“None. If the FBI can’t find Hoffa, and the CIA can’t find bin Laden, then nobody’s going to find Gretchen Sutsoff. I heard she took out new citizenship with a small country, changed her name, maybe her appearance.”
“What do you think is at work here?” Lancer asked.
“There are several possibilities-the North Koreans may have restarted File 91. Or some of the work may be on the black market or in the hands of an extremist faction. Or the possibility I fear most…”
“Which is?”
“Gretchen Sutsoff has lost her mind.”
26
Paradise Island, Bahamas
A seaplane flew low over Nassau’s harbor.
It descended near the mammoth cruise ships and luxury hotels before it touched down, peeling curtains of spray from the clear Bahamian water. It glided to the terminal at the foot of the Grand Blue Tortoise Resort.
A lone passenger stepped onto the dock; a woman in her late fifties. She wore a sleeveless white shirt, white linen pants, a white straw braided sun hat and dark glasses. A tote bag was slung over her shoulder. She carried a small black case in her left hand and she carried herself with the poise of an executive arriving for a business meeting as she walked to the golf cart and the young Bahamian man sent to pick her up.
“Good morning, Doctor.”
“Hello.”
Dr. Gretchen Sutsoff did not smile or offer conversation.
Whenever possible, she preferred not to deal with people but it was unavoidable today. She’d left the solitude of her private island to come to the resort to tend to her business. Today she would conduct more secret trials. Her work was proceeding well, but if she was going to make her product more powerful she needed that overdue report from her research team in Africa, and she needed it now.
There was little time left.
The golf cart’s electric motor hummed softly as Gretchen and her driver rolled toward the main structure. With two thousand rooms distributed through the complex, the Grand Blue Tortoise was one of the most luxurious hotels in the world. It offered restaurants, pools, casinos, shops and an amusement park on a thirty-hectare expanse of tropical property, ringed with pristine beaches.
The road from the dock was lined with tall palms nodding in the breeze. As the golf cart neared the central structure, the road started to congest with a stream of jitneys, cars and cruise ship shuttles. Having to contend with crowds triggered the onset of one of Dr. Sutsoff’s throbbing headaches. She got out a capsule from a pill case in her bag as her driver maneuvered their cart to the entrance.
The lobby backed on to a restaurant bar. A giant flat-screen TV glowed from a dark paneled wall with a news report on the upcoming Human World Conference. She glanced at it as she passed by, reminding herself that she had much to do in very little time. Soon she would be leaving for her business meeting overseas. She checked her cell phone-still nothing from her primary research team in Africa. Everything was almost ready. But it was critical that she personally take charge of the final preparations.
Too much was at stake.
First things first, she told herself as she came to the breezeway that opened to a swimming pool and courtyard where suntanned guests lounged, reaching for drinks served on wicker trays.
Crossing the courtyard, she entered the south wing and a ground level area of the hotel. In the lush garden front, a wooden sign in dark mahogany identified the section as the Blue Tortoise Kids’ Hideaway.
This was the resort’s child-care service center. Its exterior walls were constructed with hurricane-proof glass. She saw toddlers and older children playing inside. Guests were required to use their room keys, and staff needed their swipe cards for access beyond this point. She fished in her bag for her security card and passed it through the reader. It beeped and she entered.
She was met with joyful chaos. The smells of baby powder, suntan lotion and fruit mingled in the air. It was a large operation handling scores of children from infants to preteens. It ran twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week and was staffed with trained caregivers and several nurses. It also had more than fifty top-flight babysitters on call for additional care on-site or in a guest’s room.
The Hideaway offered computer games, movies, parties, sleepovers and crafts, as well as supervised excursions throughout the resort or to the amusement park. It was meant for parents who needed a break for a few hours.
And, in some special cases, longer.
It was expensive but families from all over the world praised the quality of the care. Staff members were thoughtful, compassionate. No one was neglected and someone was always available to speak to any visiting child in Spanish, German, French, Japanese, Chinese, Portuguese, Farsi or Russian-nearly every major language.
The child care was not provided by the resort.
The Grand Blue Tortoise had contracted an agency specializing in the service. The Blue Tortoise Kids’ Hideaway was a numbered company that vanished in the labyrinth of the local tax system, the maze of Bahamian corporate law and the cloak of complex international banking operations.
The same shadowy entity also provided similar services at resorts in the United Arab Emirates, Greece, Australia, Maldives, Africa, the Mediterranean, Hong Kong, the U.K., China, Canada and the U.S.
Dr. Gretchen Sutsoff and her silent investors owned it all.
But no one knew that she was the invisible force controlling the company. Very few people knew her true identity. No one knew that, for years, she had been living under the alias of Elinor Auden, medical doctor, businesswoman and researcher. It enabled her to work with her international associates as they secretly strived to correct the mistakes of civilization.
“Good morning, Dr. Auden.” Lucy Walsh, the chief executive assistant, acknowledged a young family. “As you know we were expecting Elena and Valmir Leeka, and their son, Alek. They’re from Albania and have been vacationing in the United States.”
“Yes, of course.” Dr. Sutsoff smiled at the boy, squirming in his stroller. “Goodness, someone’s not happy. If you’ll indulge me for a minute, I’ll be with you shortly.”
The doctor entered her office alone, shutting the door behind her.
The quiet was calming.
She turned on her computers and glanced up at the bank of flat screens wired to the cameras monitoring the rooms, the outdoor jungle playground, and the pool where more children played.
Three muted TV panels monitored cable news channels.
No one knew the true nature of her research. No one knew the scope and reach of her operation and what it involved. She did a quick check, scrolling through files.
LA #212005 to New York67
LA #907864 to Texas908
LA #376274 to Minnesota9087
LN #77-487 to Bristol26
LN #F8-787 to Manchester98
LN #FF-879 to Dublin948
LN #00-977 to GlasgowS93
BN #JI-47-90 to Franfurt635
BN #K-489-86 to Munich875
BN #A-34-90 to Hamburg887
And the new ones: PRC #PQ-487-98 to Kunming967 and LA #181975 to Wyoming847.
The Chinese case would arrive soon. Now, she needed to focus on the extensive computer files she already had on the Albanians who’d arrived today with the Wyoming case. She had concerns with the Leekas but would get to them later.
