The Huguenot Thief

by L. K. CLEMENT

  Thompson needed to act as if he’d seen this report. “Very interesting, wasn’t it?”

  Gilstrom’s tone became warmer. “To say the least. We have finally found an antibiotic that is effective against this strain, but the third priest, frankly, should be dead. He was the first to open the reliquary and apparently had dust fly up into his face. The pneumatic version of anthrax is invariably fatal, even with antibiotic treatment, yet he shows no signs of the disease now, and he recovered before we administered the antibiotic. He’s an interesting patient. Has a bad case of vitiligo.”

  “Vitiligo?”

  “It’s a disorder where large patches of the skin are without any pigmentation. Not deadly, but can be very distressing. This particular priest was participating in a clinical trial for a treatment for vitiligo, so we had access to an old DNA profile. The results are fascinating. Genes relating to inflammation and skin color, the MC1R and related genes to be exact, have begun to express themselves. We think this is how his body defeated the anthrax.”

  “Does Monsignor Ogier know this?”

  “I assume so.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Gilstrom.”

  Thompson hit “end” on his phone. He lifted his laptop, and googled Monsignor Giuseppe Ogier. The first few entries were generic, from the Vatican’s press release office, discussing Monsignor Ogier’s participation in art restoration at the Vatican Museum.

  On the second page was a newspaper article in Italian. He could pick out the monsignor’s name, but little else. Thompson opened Google Translate, cut the first paragraph, and pasted it into the text box. The translation read:

  Monsignor Giuseppe Ogier of the Vatican Museum is a trained art restorer, and in that role has seen enormous improvements in the tools and techniques available to the restorer. He told this reporter that he believes it is time for the Vatican to embrace modern analysis techniques and allow scientists to examine relics that purport to be from the time of Christ’s crucifixion. “The Vatican needs to move beyond the fiasco of the Turin shroud and work with researchers that have the proper experience,” said the monsignor. Requests from this reporter for a follow-up interview with the monsignor have been denied.

  Chapter 52

  Detective Edson sat in an unmarked Charleston Police vehicle, two blocks from Amarintha’s property, watching moving dots on a display on the dash. Blue was Jack Strong, the red Thompson Denton, and a green dot represented Amarintha Sims. The Task Force had received warrants to track their phones, and based on the moving dots, Amarintha was headed to her property. Frank was supposed to explain to her that the box found on her property might be contaminated, and she needed to be tested. An FBI agent was listening to every word Frank said, and, if his polite entreaty to Amarintha didn’t work, he supposed the FBI would send in the troops.

  It was noon, and the April sun was shining into Frank’s eyes. He was hungry, pissed about Thompson’s dismissal from the team, and exhausted from working almost all night. On his way home to get some sleep, Frank had found Jack Strong sleeping in the lobby of the FBI building and taken the man home, rashly promising an update at 10:00 a.m. After dropping Jack off, he had had only a few hours of sleep, and then had returned to the conference room at the FBI before eight.

  Frank had sat in the conference room listening to the Department of Health, SC Law Enforcement Division and the FBI, while they outlined their plans of action if the reliquary was contaminated, as well as discussing what they would tell the public. Even if the lab found no sign of active microbes, the FBI and SLED would remain on high alert. Brook Reynolds was running her Task Force as if there was indeed an active plot centered in Charleston to find and plant a biological weapon.

  At one point during the meeting, Homeland had their own statistician on the line who argued with Chad about the predictions of the program. Terms such as Markov chains, Monte Carlo distributions, Bayesian algorithms and a host of other words were tossed back and forth between the two, and when they finally stopped talking, there were no comments. Frank understood little of the exchange and all he could think of was Mark Twain’s comment— “There are lies, damned lies, and statistics.”

  A small FBI team was attempting to locate the Department of Defense’s AAR, the after action report, from the 1986 outbreak. There surely would have been one, and the FBI was relentless when they wanted something from another government agency. Everyone who had been on Charles Sims’ team had died in the intervening thirty years, and interviewing the surviving family members would take weeks. Finding the report was considered critical in understanding the link, if there was one, between the events in 1986 and the eruption of the same bacteria in Rome.

