by Rick Mofina
“Any idea what this means?” one of them asked.
They scrolled through names and locations in Toronto, London, Shanghai, Berlin, Moscow, Paris, Buenos Aires, Mexico, Tokyo, Hamburg, Chicago, Dallas—and the list went on to include some of the world’s largest cities.
“I think it means a strike is imminent.”
“But when and where?”
“That’s the question,” Lancer said as his phone rang.
63
Nassau, Bahamas
The rotating blades of the ceiling fan offered no relief in the stifling offices of the Central Detective Unit’s headquarters on Thompson Boulevard.
“The new air-conditioning unit has quit again.” Inspector Franklin opened his window wider, before resuming reading his statement. “Don’t worry, Mr. Gannon, we’re almost done.”
Gannon checked the time.
It had been several hours since he and Emma had discovered the two bodies at the resort and that Emma’s baby was alive. During that time, Gannon was permitted to go to the washroom, where he made some secret phone calls. He alerted the WPA’s Nassau Bureau to the story, and he tried unsuccessfully to reach Lancer for help.
In the early part of Gannon and Emma’s questioning, the Nassau police were suspicious about them. Detectives interviewed them separately and were wary to link the two deaths with the child-care center until more information had emerged from the FBI. From what Gannon could gather, a second police action was unfolding on an island in Exuma Sound, but he was not sure what it was. Finally, Inspector Franklin tapped the collection of papers together, indicating he had finished.
“Here is your passport. Thank you for your cooperation. You are free to enjoy your stay or return to New York. We will contact you if necessary.”
“What about my friend, Emma?”
“She should be joining you in the reception area momentarily.”
Gannon stepped from the building and called Lancer’s number again.
Come on, come on.
This time the connection clicked.
“Lancer.”
“It’s Gannon. I need your help.”
“Where are you?”
“Nassau. I just finished up with Nassau detectives. You know that Emma Lane and I found two corpses in the hotel where you sent us?”
“You found them?”
“Yes.”
“I haven’t been fully debriefed, but I will be. I really have to go.”
“Wait, you owe me a few minutes. I need your help.” Gannon spotted Emma and waved her over to him. They moved to a couple of palm trees, which offered them shade and privacy. “Emma Lane’s baby is alive.”
“What? How do you know this?”
“When we came upon those dead people, Emma feared for her son. She’d learned at the care center that he was supposed to be with that couple. For as long as we could stand being in that room we looked for her baby, for any sign of him. There was nothing. But we found Albanian passports for Valmir and Elena Leeka and one for Alek Leeka with a new picture of Emma Lane’s son. It confirms what she’s feared, that her baby was stolen and is alive. We told the detectives everything.”
“I haven’t been briefed on that aspect yet.”
“I’m telling you this now. It proves there’s a conspiracy. We want you to help us find her son. If we find him then we could find the answer to everything. Tell us what’s going on, Lancer. You owe me that much and you owe her.”
Emma nodded.
“Did you give those passports to the Nassau police?”
“Yes, we cooperated fully.”
“Is there anything else you can tell me?”
“You know about the message on the wall?”
“What message?”
“Written in blood, ‘Erase them all.’ What the hell does that mean?”
“It could be related to everything. What about the couple, what else do you know?”
“Only that Emma learned that they were supposed to be leaving for New York City.”
“What?”
“She was told by a staff member at the child-care center that they were bound for New York City.”
“Do you know where, or why?”
“No.”
“Which staff member? You have a name?”
“No.”
A long silence passed. It sounded as if Lancer had put his hand over his phone to tell someone else something. Gannon noticed Emma was searching through her bag, as if she’d remembered something.
Gannon thought he’d lost his connection. “Lancer, are you there?”
“Yes.”
“Where are you? What’s going on?”
“I’m in Exuma Sound at a second search site.”
“What’s the location? Maybe we should be there with you, or send someone from the WPA Bureau?”
“No, it’s not safe now, believe me. And I have to leave.”
“Where’re you going?”
“Back to the States.”
“What’s going on?”
“I don’t have a lot of time.”
“Hold on, it was Emma Lane’s case that produced those phone numbers for you, Lancer, and you know it. I flew down here with her and waited for your call, just like you said, but it never came.”
“I got tied up.”
“You owe us. Tell us what’s going on.”
“Very soon the FBI will put out an alert for a wanted fugitive. I’ll see what I can do to give your wire service the jump.”
“Who is it?”
“It’s Gretchen Sutsoff.”
“Who’s that?”
“The scientist Corley mentioned. She’s using several aliases. We’re still getting everything together. I really have to go.”
“Wait, where do you think the next break on this will be?”
“I have no idea, Jack.”
“Yes, you do. You said you were heading back to the States. Come on, Lancer, I’ve bled for this story and I’ve helped you.”
“I would guess New York. That’s it.”
Gannon hung up and headed for the street, scanning traffic for a cab as Emma hurried with him.
“We have to get the next plane back to New York,” he said.
