by Trevor Scott
The professor laughed. “My God. Don’t look at me like that. I’m not Dr. Frankenstein. Gene therapy is used every day safely.”
That might be true, she thought. But she still wasn’t sure if she wanted it done on her. “You said injected. Wouldn’t a lot of people be afraid of getting a shot?”
“Perhaps. But if it meant living longer without the fear of heart disease they will do it. Besides, we’ve come up with a better way. Nasal spray.”
“Really?”
“Really. Most viruses enter the human body through the nasal passages. We simply combine the relatively inert virus with the gene and squirt it up. The body’s white blood cells work to kill off the virus, while the gene interacts and changes the person’s genetic makeup. The entire process takes only about three days. The recipient puts up with a little discomfort for a virtual guarantee of increased longevity.”
“Virtual guarantee?” she asked.
The scientist shrugged. “We still haven’t discovered the cure for cancer, war, famine, and hundreds of other life-threatening illnesses. Not to mention car accidents.” He turned away, thinking about his colleague Leonhard Aldo.
She kept her eyes on the road, but couldn’t help thinking about what the scientist had just told her. Had science advanced that far? It was so far removed from the world she lived in. As an expatriate living in Rome for so long, she didn’t even own a television. She didn’t have time to watch it anyway, considering all the late hours she spent watching people, trying to bring some normalcy to a world that often was far removed from any semblance of uniformity. She was glad that Professor Scala had confided in her. He obviously trusted her now. She only hoped she wouldn’t have to follow the orders she had been given.
Toni noticed the large blue sign for Innsbruck. They were still twenty kilometers away.
14
On a nice clear day Innsbruck’s Hofgarten is a pleasant green park along a beautiful mountain river, with flowers compressed in long gardens, and curving walkways where lovers stroll hand-in-hand.
In the darkness, like it was now, the place took on a far more sinister appearance. In the winter and spring there were few lights along the paths, and those that were there did little to light the way.
Otto Bergen walked cautiously toward the heart of the park and stopped next to a small fountain that was not working. He lit a cigarette, the orange glow bouncing about the end of his mouth.
A moment later he heard movement to his left and he startled when the dark figure approached.
“A little jumpy, Otto?” Marcus Quinn said, moving uncomfortably close to the Austrian.
“Nobody comes to the Hofgarten at night this time of year,” Otto said, gazing nervously around him. He inhaled on his cigarette and then let it hang between his fingers at his side.
“I know. That’s why we’re meeting here.” The American nodded to his right. “It’s amazing more people don’t come here with polizei headquarters less than a block away.”
“What’s the point of standing in darkness?”
“Otto...you have no sense of adventure.”
“What is it that you want?” Bergen asked, rather irritated.
Quinn pulled his gun and aimed the silenced barrel right at Bergen’s mouth. “Don’t get short with me, motherfucker. I’ll show you terminal darkness.”
Bergen was scared. He’d never had a gun pointed at him, and he knew this man would just as soon pull the trigger as take another breath. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything.”
Quinn smiled and returned the gun to inside his jacket. “Relax, Otto. Jesus Christ, I was just giving you shit. You need to learn to settle down or you’ll have a fuckin’ coronary before you have a chance to take that damn solution of yours. Now that would be some God damn irony if you ask me. I can see the headlines now. ‘Company president dies before cure hits market.’ Hell of a shame.”
Bergen wasn’t sure where this was heading, but he had enough sense to keep his mouth shut. He flicked ashes to the wet grass and then stuck the cigarette into the side of his mouth.
Quinn’s attitude changed quickly from jocularity to grave concern. “I went to the airport to shadow the Italian researcher of yours, Giovanni Scala. He never showed.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I don’t fuck around when it comes to work or money. He didn’t show. The airline said he was a no-show in Milan.”
Bergen gazed off nervously and then settled on Quinn. “What about Leonhard Aldo’s apartment. He only lives a few blocks from here. Let’s see if he’s there. Scala hates to fly. He might have decided to take a train.”
