Ring of Lies

by Roni Dunevich

  “Thank God the Cube hasn’t been breached,” she muttered to herself.

  The doors opened. The elevator was empty. They descended to the cellar; the Fort Knox of the orchid world.

  Standing close to her, he got a whiff of an unusual mysterious perfume on her neck.

  The elevator came to a stop. First out was the Sig Sauer, followed by Alex and Orchidea.

  Harsh neon lighting illuminated a space that hummed with the chilly sound of compressors. Six long white refrigeration units, measuring about six feet by four feet, occupied the smooth concrete floor. The heavy lids were made of reinforced glass.

  Orchidea went to one of the units. Inside were tall piles of petri dishes. Lined up beside them, as if on parade, were hundreds of glass jars with green seedlings.

  She lifted the lid and let out a shriek.

  “The inhalers are gone!”

  Alex hurried over. The refrigerator was filled to the top, save for one empty rectangular space the size of a laptop. How was that possible? They’d seen no sign of a break-in.

  “Where’s the vaccine?” he asked.

  “They took everything!”

  “Can you tell whether the thief released the virus here?”

  Her face grew somber. “No.”

  “Who has access?”

  “The inhalers were in a reinforced case.”

  “Orchidea, who has access?”

  “Besides me?”

  “Yes!”

  “Justus and Reuven.”

  “Does the scanner keep a record of everyone who enters?”

  “Just the last three people to enter.”

  “Let’s go upstairs.”

  He grabbed her hand. The elevator was confining. Alex suddenly imagined a carnivorous plant that attracted its prey with an intoxicating perfume.

  They went outside into the relentless rain. Orchidea worked the control panel. A line of text appeared on the screen.

  Ice ran through his veins. He read it over and over. On the blue background, the black letters read:

  11:31 Justus Erlichmann. Duration: 02:13 minutes.

  THE ORCHID FARM, EAST OF LYON | 11:58

  “You said it recorded the last three entries. Who was here before him?”

  She pressed a button.

  There was no end to the surprises.

  She cringed.

  “What were you doing in the cellar sixteen minutes before you met me at the café?” Alex asked.

  “What?”

  “You were late, Orchidea. I checked my watch. What were you doing in the cellar?”

  “I just wanted to make sure everything was okay.”

  “You mean you didn’t know that everything was okay?”

  “The case was where it was supposed to be. I opened it. It was all there: six inhalers with the virus, and three with the vaccine.”

  “All three of you use the same code?”

  “No. Each iris has to be matched with its own code. Keying in the wrong number twice locks the Cube for fifty minutes.”

  “So if someone was using Justus’s eyeball, he also needed Justus’s code?”

  There was a look of repulsion on her face. She nodded.

  “If it was Justus himself, why would he pretend to be Florence to get into the farm?” she asked.

  “If Justus were alive, he’d have used his own code at the gate and then come for the inhalers,” Alex said.

  Her eyes darted wildly.

  “Do the guards know that Justus is dead?” he asked.

  “Of course. They all know.”

  “So he couldn’t use his own identity to get in without alerting security. He put on a ski mask, came in as Florence, and then used his real identity to enter the Cube. And he didn’t leave any witnesses. He took out everyone who saw his face, grabbed the case, and ran.”

  “Do you really believe that?”

  “Do any other roads lead to the farm?”

  “No.”

  “Any other ways to get out?”

  “No.”

  “We didn’t pass any cars on the way in. Whoever broke in could only have gotten away on an off-road motorcycle or a quad.”

  “Or a helicopter,” she said.

  “We would have heard it.”

  Leaving her there, he ran through the drenching rain to the open grass in the center of the farm. Behind a large greenhouse he found a man sprawled on the ground, a gunshot wound in his neck. His ski mask was torn apart and his face was slashed.

  Alex entered the greenhouse. At the far end was a black projection screen, about twenty feet wide, that was dotted with a random array of tiny holes. A ball machine stood in front of it, surrounded by dozens of lime-colored tennis balls.

