by David Khara
“Exactly.”
“They don’t teach that in business school, do they?”
“You’d be surprised at how much business schools don’t cover these days.”
“And yet I’ve heard that tuition is through the roof.”
“I don’t mean to be rude, but we’re not here to talk about the shortcomings of academia. We have more pressing matters to discuss.”
“I agree.”
“What do you know about the Consortium, Mr. Morg? Sorry, let me rephrase that: What do you think you know?”
“I know that your secret society supported Hitler’s rise to power so that he’d create world chaos and, in the process, free scientific research of any ethical constraints. I also know that you used pharmaceutical companies to further a scheme to create a master race, but your plans hit a little snafu.”
“Oh dear, your account appears quite sound, aside from a few details.”
“That was the short version.”
“Simplistic, to say the least.”
“I’d love to know more, if only to glean some information that would help me set fire to your outfit, giving me the pleasure of watching it burn to the ground. But for starters, how about explaining what it is that you want from me.”
“Well, to get straight to the point, what do you know about P4 laboratories?”
CHAPTER 10
With his bag over his shoulder and the computer in his right hand, Eytan left the storage building and took the cracked and weed-filled walkway around the building, as instructed by the man, who had identified himself as Cypher. The day had just a few hours of sunlight left, and the cool breeze rippled through the tall grass. The abandoned industrial park looked like a scene from an apocalypse movie. Rust was devouring the bleak structures. Inside the crumbling buildings, trees had taken root. Overgrowth covered what remained of the walls. Nature was gaining ground and would soon erase all trace of humanity from these parts.
Despite the circumstances, Eytan felt a unique poetry in the landscape. He wondered how he would paint it, and what he would name the rendering. But this was not the time to channel his inner impressionist.
He resumed his conversation.
“P4 laboratories adhere to extremely strict security standards and procedures, if memory serves me. They handle the most exotic and hazardous biological agents that cause infectious diseases. No vaccines have been developed for these potential plagues. Researchers are required to wear special suits with their own air supply. This kind of facility must have several showers, a UV-light room, a vacuum room, and airlock doors. The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention in Atlanta has a P4 lab. They’re also called BSL4, or biosafety level 4 facilities.”
“Commendable response,” Cypher said. “Let me shed a bit more light on the issue. The extreme standards and procedures you outlined are necessitated by the kind of pathogens these facilities harbor. Just the mention of some of the viruses is enough to elicit widespread panic: Crimean-Congo, Marburg, Lassa, to name a few.”
“Ebola—basically the worst viral scum out there.”
“Exactly. Now for a little history lesson. In 1967, scientists at the Behringwerke laboratory in Marburg, Germany, were developing a measles vaccine. They were using kidney cells from imported Ugandan green monkeys. Sadly, the monkeys were carriers of a filovirus, which was unknown at the time. It was a strand of Ebola. Symptoms of the infection are terrifying: headaches, diarrhea, vomiting. Hemorrhaging kicks in after about a week, leading to death in most cases. I don’t need to tell you that every researcher working with those cells at Behringwerke, plus two spouses, died within weeks. In all, thirty-one people were infected. No one knew the specific cause until much later.”
Without missing a word of the explanation, Eytan had been trying to place Cypher’s accent. Each sentence had brought him closer to figuring it out. He was now positive that the man was British. Cypher continued his story.
“The virus got its name from the location of the outbreak, the city of Marburg. There were also outbreaks in Frankfurt and Belgrade, Yugoslavia, that same year, but they were contained. They could have been much more serious. As a result, international authorities created the P4 accreditations and began enforcing the security measures.”
The shadowy figure on the screen brought a hand to his mouth. Eytan heard the man inhale. A puff of vapor appeared, but there was no fiery glow. Cypher was smoking an electronic cigarette, and that was a prized piece of information.
“You see, Mr. Morg, I’m always amazed at the fuss people make over the dangers of nuclear power. Don’t they know that scientists all over the world are working with microorganisms every day that have the potential to decimate the entire planet?”