“Save your breath,” Quinn said. He hesitated, thinking things over carefully, knowing exactly what Aldo’s apartment looked like. “I just came from there. Trust me. He wasn’t there. While I was there I looked around for Aldo’s research, but it wasn’t there either. He must have had everything with him in Italy.”
Bergen thought about leaving, forgetting about this man he knew little about. Things had gotten far too complicated. Everything was out of his hands and he didn’t like it a bit. He was used to controlling his own destiny, which is why he had started Tirol Genetics in the first place. He drew in the last of his smoke and then stamped out the butt in the grass. “We had a meeting in the morning,” Bergen finally muttered. “I expected Scala to present his findings to us. He must be there. Please. Do anything you can to get Scala to that meeting.”
Quinn looked surprised. “Anything?”
“Within reason.”
“If Scala is in this town I’ll find him.”
Bergen checked his watch. “I’ve got to go. I have that dinner meeting.”
Quinn nodded and slipped back into the darkness. Bergen walked off toward his car.
●
Back at his hotel room, Quinn closed the door behind him and threw the plastic card key against the mirror. He could hear the shower going in the back, so he slumped into a chair and pulled out the photos he had of his old partner. He smiled at the wild eyes the girl made as Murdock was about to enter her. When he had first found the young woman at Aldo’s apartment he had been surprised, and then he saw it as an opportunity. She spoke no English and very little German. All he understood, through hand gestures and the equipment she carried, was that she was Aldo’s maid.
He flipped to another photo. The one where he had made Murdock ejaculate all over her breasts. She had been so frightened he had almost achieved an erection himself. A poor maid trying to make a new life after escaping a stagnating Rumania. That’s all she had asked for. Death was so much easier.
The shower had shut down and the door opened. Ute came out naked, toweling herself off. She stopped briefly when she saw him in the chair, and then simply lifted the towel to concentrate on her long blonde hair. Her breasts bounced with each stroke, her nipples pointing rigidly toward Quinn.
“It’s about time you got back,” she said. “You get to have all the fun while I’m back here bored to death.”
“They found the car. Adams...alerted the polizei about the bomb. I don’t know how he knew.”
She sat down on the bed across from him, opening her legs to him. “He’s smarter than you think?”
“Not as smart as he thinks. I’ve still got a few more surprises for him.” He ran his eyes across her body, where she was curling the hair away from her vagina. “Save yourself, Ute. I want you to connect with Adams again tonight.”
She smiled with the thought, running her finger inside herself. “Ummm. That could be interesting.”
“Perhaps. But here’s what I want you to do....”
15
Jake had found a Gasthof in Hungerburg, nestled a short drive along a winding road up the mountain, with a panoramic view of Innsbruck below.
He glanced out the open window at the road below, where he could see any car approaching from a great distance. He felt a little paranoid at his own caution, but then it wasn’t hard to remember the events of the last fi
fteen hours. He massaged the bump on the back of his head. The pain was still there, but seemed to be getting better each hour.
It was dark out now, the lights of the city shimmering off the river, as if diamonds were dancing across the water.
When he had made the decision to leave Oregon and take up residency in Innsbruck, he figured he deserved a slower pace, considering what had happened to him in Kurdistan. Thinking back on that experience, where he had stopped a plan by the Kurds to produce a new chemical weapon that could have changed the balance of power in the Middle East, and maybe even secure them an autonomous homeland, he wondered why he had risked his life for something he wasn’t totally set against. He wouldn’t have, either, if they hadn’t kidnapped a good friend of his. And now that he thought about it, the hundred thousand dollar reward had made it possible for him to pull up stakes and move to Innsbruck.
If someone had wanted to kill him, they could have done it by now. Humans are the easiest of prey when they don’t know it’s coming. Man had lost almost all of his instincts with the invention of gunpowder. No, Jake was sure someone wanted to play with him for a while and make him squirm. But why? That’s what he needed to find out.
