21
Rey drove the Tesla to the Schuylkill Expressway toward King of Prussia, picked up the Turnpike west to Harrisburg, then turned south. Soon she left the highway and continued on two-lane roads. Mitchell couldn’t believe that the only route to their destination was such a circuitous one—he guessed Rey must be taking an indirect route on purpose. The thought that she wanted to disguise the location of their destination wasn’t comforting, but he consoled himself with the thought that if she or her mysterious uncle had some nefarious plan in mind for him, they probably wouldn’t care whether or not he knew where he was going.
Mitchell periodically scanned Rey’s thoughts but couldn’t get anything useful beyond the fact that her uncle had sent her for Mitchell, and that she herself was curious to learn the reason behind her assignment.
Eventually they turned off the road onto a paved drive and drove through a metal gate, which trundled closed behind them. In about half a mile, they pulled up in front of a low metal-and-glass building that was almost indistinguishable from its surroundings. They climbed out of the car.
“Where are we?” asked Mitchell.
“This is my uncle’s home,” said Rey.
She led Mitchell across a flagstone terrace to the front door, then into a large entrance hall. She turned to the left and led him to an unobtrusive corridor.
The corridor curved to the left, the right side lined with windows. After a few yards it began a gentle rise so that when they stopped at the door at the end of the corridor, they were twenty feet above the ground. She pushed open the door and led him through.
The room was a near replica, in ambiance if not in detail, of the library in Pocopson. Thick Persian rugs covered the floors, club chairs faced a gas fireplace. Unlike the Pocopson library, however, the walls opposite the door and to his right were floor-to-ceiling windows, giving an impression of the world’s most elegant tree house. A glass door led to a balcony.
Rey gestured to doors leading off the main room. “Bedroom. Bath. Kitchen.”
“This is very nice,” said Mitchell. He walked to the windows and looked out at the wooded grounds, then turned back to Rey. “When will I get to meet your uncle?”
“Very soon. He regrets that he can’t meet you in person, but I’ll set up a videoconference for you.” Rey went to an antique table standing against one wall and touched a button. The hunting scene above the desk that Mitchell had taken to be an oil painting disappeared, replaced by a view of a room that was so similarly decorated to the one in which Mitchell stood that it appeared to be an extension of it. “He’ll be with you in just a few minutes. You don’t have to wait by the desk—you’ll hear a chime when he arrives.” She pulled a mobile phone out of her pocket. “We don’t get cell reception here, but if you need anything, you can press zero on this phone and someone will come immediately. I also need to ask you not to leave the room. My uncle would prefer that we not risk having you run into his other guests.”
He nodded. “All right.”
“Please make yourself at home.” She smiled encouragingly at him, then stepped out of the room and closed the door behind her.
He took a tour of the suite, taking a bottle of sparkling water from the well-stocked refrigerator and popping his head into the elegantly appointed bedroom.
In a few minutes, he heard the chime and went to the desk. The monitor displayed a man standing next to the chair at the doppelgänger of Mitchell’s desk.
“Mr. Pieda, I’m pleased to meet you. I’m Theo Viklund. I hope your trip here was comfortable, and that my emissary was congenial.”
“Very congenial,” said Mitchell. “Also very mysterious. I don’t really know why you’ve brought me here.”
“Yes, I certainly owe you an explanation. Please, have a seat,” said Viklund, gesturing from the monitor to Mitchell’s chair, then sitting himself.
Mitchell sat. “I understand I’m not the only person you’ve helped out,” he said.
Theo nodded. “I assume you are referring to Philip Castillo. Yes, he is here at my compound.”
“I thought he was in the hospital.”
“He was, but he can rest more comfortably here. And he’s not the only person who is enjoying refuge here.”
Mitchell raised his eyebrows. “Oh?”
“Yes. Dr. Mortensen is my guest as well.”
Mitchell tried to hide his alarm. “What is she doing here?”
“The same as you—avoiding the unwanted attentions of the authorities.”
“How do you know Louise?”
“She and I have been friends and colleagues for many years. The recent events—the attorney general’s investigation, Mr. Millard’s death, and of course her husband’s death—have obviously been traumatic for her, and I felt that she needed my support to get the situation under control. And, if I may speak frankly, to get herself under control.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“The Louise Mortensen I knew a year ago would never have left a colleague behind as she herself escaped.”
“You know what happened in Pocopson?”
“Yes.”
Mitchell realized he was perched on the edge of the chair and sat back, trying to match the cool demeanor of his host. “You can imagine I’m not too thrilled about the idea of encountering Louise after what happened.”
“I can certainly understand that, and that is why Rey asked you to stay in your suite unless you are escorted by one of my employees—just temporarily.” He smiled. “And I hope that your quarters are pleasant enough that staying there for a time will not be an inconvenience.”
“How long do you think I’ll have to stay here?”
Theo waved his hand. “I have already arranged to have the interest of the Lenape Township police directed elsewhere.”
“Really?” Mitchell hesitated. “How did you manage that?”
“Called in a favor from a friend of a friend. Of course,” he continued, “there is still the matter of the attorney general’s investigation.”