“Images of Hiroshima and Nagasaki have left their mark.”
“And most people don’t give a deadly illness a second thought unless they have it, someone they know has it, or it’s making headlines.”
Eytan paused, rummaged through the pocket of his jacket, and pulled out a cigar.
“I agree,” he sighed, lighting a match. “All right, this is all very interesting, but now I’d like to know what these labs have to do with me. I’m not usually an impatient man, but Eli Karman’s kidnapping has given me the worst case of nerves. You know my reputation.”
“Oh, Mr. Morg, kidnapping is such an ugly word. Let’s just say your boss is our guest, nothing more. Once this situation is taken care of, he’ll be back in the loving arms of his little family and his favorite agent.”
“Your goon demanded Elena’s release. Do you confirm this request?”
“Yes. We’ll be trading Mr. Karman for my protégée. But before that, the both of you will be teaming up to take care of some business I have for you.”
The thought of having anything to do with a fully conscious Elena repulsed Eytan. But he mulled it over for a few seconds and arrived at a simple conclusion: no one here had a choice. The two parties could leave as winners or losers, no guarantee on either side. For the moment, he’d have to grin and bear the man’s terms. But the surprise end to this tale would be like Gunfight at the OK Corral, and that was fine by him.
“Okay. So give me the facts.”
“We’ll get there. For now, turn left, and then continue straight ahead.”
The giant obeyed, and Cypher resumed. “Three months ago, a scientist working in one of our P4 labs disappeared, quite literally. This man came to work one morning, left that evening, and vanished without leaving a trace. His home was intact. His bank account had no suspicious activity before his disappearance, and it remained unused afterward. It’s a complete mystery.”
So these nutcases had their own P4 labs, and putting an end to the Bleiberg Project was really no serious setback for this new enemy. Now Eytan fully understood that their power to stir up trouble remained intact and even exceeded his wildest imagination.
“Tell me more about your Houdini,” he said, concealing his anger.
“Given the sensitive nature of his work, this man was watched closely. We conducted a thorough background check before hiring him, and we didn’t find a thing. He was a capable employee with no history.”
“So now will you clue me in on the type of experiments this guy was conducting?”
“You’re as sharp as a tack, Mr. Morg. I like that. This scientist was working on viral strains for military operations.”
“Why am I not surprised,” Eytan said with a sigh.
“Ah, but I’m not saying that he was developing bioweapons. Just the opposite. He was researching ways to neutralize the stock amassed by the two blocs during the Cold War.”
“Your magician ran off with the strains he was working on. He fled to a site with less surveillance than your intrusive research base. Is that it?”
“Just how do you do it, Mr. Morg?” Cypher said. Eytan could hear the derision in his tone.
“Simple. I always expect the worst. Chalk it up to experience. For fun, just tell me this: the Consortium is a
big, powerful, and resourceful organization. Why me?”
“As the issue at hand is extremely sensitive, you can understand that we’d prefer to keep everything on the QT, at least for now. So why are we asking for your help? If you would allow me, I’d like to save my answer for a later time. You don’t need to know my intentions in order to get the job done. All you need to know is that I have been thoroughly impressed by your talents. In some ways, I am greatly indebted to you, Mr. Morg. The dismantling of the Bleiberg Project, which I disapproved of, actually led to my own promotion. Now, as head of the executive committee, I’ve brought about a radical change in our approach. We’re more, let’s say, humanistic.”
Eytan raised his cigar in the air. He was enticed by the opportunity to test this way-too-ass-kissing opponent.
“Hallelujah, boys and girls,” Eytan shouted. “The hippies are making a comeback. If you really wanted to share a joint with me while singing Bob Dylan ditties around a campfire, kidnapping Eli Karman was a bit extreme, counterproductive even.”
“Under other circumstances, I’d be entertained by your jokes, Mr. Morg,” Cypher retorted.
