The Hidden Genes of Professor K

by Gabriel Farago

  ‘You are full of surprises,’ said Van Cleef, feeling better.

  ‘Just like the good old days in Joburg, eh Jan?’

  ‘Sentimental bastard,’ said Van Cleef and slapped his friend on the back.

  92

  Moretti knew Alexandra’s routine well. So did Van Cleef. In the morning, she would catch a cab from Jack’s apartment to work. She ate all her meals there during the day, and then called United Taxis for a cab to take her home in the evening. The time would vary, depending on her workload, but she didn’t depart from her routine. Carrington had advised her not to go out by herself for the time being, just to be on the safe side. This suited Alexandra well, as she was totally committed to her work and happy to spend every spare minute in her lab exploring Professor K’s research. In addition, Moretti had arranged for his team to keep watch around the clock. One of his officers was always close by, keeping an eye on Alexandra, day or night.

  Paulus was aware of this and it severely limited his options, but he had a plan. ‘We’ll do it tonight,’ he said. ‘It’s all arranged.’

  ‘How?’ asked Van Cleef.

  ‘Quite simple, really. I’ll tell you,’ said Paulus, laughing. ‘Get ready.’

  At 8 o’clock that evening, Alexandra phoned United Taxis as usual and ordered a cab to take her home. She asked for the taxi driver to call her as he approached. This normally took only a few minutes. Alexandra locked away her papers in the safe, reached for her handbag and headed for the lift. She would wait for the taxi in the lobby downstairs as she did every evening.

  Paulus sat in the cab just around the corner from the institute, waiting for the call. Universal Security owned several cabs through overseas subsidiaries that couldn’t be traced, and Paulus had arranged to take the place of one of his drivers. As he knew the staff allocating the fares at United Taxis well, and had always looked after them generously, it had been easy for him to make sure he would get the fare in question. And besides, he was the closest cab available, so all would look normal and routine. No questions would be asked, nor suspicions aroused. Talking to the cops was a no-no in any event; taxi drivers and call staff were a closely-knit unit and looked out for each other.

  The call came in at three minutes past eight. Paulus started the engine and called Alexandra’s mobile. ‘Taxi for Dr Delacroix,’ said Paulus, ‘I’m just pulling up.’

  ‘Thank you, I’ll come outside,’ said Alexandra and walked to the door.

  Moretti’s officer on duty that night saw the taxi arrive and started the engine. He would follow the cab all the way to Alexandra’s apartment block and then park just outside the entrance for the night. Normally, there were two of them, but his partner had called in sick at the last minute and he was therefore on his own.

  As soon as the taxi pulled up, Alexandra stepped outside, got into the back seat and gave the driver her address.

  ‘There’s been an accident,’ said Paulus. ‘I’ve just driven past it. We’ll go down Elizabeth Street to avoid the congestion, if you don’t mind.’

  ‘Sure. Thanks,’ said Alexandra. She opened her bag, took out her notebook and went over some of the entries she had made in the afternoon.

  Another South African, she thought, recognising the accent.

  The traffic going down Elizabeth Street towards Circular Quay was heavy as usual. It was late-night shopping and the sales were on. Cars were inching slowly forward, trying to manoeuvre through the congested lanes. A black four-wheel drive began to change lanes in front of the officer’s car and pushed in. Then another car did the same and he found himself hemmed in without being able to see the taxi in front. Shit, thought the officer, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel in frustration. He can’t go anywhere; we’re all in the same crap.

  Paulus looked into the rear-view mirror and smiled. All was going to plan. Van Cleef was in the car just behind him, with another one of their vehicles between him and the officer hemmed in with nowhere to go.

  Another South African, thought Alexandra. South African? She looked at the powerful looking man driving the taxi and for reasons she couldn’t quite explain, began to feel uneasy. Then she looked at the photograph with the driver’s ID displayed at the top of the windscreen and paled. The photo in no way resembled the driver. She knew instantly something was wrong.

  ‘This is so slow. I’ve changed my mind,’ she said. ‘Please let me out as soon as you can. I’ll walk from here.’

