her boss’s orders and begins to investigate on her own. She has a theory of the case and visits her friend Patty, a computer expert and hacker, who provides her with a list of phone calls for Fran’s chief suspect, Kevin Glazer.

Fran discovers a call to Kevin from a woman named Brittany who works at the US patent office, which confirms Fran’s suspicion that that’s how the secret of Dipraxa had gotten out—from Brian’s initial patent on it. Fran surmises that Brittany copied Brian’s patent file and gave it to Kevin for money. Kevin probably then sold the secret to an interested buyer. Now she must come up with a plan to prove it.

Chapter 5

Dana

When Fran Pekarsky left the bar, I decided to have one more drink before leaving myself. I signaled to the waitress for another cosmo. It would be my fourth. I needed to be a little drunk to be in the mood for the return of my likely randy husband in an hour or so. He was out with some of his friends from the conference this evening, probably at some titty bar where he’d be getting himself worked up for later.

Although I’m still reasonably attractive for a 58-year-old, he looks well beyond his 60 years. His hair is thinning rapidly, and, as his hairline retracts, his belly expands. We used to have pretty good sex together, but it’s no longer a high priority with either of us most of the time. Tonight, though, will likely be an exception, at least for him, so I must prepare for the ordeal.

It was nice to spend time with another woman. I enjoyed Fran’s company and was happy I was able to help lift her mood. I’m not sure I believed her story about being an IT security consultant. She didn’t look the part at all. She was quite buff, and I could tell she was packing* from the slight bulge beneath her jacket. I notice these things because I pack myself.

None of these little cans of mace or pepper spray for me. Some guy attacks me—I plan to disable him permanently. I think she was a cop of some sort, probably a police detective, maybe even a Fed.

And that question about Glyptophan. That was out of the blue. Funny she should have mentioned it, though. I knew a fair amount more about it than I let on.

My company, Newman-Price, is one of the five largest pharmaceutical companies in the US, but our financial picture isn’t so good right now. In the past year, two of our biggest sellers were banned by the FDA for a string of deaths in each case. Our legal staff spent a fortune in attempting to prove these deaths were not caused by the drugs but were due to other risk factors and comorbidities in the patients who died. They may have even been right about that, but the end result was that both drugs were taken off the market.

One of our vice presidents came to the marketing department the other day and sat me and my boss down with the following announcement:

“Look, guys, there’s a new analgesic drug called Glyptophan that just passed phase-1 trials with flying colors. This drug promises to replace opioids as the number one painkiller for severe pain—both acute and chronic. We can’t let that happen. We just lost our top two sellers, and our opioid is now our number one seller. If we lose that, we’re going under.

“Now, here’s what we’re going to do: I want you to instruct your sales reps never to mention Glyptophan, but if their customers bring it up, they are to say that the side effects from the human trials were terrible and that the drug will never make it through the human trials and come to market.”

I interrupted him and said, “I read about that trial. According to the article, all 80 participants experienced tremendous pain relief, and the side effects only began at the highest range of doses. Isn’t that to be expected in the phase-1 trials of any new drug? That’s one of the main purposes of the phase-1 trials—to see what the maximum tolerable dose is.”

“Whose side are you on, Dana? I know that, and you know that, but our reps and our customers don’t need to know that. As far as they’re concerned, they just need to know there were bad side effects. That’s all I want the reps to say, capisce?”

He left then. I turned to my boss and said, “That’s awfully devious, even for him, don’t you think?”

“C’mon, Dana. That’s the only way to succeed in this business. We’ve been beaten to the punch, but we’re not going to go down without a fight.”

“That’s just—”

“Look, Dana. To quote a famous slogan: ‘Just do it.’”

I knew then that if I wanted to keep my job, I had to comply. It’s no wonder Big Pharma has the reputation it has.

When I finished my fourth drink, it was time to head up to my room. Now I finally felt numb enough to face Romeo when he returns in a little while.

Marie

After some real soul-searching, I decided I would make the trip to Charlotte to attend the christening of my grandson. What did she say his name was? John? I think that was it. How original! Probably one of the most common names there is if you include all the Juans infesting the country now. I wouldn’t mind if that orange-haired dictator in the White House kept that particular promise—to round ‘em up and send ‘em back. Not just the Juans, of course, but all of ‘em. I didn’t vote for the man, but I sure agree with that policy.

