Primal: London Mob Book Two

by Michelle St. James

  25

  “Why aren’t we taking the plane?” Jenna asked him.

  They were speeding away from Amsterdam in a car he’d rented with a fake passport and driver’s license. He always carried an alternate ID when he left the country. In his line of work, it was impossible to know what circumstances might necessitate the need to move quickly and anonymously. Little did Jenna know he had an alternate ID for her as well, although he hadn’t had cause to use it yet. He would save that revelation for a time when it became necessary.

  “We

  need to lay low,” he said. “Now more than ever.”

  “I thought we were doing that,” she said.

  “We were flying private, using an alias at the hotel. But planes are registered to their owners, or in my case to corporations that ultimately lead to their owners. Flight plans have to be filed, and radar makes it too easy to trace a plane in the air. We need to be invisible now.”

  “You think someone was watching us at Lieve’s?” she asked, alarm evident in her voice.

  He chose his words carefully. It was obvious she and Lieve had a connection, one born out of their shared experience as children of alcoholics. Jenna would be worried about the other woman, and while he couldn’t fault her for it — her kindness was one of the things he loved most about her — he couldn’t afford to be distracted by the safety of someone he didn’t know. He would do his best to protect the other woman and her father. But only if it didn’t compromise his mission to keep Jenna and Lily safe.

  “If they’d wanted to come after Lieve Karlsen, they would have done it already,” he said, trying to ease her mind. “As long as no one thinks Erik is talking, she and her father will be safe. There are never any guarantees, but I was careful leaving her flat, and even more careful leaving the hotel, renting the car.”

  They'd taken a circuitous route from the hotel, then used a series of subways, taxi cabs, and routes through winding streets to get to the car rental company. He was good at spotting a tail, and he hadn’t seen anything to make him believe they were being followed.

  “What if he won’t talk to us?” Jenna asked.

  “I think he will,” Farrell said, eyes focused on the road in front of them.

  “What makes you so sure?”

  “I won’t be sure until we get there,” he said. “But Erik Karlsen must be a good man, otherwise he would have continued his work at the Institute even after he figured out what they were really doing there. He gave up his career instead, risked his daughter’s safety. I have to believe that means he’ll help us bring down whoever is behind this as long as we keep him out of it.”

  She seemed satisfied with the answer, and he breathed a sigh of relief. The truth is, he had no idea what to expect when it came to Erik Karlsen. Would Lieve have warned him? Would he be expecting them? Or would they be met with the wrong end of a shotgun and an order to leave the property before Karlsen used it?

  But it didn’t matter either way. They had no choice but to follow the lead to its conclusion. It was the only one they had.

  They were about two hours outside the city when he spotted signs for the town of Delden. The town was bucolic, with sprawling fields punctuated by a long, wide canal that shimmered blue under the late afternoon sun. He followed the directions on the map he’d bought at a petrol station — he didn’t want to risk using the car’s GPS in case the car later fell into the hands of someone trying to trace their movements — past a castle at the end of the canal. Then they put the town behind them, continuing toward a forested area that began a few miles outside town.

  Jenna was asleep in the passenger seat, the light dusky with impending twilight, when they pulled into a turnout at the side of the road. Jenna sat up, stifling a yawn and looking out the window.

  “Are we there?” she asked.

  “We have to walk from here,” he said, stepping from the car.

  He opened the trunk and removed their bags.

  “Why are we taking our bags?” she asked.

  “Just a precaution.”

  He left it at that. There was no need to explain that he didn’t want any identifying objects in the car should it be found by the people pursuing them. He was almost certain they hadn’t been followed, but he wasn’t willing to be careless just to prove a point. He was glad when she left it alone.

  He consulted the map one more time, then moved forward holding both their bags. “This way.”

  “I can carry my own bag,” she said.

  He gave it to her, more because he wanted to keep her busy than anything else. They came to a low hanging chain strung between two wooden posts. Farrell stepped over it, then held it down with his foot to make it easier for Jenna to do the same. A few steps later, they were sheltered by trees on every side, and the car had already disappeared in the foliage behind them.