Emma pulled her hand from her bag. She had the blue memory card the woman at the center had given her. “I’d forgotten about this.”
“What is it?”
“I don’t know, the woman at the child-care center wanted me to have it. It’s supposed to help explain what these people are up to.”
64
Off the U.S. East Coast, over the Atlantic Ocean
Long after the A330 jetliner from Nassau leveled off, the attendant on duty in first class could no longer resist.
Engaged to be married in two months, she gave in to her maternal stirrings and knelt before the little angel asleep in 3B.
“He’s such a sweetheart.” She beamed at the woman seated next to him in 3A, reading the screen of her small laptop. The attendant assumed she was his grandmother. “He’s such a good flyer. Not a bit of fuss.”
The woman closed her computer. “I gave him a little home remedy before we left.”
“It’s working, you should bottle it. How old is he?”
“He’s one.”
“What’s his name?”
Gretchen Sutsoff had chosen the name of her dead brother for the Wyoming child’s counterfeit passport.
“Will.”
The attendant caressed his little fingers.
“I bet he’s destined for great things.”
“I’m confident of that,” Sutsoff said.
“You’re so blessed. If you need help with anything, let me know.”
When the attendant left, Sutsoff looked at the baby.
Yes, this one was destined for great things. He was the ideal specimen. His DNA made him the perfect vehicle. He was too valuable for her to have entrusted him with Valmir and Elena Leeka for the final stage.
Elena was a whore.
Valmir was an idiot.
By taking stupid risks with that brazen car crash in Wyoming, Valmir could have killed this little treasure. Sutsoff was lucky those two didn’t bungle the cruise-ship operation. But when they came back demanding more money, then getting drunk at the casino, their fate was sealed.
Sutsoff erased them.
The world was better without them.
There were too many ants.
But had she jeopardized the operation?
No.
The Bahamian police would never figure it out. Besides, her work was so far advanced now that nothing could stop her. After this operation she had new plans for her prized specimen with the perfect DNA.
Her little Will would shape the new world.
Sutsoff embraced a memory of her brother.
She turned to the clouds, and for several minutes she was a terrified fourteen-year-old girl again in the panicked stadium at Vridekistan, seeing her mother and father trampled, hearing Will’s heart-wrenching squeal, feeling his little hand going limp in hers. She gazed at the ocean and took several slow breaths.
She could do this.
She would do this.
The pills she’d taken to help her face crowds were working. She looked at the float pen on her tray and contemplated how she’d survived the horror that killed her family to devote her life to correcting nature’s errors with the human race.
She alone had forged the solution.
It was right here, in her laptop and in this novelty pen. And seventy others like it that would be put to use. She picked it up, raising and lowering the ends, making the tiny sailboat bobble up and down in the barrel filled with her new formula.
About one thousand miles northwest in Washington, D.C., the FBI was working on the fugitive file for Sutsoff.
Information and intelligence from police agencies around the world was flowing into FBI headquarters.
The CIA had provided her Social Security number, date of birth, physical description and fingerprints. Interpol obtained what were thought to be the most recent passport photos and a number of aliases.
Gretchen Rosamunde Sutsoff was characterized as a scientist formerly contracted by the U.S. government, who was wanted for a range of charges including, murder, kidnapping and theft of U.S. government property. When the file was ready, Gretchen Sutsoff would be sought around the world by Interpol and would top the FBI’s Ten-Most Wanted list.
As Sutsoff’s plane came to a full stop at Newark Liberty International Airport in New Jersey, the Office of Enforcement at U.S. Customs and Border Protection headquarters in Washington, D.C., received an urgent alert from the FBI through Homeland Security.
The alert was for Gretchen Rosamunde Sutsoff, a dangerous murder suspect, believed to be preparing to enter the United States. It was immediately sent to a coordinator for processing.
After studying the details listing Sutsoff’s DOB, race, height, weight, eye and hair color, and aliases, and looking at the accompanying photographs, the coordinator called her supervisor for final sign-off before releasing it.
In Newark, Sutsoff gathered Will and her bags and prepared to leave the plane. Smiling attendants helped her get Will into her umbrella stroller. Just before boarding in Nassau, Sutsoff had it gate-checked; now it was waiting for them on the jetway.
She pushed the stroller along, joining other passengers walking through the terminal toward U.S. Immigration, where she got into the line for non-U.S. citizens. The wait was not as long as she’d expected. Weary security officials had just cleared three 747 charter flights from Europe—here for the Human World Conference?—and they were coming to a shift change before a new wave arrived.
Sutsoff’s queue moved smoothly. She got her passport and other papers ready. It was not long before she reached the front of the line.
In Washington, after the U.S. Customs and Border Protection enforcement supervisor had read the alert on his monitor, he issued his electronic approval and called his senior coordinator.
“Let’s get this out to everyone now,” he said.
