Before going back into the room, she read the tourist information feed. The column which was located in the center had been built with the melted guns conquered by Napoleon in his victory at Austerlitz in 1805, where he had defeated the Austrians and the Russians. How ironic, she thought. She was now waiting for the Russian emissary to negotiate the new drug distribution agreement in Latin America.
She heard Guillermo open the door of the suite, so she hurried in, closing the balcony doors behind her. The bodyguards in the room made sure to close the curtains and to activate all the electronic screens.
The Russian delegation was made of a red-haired woman and an extremely fit, almost seven feet tall, grey haired man. As agreed with Guillermo, Helena started the conversation, addressing the woman in Arabic.
"Merhaba, if our information is correct and our request to have an experienced counterpart has been granted, you should be Irina."
"I am," Irina responded calmly and smiled, still speaking in Arabic "Congratulations on your pronunciation. It took me several years of practice in the Gulf to reach your level of proficiency."
"I am a fast learner." Helena smiled back, while she was making sure Guillermo and the other Russian were wearing their headphones and starting the instant translation app of their smartphones.
"I beg your pardon, Helena, but I have to warn you not to use your husband's smartphone. Ours are secure, but I cannot say the same about yours. In my previous role, I used them to steal information from my customers."
"How did Irina know that Guillermo was her husband?" Helena thought. She had made sure the information did not go beyond a restricted circle. Or was Irina just bluffing? She switched back to English.
"Alright, let's get to the point. We have recently intercepted a load of Telomerax pills in Caracas, which were bound for Miami. This is nothing strange. What’s strange is that they were a mix of the Indian and Russian strains. So the question is, who of you guys is trying to invade our market? Is Eurasia not big enough for you?"
"Even if there were Russian pills, it was not from us," this time the answer came from the man, who spoke a raucous English, "you can call me Vanja, I am coordinating the distribution of the pills. Given the nasty side effects of our version, about one year ago we decided to switch to the Indian version. That's what we have been shipping to Europe and Africa. The Indians are competing with us in Africa, along with the Chinese in South East Asia. We never thought about entering North or South America, and..."
The speech was interrupted by a series of remote explosions and the sound of police sirens. It was coming from the nearby Place de la Concorde.
"I think it is the anti-prohibition protest that is going sour," Guillermo commented, "it is not easy to manage an enraged crowd of tens of thousands of people."
"That's why in Moscow we just don't allow protests to take place." Vanja noted, slightly amused. Irina whiffed and then added. "And we turn our heads on Telomerax diffusion."
The sirens were getting closer, to the point that they felt compelled to switch on the television. They connected to one of the many live newsfeeds. The police had attacked the crowd, who had dispersed in the nearby streets. Some groups were starting to set cars ablaze here and there, and some of them were rushing down Rue St. Honoré. Protesters might have reached Place Vendome in a matter of minutes.
They left the suite and went to the balconies. Four police vans crossed the square, blocking the south access. The first group of rioters tried to enter, but was stopped by a salvo of tear gas. The group of policemen herded the crowd back to Place de la Concorde. The police was trying to draw them to the east, toward place de la Bastille, to keep it away from the Presidential palace. Guillermo watched the scene next to Vanja. In the distance, they could even hear some gunshots.
"We are going to see more and more of this, as prohibition tightens in Europe, following the US example,” Guillermo commented. “It is not easy to tell people they have to give up the possibility of becoming immortal, no matter how much of a risk it brings. But it is good business for you guys in the security community."
Vanja did not reply. On the other balcony, Helena and Irina stayed silent, until Irina turned her glance away from the police and addressed Helena.
"Tarek told me a bit of the story of your team, of how he opposed the decision to go public, fearing uncontrollable destabilization, and how he was always part of the minority. I guess you were in the majority, together with your late husband, George. Could you have ever imagined things would go this way?"
Helena waited for the sirens and the shots to subside. As Guillermo and Vanja were re-entering the room, she hinted to her husband that she needed a few minutes more, alone with Irina. As the French counterintelligence in front of them was recording the conversation, she wanted to make sure everybody knew her answer and also made a point to double check with Tarek all he had told Irina about their team.
"The way I grew up, I learned that regret does not lead you anywhere. If things go wrong by your mistake, it's much better to learn the lesson for the next time. If you can blame someone else, it is more productive to think about retaliation and revenge. So yes, in retrospect there are a few things I would have done differently, and I think George would agree with me. But someone killed George, and whoever is guilty made a big mistake, so I hope you are not involved with that. I am starting to appreciate your way of working."
Irina contemplated her options. Remaining silent would have been an half-admission to responsibility, so she had better say something. But what? She felt Helena had, like herself, a sense for spotting well-crafted lies, and whatever she said would be known also by the French secret service. She eventually made up her mind and stared straight into Helena’s eyes. She couldn't help notice that, at almost six-feet-tall, she was looking down to Helena from a good four inches.
"Helena, you know, I am not the boss of any of the Russian secret agencies. So I cannot rule out that somebody in Moscow might have made that decision. Nor is it my duty to find out, for that matter. One thing I can tell you though is I grew up without a father, and I did not like it at all. I knew you and George had a daughter. I would not allow the attack, if it was up to me."