My phone pinged then, indicating a text. It was from Julia, who just sent me her address and a few details about the christening.

That’s another thing. When did she get religion? She never got it from her father and me. I’ve always been an atheist. Robert claimed to be agnostic. Must have been that drug addict husband of hers who brainwashed her. And now they’re going to fill that poor child’s head with a bunch of religious nonsense.

Look at that address too: 1441 Mauney Farm Rd. in Cherrywood, North Carolina. Where the hell is that? They must’ve moved from Charlotte. I had to look the place up on Google Maps. I opened the app, typed in the address, and switched to satellite view. Holy shit! The place is out in the boonies! Is that a barn just down the road?

I zoomed in on their address and switched to street view. I was surprised; their house is actually pretty nice for a locale like this! It looks new and modern and large. Here in New York, say, in Westchester, that house would cost around $3 million. I wonder what it’s worth down there? I know Julia makes a good income as a soloist, but this house is something else. She’s just full of surprises. Maybe that addict husband of hers is a big-time drug kingpin now.

Well, I guess I’ve made up my mind to go. My curiosity has gotten me, if nothing else.

I used to be the concertmaster of the Charlotte Symphony Orchestra for a number of years before moving to New York, so I thought I knew the area pretty well. Their home isn’t too far from Charlotte, but I’ve never heard of this dinky Cherryville. Why on earth did they choose to move there?

Several days later, I texted Julia back and told her I’d be coming. I sent her the trip itinerary and told her I’d rent a car at the airport. It’s 30 miles from the airport to her house—too far for an Uber. She offered to pick me up at the airport, but I said no. I may want to visit a few old friends while there, so a rental car would be best. I planned to stay for a few days.

Julia offered to have me stay at their house, and I did take her up on that because there are no decent hotels anywhere near Cherryville.

I’ve decided I will be gracious when Julia apologizes to me for what she said 13 years ago. I guess there’s no point in carrying this on any further, and maybe it’s time for a reconciliation after all.

In two weeks, I was packed and ready to go. I planned to stay with Julia for three days—if we could last that long together.

I phoned Cedric at his desk downstairs.

“Yo, Ms. Schmidt.”

“It’s Dr. Schmidt, Cecil.”

“It’s Cedric, ma’am.”

“Whatever.”

This is a little game we play now. “Did you get me the cab like I asked last night. I’ll be down shortly.”

“Yes, ma’am. It’s waiting for you now.”

“Make sure he doesn’t leave, would you?”

“I’ll plant myself in front of it, Ms. Schmidt.”

“Thank you, Cecil.”

Author Notes * packing - a common term for carrying a concealed gun

CHARACTERS

Fran Pekarsky: One of three narrators of the story. She is an FBI agent from the North Carolina field office in Charlotte.

Dana Padgett: One of three narrators of the story. She is the assistant marketing director for a Big Pharma company.

Brian Kendrick: Fran's younger brother. He is the inventor of Dipraxa and Glyptophan.

Julia Kendrick: Brian's wife.

Dr. Marie Schmidt: Julia's mother.

Cedric (aka Cecil): The doorman at the apartment house where Marie lives.

Lou D'Onofrio: Fran's boss at the FBI.

Thing-1 and Thing-2: Two agents from the FBI's Inspection Division, the FBI equivalent of Internal Affairs.

Kevin Glazer: Fellow FBI agent whom Fran suspects is a mole who stole the formula for Dipraxa.

Patty Mattson: A hacker friend of Fran's.

Picture courtesy of Playground-v3

Chapter 6
The Devil Fights Back - Ch. 6

By Jim Wile

Recap of Chapter 5: Dana reflects on what a good time she had talking to Fran, although she suspects she isn’t an IT security consultant, but a cop or a Fed instead. She also wonders about Fran’s out-of-nowhere question about Glyptophan. We learn that Dana didn’t share all she knew about it, as she thinks back on a recent visit by a vice president of her pharmaceutical company. He had instructed her to tell her sales reps to essentially lie about it and tear it down because of the economic threat it poses to their company if successful. Dana is very conflicted about this.

