‘Let me show you something I know you’ll find interesting,’ said Isis. She took Jack by the arm and guided him towards the middle of the chamber. ‘Here … do you know what this is?’
Jack looked at the exquisitely carved circular stone relief set into the floor. ‘The Coyolxauhqui stone?’ ventured Jack after a while.
‘Bravo. Not many would know this. It’s a replica, of course. The original was found in 1978 at the Temple Mayor site not far from here.’ Isis sat down on a wooden bench facing the stone. ‘Please.’ Jack sat down beside her. ‘It depicts Coyolxauhqui, a mythical being, decapitated and dismembered.’
‘How gruesome.’
‘Quite. According to Aztec mythology, Coyolxauhqui was a powerful magician. She was the daughter of Coatlicue and Mixcoatl and the leader of the southern star gods. She enticed her siblings to attack their mother, Coatlicue, the maternal earth deity, because she had become pregnant. When the time came for Coatlicue to give birth, Huitzilopochtli left his mother’s womb and entered the world in full body armour and immediately killed Coyolxauhqui and her four hundred brothers and sisters.’
‘A baby not to be messed with,’ interjected Jack, a sparkle in his eye.
‘Absolutely. This was retribution for having attacked their mother,’ continued Isis undeterred. ‘He then cut off Coyolxauhqui’s head and threw it into the sky where it became the moon.’
Listening patiently, Jack was wondering where this was heading.
‘You must be wondering why I’m telling you all this?’ said Isis. Jack didn’t reply. ‘A few days ago, my parents were attacked in their home in London. My father was shot dead and my mother tortured. Her face was mutilated beyond recognition …’ Isis’ voice trailed off. She paused, collecting her thoughts, staring pensively at the stone disc in front of her.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Jack, breaking the heavy silence.
‘She spoke to me just before she died …’ Isis turned towards Jack and looked at him intently. ‘I need your help.’
‘In what way?’
‘To make sense of what she told me.’
17
Sitting blindfolded between two of Van Cleef’s men in the back of a speeding van, Alexandra was trying to come to terms with what had just happened to her. As soon as they had entered Jack’s apartment, the blond man had confiscated her phone, put on gloves, and never left her side. Watching her every move, he had told her to pack everything that belonged to her. He even checked her passport and put it into his pocket. Alexandra had tried to engage him in conversation, but he wouldn’t have any of it. He seemed to be totally focused on only two things: time, and his phone.
Speaking softly in what to Alexandra sounded like Afrikaans, he made several phone calls. As soon as Alexandra had finished packing, a man wearing a chauffeur’s uniform came up to the apartment and took down her luggage to a waiting car. Following her abductor’s instructions, Alexandra handed the keys to the apartment to the concierge for safekeeping. She told him that she would be going away for a few days, and that Mr Rogan would most likely be returning before she did. With Van Cleef standing beside her, she had no option but to play her part convincingly, and she did.
Van Cleef had every reason to be pleased with himself. He had completed his assignment with military precision and without harming his ‘subject’ in any way. However, what he was particularly proud of was the carefully constructed web of clues he had left behind, which would implicate Alexandra in her sudden departure. A web of complicity, as Van Cleef liked to call it. Always point the finger of blame at your victim if you can. That was the real genius in Van Cleef’s work, which earned him the admiration of his men and his employer’s praise and respect he so craved.
Instead of returning to Sydney Harbour, which might have looked a little odd, Calypso had pulled into Pittwater – a scenic waterway to the north of Sydney – and had dropped anchor behind Lion Island. The shore was only a few hundred yards away, and Sydney a short drive to the south. One of Calypso’s zodiacs was waiting in a protected cove, ready to take them back to the ship.
Van Cleef thanked his friend – a former brother-in-arms who had settled in Sydney and was running a security company – for his assistance ‘on the ground’. Not only had the man provided the vehicles and all the logistical support needed to carry out the operation, but he had obtained invaluable intelligence about Alexandra and Cavendish. He had also acted as ‘Kevin’, the Cavendish go-between. Without his involvement, neither the Cavendish, nor the Alexandra operation could have been accomplished with such precision and in such record time. He was also well-connected with the local police.