"Alright Irina," Helena whispered, "you just made my search more difficult. We better go back in, we have a few more subjects to go through."
Chapter 5
The mail left no room for interpretation, Dinesh had to show up in Delhi early the next morning. As he was not a morning person, he called his assistant to prepare his private jet in order to leave Pune that same evening so that he could enjoy a full night of sleep, and told her to reorganize his schedule for the next two days, since he would be busy in the meetings with the Indian government.
The morning after, an Indian Air Force limousine picked Dinesh up at the Centaur Airport Hotel, then dropped him off next to an unmarked helicopter. Dinesh was welcomed by Vikas Kumar, a high ranking officer in the Indian Secret Service, who was his main connection to the Indian government. Vikas helped Dinesh inside, and immediately closed the doors. As Dinesh started to buckle up for the flight, the officer started talking.
"Thanks for your quick response, Dinesh, we owe you. We need you to see what's going on firsthand, just do not answer any questions from the people we are going to meet until I give you a nod. I will take care of the rest."
"Well, Vikas, when it comes to paying me back, I do have some debt with my homeland. Who are we going to meet?"
Vikas did not answer, and rather turned the liquid crystal windows to blind mode. Dinesh was about to ask for an explanation but the noise of the turbines started to flood the cabin. The helicopter took off and headed West.
As soon as the helicopter reached flying speed and the engines' roar subsided, Dinesh aired his frustration again.
"Vikas, would you mind explaining this godfather scene you’re creating? You have never used such B-movie tricks, no matter what we had to discuss whether you come to my office in Navi Mumbai or I com
e to yours in Delhi. Do I have to expect mafia bodyguards in black suits on arrival? It's getting on my nerves, I tell you."
"Alright, it’s time for an explanation," Vikas took off his glasses and switched off the intercom, separating them from the cockpit, "we are heading West. We will land in a secret place you do not need to know, not far away from Lahore. Does that tell you something?"
"It looks like the perfect place to have some meeting with the Pakistanis, our arch-enemies. I do not think you want to hand me over to them, though."
"Absolutely not," Vikas smiled. "You are one of India's core assets, as valuable as our nuclear warheads and far more valuable than the Taj Mahal, I dare to say."
Vikas paused for a second. Dinesh did not find the joke funny.
"Dinesh, your drug and the fact that it is legal in India has changed the balance of the world's drug trade. Consumers are moving away from heroin and switching to cocaine because they can later remove the side effects with Telomerax."
"This I know very well. Our government made the decision that the revenues, both legal and illegal, were worth the diplomatic frictions. Up to now, it has paid off. Our airports are crowded with Superjumbos that bring Europeans, Asians and Americans by the thousands just to buy Telomerax, and stay long enough to make sure that on their way back they are not detected by Homeland Security. But hang on, you said that the heroin market is collapsing, and that used to be the main source of income for Afghanistan..."
"...as well as of the Pakistani secret service, the ISI. We are making them desperate, which is something we do not like too much."
"I see," Dinesh continued, "is this what is behind the terror attacks of the last months against the Chennai malls and the Bangalore technology district? And the tightening of the security around me and my company? Why do you guys working in the undergrounds of power always need to attach a few hundred innocent lives to a meeting request?"
Vikas sighed. He did not like the naive side of Dinesh.
"I cannot comment, Dinesh. However, there might be a solution. Our Prime Minister decided to share Telomerax with the Pakistanis. After some balking, they accepted the offer. Obviously, we need your help to get them started."
Dinesh was shocked.
"Hang on. What are the terms of the deal? What if I do not agree? Do I have an exit? Or is it too late to jump ship?"
"You will decide for yourself after hearing the details. Or, better, what we can tell you about the details. Obviously, the Pakistanis have been eagerly studying Telomerax derivatives just like everyone else, and they called upon their best minds in biochemistry, from the Gulf to the United States. Their focus was to reproduce the drug-effacing behavior, much like the Russians did. Somehow, they figured out their own version, but need help in the final design and to setup their own manufacturing facility. That's where we volunteered you to help them, to put it in that way. So they will also enter the Telomerax market and have their fair share. Obviously, they won't legalize it, much like all other Muslim countries."
"Understood. But what does India gain, then? In a few months they will have their own factory."
"Well, first of all they committed to rein in all the militant groups in Kashmir. Then, but this is more my own view, I think this will help our two countries realize we have far more interests in common than we want to think of. If they do not stick to their commitment, we have a formidable weapon in our hands, we just have to let the whole deal go public, for example by posting the video of today's meeting on YouTube. It would mean the immediate end of every Pakistani government and the loss of the drug revenue. Now, all of this depends a lot, but not exclusively, on you. That's why now it's time you meet your counterparts. What do you want to do? We will be arriving in about ten minutes."
Vikas concluded by looking at his watch.
