The Einstein Pursuit (22 page)

Zander smiled with pride. ‘Yes, of course, it would be my pleasure.’

‘Johann,’ Dial said to Eklund, grabbing his arm, ‘can we talk?’

‘Of course.’ They walked toward the entrance of the lab, far enough away from the others to have a private conversation. ‘What is it?’

‘Do you understand what’s going on?’

‘With the science? Not really. It’s all—’

‘No,’ Dial said, ‘I mean with the prisoners.’

‘Unfortunately, yes. It seems that some prisons aren’t playing by the rules.’

‘It fits the facts, doesn’t it? They could offer freedom as a reward for participation. Not only would it ensure a steady supply of volunteers, but if anyone died in the testing, they could use their own doctors to sign off on the paperwork.’

Eklund nodded. ‘Yes, it fits the facts, but for us to make accusations like that and have them hold up in a court of law, we would need a lot more proof. Scratch that. We would need proof
period
– because right now, it’s just wild speculation on our part.’

Dial shook his head. ‘You’re missing my point. I’m not interested in the prison officials; I’m interested in the program itself. What if word leaked out about biological testing on dangerous criminals? Don’t you think someone might try to shut it down?’

‘You mean, like an activist group?’

‘They’ve bombed abortion clinics. Why not a lab?’

Eklund considered the possibility.

‘Or, what if it was government-sanctioned?’

‘The lab?’

Dial shook his head. ‘The hit.’

Eklund groaned and ran his fingers through his hair. It was a nervous tic that only appeared when the stress of his job was getting to him.

‘Think about it. The building wasn’t just destroyed; it was
incinerated
. In my experience, you don’t rig an acetone fire for the hell of it. A fire that hot is designed to consume everything. Nothing survives. Not even bacteria or viruses. Maybe something got out of control and they had no choice but to eliminate the threat before it spread?’

‘That’s highly doubtful,’ Hedman said, making his presence known. Dial and Eklund were so wrapped up in their conversation that they hadn’t seen him approach. ‘Sorry to overhear your speculation, but I’m not sure I agree with your assessment.’

‘In what way?’ Dial asked.

‘Come take a look at what I found,’ Hedman said before leading them back to the video screen. ‘By my estimation, the cell count hasn’t changed in nearly three hours. At the start of the high-speed sequence, the cells began dying off at an appreciable rate. You could actually see a wave of blue washing over the sample as the cell structures collapsed. But for the last few minutes the image has been static. No change.’

Everyone looked at the screen to see what Hedman was talking about. He was right. The number of remaining pale orbs seemed to have stabilized.

‘They’ve stopped dying,’ Zander remarked.

‘They’ve stopped dying,’ Hedman repeated, ‘and they show no signs of cellular division. The system can’t propagate on its own.’ He turned toward Dial and Eklund. ‘It can’t spread.’

‘How can a cell exist like that?’ Miles asked. ‘Life is a continuum. The cell should either be growing and dividing, or it should be withering and dying.’

‘I’ve got a theory on that,’ Hedman said. ‘Go back to the microscope view.’

Zander ended the footage and projected the image of the slide in front of them.

‘Zoom in until only one cell is visible,’ Hedman ordered.

A single cell filled the screen.

‘Now capture that image and select a different cell. Capture that, and move on to another. Get six or seven images for comparison.’

Zander quickly copy-and-pasted a selection of cells on to his computer screen. ‘There, that’s ten of them. Now what?’

‘Locate the Golgi apparatus and mitochondria of each cell, and arrange them north to south.’

Zander scrolled through each image, rotating the cells to align their organelles – the internal structures responsible for the cell’s life processes – per Hedman’s specifications.

‘Now superimpose all the images on top of one another, lining up the organelles.’

As Zander layered each new image on top of the others, Hedman’s smile grew and the group watched in amazement. The organelles of the ten cells matched perfectly. Only the cell walls were different. The internal structures were exactly the same.

‘Look at the spacing, the orientation,’ Hedman pointed out. ‘It’s perfectly duplicated within each cell.’

‘That sort of specificity is not found naturally. You simply don’t find organelles with that level of repetitive organization,’ Zander said.

