Sir Fred appeared in the front door of his house, peering out. He smiled and waved, calling cheerily. “I thought I recognised the sound of that mighty beast. Pretty distinctive. Come on in and have a cup of tea.”
“This is Benadir Abhilasha,” said Doc.
Sir Fred waved a big hand. “How do you do?”
“I’ve been better,” said Benadir.
Doc took out his gun and pointed it at Sir Fred. “It’s over, Lassen,” he said. “We know everything.”
Sir Fred stared at him for a long minute. Then he said, “Then you definitely should come in and have a cup of tea.”
“You go in with him,” said Benadir. “I’ll find Antoinette.”
“Are you sure you’ll recognise her?”
“I’ve seen enough of her,” said Benadir, drawing her own gun.
“I don’t know who else is in on it around here,” said Doc. “So don’t trust anyone.”
“I won’t. Here you better take this.” She gave him the EMP device and the charger. “You better plug that in. We may be needing it.”
Doc took it one hand. With the other he kept his gun pointing at Sir Fred, who was looking at the device with interest. The gun didn’t seem to bother him at all. “What’s that, then? Some kind of EMP emitter?
“Yes.”
“Clever,” said Lassen, nodding with approval. “Very clever.” He paused. “I heard the fire was out at the Isle of Dogs. Is that how you did it?”
“Yes.”
“Good for you,” said Lassen, apparently without irony. “Come on in and have that cup of tea. What was that I heard you saying about Antoinette? Having seen enough of her?”
“On CCTV tapes. Buying painkillers. In Cambridge.”
“Ah,” said Sir Fred. In the kitchen he made two cups of tea and then carried them upstairs to his study. Doc followed, his gun never wavering. He plugged in the charger for the handheld EMP then sank down in a chair opposite Sir Fred. They were back in the room with all the photos of the animals on the wall.
“Poor old Goldstein,” said Sir Fred.
“You had to kill him because he was our best mind on nanotechnology. You knew if you left him alive we’d stop you before you got started.”
Lassen shook his head. “No, you’ve got it all wrong. He came to me. Because I was the world’s leading expert on fire prevention. And he’d developed nanotechnology to put out fires. He invented these nanobots which could extinguish wild fires by getting in their path and strategically burning areas so that the fire couldn’t cross them, and would burn itself out. Fighting fire with fire. It was a beautiful concept. It was the ideal technology for me.”
He peered at Doc under his shaggy brows. “But what he hadn’t thought through was that it wasn’t just the perfect method for stopping fires…”
“It was also the perfect method for starting them.”
“That’s right. And that’s what I was more interested in doing.”
“Why in god’s name?”
Sir Fred gestured at the photographs of the animals. “For them.” He gave Doc an intense look. “You’ve got to listen to me. Please. For their sake.”
“All right, we’ll get to that in a minute. Who is Faustus?”
Sir Fred sighed. “Faustus doesn’t even exist. He’s just an animation created on a computer.”
“And all his negotiations with the governments of the world?”
“A sideshow, a diversion.”
“To stop anybody finding out what was really going on?”
Sir Fred nodded. A tiny smile creased his solemn face.
“And it worked,” said Doc.
“Of course it worked. These people can’t see what’s in front of their noses. That moron at Downing Street swallowed it without hesitation. And while they were fannying around dealing with Faustus they weren’t looking at me, or what I was really about.”
“And what was that?”
“Doing what is necessary,” said Sir Frederick Lassen, pulling himself up straight in his chair, his whole imposing bulk seeming to expand. “By culling the most dangerous species on this planet.”
“Human beings.”
“That’s right. Human beings. We’ve taken this paradise and turned it into a sewer and an industrial waste dump. And all we do is breed and breed and breed. Meanwhile we chop down the rainforests so we can afford to buy mobile phones. Every species is under threat, from the black rhino to the garden snail. Every species except ours. All my life I have stood by and had to witness the destruction of the natural world. And now, to put the lid on it, we have the effects of global warming. Surely you can see? There is only way to save the planet.”
“Save it for who?”
“For all of us.” He gestured at the animals on the wall. “There must be a massive cull of humanity, say about ninety percent, to enable all the other species of the Earth to have a chance. The burden of humanity in its present numbers is just too much for our planet.”
“So you decided to reduce the number of humans by fire.”
Lassen nodded, leaning intently forward. “Yes, by burning down densely populated urban centres and also by destroying crops to cause starvation. That was going to be my next move. Certainly, it’s a harsh measure…”
“You think?” said Doc.
“But it is the only solution. Of course, Jacob Goldstein would never have agreed to it.”
“So you killed him. You and Antoinette.”
Lassen shook his head. “I’m sorry. But there’s no way he would have gone along with it.” He paused. “Funny, all the millions who had to die. And that was the one I really regretted. Poor old Goldstein.
“And you learned all about Z5 from him.”
“That’s right. He told me all about you. He knew he could trust me.” He gave Doc a beseeching look. “And in a funny way, he was right. You can trust me too. If you’ll just let me get on with my work, I’ll do the right thing. For all of us. For the planet.”
