Element 42

by Seeley James

  I said, We’re in a secure facility.

  Mercury said, So was Julius Caesar.

  “What about the rag?” I asked Carlton.

  He shook his head. “What rag?”

  Ms. Sabel said, “We found an old rag with the vials, but I didn’t send it.”

  “It could hold the key to the transmission,” he said. “Have it sent right away.”

  Ms. Sabel turned her back on them to whisper in my ear. “I didn’t want to play all my cards in one lab.”

  I remembered the extra vial and managed to keep my mouth shut. The docs kept talking and Ms. Sabel moved behind me.

  Mercury said, Bro, you’re head of personal security, act like it.

  “What’s the cure?” Ms. Sabel said loudly from a few yards away.

  Without my realizing it, she’d moved five paces down a row of shoulder-high lab equipment and had her weapon drawn.

  I drew mine and glanced around the lab. Catching Ms. Sabel’s gaze, I silently asked what worried her. She nosed at the next aisle. I went left, she went right.

  Our brainiacs kept talking while I focused on whatever was bothering the boss. I moved to the next aisle and took a peek around the corner. Empty. At the far end, she cleared the aisle, her barrel aiming at me briefly, then moved to the next. There was a loud crash, followed by a banging door and an alarm. I ran to the far end in time to see Ms. Sabel disappear through the door into the cube farm.

  Running in top gear, I caught a glimpse of her turning down a row of head-high cubicles. I saw nothing out of place as I flew by the aisles. I turned one row ahead of Ms. Sabel and stumbled over a lab coat with a researcher’s badge someone had dropped in the aisle. I stopped and listened for any sign of what was going on. Ms. Sabel was running an aisle over but there were no other footsteps. She rounded the end of my aisle and saw me.

  A blur crashed into her, throwing her sideways.

  I made the distance in five quick bounds, leading with my weapon.

  Ms. Sabel was facedown on the floor with a man on top of her, holding a gun to her head. The man said, “Hands where I can see them. NOW!”

  She pushed her Glock forward on the carpet.

  When he leaned over to pick it up, I stepped quietly behind him and pressed my weapon to his skull. “Same for you, Verges. Hands where I can see them.”

  Another alarm went off. This time behind me. Grabbing Verges by the shirt collar, I dragged him backward a few steps with me, just in time to see a man disappear down the fire exit at the far end of the aisle. I dropped Verges and ran after the shadow.

  “Drop your weapon now!” Verges shouted. “I swear to god, I’ll fire, Stearne.” He was just green enough to do it without realizing how much paperwork the FBI would make him fill out afterwards. “Get on the ground now.”

  I dropped to my knees with my hands out and up. On the building’s backside, a motorcycle started up and sped away.

  Ms. Sabel ran up behind Verges, ready to beat the daylights out of him.

  “Don’t!” I waved her off. “He’s a federal employee.”

  She stopped and threw me a puzzled look.

  “Assaulting a federal employee is a felony,” I said.

  She shrugged so what and took off running down the aisle past both of us. I jumped up and ran after her. Instead of going to the exit, she went to the window on the backside of the building. She screamed “shit!” and pounded her fists on the giant panes so hard the glass shook like a drum head.

  She turned around and stormed back to Verges, grabbing the lab coat off the floor. “Goddamn, it! You son—”

  “Guns are not allowed in federal facilities, ma’am. I don’t care who you are, you’re not above the—”

  “That was Dr. Chapman!” She yelled so loud it hurt my ears. She held out the badge on the lab coat: Windsor Pharmaceuticals, Consulting Researcher, Chapman, A. “The man responsible for the mass graves on Borneo. The man who put Tania Cooper in the hospital. I would’ve caught him. But you stopped me. Why?”

  CHAPTER 16

  A light fog of toxic dust rolled through Guangzhou’s central district with silt so fine that only a few people donned their surgical masks. Violet’s driver opened her door and offered a hand.

  “Umbrella.” she said.

