The Tulip Virus

by Danielle Hermans

  Ben pushed the craft into the water and sat down next to her.

  “Start when I give the signal, okay? Here we go.”

  They moved off, slowly at first, but once they had fallen into a rhythm, they picked up speed. The landing soon vanished from sight.

  “One, two, one, two,” Ben hollered into Dawn’s ear.

  Now they were shooting forward. Dawn looked over her shoulder and could just make out the island. With every stroke of the oars, it was drawing closer.

  SIXTY

  Coetzer pressed the barrel of the gun into Emma’s temple with such force that she grimaced with pain. He nodded toward Alec. “Bring that thing to me, or I’ll blow her head off.”

  Damian felt adrenaline surge through his body. Don’t move. Don’t lose your head. He took a deep breath and held up his hands.

  “Steady now. Alec’ll get it for you. Right, Alec?”

  Coetzer’s eyes followed Alec as he turned to the mantelpiece and picked up the bulb. In that instant, Damian lunged forward, summoning all his strength to knock Coetzer to the ground. The two men fell to the floor together, with Damian on top. He grabbed Coetzer by the ears and, with all his might, slammed the man’s head into the stone floor. With a howl of pain, Coetzer dropped the pistol. Damian hauled him back onto his feet.

  “You filthy coward.” Damian kicked Coetzer in the crotch, and he fell to the ground, wailing, his hands between his legs.

  As Damian was about to pin him down, Tara said breathlessly, “I’ve got him.” She held the pistol aimed at Coetzer. Damian released his grip and stood up. No sooner had Tara taken a step forward than Coetzer, in one fluid motion, reached down and drew a knife from its sheath around his calf. He lifted his arm, the blade glinting in his clenched fist.

  The shot rang through the house. Coetzer’s head flew backward. His left eye was wide open and staring in utter surprise at the ceiling. His right eye was a gory hole. His head slowly slumped to one side.

  Alec and Damian gaped at Tara. She was staring, as if in a trance, at the pistol, which she held in a white-knuckled grip. Alec inched toward her, extending his hand.

  “Just give it to me, go on now, it’s all right.”

  She shook her head savagely. Turning to Alec and Damian, she pointed the gun at them, jerking it back and forth from one to the other. Her hands were trembling. “Emma, move over and stand next to them, please? Okay, Alec, hand it over.”

  “No.”

  “No?” When he remained perfectly still, she said, “Well, then, I guess I have no choice.”

  Her finger slowly curled around the trigger.

  “Stop! Police! Drop your weapon and turn around slowly with your hands up.”

  The detective had his sidearm trained on Tara. She released her grip, and the pistol clattered to the floor. Without lowering his own gun, he walked over and kicked it in Dawn’s direction.

  Alec stared at her. “What are you doing here?”

  “He called us,” Dawn said, looking at Damian. “This is Detective Inspector van Dongen of the Dutch police force.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” Ben said.

  “Is the bargeman all right?” Damian asked.

  “He should be on his way to the hospital now. We found him unconscious when we got here.”

  “Hold on a second,” Alec said. “Damian, what’s going on? I thought we agreed we wouldn’t involve the police.”

  “After I heard Dick was dead, I called Scotland Yard and spoke to Wainwright. I told him everything I knew and persuaded him that we should set a trap for the killer. He got in touch with Sergeant Williams, who happened to be in Amsterdam.”

  Alec swore. “You used us as bait? What were you thinking? We could have died.”

  “Alec, if he hadn’t got his hands on Sytse, the police would have been here in time.”

  “Oh, God.” Tara stared at her hands in bewilderment. Had that really been her waving a pistol at those people just a few moments ago? She started to shake uncontrollably and slowly crumpled to the floor. Someone draped a blanket over her shoulders. She looked up to find Alec kneeling beside her.

  “Are you okay?”

  Tara shook her head. Then she leaned to one side, supporting herself with her arms, and threw up. Tears ran down her cheeks, and spasms rippled through her stomach. She felt a wet cloth on her forehead and pressed her hand against it. Cool water ran down her face.

