THE VIRON CONSPIRACY (JAKE SCARNE THRILLERS #4) (15 page)

“I was just showing Mr. Stone our map,” Lenzer said. “If I might continue?”

“Please,” Turchin said.

“All those dots represent ships owned, leased or chartered by BVM,” Lenzer said. “Each is carrying one of our cargoes. Soybeans, wheat, corn, rice and the like. The green dots represent ships that are still going to their original destinations. The red dots are ships that have been rerouted.”

“Rerouted?”

“Yes, Mr. Stone.” Lenzer waved his arm to encompass the staff working at their computer terminals. “These people track commodity prices in real time, using computers tied to the exchanges in Chicago and elsewhere. When they are alerted to a price differential that makes it more economical to deliver the product to another port, we simply redirect a ship there. Thus, a cargo hold full of say, corn, originally destined for the British Isles might be diverted through the Strait of Gibraltar toward Egypt.”

“Wouldn’t that annoy the Brits who are expecting that corn?”

“We have so many ships that it will mean only a small delay. Another one will fill the order. Most of our customers benefit from the system, so they are very understanding. And, on occasion, we will offer a discount for any delay.” He laughed. “A discount our computers already factor in when determining the price arbitrage advantage when we reroute. Now, if you will excuse me, Mr. Stone, I have a luncheon date with Dr. Turchin and Ms. Rasmussen. I’m sure Tom would be happy to show you around the remainder of our facilities. Tom will also take you to lunch. We have an excellent cafeteria. Perhaps you can talk to some of the employees who knew Bryan. He was well liked. Tom, make sure they know that Mr. Stone has our full cooperation. Then kindly bring him to my office at 4 P.M. We can finish our interview then.”

With that, Lenzer left with Turchin and Rasmussen. Tom the assistant, who didn’t look all that thrilled to babysit Stone/Scarne, took him in hand.    

CHAPTER 24 - LADIES ROOM

The lunch offerings in the brightly lit and expansive employee cafeteria leaned heavily in favor of products made from soybeans. Tom, whose last name was Dilbert, insisted that Scare try a “Boone Burger,” which he claimed, tasted “just like meat.” Having heard that particular fiction before, Scarne added a salad and a piece of what he hoped was a real apple pie, just in case.

He decided it wouldn’t hurt his cover to actually speak to some employees. He might even learn something. After they got their trays, Dilbert steered him to a table where half a dozen BVM staffers were eating. The employees who had known Bryan Vallance spoke highly of the former chairman. Although Scarne knew they were unlikely to badmouth Vallance in front of Dilbert, their comments seemed genuine.

Scarne noticed a table of white-coated men, all blond, sitting by themselves in a corner.

“Tom, who are those people over there,” he said, nodding in their direction.

“Oh, those are Lenzer’s acolytes.”

“Sorry.”

Dilbert laughed.

“That’s what we call them. Dr. Lenzer brought them over from Germany. They all work in his lab.”

“The Black Hole?”

Dilbert looked surprised.

“So, you’ve heard the phrase.”

“Research,” Scarne said evenly. He didn’t want Dilbert to think he wasn’t up to speed on BVM. There would be less chance he’d be fed public relations
Pablum. ‘Maybe I should talk to some of them.”

“You can try,” Dilbert said. “But it will be a waste of time. They are kind of clannish. Stay separate from everyone else. Pleasant enough, to be sure. They’ll give you the party line on Bryan, but none of them were big fans of his. He was going to break up their department and spread their responsibilities around.”

“Are you one of Lenzer’s acolytes?”

“He’s my boss, and he’s been great to me, but Bryan hired me. I really liked him.”

“But Lenzer kept you on.”

“Sure, he kept most of Bryan’s mid-level staff. Some of the higher-echelon people left, of course, I’d guess you’d call them Vallance’s loyalists, but Dr. Lenzer made sure they were well-compensated. They a
ll got great recommendations and landed on their feet. All in all, considering the tragic circumstances, the transition was less painful than many of us feared.”

And the Black Hole survived, Scarne thought.

“I was rather surprised to see that Russian chap,” he said casually. “Does he visit often?”

“I don’t think he’s ever been here before,” Dilbert replied. “I was kind of surprised Dr. Lenzer invited him to stay at his house. It’s not his style.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong,” Dilbert said quickly. “Roland can be very sociable when he wants to be. He’s even invited some of us out to his place for a barbecue and to watch football. But I can’t ever remember an overnight guest. But, then, I guess Turchin is someone special.”

