Iceland: An International Thriller (The Flense Book 2)

by Saul Tanpepper

  The three proceeded down the length of the barn toward the far end, Stefan's incredibly long strides forcing both Angel and Duke to jog to match his pace. Every so often, he'd check his watch again, as if he were expecting something to happen at any moment.

  "That damn bus better get here soon," he muttered. Then he flashed that wide grin of his at her and beckoned them away.

  Chapter Twenty

  It seemed the interior decorator had spared no expense on the meeting room. The abuse of stone, oak, and leather, didn't just approach the line of gaudiness, it trampled over it and kept right on going. The place was drenched in testosterone and self-indulgence.

  A large fireplace occupied nearly the entirety of one wall, the burning logs contained within fully half the size of Padraig's car. A bar filled the length of the opposite wall. A third contained shelves upon shelves of books, and the fourth was entirely glass. French doors and windows overlooked seemingly endless fields of green, which were irrigated by a hundred pressurized jets spewing water forty feet into the air.

  "Oats for the horses," Stefan told her, noticing her looking. "Genetically engineered to be fast-growing. Fourth planting of the year was just three weeks ago. Thought we might get lucky with the warmth, but with the weather turning cold so suddenly, it doesn't look like we'll be able to harvest."

  "Been a strange summer, hasn't it?" Duke commented. "Hotter and dryer than usual, now cold and wet."

  Nordqvist grunted and glanced at his watch yet again, and Angel finally understood why. He was receiving regular updates on it. "Looks like the third and final bus is finally fixed and on its way," he said. "That's a relief. Should be here within the next two hours or so, and then the real work begins."

  "Where exactly did they send the other buses?" Duke asked. The question seemed to be addressed to Stefan, but his gaze was directed at Angel.

  "Information that even I am not privy to," Nordqvist answered. "Security, you know."

  "Surely someone knows?"

  Once more, Angel got the distinct feeling she was expected to answer.

  "Wherever they are sent, I doubt they'll be treated as royally as this, eh?" their host said. "Anyway, we'll have enough to keep us busy with these hundred and fifty. Speaking of which, how are those samples coming along?"

  "Samples?" Angel asked.

  "We're doing blood work on everyone," Duke replied.

  "You're drawing blood samples? So you know about—"

  "My dear, we know what your Mister Norstrom briefed the Security Council on last night. It made quite a stir."

  "And you haven't had any . . . trouble?"

  "What do you mean?" Stefan asked. "What sort of trouble?"

  "With the refugees . . . ."

  "Well, some of them are refusing to be drawn. So far we've collected blood from about forty and tested about a third of those. Andrea and Piotre are stamping the hands of those we've done so they can get their dinner."

  "You're making them give blood in order to eat?" Angel asked, appalled.

  "Of course not," Nordqvist insisted. "Right, Duke? It's merely recordkeeping."

  "But you said—"

  "I said we need to focus on the big picture, my boy!" Stefan exclaimed. "We don't need confirmation from everyone."

  "Then how will we know which ones to quarantine?"

  "Quarantine?" Angel said. Her bad feeling was turning into alarm. "They're not infectious!"

  "I agree," Stefan said. "They don't need to be separated, Duke."

  "But—"

  "They've suffered enough disruption to their lives. Leave them be. There won't be any problems."

  "But you—"

  "Guests of Stefan Nordqvist are always treated with dignity! Now come! Enough of that discussion."

  He invited them to sit with him in the high-backed chairs arranged around a large conference table, but took the seat at the head, closest to the fire, where he tented his fingers beneath his chin. "I'm more interested in finding out what we know about these things already. Angelique?"

  Duke slipped in front of her and grabbed the seat closest to Stefan, forcing her to walk completely around the massive table to get to the other side. She felt both men's eyes following her, Stefan's carefully devoid of anything readable other than keen interest, and Duke's filled with suspicion and questions.