He thought about the call he had gotten at his apartment as he was packing his bag to leave. He hadn’t planned on taking any security cases or computer consulting jobs for at least a month, yet somehow Otto Bergen had convinced him to at least meet and hear him out. Jake still wasn’t sure how the man had gotten his name and number, and that bothered him. Now that he knew Murdock had contacted Bergen, his choice to meet the man made even more sense. Somehow he knew Murdock’s company and Tirol Genetics were related. If not by blood, then marriage.
He closed the window and retreated back into the room. He was wearing new black jeans and a gray T-shirt. He sat on the edge of the bed and laced on a pair of Nike hiking shoes. He slung a leather holster over his head and left arm and then withdrew his CZ-75 9mm automatic, checked to make sure the clip was full and there was no round in the chamber, and returned the gun to its case. Picking up his black leather jacket, he checked his inside pocket to make sure his spare clip was there. Then he put on his coat and headed out the door.
The Gasthof Alpen had six rooms and a bar and restaurant on the first floor that was only open after four p.m. From the sound echoing back from the bar, the place was a local hangout. Which suited Jake fine. The old couple who owned the place had not even asked his nationality when he checked in and paid his bill in Austrian Shillings.
The Ambras Restaurant was in the old town, so he’d have to park out by the river and walk the last block. He found a spot and headed off. A breeze flowed swiftly across his face, forcing him pull up his collar. The dark swirling clouds overhead gave the city a dismal appearance.
Tourists were out in droves, walking along the cobblestone lanes in large groups, still wearing their ski clothes like proud armor after conquering the slopes.
He waited outside the restaurant, checking out the menu like he had never been there before. He was still early. Bergen had said he’d wait at the bar for him, and Jake could recognize him because of his hair. He was gray down the middle, and the sides were still dark brown. Jake half expected to see a skunk sitting on the shoulders of a man in a three piece suit. But when he went inside and saw a man swiveling on a bar stool nursing a beer, the gray was barely noticeable. And he wasn’t wearing a suit. Like Jake, he wore casual clothes. Khakis and a sweater. Loafers.
“Mr. Adams?” the man asked, reaching his hand out.
Jake nodded, shook the man’s tentative grasp, and ordered himself a beer.
When Jake’s beer came, they took a seat at a table in the restaurant that Herr Bergen had reserved.
Jake studied the man carefully. He was in his late forties or early fifties, he guessed. He seemed to be in decent shape, yet it was apparent he had been in better condition. His jaw was strong, but a fold of fat had invaded his neck just below his chin. His eyes were gray like his sweater, yet seemed to shift nervously toward the door as people came and went.
Bergen lit a cigarette with a gold lighter, offered Jake one, and then set the pack on the table. “I suppose you’re wondering why I asked you here?”
Jake leaned back and crossed his arms. “I get a lot of calls like yours. I was wondering how you got my number, though.”
Bergen took a long draw on his cigarette and washed it down with a sip of beer. “Understandable,” he said, tentatively. “You applied for a work visa.”
“True. But why would you look at the consulate for what you needed done? There must be a few locals to help you out.” Jake knew of only a few private consultants in Innsbruck, most with law enforcement backgrounds, and none that he knew of with his computer and intel experience.
Bergen smiled. “You are good.”
“And who told you that?”
“That’s confidential.” Bergen brightened the tip of his cigarette.
Jake rose and started to leave. The man grabbed his arm and Jake twisted his wrist, caught the guy’s pinky and turned it back. When Bergen lowered himself back into his own chair, Jake let go, staring at him callously.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Adams,” Bergen said. “I didn’t mean to insult you.” He rubbed feeling back into his fingers.
“I’m not insulted. Just cautious.” He thought about leaving, and he would have, but the man seemed to sink even further into the chair, as if he were being sucked into a black hole and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. Jake sat down again. “Well?”