  She had no intention of ruining her Akris pantsuit in the pollution. The driver returned a second later with the covering fully extended. She rose, felt her leg shift and limped forward. The designer leg had more style, and gave her the option of wearing her Rupert Sanderson pumps, but it slipped too often. She would have words with the technician who’d fitted her.

  Ed Cummings called as she walked to the tower under the canopy.

  “What the hell did you do, Violet?” Cummings asked.

  “What are you talking about?” She pushed through the revolving door while her driver loped back to the limo.

  “I didn’t give you the Velox contact for this,” Ed said.

  “Don’t talk to me in riddles. What’s going on?”

  “Look up the Post’s website.”

  Violet clicked off and pulled up the site on her phone. She scanned the short update: Pia Sabel attacked, one dead, four in custody, the sleepy Washington suburb of Potomac, MD shocked.

  She called Cummings back.

  “How could you possibly think I had anything to do with this?” The elevator doors opened on her floor.

  “I gave you Kasey’s phone number.” Cummings said. “It’s being treated like a terrorist attack. This better not come back to me.”

  “Verratti,” she said. “I gave him an earful about failure. He must have overreacted.”

  “Marcus wouldn’t … would he?”

  “I didn’t do it. Did you?” She steamed through her executive reception area.

  “On another topic, one of Sabel’s best friends came down with it. She’s in the hospital.”

  “How do you know—”

  “It gets worse,” Cummings said. “The Malaysian authorities are—”

  Her secretary held up a hand, stop, and pointed to the back of the reception area where a slight figure stood alone.

  Chen Zhipeng stood with his back to her, examining something on a chest-high table.

  “I have to go.” Violet’s voice sank as she clicked off.

  She checked her prosthesis before crossing the marble and came up behind him. “Shifu, I had no idea you were in town. I would’ve sent the limo—”

  He turned halfway to her, his fingertips touching a small plant. “This is a bonsai tree.”

  “Yes. Quite lovely. An amazing art form.”

  “It is not. Bonsai is a Japanese bastardization of Penjing, the original Chinese art.”

  Violet turned to her secretary. “How could you let this happen? Have the decorator replace it immediately, then fire him.”

  Chen reached out for her hand and took it in his. “I did not plan to visit Guangzhou today, but I am quite surprise to find you here.”

  Violet’s eyes darted from side to side. “This is my office. Where would—”

  “You failed to tell me about three vial of blood.” He squeezed her hand hard.

  “The security man, Mukhtar,” she said, “reported it to Anatoly Mokin. Anatoly told me about it and I had the impression that he had already discussed—”

  “Do not leave it to board member to keep me informed.” Chen’s face reddened and he leaned toward her as he spoke. “This project is very sensitive. You have my phone number. When trouble happen, you call me. No more mess around.”

  Violet leaned back, then bowed. “I understand, Shifu.”

  “You do not.” He stepped closer. “Wu Fang handled those vial. They must be retrieved immediately.” His black, unblinking eyes stared at her. “I need insurance that China will survive if the program become public. You must supervise the search in person.”

  “Of course, I—”

  “Have you found the missing Element 42 and Levoxavir?”

  “I’ve ask
ed Anatoly to conduct a thorough investigation. I don’t expect to hear back from him until later today. In light of all the missing items, I’m afraid I must replace Mokin Enterprises immediately.”

  Chen bounced on his feet and clasped his hands behind his back. He turned back to the bonsai. “Do you have a reliable security company in mind to replace them?”

  “I understand Velox Deployment Services is capable of handling a site without losing the most important components.”

  Chen nodded without looking up, a thin smile stretched across his mouth.

  “Have you heard of them?” she asked.

  “Mokin Enterprises is based in China, and is an operation I can control if anything leaks to the press. Do not make any changes.”

  “They allowed Wu Fang and Pia Sabel into the compound, they’ve lost the very things they were hired to protect. I need to make a—”

  “You listen to me. I do not say thing twice. Windsor is based in China and subject to Chinese law. This is most important issue. You get all three vial back from Sabel.”

  Chen went to the elevators. When the doors sealed him inside, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Letting it out, she turned to her secretary. “Get me on the next flight to Washington and put a driver on standby all week.”