  Frank could not wrap his head around the fact that in only twenty-four hours, a huge team had been spun up simply because a computer program had woven seemingly unrelated threads of information into a tangible threat, although he knew that Zora Vulkov’s involvement in Kate Strong’s kidnapping made the prediction more concrete. He pulled out the report and looked at the list again.

  •Dr. Adam Chalk is killed on April 10 of this year.

  •Dr. Adam Chalk, Kate Strong’s boss at the College, performed appraisals on stolen antiquities for Alternative Auctions, funded by Anton Bunin.

  •Dr. Kate Strong, expert in Christian reliquaries, disappears April 10.

  •On May 10, Dr. Zora Vulkov, former member of Soviet bioterrorism agency, Biopreparat, reports that Anton Bunin has kidnapped Dr. Kate Strong.

  •Anton Bunin is the former top researcher for Biopreparat and former colleague of Vulkov.

  •On May 1, Vatican researchers fall ill from strain of previously unidentified anthrax known to have occurred in South Carolina in 1986.

  •Outbreak is reported to the FBI by the CDC on May 12.

  •It is more than a 34% probability that Anton Bunin is seeking to locate new biological organisms previously unknown to scientists, either inaccessible due to climate, as in permafrost that has now melted, or inaccessible due to religious custom such as material in sealed reliquaries in the Hindu, Buddhist and Christian faiths. This is likely related to his desire to discover new drug compounds, or possibly to create a biological weapon available for sale.

  He knew enough about statistics to respect that there were techniques to determine whether disparate events were related or correlated. He also knew that correlation did not mean causation. Was this program biased towards linking events together? What about motive? To a cop, nothing was more important than motive. What was the motive for some Russian rich guy to spread anthrax in the United States? The United States was the best market for Bunin’s stolen antiquities. You didn’t kill your best customers.

  The team needed Thompson Denton’s insight into this group. Instead of being grateful for the agent’s involvement and knowledge, the FBI higher-ups had become suspicious of him. Frank had no doubt that this was partly due to Thompson’s being a member of a foreign law enforcement agency. Frank had argued, as politely and sincerely as he could, against Thompson‘s dismissal from the Task Force, and when met only with silence, had left the room. Brook followed, and he told her he would quit if Thompson was forced out.

  She had merely said, “Stay with me Frank. I need you.”

  When one of the paranoid weenies from FBI headquarters wanted Thompson and Jack Strong monitored, and Amarintha Sims found, Frank volunteered for the job. At least he would be out of the FBI building. Even he, a former Marine, was finding the level of testosterone way too high at the FBI office.

  He was wearing not only a body camera that would film and record everything he saw but also an earpiece, allowing the FBI team sitting in a car a few blocks away to give him direction. Brook Reynolds, who was at FBI headquarters, could also hear what was going on. Both she and the agents in the car could see the moving dots on their own displays.

  Frank’s cell rang. He recognized Thompson’s number, pushed t
he stop button on the camera and turned off the transmitter in his earpiece. No one would hear this conversation.

  “Detective Edson.”

  “Frank, it’s Thompson. I imagine you heard about my temporary hiatus?”

  “Yeah, I did. It’s a raw deal. I’m sorry it happened, and I hope won’t last long. Those Washington guys need to get their heads on straight.”

  “Can you tell me what’s happened with Richard and Amarintha? Are they in quarantine?”

  Frank certainly wasn’t going to share with Thompson that his cell phone was being tracked, but this question he could answer. “Not yet. I think the CDC will likely want to quarantine her until they can determine whether she was exposed. I haven’t heard whether test results are back on Richard. The reliquary is at MUSC’s special lab they set up last year.”

  The year before, when a nurse became ill with Ebola at a Texas hospital, even after following the detailed instructions on dealing with patients, designated hospitals in each state invested in state of the art isolation wards. The CDC had determined that MUSC’s isolation lab was the perfect location for a preliminary test of the reliquary.

