The Geneva Strategy

by Robert Ludlum

  “Keep at it. I want those drones found. And if it’s Iran behind this thing I want to know about it. Someone’s funding Rendel. I don’t believe he’s acting on his own.”

  “It’s not entirely out of the realm of possibility. Snowden seems to have operated alone.”

  Castilla shook his head. “This is too organized. Too complex on every level. Keep at it.”

  “Understood,” Perdue said.

  When he left Castilla stood at his window and pondered what he would say to Iran’s representative when he called and whether he could keep his head during the conversation.

  57

  Darkanin dialed his partner and Nicholas Rendel answered on the first ring.

  “You traitor,” Darkanin said.

  Rendel smirked. “Why, Berendt, I don’t know what you mean.”

  “I thought we were partners in this deal. Now I learn from Yang that you’ve been double-crossing me every step of the way.”

  Rendel leaned back in his chair and Darkanin got a glimpse of the room behind him. Elaborate curtains flanked a tall, French window. From what Darkanin could see through the glass, Rendel was in a beautiful, bucolic setting.

  “You’re getting what you want, aren’t you? The U.S. has conveniently come to you for the antidote, the drones are set to fly, and the chemical is loaded on each.”

  “You need to stop the Syrians from using the chemical in DC. I need the key players alive to sign off on the purchase orders to stockpile the drug. And who authorized the Iranian release? You had to know that the United States would gear up for battle once they were put in the crosshairs like that. Up until then they were aware of the drone theft, but were proceeding with the investigation at the usual bureaucrat’s pace. Attacking the village has sent them into emergency mode.”

  Rendel put up a hand. “Nothing I could do there. The Syrians wanted to stick it to Iran and it was a perfect setting to test the drug. They asked me to program the flight and I did.”

  “You mean they paid you to program the flight. You’d better hope nothing goes wrong today.”

  Rendel shook his head. “It won’t. But if I were you I’d bring a bodyguard to the conference. You never know who might be after you.”

  Darkanin felt his mouth go dry. “Are you threatening me?”

  Rendel shrugged. “Not at all. Let’s just say that the Syrians are not in agreement with any antidote development or sale. I’ve been able to convince them that your drug doesn’t work and so they’re safe to assume that after the main pharmaceutical players are annihilated today there won’t be any way for the next attack in DC to be stopped. But you know how suspicious they are…” Rendel let his voice trail off.

  Darkanin swallowed. “You tell them that I’ll kill Smith, Russell, and Wyler for them and in return they need to hold off until the military contracts are signed and the funds are in Bancor’s account.”

  “I’ll do my best to hold them off, but they can be mean bastards when they want to be. Good luck today.”

  Darkanin rose. “I don’t need luck. What I need is people I can trust. People unlike you and the Syrians.”

  Rendel snorted. “It’s about business. People don’t really come into the equation, do they?” He reached out to his computer mouse and Darkanin’s screen went dark.

  58

  Russell drove Smith through the gates and onto the golf course grounds where the pharmaceutical conference was to be held. As they had expected, the sedan’s diplomatic plates worked their magic. The guard at the initial checkpoint took Smith’s name before waving them through and the guards at the top of the hotel’s circular drive nodded them on as well. They were in a line of cars inching their way forward.

  “I’ll call you if anything seems unusual,” he said. Russell nodded.

  “You know what Rendel looks like, right?”

  Smith nodded. “I’ll recognize him. If I see anyone that looks even remotely like him I’ll snap a photo and shoot it to you.”

  “Beckmann and I will be just outside. Howell’s on his way. He caught a plane ride from the Royal Air Force at Croughton and should be here shortly.”

  Smith looked around him. “Looks like they’ve beefed up security.”

  Russell nodded. “A bit, but they always had security planned for this. It’s the UN that is concerning them now, and the bulk of the extra security is assigned to that building.”

  “Makes sense,” Smith said.

  “Good luck at the Bancor meeting.”

  He got out, closed the door, and headed inside while Russell executed a three-point turn and drove back out the way she had come.

  Smith’s new directive came from USAMRIID. He was to attend a meeting between Meccean as head of the HHS and Bancor Pharma to discuss stockpiling Bancor’s cognitive enhancement drug against a possible air strike involving Taylor’s drug. He made his way into the circular building that housed the conference center. A large rotunda in the middle created the main focal point of the building, with a massive overhead glass dome ceiling that filtered the sun, sending sprays of light across a marble floor. Several halls ran like spokes from a wheel and fed into a wide corridor that circled the perimeter of the building, with a bank of windows on one side that faced the outside and various interior conference rooms on the other. He felt a tap on his shoulder.

  “Jon Smith? Rick Meccean, HHS. Ready for the meeting?”

  Smith nodded. “I understand that Bancor will try to negotiate a deal to downgrade the charges that they improperly marketed the cognitive enhancement drug.”

  Meccean grimaced. “We had them dead to center and the Justice Department was closing in on a record-breaking fine.”

  “How much?”

  “Over two point five billion dollars. A figure that constitutes the entire profit for the sales of the drug during the time that they marketed it in violation of labeling.”