We then switch to Marie who has decided to accept Julia’s invitation to the christening of her grandson, Johnny. She plans to stay with Julia and have it out about their estrangement from each other 13 years ago. She expects Julia to apologize to her for the hurtful things she said at the time, and perhaps then they can put it behind them.

Chapter 6

Fran

At 7:30 AM, I parked my car half a block down from the apartment building in downtown Charlotte, where Kevin Glazer lived. The residents parked in a lot next door, and I had already spotted his car when I drove through it a few minutes ago. I would wait until he left for work before going up to his apartment and breaking in.

Brittany Edwards, who worked at the patent office, had made a number of calls in the intervening months since that first time, so I figured this was now a routine thing. She was probably stealing patent info regularly for Kevin, and he would need a secure way to get it to his accomplice wherever that might be.

I was hoping to find a satellite phone in his apartment, with which he would receive his instructions and send his stolen data. Satellite phone calls are capable of being highly encrypted and are much more secure than cellular calls. I was also hoping to find the Dipraxa files somewhere on his computer.

Fortunately, I didn’t have too long to wait for Kevin to leave for work, and I observed his car drive out of the lot a few minutes after 8:00. I was wearing a jacket that advertised an appliance repair company, and I carried a toolbox, pretending to be there to repair an appliance, should anyone see me in the hall in front of the door to his apartment. I also brought a laptop with me that I’d secreted beneath my jacket.

I had a set of lockpicks in the toolbox and was able to pick the lock and let myself in within just a few minutes. I was interrupted twice by residents leaving for work, but when I would hear a door open, I simply stopped working on the lock and would knock on the door as if there for a repair.

Once inside, I looked around the apartment. It was huge. Beautifully furnished, with an industrial feel to it, it was definitely a high-end, man’s apartment. It had a home theater with expensive electronics and even a golf simulator in one corner.

I found his home office with his desktop computer, and, searching through the desk, I found what I was looking for—a sat phone. I was immensely relieved.

I needed to access the call log on the phone, and I used the laptop to download it via a USB cable. I had brought a variety of USB cable types with me for this reason. I found the right one, made the connection, and performed the transfer.

Next, I needed to copy the contents of his computer’s hard drive or SSD drive to my laptop to see if Patty and I could locate the Dipraxa files. That would be the most incriminating evidence I could find.

Copying the contents of his storage device would entail breaking into his computer. Fortunately, it was an older one that didn’t use biometric authentication such as fingerprinting, face, or voice recognition; it simply needed a 4-digit PIN to gain access. This could be anything, but Kevin was 60 and old-school and probably used the same PIN for everything.

I looked through his desk for a list or file of login information. Sure enough, in his bottom desk drawer, I found a card file containing user IDs and passwords for a number of websites. There was nothing written down for the computer itself, but after looking at a few of the cards in the file, I detected a pattern he sometimes used to generate passwords.

He would take the company name, capitalizing the first character, append a 4-digit number (the same number on every one—probably the PIN number he uses for everything), and then a special character—either an exclamation point or a question mark—to complete the password. For example: Amazon4178! Not a bad way, really, to help you remember passwords, though certainly not very secure.

I was sure the 4-digit number would be the one he used to unlock his computer. I entered 4178 and voila; I was in. Oh, Kevin, I thought, shaking my head.

I used a different USB cable to connect his computer to mine and initiated the file transfer from his SSD drive. This took some time. Meanwhile, I traipsed around the apartment. He had some expensive stuff. His home theater contained a state-of-the-art 80-inch QLED TV and some very sophisticated-looking sound equipment. His Scandinavian-style furniture looked new and very modern. Kevin obviously had money now, very likely from the sale of the Dipraxa files to a buyer from who knows where? Hopefully, the sat phone data would reveal that.

The data file transfer to my laptop was done in 20 minutes, so I packed everything up, put the sat phone back where I found it, and headed out.