  A petite woman was lying on the floor in a pool of blood, a gun just out of reach of her hand. Her face was hidden by a black ski mask, revealing only a pair of lifeless eyes staring up at him.

  “The Estonian Nibelung, Tallinn,” he heard behind him.

  He spun around, ready to fire.

  Orchidea froze.

  “There’s nothing here,” he said, heading for the door. He ran back across the farm and past the guard post, and exited through the gate. The fresh tire tracks made by the Land Cruiser were clearly visible. But he was looking for something else. She caught up to him, her hair dripping and her eyes blazing with fury.

  Beyond the gate he found a single track, about six inches wide.

  “We have to catch him!” he shouted.

  They ran to the SUV. “I’ll drive,” Orchidea said.

  Raising a screen of mud, they sped through the gate onto the perimeter road and followed the deep track. At the corner of the front wall, Orchidea slammed on the brakes, throwing Alex forward. She continued in the wake of the fresh tire track as it wound its way down the hill. Branches struck the side mirrors of the Land Cruiser on the narrow path. She stopped short inches in front of a tree trunk, reversed, and edged the SUV around it. The forest grew increasingly dense the farther in they went. When she opened her window to get a better view, a sharp branch hit her shoulder. Orchidea rode the Land Cruiser like a wild horse.

  “Stop!”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Stop!”

  She put the car in neutral. The diesel engine growled. Through the rain beating down on the trees, they heard the rumbling of a motorcycle.

  “I know where it’s coming from!” she said.

  Skidding through the mud, the SUV rubbed up against one tree after another, periodically rising in the air and landing heavily. Alex grunted as Orchidea navigated the sea of trees. Suddenly, something streaked through the thick forest like a flash of lightning. Alex aimed and fired off three quick rounds. The third hit a nearby trunk, sending chips of bark flying in their direction.

  “I saw him,” she cried, turning sharply in an effort to avoid a large, crooked tree. The bumper crushed against it, but she didn’t slow down until the road became totally impassable. She hit the brake and punched the steering wheel over and over, swearing ferociously. Finally, she stared out at the dark forest, panting heavily.

  She shook her head in frustration. “We were so close . . .”

  “Where can he go from here?”

  “Anywhere.”

  THE ORCHID FARM, EAST OF LYON | 12:32

  The tree trunks closed in on them like iron bars. Inside the SUV, the smell of gunpowder hung in the air. Everything was crystal clear, cold, and unforgiving. They returned to the Orchid Farm. It reminded Alex of an empty operating room after an unsuccessful surgery: the dead patient hastily covered by a sheet and the remains of the procedure left behind on the floor—used syringes, bloody gauze, discarded gloves.

  He reported the break-in and the theft of the inhalers to Reuven.

  “It looks like the work of Justus,” he concluded. He didn’t need to be present in the chief’s office to know that the next sounds he heard were a bottle being opened, whiskey being poured, and a long swallow.

  “Are you stil
l there?” Alex asked.

  A glass hit something hard and shattered. Reuven Hetz didn’t utter a word before hanging up.

  Sammy Zengot, on the other hand, was eager to help. He promised to send a team from Brussels right away to keep watch over the compromised Orchid Farm.

  “What’s there?” Zengot asked.

  “Nothing anymore,” Alex answered before hanging up.

  Orchidea stopped the SUV just inside the gate. She turned off the windshield wipers, and the window was immediately covered by a sheet of water.

  “Am I a suspect?” she asked.

  “What does that matter now?”

  A streak of lightning lit up the interior of the car, revealing the hopeless expression on her face. She examined her fingernails and glanced at the dashboard before saying with a trembling chin, “I’ll do anything to get the inhalers back. Anything.”

  Alex nodded. In his mind, the pieces were already falling into place.

  Reuven called.

  “What do we know?” Evidently he was buzzed.

  Alex opened the door and went out into the rain, moving away from the SUV. “A few minutes before Orchidea left the farm to meet me, she went down to the cellar of the Cube. She claims she just wanted to make sure everything was all right.”

