poor countries. Research and development are astronomically pricey, particularly these days. The Third World simply doesn’t have the money to pay for the R and D, much less the vaccines, now do they?”
“Perhaps not. Still?”
“So where would the return on investment be? What would happen to our stock if we pursued such quixotic research and development? We have a fiduciary responsibility to our shareholders.”
“Ah, I see. So vaccines are out.”
He allowed real disappointment to enter his voice. Then he brightened.
“Still, you have very good scientists there. They might be doing something fresh and interesting with hantaviruses. I seldom have time to fly to Asia, so I’m going to gamble that you won’t be irritated if I ask to visit the facilities anyway. If you would be kind enough to give me permission … after all, we scientists learn from each other, you know. I might be able to contribute something to help them.” Cruyff’s brows raised. “I suppose there’s no reason not to. You’ll have to secure the proper entry and travel papers on your own, of course, but I’ll have my assistant type up a letter of introduction and send it over to your hotel. Just give her the details when you leave. Perhaps with that, China will cooperate and approve your trip.”
“Thank you. Your letter will make all the difference.” The pocketknife felt heavy in his hand.
The visit was coming to a close, and he still had not had an opportunity to plant it. He fought tension and beamed and nodded toward the two ship models on Cruyff’s desk. There were four more in glass cases on the walls. He said, “I’ve been admiring your ships, monsieur. Beautiful. Did you make them yourself? A hobby?” Cruyff laughed and waved his hand.
“Hardly. They’re the work of professionals, recreations of some of our more successful ships. Donk & Lapierre is primarily a shipping company, you see.” He continued to watch Jon. He had not even glanced at the ships. “Do you work mostly with Chinese companies?” Jon asked innocently. Cruyff was startled. “Chinese companies? No, of course not.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. It just seemed logical, and I noticed how many of your ship models have their names in Chinese lettering as well as roman.”
Cruyff gave a sudden, involuntary glance, not at his models, but toward a safe in plain sight on the wall to the left of his desk. That distraction was all Jon needed. With a frisson of relief, he flipped open his fingers and used his thumb to jam the knife down between the cushions. Cruyff quickly refocused on Jon. “No, not especially. All ships registered in Hong Kong display their names in Chinese as well as in our alphabet.”
“Of course,” Jon jumped to his feet. “Stupid of me.
Well, I won’t waste any more of your time. It was gracious of you to see me, and even more to allow me to visit your biomed installation.”
“Think nothing of it, Doctor.” Smiling and nodding, Jon backed out and closed the door. In the outer office, Jon stopped to give the unsmiling Valkyrie the name of the Shangri-la Hotel and his room number. He headed off, smiled at the gorgeous receptionist, and pushed out through the glass doors. His pulse ratcheted up as a messenger approached. But the messenger did not go into Donk & Lapierre. He passed on down the hall, and as soon as the man was out of sight, Jon made a quick detour into the men’s restroom. Locked in a stall, he pulled a tiny listening device from an inner pocket and fitted it into his left ear. It was about the size of a jelly bean, another remarkable invention from intelligence R&D. He paused long enough to change his demeanor. Radiating agitation, he hurried from the bathroom back into the offices of Donk & Lapierre, rushed past the exotic receptionist as if his return had not only been planned, but demanded, and — with a distracted wave — burst past the startled Brunhilde. “Must have dropped my pocketknife,” he announced as he slammed into Charles-Marie Cruyff’s office without breaking step.
Cruyff was leaning back in his desk chair and talking confidentially into the phone. He gazed up, surprised, in midword. “What!” he demanded of Jon.