  “What have I done?” she whispered.

  “Quiet now. It’ll be all right.”

  She lifted her tear-streaked face to look at him. “I’m so sorry. This isn’t anything like how I imagined it.”

  Alec nodded. “It’s all right. We’re safe now.”

  “Alec, what are we going to do with the Semper? We can’t just throw it away or destroy it. It would be such a waste. At least we agree about that, right?”

  SIXTY-ONE

  Tucked away in the London suburbs, Kew Gardens is an oasis for tourists in search of peace and quiet. Formerly the private gardens of King George III, the site has been open to the public since the late nineteenth century. Covering more than three hundred acres, it holds over forty thousand species of plants, as well as dozens of historic buildings.

  At the gate in the towering wrought-iron fence, Tara and Alec gave their names and strolled into the park. It was almost closing time. A few lingering tourists ambled past them on their way out.

  “I think this is the ideal solution,” Alec said.

  Tara nodded. “The Semper’s in good hands here. I’m glad you all felt the same way I did.”

  During the journey back from the island to Amsterdam, Tara hadn’t said a word. When they arrived at the house, she had gone straight up to her room. The next morning she had told them about her plan for the Semper Augustus. That same day she had called Karl Peterson, the director of Kew Gardens. She recalled a symposium where he had given a lecture about the Millennium Seed Bank Project, which he had launched in 2000. From the very start, his enthusiasm had impressed her. In Wakehurst Place, West Sussex, not far from Kew, tens of thousands of seeds from flowers and plants all over the world were in storage in enormous underground vaults. They were intended not only for posterity but also to prevent famine in the aftermath of a natural or man-made disaster. Many of the seeds preserved in the subterranean complex came from vegetables and other food crops.

  When Tara had told Karl Peterson what they wanted to contribute to the seed bank, he had been beside himself with joy and had guaranteed her that the Semper Augustus would always be in safe hands with him.

  Alec and Tara paused at the intersection of two paths.

  “Left, or right, or straight ahead?” Alec asked.

  “Let’s see. I haven’t been here in a while. Oh yeah, his office is over that way, next to Temperate House— that big green house you can see from here.”

  They left the main route, following a narrow path that wound among ancient trees and shrubs toward the gigantic Victorian plant house. The lower part of the building was made of whitewashed stone, and the windows were so large that the walls seemed to consist entirely of glass, rising straight up to a pair of high metal beams. Above that point, the large panes of glass slanted inward, meeting to form the roof of the fifty-foot-tall building.

  At the entrance to the green house, they followed a path to the left, which led them to a redbrick building whose door was held ajar by a small leather sandbag. Alec followed Tara inside.

  The tall grandfather clock in the entrance hall was ticking softly. The building smelled like incense and furniture polish, and the parquet floor gleamed with age. The walls of the room and the staircase were lined with prints of flowers and plants in small gold frames.

  Alec pointed up the stairs, turning to Tara with raised eyebrows.

  “Don’t ask me,” she said. “I’ve never been here before.”

  “Should we ring the bell? He knows we’re coming, doesn’t he? Hello? Is there anybody there?”

  Above their heads,
they heard the creak of floorboards and then the scrape of a chair being pushed back. A moment later, brisk footsteps followed, coming to a halt at the top of the stairs.

  “Are you here to see Karl Peterson, the director?” a voice droned. “He’s been expecting you. Please come upstairs. His office is the first door on the right.”

  The room was decorated in a bright, contemporary style. The large white desk was furnished with a monitor and a large carnivorous plant whose traps sagged from its stem, full of small insects the plant had lured in. Next to the filing cabinet behind the desk, the wall was covered with diplomas and certificates. At the sound of the door closing, they turned around.

  “You must be Alec Schoeller and Tara Quispel.”

  They nodded. The man was well over six feet tall. His thinning gray hair was plastered to his scalp, and where he had combed it, the lines were still distinctly visible. He scrutinized them through the lenses of his glasses. A scar slanted down his nose and lip.

