by Tim Tigner
With the preparatory injection complete, he withdrew a Peitho syringe from his pack with great satisfaction. His father’s invention was as brilliant as they come, and Victor felt a touch of pride every time he used it.
He watched the second hand on Clara’s Strawberry Shortcake clock make a full sweep before proceeding. He almost blushed while setting the needle depth for a twenty-kilo subject. All is fair in love and war, he mumbled, and plunged it into her pink flesh with a warrior’s resolve.
He felt the plunger hit bottom. Dr. Davis was now his slave.
Victor withdrew the syringe beneath a compressed cotton ball and let out a sigh of relief. He maintained pressure on the site for two minutes to ensure hemostasis. Then he wiped it clean, applied a drop of skin sealant, and the cover-up was done. By morning, the injection site would look and feel no worse than a bug bite, and given the location, Clara would probably not notice it at all.
Victor packed up his supplies as carefully as an operating-room nurse. Aside from a satiated dog and a picture taped to the wall, he would leave no trace of his midnight visit. Meticulous.
As he slid the patio door shut behind him, Victor knew he had locked up another Knyaz victory. He knew he was the best, whether his father would acknowledge it or not.
The rising moon that greeted Victor reminded him of the next problem he had to tackle. His life was full of challenges—for a decade the stream had been unending—but this next one would be different. Victor was about to engage his first active opponent. The prospect thrilled him. He looked forward to finding a clever way of dealing with Alexander Temogen Ferris.
Chapter 10
PALO ALTO, CALIFORNIA
Alex watched the familiar ponytail bobbing beneath residential streetlamps as the jogger approached his position. As was her morning ritual, Elaine hopped the split-rail fence to enter the park before it opened. Normally she would knock out five kilometers on the hilly perimeter trail before either the sun or her daughter rose. But not today.
Moving silently to the spot he’d selected for the confrontation, Alex stepped onto the trail and raised his Glock.
A few seconds later Elaine Evans, senior engineer, single mother, and the woman Frank finally came to suspect as the saboteur, rounded the bend and staggered to a stop as her hands flew up in the universal sign of surrender.
“I saw what you did to the engine last night,” Alex said, beckoning her off the trail toward a picnic table in a recessed clearing. “You’re going to tell me why.”
She was only about three yards away, close enough for him to read her expression even in the predawn light. It contained an odd mixture of shock, panic, and relief. That was much more encouraging than guile, indignation, and rage, but then she’d fooled Frank for months, so he wasn’t going to take anything at face value.
“Who are you?” she asked, her voice cracking but her gaze unwavering.
“Alex Ferris,” he said, emphasizing the last name.
“Frank’s brother?”
He nodded, and then beckoned again with the gun.
Her shoulders telegraphed relief at the revelation of his identity. She complied with his request in silence, selecting the seat farthest from the trail without regard for the cluttering twigs or droppings.
“Why did you do it?” he repeated, still standing.
“Why are we here?” she countered. “Why didn’t you just turn me in? If you really saw something.”
Alex was ready for the question and willing to go along to secure her trust and cooperation. “Since he was twelve, my brother kept a special notebook on his nightstand he called the puzzler. Most nights before bed he’d jot down a question that perplexed him, and as often as not he’d awake with an answer. After he was killed, I turned to the puzzler for clues. The whole year was full of Q and A that I’m guessing will sound pretty familiar to you, things like: Why does it crack? Temperature gradient. How to regenerate? Xenon gas. For the last two months, however, the question remained the same, and the morning epiphany was always absent, that is until the morning he died. The question repeated some sixty times was ‘Who?’ What do you think the ultimate answer was?”
Her head slumped, but after a long pause she looked up and said, “Me.”
“Elaine,” Alex confirmed. “And then last night I saw you do something that looked like it would do more than just crack or degenerate some component. It looked like something that would have had Frank writing, Why did it explode?”
Elaine’s face contorted with emotion. She repeated herself. “Why didn’t you turn me in? Why are we here?”
“Two reasons. First, because everything I’ve learned about you tells me you have neither the temperament nor the motive for industrial espionage or violent behavior. And last night aside, I’ve seen nothing to make me think you’re anything but a salt-of-the-earth Christian with a job she loves doing her best to raise a daughter on her own.”
“And the second reason?”
“You had tears in your eyes last night. Twice you put down the wrench to wipe them away. I know spies, and spies don’t cry.
“Also, I don’t particularly care about the industrial espionage. What I do care about is finding the person who killed Frank, and I think you can help. I think you know who killed him. But I also think you’re scared to death the same thing may happen to you. Or your daughter. You’re being coerced, aren’t you? They’ve threatened Kimberly?”
Elaine nodded once.
Alex waited.
“Who are you, Alex? I mean, what makes you think you can help me?”
It was a fair question, and hard to answer without knowing exactly who he was up against. “I’m not associated with any law-enforcement organization if that’s what you mean. Until about six months ago, I worked for the government in intelligence operations. Before that I was a Special Forces soldier, a Green Beret. But now I’m on my own, a PI. So on the one hand, I’m just a guy. On the other hand, most generals will tell you there’s no more powerful weapon in the world than a well-trained soldier. I’m very well trained, and I’m highly motivated, and I don’t have to play by anybody’s rules.”
