The Moses Virus

by Jack Hyland

  Tom looked at her in surprise.

  “Only Bailitz and I have this code. My driver is parked just outside. He won’t be questioned at the front gates of the castle and will take you to the airport. Get out of Frankfurt as quickly as possible.”

  “But what about you? When Bailitz finds out, he’ll kill you.”

  “Don’t worry about me. I’ll just tell him that Krebs let his guard down and you escaped. They’ll be too busy trying to follow you to ask any questions. Where will you go?”

  “Back to Rome, for now.”

  “Good luck. Now go. I’ve got to get back.” Crystal was turning to leave, but then paused. “Tom, here’s my card. My personal cell number is there in case you need it.”

  Tom nodded goodbye to Crystal, and moved quickly down the stairs.

  At the foot of the stairs, Tom saw a small stainless steel rectangular plaque to the right of the door. He touched it, heard a click, and pushed the door open. Once outside, he saw a similar plaque outside, and found he was in the midst of tall evergreens growing close-up against the castle wall.

  Tom pushed through the foliage and saw a car with its motor idling on the drive. The driver jumped out and opened the back door. Tom got in, and the driver gunned it. They moved quickly around the castle, joining the main road that threaded its way through the eighteen-hole golf course to the massive entrance. The guards at the front gates recognized the car and waved it through.

  Forty minutes later, the driver pulled up to Terminal 1 at the Frankfurt airport. Tom got out without a word and melted into the crowd.

  What he didn’t see was the driver flipping open his cell phone and saying into it, “He’s heading toward the Lufthansa terminal,” or the two men who followed him at a discreet distance.

  At an ATM Tom withdrew €500 and proceeded to the ticket counter where he booked a one-way ticket back to Rome. He only had to wait an hour now before his escape was complete. He settled at a coffee bar full of students and waited. One hour.

  But it wasn’t long before a commotion broke out among the students.

  “Attention,” one of the students said aggressively in German, pushing back at two men who were bullying their way through the crowd. The student’s shouting was enough to draw the attention of security, and a guard came over to investigate. It was then that Tom got a better look and saw the two men in black.

  “Damn,” he said under his breath. He recognized them as the two men who had abducted him in Rome. That meant, he began to realize, that his escape from Bailitz was a clever deception to get him to lead them to the virus. He had to think fast—they were closing in on him.

  Tom left by another exit from the coffee bar that opened into a large passenger area. He ducked into the nearest men’s room and waited. After a few minutes, he looked into the passenger area. No sign of the two men. They probably assumed he’d gone through security to catch his flight. Moving quickly, he exited the terminal and flagged a cab.

  “Frankfurt Hauptbahnhof,” Tom said, and the cab took off toward the central rail station. Of all the places where he wanted to go, Geneva made the most sense. That was the most logical place to find the stash of Moses Virus—and it might throw Bailitz’s men of his trail, if only briefly.

  When Tom entered the train station, he was greeted with a cacophony of sounds. People were advancing to the trains and coming from them. Shops were everywhere. He looked up and spotted Geneva on the arrivals and departures board, with a departure time of 4:05 p.m. It was two hours before departure. When he checked further at the ticket window, he learned that the train arrived in Basel at 6:55 p.m.; there was an eight-minute layover before another train departed Basel at 7:03 p.m. and was scheduled to arrive in Geneva at 9:46 p.m. He bought a one-way ticket to Geneva and paid with cash.

  Back at his stronghold, Bailitz was in a fury. “What do you mean he wasn’t on the flight?” he said sternly into the phone. “Where is he?”

  “We’re not sure, sir. Perhaps he didn’t go to Rome.”

  Bailitz slammed down the phone. “Idiots! Stewart is smarter than we thought.”

  “Warburg’s bank is in Geneva,” Crystal said. “I imagine that’s where he’ll go.”

