The Einstein Pursuit (41 page)

Zidane laughed at the sudden turn of events.

But his joy didn’t last.

Just as the soldiers opened fire, a sleek gunboat cut between them and their prey. The gunboat’s .50 caliber guns made short work of the WaveRunners, pumping round after round into the overmatched mercenaries. Compared to the armored gunboat, the personal watercraft were little more than toys – toys that could be easily shattered at the whim of the biggest kid in the playground.

Today, the biggest kid was Nick Dial.

Thanks to Dial’s persistent urging, the Italian State Police had eventually agreed to provide their assistance. Jones had known they would be out there, somewhere in the water. He simply needed to buy enough time for their arrival and then give them a reason to get involved. Whatever reservations they had were put aside the moment they saw four men raining automatic rifle fire upon a defenseless vessel.

As the gunboat circled the wreckage, Zidane finally conceded defeat. With Jones’s gun trained at his head, the billionaire swam slowly back to the jet boat.

‘Nice try,’ Jones admitted, ‘but did you really think I was alone out here? I might be pretty, but I ain’t stupid.’

Zidane pulled himself on board and stumbled around the boat, shaky on his feet from the shock of what was happening. In his wildest dreams, he had never imagined his legacy would end like this. He thought he would live in comfort for many more years, a rich man who could buy his own immortality. Now everything he had done would be for naught.

He had spent a fortune to prolong his life, but in that moment, he wanted to die.

A minute later, his wish would be granted.

Jones waved his arms to signal Dial, who was now standing on the bridge of the gunboat taking stock of the scene. Dial could only shake his head at the bodies in the water.

‘You really need to stop taking our calls,’ Jones said.

‘Last time I make that mistake,’ Dial replied.

As they laughed in unison, a single shot rang out across the lake.

The round from Masseri’s rifle traveled faster than the speed of sound.

There was nothing they could do.

By the time they turned around, Zidane was already dead.

As he made his way across the grounds, Payne had no idea what to expect. He sprinted around the small cove that protected the boathouse and ran into the clear. But instead of a waiting army, all Payne found were the littered bodies of the men he had already encountered. It appeared that everyone in the second wave of soldiers was on the water.

There were no signs of life on the yacht, either. It simply sat at the end of the pier, dark and motionless. Despite its uninviting appearance, Payne ran to the end of the dock and leapt aboard, landing softly on the aft deck. In less than a minute he had positioned the crane and attached the sling underneath one of the WaveRunners.

A minute later he would have been in the water and racing to the aid of his best friend.

Unfortunately, Hendrik Cole had other ideas.

After the incident in Rakovnik, Cole had been forced to make a detour into Como before arriving at the villa. There he had met a local doctor who was able to treat the injuries he had sustained at the lab. Normally the first to fight, he had decided to rest on the yacht while Zidane’s men handled the security breach on the estate, but all that changed when he heard the whirring of the crane. Cole left his berth to investigate and spotted Payne on the deck.

In a flash, he knew his recovery would have to wait.

He had to act fast to keep the element of surprise.

Ideally, he would have preferred to shoot Payne in the back of the head and be done with it, but he had no idea where Jones was or what other reinforcements were lurking nearby. This forced Cole to kill Payne in a much more personal manner.

And because of the whir of the crane, Payne didn’t hear him coming.

One moment he was hoisting the WaveRunner from its cradle, and the next he was being slammed violently into the watercraft.

In the collision, Payne’s gun fell from his belt and slid off the deck into the water below. It was followed by a thunderous crash as the WaveRunner broke loose from its lifting straps and toppled over the side of the boat.

Cole relished the opportunity to murder someone as revered as Jonathon Payne. Driven by a surge of endorphins, he was oblivious to the ache in his gut. Even if Cole had known that the staples closing his wound had pulled loose, it would not have stopped him. He might never get a second chance. He wasn’t about to pass it up.

Cole reached into his scabbard and withdrew a large, machete-like blade. It was razor sharp, with a cutting edge on the front side and deep serrated teeth on the back. The tip was narrow and pointed. It was a weapon capable of stabbing, slicing, and sawing – and Cole had experience with all three methods of death.