  “Are you positive it was Justus?”

  “Someone got into the Cube by holding Justus’s eye up to the scanner and keying in a code that only he knew.”

  A long swallow.

  “Don’t hang up, Reuven.”

  Reuven grumbled and then exhaled loudly. “I have an urgent meeting with the PM. He’s going to want to hear that we’re looking under every rock in Europe to get the inhalers back. What should I tell him?”

  Alex didn’t have a chance to answer before Reuven continued his rant. “The Hochstadt-Lancet virus cannot fall into enemy hands!” he shouted. “We don’t have vaccines for the whole population. It’d take months, maybe even years, to make enough. Hundreds of thousands of Israelis could die. Maybe a million, or more.”

  “It’s no good running around like a chicken without a head just to impress the PM,” Alex said.

  He heard the loud thud of Reuven’s palm striking his desk. Ignoring it, he went on. “Europe has a million train stations, airports, and roads. We don’t have the manpower to cover them all. Or the time.”

  “So what do you suggest?” Reuven said.

  “I don’t think the virus is going to be sold on the open market. In my opinion, whoever took it is planning to save it for a rainy day. We have to employ the same tactic Zvi Malkin used to catch Adolf Eichmann. Instead of trying to track him down, we set traps for him in the places he’s likely to go. It’ll save manpower and reduce the risk of exposure. We have to find out who the Syrians are working with. Then we’ll know where to apply pressure to prevent the release of the virus.”

  “So what do I tell the PM?” Reuven made no effort to conceal his desperation.

  “The truth. The inhalers were stolen by the Syrians and their German partner. We’re vulnerable. We have to make the Syrians understand that if they use the virus against us, we’ll destroy them.”

  “Through diplomatic channels?” Reuven interjected.

  “We don’t have time for that.”

  “So how?”

  “We show the Syrians we mean business. Action, not talk.”

  Reuven let out a sigh. “Are you okay, Alex?”

  Alex didn’t fall into the trap. The chief’s question didn’t come from a sudden attack of good manners or concern. He was simply embarrassed.

  “Put the tactical squad on alert,” Alex said. “We have to leave our options open.”

  “What else?”

  “We need someone in Damascus tomorrow.”

  “I already told you, the PM won’t allow it.”

  “To hell with the PM. He doesn’t have to know. He’s replaceable, just like you and me. The country isn’t.”

  “He’ll have my balls.”

  Alex hung up.

  Dripping wet, he returned to the Land Cruiser. The rain drummed its fingers on the roof.

  “Whoever broke into the farm needed Nibelung eyes,” Orchidea said. “He wanted us to think he was targeting the Nibelungs, but he was really after the virus. Killing the Nibelungs was just the first stage, the foreplay.”

  “Makes sense. But if that’s what Justus wanted, he’d have had no trouble getting into the farm, going down to the cellar, and taking whatever he liked. He owns the place. Who would have known?” he said.

  “Sooner or later I’d have found out, but it wasn’t Justus,” Orchidea said. “He wasn’t like that.”

  She went to the café every morning. Somebody could have been watching, waiting for her to leave the farm. He’d know exactly how much time he had.

  “There’s something you ought to know,” Alex said quietly.

  It seemed that her thoughts were already racing ahead. She blinked and caught her bottom lip between her teeth. “What?”

  “Justus donated large sums of money to a neo-Nazi organization in Germany.”

  “That’s ridiculous!”

  “Almost six million euros. He did it for years.”

  “I don’t want to hear it.”

  “You’re blinded.”

  “Really?”

  “By love.”

  Her face turned bright red. “You know nothing.”

  THE ORCHID FARM, EAST OF LYON | 13:18

  “I’m sorry if I offended you,” Alex said, breaking the silence in the car.

  Orchidea stopped the Land Cruiser on the gravel path that ran down the middle of the farm and looked him straight in the eye. “You did,” she said.

  “I need answers. I leaned on you too hard. It’s been a hard couple of days.”

