'We're here,' Quinn said thirty minutes later, gently nudging his apprentice as the train pulled into the station.
The walk from Neukölln bahnhoff to their makeshift headquarters was not far, but they had to stop twice so Nate could rest. The second time, Quinn steered them into the sandwich shop, where he purchased several sandwiches and a large coffee for Nate.
'Here,' he said, handing him the cup.
'I don't want anything.'
'It'll keep you warm.'
They sat at one of the tables until Nate had downed nearly half of the coffee. 'No more,' he said as he set the cup down. Quinn picked up the container and threw it in the trash. 'Come on.'
** *
They reached the store ten minutes later. Orlando wasn't around, but Quinn hadn't expected her to be. The list of items she had to obtain was not an easy order to fill.
'Very cozy,' Nate said from the doorway of the back room.
There were two air mattresses with sleeping bags on the floor of the room. Nate looked at them, then back at Quinn. 'You weren't expecting me?'
'Not this soon,' Quinn said. 'We'll go out for another mattress and sleeping bag after Orlando gets back. You can use mine for now. It's the blue one.'
'I'm not tired.'
Quinn snorted. 'Right. You're going to fall asleep standing there. Lie down.' Nate smiled. 'Maybe for a few minutes.' He shuffled over to the sleeping bag and climbed in.
'You warm enough?' Quinn asked.
'I'm fine.' Nate's voice now a soft whisper. After only a moment, his eyelids drooped, then closed. Orlando returned an hour later. 'Get everything?' Quinn asked. She nodded. 'Of course.' He smiled, then told her about his fun-filled after
noon.
'I'm sorry,' she said after he told her about Sophie. She put a hand on his arm. 'Thank God you got Nate out, though.'
'Yeah,' he said, his voice hollow. 'Thank God.'
'It's not your fault,' she said.
'Isn't it?'
She looked up at him, her eyes soft, supportive. After a moment, she said, 'Why don't you show me the video?'
'Okay,' Quinn said. He knew she was trying to get him to refocus and take his mind off Sophie's death. And he was glad for it.
He picked the monitor up off the floor and handed it to her. Stuck in the side port was his memory stick.
'Just hit Play,' he said. 'I've already seen it.'
Orlando cocked her head, apparently expecting him to say something else, but he remained silent. As she looked back at the monitor and pressed Play, Quinn moved so he could look over her shoulder.
The screen was blank for a moment, then up came an image of a man.
'Who is he?' Orlando asked.
'Taggert,' Quinn said. 'Well, Jansen, I guess.'
The shot was tight, from just below Henry Jansen's shoulders to just above his head. The lighting wasn't great. Jansen was only a few shades lighter than the dark background behind him. From the acoustics, Quinn guessed it had been shot in a small room, but there was no way to tell for sure.
Jansen stared at the camera for a moment, then began. 'My name is Dr. Henry Jansen. I'm a research virologist. I have worked around the world for numerous groups, including the World Health Organization and the CDC. I only say this so that you will pay attention to what I have to say. Who I am really isn't important. But the fact that you are watching this means I am not able to give you the following information in person.
'For the past six months, I have been working undercover. This operation I have undertaken on my own. I was contacted by an organization that calls itself HFA. As far as I can tell, they are an extremist Serbian group. I will assume you have already read the document that will be uploaded with this video and know what the HFA plan is. Here are a few more details.
'An American named Dahl was hired to oversee the distribution operation. To be sure it all goes as planned, HFA also enlisted the help of a group run by a fellow Serb named Borko. His primary task, as far as I can figure out, is security.
'HFA is made up of Slobodan Milosevic loyalists. I think the fact that he died in prison in the middle of his war crimes trial gave them new energy. They talk of him having been murdered. To them, he has become a martyr to the cause. Milosevic believed Bosnia and Herzegovina belonged to a greater Serbia. So what better way to honor him than to finish what he started? HFA feels the removal of the Bosniaks will allow this to happen. They also are now feeling the pressure to move rapidly because of the growing reconciliation movement in Serbia, highlighted by the election of a new, moderate president who has been advocating making amends for past atrocities.