“What do you know about that?”
“I know you were responsible for the attorney general’s death.”
Mitchell was silent.
“It will be best if you stay here until I can divert the AG’s attention as well. And perhaps,” he added, “by that time I will have been able to convince you to stay for other reasons.”
“Rey mentioned your interest in forming alliances.”
“In the case of you and Mr. Castillo, absolutely. In the case of Louise, it is more a matter of a favor to an old acquaintance.”
“What could Philip Castillo possibly offer to someone like you?” Mitchell asked, then added, a little awkwardly, “For that matter, what can I offer?”
“Mr. Castillo’s involvement will come later, but I am counting on you to clear the way for that involvement.”
“Clear the way?”
“There are forces who would stand in the way of progress—some private concerns, some in government. I have a colleague who would be grateful for assistance in clearing those barriers, and I’m anxious to provide that assistance. And when I throw my support behind a cause, I always share the benefits with those others who have supported it. I believe that you, Mr. Pieda, are the man to do that.”
22
It was late afternoon and Louise and Theo were walking the paths of the grounds, enjoying an unusually balmy March day.
“Did you ever find Mitchell’s aunt’s house?” asked Louise.
“Indeed we did. And we found Mitchell as well.”
Louise cast a sideways glance at Theo. “And what is he up to?”
He glanced at his watch. “I imagine he’s resting up in his suite.”
Louise stopped and Theo turned back to her, eyes amused.
“He’s here?” she asked, her voice stony.
“Yes. And he’s not the only guest who arrived today.”
Louise’s eyes narrowed. “Ballard?”
Theo shook his head.
“No, Miss Ballard is staying at a hotel not far from her godfather’s hospital room.”
“Then who?”
“Philip Castillo.”
“He’s out of the hospital?”
“He is now. He also is resting in his quarters.”
“And what are you planning to do with them?”
“My plans for Pieda are no doubt quite similar to the plans you had for him—to eliminate individuals who are standing in my way. My plans for Castillo … I haven’t quite decided yet how those plans might play out.”
“I’ll be interested to find out what you decide,” she said somewhat peevishly, “if you care to share that information with me.”
“We’re partners, Louise. I would certainly share information on any developments that would impact you.”
They resumed walking and after a few moments Louise said, “You’re collecting quite a band of accomplices at your compound.”
“I don’t imagine they will be here long—I will likely relocate them to one of my other homes. I believe the seclusion could be appealing to you, but perhaps less so to Mr. Pieda and Mr. Castillo.”
“Gerard used to call it ‘the wilds of Western Maryland,’” said Louise. “But I imagine it provides the benefits of privacy while also being relatively close to scientific and medical institutions in Washington and Baltimore.”
“But there are so many places I could be that would be much more convenient to those cities.”
“Yes, I suppose so,” she said. “So why here?”
“Are you familiar with the attractions of the area?”
“Not specifically.”
“The Catoctin Mountains? Their reputation as a rejuvenating retreat?”
There was a long pause, then Louise said, “Camp David?”
Theo nodded.
“You set up your base here so you would be near the President?” Louise sounded as surprised as it was possible for her to sound.
Theo waved his hand dismissively. “Not the president. With a few rare exceptions, they are figureheads with no real power. It is the men and women with whom they surround themselves who are the true power brokers, and only the closest and most trusted advisors are invited to accompany the President to Camp David. If I focus on the people who are there, I know I’m not wasting my time on someone who will be of no use to me.”
“And to what use are you putting them?”
“Why, all sorts of uses. Some in support of my own goals, some in support of the goals of others who may in time prove to be able to support my own goals.”
They continued walking in silence for a minute, then Theo asked, “Do you know anything about jousting?”
Louise raised an eyebrow. “I’m afraid not.”
“It’s a fascinating study—the techniques, the strategy.”
“Strategy?”
“Absolutely. It wasn’t just a matter of two knights happening upon each other in a forest glade and hurtling toward each other pell mell. They relied on others to support their goal—squires, attendants. Each had a very specific role to play. And in the actual joust, there were so many considerations to be factored in—for example, the length of the lance. If your lance was longer than your opponent’s, then obviously you would strike him before he could strike you, but a longer lance is heavier and harder to control. You might assess your opponent as unskilled and decide that he would be likely to miss you with a point-on attack, opening the opportunity for you to use a less elegant but very effective strategy of sweeping him off his horse with a lance held perpendicular to the direction of the charge.”
“Interesting,” said Louise.
“They had quite clever ways of training young men for jousting,” continued Theo, undeterred by Louise’s lukewarm response. “They used a construction called a quintain. It was painted to look like a man—a Saracen, in fact, since this was the era of the Crusades—holding a wooden sword out to the side. The student would aim at the quintain, and if the lance hit off-center—the result, for example, of the student not heeding his instructor’s direction—the quintain would spin around and hit the unfortunate student with the wooden sword.”
“Operant conditioning,” said Louise.
Theo smiled. “Exactly. The goal of all this practice was to enable the young knight to perfect his technique to the extent of being able to use his lance to spear an iron ring suspended by a thread.”
“Don’t you mean a brass ring?”