  Violet ran to her office and closed the door. She dialed her Velox contact.

  “Who is this?” a gruff voice answered.

  “I’m Violet Windsor, I was referred to you—”

  “What is this, some kinda joke?”

  Violet set her purse on her desk and stared out her window. “No, I’m Violet Windsor and I’ve been referred—”

  “Lemme guess, Shane put you up to this, right?”

  “What?”

  “C’mon, who are you really?” the gruff voice said.

  “I’m Violet Windsor, President and CEO of Windsor Pharmaceuticals and I’m calling because Ed Cummings told me Velox provides better security than Mokin Enterprises. If you think that’s a joke, perhaps I should speak to your superiors.”

  “Holy shit, you really are Windsor. Well, what can I do for you, sugar?”

  “For starters, never call me ‘sugar’ again. After that, I need to recover a package that Marcus Verratti, of Milan, Italy stole from me. Are you capable of a simple operation like that?”

  “Where’ve I heard that name before?”

  “I asked a simple question. Are you capable of—”

  “Hang on, lemme Google that one. Verratti. Mafia boss, right? Wait a sec, he’s involved in the Collettivo, the financial mafia, investments and that shit. Yeah, that’s the guy. They call him Milan’s Don and you want me to steal from him? Steal from the Mafia—in Italy?

  “Actually, I have reason to believe my stolen property is in Philadelphia, in the hands of a smaller group.”

  “Sugar, you must have a lot of money.”

  “Don’t call me that again. I was told your organization is qualified for an operation on that scale.”

  “I have the operations, but you pay in advance. You know what I’m saying, sugar?”

  “If you call me ‘sugar’ one more time, I’m going—”

  “What, take your business to Sabel Security?” The man roared with laughter.

  * * *

  Kasey Earl clicked off from Violet Windsor’s call and stared at his phone for a moment. He checked the caller ID, then typed it into his database. The number belonged to Windsor Pharma of Guangzhou. He tapped his finger on the table for a minute then leaned back in his chair and dialed his boss.

  When the call connected, Kasey said, “You ain’t going to believe who just called me.”

  CHAPTER 17

  Ms. Sabel’s jet has a great couch. It’s long enough for a six-foot guy like me to stretch out and get some rest. There’s another couch opposite that fits a six-foot woman like Ms. Sabel. Once you’re used to the noise of the engines, the ride is sweet and you can close your eyes and wait for the inevitable shriek. After the horrific murder of her parents, Ms. Sabel became an insomniac who wakes up screaming after three hours of shut-eye. When you’re resting on the couch across from her, you wait, tense with anticipation, for what you know is coming.

  An hour before landing in Milan, it happened. She shrieked.

  It embarrassed her when we jumped up and formed a defensive perimeter, so I faked sleeping through it. She went forward and sat with Carmen. The noise of engines drowned most of their conversation but I heard enough.

  “He’s not exactly a hunk,” Ms. Sabel said. “So why do women fall for him?”

  “He’s dangerous and unstable,” Carmen said, “kind of a fixer-upper.”

  “Bad boys have a certain type of appeal for a short time, but why do they go back?”

  “If he’s not handsome, rich, or charming, what does that leave you?”

  In the stunning silence that followed, I could feel their eyes turn my way.

  The jet angled downward for the approach into Milan. I’d not slept a wink. I dove into my kit to grab a Provigil—the alertness medication and wonder drug of modern armies around the world—to keep me on my toes.

  We were following our only lead, Marco Verratti, to Italy in the hopes of finding a cure for Tania and discovering who was responsible for the mass graves on Borneo. It was the slimmest of leads, but the only one we had.

  Milan is a fashion town where the glamor masks the region’s sordid underbelly. To shake down a global mega-corporation the Mafia had to evolve, and Verratti’s international investment fund, the Collettivo, was the latest evolutionary step. They would short a stock and knock off the CEO or plant underage girls in his bedroom and reap a windfall profit when the share price fell.

