FanStory.com - The Devil Fights Back

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.