“How long have we known each other, Anzor? You recruited me right out of university in Leipzig for work on biological agents. After the Berlin Wall came down, you continued to support my research, even when it was unpopular with your new bosses in Moscow. We shared the same vision. As you rose in the ranks, so did I. Now, we have reached a point where we don’t have to answer to any governments. They will fear us. We can control our own destinies.”
Lenzer stood up.
“There was an outbreak recently of porcine epidemic diarrhea virus in Ohio. Thousands of piglets died. The authorities are concentrating on semen used to artificially inseminate sows. In Israel and Saudi Arabia there have been outbreaks of a disease everyone assumes is Middle East respiratory syndrome, or MERS. They are killing Egyptian tomb bats by the tens of thousands, the typical MERS vector.” Lenzer cackled again. “They should be looking at camels, which we infected with a specialized Viron made from a harmless camel virus and one of our prions. Perhaps you read about those hundreds of dead dolphins found on beaches all along the East Coast. We did that, just to test the resistance of one of our Virons to salt water. The fools at the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration are blaming cetacean morbillivirus, a marine strain of a virus similar to measles.”
Turchin knocked back his vodka and poured himself another. But he was cold sober, stunned by what he’d just heard.
“We even found a way to kill trees specifically engineered to resist a deadly fungus,” Lenzer gloated. “The Americans hope to restore their beloved chestnut forests. I fear they will be sorely disappointed.”
“How many people know about this?”
Lenzer laughed.
“Don’t worry, Anzor. Most of the Virons were delivered by employees or middlemen who know nothing of what they were doing. Why would a supplier of camel feed in Hebron associate what he was doing with an outbreak of a disease caused by bats? Other than you and I, only three of my staff know what is actually going on. And they are totally loyal. Most of the others know only the specific Virons they are working with and are unaware that some samples have been weaponized. And soon it won’t matter. I plan on offering some of the fruits, or should I say, the grains, of our research to the highest bidders. Of course, Russia will have first choice, if you can convince your superiors. I don’t imagine that will be too hard to do. If you thought BVM was a prize worth having, what do you think they will pay for control of not only world food production, but world health?”
“You are playing a dangerous game, Roland. The Americans, and others, may consider you a common criminal and try to take your research by force.”
“Let them try. I will keep much of the research, and the most virulent Virons, someplace safe, just in case. I will threaten to give it to terrorists. Or, perhaps, I will engineer some of my Virons so that they persist in the environment. After a few million dead, no one will balk at my terms.”
The man is clearly insane, Turchin thought. Once we get all of his research, we’ll have to do something about him. My joke about Hitler might not be too far from the mark. This lunatic probably wants to establish a Fourth Reich. What did Churchill say about the Germans: They’re either at your feet, or at your throat.
The door to the patio opened and Lenzer’s thuggish manservant walked out, holding a cell phone.
“Karl! I told you we were not to be disturbed. Scheisskerl!”
“I’m sorry, Doctor Lenzer,” the manservant said calmly. “But one of your lab assistants is on the phone. He says it is an emergency.”
Apparently Karl was used to Lenzer’s abuse, even being called a “shithead,” Turchin mused.
Lenzer angrily snatched the phone out of the man’s hand.
“Yes. What is it? Speak up. What’s the matter with your voice?” A pause. “Who hit you?”
A look of incredulity crossed Lenzer’s face as he listened for a moment.
“Yes. You were right to call. Try to keep the police away. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
He turned to his manservant.
“Get the car! Hurry!”
Karl ran off.
“What is the problem?” Turchin asked.
“There was a power failure after a transformer explosion. Then, a fire alarm in my laboratory.”
“Is that unusual?”
“It can happen. But one of my men said he saw Rasmussen and Stone, the writer, in the building. Stone was dressed in a lab coat and hit him in the throat. They wanted to know where my private lab was.”
“What is in your lab?”
“The secret of the Viron. And some details of our tests.”
“You fool!”