Theo waved his hand. “The brass ring was an invention of carousel-makers in nineteenth- and twentieth-century America. The rings in the medieval jousting fields were iron.”
Louise narrowed her eyes. “Theo, I know you better than to think you are telling me this as idle conversation.”
“Quite right,” he replied. “There’s something I’d like to show you.”
He turned onto another of the paved paths, and soon Louise could see among the trees a building just as discreetly disguised in its surroundings as the main house. Its facade was windowless. Theo walked to the door and pressed a code into a keypad, then opened the door and stepped aside to allow Louise to enter.
They stepped into a lab, all antiseptic white and stainless steel, concrete floors polished to a high sheen bouncing back light from fluorescent fixtures. A man—Louise guessed him to be in his late sixties—sat on a stool at a microscope at a lab table, his hand resting on the fine focus knob. She noticed that he was missing the thumb on his left hand.
Ignoring him, Theo began to circle the room, gesturing to the equipment that lined the walls.
“Spectrophotometer … ultracentrifuge … ion torrent sequencer … high performance liquid chromatography equipment … mass spectrometer.” He neared the end of the circuit. “And remind me what this one is?” He raised his voice slightly, obviously directing the question toward the man at the lab table, although his gaze remained fixed on the piece of equipment.
“Flow cytometry cell sorter,” came the monotone reply.
“Flow cytometry cell sorter,” repeated Theo with a nod. He waved his hand toward a large Mac on a worktable. “And access to the records of every governmental and private research organization in the world, with no possibility of being traced. You are limited only by your ability to read the language in which the documentation is written—and even that is becoming less of an issue with AI translation.” Theo stepped to the man’s side. “Dr. Mortensen, I’d like to introduce you to Ed Rinnert, who will be serving as your research assistant. Dr. Rinnert was responsible for obtaining all the equipment you see here.”
The man climbed stiffly off the stool. Louise extended her hand and the man shook it, not meeting her gaze.
She glanced between the man and Theo. “Not Edmund Rinnert of New Hampshire State?”
“The very same,” said Theo cheerfully.
The man nodded, his eyes focused somewhere near her shoulder.
“Why, I recall reading your paper on LC-MS/MS based proteomics of primate germ cells—it must have been ten years ago.”
“Twelve,” said Rinnert, his voice barely audible.
“Very impressive,” said Louise. “Really groundbreaking in many ways. But I thought …” She sorted through her mental files, then located the fact that had been eluding her. “You were reported missing several years ago.”
“Three years,” said Rinnert.
Louise glanced again between the man and Theo. “You’ve been here for three years?”
Rinnert nodded.
“Edmund got in a little trouble with some falsified test results,” said Theo, “and didn’t have any family to turn to. Terrible to find yourself an isolated individual in that type of situation. I was pleased to be able to offer him refuge.” He picked up a paper from the table next to Rinnert’s microscope, glanced at it, then let it fall back onto the table. “Edmund has been working on …” He turned to Rinnert. “I know I’ll butcher it. Please describe your area of research to Dr. Mortensen.”
“Modulating embry
onic developmental pathways using engineered G-protein coupled receptors,” said Rinnert.
“Yes, quite so,” said Theo. “There were some significant findings in the first year, but lately it’s been slow going. I think we’ll turn our attention elsewhere for the moment. Do you concur, Edmund?”
Rinnert nodded.
Theo turned to Louise. “I’m sure Dr. Rinnert will relish having the opportunity to work with you, Dr. Mortensen—to enjoy that collegial interaction that, admittedly, has been missing in the last few years.”
“Relish” was not a word Louise would have chosen to apply to the man who stood before her. She had attended a talk given by Edmund Rinnert a year or two before he disappeared, and she recalled him as a jovial, enthusiastic presenter, given to dramatic hand gestures. She didn’t recall noticing his missing thumb at the talk.
“It will be a pleasure to work with you,” she said to him.
“Likewise.”
“I’d like you to work with Rinnert to create more of the Rohypnol drug you gave to Mr. Pieda’s targets,” said Theo, “and the steroid drug you used to enhance Mr. Pieda’s ability to cause strokes.”
Louise shot a look at Rinnert.
“Don’t worry,” said Theo. “Edmund is the soul of discretion. There’s nothing that we’re working on here that I wouldn’t feel completely comfortable discussing in front of him.”
Rinnert said nothing.
“What will you need to formulate those?” Theo asked Louise.
Louise listed the requirements.
Theo looked to Rinnert. “Anything we’re missing?”
Rinnert shook his head.
“It appears we’re in luck,” said Theo, rubbing his hands together. “I’d say no time like the present. Louise, would you mind terribly starting on that right away? I believe I may have an opportunity to put one of those drugs to use in short order.”
After a moment, Louise replied. “Yes, all right.”
“Should you need anything, you know how to get in touch with Maja.” He turned toward the door, then turned back to her. “And Louise, for understandable reasons, we can’t have you wandering the grounds with the other guests who are at the house. Please let Maja know when you’re ready to go back to your suite and she’ll accompany you. Just a precaution against any unplanned encounters.”
The Iron Ring Page 9