  “I understand, but Justus is gone. I don’t know what Justus you met, but the man I knew wasn’t capable of such horrible things,” she said, fighting back tears.

  “Maybe.”

  “Not maybe. Absolutely.”

  “Isn’t it possible you put your trust in the wrong man, that Justus is behind everything that’s been going on?”

  “Why? What would he gain from it?”

  Alex didn’t answer. She took her foot off the brake, and the SUV edged forward along the path.

  “I’ve given the best years of my life to the Ring and the Hothouse and the Orchid Farm. Then catastrophe strikes and you show up out of nowhere and you’re suspicious of me and you make accusations against Justus. And you won’t even let me in on what you’re thinking. You’re a brute.”

  Her face twisted in a grimace as she swerved to avoid a body sprawled on the path.

  “You went into the Cube just before you came to meet me. You were late. Then you ordered chocolate cake to draw our meeting out. It’s the perfect alibi. At that very moment, someone was breaking into the farm and knew exactly what to do and where to go. So, yes, Orchidea, it definitely looks suspicious.”

  Her face grew grim.

  THE ORCHID FARM, EAST OF LYON | 13:23

  Alex’s phone vibrated and the screen lit up.

  Outside the SUV, the fucking rain wasn’t letting up. His clothes were drenched. A sudden gust of wind sent a chill through him. He felt like he was in a car wash. What he wanted most of all was to snuggle under a thick blanket in a warm bed.

  Behind him, the door of the SUV opened and closed. Alex felt a hand on his shoulder and swiveled around. Orchidea motioned for him to follow her.

  “What’s up?” he asked.

  She led him to a windowless concrete building with a reinforced door and keyed in a code on a tiny panel. A buzzer sounded softly.

  She pushed the door open and smiled. “It’s dry inside. I’ll wait out here.”

  The door closed behind him. He was standing in a small antechamber in front of a second door. He pushed it open. The space was dark and humid, and the air was thick with intoxicating fruity fragrances, reminding him of the perfume floor in a classy dep
artment store. Life buzzed around him. Something flitted across his cheek, humming faintly like a power line. Insects swarmed around him, and glowworms twinkled in the dark.

  “I’m in the prime minister’s office, Alex,” Reuven announced. “You’re on speaker.”

  This was his moment. He had nothing more to lose. “Tomorrow morning in Damascus. The head of the Mukhabarat is meeting the man the Syrians are collaborating with. They call him the Israelite. He’s responsible for the assault on the Ring and the theft of the virus. We have to be there.”

  “Alex, I expected you to be more responsible,” Reuven scolded. “Forget your personal interest in Damascus. That’s not what matters now.”

  “The answers are there.”

  “Bullshit!” Reuven cut in.

  “If we have people in place, we’ll be able to find out where the virus is and what happened to the Nibelungs.”

  “No, we won’t!” Reuven barked. “You only want to go because of Jane.”

  “Who’s Jane?” the prime minister asked.

  “Jane Thompson,” Reuven said quickly, “the London Nibelung. She disappeared in Barcelona last night.”

  Alex paced impatiently back and forth on the dark walkway. A light mist sprayed down on him from above. A buzzing insect passed too close to his ear, making him shiver. He was standing in water.

  “What’s your connection to Jane Thompson?” the prime minister asked Alex.

  “She’s his lover,” Reuven said before Alex could answer. “That’s not a good enough reason to risk the lives of our people on a fool’s errand in Damascus.”

  “Is he right?” the prime minister asked.

  “She isn’t my lover, she’s a good friend. And, yes, among other things, I’d like to find out what happened to her, but it’s more important to find the guilty parties, make them pay, and recover the virus. The Syrians are involved, but they’re not the ones getting their hands dirty. The Nibelungs have covered for us on hundreds of operations; they’re our own flesh and blood. At the very least, Israel owes it to them to make an effort.”

  Standing in dripping clothes, Alex felt the full weight of the fatigue that had been building for months.