“Where am I supposed to keep them, in my head? There is no danger. My lab can only be accessed by a palm print. Mine.”
“But you are concerned.”
“I want to know what those two are up to. Come on. Let’s go.”
Turchin smiled. His KGB instincts kicked in. Transformer explosion? Fire alarm? Assault? Too many coincidences. It sounded like a covert operation. Rasmussen and Stone. The Americans possibly weren’t as dim as he thought.
“I don’t think I should show up at a break-in at your lab, Roland. People might ask questions. I will wait here.”
“As you wish.”
CHAPTER 29 - STAIRS
Anne Rasmussen reached into her bag of tricks and pulled out a small flat device that resembled a mini-iPad. She placed it over the palm reader and turned it on. Scarne saw several flashes.
“Palms leave an imprint,” she explained. “This reads the last one left behind, copies it and shoots it back. Lenzer should have invested in a retina scan. We haven’t figured out how to beat that one yet.”
They heard the door unlock. They went in. When Scarne closed the door, it didn’t lock.
“We haven’t worked all the problems out with the palm gizmo,” Rasmussen explained. “It screws up the system. It will have to be reset.”
Inside the small lab was a counter with microscopes, test tubes, burners, beakers and all the other accoutrements of science. Refrigerators and cabinets lined one wall. At the back of the room was a desk with a computer station. Rasmussen headed right to it and sat. She booted the computer up with Scarne looking over her shoulder.
“It’s password protected,” he said.
“Not a problem,” she said.
“Of course not,” he said.
She reached into her bag and removed a thumb drive. She plugged it into the computer and started hitting some function keys. Her fingers moved too fast for Scarne to follow. In less than a minute, she had Lenzer’s password.
“You don’t have Amelia Earhart in that bag, do you?”
“Password breaker,” she said. “Never leave home without one.”
“I’m definitely moving to Australia,” Scarne said.
“Don’t bother. You’ve seen too much. I’ll have to shoot you when this is all over.”
They began going through files. Some were named after diseases. Some after countries or cities. After 10 minutes, Scarne said, “Jesus Christ.” Bryan Valance wasn’t Lenzer’s only victim. The madman had killed hundreds, maybe thousands, of innocent people.
“That son-of-a-bitch,” Anne said. “I’ve got to get this to Washington.” She moved the cursor. “Damn it!”
“What’s the matter?”
“This computer isn’t connected to the Internet,” Rasmussen said. “Probably for security reasons. We have to take some of this with us.”
She grabbed another thumb drive from her bag and started downloading the files on to it. The whooping from the fire alarm abruptly stopped. Then the lights blinked out briefly and came back on.
“Fuck!” Rasmussen said. “That was the generators going off line and the outside power kicking back in. I’ll have to restart the computer.”
“We’re sure to have company soon,” Scarne said. “And I’m not sure it’s going to be the good guys.”
“I need more time, Jake,” Ra
smussen said.
“How long?”
“Ten minutes.”
“OK. I’ll see if I can stall anyone coming. Don’t wait for me. Soon as you have enough, skedaddle out of here. We passed a back stairwell exit. Use that. I’ll be fine. If it’s the bad guys I have my gun. If it’s the good guys, I’ll surrender and tell them we spilled a beaker of Ebola. They won’t come back here. Just make sure you raise some bail money for me. We’ve broken about a dozen laws.”
She looked at him and touched his arm.
“Good luck, Jake. And, thanks.”
Scarne went down the corridor, where he could keep an eye on both the elevator and the stairs they’d used. He was betting on the stairs. After a power outage and a fire alarm, he didn’t think anyone would chance the elevator.
But no one used either. He waited the full 10 minutes and then ran back to Lenzer’s office.
There was a man dressed like a butler standing in front of the door holding two guns. One was a Glock, probably Anne’s. The back stairs! Scarne mentally kicked himself. He should have known.
The man raised the other gun, which looked like a Lugar. Scarne was just passing the door to another office and he dove through it as the man fired. There was a connecting door to the next office up the corridor. Scarne, pulling his own gun, ran through it. Through the glass panels in the corridor door of the second office he saw the gunman moving past.