  "You've confirmed the nanites, then?" she asked, taking her seat.

  "We're calling them foreign bodies," Duke said. "We won't make any conclusions as to what they are exactly until we have them analyzed."

  "They're nanites. They're tiny machines. That's what I've been told by the people who made them."

  "Well, right now, they're unclassified."

  Stefan smiled. He seemed to be enjoying the verbal tug-of-war between Angel and Duke.

  "In the dozen or so subjects we've confirmed microscopically," Duke said, "they appear to be present at average serum concentrations of roughly fourteen to sixteen million per milliliter." He had his phone out and was scrolling through the screen. "Would you like to see a photo?"

  He reached into the pocket of his lab coat and pulled out a couple sheets of paper and slid them over the table in front of Stefan. Stefan glanced quickly at them then swept them over to Angel.

  "What does Hastings say?" Stefan asked. He turned to Angel. "Edda Hastings is our hematologist. She joins us from Frankfurt."

  But Angel wasn't paying attention. She was staring at the black and white micrograph in her hand, a close up showing several large globular objects which she recognized as red blood cells. In the field of view was a smaller, opaque, knobby structure. It appeared to be the same object she'd seen in China, except that this one was at a much higher magnification and lacked the spidery legs she'd seen back then. Her throat constricted, making it hard for her to breathe. She thought for a moment she was going to be sick.

  Despite all Padraig had told her about Norstrom, and her own deepest fears, she had secretly hoped that both she and he had been wrong, that they had misinterpreted all of their observations and that there was some other phenomenon to blame than nanites. In fact, given that no physical evidence had been collected from any of the incidents Padraig described to her, the door had been left open to alternate possibilities.

  But now that door had been slammed shut and locked. And seeing the proof in front of her like this terrified her in ways she could not put into words.

  "The technicians are still prepping the instruments in the mobile lab," Duke rattled on, answering some question Stefan had posed and which Angel had missed. "Getting them calibrated." His eyes danced with excitement.

  "What instruments?" she asked. "What are you planning to do to them?"

  "Mass and flame spectrometers, inorganic analysis, and such. We'll also collect biopsies as soon as Doctor Fourier arrives and will run a few slices to an outside EM lab."

  "Rene Fourier is the pathologist," Stefan offered to Angel. "He's interested in studying whether the bodies infiltrate the tissues and, if so, how."

  "They do," Angel whispered.

  "Excuse me?" Duke said.

  "The nanites. They will be in the tissues, too."

  "We should avoid making declarative statements without proof," he said. Angel thought she saw a flash of smug superiority in his face. "At least until—"

  "I have seen what these things can do, Stefan," she said, ignoring the scientist. "I have been told by their inventors. And now that I think about it, I take back what I said before. Duke was right. We should be separating those people out there. You cannot let them roam around like they are."

  "I appreciate your opinion, Angelique," Stefan replied. He frowned uncertainly at her, as if he thought she was testing him. "And I will take it under advisement. But for now let us not forget that those are human beings out there."

  "I have not forgotten! But I cannot ignore that they may be dangerous!"

  Duke snorted, apparently emboldened by her admission that he had been correct. "You just said they're n
ot infectious. If you're right and these are synthetic, what harm could they do?"

  "Have they not told you?" she asked.

  "Angelique, we are safe. All of us. We've gone through their belongings. There are no weapons, no threats."

  "Plus, there are all those guards with rifles out there," Duke squealed. "In case you happened to miss them on your way in."

  "Don't patronize her," Stefan said.

  "Excuse me," she cried, "but neither of you has any idea what you are talking about!"

  "I am an expert in advanced medical technologies!" Duke exclaimed. "I have a background in synthetic biology and microrobotics. And I am the research team leader!"

  "Listen, Angelique," Stefan said, moving his hand to the table in front of Duke to shut him down. "There is probably no one here more hopeful that these things are what we think they are than Duke, except maybe me, nor more qualified to make that assessment. But he is also one of the most skeptical people I have ever known. Right now, we need that kind of critical thinking."