Eytan could hear the man’s smooth demeanor beginning to crack. He didn’t like being on the receiving end of anyone’s sarcasm. He was revealing his hidden and therefore dangerous temper, and Eytan was quick to take note. Later, it could be useful.
The shadow took a long drag of his electronic device and exhaled a large puff of smoke. The mystery man was clearly agitated. He paused, and a few seconds of silence followed. He’s regrouping, Eytan thought.
“You’re not taking my new strategy for the Consortium seriously,” Cypher said in a cooler tone. “The supply of viral strains held by the two superpowers was an issue for our former leaders. But even though I’m not responsible for this incident, I won’t leave it unresolved and allow the first terrorist who shows up to profit from it.”
“Bingo, you’ve said the magic word! So I’m assuming the terrorist’s motive hasn’t fallen into your lap?”
“Let’s be reasonable. People don’t make a hobby of collecting viral strains. This kind of activity requires patience, a great deal of discipline, and a clear objective. Besides, the very nature of the stolen pathogens implies a desire to cause a large-scale bloodbath.”
“But just for the sake of conversation, let’s assume it’s not a terrorist. Many governments might want to acquire this kind of bioweapon.”
“Yes, Mr. Morg. Except that last week a warning letter reached officials in the Czech Republic. The creator—or creators—of said letter announced that a targeted biological attack would occur today somewhere within the nation’s borders. That’s as specific as they got.”
“Did the letter indicate any demands?”
“No.”
“Is there reason to take the threat seriously?” Eytan asked.
“Yes.”
“What is it?”
“The attack just occurred, Mr. Morg. It will no doubt have the same disastrous consequences as the recent strike in the Moscow metro.”
Eytan remembered the newspaper story that he had read at the airport. “The one attributed to Chechen terrorists?” he asked.
“Yes, the Russian authorities blamed their favorite scapegoat to hide the truth. It was a bioweapon attack that was nothing close to the standard methods used by the Chechen militants. Ah, we’ve arrived! Look to your left.”
Absorbed in finding clues in Cypher’s speech, Eytan had forgotten his surroundings. He turned in the indicated direction and found a black Kawasaki ZZR 1400 and a yellow helmet.
“That’s your ride. Your friend Karman told me that motorcycles are your preferred means of transportation. We got you the largest helmet available, which eliminated some of the more stylish options. I was also hoping to provide you with a leather jacket, but it appears that your lucky camo is all that you’ll wear. I’m sure you’re eager to discover the vehicle’s surveillance capabilities and other technological features, so I’ll let you know there’s a GPS tracking device. Nothing else. But I assume you won’t be taking my word for it.”
“Nice work.”
“The same equipment awaits Elena in the Hotel Imperial parking lot, which will serve as your home base. In the suite reserved under your name, there’s a bag containing our friend’s personal belongings, as well as two passports for her and a computer to help us stay in contact.” Cypher paused. “Any questions?”
“None.”
Cypher continued. “Go to the site of the incident, and scope out the scene. The coordinates were transferred to your navigation system. After your mission is completed, you’ll release Elena. As for me, I’ll be collecting as much data as possible to assist you. Use the provided phone number as soon as you uncover any important information. If you have any questions, feel free to call. We’ll respond when possible. Good luck, Mr. Morg.”
The call ended, leaving the Mossad agent feeling isolated and wary. Eytan was still trying to assimilate what he had just been told. He walked over to the motorcycle and examined it. The GPS was set for the Pardubice region in the eastern part of the Czech Republic.
The attack just occurred. The words ran through Eytan’s mind. For well more than half a century, he had been fighting a brutal and merciless war in the shadows. His enemies had faces and bodies. All it took was a bullet or a punch. But biological weapons… How could he take on these invisible, intangible opponents?
Eytan turned around slowly, his hands inside the frayed pockets of his jacket. He no longer saw anything poetic in this wasteland. Man had long ago abandoned it to the forces of nature. Those forces had taken over, inch by inch. As far as Eytan was concerned, there was nothing of value to be found in this place.