  “Are you sure you know where we’re going?” she asked.

  “I’m sure.”

  She didn’t question him again, and they wound their way deeper into the forest. The trees cast shadows all around them, and the temperature seemed to drop ten degrees under the canopy of leaves. Birds twittered in the branches above them, and small animals scurried across the ground, but it was otherwise eerily quiet. He had the sense that they were leaving the real world behind, heading deeper and deeper into a place that would seal them off from everything they knew.

  The thought wasn’t a comforting one. Farrell relied on exactly one thing: himself. He prided himself on anticipating every possibility and on being prepared for it. Yet that was nearly impossible in their current situation. All he could do was be alert, keep his weapon within reach, be prepared for anything.

  They’d been walking almost an hour when they came to a big boulder shaped eerily like a man. He stopped walking, glancing at the piece of paper Lieve had given them, and started walking again, following a barely-there clearing in the trees. It would have been difficult to spot if not for Lieve’s instruction to watch for the boulder as a landmark.

  The sun was almost entirely blotted out by the canopy of trees overhead. It created a kind of hazy half-light that was slightly strange, and he had the sense that they were getting farther and farther from reality. He was looking down, stepping over a log in the middle of the pseudo-path and holding back a low lying branch for Jenna when he heard the telltale click of the safety on a rifle.

  He froze and held up a hand for Jenna to do the same. Then he turned slowly in the direction of the sound, blocking Jenna’s body with his own as he came face to face with a slender man holding an old-fashioned hunting rifle that looked no less deadly for its age.

  “Don’t take another step,” the man said.

  His voice was refined, belying the threat in his words. He was tall, his lanky frame hidden under khaki pants and a big jacket. The spectacles on his face were smudged and resting on a nose that looked very slightly off center, as if it had once been broken.

  Farrell held up his hands. “We mean you no harm.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that,” the man said. “Although if you’d like to prove your point, you can turn around and go back the way you came.”

  “Lieve sent us,” Jenna said behind him.

  The man seemed to freeze. A moment later he glanced around Farrell, trying to get a better look at Jenna. Farrell made it easier by moving — carefully and slowly — to the side, wanting the man to know that his companion was a diminutive woman.

  He narrowed his eyes, studying her like she was a specimen under one of his microscopes. “Lieve wouldn’t do that,” he finally said.

  “She did,” Jenna said. “How else would we have found this place? How else would we know that you’re Erik Karlsen?”

  “Why?” he asked. “Why would she send you?”

  “My father was killed earlier this year,” Jenna said. “By Alex Petrov. He worked at the Institute.”

  “That's none of my business,” he said, aiming the gun more squarely at Jenna’s chest.

&n
bsp; “I have a daughter,” she said hurriedly. “She’s not quite five years old. I was with her when I was almost killed by someone sent by the Institute. Please…” She hesitated, and Farrell knew she was searching for the words that would sway him. “It’s only a matter of time before they catch up to us — and before the research catches up to the rest of the world. We need your help to stop it.”

  No one moved, and Farrell held his breath, half expecting a gunshot near his feet, extra motivation to exit Karlsen’s refuge without further ado. Instead, the man lowered the gun, resignation aging his features before Farrell’s eyes.

  “Hurry along then. It will be dark soon, harder to find your way out of the woods. And you can’t stay here.”

  He turned and started down the path, leaving them no choice but to follow.

  26

  “I only have coffee,” Erik Karlsen said, moving around the tiny kitchen. “No tea.”

  “Coffee is lovely,” Jenna said. “I’ve been living in New York these past few years. I’m afraid I’ve become a convert.”

  “Heard your accent,” Karlsen said, setting two steaming mugs down in front of them and taking the seat across from the sofa. “Assumed you were from England between that and the fact that your father worked at the Institute.”

  “We are,” Jenna said. “But coffee is strangely addicting, isn’t it?”