Chapter 11
MOSCOW, RUSSIA
Russian Foreign Minister Sugurov found himself staring through the window of his lofty office, looking at nothing at all while nervously waiting for the crucial call. He was used to managing complex and unpredictable foreign operations. But this operation, while foreign, was entirely beyond the scope of his sanctioned duties. It was clandestine. Completely off the books. And the future of Russia depended on him and his deputy conducting it in absolute secrecy.
That was why they were using the American. Absolute secrecy.
Sugurov turned to reach for a cigarette, but his hand never made it to the pack. The distinctive ri-ri-ring of his private phone diverted his hand to the special black receiver instead. He looked at the gilded clock above his desk—a gift from Gorbachev himself to commemorate fifty years of distinguished service—and nodded. Seven p.m. in Moscow meant eight a.m. in California. Andrey was right on time.
The telltale swish came across the line as the scrambler engaged. Sugurov always found the sound comforting, although the news that followed often was not.
“I’m listening.”
“Good evening, sir. Are we secure?”
“Good morning, Andrey. Yes, we are secure.”
“It appears that all is going well. The kickoff went as scripted. There are still a lot of balls in the air, but I believe those balls will be landing as predicted.”
“Is Alex’s mind proving to be as sharp as you’d expected, his demeanor as unflappable?”
“The latter was the wild card, of course. Grief fractures some, but Alex became laser focused on finding his brother’s killer. I predict that he will be heading to Russia within a week.”
“Excellent. However, if for some reason it
begins to look like Alex will take much longer than that, you’ll need to find a way to nudge him along.”
“Is it that urgent, that . . . bad, sir?”
“Yes, I’m afraid it is. Gorbachev is losing power by the hour. Perestroika is a beautiful plan, but a long-term one. Long-term plans do not bode well for politicians in years when it’s hard to buy bread and sausage. You—and Alex—have simply got to come through. Quickly.”
“Understood.”
“One more thing. You’ve done a fine job of leading Alex to the water, Andrey, and I admire the way you got him to dive right in. But keep in mind that Alex has no idea he’s swimming in a shark tank. For that matter, even we don’t know who lies beneath or how deep the currents flow. So bear in mind that no matter how good you think Alex Ferris may be, he will be killed without your help.”
“You can count on me, sir, to the end.”
Chapter 12
PALO ALTO, CALIFORNIA
The sky was growing lighter, and woodland creatures were starting to stir, but the sun had not yet peeked over the horizon as Alex studied Elaine’s face from across the picnic table. He had taken a chance and laid it all on the line. Now it was her turn.
“They’ll kill my daughter,” she said. “They’ll kill her, just like that.” She tried to snap her fingers but there was no pop. “Please, please . . . help me.” Her last words were a whispered sob.
It was a promising start, but it was also exactly what someone trying to play him would do. Someone had fooled Frank, and now Frank was dead. Alex sat down across from her with his gun hand below the table but his finger on the trigger. “They did kill my brother, so I will finish them. And I will help you. Are you afraid someone is watching you now?”
“I . . . I don’t know. I never know. They seem to know everything. At first I thought you were one of them.”
“Who are they? Who is doing this to you, to Kimberly?”
Elaine trembled at the mention of her daughter’s name. “I don’t know. They do everything through phone calls and faxes. The voice is always the same, but I’m sure it’s disguised.”
“Tell me everything from the beginning.”
Elaine nodded slowly and then took a couple introspective breaths to compose herself. Alex waited patiently, actively listening to the woods around for sounds of disturbance while noting that a glimmer of hope had crept into Elaine’s swollen eyes.
“It started a year and a half ago, July 5, 1989 to be exact. I got a call early in the morning. The voice told me that MiMi, my mother, was not doing well, that I should go to her room. MiMi, you see, had been living with us ever since my father died. I went to see her, but she said she felt fine. Then the voice ordered me to look at her bottom. I almost hung up at that point, thinking it was just a very sick prank caller. But there was something about his voice—I didn’t dare defy.
“I found what looked like a nasty bug bite. Then the voice said Kimberly wasn’t doing well, either. I checked her and saw that she had the same bite as MiMi. ‘What is it?’ I screamed into the telephone. The answer nearly gave me a heart attack. ‘Poison,’ he replied, ‘a very deadly poison. But don’t worry; it’s also a very special poison. It only activates if I tell it to.’
“I stood there for a minute, certain that I was dreaming because something like this could not happen in real life. But of course it was happening. ‘Oh please, no, don’t do it,’ I begged. Then he said, ‘I won’t. But here’s what you’re going to do for me . . .’
“There was nothing I wouldn’t have done. You understand, don’t you?”
Alex nodded somberly, urging her to continue.
“But now, now things are escalating. As you noted, now people could get killed. It didn’t start like that. At first he just had me bring him plans and progress reports for the UE-2000.”