  Perfect, thought Paulus. ‘No problem,’ he said. ‘How about just over there in front of David Jones? I could stop briefly at the entrance.’ Paulus couldn’t believe his luck. This was the prearranged spot he would have stopped the taxi in any event, to give Van Cleef an opportunity to drag Alexandra out of the cab and then disappear with her into the crowded department store.

  ‘Fine; thank you,’ said Alexandra, pulling out her purse. ‘How much?’

  ‘Twenty will do just fine.’ Paulus put on the indicator and let it blink just three times. This was the agreed signal for Van Cleef to get ready.

  Paulus stopped the cab and Alexandra opened the back door. Van Cleef jumped out of the four-wheel drive behind her and ran forward. He grabbed Alexandra by the arm, dragged her into the department store and disappeared into the crowd. The taxi moved forward again in the line of traffic. It had all happened in the blink of an eye.

  The officer following behind just caught a glimpse of Alexandra and a man walking into David Jones together. Jesus, he thought, it’s her! He stopped the car and, leaving the engine running, got out and ran after them. Before he could reach the entrance to the department store, a burly guy – one of Paulus’ men – bumped into him on the crowded footpath and knocked him to the ground. By now, horns were blaring and the traffic was at a standstill. Holding his aching shoulder, the officer got up and looked around, searching for Alexandra, but all he could see were eager late-night bargain-hunters flooding into the store for the sales.

  93

  Alexandra’s first reaction was to scream for help, but one look at Van Cleef towering over her made her hold her tongue. The grin on his face was as threatening and sinister as a Hieronymus Bosch painting, she thought, but what frightened her most were his ice-blue eyes; expressionless, cruel windows into a dark soul.

  ‘We meet again, Dr Delacroix,’ said Van Cleef, holding Alexandra’s arm in a vice-like grip as he made his way through the crowded store towards the exit on the opposite side. ‘You know the drill by now. If you scream, I’ll have to silence you. Do exactly as I say, and you’ll be fine.’ Alexandra had no doubt that Van Cleef meant what he said and would carry out his threat without hesitation. ‘As soon as we step outside, a car will pick us up. No struggle. Just get in; clear?’ Alexandra nodded. ‘Now smile as if you’re enjoying yourself. You are happy to see me again. After all, I’m a generous donor – right?’

  Rubbing his aching shoulder, Moretti’s young officer burst into the store and just caught a glimpse of Alexandra near the exit. He began to push furiously through the crowd towards her. Another one of Paulus’ men was just behind him. As he passed one of the glass promotion display cases filled with little perfume bottles, he pushed the officer into it. The young man lost his footing and fell into the display. The glass case toppled over and crashed to the marble floor, sending a lethal spray of glass splinters flying in all directions. The crowd began to scream and security guards came running. By the time the officer got up – his cheeks and forehead bleeding profusely – Alexandra had disappeared. Still in a daze, he pulled out his mobile and called Moretti to give him the bad news.

  Moretti was furious. Despite all of his precautions and careful planning, he had been outwitted. Alexandra had been whisked away from right under his nose in the middle of the busy peak hour! The unthinkable had happened. Moretti immediately contacted his men watching the Universal Security premises in The Rocks. He was told the lights were on, the office was still open, but everything was quiet.

  The car carrying Van C
leef and Alexandra in the rear seat was now crawling through the heavy traffic. Van Cleef handed Alexandra a beanie. ‘Put this on and pull it down over your eyes. And tuck your hair in.’ he ordered. Van Cleef didn’t want a red beacon sitting next to him in the car.

  ‘Where are you taking me?’ croaked Alexandra.

  ‘Mr Macbeth is very disappointed,’ said Van Cleef, ignoring the question. ‘He’s been so generous, and how have you repaid him? You sent me a few miserable pages of the professor’s notes instead of the full set I asked for. And then what did you do? You went to the police. I thought you were smarter.’

  ‘It’s not quite as simple as that. What do you want from me?’ asked Alexandra.

  ‘Mr Macbeth hates disappointments. But most of all, he hates disloyalty. We think it’s time for … a little obedience lesson.’

