by Jack Hyland
The two Germans looked at the precipice and agreed: “This cliff is perfect for destroying the BMW.”
They walked to the edge and looked down the one hundred fifty feet to the bottom. They moved the unconscious driver to the driver’s side of the BMW. They opened the trunk, pulled out two red gasoline containers and emptied gasoline throughout the interior of the BMW, including onto the unconscious Opel owner. They pulled the wooden barrier aside. The two Germans got in the Opel. The driver maneuvered the Opel to the back of the BMW. Then he used his vehicle to push the BMW over the edge of the cliff.
The BMW began to fall in a long graceful arc, one hundred and fifty feet. Seconds later, the car, with its unconscious occupant, smashed into the huge rocks and unattended machinery below, at the bottom of the pit.
The BMW made a crunching noise as it collapsed like an accordion. The gas tank exploded in an orange fireball, and the explosion set off the gasoline in the car’s interior. The flames turned black with oil and gas as the smoke plume rose as high as the top of the pit. The heat of the consuming fire in the heap of twisted metal melted the interior of the car and incinerated the dead passenger. Soon there was nothing but the acrid smell of smoke and twisted shapes. The Germans turned the Opel around and soon found a road that would take them to the autobahn.
From inside the Saab, Tom and Alex could see billowing black smoke rising high into the sky. They headed toward the source.
Tom said, “I’ll bet something has happened to the BMW. It may have crashed. We can’t be far from whatever is causing the smoke. We should be there in five minutes.”
Alex nodded but said nothing.
Tom continued. “If that is the BMW, and if the Moses Virus was in the car it may have been destroyed in the crash and fire.”
“Just what I was thinking,” Alex replied. “A virus would be destroyed by the high temperatures of a gasoline fire. It may be for the best.”
Tom increased the speed of the Saab.
As the road’s turns became more torturous, Tom found that he had to keep his speed down. When the road reached the large pit, he stopped the car. He and Alex jumped out of the Saab and went to the edge of the pit where they peered down at the twisted metal and remains of a car. They were engulfed with black, acrid smoke. Tom stated, “That’s the BMW all right, whatever’s left of it.” Tom called the Montreux police and asked them to send firefighting equipment.
Alex asked, “Could the virus be a part of what we’re breathing?”
Tom said, “I’m fairly certain that if the virus was in the car, it’s been consumed, and the smoke doesn’t contain any of it. But, standing around here is just asking for trouble. Breathing acrid smoke can’t be good.”
“Tom,” said Alex, “we don’t have the virus. Maybe it’s been destroyed in the fire. Or maybe it hasn’t. If the virus is still in the Germans’ hands, we’ve got to find it. Don’t you think we should get help?”
“Do you mean Pulesi?” Tom asked.
“He’s the one—the only one—you seem to trust,” Alex said.
Tom didn’t need any more persuading. “He gave me his cell phone number just in case I needed to reach him.” He dialed Pulesi’s number, who picked up right away. Tom brought Pulesi up to date.
Pulesi was quick to say, “I’m glad you called. With the virus supply in dangerous hands, we need to take action quickly. I can’t do much for you from Rome. But I can contact David Baskin, head of the CDC in Atlanta. He knows the situation since I’ve kept him informed.”
“I hate to ask,” Tom commented, “but is the CDC to be trusted?”
Pulesi replied, “You can definitely trust them. They desperately want to keep the virus from falling into hostile hands. This is of the highest priority.”
Then Pulesi continued, “I’ve got Baskin’s number, and I’ll call you back the moment I’ve reached him. I’m glad you’ve reconnected with me. Good luck.”
With that, Tom turned to Alex, who had overheard the conversation and seemed relieved. He said, “Let’s get down to the bottom of this pit. I’m anxious to see if the virus was destroyed.”
About a quarter of a mile farther along the road Tom discovered a service road, which wound precipitously downward to the bottom of the pit. Within ten minutes he and Alex were standing near the burning hulk, where little remained of the BMW.
