The Moses Virus (18 page)

“And,” Tom asked, “as hysteria spreads, what will Belagri do?”

Bailitz said, “We will step forward and offer the antidote. But we’ll also offer attractive terms—not steeply priced—seeds, to assist in this rebuilding effort. The cost to Kenya and the farmers will be in the seeds they are obligated to purchase in future years.”

Tom said, almost in awe, “I had no idea that this operation has been so carefully orchestrated.”

“And, we’ll pick a second target if the corrupt bureaucrats miss the point. This time we’ll run short of the antidote. We won’t stop until we have a monopoly for our business.” Then he proceeded. “I was hoping you’d understand what we’re going to do and how the world will significantly benefit from our plan. You have made our work easier and more effective with the virus. But, as I told you before, I need your supply supply the Moses Virus.”

Definitively, Tom declared, “While I’m impressed with your organization and the completeness of your plan for the world, under no circumstances can I stand by and aid you in the outright murder of thousands if not millions of innocent people. No. My answer is absolutely
no
. I don’t have it, and even if I did I would not turn the virus over to you.”

Bailitz remained unfazed by Tom’s resolve. “I thought you might take this position. You’re misguided, and I suspect I can’t argue you out of this. I’ll leave it to my colleagues to persuade you to be more helpful. Crystal, will you show Dr. Stewart to our interview facility?”

Tom thought he saw surprise and concern in Crystal’s face at this suggestion. Crystal asked Bailitz, “Are you sure this is the best plan?”

Bailitz said with grim determination, “I’ve made up my mind. Go. Goodbye, Dr. Stewart. It is a pity you won’t see the bright future of the world unfold.” He stood and walked out.

Accompanied by one of Bailitz’s fully armed guards, Crystal led the way down a wide corridor to a small conference room. “Please wait inside. Dr. Krebs will be here soon to visit you.”

“Who is Krebs?”

“The most persuasive man you’ll ever meet, I’m afraid,” she said, and left, locking the door behind her.

Tom looked around the room. There was a table off to one side, and a couple of chairs beside the table. In the center was a high-backed chair with leather straps attached to each arm. There was nothing else in the room. The walls and ceiling were covered with soundproof material.

After a few minutes, the armed guard who had walked Tom to the room entered.

“Take off your jacket and sit in the chair,” he ordered in German.

“Go to hell!” Tom said.

The man backhanded Tom hard and forced him into the chair. He ripped Tom’s jacket off and threw it on the table. Even as Tom struggled, the man was able to secure the straps around his arms and tied Tom’s ankles together before leaving the room.

What seemed like hours later, the door opened quietly, and a man entered and closed the door behind him. He was carefully dressed in a lab coat, with gray hair neatly in place and a perfectly trimmed mustache completing his presentation. In the lapel of his lab coat, he wore a small white rose. He carried a black bag. “Good morning,” he said pleasantly, as he moved closer, sounding very much as if he was a congenial family doctor. “I am Dr. Krebs.”

Tom inwardly clenched his teeth and began to sweat. Dr. Krebs put his black bag on the table, opened it, and withdrew a syringe and a couple of small bottles. “There are so many ways we can do this,” he said softly. “Making my work easy will make it easier on you. However, I am a patient man and have all the time in the world to achieve the desired result.”

Krebs held his syringe up, then put its tip into one of the small bottles, filling the syringe with a colorless liquid. “Let’s start with this. It will keep you awake, but make you highly sensitive to pain. I’ve found that it’s an excellent opener.” He moved closer to Tom, and prepared to give him a shot. “Do you care which arm I use?”

Tom remained silent.

“No? Then I will choose the right arm.” He began to roll up Tom’s sleeve.

Krebs stood with his back to the door, about to administer the drug. Tom heard a small thud, and as Krebs straightened up, a look of surprise swept over his face. Then his knees buckled and he sank to the floor unconscious.

15

A
re you all right?” Crystal asked as she moved into the room and shut the door.

“Yes, I’m fine.”

“There’s no time to explain. We have to act quickly.”

Stepping over Krebs’s body, she quickly freed Tom from the chair.

“I don’t understand. Why are you helping me like this? Bailitz certainly won’t be pleased.”

She ignored him. “Here, take these.” She handed Tom his personal items. “I’m sorry to say I didn’t find your cell phone. That may mean Bailitz’s men are trying to extract information from it. Follow me.”

Crystal walked quickly from the room into the corridor. Tom followed her without comment. About twenty feet further along, the corridor turned right. Crystal touched a panel on the wall and a door slid silently aside. She ducked into the passageway, and Tom followed. “It was built as an escape route four years ago,” she said. Lit by small emergency lights every five feet or so, the corridor was narrow.

“Why are you doing this?” Tom asked again.

“I thought he was all business, engineering a new era of technology with superantidotes to the pestilence. Anything that could knock out a virus as powerful as yours would give us valuable information that would help us deal with other dangerous viruses.” She shook her head. “I’ve admired the man as a leader of a cutting-edge global company and a broad thinker of vital issues facing mankind. There’s no one like him. But, somehow in his thinking he’s decided that the ends he’s striving for justify the means. It horrifies me that he’d be willing to kill innocent people to achieve his goal. He sees the elimination of world hunger and the cash windfall that it brings to Belagri as one and the same thing. But I can’t subscribe to his using any means to reach that goal. The only way to stop him is to destroy the virus first. It’s our only chance, and you’re the only one who can do it.”

They stopped at the end of the passage. “This is a back stairway, leading down to a door at the back of the castle,” Crystal said. She then tapped a code into her iPhone. “I’ve disengaged the security cameras and unlocked the door.”

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?”

Julian 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.