Calypso Directive (36 page)

“In our line of work, that's salvation in a pill. We all do it. It's not a stimulant, rather a class of drug called a wakefulness agent. The military has been using it with soldiers and pilots for years.”

“I was wondering why I was the only one who seemed to be dragging like a jet-lagged zombie.”

He popped the pill in his mouth and washed it down with a swallow of luke warm bottled water. Albane smiled at him, but her eyes showed a hint of melancholy, as if to say, “Another chemical convert, and I'm his maker.”

She pressed “0” on her phone and summoned a Coordinator. After several minutes of rapid-fire dialogue with C. Remy, she ended the call and grabbed her tablet computer. The screen sprang to life; images and files downloaded on command from the Think Tank servers.

“What's going on?” AJ asked her.

She turned the tablet screen to show him.

“Okay, I'll bite. Who is he?” he asked, staring at the picture of a handsome gentleman in his midthirties on the screen.

“His name is Xavier Pope.”

“Meredith mentioned him in her brief. He's the heavy hitter from the CDC, right?”

“Yes, but she didn't tell us the whole story. Pope
was
at CDC, but then four months ago he suddenly left and went to work for . . .”

“Vyrogen Pharmaceuticals,” VanCleave said from the front seat.

“Precisely. Here is Pope photographed at a black-tie benefit dinner with Meredith Morley standing to his left, and the CEO of Vyrogen to his right, along with some other VIPs. This picture was published with an article from the
New York Times
and was taken ten days before Vyrogen announced Pope as their new Director of the Immunological Therapeutics Division. But, that's not all. Are you ready for the bomb?”

“Hit me.”

“According to Founder One, Meredith has just implicated Xavier Pope as a possible mole trying to steal Vyrogen's breakthrough research,” she said.

“Unlikely in my opinion,” AJ said. “Unless . . .”

“Go on.”

“It's a stupid idea, a total conspiracy red herring.”

“In my experience, even suppositions we second-guess are still worthy of consideration. Tell me.”

“I was going to say, that seems highly unlikely unless Pope never
really
stopped working for the government. Maybe the military wants to get his hands on Vyrogen's research, and Pope's connection with the CDC made him the perfect mole. If Meredith is telling the truth, that's one plausible explanation.”

“Interesting theory, but we know Meredith has been hiding things from us. Implicating Pope could also be a ruse. Especially if she suspects we were behind the Chiarek Norse surprise inspection. If I were in her position, I'd be getting nervous.”

“We could question him,” AJ said.

“Not a bad idea,” she said, pondering for a moment. Then she shook her head. “Right now, pursuing the Julie Ponte lead is our number one priority. We'll keep Pope on the back burner.”

“If we don't find Foster with Ponte, then what?”

Albane pulled up a map of Vienna on her tablet. AJ saw two dots—one static, one moving. She selected the two dots. Then, using a swiping motion with her finger, she connected them with a line. A pop-up window appeared with data.

“Kalen is only ten kilometers from Ponte's apartment now. Keep your fingers crossed, and hopefully we won't have to worry about a plan B.”

K. Immel—
RS:Physical
: “Social, this is Physical. I'm standing outside Ponte's apartment, and we've got a problem.”

A. Mesnil—
RS:Social
: “I'm listening.”

K. Immel—
RS:Physical
: “Ponte wasn't here, but her roommate, Isabella, was. Unfortunately for Isabella, a goon squad got here before I did, and they broke every finger on her left hand.”

A. Mesnil—
RS:Social
: “Interrogation?”

K. Immel—
RS:Physical
: “Roger that.”

A. Mesnil—
RS:Social
: “Will she talk to you?”

K. Immel—
RS:Physical
: “Yes. She's been very helpful.”

A. Mesnil—
RS:Social
: “What alias did you use?”

K. Immel—
RS:Physical
: “Special Agent Nelson. I told her I was with Justice. She bought it.”

A. Mesnil—
RS:Social
: “Good. Was she able to ID her torturers for you?”

K. Immel—
RS:Physical
: “No. Just physical descriptions. Two men, one with a shaved head, thirties or forties, of Austrian or German nationality.”

A. Mesnil—
RS:Social
: “Okay. Make a report to Founder One and have a Coordinator open a file. This changes things.”

K. Immel—
RS:Physical
: “I know. We've got another player. Someone local, from the sound of it.”

A. Mesnil—
RS:Social
: “Did you call an ambulance for the roommate?”

K. Immel—
RS:Physical
: “No. Her injuries were painful, but not life threatening. I paid for a taxi and sent her to the ER. I'll meet you in the nest in fifteen, and we can finish debriefing then.”

A. Mesnil—
RS:Social
: “Roger. Social out.”

•     •     •

“
SO THE ROOMMATE
confirmed that Foster is with Ponte?” Albane asked Kalen as he walked in the door of their Vienna hotel suite.

“Yes, they were in the apartment when she arrived midday, but then left in a rush. She had no idea where they were going, but said that Ponte seemed very nervous,” Kalen said.

“What about the thugs that tortured her? What's their story?”

“They showed up several hours later. Picked the lock and chloroformed her. When she woke up she was strapped in a chair. They broke all the fingers on her left hand questioning her about Ponte and Foster. She said she told them everything she told me. They left her bound to a chair in the kitchen. If I hadn't shown up, she might have been trapped for days. It would have been real ugly.”