Tom surveyed the scene: “I’ve an uneasy feeling about this.”
Alex replied, “If the virus has been eradicated—that’s good news.”
“But,” said Tom, “we need to look inside the car. What if the Germans aren’t there? What if they escaped with the virus?”
Tom’s cell phone rang. It was Pulesi, who said, “I’ll be brief. I’ve spoken with Baskin. He’s dispatched one of his best men from E.I.S. to assist you. His name is Gerard Pinet. He happens to be on temporary assignment in Geneva, which is a piece of great luck.”
“What is the E.I.S.?” asked Tom.
“Sorry,” replied Pulesi. “Epidemic Intelligence Service. One hundred and sixty elite U.S. medical operatives—think the equivalent of Navy SEALs, but dedicated to epidemiologic work. They’re extremely good. But Baskin will call off Pinet if you don’t want him.”
Tom decided quickly. “We need help. The sooner the better. Please give Pinet my cell phone number and have him call me. The sooner he can be here the better.”
As if to show just how much urgency the CDC was putting on the situation, Tom received a call from Pinet two minutes later. Tom explained his and Alex’s position, telling Pinet of the crashed BMW in front of them. He also explained that he did not know yet whether the virus had been consumed by fire or was now in the hands of hostile parties.
“Where precisely are you?” asked Pinet.
Tom replied, “We’re at the east end of Lake Geneva, not far from Montreux. The car’s still red hot, but little more than a burned-out hulk. Our suspicion is that Belagri’s men may have escaped in another car with the virus. If so, they’re likely heading to Frankfurt to Bailitz’s castle where I was held captive.”
“Why would you guess they’re driving instead of flying?”
“To avoid airport security and customs with the virus in their possession.”
“Good point,” said Pinet.
Tom continued, “We’ve called the Montreux police, and they said they’ve already spotted the smoke. They’re on their way.”
Pinet said, “I’ve got a car. I’ll check with the police, and I’ll get to you as soon as I can. Probably half an hour. Do you need anything?”
“Your brains. We must get that virus,” Tom said.
“I’ll see you soon,” Pinet said.
Two police cars and firefighting equipment arrived within fifteen minutes. An EMS vehicle from Hôpital Riviera in Montreux arrived in another ten minutes. It took forty minutes and considerable firefighting foam to tamp down the smoldering fire so that the contents of the car could be inspected. Only one body was found in the car, a man, burned beyond recognition.
Gerard Pinet pulled up at that moment in a car driven by a police officer from Geneva. Pinet rode in the front seat beside the driver. He jumped out of the car and came right over to Tom and Alex.
Gerard Pinet was five feet ten inches tall and looked like he weighed 180 pounds. Probably not an ounce of fat on him, thought Tom. Pinet thrust his hand toward Tom, looked Tom straight in the eyes, and introduced himself. Pinet had gray eyes looking out intelligently behind brown horn-rim glasses. He had a full head of brown hair and maybe was—Tom estimated—thirty-five.
Tom introduced Pinet to Alex.
“I’m pleased to meet you,” Pinet said, smiling and extending his hand to Alex, seemingly warming to this highly attractive woman with black hair, a firm handshake, and a welcoming smile. His eyes dropped to the blood stains on Alex’s blouse. “Are you okay?”
“An old wound,” Alex answered, then laughed.
Tom then said to Pinet, “There should have been at least two bodies—the Germans—and some evidence of the three canisters.”
Alex replied, “One unidentifiable man and no canisters? That confirms the virus and the Germans are gone in a car we can’t trace.”
Tom replied, “My guess—the Germans seized a car which was driving by. They put its driver into the BMW sending it over the cliff. They took off with the virus in the stolen car.”
Pinet commented, “Are you certain they’d go to Frankfurt?”
Tom replied immediately. “Bailitz wants the virus as soon as possible, and he’s at Kronberg Castle, which is near Frankfurt.”
Alex asked, “What do we do now, Tom?”
“Get this dead man to an examining room at the closest hospital, where they’ll have the proper equipment to examine the body, and perhaps obtain an identification.”