  She thought she saw a smile touch the corners of his mouth before he set down his cup, his expression turning serious. “I left behind my work at Stafford some time ago.”

  Jenna nodded, surprised that Farrell was staying quiet. That he was letting her lead the conversation. She shouldn't have been. Farrell’s intelligence went beyond his IQ. He was insightful and perceptive. He’d likely realized Erik might have responded to her in the woods because she was about the same age as his daughter.

  “My father was a janitor there,” she said. “Suffice it to say, I wouldn’t have expected him to become involved in something like the Marburg research.”

  “And how did he?” Karlsen asked.

  “I’m not sure actually. I didn’t find out anything about it until after he’d died. He left some papers in a safe deposit box.”

  “What kind of papers?” he asked, his brow furrowed.

  “Copies of some of the trials,” Farrell said. “They were dated May of last year.”

  Karlsen nodded, his expression grim. “That’s when things took a frightening turn.”

  “In what way?” Farrell asked.

  “How much do you know about Marburg and viruses like it?”

  “I’ve done some research these past few months,” Farrell said. “But I don’t know as much as I’d like to know. As much as I now feel I need to know.”

  “Marburg is very much like Ebola — they’re both hemorrhagic viruses. It produces many of the same symptoms, although Marburg hasn’t gotten the attention of Ebola.”

  “Why is that?” Jenna asked.

  He shrugged. “The media mostly. Ebola has had several outbreaks over the years. The media seizes on them, talks about them on a twenty-four-hour loop, outlining all the horrific symptoms without mentioning there are quite a few viruses in its class. That kind of coverage contributes to a misconception that these viruses are easily contractable.”

  “But they’re not,” Farrell said. “Not as easily as people think.”

  “Exactly,” Karlsen said. “Don’t get me wrong; if you happen to live in a country with an outbreak, if you then touch bodies infected with the virus, if you have direct contact with people who have already contracted it, it can certainly spread. But it isn’t airborne. Not in its natural state anyway.”

  “And the Stafford Institute wanted to make it more contagious?” Jenna asked.

  He nodded.

  “How were they hoping to do that?” Farrell asked the question even though they’d discussed the research papers, had been able to decipher some of what the Institute had been studying.

  “They were trying to aerosolize it,” Karlsen answered. “Create a strain as deadly as the virus in its natural form, but one that could survive being airborne.”

  Jenna tried to imagine it: a deadly weapon spreading like wildfire on the wind.

  Across oceans and countries. Over mountains and rivers.

  “How close did they get?” Farrell asked.

  Karlsen’s expression darkened. “Too close.”

  “Is that when you left?” Jenna asked softly.

  “I didn’t understand the ramifications of the research at first,” Karlsen said. “I’m not making excuses. But you must understand that I’m a scientist, and puzzles of science are an endless fascination.” He hesitated. “When the Institute first approached me about doing work there, it was presented as a study to mine the viruses weaknesses in the hopes of creating a vaccine, or at least a treatment. Of course, it never occurred to me their intent might be more… sinister.”

  “Of course,” Jenna said. “No one would have any reason to suspect such a thing.”

  “But then you did suspect,” Farrell said.

  Karlsen nodded. “Last spring, when we were conducting the trial you mentioned.”

  “And you brought your concerns to the powers that be at the Institute?” Jenna asked.

  “I did.” His eyes clouded over as if he were remembering. “Of course, I expected them to allay my concerns. To explain how the study we were conducting was in line with the original objectives used to bring me into the study.”

  “I take it that’s not how the conversation went?” Farrell asked.

  “I’m afraid not,” Karlsen said. “I was told the objectives, beyond the scientific ones, were not my concern. I’d signed a contract, you see. It was foolish, but at the time I was desperate for work. I don’t know if Lieve told you…”

  His expression of shame made Jenna’s heart hurt. She thought of her mother — of the many apologies offered in the midst of a drunken episode or the following day or week when she finally became sober. Sometimes it was hard to remember that her mother had been suffering, too. That her alcoholism was a symptom of suffering. That it wasn’t done to Jenna. That it wasn’t meant to hurt her.

