The Leaves in Winter (26 page)

Leah waited for an answer that didn’t come. She took a step closer to
Mass.

“If you get this wrong, we’re going to have to live with it a long, long time.” Leah headed for the door. “Think about that.”

With Leah gone, Mass shuffled back to his desk and sat down. Motionless for a minute, he let the conversation settle and his business focus return. Before him was keyboard and monitor. On impulse, he did a search on his name. Dozens of news articles and blogs returned, most detailed the arrest of Janis Insworth; they named Mass only peripherally as her boss at NovoSenectus.

As Mass scrolled down the search results, one article from a Parisian scandal sheet caught his eye. He clicked on it and read a translation. Scanning the text, he caught the gist of the article’s salaciousness – and accuracy.

“…Janis Insworth worked alongside Riya Basu, the murdered Nobel laureate,

 
…the laptop was found in a safety deposit box not far from where the
GenLET

 
 
 
scientist met with a representative of New Class Order,

 
…Indian authorities claim the laptop contains sensitive intellectual capital from

   
 
NovoSenectus and belonged to Malcolm Stowe, a security agent for the

   
 
biotech firm who died under suspicious circumstances,

 
…a source within the Hyderabad Police headquarters says
Eugene
Mass, owner

   
 
of NovoSenectus, is anxious to get the laptop returned,

 
…the Central Directorate of Internal Intelligence is in possession of the laptop,

 
…so far there’s only wild speculation about what secrets the laptop

    
might contain.”

Mass reread passages from the article. With each pass over them, he couldn’t help but feel anxious about the way the course of human events stewed in its own self-serving pettiness. It would take so little, something so minor, to interfere with all he had worked for.

Meanwhile,
The Anthropocene Dilemma
was waiting to be solved.

A calmness of conviction came over him. He was suddenly imbued with the righteous perspective of a reluctant savior. Humanity and the planet needed him. Above all else, he wanted to live to see a healthier earth, a better humanity.

The conversation with Leah receded. It seemed long ago and far away.

He opened a desk drawer and reached in for a private phone.

Before he pressed a speed dial key, there was the slightest pause.

Leaning back in his swivel rocker, he waited for his man to answer.

“Yes, what is it?” It was Javier.

Mass was firm. “Pass it along…
green, green, green
.”

From Javier, a moment of hesitation, the shock that this was real.

With a press of a thumb, Mass ended the call. No answer was needed.

He dropped the phone into the drawer, stood and made strides to the window.

The black suburban and limo were in the distance.

Mass watched them disappear.

Filled with a rush of passion and purpose, he raised his sight and squinted at the all-powerful sun. The future was now. The deed was done.

The New World Harmony had just begun.

Chapter 25

Lufthansa Flight 2261

Franz
Josef
Strauss
International
Airport
,
Munich

Janis Insworth looked away from the porthole window and braced for landing. Descending out of a grey sky, the Canadair Regional Jet 700 touched down on runway 26L shortly before 10:30 a.m. The flight was on time. Janis felt out of place.

For a moment, she closed her eyes and absorbed being engulfed by the energy around her. The roar of back-thrusting engines and the forward pull from the plane’s braking both felt as if they surged from a protected place inside of her. Strapped in her seat, she reflected on a regret, rawness and longing that ached for release.

If only she could stop or reverse so much of what had happened.

If only she could prevent so much of what she feared might soon be.

But everything around her resisted. The unyielding momentum of events felt fateful, at times fatalistic. Despite determination and clarity, at moments it was easier to doubt, to relent that one was probably helpless to change the course of events, to exist merely as another powerless transient along for the ride.

Her muscles tightened against the feeling even as the roar around her subsided.

Alongside her in Seat 9C, a French air marshal had spent much of the 90-minute flight from Marseille in silence. He remained all-business and duty-bound as her armed escort. His name was Paul but all Janis cared about was what awaited her after being in his custody for three interconnecting flights back to
India
.

Janis forced deeper breaths. The excited rush of landing had calmed. The plane turned and started a slow taxi towards the terminal gate. Janis anticipated this first layover with unusual dread, enough so that it sparked her intuition. Something wasn’t right. She forced herself to settle back. Focusing on the mundane, she hoped a calmer perspective would prevail.

“How long will we be here?” She didn’t look at Paul.

He idly glanced past her out the window. “Not long. Next flight’s at noon.”

“That’s the one to
Doha
?”

A nod. “Five and a half hours. The longest leg.”

She sighed and stared up at the fasten seatbelt indicator. She remembered the rest; it stuck in her mind. After another layover, twice as long, the flight out of
Doha
would put them into
Hyderabad
at 3:30 in the morning. The thought of it ran cold. There was something about arriving in the middle of the night that didn’t sit well. Not where she was going. Not when she knew who wanted her there and why.

She asked the question she’d avoided up to now. “Do you have the laptop?”

For the first time in over an hour, Paul looked her in the eye. He studied her interest with aloofness edged with wariness. “That’s none of your concern now.”