‘What are you saying?’ Dial asked.

‘I don’t think they’re organelles at all – I think they’re synthetic,’ Hedman said.

‘You mean someone
built
these cells?’

Hedman nodded. ‘It’s why I don’t consider them a threat. They can’t replicate. They can’t spread. The only thing they can do is follow their programming. It’s nanotechnology of the highest order. Truly remarkable.’

‘If they’re so remarkable, why is someone so determined to destroy them?’

Hedman glanced at him and smiled. ‘I wish I could answer all of your questions, but I can only do so much. After all, my specialty is science –
not
people.’

Payne woke to the sound of unfamiliar voices in his penthouse. The thick curtains of the master bedroom were designed to block out light, so he couldn’t tell how long he had slept. All he knew for sure was that someone outside his door was shouting in a foreign tongue.

Even in the darkened room he had no trouble locating the SIG Sauer pistol that he kept in the nightstand beside his bed. He didn’t need to check the chamber or the clip; he knew the gun was loaded and ready to fire.

He crept silently toward his bedroom door and twisted the knob. Peering outside, he glanced down the hallway to the living room beyond. Instead of intruders, he caught a glimpse of Sahlberg seated in front of his computer. The unfamiliar foreign voices were part of the news footage he was watching on the screen – with the volume turned up
way
too loud.

Payne smiled. His grandfather used to do the same thing.

There was
soft
. There was
loud
. And there was
senior citizen
.

Relieved, he returned the pistol to its drawer before brushing his teeth, changing his clothes, and heading toward the living room.

‘Good morning,’ he announced as he entered the room behind Sahlberg. He wanted to make his presence known to avoid startling the old man.

‘Good morning to you too.’

‘Find anything interesting?’ Payne asked.

‘I’m afraid not. Basically just more of the same. A fire of unknown origin, suspicion that it was not a random act of violence. Curiosity over what was happening in this building. That sort of thing. The story is interesting because events of this nature rarely occur in Stockholm, but until the police release more information, the media has nothing new to report. They don’t even know the official body count.’

‘I have that information, and a list of names that I want you to look at. But first I need to get something to eat.’

‘Where’d you get the list?’

‘A cop buddy of mine. Where’s DJ?’

‘Don’t mind Jon,’ Jones explained to Sahlberg from the open kitchen, ‘he’s a little fussy until he gets going. Nothing is more important than getting him fed. I once saw him kill a man for a muffin.’ He lifted a plate for Payne to see. ‘Food’s ready.’

Payne and Sahlberg made their way into the kitchen and found a dozen delivery containers. There were bagels, lox and cream cheese, oatmeal, fresh fruit, pancakes, eggs, and a full pound each of bacon, sausage and ham.

‘I had Butch send one of the guys over to pick up some breakfast. I didn’t know what anyone would want, so I had him get a smorgasbord for our Swedish friend.’

Butch Reed was the head of security at Payne Industries. Like Payne and Jones, he was former military, having spent several years serving his country in the Marine Corps before losing a leg in battle. He was one of the few people in their everyday lives that they trusted unconditionally. It didn’t matter if it was keeping the building secure or sending someone for food – they knew they could rely on Reed.

‘Toast and jelly would’ve been fine,’ Sahlberg assured them. ‘I hope you didn’t go to all this effort for me.’

‘Trust me,’ Jones said as he watched Payne fill two plates with food, ‘I didn’t.’

‘How long have you two been awake?’ Payne asked as he carried his food to the same table they had eaten on the night before.

‘More than an hour, less than two,’ Jones replied. ‘I heard the doctor get up first, and I figured I should keep him company.’

Payne had always been a restless sleeper. His inability to turn his mind off when he closed his eyes at night often kept him awake until the first streaks of light had painted the morning sky. It was the main reason he preferred to sleep in his own bed, surrounded by special drapes that could block out the sunlight.

Jones, on the other hand, had adapted well to the military lifestyle of finding rest whenever it was available. Payne knew Jones could fall asleep in the cargo bay of a bomber flying through a hurricane, surrounded by puking soldiers. He knew it because it had happened. Yet in spite of his ability to block out noise and commotion, Jones would instantly snap to attention at the slightest unexpected murmur. His ability to detect invading footsteps or the distant hum of an enemy personnel carrier while asleep had saved their lives more than once.