I bet he is, Scarne thought. Maybe I am in a Cold War novel.

After lunch, Dilbert took Scarne on a tour, by golf cart, of BVM’s facilities, where he learned more than he wanted to know about crops, animal husbandry, feed, livestock vaccines and the dozens of other areas in which BVM was a world leader.

“It seems BVM is more of a pharmaceutical company than anything else,” Scarne said at one point during a tour of a laboratory..

“Yes,” Dilbert said. “We drive Wall Street crazy. They don’t know how to pigeonhole us. When they were convinced we were just a big farming combine, our stock fell lower than a sow’s belly. Wish I had been around then. That was the time to buy the stock. It was Bryan Vallance that convinced the investment community we were a hybrid pharmaceutical/technology company, so now our stock bounces between the multiples
of those type of companies.”

“Lenzer’s been pretty good for the stock, too, I understand.”

“Oh boy, has he ever. I’m afraid the bargain days in BVM stock are in the past. We won’t see any big drops unless something really unusual happens. And if it does, sell the farm and buy shares. BVM feeds the world. There are seven billion mouths out there.”

Scarne noticed that there was one building they skipped. He mentioned it to his guide.

“That’s Dr. Lenzer’s lab,” Dilbert said.

“I’d like to see it,” Scarne said, and started walking toward the structure, a modern two-story steel-and-concrete edifice. Dilbert grabbed his arm.

“Sorry, Mr. Stone. But that’s off limits. Remember what I said about BVM’s technology. Well, that’s cutting-edge stuff in there. I’m not even sure about some of it. But Dr. Lenzer is paranoid about corporate piracy. You’d have to get his permission to go in there. Maybe you can ask him later.”

Scarne didn’t want to make an issue of it.

“No problem. My project is more human interest than anything else. Get too technical and readers’ eyes glaze over.”

It was just after 4 P.M. when Dilbert ushered Scarne into Lenzer’s office. Scarne thanked the assistant and he left.

“Take a seat, Mr. Stone,” Lenzer said. “I trust that Tom was helpful.”

“Very,” Scarne said. “Your facilities are quite amazing. I think the only one I didn’t get to see was your private laboratory. Tom said I’d need your permission for that.”

Lenzer’s smile diminished a fraction.

“Nothing to see. Or, I should say, plenty to see, but nothing you could write about.”

“I’m not into industrial espionage, Dr. Lenzer. I just thought it might give more feel for BVM.”

“Of course, of course. Forgive me. I’m a bit paranoid about my pet projects. You understand. I certainly can arrange a tour of the facility. Might even be able to work up a briefing paper on some of the work that’s not too specific. I should have thought to have you join Rasmussen and Dr. Turchin for their tour.” He looked at his watch. “Which should be ending right about now. How about tomorrow?”

“That would be fine.”

Lenzer pushed a button and a young woman from the outer office came into the room. 

“Yes, Doctor.”

“Connie, please set up a visit to my laboratory tomorrow for Mr. Stone, say at 10 A.M. And call Hans and ask him to put together a press kit about our work there. He will know what to do.”

The girl hesitated.

“What is it?”

“Doctor, perhaps you forgot that I’m supposed to leave early today. I have a dentist appointment. I’m running late as it is.”

Lenzer looked annoyed.

“Well, then get someone else to do it.”

“Who?”

Lenzer exploded.

“I don’t give a damn. Call another department. Just make it so! Make it so.”

“Yes, Doctor.”

The girl left.

“I’m so sorry about that, Mr. Stone,” Lenzer said. “Sometimes I think it’s better to do everything oneself.”

Make it so!

Scarne’s expression never changed at Lenzer’s remark.

“I know exactly what you mean, Doctor.”

Especially when it comes to hiring an assassin to kill your predecessor, he thought.

Scarne spent the next hour asking Lenzer questions about the company and his background. Lenzer told him nothing that wasn’t in a Wall Street report. He was, of course, effusive in his praise of Bryan Vallance, the man whose murder he’
d undoubtedly arranged.

They were interrupted by the arrival of Rasmussen and Turchin.

“Well, I think I have enough for today, Dr. Lenzer,” Scarne said, rising. “You’ve been most helpful. I think I can find my way out. I’m looking forward to my tour of your lab tomorrow.”