In response, Payne pulled his bayonet from its sheath. It was only a third the size of Cole’s custom sword, but it had proven its worth throughout Payne’s career.

Without saying a word, the two men circled each other like wrestlers, both waiting for the right moment. Cole struck first, swinging at his opponent’s neck. Payne ducked the attack and countered with a swipe across Cole’s thigh. The cut drew blood, but it wasn’t crippling. Cole stepped back, then half-smiled, half-snarled as he struck again. This time it was a downward-looping motion, as if Payne was a chunk of wood that Cole intended to split. Payne was able to intercept the blow with his knife, deflecting Cole’s weapon to the fiberglass hull. Shards flew before Cole reversed the direction of his swing, jerking the serrated teeth in the direction of Payne’s forearm.

The bite of the blade found its mark, and the saw-like points tore the flesh from Payne’s arm as he winced in agony.

Cole laughed with delight.

Payne took the knife in his opposite hand as blood soaked the arm of his long-sleeved shirt. In an act of mockery, Cole also changed his grip, tossing his weapon from one hand to the other. Despite his injury, Payne now took the offensive. He sprang forward and delivered a series of stabs, swipes, and swings. Cole deftly deflected each attempt, his grin growing with each missed opportunity. Catching Payne off-balance, he lifted him off his feet and slammed him to the deck. But he did not attack. He simply stood over Payne, relishing the moment before allowing him to scramble to his feet.

Payne held his wounded arm to his chest. Blood streamed off his elbow and pooled on the polished deck around him. His breathing was heavy and labored; his eyes were dull and sullen. He had the look of defeat. It was the moment Cole had been waiting for.

He raised his weapon and charged his target, attempting to run him through.

But Payne’s vulnerability was just a ploy.

He sprang to life and sidestepped the bull rush at the last possible moment. As Cole passed by, Payne struck him several times in rapid succession. The blade of his bayonet punctured Cole’s lung, stomach, and kidney. The doctor in Como had done his best to repair Cole’s wounds, but Payne now sliced through the Butcher with his brand of surgical precision.

This time, Cole would not recover.

If left alone, he would be dead in a matter of minutes.

But that wasn’t soon enough for Payne.

Taking no chances, he wrapped the line of the deck crane around Cole’s neck then shoved him toward the railing. With a swift kick, Payne sent Cole’s body swinging out over the side of the boat like a prized shark at the end of a long voyage. Blood drained from his wounds into the water below as he struggled for a last gulp of air that wasn’t to come.

Eventually, the body went limp as Payne staggered away.

Jones racked the balls for a game of billiards at Café Louvre in Prague while Payne selected a cue. Sahlberg sat on a nearby barstool, nursing a well-deserved beer.

‘You know this is the only way you’ll ever beat me, right?’ To drive home his point, Payne nodded toward his bandaged arm, which was resting comfortably in a sling.

‘Give me a break,’ Jones said. ‘We both know you’re an expert at one-handed sports. You certainly get enough practice.’

Payne chuckled at the crude innuendo.

‘Is this safe?’ Sahlberg asked.

‘Is what safe? Playing pool?’ Jones asked.

‘Being out in public,’ he clarified.

It was a fair question, given the week he had just experienced. He had gone from a breathtaking sunset in California to the confinement of a Czech root cellar in less than twenty-four hours. He had remained drugged and locked away in the dank basement, subsisting on raw vegetables and dried meat, for days. Just as he had begun to lose hope of rescue, he had been freed by one of Masseri’s accomplices without an explanation of any kind.

Released near the Charles Bridge, he didn’t know where he was or how long he had been missing. Nor did he know the identity of his captors, or if anyone was looking for him.

Fortunately, a Czech policewoman spotted him and told him that Interpol had plastered his image across the city’s precincts. The next morning, he was reunited with Payne and Jones, who filled in many of the missing details about Berglund and Zidane.

‘Mattias,’ Payne said with a gentle pat on his shoulder, ‘drink in peace. I assure you, we’re safe from Masseri. He knows that if he comes after us, he’s a dead man.’