Back at the airport in Newark, the U.S. Immigration inspector waved Sutsoff to his desk and received her passport, her I-94 card, her B-2 visitor’s visa, a notarized letter signed by her “daughter” allowing her to travel with her “grandson,” and other papers. She was photographed and fingerprinted on a scanner, after which the inspector studied her documents. All of them were in the name of Mary Anne Conrad, a new alias she’d arranged through a passport forger and people she’d bribed to help her obtain documents. The baby was identified as William John Conrad. The inspector scrutinized Sutsoff, ensuring her photograph matched her face.
“Where were you born?”
“The United States, Virginia.”
“How did you become a citizen of the Bahamas?”
“My family moved around quite a bit when I was young.”
“Who is the child and why does he have an American passport?”
“He’s my grandson. My daughter lives here in the United States.”
“What’s the purpose of your visit?”
“My daughter will be joining us in New York for a visit to see the city, then taking Will home with her. He stayed with me for a bit while she dealt with a career change.”
“And where does your daughter live?”
“Wyoming.”
“All right, thank you.”
After she cleared Immigration, the inspector’s shift ended. He closed his station and directed other passengers to the next desk. Sutsoff went to baggage claim, then lined up for U.S. Customs, handing her information to the female officer who yawned as she processed her entry.
In the half minute after Sutsoff had cleared Customs, the officer’s computer beeped with an alert, but she’d already turned from her desk to allow a colleague to take her place for a break.
The relief officer’s eyebrows rose when she read the details of the alert, but she had no inkling that a wanted fugitive had just cleared her very post.
Struggling with the stroller and her luggage, Sutsoff made it to the arrivals area, where she’d spotted a man wearing a black chauffeur’s cap, a sport coat, white shirt, black tie, black pants and holding up a sign reading M. Conrad NYC.
“Over here,” Sutsoff said. “Thank you. Do you have the car seat I reserved?”
“Yes, we’re all set, ma’am. Let me get your things.”
The driver helped Sutsoff and Will settle into the luxurious Buick. After loading the luggage and stroller, he got behind the wheel and confirmed their destination.
“The Grand Hyatt in Manhattan?”
“Yes.”
Sutsoff had requested to be dropped off there, but she planned to walk three blocks to another hotel. As the gleaming black sedan glided along the freeway, she took another pill. The miles clicked by and the span of the magnificent George Washington Bridge ascended in the distance just as they passed a huge billboard announcing the Human World Conference.
Sutsoff felt her stomach lift as she gazed across the Hudson where Manhattan’s skyline awaited them.
She turned to the baby, content in his car seat, then she contemplated New York City, then her float pen.
This was the power.
Ahead was the glory.
65
Fort Detrick, Maryland
That night, the ramifications of Gretchen Sutsoff’s new creation dawned on Foster Winfield.
He turned to his colleagues Tolkman, Weeks and Kenyon, seated at the table in a small meeting room. They had worked nonstop, analyzing material transported by jet fighter from Sutsoff’s secret lab on Deus Island. The four scientists sat in silence, then Kenyon said what everyone was thinking.
“She’s insane.”
“This defies the science,” Tolkman said. “How did she do it?”
“Why did she do it?” Weeks asked.
“I’m responsible,” Winfield said. “I brought her in to Project Crucible.”
Major Powell entered the
room carrying a briefing binder.
“They’re all set in Washington.” Powell positioned a telephone console and speakers at the center of the table, keyed in several numbers and linked them to an emergency teleconference call with a spectrum of security agencies working on the new threat.
“Who’ve we got there?” a voice asked.
“Major Powell in Fort Detrick. With me are the four agency scientists who’d worked on Project Crucible.”
“Thank you. Everyone, identify yourselves when you speak, please. We’ll get started with the chair of the meeting.”
“This is Lincoln Hunter, assistant to the National Intelligence director, the president’s advisor. Time is an issue here, let’s keep things simple and keep it moving. We’ll go to the FBI. We have a suspect—a former agency scientist, Sutsoff, developing an attack. Updates, please.”
“Robert Lancer, FBI. She’s a Bahamian national. We believe she’ll attempt to enter the U.S. We’ve alerted Customs and Border Protection.”
“And if she’s already here?”
“We’re going out with a public fugitive alert as soon as possible.”
“And the target city for the strike, Lancer?”
“We have information suggesting it’s New York. We suspect it could be the Human World Conference.”
“In Central Park?”
“Yes. We strongly urge consideration be given to canceling the event. We’re working with the NYPD, the Port Authority and New York State Police.”
“Are we even close to this suspect’s trail, Lancer?”
“We’re working 24/7, assessing information obtained from Sutsoff’s island lab, her residence, her staff and from the child-care center on Paradise Island. We believe a number of foreign families with children will be traveling to New York and could be involved in the operation. We’re working with police agencies around the world.”
“Anything else?”
“We’re analyzing new information on other potential players. A person of interest is Drake Stinson, a former employee with the agency, now based in Brazil with a law firm that has ties to the operation through illegal adoptions. Stinson may have knowledge of the bombing of the Café Amaldo in Rio de Janeiro. His last known whereabouts was Europe.”