Doc shook his head. “Sorry. It ends here.”
“Yes, I suppose it does.” Sir Fred rose wearily from his chair. “Did you wonder how we controlled the nanobots?” He took a phone out of his pocket. “We designed a phone app.”
Doc pointed his gun squarely at Lassen’s head. “Put it down.”
Sir Fred carefully set the phone down on his desk. “Actually,” he said. “I’ve already set them in motion.”
Doc had been ready for something like this. He dived for the EMP device and pulled it out of the charger, praying that there’d been time enough to top up the batteries. He stood up, turning from side to side, ready for the nanites to come at him from any direction.
But they didn’t come for him.
There was a scarlet flash.
Like red lightning indoors.
The flames started on Sir Frederick Lassen’s head. Perhaps he’d decided that would be the quickest way to go, knocking out his brain first. But they rapidly spread over his entire body. Fierce, racing red flames. The most horrifying thing was the way he just remained standing there. The man didn’t even move. Just stood there, almost peacefully, while the flames consumed him.
Doc watched, appalled, but there was nothing he could do. The room was full of an evil red light and the crackling of flame. And the sweet smell of burning.
The heat became so intense Doc had to back away. And then it was over. Nothing else in the room had been touched.
When they swept the ashes away, there wasn’t even a scorch on the carpet.
Deadly Sleep
1: Rondivallo
“Vancouver?” said Sofia Forli. “Why Vancouver?”
“Vancouver Island, actually,” said Dame Marion Palfrey. “We have some solid intelligence that suggests that this is where Professor Rondivallo has gone to ground.”
Sofia frowned and reached for something out of shot. She was in the converted hangar at Linate Airport that served as Z5’s headquarters in Milan. Marion Palfrey was watching her on a computer sc
reen in her own headquarters —a wood panelled study in what had once been the Marquis of Brett’s library at Brett Hall, a large manor house in its own extensive grounds just south of Salisbury.
Sofia’s hand came back into shot holding a coffee cup. Marion felt a momentary pang of envy. They had excellent coffee in Milan. She could almost smell it. “It’s a very odd choice,” said Sofia, “for a man who likes the city life.”
Marion gave a thin smile. “If ‘city life’ is a euphemism for sex and drugs, then yes I would say that’s an accurate description of Rondivallo.”
Sofia’s eyes flicked upwards and to one side as she read something on her own screen. “Well, he is a notorious womaniser. And according to our sources he has a substantial cocaine habit.” She was evidently reading Rondivallo’s file.
“Very substantial. Which could prove rather useful to us,” said Marion. “But I’ll get to that in a moment.”
“Which is why I query the likelihood of him choosing a place such as Vancouver Island as a refuge.”
“It’s not some kind of aboriginal outpost, you know, Sofia,” said Marion dryly. “Civilization has penetrated there.”
“But surely the mainland would be a much more plausible place for him. I mean, if you had said Vancouver City. He is a very metropolitan creature. And the island…” Her eyes flickered to a corner of the screen again, absorbing facts, “It may well be a rural paradise, but that isn’t what the Professor will be looking for.”
“No, true, what Professor Rondivallo will be looking for are women and drugs.”
“I suppose he can find women there. He has a knack of finding them anywhere…” Sofia was studying the files at the edge of the screen, and Marion allowed her own gaze to wander. She had a number of open files of her own, featuring Professor Laurence Rondivallo. Many showed photographs of the man, looking more like an international playboy than a biochemist — even one of genius — and in many of the photographs he had an extraordinarily glamorous woman on his arm.
Marion wondered about these women. What attracted them to Rondivallo? It certainly wasn’t his looks. And it was unlikely to be money. The man spent everything he had staying one step ahead of the law enforcement agencies which, like Z5, were seeking to track him down and incarcerate him for many, many years.
Reportedly he could be very charming company. But before long the women would also find out how dangerous he could be.
Perhaps it was the danger that was the attraction.
“He won’t have to find them on the island,” she said. “At least not right away. We have reason to believe that he has taken a woman there with him.”
“How do we know that?” said Sofia, her eyebrows lifting in enquiry.
“From another woman. The one he left behind. She has very helpfully supplied us with our information.”
Sofia smiled. “Ah, a woman scorned. Traditionally one of the more useful sources of information.”
Marion looked at the photographs of Rondivallo. He was a short, barrel-shaped man with an oddly proportioned, almost conical head and small, pursed lips. It was hard to believe that such a narrow head could house such a powerful brain. Dark eyes stared out at her under thick brows.
“What did you mean about it proving rather useful to us?” said Sofia.
Marion stared at her blankly for a moment. “I’m sorry?”
“You said that the Rondivallo’s cocaine habit might prove useful to us.”
“Ah yes. Of course. That’s because at some point the Professor will need more drugs. And then he will have to seek another source of supply. On the island.”
“Ah!” Sofia nodded happily. “I see where this is taking us. And why it might be to our advantage.”
Marion Palfrey nodded. “Indeed. It’s a lucky break he’s chosen this sort of location to go to ground.”
“Because in a large city or urban area his choice of drugs suppliers would have been extensive.”