Sahlberg nodded his understanding, remembering their earlier conversation. Payne had explained that he had military connections all over the world, and that if he and Jones were killed, another member of their team would pick up the fight. Masseri would be hunted down without mercy, and he knew it. There’d be no place on earth he could hide.

Jones changed the subject. ‘Did you get a chance to talk to Dr Berglund?’

Sahlberg smiled. ‘I did. He seemed in very good spirits, all things considered.’

‘Keep an eye on him,’ Payne advised. ‘He might take a turn for the worse if he starts to believe that he was responsible for the deaths of the scientists in Stockholm. You have to do everything you can to steer him clear of that line of thought. Have you figured out if he’ll be coming to Pittsburgh with you?’

‘Actually,’ Sahlberg said, ‘we’ll be headed to La Jolla when he’s finally free to travel. I spoke with several members of the group earlier this morning, and they’re eager to hear about Tomas’s discoveries. Perhaps, as a group, we can formulate the best course of action.’

Jones walked to the table and grabbed his beer. ‘Zidane wasn’t wrong, you know. With that technology, you can name your price.’

‘But at what expense?’ Sahlberg asked rhetorically. ‘What price do we pay for upsetting the natural order of things?’

Payne smiled. It was the response he was hoping to hear. ‘Like I said, just keep an eye on him. Guilt has a funny way of sneaking up on you.’

‘So does Nick Dial,’ Jones said with a nod.

Payne turned and spotted the final member of their celebration, who was making his way through the crowded room. They raised their beers in salute.

Dial couldn’t help but smile. ‘It’s about time you showed me the respect I deserve. Next time, I want you to bow as well.’ He approached Sahlberg, his hand extended. ‘Dr Sahlberg, we haven’t been officially introduced. Nick Dial.’

‘Mattias, please,’ Sahlberg answered as he shook Dial’s hand. ‘Very nice to meet you.’

‘You too.’

‘I hate to be bold, but what can you tell me about Tomas? How much trouble is he in?’

‘Hard to say,’ admitted Dial, who had spent several hours with Berglund in order to establish a timeline of the past few months.

But some things were abundantly clear.

Zidane’s first priority had been to save himself. The Rakovnik laboratory had been designed as his own personal hospital. Everything there was geared toward keeping him alive. Berglund, on the other hand, wanted to determine how his technology could be used for the betterment of the public in general. To do that, he had to secretly break away from Zidane.

This had ultimately led to the laboratory in Stockholm, which was where several of Berglund’s most trusted colleagues prepared the technology for clinical trials. They even went behind Zidane’s back and used his own connections without his knowledge to procure human test subjects – namely criminals, all of whom had terminal illnesses. When a warden at one of the correctional facilities began asking too many questions, Zidane found out about the facility and was furious. He was spending his personal fortune to extend his life – not to help a bunch of dying felons.

That was when he gave the order to destroy the lab.

Payne rejoined the conversation. ‘Mattias, if there’s one thing I’m sure of, it’s that you want Nick in your corner. I challenge you to find anyone with a greater sense of right and wrong.’

‘While I will certainly take the compliment, I have to tell you that it’s not my case,’ Dial replied. ‘It never was … at least not officially.’

‘Who’s handling things?’ Jones asked.

‘Johann Eklund, one of our Swedish agents. And he’s the right guy for the job. That sense of right and wrong? He’s got it. Trust me, he’ll be fair.’

‘So where do you go from here?’ Payne asked.

‘Back to Lyon.’

‘How bad is it going to be for you?’ Jones asked.

‘Not bad at all. Like I said, I was never officially involved. Agent Eklund broke the case on his own. He gets all the credit. And he’s not telling anyone the secret of his success.’

Jones raised his glass. ‘To Eklund and his secrets.’

‘And ours,’ Payne said as he nodded toward the back of the room.

Sahlberg turned and glanced in that direction. He immediately laughed when he saw the framed picture on the billiard room wall.

It was a photograph of Albert Einstein, pool cue in hand.

A smile on his lips and a twinkle in his eye.