The Einstein Pursuit, page 21
‘Still in Pittsburgh? With the old man?’
‘No … not yet.’
‘What’s the holdup? This should have been a simple assignment. You’re putting me behind schedule, and I don’t like delays.’
‘I don’t like incompetence,’ Masseri countered. ‘So we’re even. Neither of us got what they expected.’
‘What are you talking about? The intel was sound. If you couldn’t find an advantage, that’s on you. Especially given the additional forces I supplied.’
‘Actually, they were the problem. If I had handled this myself, they would still be alive.’
‘What are you saying?’
‘Your men are dead. All of them.’
Cole was stunned. ‘How?’
‘Bad intel on your part. You failed to mention the special forces.’
‘Special forces? What are you talking about?’
‘Does it matter?’ Masseri asked.
‘It does, actually. If you tell me it’s someone from the Bordo Bereliler of the Turkish special forces, or the Venezuelan Special Operations Squadron, or any one of the many, many units in which I have contacts, then maybe there’s something I can do to help. I have more connections than you could possibly imagine. I never thought I’d need to call in a favor to bring in Sahlberg, but if I have to, I have to.’
Cole regretted his words the instant he said them. He knew that no one in their line of work liked to be called out, least of all a professional like Masseri. Supporting a soldier in the field was one thing, but questioning someone’s ability to finish a job was quite another.
He softened his voice and changed his approach. ‘Who are they?’
‘MANIACs,’ Masseri answered. ‘Two of them.’
‘What’s their connection to Sahlberg?’
‘One of them is Jonathon Payne.’
‘Payne?’ Cole asked. ‘As in Payne Industries?’
‘The very same. The other one is named Jones.’
‘And they risked their lives for Sahlberg? Why?’
‘I was hoping you could tell me – after all, you’re the one who failed to warn me of this possibility.’
Cole pondered the new development before speaking again.
Sahlberg was still his focus, but Payne would make for an interesting interrogation. Sahlberg knew the science, but Payne’s secrets would certainly be worth exploring. Given its size, Payne Industries was sure to have a hand in a multitude of R&D divisions. Capturing Payne could open up a whole new world of prosperity. Cole wondered what people would pay for newfangled, cutting-edge equipment – be it a revolutionary new way to mine minerals or a plasma rifle.
At the very least, Payne’s company would pay handsomely for his safe return. Hell, for all Cole knew, there might even be a bounty on him. He had heard tales of corporate espionage taken to extremes, and he wondered if there was an opportunity staring him in the face.
‘I want you to consider Payne a target of opportunity. Sahlberg is the primary objective, but I will double the rate if Payne can be brought in alive,’ he said.
Masseri grimaced. ‘It won’t be easy. I’ve seen what he’s capable of. The old man is one thing, but Payne is an entirely different beast. I want double the rate for Sahlberg, and if I bring in Payne, we’re going to split his bounty fifty–fifty.’
‘Screw you! You’re telling me you can’t handle someone who spends his days in the boardroom? It sounds like you’re slipping.’
Masseri ignored the taunt. ‘Do we have a deal or not?’
‘Fine!’
Cole hung up the phone and laughed. He had no intention of paying Masseri double his rate for Sahlberg. Why would he increase the bounty when it was so much easier to simply kill Masseri for his efforts?
The Egyptian was good, but so were many others.
Easy come, easy go.
42
After breakfast, they moved their conversation to the living room, where they would be more comfortable. Payne and Jones had learned a lot from Sahlberg, but the revelations about the scientist’s work and his connection to Payne Industries had yet to offer any suspects. They still needed to know more if they were to figure out who had come after Sahlberg, and why.
‘Does the list of victims tell us anything?’ Payne asked as he settled into his favorite chair, a leather recliner he had owned for years. ‘In other words, do their individual specialties add up to something specific?’
Sahlberg frowned. ‘I’m not sure I understand your question.’
Payne glanced at Jones. ‘DJ, help me out.’
He nodded. ‘You said one of the victims was a microbiologist, another was a chemist, and so on. Think about the group as a whole. Why bring these scientists together? What could they have been working on?’
Sahlberg didn’t need to review the list. He was well acquainted with their specialties. ‘Unfortunately, they could have been working on anything. Besides the two you mentioned, you’re looking at scientists from nearly a dozen other fields. Physics. Botany. Mathematics. They’re all represented. There’s even a geologist on the list. About the only concentration that isn’t accounted for is astronomy, which means their experiments had to do with earth.’
‘Great!’ Jones teased. ‘That means I can cancel my call to NASA.’
Payne ignored the joke. ‘Think back to your recent conversations with Berglund. Is there anything that became a theme? Maybe some topic that he always looped back to?’
Sahlberg nodded. ‘Tomas was obsessed with the human body – particularly its limitations. He often pondered ways to alter those limitations. For instance, what would we have to do to increase the body’s tolerances?’
‘Tolerances? Like heat, cold, pain – that sort of thing?’
‘I suppose so, yes, but only in the sense of how those types of stimuli are processed. He wasn’t concerned with external materials that could fend off these effects; he was interested in how the body could physically counter invading elements.’