  ‘An obedience lesson? What on earth do you mean?’

  ‘It’s a surprise …’

  Alexandra didn’t like the sound of that. ‘What surprise?’ she said.

  ‘If I were to tell you, it wouldn’t be a surprise, would it? Patience. You’ll find out soon enough.’ If only she knew what we have in mind, thought Van Cleef, she’d freak out for sure.

  It wasn’t often that Moretti, a resourceful man, was at a loss what to do. Things had gone spectacularly wrong and he didn’t even know where to begin to reverse this devastating setback. There were no leads. He could already hear the laughter of his colleagues and see the finger-pointing and disapproving looks of his superiors.

  Where would you take her? he asked himself over and over. Somewhere safe and familiar. But why take her at all? The abduction had been meticulously planned – like a military operation – with precision and daring that had caught Moretti and his men off guard. Bugger! Then the phone rang in his pocket. It was one of the officers keeping watch in The Rocks.

  ‘A car just pulled up in front of the garage,’ he reported.

  ‘Can you see who’s inside?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Don’t approach; stay out of sight and keep me informed.’

  ‘Understood.’

  Van Cleef’s car came to a halt. ‘Here we are,’ said the driver. Alexandra slowly raised her beanie until it sat just above her left eye. She turned her head to look out of the window. The car was facing a large garage door, which was opening slowly. Van Cleef was talking to the driver sitting in front of him and appeared momentarily distracted.

  Now! thought Alexandra. She quickly opened the car door and dropped something on the footpath. Van Cleef responded like lightning. He turned around, grabbed Alexandra by the collar of her jacket and pulled her roughly towards him. ‘Going somewhere?’ he said. ‘I think not. Definitely time for an obedience lesson.’ He reached across and closed the car door.

  Moretti was on his way to the department store to sort out the fiasco. Things were going from bad to worse. Caught in heavy traffic, he was impatiently drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. The Rocks? Makes sense, he thought. Their turf; familiar and safe, and only a few minutes away. Could be it. Fingers crossed. Then his phone rang again. It was the same officer who had called earlier.

  ‘You won’t believe what just happened,’ said the officer, barely able to speak. He appeared excited and out of breath.

  ‘Calm down,’ said Moretti. ‘What happened?’

  ‘As the car was waiting in the driveway, someone tried to get out, but was pulled back in.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Then the car drove into the garage and the door closed behind it.’

  ‘Is that it?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Come on!’

  ‘Moments later, I observed a woman walking her dog along the footpath. As she walked past the garage she stopped, bent down and picked something up.’

  ‘Get to the point, man!’

  ‘I went over to see what it was.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘She found something extraordinary. It’s right here in front of me.’

  ‘For Christ’s sake, what is it?’

  ‘Dr Delacroix’s ID from the institute.’

  ‘Jesus!’

  ‘What do you want me to do?’

  ‘Absolutely nothing! I’m on my way.’

  94

  Moretti walked up to the unmarked police car parked in the shadows and knocked on the driver’s window. The officer behind the wheel opened the window and looked up at his boss. ‘Anything I should know?’ asked Moretti.

  ‘Nothing’s happened,’ said the officer. ‘Not since we found this.’ He handed Moretti Alexandra’s Gordon Institute ID through the window. Moretti looked at the ID in the plastic sleeve with the cord still attached. Normally, Alexandra would wear the ID around her neck all day, as it opened security doors and activated the lifts at the institute.

  ‘Good work. The boys in black will arrive soon.’

  ‘Tactical Response is coming?’ said the officer, surprised.

  ‘Yes. When they do, ask them to stand by and call me. I’m going in.’

  ‘You’re going inside? Alone?’

  ‘Yes. Don’t let anyone leave, especially by car. And keep a close eye on that garage over there. Is that clear? Not a mouse moves, in or out, without me knowing about it.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘If anyone should arrive, stay away and let them go in.’

  ‘Got it. Good luck.’