  “The director asked me to meet you,” he said in a nasal voice. “I understand you have something you’d like to donate to the Millennium Seed Bank Project?”

  Alec nodded. “Isn’t the director in today?”

  “Certainly. He’s in a meeting right now, but he’ll be here in a moment. We’ll wait for him if you like.”

  “We’d actually prefer to give it to him in person, if you don’t mind.”

  “As you wish. We can wait for him here.” The man waved a hand at the chairs facing the desk. “Have a seat.” He made no move himself, but remained standing next to the desk with his arms folded. “So you’ve brought us the Semper Augustus. What a marvelous addition to our collection. I’m sure you can imagine how thrilled we are.”

  “I hope you won’t have any reason to change your mind,” Tara said. “It’s brought us nothing but bad luck.”

  The man raised his eyebrows, gave a curt laugh, and sat down at the desk. “Indeed? Are you telling me it’s cursed?”

  “No, of course not,” Alec said. “We’re just happy to be rid of it. If you know anything about it, I’m sure you’ll understand why.”

  “You’re referring to its value?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Tomorrow the tulip will be deposited in the Seed Bank at Wake-hurst Place, behind lock and key forever,” the man said, rummaging in his desk drawer. “Then it won’t be of use to anyone— and that would be most unfortunate.”

  Tara grabbed Alec’s hand. A silencer had already been fitted to the barrel of the pistol pointed at them. The buckle in the inside pocket of Alec’s jacket seemed to throb against his heart like a living being.

  “So, who’s got it?”

  Alec suppressed his fear and tried to look nonchalant. He leaned back. “You don’t seriously think we’d just hand it over to anyone who asks for it? After all we’ve been through? It’s the director or no one, you arrogant son of a bitch.”

  “The director’s not coming. Haven’t you figured that out yet? You must be even more stupid than I thought. I don’t think you realize who you’re dealing with.”

  “That’s true, I have no idea,” Alec said. “But it doesn’t interest me. I’m fed up with this whole business.”

  “Give me that thing.” The man held out his hand and stepped toward them.

  “No, you can’t have it.” Tara stood up, tightly clutching her purse. The man turned to face her, and at that moment, Alec leaped out of his chair and rammed him with his shoulder like a football player. The man fell backward, slamming his head against the wall. The gun flew out of his hands and slid to the other end of the office.

  Alec grabbed Tara’s hand and pulled her out of the room. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the tall form sliding to the floor. The man’s head fell forward, and his arms hung slack at his sides.

  SIXTY-TWO

  “What are you thinking about?”

  Damian turned to Emma, who was lying beside him, and smiled. “I was thinking that Frank would be happy with this solution. So would Wouter Winckel, probably.”

  She sat up. “Can you imagine what it must be like to live in a country where you can put your life at risk just by expressing your opinion?”

  “Or even just by having the wrong beliefs. You’re right, we’re lucky to live in a tolerant place like this.”

  “For as long as it lasts.”

  Damian stared at the ceiling. “It always fascinates me how people fight for their rights, only to lose them again later. It seems to go in waves. We get a taste of freedom, then it’s all taken away from us again.”

  “Maybe the tide turns when some people decide the limits of freedom have been reached.”

  He looked her in the eyes. “Have you ever reached the limit?”

  “Yes, I know exactly where my limit is. You want to know why?”

  “Why?”

  “Because I had the freedom to discover it for myself, and you gave me that freedom. That’s why I love you so much.”

  As he was leaning in toward her, the telephone rang.

  “Don’t answer it,” she whispered.

  He smiled and took her in his arms. The ringing stopped. A few seconds later, his cell phone started buzzing.

  “Perhaps you’d better answer it after all,” she said.

  He sighed and picked up the phone. “Vanlint speaking.”

  “Mr. Vanlint, this is Inspector Wainwright. Sorry to bother you, but I have some news. We’ve discovered the identity of the man who killed Schoeller and Versteegen and held a gun on you.”