  “Richard didn’t touch the contents. Is that why he was allowed to stay home?”

  “That’s about it.” Frank cleared his throat. “Have you spoken to Amarintha?”

  “No, I haven’t. I thought I’d go over to the jobsite and see her. No one told me I couldn’t do that.” Frank heard the slight hostility in Thompson’s voice, and he didn’t blame him. The situation was unfair. “Who is going to tell her about her father having the reliquary in 1986?” Thompson asked.

  “What would we tell her? DOD still hasn’t told us anything about what he was doing or why anthrax broke out. The FBI is only inferring that the reliquary is what caused the outbreak in 1986. Charles Sims died a few months later, and the rest of his team is dead, or the FBI can’t find them. No one knows who buried the reliquary.”

  Frank knew that the FBI would put Amarintha into custody, at least temporarily, not only to determine whether she had been exposed, but also to question her about her father. Amarintha’s mother would be questioned as well. Thompson would eventually figure this out. What would the agent do? Based on Thompson’s and Amarintha’s locations, he’d have to move fast to reach the woman before Thompson did.

  “Frank, did you read what the priest handed out last night?”

  “No, did you?”

  “I did. A Huguenot woman stole a reliquary from a convent in France in 1685. During her time there, she handled the reliquary, and several children were cured from the plague. They were cured—not made sick by it. Don’t you think that’s odd?”

  Frank, a Southern Baptist, wanted to say that anything connected to a reliquary was odd to him, but he didn’t. “I don’t know,” said Frank.

  “Dr. Gilstrom also told me that the third priest doesn’t have anthrax anymore. His body’s DNA is changing.”

  Frank was silent for a moment. DNA changes? “Thompson, why don’t you put your thoughts in an email, and I’ll make sure Brook gets it. I also think that the FBI will come to its senses and bring you back.”

  Thompson said, “Can you tell me anything else?”

  Frank could hear the FBI agent in his ear asking why the camera wasn’t recording. He ignored it and said, “The FBI is still working with the State Department to get approvals to go to Istanbul. The office there hasn’t had any more contact with the anonymous caller, and it turns out there are over thirty of what the locals call ‘castles’ within an hour of Istanbul. I have to tell you, nobody is optimistic we can find Kate Strong.”

  “Has anyone told Jack that?”

  Frank blew out a breath and said, “Not yet.”

  Chapter 53

  Jack’s head woke him up with a vibrating that rivaled the big auger at the job site. After Frank found him sleeping at the FBI building, the detective had driven him home and said, “Jack, I’ll call you at 10:00 am with an update. Get some sleep if you can.” He was surprised that he had been able to sleep at all given his alternating fear and elation over the news from Istanbul.

  He looked over at the clock, saw it was after 11 a.m., sat up and pulled over a legal pad, and started jotting down everything he had been told at the FBI office. He wanted to be prepared to call his lawyer if Frank didn’t come through with a plan. Waving the Patriot Act in his face had worked for a while, but Jack knew that the FBI would do most anything to avoid a media stink about a kidnapped professor.

  He padded over to the kitchen to where his laptop sat, and began reading news stories about American citizens kidnapped overseas. Jack could discern no clear pattern of what actions would and would not result in a return of a hostage. At least Turkey was still ostensibly an ally to the US. That would help. One thing that did seem to make a difference was getting the right spokesperson, someone who could manage the media and the government.

  Jack slapped his laptop down. If Detective Edson didn’t call him soon, he’d call his lawyer and ask for help in setting up a press conference. He wouldn’t share anything that could get him jailed, but might get leads, and he would definitely get attention.

  His phone pinged, and he looked at a text from Amarintha. She wanted him to meet her at the jobsite. He started to reply that he couldn’t make it, but thought better of it. He quickly texted one of his reliable subcontractors that he had to go away, and would need the sub to keep the project going. He’d meet Amarintha and explain.