Van Cleef was part of a worldwide network of former commandoes and mercenaries who had settled in various parts of the world and set up businesses usually associated with their former profession. They all kept in touch and assisted each other in various projects. This was a lucrative source of work that kept the old spirit and memories alive and bound them together.
‘Thanks, Paulus,’ said Van Cleef, patting his friend on his bald head for good luck, just as he used to do in Kabul. ‘Your fee’s already in your account. And a little bonus too,’ he added, smiling.
‘If you need anything else, you know where to find me. It’s always a pleasure doing business with you,’ said Paulus. ‘There are only a few pros like us left.’
‘You can say that again.’
‘You were always one of the best,’ said Paulus. ‘Do you want to know why?’ Van Cleef shrugged, and said nothing. ‘Because you have no fear and use your brains; that’s why.’
‘Having no fear isn’t such a good thing, my friend. Fear can protect you.’
‘It can kill you too. We’ve seen it many times.’
‘You’re right. It’s a fine line.’
‘Sure is. Take care, and never lose sight of where it is.’
Within minutes, the zodiac had taken Van Cleef and his captive to the ship under cover of darkness. An hour later, Calypso passed the lighthouse at Palm Beach and left Pittwater, the whitewash from its powerful engines looking like a stairway to the moon, the only reminder it had ever been there.
‘Welcome aboard,’ said Carlotta, opening the door to a luxurious stateroom on the upper deck. Alexandra’s luggage was already waiting inside. ‘Mr Macbeth would like to see you in half an hour. I’ll come and get you. I’m sure you’ll find everything you need in here.’
Alexandra sat down on the huge bed, a thousand questions bombarding her exhausted brain. With denial, fear and curiosity taking turns to confuse her, she found it difficult to concentrate and think straight. Be careful what you wish for, she thought, remembering Jack’s words, a wry smile creasing the corners of her mouth. Excitement and adventure … I think you just found it, girl! Just hope you live long enough to tell the tale.
Alexandra took a shower to calm herself and put on fresh clothes. She was combing her wet hair in front of the mirror when Carlotta knocked and entered. ‘Are you ready?’ she asked. ‘Mr Macbeth is waiting. Please follow me.’
It was well past midnight when Carlotta opened the door to Macbeth’s stateroom. ‘Dr Delacroix,’ she announced, letting Alexandra walk into the cabin in front of her.
‘Please leave us, Carlotta, and close the door,’ said Macbeth, looking at Alexandra standing in front of him. ‘You are much younger than I imagined,’ he said. ‘Your career and your reputation suggest someone older. Please take a seat.’
Alexandra tried to see the face of the man addressing her, but his wheelchair was in the shadows, the lamp on his desk the only source of light in the room. She had the impression that this was quite deliberate. Alexandra sat down in the chair facing the desk and crossed her legs. She’s very composed, thought Macbeth, admiring the young woman’s self-control, and quite attractive. Brains and beauty. For a while, Macbeth let the silence speak, the soft throb of the ship’s powerful engines the only sound. ‘I’m Alistair Macbeth,’ said the man in the wheelchair after a while, ‘chairman
of Blackburn Pharmaceuticals, I’m sure you’ve heard of us. And in case you were wondering, you are on Calypso, the company’s research vessel.’
Alexandra looked up, surprised. So, that’s the connection, she thought. There wasn’t a research scientist alive who hadn’t heard of Blackburn Pharmaceuticals. The whole industry was in awe of Alistair Macbeth, its charismatic founder and man at the helm of the international juggernaut. Cavendish’s sudden death and the professor’s missing notes suddenly began to make sense. But why has he brought me here? she asked herself, unable to fit that perplexing piece of the puzzle into the emerging picture.
‘What do you want from me?’ asked Alexandra curtly.
Macbeth wheeled himself closer to his desk. He reached into one of the drawers, pulled out Professor K’s notebook and placed it on the desk in front of him. ‘I have something I know you want, and you have something I need.’