‘Invading elements?’
‘Something foreign to the system.’
‘Such as?’ Jones asked.
Sahlberg thought of an example. ‘Let’s say a splinter of wood lodges itself in the palm of your hand. Pain receptors fire off a message to your brain, letting it know the skin has been pierced. Along the way, the message is interpreted by an area of your spinal column known as the dorsal horn. Before the brain even processes the signal, the dorsal horn has triggered a reflex that causes you to jerk your hand away from the source of the injury. Finally, the brain gets the message. It determines the severity of the event by comparing it to every impulse it has ever received and makes a decision as to how you should react. Does this injury warrant a howling scream or merely a simple wince? Does it call for tears? Should you start to sweat? What about your heartbeat? Should it be faster or slower? The introduction of a foreign body triggers all of this. And that’s just the biochemical response. There are physiological effects as well.’
Payne shook his head in confusion. ‘Doc, you lost me. What does any of that have to do with Berglund?’
Sahlberg explained. ‘What if instead of a reflexive grimace and stinging sensation, we could delay the transfer of information? What if we could examine the injury before the brain automatically determines its severity? It would allow us to study the splinter, realize that it poses a minimal threat to our overall health, and consciously decide that the sensation of pain would be pointless. We could simply remove the offending sliver and carry on with our business.’
Jones leaned forward in his chair. ‘Berglund was actually working on that? How’s that even possible? You’re talking about the suspension of a chemical transfer that takes mere milliseconds to complete.’
‘I don’t know if it is possible,’ Sahlberg said with a laugh. ‘We didn’t discuss things in terms of the possible. We discussed things in terms of the theoretical. Theoretically, if you could isolate the chemical reaction of the pain receptors and interrupt it before it was relayed to the rest of the nervous system, then you could spare yourself the sensation of pain. Again, theoretically. Actually being able to detect the chemical reaction, isolate it, and prevent its transfer is an entirely different conundrum.’
‘Isn’t that the type of thing Berglund relished?’
Sahlberg nodded. ‘Over the last year, we basically broke down every aspect of the immune system. He wanted to know why certain cells behave the way they do. Specifically, he wanted to know everything I knew about how white blood cells interact with the rest of the system.’
‘Why you? You’re not an immunologist.’
‘He believed there was a connection between the perpetual cell lines I was studying and the body’s immune system.’
‘What was the connection?’ Payne wondered.
‘I have no idea. Like I said, it was just another one of his theories. The only direct question he ever asked was whether or not I believed that a perpetual cell line could be synthesized.’
‘You mean created by man?’
‘Yes. A man-made cell.’
‘To what end?’ Jones asked.
‘It’s only a “for instance”, but if you could create a synthetic organ cell with perpetual characteristics, you could potentially manufacture replacement organs for everyone waiting on a donor list.’
‘Or create a synthetic virus and let it spread throughout the world,’ Jones countered.
‘I suppose that’s true, but it’s essentially a moot point.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘I told Tomas that synthetic cells could never truly propagate on their own. Even if you could design a machine on such a minute scale, it would lack the ability to divide. Even if it existed for ever, it could never multiply.’
Payne processed the conversation. ‘You said it’s essentially a moot point. Why isn’t it definitely a moot point?’
‘Because Tomas never accepted my answer.’
Jones jumped back in. ‘If Berglund used you as a sounding board for the cellular aspects of his research – whatever that research might have been – do you think there were others he would have consulted on the rest of the variables?’
‘Yes, but I’m assuming they were all killed in Stockholm.’
‘What about you?’ Payne asked.
‘What about me?’ Sahlberg responded.
‘Why weren’t you asked to go to Stockholm?’
He shrugged. ‘I have no idea. But considering what happened, I’m glad I wasn’t.’
Payne pushed on. ‘For one reason or another, he kept you at arm’s length. Maybe he didn’t want you or your reputation getting hurt by your involvement. Maybe he didn’t want you to know what was really going on. Obviously we can’t say for sure. But if you weren’t there, isn’t there a chance there were others who weren’t invited as well? People who were consulted but who were never able to fully understand what Berglund was working on.’
‘Maybe,’ Sahlberg conceded.
‘Where would we find them?’
Sahlberg gave it some thought. ‘The only place I can think of is La Jolla. If that’s where his plan started to form, then maybe someone out there can help.’
43
Toulon had spent the day researching his latest lead: the taped conversation of Hendrik Cole, who was heard muttering the words Stockholm and Zidane on a South African surveillance tape.
While Zidane was not a common surname, Toulon knew it wasn’t unique. In fact, the mere mention of it called to mind his favorite French footballer, Zinedine Zidane. At the end of his stellar career, the aggressive midfielder had left a lasting impression in his final World Cup match. Unfortunately, the impression was that of his forehead on the chest of one of his opponents. Despite this boneheaded play and his well-deserved ejection, Zidane was considered one of the finest competitors the sport had ever known.