“A friend of mine told me about you,” he said, painfully. “Franz Martini. The Tirol Criminal Commissioner.”
“We’ve met.”
“That’s what he said,” Bergen said, gaining more strength. “He told me you’ve run into a little bad luck since arriving in Innsbruck.”
That was an understatement. “Bad luck is one thing. Unfortunately all of my troubles were man-made. So, Martini told you about me.” Jake wondered just how much of his background the Tirolean captain had given out. “What exactly do you need me for?”
The man gazed around the room and then centered his eyes on Jake. He lit a new cigarette from the old one and snubbed out the butt. “A man who works for me was killed this morning.”
Jake thought about his old acquaintance he had found that morning in the alley, Allen Murdock. It seemed more like days ago. “Who was this man? And what did he do for you?”
“His name was Leonhard Aldo. He was my geneticist. Perhaps you’ve heard of him. He was recently nominated for the Nobel Prize.”
That one threw Jake. “Afraid not. You said he was killed. How?”
“In a car accident in northern Italy. But I don’t think it was an accident.”
“Why not?”
“He was a cautious man. A good driver. He wouldn’t have been going as fast as they said he was. Not on that road.”
Thinking about leaving again, Jake instead leaned back and finished his beer. “I don’t know how I can help you. I don’t normally look into car accidents. People make mistakes every day. He was a scientist. Maybe his mind was drifting off, thinking about some strange problem.”
“I don’t think so.” The man’s voice had an edge to it, like he was being blown off and didn’t like it one bit.
“You think he was forced off the road.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
The Austrian looked around again, seeing if anyone was listening. “He had just completed one of the most important studies ever conducted. The results would not only assure him the Nobel, but would also change millions of lives worldwide. He was set to confirm his results with me in the morning.”
“And you think someone killed him and stole his work?” Now that’s something Jake did specialize in. “What do you want me to do?”
Letting out a big sigh, the businessman seemed to elevate in his chair slightly. Then he took out a pen and paper. “You have a computer, I imagine? What’s
your e-mail address? I’ll send you everything you need. Background on Leonhard. A brief summary of what he was working on. You name it. I’d like you to look over the info and then come by the office in the morning around nine. We’ll discuss compensation at that time.”
Jake told him his address, and then memorized Otto Bergen’s as well. He thought about bringing up Murdock’s murder, but decided against it. Adjusting his thoughts on the man across from him, Jake knew Bergen knew more than he was saying.
Bergen started to get up to go, when Jake pulled on the man’s sleeve. “You said something about dinner?” Jake reminded him.
Smiling, Bergen pulled out five hundred Shillings and dropped it on the table. “I suggest the lamb. It’s a specialty here. I’m sorry I can’t stay. I forgot about another commitment.”
Jake shrugged as the businessman said goodbye and walked out.
Seconds after Bergen went out the door, a tall blonde woman dressed in tight jeans and short leather coat entered and looked around. The same one he had taken to his apartment the night before. He only wished he remembered her name. She noticed him and walked directly over, taking Bergen’s old chair.
“We keep running into each other,” she said. “Must be an omen.”
●
Back by the river, Otto Bergen got into his silver Mercedes and was about to turn the ignition when there was a tapping on his window. He startled until he realized it was the American, Quinn, who was telling him to open the passenger door.
Bergen did as he was told, and the man quietly got in and turned in the leather chair toward the Austrian.
“What did Adams say?” Quinn asked, glaring at Bergen with devious intensity.
“He’ll do it.” Bergen wasn’t in the mood for games. He just wanted to get rid of this sick bastard as soon as possible.
“Of course he will.” Quinn seemed to look right through him. “I know what you’re thinking before you do. You’re wondering why we’d want a man like Jake Adams working for us. That’s the beauty, you see. We keep him on a tether so we can pull him back at any time. His fucking wings are useless.”