The title of his imaginary painting was evident: “Prophecy.”
CHAPTER 11
Prague, the night after the attack in pardubice
Eytan didn’t see the point in staying in the vicinity of the destroyed village. The disappearance of three special-forces commandos would draw even more attention to the area, and turning it into a battlefield would not help his cause. After disposing of the bodies, he retrieved his motorcycle and headed toward Prague.
It was now dusk, and his flight to Tel Aviv would be leaving moments before midnight. He’d have just enough time to stop at the hotel room, which Cypher had most likely reserved to keep an eye on him, take a shower, grab some grub, drop off his weapons, and leave to release Elena.
This last task made him sick to the stomach.
After all, this woman was responsible for killing the mother of Jeremy Corbin, the Wall Street trader who had helped him chase down Professor Bleiberg. She had also admitted killing Bernard Dean, the CIA agent who had watched over the young man for several years. She had even left her mark on Eytan in the form of a wound to his shoulder and another to his leg. Had Jeremy not saved him, his life would have ended altogether at the hands of this assassin.
Releasing Elena, rescuing Eli, and stopping a proven bioterrorist risk. Eytan’s schedule for the week was filling up fast. The four-hour plane ride gave him time to harp on his unhappiness. On the plus side, the plane was practically empty at this late hour. So at least he didn’t have to deal with a pesky seatmate.
Moments after the plane landed, Eytan was greeted in the terminal by three agents—two men and one woman—who drove him to Elena’s place of detention. Eli had authorized her release without divulging any more information. On the way, the agents told Eytan about the prisoner’s exploits.
Murphy’s Law, the giant thought as he listened. He wondered if Jeremy had somehow passed all of his bad luck along to him.
Twenty minutes later, Eytan was greeting Dr. Lafner at the clinic entrance. The doctor looked bone-tired, but welcomed Eytan with open arms. From their initial introduction five years earlier, Eytan had liked the man. They shared an affinity for adventure. They both believed in bending the rules when necessary and had a certain disregard for authority. It wasn’t los
t on Eytan that the doctor never asked any prying questions about his unique genetic traits.
“Hey, Eytan! You have no idea how happy I am that you’re here.”
“Glad to see you too, Avi. But I’m afraid our reunion will be a short one.”
“Not even enough time to grab a coffee? Our boss is going to get us a new machine, but in the meantime, I sneaked in this sweet espresso machine from home. Mum’s the word. It’s against the rules.”
“Sorry, I can’t, Avi. I’ve got a plane to catch.”
They walked into the building. Eytan was relieved to know the doctor was alive, but he had no time to talk. Nothing could distract him from his objective. If he wanted to stop the downward spiral, he’d have to act fast.
“That’s too bad,” Avi said. “All right, I’ll take you to her. I decided to keep the fireball locked up in a psychiatric cell until you got here. I put guards on her too, and with her being unconscious, I managed to perform a few exams.”
“Oh, you know how I love a good experiment.”
Avi held up a finger, wordlessly warning his friend that he was on the verge of going too far. “Watch it! You need to cut that act right now. I’m not conducting research on her. I’m checking her physical health. There’s a difference. Would you like to meet the families of the soldiers she murdered? She didn’t even try to hold them hostage. That madwoman killed them in cold blood. Had it not been for an enormous stroke of luck, I would have been dead too. I was scared shitless! So even though I enjoy a harmless prank or two, don’t assume more than you should. Understand?”
“I might be going out on a limb here, but you seem a tad stressed.”
“That’s the understatement of the century.”
Eytan placed his immense paw on the shoulder of this man, whom he considered his closest true friend at Mossad. “Look, I’m really sorry about the soldiers, but we were very clear about the level of harm that Elena was capable of committing. Obviously we didn’t put enough men on her. How were you able to escape, anyway?”
“She was about to kill me, but she passed out before she could.”