Jon grumbled, irritated, “Dammit. Sorry. Must’ve dropped my knife,” he repeated. “Let’s see, I was standing here, and … ” He paused before the desk, facing Cruyff, while looking around the airy office as if trying to remember exactly what he had done when he entered. Cruyff scowled. “I have an important call, Dr. St. Germain. Please be fast.” He paused, listening to the voice on the phone. The cutting-edge directional microphone in Jon’s ear picked up Cruyff’s end of the conversation loud and clear. Cruyff cupped his hand around the mouthpiece and whispered, “… I don’t think so. No, sir, he was simply fishing for information about our han-virus research, mostly to know if we were working on any vaccines. He wanted an invitation to visit the lab inside China. What? Yes, absolutely legitimate. Works at USAMRIID, sir, yes. It has to be a simple coincidence. What? Well, yes, as a matter of fact, he did ask an odd question about our working mostly with Chinese firms. He saw my ship models, and … ” Jon let his glance fall on the couch. “Ah, that must be it!” He sat down and rummaged between the cushions. “I’m sure you’re mistaken, sir.” Frowning, Cruyff continued to watch Jon as he searched. “Well, perhaps a shade over six feet, yes, and … ” Jon had heard enough. He needed to get out before Cruyff grew too suspicious. Grinning with relief, he retrieved his knife from where he had hidden it and held it up. “Here it is. Must’ve fallen out of my pocket. Sorry for the intrusion, and thanks again, Monsieur Cruyff.” He sped out the door, knocking aside the outraged Valkyrie, who had arrived to make certain all was well. Seconds later, Jon trotted along the corridor to the elevators. The door of the only open one was closing. He sprinted, slid through just in time, and punched the button.
As the car started down, he smiled grimly to himself: There was someone who was obviously higher and more important in the company than even the managing director of the Asian branch, so much higher he couldn’t be made to wait while Jon searched, and who had wanted to know whether Major Kenneth St. Germain really was from USAMRIID … whether he had asked any unusual or unexpected questions … and exactly what he had looked like. And what was the meaning of Cruyff’s startled glance at his safe when Jon had asked about Donk & Lapierre’s working with Chinese companies?
Lying under silk sheets on the four-poster bed in the high-ceilinged room that had once entertained Spanish grandees, Ralph Mcdermid growled into the phone, his languor and good humor long gone. “What else?”
Charles-Marie Cruyff was filling out his description of the man who had come to ask questions that could easily have been asked over the telephone or by e-mail before flying all the way to Hong Kong, and who had also asked about Donk & Lapierre’s work with Chinese companies.
“He’s in his early forties, I’d guess,” Cruyff said. “Trim. Looked as if he worked out a lot or played some vigorous sport.”
“Dark hair brushed back?”
“No, sir. What I’d call dark blond, and it was parted on the side. I’m sure?”
“All right. The Shangri-la Hotel, you say? In Kowloon?”
“That’s where I’m supposed to send my letter of introduction.”
“Wait a few hours first. I want to be back in Hong Kong before then.”
“Very well, Mr. Mcdermid. But I’m sure he was exactly who he said he was. Remember, the appointment was arranged by USAMRIID through our head office in Antwerp.”
“Perhaps you’re right, Charles-Marie. Perhaps he merely wants to visit your research people. We’ll talk — further when I get there. Meanwhile, make sure you take care of that urgent matter.”
“Of course, Mr. Mcdermid.”
Mcdermid hung up and lay back, his eyes closed. His joviality did not return, nor did his languor. When the girl emerged from the bathroom, perfumed and glossily nude, he opened his eyes and dismissed her with a curt wave. As she left, he grabbed the phone and dialed. The polished voice on the other end of the line answered immediately. “Yes?”
“It’s me. That problem in Shanghai may not be over after all.” Mcdermid described the USAMRIID scientist and his intrusion at Donk & Lapierre as the other man listened and asked quiet, intelligent questions.
The more Mcdermid laid out the situation, the more he felt himself calm.
This man with the polished voice was the key to his future. The Altman Group had soared high, but it could go even higher, now that he was in his pocket. The future was limitless. As they concluded their conversation, Mcdermid was smiling again.
Often when he accepted an assignment from the American, Ghassan thought back to that day in Baghdad when, resigned to his death, he had been spared not by Allah but by the vanity of the Republican Guard. Trapped in his shop, defending Dr. Mahuk, he’d had no chance to survive.