  Bailitz thought a moment. “You’re right. Alert our team at the Frankfurt airport. Have them check on flights to Geneva—and on the trains as well. He might try to surprise us by taking the train. Either way, he’ll have to show his passport when he arrives in Switzerland. See if we can make contact with Swiss immigration—we need to confirm he’s on the way to Geneva. And put that team we sent to Warburg’s house on the alert. We’ll need someone watching Stewart and someone else watching Warburg’s bank just in case we miss him in Geneva.”

  “I believe we have Warburg’s bank entrance under surveillance already.” Crystal opened her cell phone and began making calls.

  “And check for recent hotel reservations,” Bailitz said. “Watch for his arrival at the train station and airport in Geneva and watch the hotels in case he drives there.”

  He turned to Crystal. “I think you were right to let Stewart lead us to the virus. Our men had better not let him slip through their hands. Is Krebs okay? He won’t like having been the fall guy.”

  Crystal replied, “He should be coming out of it about now,” and continued making her calls.

  With his train departing Frankfurt at 4:05 p.m., Tom rechecked his watch, which read 2:30 p.m. He had time to kill. He went to a branch of a German department store inside the terminal and bought toiletries, a small suitcase, some clothes and a Bic precharged, prepaid cell phone. He had seen these new gadgets advertised but never guessed he’d find one useful. He changed in the men’s room and then, finding the card Alex had given him in his wallet, with her address and telephone number, called her. But the call went straight to her voicemail. “Alex,” he said, “this is Tom—I’ve had to buy a new telephone, so you won’t recognize this number. I’m okay now, in Frankfurt, and soon to be on a train to Geneva. I’ll explain everything when we connect. Call as soon as you can.”

  Tom exited the train station and started walking. He had gone two blocks when he spotted a small restaurant that seemed to be doing a brisk business. It was the kind of typical German restaurant that offered reasonably priced food and excellent German beer on tap. He found a table toward the back that gave him a good view of the front door of the restaurant. He was safe for now. Tom relaxed—a bit—and ordered. A few minutes later, the waiter brought Tom some rolls, a stein of beer, and a wurstsalat. He ate quickly, paid the bill, and headed back to the terminal.

  As the train left Frankfurt without any further incidents for him, Tom evaluated his situation. Bailitz was insane. Tom admitted he had never met a truly mad person before. Everything Bailitz said made sense from a certain cold, detached perspective, but it was stark, raving madness nonetheless. It was scary precisely because it was so logical. What he had learned about Bailitz’s plans was terrifying—Bailitz would set off the Moses Virus, which might become a global pandemic, and Bailitz was prepared to take this risk to accomplish his selfish, crazy agenda. Tom realized he had to get help. Without Crystal’s intervention—whatever her motivation—he might still be in that chair being tortured by Dr. Krebs. He could call Pulesi, but could he be trusted? He tried Sigmund’s number once again.

  After the fourth ring, the receiver was picked up, to Tom’s relief. “Sigmund?” Tom asked.

  “This is Julian. I work for Herr Warburg.”

  “Julian, I’m Tom Stewart. I met you two days ago when I visited Sigmund. I’ve been trying to reach him.” From his meeting with Bailitz, Tom suspected that Sigmund was dead, but thought it better that he hear the news from Julian. “Is he available?”

  There was silence at the other end of the line. “I’m sorry, Professor Stewart. Herr Warburg has had an accident.”

  “Is he all right?”

  Jul
ian shook his head. “No, sir, he died yesterday.”

  Though he already knew Warburg was probably dead, the confirmation was still a blow. “Julian, I’m so sorry to hear this. Can you please tell me what happened? I mean, what really happened?”

  “He was found, dead of a heart attack, in the swimming pool,” Julian replied.

  Tom’s mind was racing. First O’Boyle, now Warburg. Were these deaths directly traceable to his meeting with these men? Or was it just coincidence?

  Then a second thought occurred. Swimming pool. Sigmund had said he never used it—only his wife. There was no heart attack. Bailitz all but admitted that he did it. That was it. That was what Bailitz was referring to—Warburg, a frail, older man. Murder, a calculated murder. Tom thanked Julian, expressed regret about Sigmund one more time, and hung up.

