Plague Ship (28 page)

“Did Kyle Hanley know anything about this?” Kovac held up the file like a zealot proffering a holy book.

“No. I explained it to Thom. Hanley had only been here a short time. He’d seen the machines but knew nothing of the plan.”

Martell’s casual response triggered a look of suspicion on Kovac’s face. The room seemed to chill a few degrees. Gil made his decision. As soon as Kovac left, he’d head to his house, pack up a few things, and hop the next plane to Zurich, where he kept his numbered account.

“It’s possible he might have heard rumors,” he amended.

“What sort of rumors, Martell?”

Gil didn’t like how Kovac said his surname and swallowed. “Ah, a few of the kids here are talking about a Sea Retreat, like those that went on the
Golden Dawn
. They make it sound like a big party.”

For the first time, Kovac’s cool veneer seemed to slip. “Do you have any idea what happened to that ship?”

“No. I don’t let anyone here watch the news or use the Internet. I haven’t either. Why, did something go wrong?”

Kovac recalled Mr. Severance’s words when he’d phoned from California this morning:
Do what you think is right
. Now he understood what the Responsivist leader had meant. “Mr. Severance doesn’t trust you much.”

“How dare you. He put me in charge of this retreat and the training of our people,” Martell blustered. “He trusts me as much as he does you.”

“No, Mr. Martell. That is not the case. You see, two days ago I was on the
Golden Dawn
and participated in an experiment. It was glorious. Everyone on that vessel died in ways I haven’t imagined in my worst nightmares.”

“They what?” Martell shouted, sickened by the news and the reverent way Kovac said it, as though he were talking about a favorite piece of art or the peacefulness of a sleeping child.

“They are dead. All of them. And the ship scuttled. I had to secure the bridge before releasing the virus, so nobody could report what was happening. It swept through the ship like wildfire. It couldn’t have taken more than an hour. Young and old, it didn’t matter. Their bodies couldn’t fight it.”

Gil Martell backed around his desk, as if it could act as a barrier to the horror he was hearing. He reached for the phone. “I have to call Thom. This can’t be right.”

“By all means. Call him.”

Martell’s hand hovered over the handset. He knew that if he made the call Thom would verify everything the twisted thug had said. Two things flashed through his mind. The first was that he was in far over his head. And the second was that Kovac wasn’t going to let him out of his office alive.

“Just what did Mr. Severance tell you about the operation?” Kovac asked.

Keep him talking
, Martell thought frantically. There was a button under his desk that buzzed his secretary in the outer office. Surely Kovac wouldn’t attempt anything with witnesses.

“He, ah, he told me that our team of researchers in the Philippines had engineered a virus that causes severe inflammation of the reproductive ducts in both men and women. He told me that three out of every ten people exposed who are infected will become sterile and will never be able add to the earth’s population, even if they tried in vitro techniques. The plan is to release it on a bunch of cruise ships, where everyone is basically trapped, so they all become infected.”

“That’s only part of the story,” Kovac said.

“So what is the truth?”
Where is that damned woman?

“Everything you said about the effects of the virus is true, only there is something you don’t know.” Kovac gave a triumphant smile. “You see, the virus is highly contagious for about four months after infecting a host, even though it shows no symptoms. And, from a handful of cruise ships, it will spread around the globe, infecting millions upon millions, until every man, woman, and child on the planet has been exposed. That three-out-of-ten sterility number is closer to five in ten unable to breed, once the infection has run its course. This isn’t about preventing a few thousand passengers and crew from having children. It’s about stopping half the world.”

Gil collapsed into his chair. His mouth worked to form words but no sound came out. The past three minutes had been too much. The
Golden Dawn
. He knew a hundred of the people on that ship, probably two hundred. Now this. This monster telling him that he’d been working for two years on a plan to intentionally sterilize three billion people.

He wasn’t going to lose any sleep over the sterilization of a couple thousand cruise ship passengers. They’d be depressed, but life would go on, and, as a bonus, he bet a few orphanages would be emptied.