  After landing, we drove into Monte Napoleone, the fashion district where the buildings sparkled above streets so clean they seemed to be waiting for a fresh coat of blood. Marchisio, Sabel Security’s Italian agent, met us in Cartier’s on Via Gesù. He’d tracked our target to Brioni, the men’s store for millionaires, half a block down.

  We left separately to take up positions. Carmen watched the street in front. Miguel wound his way into a courtyard in back. Ms. Sabel, Marchisio, and I moved in to take down Verratti.

  We strode down the quiet, narrow lane with planters defining a sidewalk on one side. Vespa and Lambretta scooters created their own parking spaces between the planters. Cold, low clouds cruised overhead smelling of rain. I wore my leather jacket and jeans with a t-shirt that read, Helping martyrs reach their goals since 2002. Ms. Sabel wore her trademark yoga pants and microfiber shirt covered by a steampunk jacket.

  Mercury said, I saw that glance, homeslice. Never sneak a peek at the boss—your words.

  “Shut up,” I said.

  Marchisio looked up. “What did I say?”

  “Nuthin.” I shoved my hands in my pockets.

  Ms. Sabel barged into the Brioni store with the authority of a rich woman assault-shopping. With a quick survey, I counted two employees, Verratti’s two goons, and one older, weather-beaten, but well-dressed Eurasian shopper. In the center of the store was a guy who matched the pictures we’d found of Verratti, looking at shirts.

  The biggest goon turned his attention my way. I ignored him and nodded to Marchisio. “She needs you to translate.”

  Marchisio pinched a frown but moved without argument. As the big goon moved his attention to my comrade, I pulled my Glock and put a dart in the big guy’s leg.

  The other goon had a Beretta aimed at my head before his pal hit the floor. Swinging left, Ms. Sabel dropped my assailant with a single shot. Verratti spun around with a right hook that caught our Napoli agent in the wrong place. He fell.

  Ms. Sabel hit Verratti with three rapid punches that didn’t faze him in the least. He might have been old and fat, but he had built his career on the streets. Weaving through mannequins to approach from his blindside, I pressed my Glock to his neck.

  “We’re not here to hurt anyone,” I said.

  His hands wen
t up cautiously. One eye tried to peer sideways at me while the other met Ms. Sabel’s cold stare with equal intensity.

  “You must be Pia Sabel,” he said.

  I slipped plasticuffs around his surprisingly cooperative wrists while she pressed her weapon under his chin. I did another quick check. One store employee stood at the counter with a phone in his hand and his mouth hanging open. The other employee stood in an entryway to the back room, his mouth even wider. The well-dressed customer leaned an elbow on the counter, watching us as if we were children on a playground.

  “Put the phone down,” I said to the guy behind the counter.

  He didn’t move.

  The well-dressed customer gave the employee an amused nod and the employee fumbled the phone back to the cradle.

  “Your man Zebo sends his regards,” Ms. Sabel said to Verratti. “But I’m not sure if he wanted me to repeat his remarks about your fat, ugly niece.”

  Verratti stared back, blank.

  From the corner of my eye, I saw the well-dressed customer stifle a laugh.

  “Why did you try to kill me last night?”

  Verratti smirked. “You are unpopular, everyone wants to kill you.”

  “What’s so important about the vials?” I moved to his side.

  “I say nothing to you.”

  “Why do you want them back?”

  He tightened his mouth and lifted his chin.

  Mercury said, Whoa, dawg, the bad guys are coming, you should do something useful like—run away.

  I have their boss, I’m good.

  Mercury said, No, you’re not. Get to the roof.

  Carmen’s voice crackled over the comm link. “Abort. Repeat, abort.”

  Miguel said, “Confirmed, abort.”

  The sound of two muffled shots followed. Ms. Sabel and I stared at each other for what felt like an eternity but was half a second.

  “Abort now,” Carmen repeated with urgency. “Three ski masks converging on the store. Heavily armed.”

  “Two here,” Miguel said. “Darted. Come my way—now.”

  “I need help with our friend,” I said. “And Marchisio.”