Janis didn’t pursue it. She looked out the porthole and ignored him. Thoughts of Eugene Mass overwhelmed anything else. On the surface, French and Indian officials would make her issue appear to be a police matter. But she knew what was really behind the effort to return her to
India
. It would never be enough for Mass to simply get the laptop back. He had unfinished business with her.

She wondered how it would play out. Would Mass pretend reconciliation to get her back in the lab so she’d finish streamlining methods of
GenLET
therapy? Would he feign concern and sympathy over Riya, Malcolm, and Alyssa – all the while plotting to make her own eventual demise look like a lab accident or illness? Would he try somehow to use unverifiable news about Alyssa as leverage over her?

What possible excuses could she give for having the laptop, for being in Marseille, for leaving
India
so abruptly after Malcolm’s death? The police would insist on explanations for some of it but Mass would eventually demand to know all. Lying to one of them would only alert the other to her subterfuge. Surely Mass would find out anything she told the police. Confiding in the police the truth about Mass would not work; Mass no doubt had already prepped them to expect her desperation to come out under pressure. The police were used to wild stories and excuses coming from criminals.

The thought of fleeing again seemed far-fetched. But was there a choice? More importantly, even if she wanted to, would that be possible anymore? Mass would have her under constant surveillance. Even if the police dropped all charges, her life might appear normal, but it would really be spent under corporate house arrest.

No sooner had the plane parked at the gate but a flight attendant hurried down the aisle. She leaned over Paul, verified his name then handed him a slip of paper.

“A note from the Captain,” she whispered.

Janis watched the exchange between them. Paul stiffened after reading the note. He stuffed the paper in one pocket while pulling a phone from another.

“What is it?” asked Janis.

“I’m not sure.” Before she could ask more, Paul pressed the phone to his ear and spoke to his boss in French. The exchange was hushed and rushed. Janis translated as best she could but only gleaned part of it.

There had been a change in plans.

Apparently, it was a surprise to both sides of the conversation.

Passengers stood and gathered belongings from the overhead compartments. The cabin door opened and Flight 2261 disembarked. Paul shouldered his small carry-on. Janis had nothing to take with her; all belongings collected from Marseille’s Hotel Alize, where she had registered under an assumed name, were being shipped separately. She left the plane, the only passenger with nothing in hand. The distinction was a nagging reminder of her vulnerability and displacement.

Paul led the way out the cabin door into the jetway. Immediately they were met by an airport guard. Instead of following the rest of the passengers into the terminal, the guard escorted them to a side utility work door which led outside and down a stair onto the tarmac. Jet noise and the whip of cold air surrounded them. At the base of the stairs, an airport security van idled, its side door open and waiting.

As they approached, a suited man stepped out and handed Paul a folded paper.

Paul gave it a cursory look. “My bosses in Marseille know nothing of this.”

“Call them again. It just happened.”

The suited man sounded American. With an upturned wiggle of an index finger, he motioned for Janis to approach the open door.

Janis started to move but was blocked by Paul’s outstretched arm. “I need to see more than this. I don’t take orders from this agency.” He handed the paper back.

Another man in the van thrust a satellite phone out an open window. “Here, Place Beauvau wants to talk to you.”

Janis halted in time to see surprise cross Paul’s face. She had never heard of Place Beauvau, but the reference was common knowledge to everyone else. The man outside the van passed the phone across.

Paul took it and had a brief conversation. Mostly, he listened.

Abruptly, the call ended. “Oui, monsieur, tout de suite.”

The American accepted the satellite phone back and handed Paul the folded paper again. “Are we squared away?”

Paul nodded as Janis drew close. “Who was that?”

Paul relaxed. “Minister of the Interior, in
Paris
.”

“What’s going on?”

“It appears you are in more trouble than I thought. The Americans want to extradite you too.”

“Why?”

The man outside the van took Janis by the arm and led her into the van. “It’s a matter of national security. Please, we have to go now.”

Paul backed away and pocketed the folded paper. Janis took a seat between the two Americans as the door slid shut and the van accelerated away from the terminal.

Janis didn’t know whether to be relieved or worried. The detour might be saving her from Mass, but by offering her up for what? The situation was not clear. She turned to the man who had stood outside the van.

“Am I being rescued or extradited?”

The man was matter-of-fact. “We’re taking you into custody for transport to the
United States
.”

“What kind of custody?”

The men in the van gave each other a knowing glance. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to speak to an attorney and have an attorney present during any questioning. If you cannot afford a lawyer, one will be provided for you at government expense. Do you understand these rights?”

“What am I being charged with?”

“First of all, do you understand your rights?”

“Yes! But I don’t understand what you think I’ve done.”

The man had had enough. “I don’t have the complete list. It includes violations of Title 18 of United States Code Section 1030, interstate flight to avoid prosecution, aiding and abetting a terrorist organization, espionage, trafficking in state secrets, and interference with an ongoing investigation.”

Janis sat back, dazed. The thought of it was too incredible to even protest.

Through the front windshield she could see a small jet waiting on the runway’s apron. They were headed straight for it. It carried only one marking, words in blue written above the windows.

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
.