He should have seen it was going to go far beyond that. What was it Dr. Cooper had written in
We’re Breeding Ourselves to Death
:

Arguably the greatest transfer of wealth in human history occurredwhen the Plague swept Europe and wiped out a third of its population. Lands were consolidated, allowing for a greater standard of living, not only for the owners but for those who worked for them. This event single-handedly paved the way for the Renaissance and gave rise to European dominationof the world.

“We have taken Dr. Cooper’s words and turned them into action,” Kovac said, giving voice to the horror echoing in the empty chasm that had once been Martell’s soul.

Martell thought he was safe behind his desk for the moment, but he hadn’t counted on the big man’s strength. As if the desk were no more than a cardboard box, Kovac shoved it into Gil, pinning him in his seat against the back wall. He opened his mouth to shout out to his secretary. Kovac wasn’t especially quick, and the Responsivist director managed a hoarse croak before his throat was closed with a jab to his Adam’s apple. His eyes bulged from their sockets as he fought for a breath he could not draw.

Kovac looked around the office. There was nothing he could see that would make this look like a suicide until he spied the pictures hanging on the wall. He scanned the faces quickly and knew which one he would use. Leaving Martell struggling to fill his lungs, Kovac crossed to a photograph of Donna Sky.

The actress was too skinny for his tastes, but it wasn’t much of a stretch to believe Martell would be in love with her. He snatched the picture off the wall and carefully slid the glossy from the frame. He smashed the glass on the edge of the desk.

Kovac pressed Martell into his seat with one massive hand, while, with the other, he selected the largest glass shard, a dagger at least five inches long. He released Martell’s head and grabbed one of his arms, making sure to keep his grip loose enough so he didn’t bruise the tanned skin.

The glass cut into his flesh with spongy resistance and dark blood welled up from the wound, pooling on the desk before drizzling to the floor. Gil Martell struggled, thrashing in his seat, but he was no match for the Serb. He could only manage a rough cawing sound that wouldn’t be heard beyond the office walls. His movements became slower and more uncoordinated as his strength ebbed through the gash until he finally went limp.

Careful not to leave bloody footprints, Kovac slid the desk back to its proper position. He hefted Martell’s body from his seat and reversed the chair so he could set the corpse astride it. He lowered Gil’s head until the bruise on his throat was hard up against the chair’s wooden seat back. The coroner would attribute the bruising to his head tipping forward when he passed out from blood loss. The final detail was to arrange the photograph of Donna Sky so it seemed to be the last thing Gil Martell saw before his death.

As Kovac closed the office door behind him, Martell’s secretary entered the building through the main door. She was carrying a ceramic coffee cup and a large purse. She was in her late fifties with a bad dye job, and an extra fifty pounds hanging from her frame.

“Well, hello there, Mr. Kovac,” she said brightly.

He didn’t recall her name, so he said, “Mr. Martell is at his desk already. As you can guess, he’s very upset about what happened last night.”

“Terrible thing.”

“Yes, it was,” Kovac agreed with a somber nod. He felt his cell phone vibrate in his pocket. “He asked that he not be disturbed for any reason today.”

“Are you going to find out who attacked us and get that poor boy back into the fold?”

“That’s why Mr. Severance called me down here.” Patricia, he thought. Her name was Patricia Ogdenburg. He checked the screen on his phone. It was Thom Severance, requesting a secure phone call. Considering they had spoken earlier that morning, something critical must have happened. Kovac repocketed the cell.

Patricia looked him in the eye, tilting her head back to do so. “Pardon me for being blunt, but you must know that a lot of folks here are intimidated by you.” When he didn’t reply, she plowed on. “I think you are as tough as you look, but I also think you are a very caring and thoughtful person, too. You understand social responsibility, and I find your presence a comfort. There are so many ignorant people out there that don’t understand all the good we do. I’m glad that you’re here to protect us. Bless you, Zelimir Kovac.” She laughed. “You’re blushing. I think I embarrassed you.”

“You are very kind,” Kovac said, imagining the loneliness that had driven her, like him, to Responsivism.

“Well, if a compliment can make you blush then I know I’m right.”

Oh, how wrong you are,
Kovac thought as he left the building without a backward glance.