  After leaving the kitchen, Jack went to the safe in his office, and removed his passport. He aimlessly packed enough clothes for two weeks, paying little attention to what was going in his suitcase. He also began to think of some reason for his absence that would sound legitimate to Sara. He wasn’t going to share what he knew with her, but just as quickly, he began to question that decision. He trudged back to his office, reopened the safe, and added Sara’s passport to his bag. One way or another, he—no, he and Sara—were going to Istanbul.

  Chapter 54

  “Detective Edson, Detective Edson, are you there?” Frank heard the agent in his ear again and restarted his electronics.

  “Yes. I’m here. Amarintha Sims is almost at her house,” said Frank, watching the moving green dot.

  Brook Reynolds’ voice sounded in his ear. “Detective, we’re seeing what you see on our displays, and it would appear that Jack Strong and Thompson Denton are headed to the jobsite as well. Why do you suppose that is?”

  Frank shook his head. From what he understood from Thompson, Jack and Thompson had been at Amarintha’s jobsite most days, lollygagging on Richard Anderson’s porch in between working with contractors.

  “Agent Reynolds, I think that’s pretty typical, but I do believe Ms. Sims will arrive at the jobsite before Thompson. I’m guessing Jack is just doing what he does every day—checking on his projects. I don’t want to call him until you guys have a plan to get his wife.”

  Brook didn’t reply.

  Frank saw a VW bug turn onto Church. “I have visual on Amarintha Sims.” The car pulled into a parking space, and three women got out of the car. “She has an older woman and a younger woman with her, her mother and daughter, I’m assuming. Do you still want me to approach?”

  “Wait. Let me check with Dr. Gilstrom on whether all three need to be tested,” said Brook.

  From his location down the street, Frank watched Amarintha and the other two women walk down the sidewalk to Richard’s house. Out of the corner of his eye, something moved. When he turned, he saw Thompson striding down Church on the opposite side of the street, also towards Richard’s house. The agent had not seen Frank sitting in one of CPD’s unmarked cars.

  “I have an update. Thompson Denton, Amarintha Sims, and the two other women are all converging on Richard’s house. Is your agent still with Richard?” said Frank.

  Frank heard nothing but static in
his ear for a moment. Brook said, “Detective, Richard Anderson’s test results came back negative. No results yet on the reliquary itself. Thirty minutes ago, I dismissed the agent that was at Anderson’s house. Richard Anderson is alone in his house and is under orders not to discuss the situation with anyone. Monsignor Ogier is pressuring the CDC to treat Amarintha Sims just as the priests in Rome have been treated, in other words, a quarantine. Bring her in and we’ll sort it out later. ”

  The detective opened his car door. At that moment, Jack Strong’s truck came down Church, and the builder pulled directly onto Amarintha’s lot.

  “Agent Reynolds, Jack Strong has just arrived at Richard Anderson’s house,” said Frank. “I’m not sure this is a good time for me to approach Ms. Sims.”

  “We know. We see the display. Sit tight for a minute.”

  Chapter 55

  Parking directly onto the lot and blocking the sidewalk, Jack knew he’d get a ticket but didn’t care. His plan was to talk to Amarintha, tell her what was happening, and explain that one of his subcontractors would manage the construction while he was gone. Jack knew Amarintha would understand his situation, and the sub he would put in charge would work well with her.

  Amarintha and Richard stood on the old man’s front porch having a conversation. Sara’s friend, Ava, was moving back and forth on the porch swing with an older woman, who he thought must be Ava’s grandmother. Jack started up the oyster shell sidewalk from the street, and waited at the bottom of the porch stairs, looking up. It occurred to him that he probably looked awful—a thought confirmed in the multiple faces that frowned when they saw him. Amarintha walked down the four steps.

  “Jack,” she said, “you know Ava, and this is my mother, Fannie Sims.” He walked up the steps to shake hands with Fannie.

  “Hey, Mr. Strong.” She smiled at him from the swing. “Where’s Sara today?”