The Einstein Pursuit (27 page)

Payne shook his head in confusion. ‘Doc, you lost me. What does any of that have to do with Berglund?’

Sahlberg explained. ‘What if instead of a reflexive grimace and stinging sensation, we could delay the transfer of information? What if we could examine the injury before the brain automatically determines its severity? It would allow us to study the splinter, realize that it poses a minimal threat to our overall health, and consciously decide that the sensation of pain would be pointless. We could simply remove the offending sliver and carry on with our business.’

Jones leaned forward in his chair. ‘Berglund was actually working on that? How’s that even possible? You’re talking about the suspension of a chemical transfer that takes mere milliseconds to complete.’

‘I don’t know if it
is
possible,’ Sahlberg said with a laugh. ‘We didn’t discuss things in terms of the possible. We discussed things in terms of the theoretical. Theoretically, if you could isolate the chemical reaction of the pain receptors and interrupt it before it was relayed to the rest of the nervous system, then you could spare yourself the sensation of pain. Again,
theoretically.
Actually being able to detect the chemical reaction, isolate it, and prevent its transfer is an entirely different conundrum.’

‘Isn’t that the type of thing Berglund relished?’

Sahlberg nodded. ‘Over the last year, we basically broke down every aspect of the immune system. He wanted to know why certain cells behave the way they do. Specifically, he wanted to know everything I knew about how white blood cells interact with the rest of the system.’

‘Why you? You’re not an immunologist.’

‘He believed there was a connection between the perpetual cell lines I was studying and the body’s immune system.’

‘What was the connection?’ Payne wondered.

‘I have no idea. Like I said, it was just another one of his theories. The only direct question he ever asked was whether or not I believed that a perpetual cell line could be synthesized.’

‘You mean created by man?’

‘Yes. A man-made cell.’

‘To what end?’ Jones asked.

‘It’s only a “for instance”, but if you could create a synthetic organ cell with perpetual characteristics, you could potentially manufacture replacement organs for everyone waiting on a donor list.’

‘Or create a synthetic virus and let it spread throughout the world,’ Jones countered.

‘I suppose that’s true, but it’s essentially a moot point.’

‘Why’s that?’

‘I told Tomas that synthetic cells could never truly propagate on their own. Even if you could design a machine on such a minute scale, it would lack the ability to divide. Even if it existed for ever, it could never multiply.’

Payne processed the conversation. ‘You said it’s
essentially
a moot point. Why isn’t it
definitely
a moot point?’

‘Because Tomas never accepted my answer.’

Jones jumped back in. ‘If Berglund used you as a sounding board for the cellular aspects of his research – whatever that research might have been – do you think there were others he would have consulted on the rest of the variables?’

‘Yes, but I’m assuming they were all killed in Stockholm.’

‘What about you?’ Payne asked.

‘What about me?’ Sahlberg responded.

‘Why weren’t you asked to go to Stockholm?’

He shrugged. ‘I have no idea. But considering what happened, I’m glad I wasn’t.’

Payne pushed on. ‘For one reason or another, he kept you at arm’s length. Maybe he didn’t want you or your reputation getting hurt by your involvement. Maybe he didn’t want you to know what was really going on. Obviously we can’t say for sure. But if
you
weren’t there, isn’t there a chance there were others who weren’t invited as well? People who were consulted but who were never able to fully understand what Berglund was working on.’

‘Maybe,’ Sahlberg conceded.

‘Where would we find them?’

Sahlberg gave it some thought. ‘The only place I can think of is La Jolla. If that’s where his plan started to form, then maybe someone out there can help.’

Toulon had spent the day researching his latest lead: the taped conversation of Hendrik Cole, who was heard muttering the words
Stockholm
and
Zidane
on a South African surveillance tape.

While Zidane was not a common surname, Toulon knew it wasn’t unique. In fact, the mere mention of it called to mind his favorite French footballer, Zinedine Zidane. At the end of his stellar career, the aggressive midfielder had left a lasting impression in his final World Cup match. Unfortunately, the impression was that of his forehead on the chest of one of his opponents. Despite this boneheaded play and his well-deserved ejection, Zidane was considered one of the finest competitors the sport had ever known.

