Bite (26 page)

‘It's frightening,' Saskia said. ‘The World Health Organization phoned Professor van Diemen this morning. They are trying to arrange an emergency conference. They want him to speak. Professor Friederikson has already perfected his soundbite: he reckons it is the Fifth Horseman of the Apocalypse.'

‘It says here that there are twelve cases in New York and five in San Francisco. My God!'

‘Yes. Each day we hear about three new countries in which a case has occurred.'

‘They got to
do
something about it!'

‘Not so easy now it is getting into local mosquito populations.'

Penny blew out a sigh, and took a gulp of café au lait. ‘They're shipping Jack's body back tomorrow. You know, it's been a traumatic week. Quiggan's gone back to Atlanta and left me here to pick up all the bureacratic pieces as per usual. No-one seems to realise that I might be upset because my boss died. It really got to me.'

‘I know. You looked really terrible the other day. You seem a bit better now.'

‘I don't feel it.'

‘Have you had any more ideas about this,' Saskia said, removing the postcard from her handbag and placing it on the table.

‘Yes. It confused me at first because Jack never had anything to do with malaria research. It's like you suggested, he always reckoned there was no money in it. But I remember a meeting he got involved in a couple of years ago with a researcher from one of our own subsidiaries.'

‘This person was a Pharmstar employee?'

‘Yes, we had bought out his old employers a few months before. I can't remember his name, and I can't remember which unit it was.'

‘And he was doing malarial research?'

‘Yes.' Penny nibbled a biscuit. ‘He reckoned to have found a new compound which would kill the malarial parasites, and wanted a fairly modest sum to continue research.'

‘So he got it?' Sivali asked.

‘No. That was the thing. He'd presented his case to the research approval committees, and they liked it. I mean they were totally enthusiastic. It had gone up to the finance committee and they said, ‘No way, you can't do this. Your lab's scheduled to close anyway. Non-core area.' This did not go down well. The researcher had some of our brightest clinical research guys on his side by then, and it got very political. That's when Jack got involved and called a meeting to sort it out. He listened to the presentation for an hour, and I'll never forget what he said. “I'm not interested in diseases that kill ten million poor people a year. Go away and tackle something that kills ten thousand rich people. Then we'll talk''.'

‘It looks like your boss has had his wish come true,' Saskia said, picking up the newspaper. ‘Ten thousand rich people is only a start. My daughter, Caroline, has it. She's only six.'

Penny Ryan stared open mouthed ‘Oh, Saskia, I'm so sorry.'

Saskia tried to force a smile. ‘I just hope someone at Pharmstar remembered to write down what the compound was.'

Things have deteriorated terribly. We sensed the mood change in the slamming of the doors, the sliding of the food buckets. Today mine was kicked into the cell and tipped on the floor. That was no great loss. For four days, ever since I spurned Crocodile, we had been back to the foul, fatty gruel. If we are lucky we get leftovers from the guards' hut.

Half an hour later they came back, in force. I heard the boots going up to the floor above us, the shouts. They stood on the bars above us, with weapons trained on us. Someone had opened Amy's cell. I heard her shriek. The bucket was tossed out. There were taps and scrapes. Then it was Sister Margaret's turn. We heard the sound of a blow and a grunt before she fell.

I didn't know what they were searching for, but I couldn't take any chances. No-one seemed to be looking down into my cell, so I crouched and put my hands under the mattress where I kept Tomas's film, and slid the canister inside me.

By now they were at Jarman's cell. The cell wasn't tall enough for them to give him the beating they wanted, so they hauled him out into the corridor to kick him. I put my hands over my ears but I could not block out his cries.

Then they arrived for me. I was shaking when the door opened. Dakka grinned. ‘Nice dress,' he said as he pushed me aside. He and another young guard stripped the cell of the mattress, sheet, mosquito net and books and my remaining sheets of toilet paper. They took the jerry can of water, but mercifully left me alone. I had my diary under my dress, tucked into my pants and the stub of pencil was wrapped in my fist. They searched the cell carefully, looking for damage to the cement, or attempts to loosen the roof bars.

Then as suddenly as they came they went, leaving us in stunned silence. Jarman was breathing heavily in the next cell and Amy began sobbing.

‘Is everyone okay?' I whispered.

‘They found my swiss army knife,' said Sister Margaret. ‘And for that they hit me. I think I will have a black eye now.'

‘Dakka gave my bad foot a good working over,' said Jarman. ‘And all the scars have opened up again. I've got a nosebleed too.'

‘I was lucky, I just got punched a couple times,' Amy said over her sniffs. ‘What about you, Erica?'

‘I'm okay. But I'm back to parity with you. No water, no net, no mattress.'

‘Shame,' Amy said, but I could hear the satisfaction in her voice.

