The Moses Virus (19 page)

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

T
he 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 her 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.

She placed the package in her leather bag and retraced her steps as quickly as she could back to the entrance. Alex spotted a taxi when she got out, hailed it, and went directly to the airport. She arrived in Geneva around 11:30 a.m., pleased with her efficiency and that of Alitalia Airlines.

Once in the terminal, she went to the ladies’ room, where she pulled out her secret weapon: the blond wig. Pinning up her dark hair, she put on the wig in the mirror. Not bad, she thought. I wonder if Tom will recognize me?

She called Tom from the car rental office. He gave her the address to the hotel, his room number, and the address of the bank. He told her to park the car near the bank and walk the short distance to his hotel to meet him. It would make it easier to leave the city if they needed to.

She rented the car for two days, and within minutes was sitting behind the wheel of a gray, four-door Saab sedan. The agent gave her directions to the bank, and it took Alex fifteen minutes to locate 16 Rue de Hollande, where Sigmund Warburg’s bank was. She parked the car a block away from the bank’s front entrance, checked the directions on her iPhone, and walked to Tom’s hotel in no time. She passed Bailitz’s men who were still stationed across the street from the hotel’s front door, but what they saw was a striking blond woman walk into the hotel. And though they thought her beautiful, this blond woman did not match the photograph of Alex Cellini that they had with them.

Alex asked the desk clerk to ring Tom’s room. He did, announcing to Tom that a woman was on her way up. The clerk looked at Alex, his eyebrow lifted in disapproval, nodding toward the elevator. “Third floor, first room on the right.”

She knocked on Tom’s door.

“Who is it?” Tom asked.

“Alex.”

The door opened swiftly, and Tom grabbed her by the arm and pulled her into the room. “I’m so glad to see you,” he said, embracing her. They remained in an embrace, then kissed.

“I like you as a blonde,” he said.

She smiled. “So you do recognize me?” She laughed.

“You must be exhausted,” Tom said.

“I slept on the plane. But I’m starving.”

“I thought you might be.” On the small table there were some sandwiches, fruit, and white wine.

As Alex ate, Tom laid out his plan. Alex would go to the bank, just in case it was under surveillance by Bailitz’s men. Now that Bailitz knew Sigmund Warburg’s connection with the virus, it was logical to assume that the bank would be monitored. But few knew of Tom’s connection with Alex, and certainly none knew a blond Alex. Tom felt that Alex, rather than he, had a better chance to escape detection.

Alex rehearsed her part of their agreed-upon plan. “After leaving the hotel, I retrace my steps, and go to Sigmund’s bank, Cordier, Warburg & Cie. I’ll ask for the managing director, Pierre Villechaise, to assist me. I’ll call you when I’m finished and have the contents of the safe-deposit box. You’ll meet me at the Saab. Here are the car keys.”

“Exactly right. If we’re lucky, the canisters holding the virus will be in the box. If not, well, this has been a wild goose chase.”

Alex said, “I know you’re reluctant to call anyone in to help us, because you don’t know who would be on our side. Still, wouldn’t it be prudent?”

“I know you’re right, but everyone I’ve talked to has wound up dead. Let’s see what happens at the bank. I’d call Pulesi if I called anyone. Are you ready?”

Alex showed no hesitation.

“Okay,” Tom said, looking at his watch. “Showtime.”

She took her purse as she prepared to leave and kissed Tom as he followed her to the door.

“Good luck,” Tom said. “I couldn’t do this without you.”

Alex walked by the reception desk. A new person was behind it and smiled at her. Alex smiled back and pushed through the front door.

Alex took about ten minutes to arrive at the Rue de Hollande. Cordier, Warburg & Cie took up the entire block and was more imposing than she had remembered from her first view of it. She walked down the crowded street to the massive marble entrance, but didn’t notice the two men across the street watching the doorway.

Alex went in the entrance of the bank. In front of her was a flight of steps up to the main lobby, which she took, arriving at a brightly lit large area, which had highly polished wood floors. A receptionist sat behind a glossy black granite desk, with a rank of telephone buttons in front of her to contact the officers of the bank. She looked up as Alex approached, politely, but not in an overly friendly manner. Alex identified herself and asked to see Pierre Villechaise.

If the receptionist was surprised, she was too professional to show it. She asked Alex if she could help by telling Monsieur Villechaise what the purpose of her visit was. Alex replied that it was of a confidential nature, adding, “Please tell Monsieur Villechaise that Sigmund Warburg sent me.” The receptionist looked a little taken aback, but then called over a uniformed guard and asked him to escort Alex to one of the guest waiting rooms. Alex was quickly and efficiently placed in a small waiting room. The room had deep red linen on the walls, a chandelier hanging from the ceiling, an attractive wood table with inlaid top in the center of the room, a clock, and several innocuous oil paintings on the walls. There were three chairs placed around the table. The room exuded a quiet elegance. A few minutes later, Pierre Villechaise entered the room. He reminded Alex at once of Cary Grant. He was handsome, tall, and broad shouldered. He had black hair with some gray around the temples, and a dimple in his chin. He was tanned and had a warm smile.

“Bonjour, Madame Cellini,” he said in French. “I am Pierre Villechaise.”