For a while, Alexandra just stared at the open notebook on the desk, her analytical mind refusing to accept what her eyes were clearly telling her. The familiar spidery handwriting and the peculiar diagrams, however, were unmistakable. And then suddenly, it all made sense. He needs me because he can’t follow Kasper’s shorthand, she thought, her spirits soaring. All wasn’t lost; she had something to bargain with! ‘You are right, I do want that notebook. It is the legacy of a dear friend and a genius,’ said Alexandra quietly. ‘The ideas and the recognition belong to him, but everything else belongs to his employer, the Gordon Institute—’
‘You are mistaken,’ interrupted Macbeth, a flash of anger racing across his face. ‘It all belongs to me.’
‘Be that as it may, isn’t it all rather academic?’ said Alexandra, sitting back in her chair.
‘How so?’
‘Let’s not insult each other. I’m sure you know the answer to that as well as I do.’
Macbeth looked at Alexandra with renewed respect. It had been a long time since he had met a sparring partner of her calibre and ability. In his world, his word was gospel and only the reckless or the very brave would dare contradict him.
‘All right; this is how it will work,’ said Macbeth. ‘You will translate the professor’s notes into scientific language my researchers can understand. Once that has been done and we have confirmation from my team, we will evaluate the situation further. Clear so far?’
Alexandra realised there was only one way to deal with someone like Macbeth: with brazen confidence and total disregard for her own precarious position. Fear and cowardly cooperation would only be met with contempt. The wages of fear was death. It was an old story. Instead of agreeing with Macbeth, Alexandra began to laugh.
‘You find this amusing?’ snapped Macbeth.
‘I find your arrogance amusing,’ replied Alexandra calmly. ‘What makes you so sure I will do your bidding? You steal the professor’s work, you have his assistant – who must have been somehow involved – killed, you kidnap me and command me to deliver to you the only thing you cannot have. Yes, I think that’s funny.’
The woman is quite amazing, thought Macbeth, realising a different approach was needed. He had to concede that so far, she had the upper hand and was winning. ‘I don’t think you quite appreciate the position you’re in …’ he began.
‘Oh, I think I do,’ interrupted Alexandra, trying to stay on the front foot. ‘I think we can safely say I’m the only one who understands the professor’s work and can make sense of it. You are obviously aware that he believed he had discovered a revolutionary breakthrough in cancer diagnosis and treatment that would change the way we look at and deal with that deadly disease forever. In my world and his, that’s one of the holy grails of our time.’ Alexandra paused, waiting for a response.
‘Go on,’ he said.
‘If I give you what you want, what’s there to stop you from feeding me to the fish, just as you’ve obviously done with Cavendish?’
‘To begin with, you’re worth a lot more to me alive than dead. Cavendish was foolish enough to step over the line; that’s why he’s no longer with us. You are far too smart for that.’ Macbeth pushed his wheelchair out of the cone of light, and once again melted into the shadows. ‘Here’s my proposal: a top position is waiting for you in my organisation. You can choose the location. We have research centres in many countries. You will have the best equipment and the best people to work with. The recognition attached to your work belongs to you; reputation and fame in scientific circles would be guaranteed. I won’t even mention money because that’s too obvious. Suffice to say, the material rewards would be beyond your wildest dreams. In short, you come on board – forgive the pun – and work for me.’
‘And all of this, I mean my sudden departure from the institute and my abduction, just go away? This is fantasy!’
‘Not at all,’ Macbeth contradicted her. ‘Your sudden departure from the institute can easily be explained: you’ve only been there two days, and you haven’t signed a contract yet.’ Macbeth paused, watching Alexandra carefully.
He knows that too, thought Alexandra, trying to look calm.
‘The only reason for your appointment was to carry on the professor’s work – right? His notes have disappeared before you arrived; you are in no way implicated. The raison d’être for your appointment has disappeared with them. You owe the institute nothing.’
‘And my abduction, how does that fit in? And if I were to join your organisation, how do we explain that?’
‘That too is simple. You’ve been headhunted; it happens all the time. I like the term “headhunted”, don’t you? Many of our best scientists have come to join us that way.’