Given their sleep patterns, Payne had retired to his master bedroom to get some rest, while Jones had been given the living room couch to stand guard. Both realized the doctor wouldn’t be able to open the guest room door without Jones being fully aware.

So far, the morning had been uneventful. Jones and Sahlberg had split a pot of coffee while rehashing the events at the incline, after which Jones had made arrangements for a proper breakfast and watched the morning news on the kitchen television while Sahlberg perused the Internet in the living room.

‘You mind if we talk while we eat?’ Payne asked.

‘What he means is, do you mind talking while
he
eats,’ Jones explained.

Sahlberg laughed. ‘Of course not. There’s no need to stand on ceremony. I’m indebted to you both.’

‘Good,’ Payne said in between mouthfuls of bacon. ‘Then let’s jump in the deep end. What do you know about Dr Tomas Berglund?’

Sahlberg slowly reached for his glass of orange juice. He raised it to his lips and took three long, full gulps. Then he leaned back in his chair, staring at his breakfast, not saying a word. His face was frozen in a blank, thoughtful expression.

Payne glanced at Jones, wondering if he was thinking the same thing: Sahlberg was stalling. When he spoke,
if he spoke
, they would have to take his words with a healthy dose of skepticism. Honest stories started immediately. Delays suggested the speaker was taking a moment to concoct a tale that could not be trusted with any degree of certainty.

Sahlberg could also see what Payne was thinking.

‘I’m not searching for a convincing deception, Jon. I simply needed a moment to consider this new information and how it fits into this mystery.’

‘So, how does Berglund fit in?’

‘I’m honestly not quite sure, at least not one hundred percent … not yet, that is. But I assure you the pieces are coming together.’

‘How so?’ Jones asked.

‘You asked what I know about Dr Berglund. The answer is that I know plenty. But I believe what’s important is not so much what I know about him as the fact that I actually know him personally. Tomas and I are quite good friends. Or at least, I think we are.’

The news was enough for Payne to put down his fork – but not until he shoveled one last scoop into his mouth. He wanted to dedicate his full attention to Sahlberg in order to separate fact from fiction. ‘Start from the beginning.’

‘Tomas is a certified genius. He is one of the finest scientific minds that Sweden has ever produced, perhaps even the best in all of Scandinavia.’

‘In what field?’ Jones asked.

‘All of them,’ Sahlberg replied. ‘At least, all of those in which he takes an interest. He has studied psychology, mechanical engineering, sociology, and a variety of other disciplines. But his greatest contributions have been made in the physical and natural sciences. Chemistry, biology, even physics. These are the areas in which he truly shines.’

‘How did he make a name for himself?’

‘His foresight is uncanny,’ Sahlberg explained. ‘While others were dabbling in modern science, Berglund was preoccupied with the future. While they were constrained by the limitations of modern technology, Berglund envisioned experiments for things that had yet to be created.’

‘Then he would go out and create them?’

‘Sometimes. But often he would simply provide the blueprints necessary for others to realize his dreams. That was the beauty of his imagination. He was constantly pushing toward the next advancement, even while the previous discovery was still in development.’

‘You said you know him. For how long?’ Payne asked.

‘Since the beginning.’

‘Meaning what?’

‘He was born in Finland, but he attended a boarding school in Stockholm on a full academic scholarship. I knew I needed to establish an early relationship with him if I had any hope of convincing him to consider my research. In the end, my recruitment proved successful, and I was able to witness his genius at first hand for many years.’

‘You worked with him? Where?’

‘Here in Pittsburgh, of course.’

Payne was beginning to understand what Sahlberg had meant when he said the pieces were coming together. Sahlberg knew Berglund. They had worked together. Someone had destroyed Berglund’s lab in Stockholm on the same day Sahlberg was hunted in Pittsburgh.

That wasn’t a coincidence. It couldn’t be.

But something was still
missing
.

Payne needed to learn more about their connection. ‘Why did you recruit Berglund?’