‘Yes of course I recall this. His death was a great shock to his many colleagues. Indeed, he had a substantial number of them around the world. It was one colleague in particular I was trying to get your opinion on, Dr. Martin Philips?’
‘Ah yes! Dr. Philips, I was introduced to him at a conference in Geneva some time ago. He was a junior partner in Karl’s research company. I can’t say I know him very well.’ He turned the conversation back on Obolensky.
‘What may I ask is your connection with Dr. Philips?’
‘Dr. Philips travelled to Moscow last week to discuss some business with me. I was hoping to get some background on him first before I met him. ‘
‘Sorry I couldn’t return your call sooner. I only got back to my office this morning.’
‘No problem Dr. Parker. Indeed, you already have been helpful in confirming he was a partner in Karl’s firm.’
‘Yes! I can tell you he is English, emigrated to the United States many years ago. He was formally Professor of Molecular Microbiology at a prominent American University until he joined Karl about four years ago.’
‘Excellent!’ exclaimed Obolensky who seemed to be sufficiently satisfied with Parker’s scant details.
‘May I ask you Professor if Dr. Philips mentioned where he was now based?’
‘Yes! He said he was taking some time out to get over Karl’s death and after the unfortunate circumstances of the fire at the Research facility in Zurich. I believe he mentioned he was staying somewhere in the South of France.’
‘Halleluiah! Thought Parker. ‘I would have gladly travelled to the ends of the earth to receive that little nugget of information.’
48
Bill Johnson was a creature of habit, a fact that had not gone un-noticed by Lazare. He copped onto this trait in Johnson early on in their business relationship, which Lazare had used to his advantage many times in the past. He knew the night before every important meeting Johnson would return to his office sometime after 8:00 pm and work until mid-night in preparation for the following day. Tonight, would be no exception.
Two men arrived in a dark colored car and parked across the street from Cordalis - MC’s offices. They got out, crossed the street and went to the rear of the building. They donned balaclavas and opened a fire escape door leading down to the underground car park. From there they took the stairs to the second floor. Emerging from the fire escape door they cautiously walked along the corridor to the lifts. The building was empty. The chances of bumping into anybody at this time of night were slim. One of the men knew where the CCTV cameras were located and knew how to avoid them. They took the elevator to the 40th floor and walked swiftly along the main corridor stopping outside an office. One of the men pulled a key from his pocket before entering.
Johnson being a workaholic arrived at the main entrance to the office complex at exactly 8:00pm. He saluted the security man at the desk and took the elevator to the 40th floor. He stopped briefly outside his office, fumbled with his keys before opening the door. As he placed his finger on the light switch just inside the door, he could make out a dark figure sitting at his desk faintly illuminated by the glare from the desk top screen. Johnson froze. The hair stood up on the back of his neck while he stood there motionless, staring at the strange intruder. ‘Do I run and call security or will I switch on the lights.’ Johnson made a fateful decision to stand his ground and switch on the lights.
Noticing the man at his desk was wearing a Balaclava, Johnson instinctively walked towards the figure stopping about six feet away.
‘Who the fuck are you? What are you doing at my desk on my computer asshole?’ roared Johnson.
‘I’m typing your suicide letter mothafucka,’ came the cold, chilling response.
‘I’m calling security,’ shouted the SVP and moved towards a phone on a nearby table. But before he could lift the receiver, he was grabbed from behind by Colgo who had been standing behind the open door. Johnson was quickly wrestled to the floor and pinned there while the man from behind the desk jumped up, grabbed a heavy metal stool and hurled it at the center window pane. A loud shattering sound filled the room when the heavy stool hit the window, smashing the glass into a million shards before it fell forty floors, landing on the hood of a taxi cruising on the street below.
The Balaclava man pulled off his head gear to reveal himself as Henri Lazare. This gave him greater sadistic pleasure letting Johnson know exactly who was about to kill him. There had been no time to employ third parties to do the dirty work this time. The board meeting was the following morning and Johnson had to be taken out that night.
‘What are you going to do to me,’ screamed Johnson in utter terror glaring up at Lazare and the broken window while forced to lie on the floor.
‘Fuck you out the window ass hole.’
Colgo dragged Johnson up and both men bundled him towards the broken window. Johnson put up a fierce struggle but being more than fifty pounds lighter than Colgo, he was easily over powered. He vainly grasped the side of the window frame as both men forced him through the jagged opening. Johnson’s left hand was pumping blood while sharp pieces of glass sticking out of the window frame cut into his flesh. His legs were now dangling free outside the window as he desperately tried to hang on with his right arm wrapped around Colgo’s neck!’
‘For God’s sake Henri, please!’ screamed Johnson demented with terror as he pleaded for his life. ‘I don’t want to die. My wife, my daughter. I can’t stand heights. You can’t do this….’
Johnson’s plea for mercy was in vain. His final journey was only seconds away. With one final punch delivered by Lazare right into the middle of Johnson’s chest, the man buckled with the force of the blow letting go with both hands and falling forty floors to his death, flapping and screaming in terror all the way to the ground.