However, Toulon doubted that Cole was connected to that Zidane in any way. Instead, he logically concluded that Cole was referencing Harrison Zidane, the well-known entrepreneur, who had made billions in pharmaceutical speculation. Unsure if Zidane was a target or a suspect – or possibly neither – Toulon used his sources to track him to the Italian city of Como, where he had recently made a public appearance to commemorate the ground-breaking of a new hospital facility.
Toulon contacted the police in Como and asked them to arrange a conversation with Zidane. By phone, if necessary. By Skype, if possible. The latter would allow Toulon to watch Zidane while he answered his questions, giving him a better opportunity to gauge Zidane’s reactions.
While waiting for the Italian police to track down Zidane, Toulon called his boss to fill him in on the latest developments.
‘Nick,’ he said, ‘are you enjoying your vacation?’
‘Screw you,’ Dial said. ‘How are things back at headquarters?’
‘Running more smoothly now that I’m in charge.’
‘Great. Then you won’t mind covering the holiday shifts this year. They’re always a nightmare, but I’m sure you’ll figure out a way to deal with them much better than I ever did.’
‘There’s no need for threats, Nick.’
The last thing Toulon wanted to do was handle the holiday chaos. While almost everyone in the world chose to celebrate the spirit of the season, there were always a few unfortunate souls who had finally had enough by year’s end. And when they snapped, they did so in grand style. Many of the most horrific crimes that Dial and Toulon had dealt with had occurred on the days between Christmas Eve and New Year’s Day.
‘You started it,’ Dial stressed. ‘But I’m hoping you have more to offer than petty insults.’
‘I do,’ Toulon said. ‘I’ve been digging into the Stockholm case a bit more. Would you prefer that I begin with the good news or the bad news?’
‘The good. I could use the pick-me-up.’
Toulon cut to the chase. ‘I know who bombed the laboratory.’
‘Quit messing around, Henri. This isn’t a joking matter.’
‘But I’m not joking. I know who bombed the lab.’
‘Wait. Are you serious?’
‘Oui,’ he stressed. ‘I pulled all the footage I could get of the warehouse and the surrounding area. Thanks to the light from the blast, I was able to spot a man on a boat in the harbor.’
‘Doing what?’
‘Watching.’
‘Watching?’ Dial growled. ‘What kind of good news is that? If I was in a boat in the harbor and a building blew up on shore, take a wild guess what I’d be doing.’
‘Peeing your pants?’
‘Maybe. But I’d also be watching.’
‘Does that mean you don’t want to know his name?’
‘Whose name?’
‘The man on the boat.’
‘Wait. You have his name?’
‘Oui. I do.’
‘Go on. Spit it out.’
‘The man on the boat was Hendrik Cole.’
Dial groaned. ‘You’re sure?’
‘I’m positive. I ran his image through our facial recognition software. It’s a perfect match. I wish it were someone else, but it’s not. It’s the Butcher of Benin.’
Dial was familiar with Cole and the nickname he had earned as a result of the massacre in Africa. Of all the known killers in the world, Cole was near the top of everyone’s most-wanted list. He was brutal. He was ruthless. He was unpredictable. They were qualities that served him well in his chosen field, but they made him a nightmare for others. Those who had investigated him in the past talked about him as if he were some sort of mystical snake: they never knew when, where or how he might strike next.
Dial groaned some more. ‘I thought you said this was good news.’
‘Maybe that was a poor choice of words. To be honest, I’m not sure any of this is good news. But that’s the most definitive piece of information I can offer.’
‘I haven’t heard his name in a while. Where’s that bastard been hiding?’
‘The South African Directorate of Special Operations placed him in Cape Town a month ago, but between then and his appearance in Stockholm, there’s no trace of him.’
‘What about a list of associates? Anyone we can rattle for information?’
‘You saw what he did to the last couple of guys he worked with. They’re in no condition to offer any assistance.’ Toulon was referring to the two bullet-ridden men who had been left to burn with the others inside the lab. ‘He doesn’t leave loose ends. If someone knows something about him, there’s a pretty good chance he’ll find them before we do.’
Dial nodded in agreement. ‘Cole’s already a wanted man. Every border guard in the world has him in their system, so it won’t do us any good to send out an alert. All that would do is tip him off to our renewed interest. So where does that leave us?’
‘Well, there’s the, um, I guess let’s call it the other news,’ Toulon offered.
‘Which is?’
‘The South Africans lucked out and got Cole on a surveillance tape in Cape Town. In it, he’s speaking Afrikaans to an unknown subject. I had one of the translators here listen to it, and Cole is talking about a job in Stockholm that has to do with someone named Zidane. Unfortunately, that’s all we got. The rest of the conversation is drowned out by background noise.’
‘Who’s Zidane?’
‘I don’t know for sure, but my gut says it’s Harrison Zidane. He’s a billionaire venture capitalist from Algeria. He made most of his money in the pharmacy game, backing small startups with promising research and selling their products to the top companies in the world.’
Dial voiced his uncertainty. ‘But Berglund wasn’t a low-level startup. Neither was anyone else involved. They were established entities in the field. Berglund could have turned to any of the major players, any of the big pharmaceutical companies, and they’d throw money at him. So what was Zidane’s interest?’
