The Dolomite Solution (22 page)

She grabbed his hand. “That's why God gave you the large hands.”

Jake looked across the grass at Jordan and Scala talking at the bench. “I don't suppose you'd like to take a ride and see if we can remember where all the parts are?”

“Maybe later,” she said. “Besides you've never had a problem with that before.”

They both stared off at the water flowing by.

Something else was bothering Jake. “Why is the Agency even involved with this case?”

She turned and leaned her back against the rail. “Why do you think? It's an important discovery. Even more importantly, it's something Washington feels could easily be exploited. You have to understand, Jake, I was sent to the Dolomites to look into what was going on there. I'd report back periodically to Vienna. It wasn't easy remaining anonymous in Passo di Villa. It's such a small village. I was pretending to be a mountain climber.”

“You? The city girl. That must have been one helluva stretch.”

“Ha, ha... Anyway, if everything goes as planned in the Dolomites, there's no problem. Aldo and Scala present their study to the scientific community, to Tirol Genetics and Richten Pharmaceuticals, and then collect their Nobel Prizes, along with a million bucks in prize money. That's no small reward. The problem is, someone changed the rules in the middle of the game by running Leonhard Aldo off the road and then trying to kidnap Scala. Someone's serious about all this. Killing Aldo's maid...”

Jake placed his hand on hers. “Someone either doesn't want this Dolomite Solution to reach the public, or they want it for themselves.”

“Maybe both.”

●

Sitting across the grass on the park bench, Jordan had been discussing some of the basics of the discovery Scala and Aldo had made in the Dolomites.

“That's amazing,” Jordan said. “It'll be hard to believe a world without heart disease.”

“What about a world without cancer?” Scala said. “That's what's next for science. And it can be achieved.”

Jordan glanced over at Jake and Toni by the river. “What do you suppose they're talking about?”

Scala smiled for the first time since the two of them had met. “I think they're lovers. Look at the way they touch each other. The way they look at each other. It's obvious.”

That was true, Jordan thought. But he was thinking they were discussing the case as well. “How well do you know this Toni?”

Scala looked uncertain. “We just met yesterday, like I said. She saved me from two men. The two that had run my associate off the road that morning.”

“I see.” He planted his eyes on the scientist. “You know there are some who would like to see your work buried, along with you. There's a lot of money to be made with the status quo.”

The scientist cocked his head to one side. “What are you getting at? I trust Toni.”

“I'm not saying Toni is one of them,” Jordan corrected. “I'm just letting you know that this is what's going on. Certain people would rather not have a cure for heart disease. That's a fact. I think you're with the right people. I've checked Jake Adams' background. He can be a bit abrasive and over-zealous at times, but our government holds him in high regard. He's done a lot of good in the past.”

“And Toni?” Scala asked.

“If Jake trusts her, she must be okay.”

●

Jake and Toni finished putting the plan together for that evening when they were set to meet Otto Bergen at the Olympic Ice Stadium.

Something had almost slipped Jake's mind, but he thought of it now. “I almost forgot. Someone's been messing with me ever since I got to Innsbruck. That's how I got involved with this case in the first place. Someone told me to go to the alley the night Murdock was killed. When I got there, someone shot at me with a silenced gun. Later I found Murdock dead. I got knocked over the head and the cops questioned me for Murdock's death. The killer wanted the cops to think I had done it, but they didn't do a really good job of setting me up, because Murdock had been dead for hours. Then while I was at this morgue, which turned out to be a funeral home, some guy comes in shooting and kills two cops in the process. That can be read two ways. Either the shooter wants the cops to think I'm involved with something I'm not, or they want me to get involved with the case.”

“Looks like they succeeded,” she said.

“Yeah, well that didn't do it. It was after someone put a bomb on my car.”

She looked him over. “It obviously didn't go off.”