  "Critical?" She slapped the photo down on the table. "I know what these things can do!"

  "Your role is to support my efforts," Duke said. "You advise me."

  "Support and advise?" she chuffed. "You?"

  "Angelique, please. I think you should calm down."

  "Did Norstrom tell you what can happen? Did anyone? Did they tell you about the people they tried to question, how they died? Did they tell you about this self-destruction switch? Or the German border agents? Or the refugees on the ship?"

  "You need to calm down."

  "See?" Duke whined. "I told you we didn't need anyone else."

  "We do not know all the things the nanites can do to people!" Angel shouted.

  Duke frowned at her for several moments, the crease in his brow deepening. "You say you don't know what these things can do, and yet you seem sure they're dangerous."

  "Because they are!"

  "I warned you she'd be a distraction," Duke told Stefan. "We need professionals who can work under pressure!"

  "Nonsense! We're all tired. It's been a long day. A good meal will help us all see things more clearly." He clapped his hands loudly twice before she could protest, then tapped his watch. "Enough of this talk until after we've eaten!"

  At the far end of the room, the doors opened, and in came a train of carts, each loaded with stacks of dishes.

  "If you do not mind, I would like to check on Padraig," Angel quietly said, pushing her chair back and standing up. She had lost her appetite.

  Stefan placed a hand on her shoulder. "Your friend is quite the happy camper right now."

  "I do not understand what that means."

  "I've just been told he's heavily sedated and sleeping like a baby. He'll be out for a couple hours. Don't worry, my dear, we'll save him some of this delicious food. Now sit!"

  "But the refugees—"

  "Are safe. We are all safe. I swear to you everything is under control. Nothing is going to happen. Now, please, have a seat, relax, enjoy some of the best damn Texas barbecue you're likely to find on this side of the Atlantic. Soon enough we will be up to our elbows in work. Isn't that right, Duke?"

  "Up to our chins," Duke replied, not even trying to hide the self-satisfied smirk on his face.

  Chapter Twenty One

  They were joined by a half dozen other people, most of them also wearing white laboratory coats, which the attendants took from them as they entered the room. Stefan introduced them by directing each one to a specific seat at the table.

  In addition to the hematologist and surgical pathologist, Doctors Edda Hastings and Rene Fourier, both of whom looked to be in their sixties, Angel met the lead biochemist, a young man by the name of Henri Jàconde, and his assistant and fiancée, Maria Pernaud. Maria, with her raven black hair and eyes so pale they appeared almost white, was stunningly beautiful. And despite Stefan's point of mentioning the couple's engagement, Duke made no attempt to hide his ogling. He leered at the poor woman all through dinner like a pubescent teenager discovering internet porn for the first time.

  "Brilliant minds," Stefan said of them all. "Together, we will figure out exactly what we have here."

  "I do believe," said Doctor Fourier, speaking in broken English, "that you have forgotten to introduce this young lovely lady."

  "Forgotten?" Stefan cried in mock injury. "Oh no. But this is the daughter of a dear old colleague of mine, a true giant in the cybersecurity arena, Gaétan de l'Enfantine, who was a mentor to me. His work was the gold standard some two decades ago. Please welcome Angelique."

  "You are also in cybersecurity?" Doctor Fourier politely asked.

  "I am a journalist."

  They all looked surprised.

  "And a medical doctor," Stefan quickly rejoined. "Just like many of you. Angelique is here in both a reporting capacity and to provide us with the benefit of her close personal experience with the technology we're all so very interested in understanding."

  "Are you sure that's wise?" Duke asked.

  "You wrote the Newsweek exposé on Israel's secret cloning program last year," Maria said. Her voice matched her beauty, delicate and rare, and when she spoke, all conversation stopped and all eyes turned to her. Duke wasn't the only one entranced. Even Angel found herself mesmerized by the girl.