49
Parker left his London office late and drove the long journey back to Grasmere cottage arriving there after midnight. Nicole had already retired for the night.
The next morning, he sat in the south facing conservatory pouring over scientific papers with a rather idyllic early morning view of the English Channel going to waste behind him.
Nicole came in carrying a breakfast tray.
‘We can’t make much progress without the CDs, Nicole. We’ll have to crack the password issue somehow.’
‘Finding Philips is a top priority.’
‘You bet. We’ve got to track him down as quickly as possible if we’re ever going to get off this dangerous merry-go-round. I found out yesterday from an associate that Philips is residing in the South of France which matches your story about his whereabouts.’
‘D’accord!’
Parker stared down at a table full of documents. ‘I was thumbing through the paper files you gave me, and I found some very interesting details about iDrug. We know that the effectiveness of antibiotics is being eroded. Some of the more common bacteria are mutating and becoming resistant to even the strongest antibiotics.’
‘Yes! Karl used say it was an on-going battle to keep one step ahead of those cursed Superbugs.’
Antibiotics work by attacking a specific mechanism used by bacteria to make them function. But because bacteria can reproduce so quickly, natural selection has led to the development of Superbugs that have altered this mechanism and, in the process, rendered some everyday antibiotics useless in combating infections.
‘So, according to the files, Karl has based iDrug on a completely new concept.’
‘Yes Harry! The basis of Karl's iDrug employs Microbot technology. Nanno-scale miniature robots go to work inside the body accessing tissue that conventional catheters can't get to. They are extremely small, only a couple of microns in diameter.’
‘How do they work exactly?’
‘There are several types, Harry. The ones that Karl has developed are spherical in shape like tiny microscopic beads. They have no self-propulsion ability, which means they can be made even smaller to fit into the na
rrowest of capillaries in the body. Like many bacteria, viruses and red and white blood cells, they get conveyed along in the blood stream. Each Microbot is made up of three layers. The inner core is where the smart microelectronics are located. The middle layer comprises a honey combed structure of Electro -magnetic material, which acts as a power source and the outer layer is a complex organic membrane that interfaces discretely with bacteria and viruses no less. This membrane is engineered to be highly selective and this is the very clever bit.’
‘Go on,’ urged Parker. ‘You seem to know a good deal about this.’
‘Karl spoke about nothing else shortly before he died. Now we only want to kill the pathogens and infected cells and leave the surrounding healthy cell tissue unharmed. Ok?’
‘Understood!’
‘Most cell membranes including bacteria and viruses have signature receptors. Each receptor will only bind with external molecules of a particular structure, much like how locks will only accept specifically shaped-keys. So, the external layer of the Microbots are engineered with specific molecules called ligands that bind only with the receptors of the offending pathogen. The ligands can’t bind with anything else. This ensures the right cell for destruction is chosen every time.’
‘Incredible!’
‘When the ligand binds with the bacterial or viral receptor, a chemical signal is communicated to the inner core of the Microbot where the smart electronics are located. This signal triggers a relatively high electrical discharge with very short duration current, which passes from the Microbot to the bacterium, instantly killing the pathogen.’
‘Fantastic! And how are the Microbots administered?’
‘They are injected in swarms directly into the blood stream. Thousands are injected at a time. They’re guided to sites of infection by an external magnetic field like what is produced in an MRI scanner.
‘Fascinating. I’d love to see this in action.’
‘Well hopefully we can before long. Karl had many video images of patients receiving this ground-breaking treatment and undergoing miraculous recoveries. He and Dr. Philips kept these hidden under lock and key.’
‘Where?’
‘They’re stored on the password protected CDs’
50
The twins were playing poker during lunch time with some of their mates in the greasy little canteen at the back of their workshop. A large rectangular wooden table was the main feature of the room with a wooden bench on each long side. A film of black oil and grease covered every surface in the room. The smell of engine oil was overpowering to the casual visitor. The regulars were oblivious to it. The other significant item in the room was a grubby hot water boiler on a steel stand for making coffee.
‘I’ll see you and raise you ten’ shouted one twin sitting among the group of six mechanics.
‘OK,’ replied the other man and threw a ten euro note on the table.
‘Trips’ yelled the twin confidently showing three jacks.
‘Straight wheel’ snorted the other man, throwing down 5-4-3-2-Ace.
‘Fuck you Mario, you win. You must give me a chance to win my money back. Not like yesterday when you fucked off after you won the pot.’
‘No problem. I’m feeling even luckier today.’
The phone rang in the workshop. The other twin crossed the room to answer it.
‘Bonjour.’ sounded the voice on the phone. I have more work for you two. This time nearer home in the South of France.’
‘When would you like us to travel?’
‘Next week,’ sounded the voice coldly.
‘That should not be a problem. We can pick up the details from the usual source?’
‘Yes. He will meet you tonight in ‘Sailors’ Bar.
‘No problem! We’ll report back to him when the job is complete. Same terms as before?’
‘Yes!’ sounded the voice before abruptly hanging up.