“It was a fake. Set to scare me. I went on the offensive after that. Changed cars. Moved from my apartment. There was a note in the car that said, ‘HUMINT is an oxymoron. So don't be one.' Later on I got an e-mail message saying I was slipping. I figured someone was really fucking with me now. I thought it might have been someone from my past who had simply gotten a hold of my E-mail address. As you know, that message could have come from anywhere in the world.”

“What was the return address?”

“Came from the Innsbruck Tirol Hotel. About a hundred and fifty people staying there. I haven't had a chance to check into it further.”

“How'd you get involved with Bergen?”

Jake thought for a moment about how strange that had been. He had been unable to understand that himself. “I got a call from the man just before leaving my apartment. He wanted to meet at a restaurant in the old town. I wasn't sure why at the time. I checked him out. He's one of Innsbruck's most prominent citizens. Wealthiest as well. The problem was I couldn't figure out how he had gotten my name. I had only been in town for a few days. He said he had heard of me through Franz Martini, the polizei chief for Tirol. He's the one who had questioned me about Murdock's death. But that wasn't a very good explanation.”

“Naturally you met him anyway,” she said, smiling.

“I can't help it if I'm a curious bastard.”

“He must have counted on that.”

He looked at the river flowing by again. Of course. Bergen had counted on that. “I think you're right. Does that mean Bergen had Murdock killed, and has been fucking with me ever since?”

“I don't know,” she said. “What did Bergen want from you?”

“We met. He wanted me to look into the death of Leonhard Aldo, his scientist. He said he had died in a car accident in the Dolomites. I agreed to check it out. Later that night Bergen sent me some e-mail information on what Aldo was working on, and then I checked out the company on the internet. Everything looked all right. Then this morning when I met with Bergen he told me some woman had his other scientist, Scala, and wanted to meet tonight at the Olympic Ice Stadium. He said her name was Maria Francesca Caruso. Sound familiar?”

She shrugged. “I happen to like the name.”

“Well I'm glad you used it this time. When I knew you were involved I figured it would be the easiest ten grand I've ever made.”

“He's paying you ten thousand bucks to bring in his scientist? I think I need to quit this government bullshit and go private.”

“Well this is rare,” Jake assured her. “And the pay checks are rather erratic. Still, I'd love to have a partner.”

“I'll consider that. First, let's get this solution in without getting anyone else killed. I've gotten attached to Giovanni Scala. He's a nice guy.”

Jake couldn't argue with that.

Franz Martini paced up the narrow alley, which was getting darker every minute, watching over his officers to ensure they did nothing to contaminate the murder scene.

His criminal investigator, Jack Donicht, was stooped down over the dead man with a pen light looking for something he could bring to his boss that would tell them who this man was and why he had been shot. He had found no identification. Only the gun which had reportedly been fired anywhere from one to three times, according to various reports from those living in the area. Donicht knew those were skewed since the alley would echo, and witnesses minds were always blurred with the shock of something like gunfire in their own neighborhood. It had to be something else, they would reason first. Only later would they try to recall the number of shots.

Martini stopped alongside Donicht and asked, “Well, what do you think, Jack?”

Donicht picked up the gun with gloved hands, popped the clip out the butt, and then slid back the action, retrieving a round from the chamber. He counted the rounds from the gun as he dropped them into a plastic bag. “Fourteen. That means the dead guy here got off two rounds. That matches with what witnesses said.” He looked up at his boss.

“Jesus Christ, Jack.” Martini shook his head. “Think about what you just said. That would mean the guy shot himself. Roll him over.”

His associate did as he was told, and immediately he felt embarrassed. There were at least three holes in the guy, the most prominent one in his forehead. “I see what you mean. But that means five or six shots. Nobody heard that many.”

Martini stomped down the alley to the recessed area and then turned to face Donicht. “The shooter was here. Look there's blood.” He had just noticed the drops against the dark cobblestone. “Obviously this guy had a silencer. He could have fired a thousand times. Your man was waiting for him to round this corner when he fired. He was already on the ground when he took the round in the head. Otherwise the gun would have dropped further from the body. What does the silencer tell you, Jack?”