“Correct.”
“Whereas on a small and relatively uninhabited island…”
“Correct again. Rondivallo will have a limited number of options.”
“So we need to infiltrate the drug distribution network on Vancouver Island,” said Sofia. “To plant an operative there who will keep watch for Rondivallo and tell us when he surfaces.”
Marion Palfrey nodded again. “And that brings us to the main reason for this conversation,” she said.
Sofia smiled. “You want me to try and find a suitable candidate.”
“Actually,” said Marion Palfrey. “I already have someone in mind.”
2: San Vittore
Joeri Van der Veet reflected that the worst part of being in prison was the food.
At least in Italy.
At least in his experience.
Of course, it didn’t have to be like that.
He’d heard that the fortress prison at Volterra in Tuscany near Pisa actually operated a restaurant called the Fortessa Medicea run by inmates, where the food was so good that people made bookings months in advance and came into the prison to eat it. It amused Joeri to think of all those upstanding citizens getting their vicarious thrills being served Michelin-star quality food by a bunch of hardened criminals. Even the piano player tinkling tunes in the background for their enjoyment was doing time for murder.
But there was no restaurant here at San Vittore Prison — Carcere di San Vittore as the locals called it — in the centre of Milan. No one was booking months in advance to get in here and try the pasta that it seemed they served at every meal.
San Vittore had been built in the late nineteenth century. Its main building was a star-shaped structure with six blocks radiating out from a central tower. It had originally been designed to hold eight hundred inmates. It now housed over two thousand, not counting a couple of hundred in the women’s section.
Joeri tried not to think too much about the women’s section. Like many another inmate he had given careful consideration to the possibility of breaking in there. But essentially it would involve breaking out of prison — from the men’s section — and then breaking back in — to the women’s section.
Which was pretty stupid when you thought about it, no matter how horny you might be.
Anyway, the quality of the women in there probably wouldn’t be up to Joeri’s high standard.
Although they’d more than likely be very pleased to see him…
Joeri put the women’s section out of his mind. Everybody on the outside, all the solid citizens, imagined that the worst thing about prison would be sex. Either the lack of it, or having it forced on you by the bullies and rapists who prowled these places.
And of course, a few of these had tried it on with Joeri — gorgeously handsome young male that he was, with his flowing blond locks. But luckily Joeri was also powerfully built, knew how to fight, who to ingratiate himself with in the prison hierarchy and who to bribe.
This wasn’t his first time around the block.
Joeri knew how to survive in jail. Even in a place like this, what a hole it was!
But it was the food that was the worst.
By now he should have been transferred to a nice, decent Dutch prison. The wheels of justice seemed to grind terribly slowly, though. He’d been stuck in here initially because the crimes he’d committed had been in and around Milan, and the extradition procedure just seemed to be taking forever.
He wished those bastards in Z5 had shipped him back to the Netherlands before handing him over to the authorities. It would have been easy enough for them to do so. They could have just stuck him on one of their high tech personal jets. What was so difficult about that? Their base was at the goddamned airport, for Christ’s sake. Just stick him on a jet and fly him home and put him in prison there. The jets on the runway were nearer than Carcere di San Vittore; it would have made more sense!
Or let him off the hook altogether. It wasn’t as though he’d done anything so wrong. They could have just let him go. What had he done
that was so wrong? True, he’d almost run over that one-legged bastard. What did they call him? Doc. Doc Palfrey. A tough, burly bastard he was. And he moved quickly, for a one-legged cripple.
He’d got out of the way of Joeri’s motorcycle really promptly, so that instead of getting run over and killed – which is what that bitch Helene had paid Joeri to do, it was all her fault, come to think of it — Doc Palfrey had managed to scramble out of the way and Joeri had barely even clipped him.
He hadn’t done the fellow any harm at all.
He’d crushed his prosthetic leg; that was true. But the next day Doc Palfrey was hobbling about on a brand new one. He was perfectly healthy. So healthy that he’d turned up at the garage in Muggio and arrested Joeri, interrupting his breakfast.
That breakfast had been about the last decent meal he’d had.
Hadn’t he cooperated with Z5 after that? Hadn’t he done his bit in helping them try and find that bitch, Helene? He’d done everything they’d asked of him. He’d been a model of cooperation.
They could have let him go.
But no, they had to stick him in here.
With the terrible food.
Joeri tormented himself with memories of the food from home. Real food. Like a nice meaty rookworst with a bowl of stamppot boerenkool, a little hole dug in it where he could pour in the gravy. With poffertjes for dessert — the thought of the fluffy little pancakes made his mouth water.
Why couldn’t they serve food like that here in San Vitorre instead of their damned pasta? They never had anything he liked.
Joeri was sitting in his cell thinking about poffertjes when they came and told him he had a visitor.
*
At first Joeri assumed that they’d made a mistake. He knew he wasn’t due a visit by his legal council for another two weeks. So it was obvious there was a mix up. But rule number one in prison was keep your mouth shut when you think someone might have made a mistake that could be to your advantage.
Hard Targets: A Doc Palfrey Omnibus Page 16
