The time Sula spent working on her sculpture was therapeutic. She’d managed to not think about her custody hearing, her unemployment, the theft charges against her, or the Nexapra trials for nearly two hours.
Of course, as soon as she put down the mig welder, she’d started brooding about all of it. Her custody lawyer still didn’t know she was unemployed, and Sula needed to make that dreaded call. She had decided not to tell Barbara about being arrested. The theft hearing was after the custody hearing, and no one involved in the custody dispute needed to know about it. The only thing she could do to improve her chances of winning custody was to find a job, one that paid more than unemployment. That might take a while. Unemployment in Oregon was over ten percent.
Recovering the DNA data seemed even more difficult. Paul hadn’t called yet to report how their Trojan horse was doing. On the positive side, she’d learned the last name of a third Nexapra suicide, but wasn’t sure what good it would do her.
She wanted to get out for a walk but it was too wet. She put on shorts and a Beyonce CD, then worked up a sweat dancing around the living room. Exercise was not a discipline with her. She did it only when she felt like it, and only as long as she enjoyed it.
Sula showered and changed into jeans. Unable to wait any longer, she called Paul. “Hey. How’s the hacking coming?”
“Hi. And I’m fine, thanks.”
“Good to hear. If you’re going to keep me in suspense about it, maybe I should drive over and pick up pizzas on the way.”
“Excellent idea. I have nothing here but a moldy tomato, a can of peaches, and some cat food.” Paul didn’t have a cat.
Sula didn’t take the bait. “See you in thirty.”
She called in two small pizzas from Papas-a Mt. Bachelor classic for her, with pesto, sausage, artichoke hearts, and wax banana peppers, and a Canadian bacon and pineapple for Paul. They had shared this meal a few times. The pizzas were ready when she arrived, and Sula put them on her UO/Visa card. Intuition told her she needed to keep what little cash she had on hand.
It stopped raining on the drive over. She heard her mother’s voice-a sweet, faint memory-calling it an omen for good things to happen during her visit with Paul. As much as she liked to keep her mother’s memory close, Sula rejected her spirituality. Gods and chants and superstitious hadn’t made her mother happy or kept her safe.
Paul opened the door as she got there and ushered her in with a string of exclamations about food and love. Sula took the boxes to the kitchen table, while Paul dug out a stack of napkins. They each devoured half a pizza before saying much.
“What’s happening with our Trojan horse?” Sula asked between napkin wipes.
Paul grinned, mouthful and all. “I have a password.”
“Hot damn. Do you know who the user is?” Sula pushed her pizza aside, too excited to eat now.
“Eric Sobotka.”
“He’s a scientist. He has access to the clinical trial database.”
“I know.” Paul was still grinning. “I’ve already been in there.”
Sula jumped up and went around the table to hug him. “What have you found?”
“Tons of stuff. But I don’t have any idea what I’m looking for, so that’s why I needed you here.”
“We’re looking for anything we can find about Miguel and Luis Rios. I should have given you the names.”
“You probably did.” Paul shrugged. “Let me eat one more piece of this heavenly pie, then we’ll get right on it.”
After forty minutes of searching, the names did not come up.
“Rudker deleted the files. I knew he would.” Sula slumped into a chair. She’d been pacing Paul’s living room for the last thirty minutes, checking over his shoulder on occasion. “Warner must have expected him to do that, which was why she made the disk. And I lost it.”
Paul turned to her. “You didn’t lose it. The bastard had you arrested, then broke into your home while you were in jail and stole it from you. Who would have seen that coming?”
“Certainly not me.”
“What now?” Paul did not give up easily either.
“You’re not going to believe this, but I’m thinking of going to Puerto Rico.”
“Get out.” Paul’s mouth fell open. “You don’t fly.”
Sula hadn’t let herself think about that part of it. “I have to get that data. A woman in Portland also committed suicide while taking Nexapra during a clinical trail. She was only twenty-eight. Her last name was James, but the clinician said she looked Hispanic.”
“Jesus. Clearly not a good drug for Latinos.” Paul shook his head. “Can you do it? Get on a plane and fly across an ocean?”
“I hope so. Maybe with enough Xanax in me.”
“Can you afford the ticket?”
“No, but I have a credit card.”
Paul leaned forward and grabbed her hands. “I have a free flight from years of building up credit card points. It’s good for anywhere on US soil. I’ll get you a ticket with it.”
“I can’t let you do that.”
“Of course you can. It’s not a gift; it’s a loan. Without any interest. You’ll pay me back whenever you can.”
Sula was overwhelmed by his generosity. She tried to refuse again, but he ignored her and turned back to his computer. In a few minutes, the Chase credit card site came up and Paul found the number to call for cashing in his travel points. While he was on hold, he asked, “When do you want to go?”
Sula’s pulse quickened. It was happening so fast. “Soon, I guess.” If she waited, Rudker would have an opportunity to destroy the original files in Puerto Rico. What if he had ordered someone to do it already?
“Wednesday?” Paul was waiting for an answer.
“I don’t have a passport.”
“You don’t need one. It’s a U.S. territory.”
The only thing she had planned for the next few days was more job searching. “Okay.”
Great Gods. Sula could not believe she had just agreed to get on a plane and fly 1,500 miles. She’d never done this before and didn’t know how to prepare. Her pulse escalated.
“When do you want to come back?”
How long would it take? She planned to visit the research center and maybe the families. “Two days,” she finally said. Was that reasonable? She couldn’t afford to be gone longer than that.
“Which airport?”
“I don’t know. The research clinic is in San Juan.”
As Paul talked his way through the ticket purchase, Sula paced the room and tried not to hyperventilate. She could to this. Thousands of people got on planes every day and so could she. She had never left Oregon before. Did they speak English in Puerto Rico? she wondered. She would get online as soon as she got home and find out everything she could.
When Paul got off the phone, he printed out her itinerary while simultaneously reciting it to her. “You’ll catch a flight at 5:45 in the morning and fly to Phoenix. From there, you’ll fly to Orlando, Florida, then on to San Juan, arriving at 9:36 p.m., San Juan time. Three flights and twelve hours of travel. Quite an ordeal for your virgin flight.”
Sula had to sit again.
“Take your cell phone. Call me as often as you like.” Paul hugged her. “You’ll be fine.”
“You should come with me.” She didn’t want to do this alone.
“I wish I could, but it’s too short of notice for me. I have two jobs.”
“I know. I’m being selfish. This terrifies me.”
“What doesn’t kill you will make you stronger.”
“Nietzsche didn’t have to worry about falling from the sky.”