Scarne walked out into the corridor, now behind the other man, who turned at the sound of the other door opening. Scarne shot him three times just as he was bringing his Lugar up. He grunted and fell over backwards, both of his guns firing wildly. Amid the gunfire and shattering glass of nearby labs, Scarne could see firemen emerging from the front stairwell. They quickly dove back into the stairwell.
Scarne charged back and burst into Lenzer’s lab. A snarling Lenzer was holding Anne Rasmussen down on the floor by the throat. In his right hand was a syringe. Lenzer’s arm began its downward arc. Scarne, still 10 feet away, fired.
The round caught Lenzer in the right ear. Blood and brain matter splattered on the wall and Lenzer tumbled sideways off Rasmussen, leaving the syringe dangling loosely in her chest. She started to sit up, and it fell out, not having gone in too deeply. She began clawing at her blouse.
“God, it burns,” she said, as tears welled up.
“Lie still,” Scarne said as he reached her, pushing her flat to the floor.
He ripped open her blouse and unhooked her bra. There was a small purplish hole, barely visible in the aureole just below the nipple on left breast. It was oozing a greenish liquid. Scarne didn’t know what was in the needle, but he assumed it wasn’t going to do her any good. It probably wouldn’t do him any good either, he knew, but he couldn’t just wait for help to arrive. The syringe still looked almost full. Maybe there was a chance if she hadn’t been injected with too big a dose of whatever was in it.
Scarne grasped Rasmussen’s nipple and tilted it upwards, while pulling down the area below it with his fingers, trying to spread the needle hole as wide as he could. Anne cried out. He leaned down and put his mouth over the hole and sucked as hard as he could. It must have been painful, because she screamed and her body bucked. But he kept at it. At first he felt a bitter taste in his mouth. He spit the green fluid on the floor and bent to his task. God, I hope it’s really not Ebola, he thought wildly.
The next mouthful was less bitter and red-tinged. Soon, all he could taste was the girl’s salty blood. He squeezed the breast. Blood dripped out. It wasn’t much, so he let it bleed.
Scarne felt her hand on his face.
“Thank you,” she said weakly.
“This doesn’t mean we’re engaged,” he said, and again bent to his task.
Scarne heard the pounding of footsteps behind him. He turned to see a burley young State Trooper, gun drawn, staring at Lenzer’s body and the gore on the wall. Then he looked at Scarne.
“Get off her, pal,” the trooper said, leveling his gun at Scarne.
“Appearances aren’t everything,” Scarne said. “Call an ambulance. This woman is a Federal agent and she’s been poisoned.”
The trooper looked confused.
“Do what he asks,” Anne said. “Please.”
The cop kept his gun trained on Scarne but reached for his communicator.
***
“What was it?”
“Lenzer picked up the first syringe he saw,” Scarne said. “It was filled with some sort of camel virus.”
It was noon of the following day. Anne Rasmussen was sitting up in a bed in Boone City Memorial Hospital. Scarne had spent the previous night and most of the morning answering questions from city, state and Federal law enforcement. Everyone wanted jurisdiction but it looked like the Feds would carry the day. The fact that the Federal intelligence officer who was assaulted had invoked the Patriot Act got everyone’s attention. A planeload of Rasmussen’s D.C.S. colleagues was flying in from Washington.
“Camel virus?”
“Yes. Causes a mild respiratory infection in dromedaries but is believed harmless to humans, although the research on that is scanty. Apparently, not too many people kiss camels. Docs gave us gamma globulin and a boxcar full of anti-virals, but they are not too concerned. Our blood work came back clean. They did say that you might grow another breast, though. But not to worry. It’s really a hump. Let them know if you suddenly get very thirsty.”
Anne Rasmussen blushed. Then laughed.
“You didn’t know what was in that syringe, Jake. That was an incredibly brave thing to do.”
“I’d like to think you would have done the same for me.”
Anne Rasmussen smiled.
