23
Thera spent two hours pretending to take notes in a session on the uses of bacteriophages, or viruses that infect bacteria, to alter DNA. She kept sneaking glances at the others in the room, trying to see if T Rex or one of his minions was there looking for Rostislawitch. But the sixty or so people seemed to be legitimate biologists, or at least were very good at keeping their eyes from glazing over.
Thera left the session early and walked through the hall, checking to see if anyone was hanging around. But she was the only person who was suspicious. A small table had been set up in the lobby with coffee and tea; Thera poured herself a cup of the latter, giving her an excuse to look around some more. As she poured herself some milk, two men came down the hall for coffee. One was in his fifties or early sixties, not rotund but far from svelte, his corduroy sport coat barely able to close over his midsection. The other man, taller, with a black goatee, wore a tight shirt with a mock turtleneck. He had Merrell Wilderness hiking boots with bright blue shoelaces on his feet, and a Bulova chronograph about two links too loose on his wrist.
“You seem very studious,” the man said to Thera, speaking English with a German accent.
“Not really.”
“American?”
“Greek.”
He obviously thought Greek women were easy: his face lit up and he extended his hand.
“Gunther,” he told her.
“Thera.”
“You are teaching where?”
“I’m doing my post-doc,” said Thera, repeating the cover story they had worked out for her.
“What was your thesis?”
“I’d be afraid to bore you,” she told him.
“Not boring.” He glanced at the older man who’d come out with him. The man smiled back.
“Thera Metaxes,” Thera told the other man.
He introduced himself shyly. His English was not as good as his young colleague’s — a fact he told her in German.
“My German, I guess, is not very good, either,” answered Thera in German.
“But you do speak it.”
“Not very well.”
“Then you must come with us and we will help you improve it,” said Gunther. “We are just sneaking out.”
“I was going to meet a friend,” Thera told him. “I may be late already.” She glanced at her watch.
“Oh, the Russian.”
“Who?” said Thera.
“I saw you this morning with a man,” said Gunther. “I thought perhaps a colleague.”
“That was just someone I’ve met here,” said Thera. She couldn’t tell exactly what Gunther’s interest was — did he want to pick her up? Or was he interested in Rostislawitch?
Was this T Rex? He looked athletic, reasonably fit, and strong, though those weren’t necessarily requirements.
“Someone you just met?” asked Gunther.
Thera forced a laugh. “He’s not a boyfriend.”
“You have no boyfriend?”
Thera tilted her head and gave him a closed-mouth smile.
“I’m late,” she told him. “But maybe we can talk later.”
“Your dissertation.”
“Yours would be more interesting,” she said, putting the tea down and walking out.
24
Atha felt his chest constricting as the minister berated him. They were using an open phone, and while they were using words that had nothing to do with the material or the Russian, surely the minister’s vehemence would be a tip-off to anyone listening. Atha was sure he would be arrested as soon as he hung up.
But the venom in the minister’s voice was worse: “If the loan does it,” not go through, your position will be terminated. The dock is ready to be built.”
It wasn’t a loan that they were talking about, and it wasn’t Atha’s job that was at stake.
The Iranian hung up the phone and walked out of the train station to his Mercedes. The driver was arguing with a policeman, who was in the process of giving him a ticket. Atha got in the back without saying anything.
He could not afford to be cheated. It would be one thing — a very bad thing, admittedly — to fail to get the material, but another thing entirely to give the money away and still not get it. He had to be sure.
Would the Russian be so foolish as to have the material with him?
Probably not. But if he did, that would be an easy solution to the problem of trust. Indeed, it would greatly add to Atha’s profit.
It was a possibility that would have to be investigated.
And if Rostislawitch had no intention of turning over the material, if this was all a scam, what then?
Well, then he would simply be forced to cooperate. There was no other choice.
Perhaps he should simply take that option now.
No, too risky — the scientist might find a way to resist, at least long enough to upset the minister’s plans, which in turn would go badly for Atha.
“Take the ticket from the policeman and let us go,” Atha told his driver. “We have much work to do this afternoon.”
25
The crown jewel of the motley fleet of bicycles, mopeds, scooters, and motorcycles the team had rented was a Ducati Hypermotad 1100, a smallish street bike that could do 200 kilometers an hour without breaking a sweat. Ferguson retrieved it from a hotel lot near the police station and went out to the substation where Rostislawitch had been taken, getting there just as the Russian climbed into a police car to be driven back over to the conference.
Imperiati had ordered that Rostislawitch be given a full apology and an explanation about there being a terrorist alert in the city, implying that he’d been picked up in a case of mistaken identity. Ferguson wasn’t sure how far that explanation would go; it didn’t particularly matter to him, and he suspected that Imperiati wanted the Russian to know it was false. From the Italian’s point of view, the best thing that could happen now would be for the Russian to leave.
Ferguson hoped he didn’t leave Bologna, though he was prepared to follow the scientist if necessary. He was still Ferguson’s best, albeit tenuous, link to T Rex. The Iranian connection gave Corrigan some new queries to push, and maybe there’d be something to shake out of the British. But for now the best approach seemed to be following Rostislawitch.