Donicht was now examining the blood spots. “I don't know. A professional hit?”

“Did you read my report from talking with Jake Adams following the shooting of the American, Murdock? Adams said someone had lured him to the alley and then fired at him with a silenced gun. The same thing happened here. I'm sure of it. You and your men finish up here. I want everything done right. By the book. I don't want any fuck ups this time. I've got to talk with someone right now.”

Martini stormed off down the alley.

●

At the headquarters of Tirol Genetics, Otto Bergen was watching the sun descend on the mountains. He was disturbed by what had happened in the alley. Things had gotten out of control and he wasn't sure how to stop them now. Marcus Quinn had called him, saying he had been shot and needed help. Bergen had thought about simply letting the man die, leaving the world a far better place. But Quinn had made it clear that he had placed certain information in a secure place in case something happened to him. The polizei would get everything on Bergen's involvement.

He leaned on the window sill, frightened to move, knowing it was only a few hours away from the meeting at the ice stadium.

“Your man downstairs did a hell of a job,” Quinn said, startling Bergen. He strolled over and took a seat.

Bergen sat behind his desk and said, “He was a medical doctor before switching over to research.”

Quinn's chest was bare, with a patch across his left shoulder. “You happen to have any extra clothes around here?”

Bergen ignored him. “Did the bullet go all the way through?”

The man swiveled in his chair showing his boss the patch on his back, and then settled back into a comfortable position. “Clean through. No major organs. No bones. I got lucky. If the bullet hits the collarbone it could ricochet down to the lungs and heart region.”

Bergen wished it had. “Who was the man?”

Thinking first, Quinn said, “I don't know. He was following me after I started following the Germans. I'm sure he wasn't with them, though.”

Remembering Quinn's question, Bergen got up and went to a shrank against the wall and retrieved a wool jacket. “This should fit you until you can get to your hotel room,” Bergen said, handing the jacket to the man.

Quinn checked for an inside pocket and found one on the left side that would hold his gun without the silencer. He pulled out a knife and cut the bottom of the pocket, then slipped the gun from behind his back and into the jacket. “Perfect fit.”

Bergen sat back behind his desk. “Maybe you should go home and get some rest. We can handle the meeting tonight.”

Smiling, Quinn said, “You and the Germans? The woman with the knife is laughable. Maybe the bald guy with the big nose. He might help you.”

“I don't expect any problems,” Bergen assured him.

“You didn't expect Murdock to try to double-cross you either,” Quinn reminded his boss.

After hesitating, Bergen said, “He was greedy. You didn't have to...”

“I don't have to breath, but it sure helps me live with myself. You don't stomp on assholes like Murdock and they'll run all over you.” Quinn felt the pain from his shoulder from tensing up, so he settled his breathing. “Your company is moving into new territory. You've got to maintain the power here. Don't let the Germans bully you. And don't let anyone else try to steal what's rightfully yours.”

Deep down Bergen couldn't help but agree with the man, however repulsive that might be. He had worked hard for this, invested a lot on research, brought a winning team together. The Nobel Prize would bring prestige, and the Dolomite Solution would bring great wealth. He had lived without money, and now with it. He liked his situation far more now.

“I guess I'll see you at the Olympic Ice Stadium in a few hours,” Bergen said.

There was a buzz on Bergen's desk. It was his secretary, who informed him there was a Herr Martini to see him. After she said that, she asked if she could go home for the weekend. Bergen talked with her for a minute about what she planned on doing over the weekend, which gave Quinn time to retreat through the side door. On his way out, he handed a black wallet to Bergen, who quickly placed it in his top desk drawer. Then he told his secretary to go home after seeing Herr Martini in.

Bergen met Herr Martini in the center of the room, where they shook hands before taking seats.