Albane pursed her lips. “Not exactly the scenario we were hoping for, but it's progress. We've confirmed Foster is with Ponte. Now, it's a matter of chasing them.”

Kalen smiled.

“What's so funny?” Albane asked.

“Do you know what the problem is with chasing chickens?” Kalen said.

VanCleave, who was sitting at the table between Albane and AJ, looked up. “Excuse me?” he said, cocking an eyebrow at Kalen.

“The problem with chasing chickens is that they're damn near impossible to catch. Have you ever tried to catch a chicken, VanCleave?”

“Are you speaking allegorically, Kalen, or are you talking about the actual bird? I don't recall you ever using a metaphor before.”

Kalen winked at VanCleave and continued. “When I was a kid, I spent one summer working on my grandfather's farm. One of my chores was to replace some rotting wooden slats in the fence around the chicken coop. I made so many trips in and out of the chicken coop that one time I forgot to latch the door, and a hen got out.”

“This story is relevant because?” VanCleave moaned.

“I chased that damn hen around for hours. I tried sprinting after her, sneaking up on her, dive-bombing her. Hell, I even tried to chase her into a shed. I never could catch her. Chickens are just too fast. They always stay three paces ahead of you.”

“What did you do?” AJ asked.

“I stopped chasing it.”

“You gave up?”

“No. I just realized that I was never going to catch that chicken by chasing it all over the farm. To catch it, I had to outwit it. To do that, I had to figure out: ‘What is important to a chicken? What motivates a hen?'”

“Not getting plucked is what matters to a chicken,” VanCleave said. “I could have told you that.”

“Very insightful, Eugene, but I don't think chickens possess that kind of foresight,” Albane quipped.

AJ looked at Albane and mouthed “EUGENE?” silently, with a schoolboy grin across his face.

She smiled impishly.

“Anyway, as I was saying,” Kalen continued, “I realized that the only thing that motivates a chicken is chicken food. So, I laid a trail of kernels along the ground leading to a pile of feed under an old milk bottle crate that I propped up on one side with a stick. I tied a ten-foot length of string to the stick and hid around the corner. Then I waited. The hen pecked its way along the ground, following the feed trail all the way into the crate and then, WHAM, I pulled the stick out. That was that. Captive chicken, game over. The point I'm trying to make here is, I'm tired of chasing chickens.”

“Interesting analogy,” said Albane. “What sort of trap are you suggesting for Foster?”

“That's for you guys to figure out. You're the brains of this operation; I'm the biceps,” Kalen said, propping his feet up on an ottoman and clasping his hands behind his neck. “I know chickens want chicken feed, but I have no idea what Foster wants.”

Albane closed her eyes. “If a man is drowning?” she said to the ether.

“Then throw him a rope,” AJ answered.

“Exactly,” she said with a smile. “We're going to offer Foster the one thing that nobody has offered him yet.”

“Which is?” asked VanCleave.

“A way out.”

“Why would Foster deal with us? He doesn't know us. He'll presume it's a trap,” VanCleave argued.

“Yes, but why does a rabbit leave the safety of its burrow even when it knows the fox is nearby? Because sometimes it has to. Because the allure of a carrot can overwhelm the fear of the fox.” She grabbed a piece of paper, jotted four short sentences down, and handed it to VanCleave.

“That's what we're going to tell Foster?”

“Yes,” she replied.

Kalen swiped the paper from VanCleave's hand and read it. “This could be more fun than Chiarek Norse,” he beamed.

“Time to play SMS poker,” she said. “VanCleave, do we have Julie Ponte's mobile number?”

“Of course.”

“Can you please text her that message?”

Kalen handed the paper back to VanCleave, who then composed the text message on his phone. After double-checking his work, he pressed the SEND button, and transmitted Albane's carefully crafted words to Julie Ponte's mobile.

To Will Foster:
We know about Vyrogen,
We're here to help.
We can get you home and clear your name.
Special Agent Nelson - FBI

“It's done,” he reported to the group. “Now what?” With eyes narrowed, Albane replied. “Now, we wait.”

“
W
HAT NOW
?
WE
can't go back to your apartment.” Will said to Julie as they walked down the stone steps outside Johansen's office.

“We need to keep moving, but I'm so exhausted I can't think clearly. We need to go somewhere where we can rest,” Julie said, taking hold of Will's hand. “Just for a little while.”

“What did you have in mind? A hotel won't work. Too many security cameras, and don't they require ID to check into hotels in Europe?”

She gave his hand a squeeze. “I have another idea. I know somewhere private, safe, and off the grid.”

He squeezed her hand back and said, “Okay. Lead the way.”

•     •     •

WILL SURVEYED THE
small modest bedroom with a measure of skepticism. Sunlight filtered through the room's only window onto a white and blue flowered duvet, covering a double bed. A simple five-drawer dresser, stained the color of honey, occupied the wall to his right. To his left, a door fitted with an ivory and brass antique knob was partially open, revealing a tidy bathroom. It was tiled entirely in white, with accenting blue tiles interspersed in a diamond pattern on the floor and shower walls. He set Julie's backpack on the hardwood floor, and then took a seat at the foot of the bed.