"Not exclusively on me.." Dinesh thought, "obviously, the government does not need me to run the factory in Mumbai, my team can manage that. True, research on the drug would be seriously delayed, for a while. But the time when Telomerax was the work of a single genius is long gone. By the way, I wonder what happened to Louis Picard. All I know is what George told me over the years."
The helicopter started descending.
"Alright, Vikas, I got the point. Somebody once said that freedom is nothing but the possibility to choose one's own master to serve. I prefer to help you by choice, rather than be in a situation where I have no control."
"Good decision. We can open the windows again now," Vikas said, switching off the LED curtains. The helicopter was landing in a wheat field, not far away from another unmarked helicopter. A few hundred yards further stood the main building of a Punjab farm, where the Pakistanis were most likely waiting for them.
Vikas got out first, and then helped Dinesh down. Before heading to the farm, the Indian officer looked at Dinesh and whispered "Once again remember, let me lead the meeting and answer only after my nod."
Then, they both started walking slowly towards the building.
Chapter 6
Yaakov left the arrival area of Chicago Airport Terminal 5 in the early afternoon. Just outside of the gates, among the crowd, he spotted his contact, a tall, muscular Afro-American weighing almost three hundred pounds. He was holding a tablet with the “Park Inn Motel” sign flashing on the screen. Yaakov stopped in front of him and asked, “Who are you waiting for, svartser goy?”
The reply was immediate “Yiddish is no longer popular here in Illinois, Sir, but I can take you to a place in South Chicago where you can still speak it. My name is Traynor and I do not like rap.” Yaakov followed him silently to the parking lot, where another Afro-American was waiting next to a green hotel van. The man exchanged glances with Traynor but he did not bother introducing himself.
“Before we go,” Traynor told Yaakov, “just leave anything suspicious you might have with you here with my buddy, from weapons to pills. Flights from India land at this time of the day and it is very easy to be stopped and searched also outside the terminal perimeter, especially if you have an exotic look and travel with Latinos or Afro-Americans.”
“I am perfectly clean, we can go,” Yaakov replied, only slightly upset at the prospect of another in-depth search after the one he had just gone through at the US Customs. The check promptly happened at the security roadblock placed at the entrance of Interstate 90. Yaakov had to re-open all his bags in front of a police officer, while two other servicemen were keeping Traynor and him at gunpoint. They were eventually let go.
After a few hundred yards on the highway, Traynor broke the silence. “Is the security in Israel like this? I was told it is pretty professional too.”
“I would say it is a bit more lax, at least they let you out of the airport quickly…” Yaakov replied thoughtfully, “have there been many accidents recently?”
Yaakov knew the answer, but he wanted to give his biased opinion.
“Plenty. At least two or three big shoot-outs per week in Chicago alone. Dealers and ordinary people alike go out of their minds to smuggle Telomerax into America. So when the police catch them, more often than not they overreact with whatever they have on hand. It’s more or less like this at all US entry points, it’s an outright war, with tens of casualties every month. To try to fix that, those motherfuckers of Bioguard, that own the Telomerax detector market, have come up with the underskin chip, that automatically records if you have been taking Telomerax in the last eight weeks. Many people decide to implant it to fast track the security checks. The rich as well, they go to India or, recently, Brazil and Venezuela, to have their Telomerax beauty farm holiday and come back when they have no more traces in the body. So if you do not have your skin chip, it’s either because you are a dropout or because you are possibly involved in the trade. And you know what? Ninety-percent of my black brothers, myself included, do not carry the chip. It’s the new slavery. We are automatically on the suspect list of the government, no matter if we wear Calvin Klein suits like me!” he laughed.
&nbs
p; As Traynor continued his monologue, Yaakov was watching the endless sequence of single family homes that were lining the Interstate 90 from Chicago O’Hare Airport to downtown. At the end of November, the leaves had long fallen and only a relatively small ridge was protecting them from the highway noise, elevating them a few feet from the valley where the traffic was flowing. Out of habit, he kept checking in the rearview mirror of the van if someone was following them, but so far everything was fine. They went past the city center, and left Interstate 90 at the Oakwood Cemetery exit, heading into the South Chicago streets. At one traffic light, Yaakov noticed a motorbike that was waiting at the intersection on his right, just next to an ambulance. Wasn’t it too cold to drive a bike in late November? As they went past the traffic light, Yaakov checked his side mirror and saw that the motorbike remained at the red light. He glanced at the road ahead, then again in the mirror. The bike had disappeared, but he could now see the ambulance turning in their direction, as the light had become green. Where was the bike then? He did not see it pass ahead, nor turn toward their direction.
“Traynor,” he demanded, “Look at your mirror, there' s something wrong here..”
He could not finish the sentence before a shower of heavy gunfire blew the right window away, spraying the brains of Traynor on to the front window. Yaakov tried to duck under the windshield, out of the line of fire, while the van banked to the right, and crashed into a parked car. Yaakov’s door was blocked. He had just fractions of seconds before being an open target for the attacker. He tried to scramble for his bag to use it as a shield, when he realized that the motorbike sped away without bothering to finish the job.
The Last Enemy - A history of the present future - 1934-2084 Page 24