CHAPTER 17

THE HOTEL WAS IN A HISTORIC SIX-STORY BUILDING not far from the Colosseum. The suite they had rented encompassed nearly a quarter of the top floor and had a wrought-iron balcony that wrapped around the outside walls.

Kyle was still in a chemically induced stupor when Max pushed his wheelchair into the sumptuous entrance, but he could tell by how his son muttered that he was no more than an hour or two of coming awake.

“Hello,” someone called from deeper in the suite.

“Hello,” Max replied. “Dr. Jenner?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

Jenner stepped into the foyer from the living room. He wore a dark charcoal suit with a faint stripe and white silk pullover. Max noticed that he also wore thin leather gloves and that his hands were curled unnaturally.

Max couldn’t pin down the psychiatrist’s age. He had a full head of hair with only a few streaks of gray and a tanned face that looked like it could have had some cosmetic work. There were traces of wrinkles around the eyes and mouth, but they seemed to have been smoothed out surgically. For what Jenner charged for his deprogramming services, he could afford the best plastic surgeons in the world, but his face had that startled, deer-caught-in-the-headlights expression so common with inferior cosmetic work.

It was an incongruity of little importance, but Max was still surprised by it. He held out his hand. “Max Hanley.”

Jenner held up his own gloved hands. “You will forgive me if I don’t shake. My hands were burned in a car accident when I was younger.”

“Oh, certainly. No problem. This is Eddie Seng, from the company that rescued my son, and this is Kyle.”

“Pleased to meet you, Doctor,” Eddie said. “Sorry we couldn’t tell you the name of the hotel until you arrived in Rome. Operational security.”

“I quite understand.” Jenner led them into one of the suite’s three bedrooms. They settled Kyle, wearing a hospital johnny, into the king-sized four-poster and closed the heavy drapes. Max ran the back of his hand along his son’s jaw. His eyes were a sea of love, pain, hopelessness, and self-incrimination.

“We’ll bring him back,” Adam Jenner said, doubtlessly having seen Max’s expression on countless parents over the course of his career. Back in the living room, the French doors leading to the balcony were opened, so the sound of Rome’s notorious evening traffic was a background hum. Over the roof of the apartment building across the street, they could see the towering travertine walls and arches of the city’s most famous landmark. With seating for nearly fifty thousand, the Colosseum was as large as any modern sports arena.

“I trust things went smoothly,” Jenner said. He had a trace of an accent Max couldn’t place, almost as if he was raised by parents who didn’t speak English.

“Actually, they didn’t,” Max told him.

“Really? What happened?”

The eyes, too, Max thought. There was something about them. Behind Jenner’s stylish glasses, his hazel eyes seemed strange. Max could usually read people’s eyes in an instant and tell what kind of person they were, but with Jenner he got nothing.

“The Responsivists now employ armed guards,” Eddie said when Max didn’t respond.

Jenner settled into a plush sofa with a sigh. “I’ve been afraid this day would come. Thom and Heidi Severance have been increasingly paranoid in the past few years. I guess it was inevitable that they would start keeping weapons. I am truly sorry. I should have warned you of my growing suspicions.”

Eddie dismissed Jenner’s concern with a wave. “None of my people were hurt, so it isn’t a big deal.”

“You are being too modest, Mr. Seng. I’ve been in combat, so I understand what you’ve been through.”

Vietnam, Max thought, putting Jenner near his own age. Mystery solved, and he felt better for it. “So how does this work?” he asked.

“Normally, we would hold an intervention with Kyle’s friends and family to let him know he has the support he needs to break away from the Responsivists. However, in this type of situation I will need to speak with Kyle alone for the first few sessions. It’s going to be quite a shock when he wakes up and realizes what’s happened to him.” Jenner gave a wan smile. “And it’s my experience that shock turns to anger very quickly.”

“Kyle’s not violent, if you’re concerned,” Max assured him. “Unlike his old man, the boy doesn’t have a temper.”

“I usually prescribe something to keep subjects calm anyway, until the shock wears off.” He waved one of his gloves at a side table where an old-fashioned black doctor’s bag was perched next to an arrangement of fresh flowers.

“How many people have you helped, Doctor.”