Harvey Bennett Mysteries Box Set 3

by Nick Thacker

  Dietrich forced a brief smile, and then his head fell back to his computer screen. Lars wasn't sure what the man was currently working on, but he had a feeling it was some sort of spreadsheet, some number-crunching program that would somehow keep all of this running.

  Lars successfully pushed back the anxiety and regained his composure. If there was anyone in the world he could trust with his insecurities, it was Dietrich. They shared so much — everything, really. But in the office especially, he preferred to keep his emotions in check. It was a safer route to success. There was enough to worry about without his personal feelings being laid bare.

  He smiled at his assistant, then turned to leave.

  4

  Dietrich

  Roger Dietrich felt the warmth slide over him as he sat still in his office chair. Lars always had that effect on him. He’d been the man’s assistant for over a decade, first meeting the younger Lars as he finished his graduate degree in Animal Behavioral Science back in France. Dietrich, a German transplant, had been working toward an MBA at the same time, and the two had found each other in the university’s library.

  It had taken more courage than Roger had thought possible to actually get up and walk the expanse of the library’s open area to introduce himself. He’d imagined every eye in the room staring at him the entire time. Judging.

  Their relationship grew slowly from that point, based on mutual respect for one another as well as a mutual fear for what it all meant. They were careful, trusting but hesitant, until one day they looked back and they found they had a decade together under their belts.

  Dietrich smiled and then focused again on his work. Lars’ was the typical type-A personality, the stereotypical entrepreneur — full of vision, dreams, and strategies, but desperately in need of the calmer, more thorough presence close at hand to keep them balanced. Roger Dietrich was like Lars Tennyson’s hands — the younger man had the mind for the job, but Dietrich was the worker who saw them to fruition.

  And they made an incredible team. Able to finish one another’s thoughts, they understood the ultimate goal here and believed in the project. Roger was committed to Lars’ success, as he knew his partner’s success meant his own. They were both driven, but their individual accomplishments were much better enjoyed together.

  Roger minimized the spreadsheet he’d been working on — a hypothetical budget for the next quarter, which wouldn’t be due for another three weeks — and opened his email client. Lars was on a tear, and he wouldn’t stop until Roger had proven to him that things were still under control.

  Half of Roger’s job was planning, building projected income and expense calculations, and generally managing the staff and medical professionals they employed in the new division.

  The other half of his job was corralling Lars. Like any visionary leader, Lars could get his head in the clouds — or the sand — and need a gentle hand to pull them back to reality. Roger wasn’t sure if this situation was similar, but he’d find out.

  He began typing an email when his phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket. Dr. Lucio Canavero. Canavero was the head of medical research in the wing, and a world-renowned physician and surgeon.

  “This is Dietrich.”

  “Have you spoken with Mr. Tennyson?”

  "Regarding?" Dietrich asked. He never liked to play his hand too early. Perhaps this was nothing more than a check-in, and therefore there would be no need to alarm the caller.

  “I was just on the phone with him, trying to explain to him that we are not going to be able to hit our target deadline.”

  “Ah, yes,” Dietrich said. “This is concerning. Mr. Tennyson was just in here, asking me to verify —“

  “I am verifying it now,” the doctor said, his voice alarmed and frantic. “We are not going to be able to hit it.”

  “And for what reason? Mr. Tennyson would like to know. We were under the impression that your team was proceeding quickly, moving through the phases as planned.”

  "But, there has been an incident."

  Dietrich’s blood ran cold. In their line of work, ‘an incident’ never meant something good. He gripped the phone tighter and lowered his voice. “What sort of incident, Canavero? Lars said he spoke with you, and that you were choosing to hesitate on the next phase. Has the surgery not gone according to plan?”

  There was a pause. “The surgery has proceeded as we have planned.”

  “That’s excellent news.”

  “Fine, but the post-surgery rehabilitation has… stalled.”

  Dietrich frowned. “Stalled? In what way?”

  “Well, it appears the subject has stopped responding to outside stimulus.”

  “How — how is that even possible? The subject is no longer alive?”

  “Well, yes. The subject is alive, but… we cannot get a reading on — hold on.”

  Dietrich sighed. If there was anything he and Lars had in common, it was their impatience. He rolled his eyes as he waited for the doctor to return.

  He did, breathless. “Dietrich — the subject — appears… is moving. Responding to —“

  “Wait, slow down. You’re cutting out.” Dietrich tried to push the volume controls on the side of the phone. It didn’t help.

  “Response — status unknown. Subject appears to be — subject…”

  Another pause, but it sounded as though Dr. Canavero was still on the other end, still breathing heavily. Still —

  There was a crashing sound. Was it just in the phone? Was it somewhere upstairs?

  “Dr. Cana — Dr. Canavero, can you hear me? What happened —“

  “Code Four! I repeat, Code Four,” the man’s voice screamed into the phone. It wasn’t the doctor’s voice. It wasn’t a voice Dietrich recognized.

  He listened on, waiting for some semblance of normalcy to return.

  It never did.