'Because of this, the project has been accelerated. Pressure to produce results has been intense. The HFA leadership is fanatical, and will hear nothing except what they want. The scientific team here tried at first to explain the difficulties of their request. Then one of the researchers turned up dead in his room, and within two days the families of the others received visits from men associated with HFA. No one else was hurt. They didn't need to be. After that, the members of the team only said yes. It didn't matter if the requests were impossible. So the document which you already have represents what HFA has hoped to achieve rather than what the people they've hired have actually achieved. Of course, no one has told HFA that.
'The bracelet in your possession contains a sample of nerve tissue destroyed by the virus in one of the links. I have learned that this virus is to be contained within a small, nonporous pouch that will then be embedded in whatever the final delivery device is. Inside the pouch is a chemical mix that mimics the virus's natural habitat both in composition and temperature. It is designed to keep the virus alive for weeks.'
Jansen paused, his eyes seeming to look directly at Quinn and Orlando. 'This is not polio as we have known it. This virus has been engineered to be far more malignant and destructive.
'What that final delivery device is I have not been told. As I have said, that is a part of the operation Dahl controls. I do know there is little time to waste. I have also not been told when the distribution of the virus is to occur, but my sense is that it will happen sometime in the next month.
'This must not be allowed to happen. The calculated destruction of the Bosniaks is revolting in and of itself. But the task to create such a targeted biological agent is beyond the capacity of those working here. Maybe beyond the capacity of anyone. What I'm saying is the virus they've tailored to attack their intended victims is flawed. Don't misunderstand, it will devastate the Bosniaks.
'But what they have really accomplished is to unintentionally engineer a supervirus that won't care which ethnic group a person is in. It could infect anyone, possibly everyone. If released, it will create a pandemic unlike any we have ever seen before.
'They must be stopped.' Jansen reached forward, then suddenly the picture stopped.
It was several seconds before Orlando began breathing again. Quinn's reaction the first time he'd watched the video had been almost the same.
'Do you want to watch it again?' Quinn asked.
'No,' Orlando replied. She sat in the chair Quinn had been in. 'I guess we can assume the mints are the unknown device.'
Quinn nodded. 'The virus packet must be embedded in the middle. Like those mints with the liquid centers.'
She looked up at him. 'It still doesn't matter. Getting Garrett back is still our main goal.' 'Of course,' he said. 'But we can't let them get the virus.' Orlando looked away. When she spoke, it was so low he almost couldn't hear her. 'I know.'
It was nearly midnight, and Quinn was back inside the water plant. He knew he was pressing his luck by returning, but the job had to be done. Besides, this time he wasn't completely alone.
Orlando was back at their hideout watching the monitor, filling Quinn in. Since they didn't have access to Orlando's communication gear anymore, they improvised by using their cell phones. Quinn's was taped to his arm, the hands-free cable running under his jacket to his ear.
On his b
ack, Quinn carried his backpack. It contained his gun and a few more of Orlando's purchases. The gun was only to be used as a last resort. This mission had to be completed without anyone even suspecting he'd been there.
Orlando talked him through the two basement rooms and into the stairwell that led to the base of the sphere. 'You're clear,' she said.
Quinn climbed the stairs, then opened the hatch that covered the top of the staircase. He stepped into the round room and shut the door. 'I'm going into the air lock now,' Quinn said.
'You should be okay,' Orlando told him. 'The only activity's in the containment room.'
Quinn crossed over to the vertical air-lock tube that led up and into the sphere itself. He pushed the button and waited for the light to turn green. When it did, he entered the tube and shut the door. He then climbed the ladder and reached up to open the hatch above him. 'Wait,' Orlando said. 'Someone just came in from the main air lock.'
Quinn held still. 'Okay,' she said. 'He's gone inside the containment room. Go ahead.' Quinn opened the hatch. Air from inside the
tube rushed past him into the sphere. Dressed as he was in a black sweater and black pants but no biohazard suit, the artificial wind reminded him how vulnerable he was.
