Calypso Directive (17 page)

The Czech–Austrian Border

J
ULIE FIDGETED IN
the driver's seat. The border guards were talking to the driver of the car in front of her, and it had been a lengthy interrogation. She told herself to relax. Looking nervous would only create suspicion. Trained law enforcement officers would see right through her if she didn't bring her A-game. She inhaled deeply and then exhaled with her lips pursed. She ran her fingers through her hair, tilted her head and smiled. The act of smiling seemed to take a little of the edge off. She looked down at her chest and undid the second button on her blouse. Not quite enough. She undid the next button. She folded her arms and squeezed to create some cleavage.

“Ridiculous,” she said aloud, feeling foolish. She refastened the third button, shaking her head.

The brake lights dimmed on the car in front of her, and it began to pull away. Her palms began to sweat.

“Oh, what the hell,” she mumbled and quickly unbuttoned the third button of her blouse again before putting the car into gear.

She idled the car forward to the checkpoint and then put the transmission into park.

Two young uniformed men approached her vehicle, one on the driver's side and the other on the passenger side. The officer on the driver side rapped with gloved knuckles on the window and shined his flashlight on her face. She squinted hard and rolled down the window. The other officer used his flashlight to survey inside the passenger compartment.

“Reisepass.”

She handed her passport to him, but accidently released it before his fingers found a grip.

The passport fell onto the pavement beneath the driver side door. The young officer's mouth twisted with annoyance as he bent down to pick up the folded booklet.

She flushed.

“I'm sorry,” she said.

The officer stood up, passport in hand, and shined his flashlight on her laminated picture. He stared at it for a moment and then shined his flashlight back in her face again. This time it seemed he the let the beam linger in her eyes for several extra seconds. Retribution for dropping the passport, she surmised.

“I am an Austrian resident. I live in Vienna,” she said.

“I see. What were you doing in the Czech Republic, Ms. Ponte?”

“Visiting my boyfriend.”

“How long have you been away?”

“Just one day.”

“I see. Why are you out at this late hour?”

“If you must know, we had a fight, so I left.”

“I seeeee.”

“Sie ist allein,” the other officer said from the other side of the car.

The officer on the driver side nodded, and then turned his attention back to Julie. This time, when he aimed his flashlight at her face, she shielded her eyes with her hand. She sighed with irritation and made sure it was loud enough for him to hear. He reached into his pocket, retrieved a folded piece of paper, and unfurled it by shaking the paper violently in the air with one hand.

“Do you know this man? He is an American like you.”

She looked at the paper with its black-and-white scanned photograph of Will. She felt the blood rush to her face and a strong and sudden need to use the bathroom.

“I said . . . Do you know this man?” the patrolman repeated.

She shook her head. Then she looked up at the officer's face and added, “No, I don't.”

“I see. Open the rear luggage compartment, bitte?”

Her heart pounded . . . he didn't believe her.

She leaned toward the officer and squeezed her upper arms together—her breasts bulged in the open “V” of her blouse. “Officer, is it really necessary to search my vehicle? I promise you that I'm traveling alone.”

The patrolman directed his flashlight beam to her cleavage, let it linger a moment, and then let it drop to the ground. He locked eyes with her; his face morphed into his trademark sneer. “Open the rear luggage compartment, Ms. Ponte. Now.”

Boston, Massachusetts

N
IATROSS
.

That was the name painted in silver script letters on the tail of Robért Nicolora's private jet. A means of conveyance that probably should not have existed, but did nonetheless, the Cessna Citation X was a magnificent and ludicrous product of capitalism and human ingenuity. Not only was it capable of whisking its occupants across the blue at a speed of .92 Mach, but also pampering them with every conceivable luxury in the process. AJ could think of no better way to travel. Before boarding, he walked 360 degrees around the aircraft on the tarmac. He imagined its exterior lines were born first from an artist's brush stroke, and then later honed to aerodynamic perfection by the mouse clicks of an engineer. With its backward sweeping wings, and rising throat-like fuselage, the Citation X reminded him of a bird of prey. Even the cockpit was angled, so in flight it looked like the cocked head of a falcon surveying the sky.

Inside, AJ was surprised to find the cabin was outfitted like NORAD. Next to every seat was a flat panel computer screen, fixed to the interior wall on an adjustable arm. At the front of the cabin were additional flat panel monitors capable of displaying television, webcasts, satellite imagery, and even live video feed from the custom-built fuselage mounted camera system. Special antennae had been incorporated into the skeleton of the plane and snaked just below its thin aluminum skin, making NIATROSS a mobile communications platform rivaling Air Force One. AJ's favorite feature was something he did not notice until take off—silence. It had taken Abbey St. Jean's Level Zero resources two months to develop, but she eventually devised an inter-cabin high fidelity sound system with active noise cancellation that made Nicolora's aircraft as quiet as a Lexus driving on freshly paved asphalt.

He had chosen the leather bucket seat directly opposite and facing Albane. She sat angled in her seat, with her knees together, ankles crossed and tucked underneath. Kalen slept, reclined in the seat to AJ's left, with a black silk handkerchief draped across his eyes. VanCleave typed on his computer—lost in a world of mathematical formulas and spreadsheets—while perched on a bench seat at the rear of the aircraft.

“What, no champagne?” AJ joked as Albane handed him a cold bottle of water.

“You haven't accomplished anything worthy of celebration yet. Maybe on the ride back,” she said, with a hint of a smile.

“How long is the flight?”

“A little over seven hours, nonstop. This Citation is modified with winglets and an extra fuel reserve, so Prague is barely inside our four thousand mile range.”

“Is it always like this?”

“Like what?”