  Damian straightened up. “Well, who is he?”

  “It wasn’t easy. He uses multiple identities. Interpol’s been searching for him for years.”

  “Interpol?”

  “That’s right. He was a hit man.”

  Damian sat bolt upright.

  “But that means—”

  “—that whoever hired him is still on the loose. That’s why I’m calling you. Where’s the bulb?”

  “Alec and Tara took it to England. They’ve arranged to drop it off at Kew Gardens this evening.”

  “Why Kew Gardens?”

  “They’re donating it to the Millennium Seed Bank,” Damian blurted out. “You’d better get over there, fast.”

  SIXTY-THREE

  Panting, they came to a stop. Darkness had fallen, and the park was deserted. From where they stood, dimly lit paths branched off in all directions.

  “Which way?”

  Behind them heavy footsteps boomed down the stairs.

  “That way,” Alec said. “Follow me.”

  They ran toward Temperate House and up the steps. Alec pushed open the narrow glass door and pulled Tara in after him.

  The tropical heat closed in on them. Alec looked around, intent on finding something to barricade the door. He wrapped his arms around a terra cotta pot as large as he was, but he couldn’t budge it.

  Tara looked outside. “He’s coming,” she shouted. “Which way do we go?”

  The man had reached the steps. Alec surveyed the interior of the green house. It was clearly organized: between the rows of plants, two tiled paths ran in parallel over the entire length of the floor. The only place they met was right at the center of the building, where Alec and Tara were standing.

  “Look,” Alec said, pointing to a wrought-iron spiral staircase. “Come on, up those stairs.”

  A shot rang out, and they heard the sound of breaking glass. For an instant, Alec could feel the rush of air. The bullet had struck a palm tree about ten feet away. They ran to the staircase and up the winding stairs.

  “What now?” Tara asked, gasping for air. Her forehead was beaded with sweat. They were standing on a high metal walkway that extended along the entire perimeter of the green house, so that visitors could view the plants from above. “We’ve walked into a trap,” she said. “Look, Alec, it loops all the way around. There’s no place for us to go.”

  Alec leaned over the edge and looked down. The man had run off in the opp
osite direction. To his horror, amid the greenery in the distance he could make out another staircase. No matter which way they went, they were sure to run into him. All they could do was go back down the stairs, but that was equally pointless. Their pursuer would notice right away and be there waiting for them at the bottom.

  Heavy footsteps pounded up the metal steps. A few seconds later, he was directly opposite them. Across a gap of almost a hundred feet, they stared at each other over the tops of the trees, waiting to see who would make the first move. Even at that distance, Alec could see that the man was having trouble breathing. His chest heaved up and down. Alec made a quick decision.

  He took Tara’s hand. “At the count of three, we’ll run as fast as we can along the right-hand side, okay?”

  “And then what? He’ll be right there waiting for us.”

  “Just trust me.”

  She nodded. Alec counted down, and they charged down the walk-way. In the distance, Alec could see the man letting go of the railing and calmly striding in their direction, his pistol at the ready.

  “Alec, no,” Tara yelled. “We’re running straight toward him.”

  “Stop, right here! Jump!”

  They vaulted over the railing and into the treetops, crashing through the foliage of the fifty-foot palm tree and landing on the soil with a thump. Tara looked around with a dazed expression and then felt her elbow with a moan. Alec pulled her upright and placed a finger to his lips. She followed his gaze upward. The footsteps were receding into the distance. Alec and Tara tiptoed back onto the path. At the bottom of the staircase, Alec pointed to the recess underneath the steps. They scrambled into the small space, pressing themselves as close as possible to the wall. They could hear the man descending. Then, suddenly, he stopped. Through the wrought-iron above their heads, they saw the soles of his shoes scrape lightly over the landing. After a moment’s hesitation, he slowly continued down the stairs. Just as he reached the bottom step, Alec leaned forward, seized his ankles, and gave a sharp tug. With a yelp, the man pitched forward, his face smacking into the floor. The pistol fell out of his hand.