Halloran shuffled off.
Rothchilde swiveled around in his chair and eyeballed his Miro.
After this was over, there would be an unavoidable delay in the schedule. He needed scientists, discreet scientists, to take over the N-Som research. The FDA was going to be a washout, so the smart thing to do was take production to another country. Mexico, probably. Not nearly the same regulations there, especially if you had money.
It wouldn’t be the same as selling the drug legitimately in America, but he’d still make a fortune through internet sales. It would take years before the US could ban it from importation, and by then he’d have enough money to buy the Presidency. Plus there was Europe, Asia, the world market to exploit. And of course, good old Uncle Sam.
The Army wanted twenty-four-hour soldiers. It wanted them badly, and was willing to pay for it. Rothchilde would be able to use much of the altered N-Som paperwork to close the sale, confidant that the military wouldn’t care in the least about the FDA setbacks.
The only possible hurdle was the dreams-some of those N-Som dreams were pretty disturbing, and Rothchilde didn’t want to think about some three star General trying out the drug and reliving someone else’s violent death.
But Rothchilde had already planned for that. While it had proven impossible so far to synthesize N-Som, the source could be changed. Rather than harvest the neurotransmitters from the brains of dead people, Rothchilde planned to use aborted fetuses.
A second trimester fetus had the same brain chemicals that were needed to make N-Som, but it didn’t have any memories. Dr. Nikos had given Rothchilde a sample to try, and the results were enthralling. Not only did the drug keep you awake and aware, but the N-Som dream was the most beautiful, most content, most relaxing thing Rothchilde had ever experienced. He had actually gone back to the womb. The feeling was so good, he could easily triple the price of the pill and people would still demand it.
Rothchilde stood up and pulled back the Miro. It swung away on hinges, revealing his wall safe. He dialed the combination and tugged the door open.
The current situation was a setback, but only a small one. Once the rest of the team was dead, he could rebuild.
Rothchilde took out five stacks of hundred dollar bills and set them on his desk. Then he picked up his phone.
“Yeah.”
“Theena and Bill are at DruTech. So is another doctor, a chemist named Julia Myrnowski. I want her taken care of as well. The guard at the desk has a security card. You’ll need it to get to the basement level. There’s a slot in the elevator.”
“Will the guard give it to us?”
“No. You’ll have to kill him, too.”
He heard Carlos sigh. “Why don’t we just set the whole building on fire?”
“Don’t fuck this up, Carlos. No more mistakes.”
“You’re asking us to walk into a public place and start wasting people.”
“You won’t have any trouble with the police. I’ve already taken care of that.”
“I still don’t like it.”
Rothchilde frowned. He’d have to talk to Gino about this guy’s attitude.
“Be ready to go in ninety minutes. You get this done, there will be a bonus.”
“How much?”
“Triple.”
Rothchilde could picture Carlos, adding up all that cash in his greedy little mind.
“We’ll take care of it.”
“I know you will.”
He hung up. Rothchilde looked across the office to a framed photo on the wall, of his father, Albert Rothchilde Sr. He’d been a pitiless, terrible parent, but his business skills were brilliant in their ruthlessness. In one of his rare kinder moments, he’d talked to young Albert about wealth.
“The key to getting it is taking risks. The key to keeping it is avoiding risks.”
Diversification. Never put all your eggs in one basket. Which was true, and which also led to his untimely death. As the elder Rothchilde watched his son grow, he saw in him the same lust for power that he had. He’d groomed his son to be his successor, teaching him the ins and outs of corporate domination. He taught him too well, in fact.
On Rothchilde’s twenty-first birthday, he got in touch with some of Chicago’s disreputable element, and for a small cut they permanently ended the career of Albert Rothchilde Sr. and his wife, leaving young Albert a fortune.
Rothchilde smiled at his father’s picture. “Should have diversified.”
Then he picked up the phone and dialed Gerry Smith. If Carlos and his dumb partner failed, he would make sure the FBI seals the deal.
Jack Kilborn
Disturb
“Dr. May, let me introduce my daughter, Dr. Theena Boone.”
Dr. Nikos winked at Theena, a signal for her to turn on the charm. It was one of the few things she was good at.
“A pleasure, Dr. May.”
Bill shook Theena’s hand, returning the greeting.
“Please sit, Dr. May.” He pulled out a chair for Bill. “I have to be social for a little bit.”
Bill was in good hands, Nikos knew. She was a much better whore than her mother was.
The speech had gone as expected, the audience eating it up. He looked around for Manny, and found him shaking hands with one of the Governor’s aides.
“Can I speak to you a moment?”
Manny nodded. “Sure, Dr. Nikos. If you’ll excuse me.”
They walked through the banquet hall, smiling and waving at people. So many wanted their ear, it became obvious that privacy was impossible. Luckily, the washroom was empty.
“Did I do okay?” Manny was nervous, agitated.
Nikos looked at himself in the mirror and fingered his beard, smoothing it out.
“You did fine. But I need you to do something else.”
Manny tugged at his collar.
“I just want to get out of here. I don’t know how much of this I can take. I feel the walls closing in.”
“Take it easy. It will be over soon.”
“I need something, Dr. Nikos.” As if cued, sweat broke out on his forehead. “I’m about ready to tear my face off.”
“All I have on me is Compazine. You take one of those, you’ll act like a drooling idiot. I need you sharp. Did you see the back table? With all the military men?”
Manny nodded. Nikos had to admit, the guy looked close to cracking.
“I need you to go impress them. They’re the ones offering the defense contract.”
“I don’t know. I… I can try.”
Manny went into a toilet stall and closed the door behind him. Nikos frowned. Their prize pony wasn’t doing so hot. Trotting him out for the buyers might not be the smartest move.
Unfortunately, Rothchilde had insisted. Everything hinged on the military money. With unlimited funds, Nikos was sure he’d be able to develop a synthetic version of N-Som. He was morally compelled to. The experiments with fetuses were promising, but Rothchilde was already making deals with several South American countries…
The president of American Products wanted to finance baby factories; paying scores of impoverished women to get pregnant and abort. The whole thing left a bad taste in Nikos’s mouth.
A moan, from Manny’s stall.
“Manny? Are you okay?”