“Good. Stop by here in the morning and we’ll have that briefing book ready for you.”

They shook hands and Scarne left, nodding at Rasmussen and Turchin on the way out. But instead of heading to the building lobby, he veered off toward the cafeteria, which was almost deserted.

Just past the dining area were two small restrooms. A cleaning lady was just going in the men’s room with her equipment. Scarne stopped for a cup of black coffee at the self-serve machine in the cafeteria and waited for the woman to finish. He hoped that she had already cleaned the men’s room.

She hadn’t. When she finally came out, that’s where she went next. Scarne got another cup of coffee and, after making sure they weren’t made out of tofu or sawdust, a couple of blueberry muffins.

“Looks like you’re our last customer,” the woman at the cash register told him.

“What time does the place shut down,” Scarne asked casually.

“Food service closes at 5:30. But you can still sit in the cafeteria. The room is open all night in case someone wants to bring in something to eat. Coffee and other vending machines are available.”

Scarne sat and ate while he waited for the cleaning lady to finish. The woman was apparently very thorough, and he was on his third cup of coffee when she finally emerged. By then, he actually needed to use the bathroom. He looked around. He saw only two men and no women in the cafeteria. It was now almost 6 P.M. and he could see workers walking to their cars in the parking lot in the rear of the building. He assumed that any women leaving after work who wanted to use a restroom would opt for one off the lobby. So, when he was sure no one in the cafeteria was watching, he slipped into the ladies’ room.  

CHAPTER 25 - STEAKS AND STAKES

It was just after 7 P.M. when Anne Rasmussen pulled the Explorer into the circular driveway of Lenzer’s Federal-style brick home, which was situated in an upscale development of houses on five-acre plots a half hour from the BVM headquarters. She and Turchin walked up to the ornate front door, which was centered between two marble columns and topped by a
n elliptical-shaped stained-glass window. A tall, tough-looking man in butler’s garb answered their ring and ushered them into the front hallway after they announced themselves.

“Dr. Lenzer is on the patio. You can leave your suitcase here, Dr. Turchin. I will take it up to your room later. Now, if you will please follow me.”

“Perfect timing,” Lenzer said when they walked onto the patio, where a barbecue grill was shimmering with heat. There was a small table set up as a bar and another was set for dinner, with bowls of various salads and a platter of large steaks. “I hope you will be joining us for dinner, Anne.”

“Oh, thank you, Roland, but I’ve made other plans.”

“I didn’t know one could make other plans in Boone City,” Lenzer said with a laugh. “But how about a drink? Surely, you have time for a cocktail.”

“That would be nice. Perhaps a glass of white wine.”

“Wonderful.” He turned to the manservant. “Karl. A chardonnay for the lady. And two vodka martinis. The Moskovskaya vodka.”

When they were settled with their drinks, Turchin commented on the weather.

“Yes, it is unusually warm for the time of year,” Lenzer said. “They call it an Indian summer. Although to be politically correct, I probably should say Native-American summer!”

All three laughed.
Anne Rasmussen crossed her legs, giving both men a look at a shapely calf and an ankle with a small butterfly tattoo. They all chatted amiably for a while until she finished her wine and rose to leave.

“Are you sure I can’t tempt you with one of those steaks?” Lenzer said. 

“Thank you, no. I must get going.”

“I’m so sorry. Karl will show you out.”

Both men’s eyes followed the pair out, although they concentrated on the woman’s swaying hips and firm bottom. Lenzer sighed. Then he got up and poured two more martinis.

“That is one fine-looking
bitch,” he commented. “I wouldn’t have minded if she had stayed for a while longer. It would be a pleasure to share the company of a beautiful woman.”

“That, she is,” Turchin agreed. He paused. “But it wasn’t particularly intelligent of you to have your man make me a martini without my asking for it.”

“It’s what you drink, isn’t it?”

“Yes. But we’re not supposed to know each other.
”

Lenzer shrugged.

“She never noticed. Typically dim American bureaucrat. One I wouldn’t mind fucking, mind you.”

Turchin sipped his drink and shook his head.

“I’ve often wondered why you haven’t married, Roland. For a time, we all thought you were a homosexual. Until we had to get you out of that trouble with that prostitute in Karl-Marx-Stadt.  The one who died.”

“Your KGB is showing, Anzor,” Lenzer said. “Karl-Marx-Stadt has been renamed. It’s now called Chemnitz. As for marriage? What is that but state-sanctioned prostitution.”