Alex smiled and greeted him in French.

“I was expecting an American professor,” he said smoothly.

“He and I are working together,” Alex said, continuing in French.

“Did you speak to Herr Warburg?” asked Alex.

“Herr Warburg called—a day before he died—to alert me to expect someone who would want to see his safe-deposit box.”

“Oh,” said Alex, masking her surprise with a smile.

Villechaise then said, “Would you prefer I speak in Italian?”

“Am I that obvious?” Alex asked.

“No, of course not,” Villechaise replied, “I just thought I’d ask.”

Villechaise turned extremely businesslike and asked, “You have the key and his letter, I presume?”

Alex nodded and handed him the letter.

Villechaise read it quickly. “I worked with Sigmund for a number of years before his retirement. He was a friend and a mentor.”

Alex thanked him. “Along with the letter, he gave me this key.”

“Yes, this is the key to one of our security boxes. Would you accompany me, please?” Villechaise said, leading the way down a different flight of steps to a large vault, one level below the street. The vault’s thick, oversized steel door was wide open, and there were two guards standing at attention in the room.

Alex followed Villechaise up a very small step over the raised edge of the vault’s opening. Once inside the vault itself, Alex saw rank after rank of steel boxes set in the shining steel wall, each one with openings for two keys. Villechaise stopped before one group of boxes, took out a key from a lanyard he wore around his neck, and placed the key in its proper keyhole.

“This safe-deposit box belonged to Sigmund for many years, though I never saw him open it. Please use your key on this lock.”

Alex turned her key in its lock, and Villechaise turned his key. There was a click, and the door to the safe-deposit box swung open. Villechaise retrieved a long steel safe-deposit box. He carried it to one of the small rooms adjacent to the vault and placed it on the table inside.

“I’ll wait for you outside. Just press the button on the table to let me know when you are finished.” He left, closing the door behind him.

She opened its metal cover. Inside was a small black lacquered box. Too small for canisters of virus, she thought. There also was a small brass plate engraved with a twelve-digit number and what appeared to be a royal crest—probably the bank’s insignia, Alex thought. There was nothing more in the lacquered box. Alex put the box into her bag and the brass plate into her pocket. She pressed the button. Villechaise appeared almost immediately.

“May I replace the safe-deposit box, Madame?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

He did so and turned to lead them out of the vault and into his office.

“Is there any other way I can be of assistance?”

“Actually, yes.” She produced the small metal plate and handed it to Villechaise. “Can you tell me what this might mean?”

Villechaise looked concerned. “That’s a combination to a locked container in our most secure offsite facility.”

“Offsite facility?” Alex asked.

“Twenty years ago, we realized that some of our clients needed a facility that could hold larger objects of value. To accommodate them, we converted the vast dungeon area of the Chateau de Chillon into an underground vault. My colleague, Henri Brocard, is the general manager of our Chillon facility.”

“I don’t know anything about Chillon.”

“Chillon is a famous fortress, built a thousand years ago by the bishop of Geneva.”

“Where is it?”

“Forty miles from here, on the shore of Lake Geneva, at the eastern end of the lake, about two miles from Montreux. It’s big—more than a hundred buildings joined into one complex. And, popular, with over 300,000 visitors a year. But, with all the tourists, it provides the kind of anonymity that our clients require when they visit. We have an arrangement with the Swiss government where we act as conservator of the facility through a foundation set up for the purpose. In exchange, we have exclusive access to the underground dungeon through a private entrance behind the main building. It was used to transport prisoners secretly.”

“How do I gain access to the facility?”

“Normally, it’s highly restricted. An appointment needs to be made months in advance and the identity of the applicant checked thoroughly before access is allowed.”

“I’m afraid I can’t wait that long. I’m in Geneva for a very short time.”

“I see,” Villechaise said. “It’s against bank policy to let anyone who is not the principal owner gain access. I’m not sure I can—”

“Monsieur Villechaise, I’m here on a matter of some urgency. Herr Warburg knew of my mission, and he surely was aware of your rules. I’m certain he gave me your name since he knew you’d help me. Unfortunately, it has turned out to be his last request.”

Alex knew she was stretching the truth, but she had come this far and did not intend to fail. She looked straight at this bank manager and said, firmly, “Please,” and smiled again.

Villechaise looked torn. Then he seemed to decide. “Sigmund was one of the most respected members of the Swiss banking community. I will make an exception. I will ask you to fill out a few forms first, however. Please give me your passport. And, I’ll need to keep his letter of introduction for the file.”

“I’ll be more than happy to follow your procedure.”

“My assistant will draw up the forms immediately. I’ll contact the director of the facility and let him know to expect you. I’ll explain the background of your unusual request. Brocard, like me, was also very fond of Sigmund Warburg.”

“I’d appreciate it if you told Mr. Brocard that I’ll be accompanied by a colleague, Dr. Thomas Stewart. He met with Herr Warburg shortly before his death.”

“That’s not a problem. Please wait here while I collect the papers. If you’ll excuse me.”

Alex called Tom while she was waiting.

“How did it go?” he asked.

“Smoothly, although we need to take a trip to another facility, the Chateau de Chillon.”