  Smith whistled. “That’s remarkable. And now?”

  “Now I’m going to have to eat crow and not only negotiate that away, but turn around and buy the drug and stockpile it.”

  “Are we sure it will function as an antidote to Taylor’s?” Smith asked.

  “Not at all, but Bancor claims that they’ll be able to prove its effectiveness and I’m told by your colleagues at USAMRIID that it will take them quite some time to fashion their own. We’re going to set up a test there. A controlled test, of course.”

  “Of course,” Smith said.

  “And you seem to have the inside track on the research. Do you think you can deliver an antidote quicker than Bancor?”

  “I’ll do my best, but it’s prudent to have a fallback. From what I’ve seen of the effects of Taylor’s it would be devastating if the drug was released on an unsuspecting public.”

  They’d reached the double doors of a small conference room at the far side of the building. From behind them Smith heard a cacophony of voices and around the corner came Ambassador Wyler and a small entourage. He nodded at Meccean and strode past.

  “What’s his role here?” Smith asked.

  “He’s going to present findings about a possible chemical attack on a village close to the Turkish border. He’s hoping to use the event as a springboard for new regulation of certain ingredients that can be mixed to create chemical weapons.”

  Smith entered their conference room behind Meccean and saw that the only people in the room were Darkanin and another man who appeared to be a bodyguard. Darkanin’s eyes lit up at the sight of Smith and once again Smith had the impression that the man’s interest in him was acute, though he didn’t know why.

  “I would like to get right to business,” Meccean said. He turned to the additional man with Darkanin. “May I ask in what capacity you are here?” he asked.

  “Mr. Gore is my assistant and personal bodyguard,” Darkanin said.

  Meccean shook his head. “I’m sorry, but he can’t be here. I thought it was understood that this meeting was to be kept in the strictest confidence.”
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  “Mr. Gore is a trained professional and has security clearance.”

  “Oh? I didn’t know that. May I ask through what organization is your clearance?”

  “Stanton Reese,” Gore said.

  Meccean seemed to ponder a moment, and then shook his head again.

  “I’m sorry. I still don’t think that we can proceed.”

  Darkanin waved a hand at Smith. “How high is Mr. Smith’s clearance? I understand he’s a scientist with USAMRIID but that doesn’t necessarily translate into a high security clearance either.”

  “Colonel Smith is here at my request.”

  “Still, I don’t think his security clearance is such…”

  “Perhaps we can arrange for a confidentiality agreement to be drafted and brought here before we begin,” Smith said. “If we all sign it we can then move on.”

  Meccean frowned. “I’d have to call in-house counsel in Washington for that and it’s too early in the morning there. I’m afraid it will delay the meeting. And the matter is too serious to delay.”

  “And I insist that my bodyguard stay. Security around this conference is tight for a reason, and Mr. Gore can’t do his job as a bodyguard properly from several rooms away, can he? Let’s try to move on.” Darkanin gave Meccean what Smith now thought of as his signature fake smile.

  Smith was surprised by Darkanin’s insistence on the guard, but the man seemed jumpy and Smith saw him rub his palms together, as if they were sweaty.

  “I can have an agreement here in less than thirty minutes,” Smith said.

  Meccean brightened. “Excellent. Do you have a USAMRIID attorney attending the conference?”

  Smith nodded. “My attorney is nearby. I’ll just give her a call.” Smith excused himself and left the conference room to stand by the windows and dial Arden. She answered on the first ring.

  “Everything all right?” she asked. Smith thought she sounded worried.

  “Yes. But we’ve hit a bit of a snag.” He told her about the additional man and Meccean’s requirement for confidentiality. “I don’t like bringing you into this, but the man’s insistent.”

  “I’ve never seen him without a bodyguard. Given the way that he does business, it just may be required. As for a confidentiality agreement, Meccean’s smart to demand it. I have a standard form I use. I’ll print it out and have Russell squire me over in the diplomatic car, get the agreement signed, and get out of there, fast.”

  Less than half an hour later there was a soft knock and Arden walked into the conference room. She wore a handwritten name tag and carried a manila envelope. Smith was impressed with her professionalism as she walked them through the terms of the agreement and handed it to each of them to sign.

  “Normally we’d have a court reporter or notary verify signatures, but I’m simply going to record the signing on my phone and we can agree to notarize them later.”

  “No,” Gore said. “No videos.”

  Arden frowned. “I suppose we can locate a notary, but it will only delay matters and it’s my understanding that time is crucial with regard to your meeting.”

  “No videos. I’ll sign the paper but I refuse to be videotaped doing it,” Gore said.

  Darkanin’s face darkened. “Mr. Gore, please allow Ms. Arden to do her job. I don’t expect a video to be a problem.”

  Gore looked at Darkanin and then at his watch. “We have eight minutes.”

  “What are you talking about?” Meccean asked.

  “He means we have the time to wait for a local notary.” Darkanin’s voice was smooth as silk and Smith felt a prickling sensation across his scalp. The man was lying. Smith could practically smell the falsehood on him. “But that won’t be necessary. Mr. Gore, please allow the video.”

  Gore gave a short jerk of his head and Arden switched on her phone. They all signed the confidentiality agreement.