This had been much easier than I anticipated—not worth all the worrying I did about it. I still needed to verify that the proof was now on my laptop, and I would need Patty Mattson’s help. This would be enough to take to Lou D’Onofrio. It would clear my name from suspicion and Brian’s too, and it would end my suspension. I would let Lou deal with the legal ramifications of how I got the incriminating data and let him worry about nailing Kevin.

When I paid Patty another visit to help me determine what I had, I had to fill her in on a few details about my activities today. She was able to find files containing the name Dipraxa in an encrypted folder. We looked at a few of them, and it became clear this was part of the patent package Brian had sent to the USPTO when he filed his patent. Perfecto!

She was also able to view the call log from the sat phone. There were not that many calls on it, and as a result of its infrequent use, the log went as far back as the end of the task force where Dipraxa was used. The calls began a couple weeks later. Due to the encryption, Patty couldn’t decipher the specific numbers the calls were from and to, but she could determine that the source and destination were somewhere in China. A heavy weight settled on my chest with this news.

China is the world’s leading producer of illegal drugs like fentanyl. China is also our number one enemy. The drugs they produce are smuggled from there into Mexico and then to the US. This is what I now believe was happening with Dipraxa.

“Patty, I can’t thank you enough for assisting me in this. You’ve just helped me and Brian protect our good names and probably saved our careers.”

“Oh, Sweetie, what are friends for? Ah’m glad ah was able to help you find what you were looking for. Ah couldn’t bear their thinking you were complicit in this. Or Brian either. Now you go and nail that guy who’s the real culprit.”

“I’ll be bringing this to my boss tomorrow and hopefully get my gun and creds back. Couldn’t have done it without you, my dear.”

“Oh, bless your heart.”

I gave her a hug, and we said goodbye.

I called Lou when I got back to the hotel after leaving Patty’s office.

“Lou, I’ve got the proof that exonerates me and my brother and nails the guy responsible.”

“Oh yeah? What took you so long?”

I was speechless for a moment.

“Francine, I knew you would jump right on it. I don’t know why I bother giving you orders; you never obey them.”

“Well, occasionally I’ve been known to—”

“It’s more than occasionally, but we don’t need to quibble about that right now. Do you have physical proof?”

“More like digital proof.”

“Who was it?”

“Kevin Glazer.”

Lou paused for a few beats. “I guess I’m not that surprised. He’s certainly a more likely candidate than you. Alright, bring it in tomorrow at 9:00, and I’ll take a look at it.”

“Thanks, Lou. I think we have a bigger problem, though, but we can discuss it when I see you tomorrow.”

“Tell me now.”

“You’ve seen how psychologically addictive Dipraxa can be from when we used it on our captive. It was the same for my brother when he experimented on himself. The problem is that Kevin sold the Dipraxa patent information to China—our number one enemy in the world. I think this has now become a matter of national security. I’m sure their intent is to spread this as widely as possible among our population. As addictive and disabling as it is, this country will eventually come to a complete standstill as a large portion of the population will be in complete thrall to this drug. The euphoria it produces, as described to me by Brian, is like no other and borders on feeling like a non-stop orgasm. Not quite as intense, but somewhat. I think this would spell the end of the US.”

“We’re in deep shit, aren’t we? Alright, we’ll discuss this further tomorrow. I think we’ll get central headquarters in on this as well, and you can define the problem to them. Francine, good work. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

When I got off the phone with Lou, I realized I had dodged a bullet. It’s a good thing I found the incriminating evidence, or this suspension might have become permanent. Finally relaxed about my immediate situation, though not so much about the long-term implications, I decided to give Dana Padgett a call as I told her I would yesterday.

We agreed to meet for dinner in the restaurant at 7:00. It was 4:30 now, and I was beat. I hadn’t slept much last night for worrying, and it caught up with me. I decided to nap for a couple of hours back at the hotel.

Mike is away on a mission now, and the only reason I’m staying at a hotel since I live here in Charlotte is because my hardwood floors are currently being refinished, and I had to remain out of the house for at least 48 hours. I’ll be checking out and going back home tomorrow, but I’m happy to have met Dana through this experience and look forward to meeting her again for dinner. Who knows? I might even find out a little more about Big Pharma’s plans concerning Glyptophan.

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