“What do you do for feminine companionship out here in this godforsaken country?”

“My work keeps me pretty busy. Some of the women in the company have made their availability known to me. I am what they would call a good catch. A few are quite attractive. A few are even married. But I avoid local entanglements, for obvious reasons. I travel enough to large cities where there is always enough entertainment.”

“I trust you are careful, Roland. We have invested a lot of time and money in you. There is a lot at stake.”

Lenzer laughed.

“Don’t worry. My urges have mellowed with age. As for the time, I have devoted my life to this project. And I don’t need your money, anymore. The damn Americans pay their CEO’s like they are royalty. Even the incompetent ones. And they believe I am a genius. Which, of course, I am.”

The butler reappeared.

“Anything else, Doctor?”

“No. I think I can handle the steaks. Just make sure we are not disturbed.”

“Very well.”

After the man left, Turchin said, “Not your typical butler, I presume. Tough-looking bastard.”

“Karl doubles as my bodyguard. Former Stasi. Only an adequate manservant, but one must make allowances, I suppose.”

The patio’s outdoor lights flickered on automatically in the dusk. Lenzer stood.

“Now. If I remember, Anzor, you like your steaks bloody. Yes?””

***

Scarne checked his watch. It was just after 8 P.M. when he emerged from one of the stalls in the ladies room. He put his ear to the outer bathroom door and then opened it carefully. The cafeteria was deserted. He wondered about security guards. Well, if he ran into any, he’d just try to brazen his way through it. He had his notebook and his visitor’s badge. The building wasn’t locked down, after all. Judging from the fair number of cars in the parking lot, there were probably some people working late. He’d say he was still conducting interviews. Scarne walked to Lenzer’s office suite, passing several rooms that had people working in them. So far, so good.

Lenzer’s suite was deserted. The outer glass door was
open and he slipped in unnoticed. The solid wooden door to Lenzer’s private office was locked but Scarne knew that wouldn’t create a problem unless it was alarmed, which he doubted. Using some tools of his trade that he always carried in a small pouch, he started working on the lock. The outer office also had a glass front, so he was visible from the corridor and at one point he had to duck behind a desk when someone walked by. But then he was quickly through the door. He shut and locked it, then turned on the light switch.

Scarne went to Lenzer’s desk. Its top was devoid of anything save for an in-an-out box, a phone and some pens in a coffee mug that had the BVM logo.  No photos of family. Scarne glanced at other cabinets and ledges. All bare. There were a few plaques and diplomas on the walls, but the room was surprisingly sterile. Scarne would have said it lacked a woman’s touch, but it gave the appearance of lacking a man’s touch as well. He began going through the desk drawers, looking for anything that might tie Lenzer to Bryan Vallance’s murder. He wasn’t hopeful, but he knew he needed more than the “make it so” remark to prove anything.

Next, he went through the filing cabinets. None of them were even locked, not a good sign for someone looking for a smoking gun. All the files were business-related. None was labeled “Murder” or “Assassination.” By the time he finished, Scarne would have settled for a file labeled “Parking Violations.” He knew the only thing he’d be able to prove for sure was that Lenzer was an incredibly hard worker and a capable administrator. There wasn’t even a computer for him to search through. Lenzer probably used a laptop.

Scarne froze. Someone had opened the door in the outer office. He went to Lenzer’s door and listened. The handle jiggled. Somebody tried the door. Probably a security guard checking all the offices. He wondered if the light in Lenzer’s office showed under the door and if a guard would even notice, or care. People left on lights all the time. The jiggling stopped, and a moment later Scarne heard the other door close. The hell with this, he thought. I’m not going to find anything incriminating here. He waited five minutes, turned out the light and peeked out the door into an empty office. There was no one in the corridor so he walked out, turning back to close the door and make sure it was locked.

“Hold it right there. Don’t lock it. Just walk back in.”

It was a woman’s voice. Low and tense. Familiar. Scarne tried to place it. He felt something hard dig into his lower back. He knew instinctively it was a gun. He did as he was told. The gun pushed deeper into his spine. That was a mistake. Whoever was holding it should have kept some distance. Scarne whirled around, his arm low to sweep the gun aside. But the woman was not as inexperienced as he’d assumed. He caught a quick glimpse of her face before she smashed her gun against his head and everything went black.