  When the train pulled into Basel, Tom glanced at his watch. Tom’s train was not only on time, but the train to Geneva was waiting. Within the scheduled eight minutes, Tom was on his way to Geneva. Remarkable, he thought, German and Swiss efficiency. He realized that he had more than two hours before he would arrive in Geneva. Since there was a dining car on the train, he decided to have dinner. He was mildly hungry now, but realized that he might not find many restaurants open when he arrived at nearly 10 p.m.

  Tom walked to the diner, which was two cars forward. There were not that many people on this particular train, and certainly no one who looked suspicious. There were several tables free, so he chose a seat at one of them. A waiter came over to ask if he’d like a drink. Tom ordered a glass of wine and chose from the menu.

  While Tom waited for the food to arrive, and, again, while eating his dinner, the reality of his position weighed upon him. The information that Sigmund Warburg had been brutally murdered was simply the most recent data, but somehow it drove home just how isolated Tom felt. It bothered him—not being able to reach Alex. Just talking with her would have cheered him up.

  Tom concluded that he was alone and safe on this train headed to Geneva. Probably alone—he corrected himself. But when his passport had been checked as the train entered Switzerland, Tom realized his identity had become known to the Swiss authorities and perhaps to Bailitz as well. Once in Geneva, Bailitz undoubtedly would have men watching for his arrival. Within the grip of such somber thoughts, Tom decided not to have another wine after his meal. He needed to be alert. He resolved to be supercareful, because he was certain that he would be followed, and he didn’t want to think about the consequences if he made a misstep.

  The train pulled into Geneva at 9:46 p.m., precisely on time. Tom asked at the information desk in the station for a recommendation of a hotel near Rue de Hollande. A helpful agent suggested the Hotel d’Allèves, a small, family-run place located on Rue Kleberg, only an eight-minute walk from the Gare de Cornavin, the Geneva train station. Tom bought a map to the city as well. He opened the map and saw that Hotel d’Allèves was not far from the Pont de la Machine, a bridge that crossed the Rhone River and ran into the Rue de Hollande where Warburg’s bank offices were located.

  Tom left the Gare de Cornavin, heading toward the hotel. Out on Lake Geneva, there was still enough light to see the spray from the huge fountain in the lake. But Tom did not feel like a tourist. He felt more like a hunted animal.

  And this was not far from the truth, because two of Bailitz’s men had spotted Tom as he left the train. They confirmed this by comparing Tom’s face with a picture of him sent to their iPhones. They discreetly followed him as he walked the eight minutes to Hotel d’Allèves. They reported seeing Tom to Bailitz, who ordered them to remain outside the hotel entrance throughout the night.

  The Hotel d’Allèves was a modest stone building built in the mideighteenth century, but restored many times over the intervening years. The most recent renovations were carried out, the reception clerk said, in 2008, when a wireless Internet connection was installed throughout the building. Tom booked a room for two days and paid in cash in advance.

  Tom’s third floor room had two floor-to-ceiling windows. There were wooden beams overhead and a chandelier hanging from the ceiling. A desk was near the windows, and a large television was on the bureau at the end of the bed. The room was not vast, but it was comfortable.

  Tom’s cell phone rang. He saw that it was Alex’s number.

  “Hello,” Alex said tentatively, and her voice was like a balm.

  “Alex, it’s me, Tom.”

  She exhaled in relief. “Thank God it’s you! I’ve been worried sick. Where are you?”

  “I’m in a small hotel in Geneva.”

  “Geneva? Are you safe?”

  “For the moment, yes. They think I’m back in Rome.”

  “Who?”

  “The men who kidnapped me last night.” And Tom explained the events beginning with the last evening.

  “So, Belagri is behind it all,” Alex said.

  “Yes. They’ll stop at nothing to get the virus. They killed O’Boyle and Sigmund Warburg.”

  “How horrible!” Alex said. “This has gotten out of control.”

  “I agree. I’ve been thinking. We’ll need to dispose of the virus once we’ve been able to get hold of it. I’ve got a plan, and I need you—urgently.”