‘Did they get the film?' whispered Jarman.

‘No.' I giggled. ‘I saved it as only a woman can.'

A powerful voice boomed from the recesses of the room above. ‘Then I think you had better give it to me,' said Brigadier Crocodile, walking across until he stood on the grille above my cell.

(Erica's Diary 1992)

Max and Lisbeth grabbed their bikes and pedalled furiously out of the park. When they reached the safety of Van Baerle Straat, they began to take deeper breaths and relax. Busy with shoppers and museum visitors in the day, there was nothing in sight at four a.m. as they approached the traffic lights at Museumplein but an old, scratched Mercedes.

The car pulled level and then cut sharply at them, spilling Max and Lisbeth in a clattering heap on the pavements. Max fell under his bike and watched the laptop cartwheel away. He lifted his head just in time to have a car door slammed into it. Lisbeth was up on her feet and away like a cat, grabbing the laptop and scampering down a sidestreet.

An armed man in a tracksuit stood over Max while another sprinted after Lisbeth. Max was handcuffed, had some kind of hood pulled over his head, tied tight. He was stripped of the Walther, then dragged to the back of the Mercedes. A minute later the second guy returned empty handed, alternately cursing and panting. The boot opened, Max was flipped in and the bicycle tossed on top. When the lid slammed he got a pedal in the face and a handlebar in the groin. He could barely wriggle an inch. It was a claustrophobic hell on wheels.

For ten minutes they drove, then slowed and thundered into some kind of building. From the echoes it could have been a big garage or multi-storey car park. Max heard the whine and rumble of an electrically-operated roller door.

Someone tapped the boot. ‘If you took the hood off in there, now's the chance to put it back on.'

‘It's on,' Max replied. The boot was opened and he was dragged out, down some cold stairs and into a warmer, carpeted room, small enough not to echo. The door was slammed and locked. Finally he was dropped on a chair.

‘Can I take this off now?' Max lifted his head to indicate the hood.

‘No, Max, I'll loosen it but you keep it on.' Max was shocked to hear an American voice behind him. Fingers loosened the knot around his neck, allowing him what felt like his first breath in fifteen minutes.

‘First thing's first,' the voice said. ‘We can help you and you can help us. That sounds a decent basis for a deal, right?'

‘Maybe. And you are?'

‘You can call me Alex. The good news is we are on the side of law and order.' A second voice in the room suppressed a snigger. ‘Kinda, anyhow,' Alex chuckled. ‘More than that you don't need to know. Now, let's cut to the chase. You are rapidly becoming an A1 pain in the ass, and it is going to stop.'

‘That depends.'

‘Well, Max, here's my problem. We have spent thirteen years on a particular project. Thirteen whole, fucking tedious years, across three continents twenty-two countries tracking down one very smart, very elusive guy. In the last few months we get a whisper he's here, in Amsterdam, using the passport name Luc de Wit, and a street alias of Anvil. We spot the target, we bug his house, we tap his phone, we video his bedroom, yada yada yada, you get the picture. We can't move until we have all the evidence we need, and get everything coordinated. You know how slow these Europeans move.'

Max heard a lighter click. Long inhalation, the smell of smoke.

‘So that was our plan.
Your
plan involves burgling his house, throwing his hi-fi out the window and shooting his dog. Neat plan, Max, if your plan is to ruin our plan.'

‘My plan is to find my girlfriend. Nothing more.'

‘Sure. But she wasn't in the house was she? Neither was de Wit. He's gone to ground. Disappeared days ago, thanks to you. You know something, we only
needed
a couple more days. We had it all set up quietly, keeping the target relaxed, but then Max Carver, vigilante and bar brawler, bulldozes in and hey presto there's gas trucks exploding across the city, and three good burghers of Amsterdam flame broiled in their car. And guess what? It's all
my
fault. I'm getting serious heat about this from way upstairs. They read the papers after all, and suddenly it's considered blood on my hands.'

‘When did you last see Anvil?' Max asked.

Alex laughed softly. ‘The morning you got your hand chewed off in Rotterdam.'

‘So he was in the Xenix office, with the dog?'

‘Sure he was. We'd been watching him. But what's the point having one of my guys incognito as a stevedore if an asshole like you peers through the mailbox. I mean, is that your idea of undercover surveillance?'

‘I didn't think he'd be there.'

‘Max, you're an amateur. Take tonight. If it had been de Wit come to the house tonight, instead of one of his gophers, you and your horny friend would be dog food. He'd have picked you off the moment you jumped into the yard. Again, plain amateur getting yourself stuck in the bedroom. You left no lookout, you were slow, you should have covered her going into every room, so it goes on. Jesus, all your Coast Guard boarding routines are real rusty, ain't they? Just like your sculptures.'