However, Toulon doubted that Cole was connected to
that
Zidane in any way. Instead, he logically concluded that Cole was referencing Harrison Zidane, the well-known entrepreneur, who had made billions in pharmaceutical speculation. Unsure if Zidane was a target or a suspect – or possibly neither – Toulon used his sources to track him to the Italian city of Como, where he had recently made a public appearance to commemorate the ground-breaking of a new hospital facility.

Toulon contacted the police in Como and asked them to arrange a conversation with Zidane. By phone, if necessary. By Skype, if possible. The latter would allow Toulon to watch Zidane while he answered his questions, giving him a better opportunity to gauge Zidane’s reactions.

While waiting for the Italian police to track down Zidane, Toulon called his boss to fill him in on the latest developments.

‘Nick,’ he said, ‘are you enjoying your vacation?’

‘Screw you,’ Dial said. ‘How are things back at headquarters?’

‘Running more smoothly now that I’m in charge.’

‘Great. Then you won’t mind covering the holiday shifts this year. They’re always a nightmare, but I’m sure you’ll figure out a way to deal with them much better than I ever did.’

‘There’s no need for threats, Nick.’

The last thing Toulon wanted to do was handle the holiday chaos. While almost everyone in the world chose to celebrate the spirit of the season, there were always a few unfortunate souls who had finally had enough by year’s end. And when they snapped, they did so in grand style. Many of the most horrific crimes that Dial and Toulon had dealt with had occurred on the days between Christmas Eve and New Year’s Day.

‘You started it,’ Dial stressed. ‘But I’m hoping you have more to offer than petty insults.’

‘I do,’ Toulon said. ‘I’ve been digging into the Stockholm case a bit more. Would you prefer that I begin with the good news or the bad news?’

‘The good. I could use the pick-me-up.’

Toulon cut to the chase. ‘I know who bombed the laboratory.’

‘Quit messing around, Henri. This isn’t a joking matter.’

‘But I’m not joking. I know who bombed the lab.’

‘Wait. Are you serious?’

‘
Oui
,’ he stressed. ‘I pulled all the footage I could get of the warehouse and the surrounding area. Thanks to the light from the blast, I was able to spot a man on a boat in the harbor.’

‘Doing what?’

‘Watching.’

‘Watching?’ Dial growled. ‘What kind of good news is that? If I was in a boat in the harbor and a building blew up on shore, take a wild guess what I’d be doing.’

‘Peeing your pants?’

‘Maybe. But I’d also be watching.’

‘Does that mean you
don’t
want to know his name?’

‘Whose name?’

‘The man on the boat.’

‘Wait. You have his name?’

‘
Oui
. I do.’

‘Go on. Spit it out.’

‘The man on the boat was Hendrik Cole.’

Dial groaned. ‘You’re sure?’

‘I’m positive. I ran his image through our facial recognition software. It’s a perfect match. I wish it were someone else, but it’s not. It’s the Butcher of Benin.’

Dial was familiar with Cole and the nickname he had earned as a result of the massacre in Africa. Of all the known killers in the world, Cole was near the top of everyone’s most-wanted list. He was brutal. He was ruthless. He was unpredictable. They were qualities that served him well in his chosen field, but they made him a nightmare for others. Those who had investigated him in the past talked about him as if he were some sort of mystical snake: they never knew when, where or how he might strike next.

Dial groaned some more. ‘I thought you said this was
good
news.’

‘Maybe that was a poor choice of words. To be honest, I’m not sure any of this is good news. But that’s the most definitive piece of information I can offer.’

‘I haven’t heard his name in a while. Where’s that bastard been hiding?’

‘The South African Directorate of Special Operations placed him in Cape Town a month ago, but between then and his appearance in Stockholm, there’s no trace of him.’

‘What about a list of associates? Anyone we can rattle for information?’

‘You saw what he did to the last couple of guys he worked with. They’re in no condition to offer any assistance.’ Toulon was referring to the two bullet-ridden men who had been left to burn with the others inside the lab. ‘He doesn’t leave loose ends. If someone knows something about him, there’s a pretty good chance he’ll find them before we do.’