  “I had my secretary email you the DOD’s contract offer with the terms. Did you receive it?” Meccean asked.

  Darkanin nodded. “I did. And I’ll sign it now.”

  Smith did his best to avoid showing his surprise. He’d been told that Darkanin generally drove a hard bargain in his negotiations. That the man accepted the DOD’s first offer was unusual. Darkanin turned to Arden.

  “Please record the signatures.”

  Arden started her phone once again and both he and Meccean signed multiple copies of the contract. Darkanin shoved a copy into his briefcase.

  “I’d like to discuss the future marketing plans for the pill with you both,” Darkanin said. “I have another document being prepared, in draft, of course, that I’d like you to read. It will only take a few minutes and would avoid many future problems. But first, please excuse me. I’d like to discuss something with Mr. Gore for a moment.” The two men stepped out of the conference room.

  “Call me biased, but I still dislike that man,” Arden said.

  Meccean did his best to hide a smile. “I am aware of your lawsuit against his company,” he said.

  Smith marked the time. Something about Gore’s “eight minutes” comment didn’t sit well with him. When five minutes had passed he rose.

  “Let me go see what the holdup is,” Smith said. He stepped out of the conference room and looked around. The hall was empty. Neither Gore nor Darkanin was anywhere in sight. Smith hauled the conference room door open.

  “Both of you, get out of here. Now.” He held the door while a startled Arden grabbed her manila folder and stood. “Leave that. They’re gone and I don’t like it.” Arden dropped the folder back onto the table and hurried out the door past Smith. Meccean trailed behind her.

  “What’s the matter?” Meccean asked.

  “Get out of here. Now. Both of you. Before those eight minutes are up,” Smith said. He pointed to an emergency exit.

  “What’s going on?” Arden asked.

  Before Smith could answer he heard a scream from somewhere in the bowels of the conference center.

  59

  Smith herded Arden and Meccean toward the emergency exit. Someone triggered an alarm and the screeching set Smith’s teeth on edge. He dragged Arden with him to the exit. When they stepped outside, Smith heard the now familiar and frightening buzzing noise of an incoming drone. He looked up to see one flying toward the conference center.

  “Back inside,” he said.

  To his great relief neither Arden nor Meccean questioned his authority, but instead both turned and bolted back to the center. Smith pulled the door closed as the drone began to close the final fifty feet. Smith saw the shadow of the aircraft, which had a wingspan of six feet. It looked like a white glider plane with a dark tube attached to its belly. At ten feet from the conference center building it released a cloud of some sort of fine particulate from the belly-mounted canister.

  “It just released some kind of drug,” Meccean said.

  “Get as far from the windows as you can,” Smith said. “Head to the center of the building.” Smith ran behind them, removing his gun from the holster as he did and pulling out the phone he’d taken from the stash in the house. He dialed Russell, and she answered on the first ring.

  “The drones are here and spraying something.”

  “I’m aware,” she said. “Three security guards called in a sighting right before they cleared the perimeter.”

  “Tell them that Darkanin of Bancor is involved, as is his security guard. A man named Gore.”

  “I can’t tell them anything. They’re all dead,” Russell said. “Beckmann and I are on the north side. Were they headed this way?”

  “No. West.”

  “I’m on it. Keep everyone inside, and close every window and door.”

  Smith ran down the curving hall. The attendees poured out of the individual conference rooms, responding to the blaring alarm by attempting to flee. They ran past him, all running toward the flashing neon “Exit” sign above the doors.

  “No! Not outside. Everyone stay indoors,” Smith yelled.
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br />   A wild-eyed man in a business suit ran past Smith. “It’s a fire alarm! No way am I staying indoors, and you shouldn’t either.” He headed to the emergency exit.

  “Do not open that door!” Smith yelled. “The air’s been poisoned…” Before Smith could finish his statement the man had flung open the door and ran outside. Several more people followed him, jostling in their attempt to clear the entrance.

  Smith could see the cloud of dust and particulate gust into the building through the open door. The cloud began to eddy, spreading outward and downward.

  Smith watched in horror as, one by one, those who had run outside began to stagger. One woman began shrieking and holding her head, another man ripped off his jacket and flapped it in the air. “Get them away!” the man screamed. He took two more steps and dropped to the grass, writhing and batting at his face and eyes. Two more people fell dead next to him and he screamed at them. He rose to his knees and tried to stand, but his legs kept collapsing under him and he clawed at the ground.

  “Grab my hand and stretch out,” Arden said. “We’ll make a human chain and block them.” She stood in the center of the hallway and held Meccean’s hand. Smith took two steps to join her before he realized that the cloud had shifted and was blowing their way. He shook his head.

  “It’s behind you and the next time someone opens that door the breeze will disseminate it further. Get out of this hallway,” he said. “And start herding people into the rotunda.”

  Meccean jogged down the hall to the main rotunda. Arden kept at it, yelling and running in front of those headed to the exit. Smith joined her, telling them over and over again that the outdoor air had been poisoned and they needed to take shelter in the rotunda area. Many listened and Smith and Arden successfully turned them back, but four more didn’t.