  He heard another crash, followed by a deep, heavy thud. It was directly above him. The drop ceiling in the office shook, and he wondered what sort of force it would take to shudder the concrete slabs in-between each floor.

  He stood up, listening partly to the phone’s speaker but also to the world around him. He and Lars shared the double office space in the back corner near the southeastern side of the building. Directly above them were the labs, the containment cells, the —

  No.

  There was no way this could be happening. No way an actual Code Four had just been announced.

  And then he heard it. It started on the floor above him, the deep thudding sound increasing in speed and volume. Then the sound a few seconds after, this one unmistakable.

  Alarm klaxons.

  Again, on the floor directly above him, then down through the stairwells and finally throughout the entire building, including the first-floor offices and conference rooms where Lars and Dietrich and the other staffers worked.

  They blared through tiny hidden speakers, the noise far louder than Dietrich would have guessed. He wondered if Lars had left yet. He would know soon, regardless. The man’s phone would alert him to the Code Four and ask for permission for the next protocol.

  Lars would not give that permission. He needed this — they needed this. They hadn’t fully lost control. Not yet. Lars would try to stop it, to regain their control over the situation. Whether it would work or not remained to be seen. Lars would expect to hear from Dietrich within minutes.

  But Dietrich had another call to make first. One that would potentially change the narrative going forward.

  Dietrich slammed his computer shut and tossed it into the leather shoulder bag. He threw it over his shoulder as he hung up the call with Canavero and started another, all with one hand.

  He was running before the bag had settled at his side.

  5

  Ben

  “She’s an activist. Or was — I’m not sure,” Julie began.

  Ben was seated in the new section of their cabin, an entire wing that completely destroyed the idea of a 'cabin' altogethe
r. Two levels, a meeting room, an entire communications space full of satellite imaging and GPS technology, as well as myriad computer parts Ben hardly understood, and rooms enough for the CSO as a whole and guests.

  Reggie, Ben’s best friend, was on one of the screens, joining the meeting via remote connection from wherever he was in the world. When he was in town, he usually stayed at Ben’s and Julie’s, in one of the CSO rooms, and had been turning the main conference room Mr. E had installed into a makeshift ‘man cave,’ complete with pool table, beer fridge, and gaming consoles.

  “I thought her husband was the activist?” Reggie asked.

  “He was — they both were. Eliza and her husband, Jakob Earnhardt, were some sort of animal rights activists working to bring more scrutiny to European companies. Her husband was a professional lobbyist as well.”

  “One of those guys who’s paid to get Congress to do what companies want?” Ben asked.

  “Yeah, but he operated in Europe.”

  “Sounds like a conflict of interest,” Reggie added.

  “Well,” Julie explained, “the way she said it, it made it seem like her husband was working on the same side as their animal rights friends — trying to lobby local and regional governments and corporations to tighten restrictions and provide more transparency to their research.”

  “On animals.”

  “Yeah, I think.”

  “And her husband’s dead?” Ben asked.

  “He died in a climbing accident a year ago.”

  "So, she wants us to go to Switzerland and help her nab this company?" Reggie asked.

  Mrs. E piped in from another monitor. “What company is this, again?”

  “Well, as far as I can tell, it doesn’t exist. My searches pull up a few news and web references, but there’s nothing substantive. Best guess is it’s just a small division of a larger company, and they want to keep their investments separate.”

  "Well, if they're torturing animals, I wouldn't doubt it," Reggie said.

  “We don’t know they are,” Julie said, “but Eliza believes they’re doing something they’re not supposed to.”

  “And why call us?” Ben asked. “The CSO is about as far away as you can get from on-the-ground help. Can’t she call the local authorities?”

  “She has already,” Julie said. “They told her there’s an ‘ongoing investigation.’”

  “Which just means there’s a single-page form filled out in the middle of someone’s pile on their desk at the precinct,” Ben said.

  “Exactly,” Julie said.

  “What about something higher up?” Reggie asked. “Something at the state or national level? This is Switzerland, after all — I would think a country with a high enough respect for its own internal affairs would want to know what’s going on inside it.”

  Julie shrugged. "I asked her that, too. Eliza just said she's tried all the options she has access to. She feels there could even be corruption at that level, or — and this is where she mentioned her husband's line of work — it could be as simple as money changing into the right hands. Enough of it and the hand chooses to ignore what the other's doing."

  "That's a good way to put it," Ben said. He could think of at least three scenarios where they'd run into that exact sort of sabotage; governments and corporations and individuals escaping justice simply by having enough money to pay off whoever got too close.

  “Okay,” Reggie said. “It definitely sounds like something I’d be interested in checking out, but the timing ain’t great. I’m not sure I can get away from what I’m doing down here.”

  “What are you doing?” Ben asked.

  Reggie glanced off-screen. “Well, I, uh… let’s just say it involves a girl.”

  Ben smiled, then nodded. His friend had had no flings or girlfriends since he’d known him besides the relationship he was currently in. He’d been married before, long before Ben had met him, so he knew Reggie was a bit standoffish toward serious relationships.