51
The reception area of Cordalis-MC Holdings was buzzing with activity. The door to Bill Johnson’s office half-way down the hall on the 40th floor was wide open. Three uniformed policemen and two detectives stood beside the reception desk deep in discussion talking in hushed voices.
Two other police forensic technicians in white Tyvek suits were making their way into Johnson’s office.
The two receptionists were bravely trying to control a large volume of incoming calls. News of Bill Johnson’s death was beginning to spread slowly by word of mouth across Manhattan and Wall Street while TV and radio networks still hadn’t picked-up on the story by 8:00am.
The meeting of the specialist Wall Street advisors had not been cancelled by Johnson and should have been underway by now. About a dozen people had arrived for the meeting and were now seated in the main board room waiting for the meeting to start.
Three of the advisors from a leading stock broking firm were present along with representatives from Westland-Fitzgerald and Cordalis-MC Holdings’ financial advisors and auditors. It appeared none of the people in the board room knew what was going on or what all the fuss was about out at reception.
It was now 8:15am and local radio stations were starting to include the story of Johnson’s death as a breaking news item.
A secretary entered the room carrying a fresh coffee dispenser.
‘Ladies and Gentlemen, I would like to apologize for the delay. The Chairman of Cordalis-MC will be here shortly to address you.’
At 8:25am two men came into the room. The Chairman, Mr. William P. Liddy sat down at the top of the table. Lazare sat down beside him. Both men looked grave as Liddy stood up and looked down along the board room table before commencing his address.
‘Ladies and Gentlemen, it is with great shock and sadness that I announce the tragic death of our esteemed friend and colleague, Bill Johnson SVP of Cordalis-MC Holdings.’
Gasps of shock and disbelief reverberated around the table as Liddy’s announcement hit home. Lazare standing beside the chairman never flinched. He stared straight in front, expressionless, destitute of emotion.
‘Bill, as we understand from preliminary police reports, took his own life here last evening,’ continued Liddy in a solemn deliberate voice. ‘We are not sure what may have been his motivation and our sympathies are with his family. He was unwell recently and had only returned to work recently after a month’s absence. We would like to assure everybody at this table his tragic death has nothing to do with Bill’s performance as Senior Vice President for Investment Strategy or to the financial stability of Cordalis-MC Holdings. We will be issuing a press release later today confirming these facts and our strong financial position. A special meeting of the board has been convened later in the day when the appointment of a replacement SVP will be discussed. I will assume the role of Senior Vice President for Investment Strategy until we have appointed a new executive. As a mark of respect to Bill Johnson I would now like to conclude this meeting and defer the order of business and items on the agenda for discussion to a later date after the new SVP has been appointed.’
With that the meeting was ended and Liddy left the room; the rest of the attendees including Lazare stood around in small groups speaking in hushed tones.
‘What happened? What was troubling Johnson? I met him only last Thursday and he seemed to be on top of the world,’ noted one of the Wall Street advisors.
‘Who knows what goes through peoples’ minds when it brings them to do something like this’.
‘I believe something on the domestic front wasn’t quite right,’ threw in Lazare and left it at that, trying to gently steer his listeners away from believing Cordalis-MC Holdings was in anyway responsible for Johnson’s death.
Soon Lazare completed his ‘disinformation’ revelations, left the conference room and walked towards reception. On his way along the corridor, a plain clothes detective addressed him as he passed by.
‘Mr. Lazare. I’m detective Sergeant Reilly from the NYPD. Could I speak with you for a few moments please Sir? I
have some questions about the deceased you might be able to help me with.’
‘Sure. Come in to my office down the hall.’
Lazare led the detective into his office and both men sat down.
‘Mr. Lazare, can you tell me anything about Mr. Johnson, his background, your professional relationship with him, that kind’a stuff? ‘
Lazare looked ever so cool and collected despite the fact he wasn’t expecting this line of questioning.
‘Why of course Detective Reilly. I sure can give you whatever details you need to know. What is the reason for this questioning? Is there something mysterious about Bill’s death we at Cordalis don’t know about?’
‘Well Sir. We have to check out every possibility when there is a violent death of this nature.’
‘But surely, it’s a simple open and shut case, officer Reilly. Poor Bill took his own life. People do it every day of the week. He suffered from Bipolar disorder.’
‘Yes. But there are two issues emerging already we need to investigate, Mr. Lazare. For one, his wife told us this morning she could never see her husband committing suicide especially in this manner. You see he suffered from severe Vertigo and had a morbid fear of heights. This type of suicide would have been impossible for him to commit.’
‘And the second thing?’ asked Lazare with apparent growing interest.
‘The second thing Mr. Lazare, a member of the cleaning staff in the building across the street saw a figure, believed to be a man, dangling out of a fortieth-floor window of this building at about 8:15 pm last night.
‘Really?’ replied Lazare with a suitably amazed expression.
‘Really’ repeated the officer now getting quite irritated with Lazare’s patronizing tone. ‘People who commit suicide, especially those with a fear of heights, would never subject themselves to dangling from a building. They usually jump straight out without thinking. I figure we are quite possibly investigating a murder here, Mr. Lazare.’
The Karl Lehman Affair Page 15