“That might have depended upon where he stuck you with the needle. I went to Catholic school.”
Scarne laughed and got up to leave. He stuck out his hand and she took it.
“You’re a hell of an agent, Annie.”
“You’re not so bad yourself, kiddo. I owe you one.”
“There is something you can do for me.”
“Name it.”
“The Boone City Sheriff told me not to leave town.”
“He actually said that?”
“Yeah. I felt like a cattle rustler.”
“I presume you will ignore him.”
“Being told not to leave town is a sign it’s a good time to leave town. But Wyatt Earp confiscated my gun. I’m kind of fond of it, especially since it has a phony serial number.”
Anne looked at Scarne.
“You are an outlaw, aren’t you?”
“Look who’s talking. The only thing legal in that black bag of yours is probably your lipstick.”
“Point taken. Don’t worry about your gun. My agency will probably take control of all the physical evidence.” She smiled. “Do you want it sent to your home or office?”
Scarne leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. When he started to straighten up, she pulled him back and gave him a lingering kiss on the lips.
“If you’re ever in D.C., Jake,” she said when they finished, “you might want to look me up.”
“Sure. As long as you promise not to hit me over the head again.”
“Most guys like a gal who acts hard to get.”
CHAPTER 30 - MEMBER OF THE BOARD
“So, you sucked camel virus from her tits.”
“Just the left one.”
“Were they nice?”
“Were what nice?”
“Her tatas.”
“Kate! I had other things on my mind at the time.”
“Jake.”
“Oh, all right. They were very nice. Not large, put perky.”
“Perky?”
“You asked.” Scarne and Kate were lying in bed, having just made love. “But not as nice as these.” He gently fondled hers.
“That’s ‘a bird in the hand’ cop-out.”
Scarne laughed.
“I wouldn’t finish that saying, if I were you.”
&nb
sp; “What happens now?”
“Well, I’m not as young as I used to be, so give me some time.”
Kate sat up and drew her knees to her chest.
“Not that, you idiot. I mean what happens to Lenzer’s operation and his staff. I’m worried about BVM. Bryan devoted his life to that company.”
Scarne propped himself up on an elbow.
“I think BVM will be OK. The Government is putting a lid on everything that Lenzer was developing in the Black Hole. He was really a genius, you know. Some of the stuff he was working on may come in very handy for our military. Who knows? There may even be peaceful uses. Tweak a gene here, tweak a gene there, and a deadly disease becomes a vaccine. I was debriefed by some scientists working for the D.C.S. who were actually excited by the possibility of working on what they found in Lenzer’s files. Imagine if they could eradicate some Third World scourges like cholera by altering the genetic makeup of, say, rice, to deliver a vaccine? And if the Feds have to keep things secret, BVM should be in the clear. Lenzer’s crew will be purged, of course. Anne Rasmussen said that faced with the Patriot Act and the prospect of an open-ended vacation in Guantanamo they will cooperate. They’ll probably wind up working for us, just like the Nazi rocket scientists after World War II.”
“But they’ve killed so many people!”
“When Werner von Braun wrote his autobiography “I Aim at the Stars” some wags said he should have subtitled it “But Sometimes I Hit London’.” Lenzer’s men will probably wind up living in Bethesda coaching Little League after work.”
“It’s all so sordid. What about the Russians? Are we going to let them off the hook, too?”
“They’ll deny any knowledge of what was going on. When the cops went to Lenzer’s house, Turchin was gone. He scooted back to Russia, claiming he didn’t know what was going on. No one believes him, but he has diplomatic immunity. The Feds believe he was a rogue, an unreformed Communist. If he was doing something on his own, I imagine he will have a lot of explaining to do to his bosses in the Kremlin. And even if they knew what he was up to, or supported him, they now realize we have the Black Hole research. It will give them fits. They still get a lot of grain and produce from the United States. It will drive them crazy wondering what’s in it.”
THE VIRON CONSPIRACY (JAKE SCARNE THRILLERS #4) Page 18