  "O-oui," she stammered. "You read it?"

  "It was fascinating," she purred.

  And it may not be true, Angel remembered. She felt her face grow hot, and forced herself to smile and thank her.

  "A marvelous piece!" Stefan exclaimed. "And, after our work here is finished, our Angelique will be the one to tell the world about all that we have uncovered." He tipped his head to the others around him at the table. "But just not right away. We must first understand what it is we have and how it works. New technologies can be frightening. Miss de l'Enfantine will reassure the world that there is nothing to fear."

  She watched him give his little speech, careful not to show her impatience or her disagreement and resisting the rather petty urge to remedy his mistake regarding her marital status. As she listened, it suddenly became clear to her why she remained so uncomfortable around the man, even as he seemed so determined to show his support for the refugees and their dignity. It wasn't the years of ingrained prejudice she felt. It was his complete inability to mask his true objectives.

  He was going to steal the technology.

  This was a man who had always used his charm and influence to bend others to his will. He was a megalomaniac, and it was now clear to her that his interests in this project were in no way altruistic.

  First, he would take credit for averting today's potential calamity— whatever it might be. That was why she was here, not because she had any particular scientific insights to offer. The team he had assembled were far more qualified to do that. No, she was here to tell the story of how he had saved these poor people from whatever terrorist plot Norstrom had unearthed.

  That she happened to be the daughter of a former critic of his would only validate his accomplishments the more.

  Then, when all was said and done, after they had extracted every last little bit of information about the nanites for him, he would make the technology his own.

  And they were all too blind to see it.

  The fact that no one mentioned China to her made her realize they knew nothing about what had happened there. She wasn't sure about Stefan, though. Maybe he did. But bringing it up in this company would only make her sound like the lunatic Duke already believed her to be. That was why Stefan had assembled the three of them together before the others, to preemptively manipulate Duke into forming such an opinion about her. It would effectively tie her hands, as well as her tongue.

  Despite the extravagant setting, she found the courses to be deceptively simple. There were link sausages cooked to perfection, baked potatoes with a garlic butter sauce, and fresh salad greens with a simple raspberry and blue cheese dressing. The aroma from the meat caused her
stomach to clench, both in apprehension and hunger. She wished for wine and gazed longingly toward the bar, but it was unstaffed, and no alcohol was served.

  Stefan continued to prattle on. She stopped listening, unhappy at having been turned into a pawn for his little ego game. The others dug into their meals with gusto, and for a while there was only the muted clinking of forks and knives against porcelain and the many satisfied grunts of acknowledgment.

  It had already been a very long day, and when Angel next looked outside, her stomach full and the scraps of the meal she had little recollection eating left on her plate, she was surprised to find the fields draped in shadow and only the tips of the distant trees aflame with the last remnants of sunlight. The sprinklers were turned off, yet the air was hazy with a golden glow, laden with dew and evening bugs. She felt drowsy, yet anxious. Her first priority, however, was finding Padraig and seeing how he was holding up.

  Being such a large man with an appetite to match, Stefan finished after the rest of them had abandoned their plates. Angel sat and watched the others engage in polite conversation.

  All but Duke. He stood alone at one of the windows, his attention on the cell phone in his hand.

  Stefan's own phone buzzed on the table. He checked the screen, frowned, then carefully wiped his face and hands clean before answering it. The conversation was short, and when he was finished, he slipped the device into his pocket.

  "The prodigal bus is nearly here," he announced. "The driver expects to arrive within the next twenty minutes or so. Now, I do believe it is time for coffee."

  "Shouldn't we see to the guests," Angel asked. It was almost seven o'clock by then, and darkness was swiftly consuming the sky.

  "Not necessary. They are still eating, and their temporary quarters are being arranged. But we still have several hours of work ahead of us, setting up the laboratory equipment and analyzing samples."