  Jenna reached across the coffee table and touched Erik Karlsen’s hands. He flinched, then looked into her eyes.

  “Lieve told us,” Jenna said. “It’s okay. I understand better than you might think.”

  He nodded slowly. “It had become difficult to find work. The scientific community is a small one — the virology community even smaller. Word had gotten around that I couldn’t be counted on. I needed the money, but more importantly, I needed the work. I didn’t know who I was without it.”

  Farrell nodded, and Jenna wondered if he heard himself in the statement. If it was an accurate description of the way he felt about his chosen profession. If it was one of the reasons he never pretended that he might leave it behind. Might become a different kind of man.

  “In any case,” Karlsen said, “the contract was there, a threat to my future livelihood, to my reputation as a research scientist.”

  “Did you consider going to the press?” Jenna asked.

  “Of course,” Karlsen said. “But I'd signed a non-disclosure agreement. And by the time I convinced myself it didn't matter, that the very future of the world’s population might be at stake, I was confronted with an even greater threat.”

  “Lieve,” Farrell said.

  Karlsen nodded. “It was made clear that she would be in danger if I decided to go to the press or violate my agreement in any way.”

  “I have a daughter,” Farrell said. “I understand the instinct to protect.”

  Jenna heard the ferocity in his voice, realized again how lucky Lily was to have him. How lucky Jenna herself was to have him. He was a man who didn’t take his responsibilities lightly. A man who would go to any lengths to protect the people he loved.

  “Then you understand,” Karlsen said. “I was given an exit opportunity of sorts.”

 
“What kind of exit opportunity?” Jenna asked.

  “Leave the Institute, keep quiet, and Lieve’s safety would be guaranteed.” He looked around the cabin. “I thought it best to keep my distance from her anyway. I haven’t seen her in almost a year.”

  Jenna thought about that in the silence that followed, tried to imagine not seeing Lily for a year. For the rest of her life. Tried to imagine her very presence in Lily’s life being a threat to her daughter’s survival.

  “I take it Alex Petrov was running the Institute?” Jenna finally asked. “He was in charge when my father worked there.”

  Karlsen nodded. “He was. Although I’m quite sure you know he was only the messenger.”

  “He was running the study for someone else,” Farrell said.

  “That’s one way of putting it.”

  “Any idea who?” Farrell asked.

  Karlsen hesitated, then sighed and rose from his chair. “This will require a longer conversation. It’s getting dark. I’m afraid you’ll have to stay.”

  27

  She’d been so engrossed in the conversation she hadn’t noticed the swiftly failing light. Now the cabin was almost entirely in darkness, and Erik Karlsen moved around the room, turning on lamps and lighting candles.

  “We couldn’t possibly impose,” Jenna said.

  “Nonsense,” Karlsen said. “I chose this place for its location and the near impossibility of anyone stumbling upon it. To be honest, I sometimes worry about getting lost myself. Also, other than the occasional trip into town for supplies — heavily disguised, of course — I’ve been entirely alone for nearly a year. I could use the company.”

  She looked at Farrell, who gave her a nod of assent.

  “Then we’re happy to stay,” Jenna said.

  “Good.” He headed for the kitchen. “I’ll make us something to eat. We can talk more over dinner.”

  Jenna rose. “Let us help.”

  They spent the next half hour putting together sandwiches from the simple ingredients in Karlsen’s cupboards and icebox — salmon and cheese, tomatoes and meatballs made of tender lamb, mackerel and onion. They carefully avoided the subject of the Institute, the Marburg virus, the people behind them. The topic was a weighty one, and Jenna had a feeling it was going to get weightier still. There would be time for it later, and she let herself enjoy Erik Karlsen’s company and the pleasure of being hidden away with Farrell in a location where no one in the world could find them.