“Fast and furious. One minute we're in Boston, the next we're jetting off to Prague to chase down a guy with a biological weapon.”

“Actually, yes. What you've seen is only the tip of the iceberg.”

AJ pondered her words. “Tough job for a relationship. Are you married?”

“No.”

“Otherwise committed?”

“Definitely committed otherwise,” she said, tapping her Think Tank–issued mobile phone.

He smiled and looked out the porthole window into the night sky. After the awkwardness settled, he turned back to her. “Albane, Meredith Morley said something that I've been thinking about.”

“Go on.”

“Her theory is that Foster participated in the H1N1 study so he could become a mole inside Vyrogen. To pull that off, however, would mean that he had to become infected with the mutated H1N1 strain
after
he was administered Vyrogen's trial vaccine; otherwise Vyrogen would have detected H1N1 antibodies in his prescreening blood samples.”

“What's your point?”

“Foster's exposure to the mutated H1N1 virus could only have occurred during a very narrow window of time. In other words, after the trial started, but before he was put in quarantine. Whoever he is working with, had to make contact, and inject Foster during that window. Also, the list of organizations with the capability to engineer a mutated H1N1 virus is a very select one. With a little digging, I think we could narrow this list down to a half dozen companies or so. Take these two pieces of information together, and we have the
when
and the
who
to start investigating.”

“One day on the job, and you're already starting to think like one of us. Good work. However, we need to consider another scenario equally plausible to the one Meredith is promoting,” Albane said. “What if someone inside Vyrogen—someone with access to confidential company information—solicited Foster after he joined the vaccine trial? Let's assume the insider orchestrated everything, and Foster was just a mule. In this scenario, the insider would be the one delivering the product to a competitor, not Foster. Accordingly, we would need to broaden our search to include investigating Vyrogen personnel, not just Foster.”

AJ's eyes widened. “How do we determine which scenario is the truth?”

“We investigate both simultaneously, of course. We start with a background assessment of Foster. At the same time, we go digging inside Vyrogen and look for people who fit the profile.”

“How do we do that?”

Albane raised an eyebrow. “Why don't you get a Coordinator online and pull our team together for a roundtable session.”

AJ felt befuddled; he was still unfamiliar with The Tank's protocols and code words. He hated sounding stupid. Most of all, he hated being a rookie. He wondered if he should just speak aloud like he had seen Briggs do in the lab earlier that day. Would the Coordinator just appear on the screen like a genie summoned from his lamp?

“Request Coordinator, C. Remy,” AJ announced boldly.

Albane giggled.

Instead of feeling embarrassed, he was enthralled. It was the first time he had seen a glimpse of the real Albane sneak past her polished façade.

“In a scheduled session, such protocol would be correct, but in cases such as this, just dial zero.”

“Got it.” AJ pulled out his phone and pressed “0”. Within three seconds, the screen displayed a live video feed.

“Coordinator R. Parish.”

“Yes, I'd like to hold a roundtable session on the NIATROSS. Profile subject: William Foster for the Vyrogen case. Full background investigation,” AJ said.

“Very well. One moment,” R. Parish said. The large flat panel screen at the front of the cabin energized and began to fill with information.

AJ smiled and looked at Albane for recognition.

She almost acquiesced a smile but instead said, “I'll wake up Kalen. You see if you can reel in VanCleave from the depths of whatever mathematical ocean he's trawling. It's time to go to work.”

•     •     •

VYROGEN CASE—ROUND TABLE SESSION—NIATROSS

R. Parish—
RS:Coordinator
: “William Foster, thirty-four years old, born in Springfield, Illinois, to George H. Foster and Elisabeth Meyer. Graduated from Tulane University with a degree in economics. Currently resides in New York City. Employer of record: McEwen & Rogers, an advertising firm in Manhattan. Marital status: single.”

A. Archer—
RS:Bio
: “He's in advertising?”

R. Parish—
RS:Coordinator
: “Yes. Is there a problem?”

A. Archer—
RS:Bio
: “No, I just assumed Foster worked in pharmaceuticals or biotech. I'm just surprised he's in advertising, that's all.”

K. Immel—
RS:Physical
: “I think we should start with casing his friends and family. The first person Foster will try to contact is someone he trusts. Identify this person and bingo, we have a road map to Foster.”

A. Mesnil—
RS:Social
: “I'm not so sure about that. The minute he broke out of Vyrogen's Chiarek Norse facility, Foster went from being a research subject to a fugitive. It would be very unusual behavior for him to contact a friend or loved one in this scenario. In fact, the natural inclination for him would be to hide everything from his friends and family. Shield them. Foster wants to keep this little endeavor a secret. He will eventually want to go back to his old life—back to being good ol' Will—except of course for the seven-figure bank account in the Caymans he sets up after his payoff.”

R. Parish—
RS:Coordinator
: “Excellent points, but Foster does not have family left to turn to. Both his parents are deceased. His mother died in an automobile accident in 1994, and his father passed away from a heart attack last year. Foster is an only child, has never been married, and has no children out of wedlock. By all accounts, he is alone and on his own.”

K. Immel—
RS:Physical
: “Then who's been taking care of his personal affairs while he's been a human guinea pig all these months?”

R. Parish—
RS:Coordinator
: “Foster assigned temporary power of attorney to a corporate trustee after he was placed in quarantine. This document was included in the packet of documents turned over to us by Ms. Morley. Also included was a confidentiality agreement, Vyrogen test program enrollment paperwork, a hold harmless waiver, an acceptance of experimental risks statement, as well as a generous compensation schedule to be paid by Vyrogen in exchange for Foster's submission to experimental treatment in quarantine. All these documents are signed by Foster and appear to be legitimate.”