  The registered office of Universal Security was an unassuming, tastefully restored, three-storey sandstone terrace built in the eighteen eighties. Moretti knew he was taking a considerable risk, but instinct and gut feeling told him to go in now, before Tactical Response arrived. He knew once that happened, all hell would break loose, and he wanted to get a ‘feel’ for the place and gather as much intelligence as possible. The element of surprise was a powerful tool he had used often. Tactical Response could be very effective, but was never subtle.

  Moretti walked up the few well-worn steps leading to the entrance and pressed the intercom button. Aware of the curious eye of the security camera watching from above, he looked up at it and smiled.

  The intercom crackled into life. ‘How can I help you?’ asked a female voice.

  Moretti held up his police ID towards the camera. ‘Letting me in would be a good start,’ he said.

  ‘Do you have an appointment?’

  ‘I don’t believe I need one. Please open the door.’

  Silence.

  I bet there’s some feverish activity going on in there, thought Moretti. ‘I will count to three, and then we’ll break down the door,’ he said calmly. ‘Such a beautiful door; shame. One … two …’ The buzzer sounded. Moretti pushed the door open and walked inside.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said the young woman coming towards Moretti, her high heels clicking on the polished timber floor, ‘I didn’t expect anyone this late …’ Impeccably dressed in a designer suit, she looked more like a hostess welcoming guests to a cocktail party than a receptionist working late for a security firm tucked away in The Rocks under the Harbour Bridge.

  Tastefully furnished with antiques, paintings and comfortable leather chairs facing a marble fireplace, the reception exuded elegance and style. In contrast, the ultra-modern reception desk with its glass display cabinets showing off the latest state-of-the art surveillance gear reminded the visitor where he was, and why he had come to Universal Security. A clever blend of old and new. Conservative expectations meets cutting-edge technology.

  The young woman gave Moretti her best smile. ‘What can I do for you?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m Detective Sergeant Moretti. I would like a word with Mr Koenig,’ said Moretti. ‘It’s quite urgent.’

  ‘He isn’t here, I’m afraid.’

  ‘I can wait.’

  ‘I’m not sure—’

  ‘Please call him,’ interrupted Moretti. ‘I’m sure Mr Koenig will be most interested to hear what I have to say.’ Moretti turned towards a large painting hanging on the wall next to the fi
replace. ‘Brett Whiteley? Very nice,’ he said, and made himself comfortable in one of the leather chairs. It was obvious he wasn’t going anywhere.

  ‘Coffee?’ said the young woman.

  ‘Yes please; black.’

  Ten minutes later, Moretti received a call from his officer outside. ‘I SPY 4U just pulled up,’ said the officer. Moretti smiled. The gamble was paying off.

  Moments later, Moretti heard footsteps in the hallway.

  ‘You said it was urgent, Detective Sergeant,’ said Paulus in his heavy South African accent, ‘I came as soon as I could. What can I do for you?’

  Tough guy, thought Moretti, sizing up the broad-shouldered, bullet-headed man in the leather jacket walking towards him. Moretti stood up. ‘Can you tell me where you were during the past two hours, Mr Koenig?’ asked Moretti.

  Paulus looked at Moretti, surprised. It wasn’t a question he had expected. ‘I was on an assignment. For a client,’ said Paulus, recovering quickly.

  ‘Can you be a little more specific?’

  ‘I’m afraid not. Confidentiality and discretion are essential aspects of the work we do. We guarantee it, and our clients expect it. I’m sure you understand …’

  He’s good, thought Moretti. It was time to try a different tack. ‘Very well. We have reason to believe that a Mr Van Dam is here on the premises. Right now. I would like to talk to him.’

  ‘Van Dam, you say? Never heard of him,’ said Paulus, feigning surprise. ‘There’s no one here apart from Natasha and me.’

  ‘Is that so? You might know him under a different name: Jan Van Cleef. Does that help, perhaps?’ Moretti pressed on, undeterred.

  Paulus shook his head. ‘No.’

  ‘But you spent two years in jail with him in Johannesburg … Does that jog your memory?’

  Paulus gave Moretti a withering look. ‘No. You’re mistaken.’

  Just then, Moretti’s phone began to ring in his pocket. ‘Forgive me, I have to take this,’ he said, and answered the phone.