  This woman, however, was quickly becoming someone they all assumed would last in his life. Dr. Sarah Lindgren, a renowned anthropologist and daughter of famous archeologist Dr. Graham Lindgren, was a Swedish-Jamaican American who had helped the CSO on and off for the past few missions. She was busy with her teaching and speaking schedule, but she had come to Ben and Julie’s wedding and was currently in the states.

  After publishing a book with their new friend, Victoria Reyes, Sarah Lindgren was busy with speaking engagements and university book signings.

  Ben hadn’t realized that she and Reggie were together, but it made sense. After their debacle in Peru, the CSO had agreed to a well-deserved two months’ vacation, barring any life-threatening attacks or nuclear war.

  He could have talked Reggie into returning to work and cut his vacation short, but Ben knew the man needed time with Sarah as well — and besides, what Eliza was describing simply didn’t seem like the sort of mission that required all hands on deck.

  “That’s fine, brother,” Ben said, winking at the screen. “We’ll be alright without you. Julie and Mrs. E can stay here and offer communication support as needed, and I can fly over and meet with her.”

  “You want to go alone?” Julie asked.

  “No, but it doesn’t make sense to have us all come out. If we want to investigate further and need more help, we can always get you a ticket, too.”

  The CSO had been formed to tackle problems brought to them by anyone who needed to find a good solution to something that couldn’t be solved through ‘normal’ channels. Normal, in this case, typically meant finding things that had been lost, or hunting down organizations and groups that the governments wanted to have no part of. Sometimes it was finding lost treasure, and sometimes it was preventing someone from doing something that would have devastating consequences.

  Julie held up her hands. “Fine by me — I’m more than happy to sit behind a computer screen for a bit and let you have all the fun.”

  Ben smiled at his new wife. ”Yeah, ‘fun’ is exactly how I’d describe what we’ve been through.”

  Mrs. E jumped back into the conversation. “I will speak to my husband about tickets, and get them set up for you. Expect an itinerary by the end of the day today, and a flight sometime tomorrow afternoon. Will that be enough time to get ready?”

  “Not sure there’s anything to get ready,” Ben said. “I’m just meeting with Eliza, and we’ll probably go try to knock on some doors or something.”

  “Still,” Mrs. E continued. “I would like to get you some sort of support in the field.”

  “You talking the human resources-type support or the bang bang-type?”

  Mrs. E smiled onscreen, her shaved head tightened and pulled back behind her eyes. “Both, perhaps.”

  “Sounds good,” Ben said. “All right, let’s roll.”

  6

  Elias

  The morning was not turning out to be as easy as he’d hoped. Elias Ziegler checked his rifle out of habit, the third time this hour. He ran a full diagnostic, even wishing he’d brought along his field mat for cleaning. He usually preferred German-made guns and pistols like Heckler and Koch and Mauser, but that was mostly out of loyalty to his country as well as his training during his time with GSG-9.

  The Grenzschutzgruppe 9 der Bundespolizei, or the Border Protection Group 9 of the Federal Police, was an elite tactical unit of the German Federal Police, created after the devastating events of the Munich Olympics in 1972. Elias had joined the unit after his military career at 35, then served an additional ten years, rising in rank as he served in the unit’s Regular Operations group.

  After retirement, he'd moved around Europe a bit, finally settling in a one-bedroom apartment in France. He spent little time there, opting instead for a semi-nomadic lifestyle running around Europe on work-for-hire missions and odd jobs that required a special sort of skill set.

  That skill set was what he’d been hired for today, and it was going to be a bust unless he could
lengthen the contract. His orders were simple: hunt big game in the foothills of this region, and don’t come back empty-handed. The trouble was that there really was no big game in this region — ibex, chamois, red deer. Sometimes there were reports of brown bears wandering into the region, but these were unfounded and mostly around the borders.

  He’d pressed the company for more details, but they were unsurprisingly vague. He’d assumed they needed some sort of “animal control” service, and that assumption had all but been proven accurate when he realized he wouldn’t have to prove his hunting license and pay the annual fees for hunting. The canton rules here had even been waived — or at least, that’s what they’d told him.

  Elias sighed and checked his rifle again, then decided to pack up and head back to the tavern. The weather was getting warmer this time of year, but the springtime evenings in the foothills of Switzerland were chilly to the point of his wanting to call it early.

  He rummaged around in his pack, discovering that he’d already eaten the last of his protein bars, then decided he would, in fact, be heading back early. He’d call the company tomorrow morning and complain that they hadn’t given him enough information — simply walking around their land and looking for animals to shoot was a terrible hunting strategy. He needed more. He needed to know what tracks to follow, what droppings to examine, what eating habits and water needs they’d have.

  Elias had come from a long line of hunters. His father and grandfather had taught him and his brothers how to hunt, and even the Ziegler women had shown a proficiency for handling weapons. The war had ravaged his homeland as well as his family history, and it had taken him a good bit of political maneuvering and distancing from his family tree to get back into the good graces of his countrymen after WWII. His father had died fighting for the wrong side, and thankfully Elias had fallen far from the tree when it came to political leanings.