Pinet immediately agreed.
“We’ll go to whatever hospital the EMS is going to take the victim,” said Tom. “If we can identify him, we might get the man’s license plate number and then the make of his car. The Germans will probably be on their way to Frankfurt, or wherever they’re headed, but we’d have something to go on if we know the car they’re driving.”
“Spoken like a true forensic archaeologist,” Pinet said. “I’ll find out what I can from the police.”
The EMS team put yellow tape around the burned-out hulk of the BMW. The charred human body was carefully removed from the BMW and readied for transport to the Riviera Hospital, which was a well-equipped emergency facility located within half a mile of Chillon Castle.
Tom drove Alex and Pinet, while Pinet’s car and driver went separately. Both vehicles followed the EMS team into Montreux. Once at the hospital, the body was taken to an examining room. The doctor in charge at invited Pinet to work alongside him. And, as he worked, the doctor and Pinet conversed in French.
“Can you perform autopsies?” Alex asked Pinet.
“I’m standing beside the expert. This is not my training, but I do have a bona fide medical degree. I can interpret what we find.”
“What are you looking for?” she asked.
“No clothes, no papers—we’ve only got DNA or dental work. I’m afraid that DNA analysis will take more time than we have. His teeth may provide us what we need.”
Alex asked, “Will the dental analysis be reliable enough?”
“As reliable as DNA testing, and, quicker, provided Montreux has electronic dental records.”
The doctor looked up from his work on the man on the operating table and said, “Two years ago, Montreux introduced a voluntary program of collecting dental records digitally. The Montreux police keep the updated electronic files. I’m ready now to take digital photographs and transmit them to the police department.”
Once photographed, the images were sent.
Tom asked Pinet, “How long will this take?”
“Twenty minutes, if there’s a match,” the doctor said, answering Tom’s question.
With some time to kill, Tom called for information on the next flight to Frankfurt from Geneva. There was a flight at 8:30 p.m., three hours away.
The Montreux police were able to identify that the dead man was a fifty-five-year-old, widowed, retired schoolteacher living in Montreux. The police records department established where he lived and the fact that he owned a ten-year-old, four-door maroon Opel. The police shared with Pinet the man’s car license plate numbers.
Pinet commented to Tom and Alex, “We’ve got what we need. If we find the Opel we’ll get the Germans and the virus. In the meantime, we need to get to the Geneva airport at fast as possible.” Then Pinet added, “I’ll have my driver accompany us in his car. You’ll need to turn your Saab in, and we’ll have the time.”
Tom drove the Saab, while Pinet purchased tickets over the Internet for the evening flight to Frankfurt for himself as well as for Tom and Alex. Pinet checked with Interpol on the BMW. He told Tom and Alex, “The destroyed BMW’s license plates have been traced to a car rental agency at Geneva airport. Dead end, by the way—they paid cash. The BMW was registered in the name of John Jones.”
Tom smiled. “Not very original.”
Alex looked up, grinning. “John Jones? Why, I know a ‘John Jones,’ in Rome.”
“What does she mean?” Pinet asked.
“That’s an inside joke. Alex registered me at a hotel in Rome under that alias.”
“Oh,” said Pinet, smiling. “And, please, call me Gerard.” Then he added, “I’ve given the Opel’s license plate numbers to Interpol, and the police between here and Frankfurt will be on the lookout for them.”
Tom added, “We might even get there first.”
Gerard said, “Can you describe anything about Belagri’s set-up in Frankfurt? I suspect we’ll get a warm reception. We’ll need help.”
Tom described Kronberg Castle as he remembered it. Then he described Bailitz and his plans to use the virus. He covered the rooms he had seen or been in, the back entrance. When he finished, Gerard said, “We’ve still got some time before the flight to Frankfurt. I’ll get busy rounding up some support in Frankfurt for us.”
While driving to the Geneva airport, Gerard contacted the head of his E.I.S. unit in Geneva, who gave Gerard the name of the E.I.S. counterpart in Berlin. Gerard immediately called him. The German E.I.S. officer’s name was Carlo Schmidt.