“You’ve met him? You know his name? You’ve seen his face?”
“No, oh no.” Elaine shook her head and then raised it from her hands. She still looked pitiful, frightened, drained, but there was also hope in the corners of her eyes. “He concocted a different elaborate setup each time there was an exchange. He usually used a kid off the street. It was like living in a spy movie. That first time he had me leave the envelope in my shopping cart at the grocery store after I’d loaded my car. As I was driving away a kid came up on a skateboard, took the envelope, and disappeared behind the store. Then a couple of days later, I got pictures in the mail, frames of a video showing me leaving the envelope. He wanted to let me know he had me in more ways than one.”
“Was that all you did, deliver plans?”
“No. After New Year’s it got much worse.”
“After New Year’s? That was when Frank took over.”
“You’re right, it was.” She grimaced and met his eye momentarily, obviously remembering that he, too, had suffered. “That was when the voice told me we were starting Phase Two.
“I tried to get out then.” She gave him a guilty look. “I told him I had done enough, that he should get someone else. He told me to forget about that. He said that I was his bitch, and that if I tried to deny him, he would kill MiMi, then and there. He said that if I tried to leave him, it would happen immediately, before I could even hang up the phone. ‘Tell me you’re my bitch! Tell me now, or it’s bye-bye MiMi.’ He seemed almost excited at the prospect.
“Of course I did as he asked. Thereafter at the end of every conversation he would ask me, ‘Who are you?’ and I would have to answer, ‘I’m your bitch.’” Elaine paused to wipe her eyes. “Silly as it may sound, his base language shook me. He was always very polite, even gentlemanly, except when he was making threats. I felt like I was dealing with a split personality, and that made it even scarier.”
“It’s a common technique. Keeps you off balance and makes you want to please the good guy. Same psychology as good cop bad cop. Sorry to interrupt. You were telling me about Phase Two.”
“Instead of just stealing secrets, he started having me sabotage the project as well, in lots of different ways. He would give me a computer virus to plant, or a list of slightly altered blueprint specifications to switch for the real ones, or a coating that I was to spray on certain parts. But this last time—” Her voice cracked. “This last time . . . well you were right. It wasn’t just sabotage. It will explode. At a demonstration. I could be responsible for, for the unthinkable.”
Alex was sold. He wanted to reach across the table and take her hands to offer comfort, but the picture of Frank’s bloodied corpse cautioned him to keep his heart in check. “We’ll figure this out. We’ll find a way to keep everyone safe. Of course, the best way for me to do that, to end this, is to catch him. Tell me, how did he give those parts to you?”
“I would usually just find them on the driver’s seat of my car, with instructions. If no parts or tools were required, he would just fax me instructions at home.”
“How did you inform him that you had completed an assignment?”
“He always just knew.”
“Have you told anyone?”
“I wanted to, longed to, but I couldn’t endanger MiMi and Kimberly. I forgot to tell you, from time to time he’d leave pictures hidden in different places in our home—in the medicine chest, on cereal boxes, even in my wallet—pictures of dead little girls with phrases typed below like, ‘Don’t even think about it,’ or ‘Mommy dialed 9-1-1.’
“What made you so sure he wasn’t bluffing?”
“The confidence in his voice for starters. The wound was real. The concept seemed plausible. He seemed perfectly willing to demonstrate on MiMi if I wanted to call his bluff. Even if he was bluffing about the poison, I figured he could just come back and kidnap Kimberly another time to get what he wanted. The only thing I could do to guarantee Kimberly’s safety was to do what he asked. Of course, as time went by, I realized that I was only renting her safety. I once asked him
when it would all be over, and he said the poison would lose its potency in ten years. At first it seemed like an unbearably long time. But once I thought about it, I realized that Kimberly will only be fourteen then, just starting her life. It gave me hope.”
“Why didn’t you have MiMi and Kimberly checked out by a doctor?”
“He warned me against that. Said the Peitho Pills were booby-trapped, that medical tampering would kill them. He specifically stressed that X-rays focused on her bottom would activate the poison and kill them immediately, right there on the table.”
“Peitho Pills?” Alex asked.
“That’s what he said. I tried looking Peitho Pill up everywhere, thinking he’d finally screwed up and I’d be able to find a cure. Eventually I concluded that it’s just a nickname. Peitho, by the way, was the Greek goddess of persuasion.”
“That’s fitting. I’ll check with a former colleague, see if the government has ever heard of it.”
Elaine nodded.
Alex changed gears. “According to my research your mother passed away four months ago.”
“Yes. But that was natural causes. She was seventy-three and diabetic.”
“You don’t think—”
“No. He called me the day after. Said he was not the cause. Told me I had to have her cremated.”
“Did you?”
“Yes. It was what she wanted anyway.”
Damn. This guy was covering all his bases. “Are you the only person at UE in his power?”
“I’m not sure, but I think not. He once said, ‘Others are taking care of that.’”
“Any idea who those others are?”
“For a while I tried to guess, looking at people’s eyes and using my intuition. I didn’t get anywhere and found the process maddening, so I put it out of my mind.”