He pulled himself into the sphere, then began scaling the scaffolding. When he reached the top, he positioned himself below the containment room and removed his backpack. Using a pair of Velcro strips, he attached the bag to a pole, then opened it.
The Czech-made Semtex explosive was overkill for the job, but Quinn had to make sure everything in the room above him was destroyed. The bad part was that he'd have to wait to set it off. Several of the boxes of mints had already been carried away. It was possible they weren't even in the building. If Quinn detonated the Semtex now, he might miss those other cases, and, in the process, tip off Dahl and Borko that he was onto them. The destruction of the virus had to be coordinated.
Quinn placed the Semtex at several points along the bottom of the laboratory. He then set a radio-activated detonator at each point. After that, he extracted a small box from the backpack. It was a relay. All they had to do now was trigger the relay with one of the remotes Orlando had obtained, and a signal would be sent out to the detonators. Then boom.
Quinn attached the relay to one of the poles, then gave everything a final inspection. Satisfied, he unfastened the strips holding the backpack to the pole and pulled the pack over his shoulders. Now it was only a matter of time.
Chapter 37
Though Quinn's sleep was short, it was the best he'd had in days. It didn't matter that he and his team were holed up in the cold back room of an abandoned store, or that they had to sleep in sleeping bags on blow-up mattresses. It always happened this way. The night before any big operation, Quinn would sleep like the dead.
At 5:30 a.m. his eyes opened. He was fully awake. The first thing he did was check on Nate. His forehead was damp, but not hot. The fever he'd had earlier seemed to have broken. Quinn got up and stepped around the mattresses, working his way out of the room.
He made a quick stop in the bathroom, then went out to the coffee shop just down the street and bought coffee and breakfast rolls. He made one final call to the Mole on the walk back. It was short, this time Quinn doing most of the talking. As he finished the conversation, he passed a news kiosk. On the counter was a stack of the Berliner Morgenpost. The headline caught his eye.
'Police Raid Terrorist Cell,' it read in German.
The address of the raided house was Sophie's. She was even mentioned in the article as being a potential member of the organization. He read on:
One of the suspected terrorists was killed in the gunfight as she tossed a grenade at undercover officers. Extensive damage was done to the structure. Police were forced to fire tear gas canisters to root out the rest of the terrorist cell. According to police sources, at least two others remain at large.
The rest of the story was below the fold, where Quinn couldn't read it. It was all bullshit, of course. But apparently Borko had enough contacts to cover his own tracks.
Quinn returned to the hideout and found the other two still asleep. He set the coffee and food within reach if either of them awoke, then went back into the bathroom.
He stared at his reflection in the mirror for a moment. He hadn't shaved in a couple of days and he was looking pretty scruffy. A plastic shopping bag sat on the floor near the sink. Inside were toothbrushes, toothpaste, a comb, deodorant, a hairbrush, razors and shaving cream, some first-aid stuff.
Quinn pulled out a razor and the cream and gave himself a thorough shave. He wiped away the excess foam, then opened one of the toothbrushes and brushed his teeth. Cleaner now, he turned off the light and returned to the other room.
Orlando was sitting up, drinking coffee. Nate was awake, too, the sleeping bag pulled up around his head. He was peeking out at Quinn through a small opening. 'It's fucking cold,' Nate said, his voice muffled by the bag.
'Have some coffee,' Quinn said.
'Can you just pour it over the top of my sleeping bag?'
'I guess you're feeling better then,' Quinn said.
'Compared to what?'
'Yesterday.'
'I guess.' Nate slowly sat up, letting the bag slide off his head and down to his shoulders. He moved his head slowly from side to side, stretching his neck. 'Definitely better. Yesterday when I woke up, I could barely turn over. I guess this is an improvement.'
'Do you think you're up to this?'
Nate didn't even hesitate. 'I'll be fine.'
'If you can't do it, tell us,' Orlando said, her tone all business. 'Good morning to you, too,' Nate said, turning toward her.