  “Tell me what I can do.”

  “Before Warburg died, he sent me a small package containing a letter of reference to the bank manager at Cordier, Warburg in Geneva, and a key to a safe-deposit box. I suspect that the contents of the safe-deposit box will help us find the cache of the Moses Virus. Before I was kidnapped, I hid my package from Warburg in the small room just off the Trajan aqueduct, near the American Academy.”

  “And you want me to get the package and meet you in Geneva?”

  “That’s the plan.”

  “But how can I get to the hidden room without arousing suspicion at the Academy?”

  “I discovered that there’s access to the aqueduct from the Tiber. Here’s the way to go.” He gave her detailed instructions, with her starting point being the Piazza Trilussa.

  “I want to warn you,” Tom added, “you’ll probably run into rats.”

  “What? Rats?”

  “They’re more afraid of you than you are of them.”

  “I’m not so sure of that.”

  “They’ll scatter when you yell at them.”

  “You’re going to owe me one,” Alex said.

  Tom continued. “Be sure to take a flashlight. And wear comfortable walking shoes.”

  “When do you want me to do this?”

  “Now. Once you have the package, I need you to fly to Geneva as soon as you can. Make sure you’re not followed. Call me at this number when you get in. Rent a car at the airport. We may need it.”

  “How will I make certain I’m not followed? Don’t they already know what I look like from breaking into my house?” Alex asked.

  “Take every precaution you can think of. Someone may be watching your house. Change taxis. That may help.”

  Alex said, “I’ll have to make a few calls first, and then I’ll be ready. I’ll take the first flight out I can get tomorrow morning.”

  “Alex, you’re the only one I can trust. Thanks. I’m so glad to be talking to you.”

  “You sound exhausted,” Alex said. “Get some rest. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  16

  The sun was up before 6 a.m., and Alex was up with it. She looked out the window at a clear blue sky. It was going to be a hot summer day. Alex thought about her planned activities. Walking in an ancient, abandoned aqueduct: Sensible shoes? Check. A bag to carry Sigmund’s package? Check. A flashlight to see in the dark? Check. Disguise for going to the bank to avoid being recognized. Now what could that be?

  Then she knew: a blond wig she had used for a costume party last year. It worked then and would be perfect now.

  Locking h
er front door, she walked to Via del Pellegrino. She turned left and then left again into the shortcut she had shown Tom. No car could follow her. Once on Via dei Cappellari, just out front of the Taverna Lucifero, she safely hailed a taxi. She changed taxis once and got out on the east bank of the Tiber, then crossed the Ponte Sisto Bridge to the Piazza Trilussa in Trastevere. Alex looked around her—the street was empty of cars. No one had followed her.

  “All’s going extremely well,” she said and smiled to herself. But this was before she got lost finding the entry to the aqueduct. Be careful, she thought. I can’t mess this up. Then, on the second try, she found the alley Tom had painstakingly described, and realized she was well on her way to finding the aqueduct entrance.

  Once Alex was in the aqueduct, she found that walking was not easy, as the floor of the tunnel was uneven. “Damn,” she said aloud this time as she tripped on a small indentation in the brick surface under her feet. “It’s hot, unpleasant, steep, and hard to walk on. I should have worn running shoes instead of these. How was I to know that sandals wouldn’t work so well?”

  After what seemed like miles, Alex stopped. She heard a scratching sound and saw a dozen pairs of eyes staring at her. “Rats,” she said, gritting her teeth. “I was warned. I don’t mind them,” she tried to convince herself. “They’re as afraid of me as I am of them. They’ll go away.”

  She gave a kick in the direction of the staring eyes and cried, “Get away!” The rats immediately scattered. Alex continued on, checking the walls with her flashlight for the wood-paneled door Tom had told her about. She finally found it. She shone her flashlight at the door, gave it a push, and it opened. She stepped inside. There was the table and, behind it, the opening in the wall covered with a sliding panel. She approached it, slid the panel door open, and saw the small box that Tom had described. Alex opened the box and confirmed for herself that the key and the letter were inside.