‘How do you know…'

‘Max, we know all about you. We know where you go, who you hang out with.'

‘Been spying on me, Alex?'

‘Ain't me, Max, it's the Dutch cops. Twenty-four, seven. Pretty much since you were arrested.'

‘So you mean Voos and her guys just watched de Wit's boys break in and smash everything in the gallery.'

‘They are watching
you
, asshole, not spying on the joe that delivers the fish, even if it is way past the use-by date. They figured you for a serial murderer until they realised you were at home the night Lisbeth's best friend got deep fried. They still figure you killed Erica.'

‘Do you?'

‘No, but neither do I figure de Wit kidnapped her. That's what I don't get about your theory. Why would he want her? Is it sex? Tell me, my friend, does Ms Stroud-Jones give such extraordinary head? Is her old man rich lord such-and-such? Please just assure me that it ain't for her science because, no offence Max, your girlfriend is in the great scheme of things just a two-bit nobody working on a disease no-one cares about.'

Max sagged in the chair, kneading the cracked plastic arms. ‘I know for a fact that Anvil needed Erica's laptop computer badly enough to have it stolen from the trunk of our rental car.'

‘Says who?'

‘Says the thief who was commissioned to do the job. How did Anvil know the laptop was there? Only Erica knew, so he must be holding her. Another piece of the jigsaw. A scientist called Henry Waterson arrived at the Xenix office about 10.30 the morning I was there. Your tame stevedore, I guess he must be the big guy with the beard, should have seen him.'

‘Yeah, he did. We traced Waterson through his rental car. We guessed he didn't have an appointment, because de Wit didn't answer the door. Waterson looks a bit of a wild card, but we're going to keep tabs on him.'

‘Good. Let me tell you Alex, I won't give up looking for Erica. Even if I have to kill de Wit to do it.'

The second voice in the room snickered quietly. Alex seemed to be sharing the joke. ‘You, kill de Wit?'

‘If I have to.'

‘Forget it. De Wit isn't the kind of guy a half-assed former coastguard with a dishonourable discharge can hope to tackle. I've seen him in close quarters combat and I wouldn't risk any of my guys against him one-on-one, and we got a couple of former Navy Seals here. You getting the message?'

‘Loud and clear. But I'm just stubborn, I guess.'

‘And stupid, and clumsy and unfit. You got a nasty temper and a big mouth, but not enough brawn to back it up. Frankly, you are one lucky sonofabitch to have gotten this far. You should call it quits while you're ahead. Before de Wit gets tired of you pestering him.'

‘Maybe I should, but I can't.'

Alex laughed and Max felt a hand on his shoulder. ‘Say fella. When you decide to do something, you really go for it, dontcha? I like that, it's rare. If you were ten years younger we could train you into something worthwhile.'

‘Is that your best compliment?'

Alex chuckled and took a big drag on his cigarette. ‘Tell me about Lisbeth de Laan.'

‘What do you want to know?'

‘We've seen she's a horny exhibitionist with ace boobs and scary scars. Can you add anything to that?'

‘You pretty much summed her up.'

‘We also know she's a car break-in artist, a police snitch and Anvil's former girlfriend.'

‘Maybe so.'

‘Heard she was pretty cut up about him.'

‘Not funny, Alex.'

‘My guys wanted to catch her, but those long legs of hers work real well.'

‘I couldn't catch her either,' Max said. ‘And you know something? Until your stupid sidekicks ran me off the road I had Erica's laptop here, in my own goddamn hands. Now Lisbeth's disappeared with it. I've no idea where to find her, so you've put me back to square one.'

‘Life's a bitch, Max, and Lisbeth's a lively one. Seems you were made for each other. Your bad judgement and her bad luck.'

‘You ain't so hot yourself. Thirteen years to find one guy don't impress me. What can you teach the Dutch cops? What is it about this they can't handle?'

Alex laughed. ‘Plenty. You see, you gotta feel sorry for your uptight friend Inspector Voos. She has known for a while about de Wit's little business shipping the teenage daughters of jobless Ukrainians to work their passages, front and rear, in Amsterdam, Brussels and Hamburg. Three weeks ago she realised Xenix Molecular is a front for de Wit's metamphetamine lab, and she would pretty soon have figured out how he got hold of the diamonds.'

‘Sounds to me like she handles de Wit's case pretty well.'

‘No, Max, all she could do is ruin it. You see, all this local stuff is irrelevant chickenshit. We don't care about it, and we're not going to allow Voos to pursue it. It's driving Voos crazy that no-one will tell her why she can't move in on de Wit. I have connections right to the top, I see all her reports and e-mails, pretty much as soon as she hits ‘send', and I tell ya, she's one very frustrated woman.'

‘Must be the mother of all crimes this de Wit committed,' Max said.