'I'm serious,' she said.
'So am I. I'll be fine.' Nate slowly reached over and picked up the remaining cup of coffee. 'I mean, if you're asking if I can run a mile, then sucker punch someone, I'd have to say no. But I can drive a car.'
'Even with your fucked-up shoulder?' Orlando asked. 'Jesus,' Nate said. 'You need to take a happy pill or something.'
'Nate,' Quinn said quickly.
'No,' Nate countered. He looked at Orlando. 'I realize this isn't easy for you. I know you wish you found Garrett instead of me. If I were you I'd feel the same way. But I'm here and you need my help to get him back. My shoulder is fucked up. I feel like shit. But if I say I can do the job, I'll do it.'
Orlando and Quinn both stared at Nate for a moment. Then Orlando said, 'You could have just said yes.'
Nate's hard expression softened. 'Yes.'
'I'm sorry,' she said.
Nate gave her a smile and waved it off.
'So are we all good now?' Quinn asked. 'Because we need to get a move on.'
Orlando had been able to learn from monitoring conversations at the plant that the transportation of the polio-laced mints was scheduled for 8:30
a.m. Their only chance to take everything out was between the time the mints left the water plant and when they arrived at the building on Kaiserdamm where the welcome packets were being stuffed. A narrow window at best.
Nate unzipped his bag and began to stand up, the whole time wincing in pain. 'There's some aspirin in the bathroom, if you need it,' Quinn said. Nate looked over at him. 'I may need the whole bottle.'
The information the Mole had given Quinn proved to be accurate. The place where the welcome packets were being prepped was an old stone office building sitting at the corner of a block of similar old stone buildings.
Quinn watched it from the Einstein Coffee Shop on the corner, just down the street. For the past thirty minutes several people had entered the building. The majority were young, probably university students. All were dressed comfortably for several hours of menial work. Quinn pegged them as the hired help who would be filling the packets.
Quinn's phone rang. It was Orlando. 'The van's leaving now.'
For the last hour she had been in position on top of the same apartment building she'd been on two nights before. This time she was
watching Borko's goons load the boxes of mints into a white cargo van.
'Is Borko still there?' Quinn asked.
'He left about ten minutes ago.' Orlando's voice came in short bursts. Quinn guessed she was once again making her way down the stairs, this time to Nate, who was sitting behind the wheel of a maroon BMW Quinn had appropriated earlier that morning.
'How many boxes total?' Quinn asked.
'Twenty.'
'All of them, then.'
'Looks like it.'
Twenty boxes, each containing 120 tins, gave Dahl 2,400 miniature biological weapons containers. Multiply that by the 6 mints in each box and the total number of delivery devices was 14,400. There were enough tins so that every attendee could leave with several extras. Have one now. Take a few home. Share them with your friends.
'They secured the boxes with a cargo net,' she added.
No doubt to keep the boxes from moving around, Quinn guessed. 'Were they alone?'
'No,' Orlando said. 'Hold on.'
Quinn could hear the sound of a car door opening, then a moment later slamming shut. Orlando said, 'Looks like they're heading toward Karl Marx Strasse.' The words were not for Quinn but Nate.
'Okay,' Orlando said into the phone. 'I'm back. What was the question?'
'Were they alone?'
'No. A silver Mercedes sedan is following. But as far as I can tell, that's it.'
One escort wasn't enough. There had to be more. At the very least, reinforcements would be at the ready at various points along the route if needed. 'You see them yet?' Quinn asked.
'They're about a block ahead of us.'
'Best guess?'
'Route C,' Orlando said, indicating one of the possible directions they had guessed the shipment might take. 'We'll go with that,' Quinn said. 'Call me if anything changes.'
He hung up.
Quinn walked outside to the Porsche he'd picked for his own ride that day. As he climbed into the car and started the engine, he watched a couple of late arrivals hurrying up the steps of the Grob Promotions facility. More college kids, probably just trying to earn a little extra money. Quinn took a deep breath, then pulled away from the curb.
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