‘And my abduction? I’m a prisoner here; let’s not insult each other with niceties.’
‘Abduction? What abduction? You are my guest. You have accepted my invitation to spend a few days on our research vessel to give you an opportunity to consider my offer. Leaving your apartment in a hurry is totally consistent with that. Simple. In these matters, time is always of the essence.’
Alexandra had to admit that Macbeth’s proposal – while totally outrageous and corrupt – was as shrewd as it was clever. He offered her recognition and possible glory, and a lifestyle beyond her wildest dreams. All of it small change when compared with the staggering fortune he stood to make out of all this, should the professor’s discovery become reality. By joining his organisation – obviously with a watertight contract to tie her in – all of her work would belong to Blackburn Pharmaceuticals. That would, of course, include Professor K’s discovery, the key to which was most likely in the notebook on the table in front of him. Brilliant! She had no doubt Macbeth could deliver everything he had promised with a click of his fingers. She also realised she had little choice but to accept, for now. But not yet! ‘I want to think about it,’ she said after a while.
‘Of course,’ said Macbeth, sensing victory. ‘You’ve had a busy day … and you must be starving,’ he added, changing direction. ‘We have an excellent kitchen and cellar on board.’ Smiling, Macbeth paused. ‘Perhaps you would like to take this with you …’ he added, lowering his voice.
Alexandra looked at the bundle of papers Macbeth had pushed across the desk towards her. ‘What’s that?’ she asked.
‘A copy of the professor’s notebook; just in case.’
‘Just in case of what?’
‘Just in case you decide to start work on it overnight.’
‘Are you always that sure of yourself? What if I don’t accept?’
‘I’m sure there will be no need to consider that painful alternative.’
Just then, the door opened and Carlotta appeared on cue. ‘Please take our guest back to her cabin, and make sure our chefs do not disappoint us,’ said Macbeth. ‘Good night, Dr Delacroix. It’s a pleasure to have you on board.’
Taking her time, Alexandra stood up and looked in Macbeth’s direction. ‘We must always be careful what we wish for,’ she muttered, turning around. ‘Good night, Mr Macbeth,’ she added quietly and, wit
hout saying another word, followed Carlotta out of the room.
18
As soon as Carlotta had closed the door behind her and Alexandra found herself alone in her cabin, the enormity of what had happened during the past few hours began to overwhelm her. Her head spinning, she realised her entire life had suddenly changed and hung in the balance.
Lack of sleep and fear can quickly distort reality and lead to panic, and panic is the enemy of reason. Alexandra realised she had to resist this at all cost if she wanted to get through the dark moments and stay rational. Taking deep breaths to calm herself, she walked across to the little writing desk by the window and carefully placed Professor K’s notes on the tooled leather top. The solution to all of this is right in here, she told herself, I’m sure of it. All I have to do is find it. Think girl; think! And stay calm.
Instead of throwing herself into the task, Alexandra decided to take another shower first. Temptation to delve into Professor K’s mind resisted. She did some of her best thinking under the shower. Soon the needles of hot water caressing her face and neck had the desired effect; Alexandra began to relax, allowing clarity to return. Clarity brought hope, and hope banished despair.
Alexandra put on the robe she had found in the bathroom and, drying her wet hair with a towel until her scalp tingled, walked across to the little desk. Winding the towel around her head like a turban, she sat down and began to examine Professor K’s notes.
By the time the first rays of the morning sun gave the foaming crests of the waves outside a pinkish glow, Alexandra knew exactly what she had to do.
Carlotta knocked on Macbeth’s door and entered without waiting for a reply. She knew Macbeth, an early riser, would be sitting at his desk. She also knew he would be pleased to hear what she had to tell him.
‘She wants to see you,’ said Carlotta.
‘Show her in,’ said Macbeth, smiling. So far, all was going to plan; his plan.
‘You’re up early,’ said Macbeth, watching Alexandra walk towards him.
The Hidden Genes of Professor K: A Medical Mystery Thriller (Jack Rogan Mysteries Book 3) Page 10