Dial nodded in agreement. ‘Cole’s already a wanted man. Every border guard in the world has him in their system, so it won’t do us any good to send out an alert. All that would do is tip him off to our renewed interest. So where does that leave us?’

‘Well, there’s the, um, I guess let’s call it the
other
news,’ Toulon offered.

‘Which is?’

‘The South Africans lucked out and got Cole on a surveillance tape in Cape Town. In it, he’s speaking Afrikaans to an unknown subject. I had one of the translators here listen to it, and Cole is talking about a job in Stockholm that has to do with someone named Zidane. Unfortunately, that’s all we got. The rest of the conversation is drowned out by background noise.’

‘Who’s Zidane?’

‘I don’t know for sure, but my gut says it’s Harrison Zidane. He’s a billionaire venture capitalist from Algeria. He made most of his money in the pharmacy game, backing small startups with promising research and selling their products to the top companies in the world.’

Dial voiced his uncertainty. ‘But Berglund wasn’t a low-level startup. Neither was anyone else involved. They were established entities in the field. Berglund could have turned to any of the major players, any of the big pharmaceutical companies, and they’d throw money at him. So what was Zidane’s interest?’

‘I can’t say there was any,’ Toulon admitted. ‘Their only connection is Cole, who tried to bomb one and talked about the other. As for whatever else they might have had in common, we’ll just have to ask Zidane.’

‘You found him?’

‘He has a mansion in Como, Italy, and I have the local police trying to make contact. They cautioned it might take a while, though. Apparently many of the residents spend much of their time on the water, especially those with substantial wealth. If he’s on the lake, they won’t be able to reach him until he comes ashore.’

‘Hopefully he can give us something to work with,’ Dial said, unsure if Zidane would be cooperative. ‘Let me know when you’ve managed to arrange a call.’

‘Actually, I’m pushing for a video chat. Do you want in?’

‘Absolutely,’ Dial answered.

Toulon’s phone rang just as he was about to eat dinner. He cursed under his breath, pushed his food aside, and grabbed the phone. ‘
Quoi?
’

‘Agent Toulon?’ It was English, but with a heavy Italian accent. ‘This is Agent Celega, from Milan office. I call about Signor Zidane.’

‘Celega? I thought Filarete was handling things.’

‘Yes. Agent Filarete is here with me, but he no speak English. He ask me to call.’

Toulon rubbed his temples. There were aspects of his job that few people could ever understand. Only at Interpol would an Italian be asked to track down an Algerian in the hope of connecting him to a Frenchman to discuss – in English, of all languages – the events that had occurred at a Swedish lab. ‘Very well then. Were you able to locate Harrison Zidane?’

‘Yes. I calling from his house. He here now. He say okay to video chat. Please, check your computer now.’

Toulon opened the video chat program on his computer and saw an invitation to connect. He quickly sent Dial a text message, letting him know that the video chat was about to start. He also sent him a link. Thanks to modern technology, Dial could simply use his smartphone to participate. ‘Okay. I’m joining the chat now.’

Celega nodded. ‘I put you on with Signor Zidane.’

Toulon watched as Celega fumbled with the police-issue laptop. When the image finally stopped moving, Toulon was staring at a well-dressed man who looked a lot younger than he actually was. According to his birth certificate, Zidane was a year shy of his seventieth birthday, but he appeared no older than his mid forties. ‘Mr Harrison Zidane?’

‘Yes, I am Harrison Zidane. And you are?’

‘Forgive me. I am Henri Toulon, assistant director of Interpol’s homicide division. And I believe Chief Dial has joined the conversation as well.’

Zidane smiled with childlike delight when his computer screen split into two windows. ‘I can see him now. Isn’t technology marvelous?’

Dial ignored the comment. ‘Hello, my name is Nick Dial, of Interpol’s—’

‘Homicide division.’ Zidane laughed. ‘Yes, that much has been explained. Tell me, Chief Dial, how can I be of service to Interpol this evening?’

‘Please, call me Nick.’

‘And you may call me Harrison. So, Nick, what can I do for you?’

‘I would like to ask you a couple of questions.’

‘Certainly,’ Zidane said. ‘Please, ask me anything you’d like.’

‘I understand you’ve made a career of investing in speculative research projects, and that some of the investments have paid off quite handsomely.’