Pinet explained to Schmidt the circumstances surrounding the Moses Virus. He made clear to Schmidt that “having the Moses Virus released could lead to uncontrollable hysteria—worldwide—perhaps the worst pandemic we’ve ever seen.”
Schmidt, sobered by what he heard, said, “What do you need?”
Gerard replied, “I’ve two requests, one straightforward, the other more complicated.”
“Tell me.”
“A car and driver at the Frankfurt airport to pick up the three of us and to stay with us,” Gerard said.
“Done,” said Schmidt. “I’ll have that car waiting for you. What’s the second request?”
“We have to assume that Bailitz—the man behind Belagri—will stop at nothing to defend his position, especially once he has the Moses Virus in his possession.”
Schmidt asked, “You mean they’ve got weapons?”
“In the hands of mercenaries,” Gerard replied. “So I think we need a team—maybe no more than four or five men, in plainclothes, but armed. We’ll need them immediately—by the time we land in Frankfurt.”
Schmidt paused. “From what you’ve told me, the best group for this job is the Grenzschutzgruppe 9. We’ve worked with them in the past, and they’re outstanding.”
Gerard, pausing in his conversation with Schmidt, asked, “Grenzschutzgruppe 9?”
“They go by a nickname—GSG-9. You might have heard of this,” Schmidt said.
Tom, who had been listening to Gerard’s side of the conversation, said, “Still haven’t heard of them.”
Gerard said, “Not surprising. GSG-9 is Germany’s elite counterterrorism unit. Formed after the Munich Olympics massacre in 1972, it performs mostly behind the scenes. And it gets the job done—if possible—without firing weapons.”
Gerard resumed speaking with Schmidt. “The GSG-9 is exactly what I was hoping for. Belagri presents a terrorist threat.”
Schmidt said, “I’ll take care of this. Where do you want the men?”
Gerard said, “We need them at Kronberg Castle outside Frankfurt. And we arrive at the Frankfurt airport about 9:45 p.m. tonight. We’ll meet them at a point near the castle grounds, a specific rendezvous we’ll have to figure out. That reminds me, we’ll need a briefing about Kronberg—its grounds, and, inside, the layout. Also, make sure that GSG-9 has an expert present who is fully familiar with biological and chemical we
apons.”
“Will do,” Schmidt said, “and we’ll see that we get the information on Kronberg’s grounds and blueprints of the interior. I’ll get to work now. We don’t have much time.”
After his conversation with Schmidt ended, Gerard turned to Alex and Tom. Tom looked relieved, and he was actually smiling.
“Perfect,” said Tom. “The GSG-9 unit sounds efficient and discreet. If they’ve got someone familiar with biological and chemical weapons along with them, that’ll be great. We don’t know what we’ll run into.”
Gerard added, “You may not have heard him speaking, but Schmidt has the slow, easy drawl of a southern Bavarian gentleman, yet I know the E.I.S. They immediately get the situation—they’re highly efficient and make things happen. And, I’m sure, if Schmidt says so, the GSG-9 will be fully familiar with biological and chemical weapons.”
Around 8 p.m., Gerard, Tom, and Alex pulled into the Geneva airport. They parked their Saab outside the rental agency, checking it in with attendants. Gerard turned to Tom: “We’ve got a lot to talk about, but let’s get to the boarding area since they should be announcing our flight momentarily. We’ll need to pick up boarding passes.”
Gerard added, “The flight’s not crowded, and I talked my way into having us sit next to each other, as well as separate from anyone else.”
Once on the plane and bound for Frankfurt, Tom and Alex were seated together, with Tom on the aisle. Gerard was in the other aisle seat. The plane was half-empty, as Gerard had predicted, and there was no one close enough to hear their conversation.
“Your name is French,” Alex said.
“You mean, I don’t act French or even have a noticeable French accent?” Gerard said, anticipating what Alex seemed to be thinking.
