galleries as well.
Wouldn’t a man like this have a laptop with him, or a PDA? If so, it wasn’t in the luggage. She put everything back the way she found it, then searched some more. Finally satisfied that her lover was at least roughly who he said he was, she got dressed to go.
Arna Kerr hesitated at the door. There would be no possibility of seeing him ever again.
No?
No.
Outside, she saw someone in a car half a block from the hotel. He seemed to be looking at her. But then she saw a woman coming along the street behind her, crossing to the car — he’d been waiting for a girlfriend.
Well, she thought to herself, that was a nice diversion. Now it’s time to get back to work.
Ferguson gave Arna Kerr ten minutes to change her mind and come back, then pulled on his pants and a sweatshirt and crossed the hall to the safe room where he’d left his gear. Inside, he powered up his laptop and entered the surveillance program, checking to make sure she wasn’t down in the lobby. Then he turned on his radio and asked the others what was going on.
“Looks like she’s taking a midnight tour of the city,” said Guns.
“Going back to her hotel?”
“Doesn’t look like it. Walking to the east. Maybe she’s got another date.”
“Jeez, I would’ve thought I wore her out.” Ferguson pulled out his map, trying to psych out where she was going. “She might be trying to make sure she’s not being followed,” he said finally. “Be careful.”
“We don’t need you to tell us our jobs,” snapped Thera.
“I’ll try to remember that,” said Ferguson, reaching for his shoes.
The more Arna Kerr walked, the more she sensed someone was following her. And yet, whether she turned suddenly or double-backed or used the mirror in her compact case, she couldn’t see anyone.
Subconsciously I’m expecting to be punished for having sex, she told herself. Like a schoolgirl who’s stayed out late.
The night had turned cold. Arna Kerr circled the block twice more; finally, failing to see anyone — and yet still not entirely free of the sensation of being watched — she went to the parking garage of the Hotel Borgia and found the small Ford she’d rented earlier in the day. She slipped the key into the trunk and opened the lid. Reaching to the side, she checked the small motion sensor, making sure the trunk hadn’t been opened. Then she took out the backpack, reset the alarm with her key code, and checked the interior of the car.
Upstairs in the hotel, she mussed up the bed in her room, and then she slipped out, this time taking the stairs to the lobby. Before going back out she pulled an American-style baseball cap over her head, tucking her hair up until it was hidden. The security cameras at the outside door would see her, but her face would stay in the shadows.
Outside, Arna Kerr walked quickly to the piazza three blocks away. When she reached it, she pulled a laser measuring device from her pocket, then stood against the wall and began taking the measurements she needed. She recorded the measurements on a small voice recorder, adding Ferguson’s driver’s license number.
It would take her an hour to get the measurements, and another half hour to check the security systems on the street. The rest of what she had to do could easily wait until daytime.
Plenty of time to go back to Ferguson’s hotel and slip back into bed with him.
A foolish thought, she told herself, pocketing the laser and walking to the next piazza.
Ferguson grabbed hold of the portico’s smooth stone pillar and pulled himself upward, wedging the sides of his sneakers against the stone and shimmying to the top of the archway. Bologna was filled with porticos and covered walkways: a climber’s paradise.
His grip slipped as he scrambled up onto the fake balustrade of the building. Ferguson grabbed the side of the window above and pushed himself up, trying to regain some balance. The building rose several more stories, and the climbing would be relatively easy — the blocks were spaced almost like ladders in a decorative pattern at the corner of the building — but first he had to get by the windows on the second floor. Fortunately the Bolognese — or at least
Manually adjusting the magnification on his lightweight night glasses, Ferguson scanned the block, trying to see where Arna Kerr had gone. He spotted the light from her laser device before he saw her; when he finally saw her he thought she was being targeted by the infrared laser sight on a gun.
His heart jerked, his impulse to help. Then he realized that she was the one with the laser, and that she was taking measurements — maybe distances for a sniper. Ferguson settled down against the tiles, watching her continue her work.
Pretty, but not as beautiful as Thera. Thera had an attraction that other women couldn’t match.
Ferguson leaned back as Arna Kerr began walking up the street in his direction.
“She’s moving,” he said into the radio as she passed. Then he yawned.
“Tired, huh?” said Guns.
“She wore me out.” Ferguson laughed, then went to find a place to climb down.
9
Artur Rostislawitch set the culture dish down next to the microscope, then reached for the tray with the slides. He could feel his hands starting to tremble inside the thick rubber gloves that were built into the protective glass case enclosing his work area.
Rostislawitch’s nervousness had nothing to do with the bacteria he was examining, even though the dish contained an extremely deadly and contagious form of E. coli — so dangerous, in fact, that the amount in the dish could kill hundreds of thousands if judiciously deployed. Handling it through the sealed work area, Rostislawitch knew he would not come into direct contact with it. Indeed, one of the bacteria’s assets was that it was relatively safe to handle if certain precautions were taken. Placed in a sealed glass container and suspended in the proper growth medium, the bacteria was essentially inert.
Rostislawitch was nervous because he intended on taking some of the material out of the lab. Getting the bacteria to this workstation without arousing suspicion had been difficult; he’d had to make it appear as if it were a harmless form of E. coli rather than the superbug he had created some years before. Creating a false paper trail, preparing the transit vessels, establishing plausible alibis, studying the security system — he had worked for weeks to get ready. Now he needed five more minutes’ worth of patience until the cameras watching the lab went off-line before he could proceed. The video system went offline every Tuesday at exactly 4:45 a.m. while the main computer that ran it backed itself up automatically. That would give him a ten-minute window to take the material without being seen.
Rostislawitch pretended to be studying a specimen, twitching in his seat. He’d waited so long for this day; surely he could wait for a few more minutes.
He rehearsed what he would do — separate two grams of the material, insert it into the medium dishes he’d positioned on the left. Return the material to its safe. Dispose of the other dishes by putting them into the incinerator bin.
Put everything away. Go downstairs, retrieve the dishes from the bin, which he had disabled earlier.
Remove his ID from the security lock. Punch the sequence to erase it.
All within fifteen minutes.
After that — the train, the conference in Bologna, the Iranian.
Freedom.
Rostislawitch knew he could do it. He had rehearsed it several times.
