"It
was midflight. One of my men just called. It must have happened in a
matter of seconds, because the pilots had already spoken to the
escorts and everything was fine... When they landed, the escort
realized the cabin lights were out and went to have a look with
flashlights. The guards were on the floor, floating in a sea of
blood, totally out of their minds, and Silberg was ripped to shreds
and strewn all over the seats. My contact didn't see it, but he heard
them say it looked like a slaughterhouse."
"My
God. Reinhard..." Blanes sunk lifelessly into his chair.
Jacqueline's
scream broke the silence. It was a thin, little voice, like that of a
little girl. Elisa hugged her tight and whispered whatever words of
consolation she could muster. She felt Victor's comforting hand on
her shoulder and thought that never had such simple physical contact
made her feel closer to anyone as it did at that moment. People who
have never known true fear don't know what a hug can mean, even when
offered in love.
"The
good news is that Silberg sent the documents to the safe address I
gave him in case of emergency." Carter paced the room, picking
up little things on the shelves in the room and putting them back
down again. He hadn't stopped fidgeting since he walked into the
room. "Before we go, I'll stick them on a USB so we'll have them
at our disposal." He stopped and looked at them. "I don't
know about you, but I'd be thinking about getting out of here. There
will be time enough to cry later on."
"What's
the plan?" Blanes asked bleakly.
"It's
almost three. We'll have to wait for Harrison to leave the airport.
My contact will let me know when he does. He'll take two or three
hours to get back here. They'll have to seal the plane first, then
put it in a military hangar and leave. He doesn't want anyone at a
public airport getting wind of this."
"What's
the point of waiting for him to leave?"
"Because,
Professor,
we're
going
to the airport," Carter replied sarcastically. "We'll be on
a commercial jet, and I'm sure you wouldn't want the old man to see
us at the boarding gate. Besides, I'll have to connect the hidden
cameras for a while so he sees you and doesn't get suspicious. When
he takes off, so will we. There are a few men outside who aren't on
our side, but it shouldn't be too hard to lock them in a room and
take their cell phones. That will buy us a little time. We'll take
the seven o'clock Lufthansa flight to Zurich. I have friends there
who can hide us someplace safe. And from there, we'll figure out our
next step."
Elisa
was still hugging Jacqueline. Suddenly, she spoke, quietly but
firmly.
"Jacqueline,
we're going to get rid of him. We're going to screw that... that son
of a bitch for once and for all. And New Nelson's the only place we
can do it... OK?" Clissot looked at her, nodded. Elisa nodded to
Blanes, too. He seemed hesitant, but he said, "Carter, what sort
of shape is New Nelson in?"
"The
station? A lot better shape than Eagle wants you to think. The
warehouse explosion hardly damaged the equipment at all, and the
accelerator has been repaired. They've maintained the instruments and
have kept them in decent shape for the past few years."
"Do
you think we could hide there?" Carter stared at him.
"I
thought you wanted to stay as far as possible from that haunted
house, Professor. Have you come up with some way to fix this mess?"
"Maybe,"
Blanes replied.
"Well,
I don't see any problem. We can go to Zurich first and from there to
the island."
"Is
it under surveillance?"
"You
better believe it. Four coast guards armed to the teeth and a nuclear
submarine, all at the coordinator's behest."
"And
who's the coordinator?"
For
what might have been the first time, Carter smiled.
SHIT
happens.
That's
the only infallible popular wisdom there is. You don't have to be a
great scientist to prove it. You're feeling fine until suddenly one
day, out of the blue, you collapse like a house of cards; you plan
something with painstaking detail, but you can't possibly cover every
imaginable contingency; you predict what's going to happen over the
next four hours, but five minutes later you're totally disproved.
Shit
happens.
Harrison
had thirty years of experience under his belt, and yet he could still
be taken by surprise, downright shocked. Even horrified. Despite
everything he'd seen over the course of his career, he knew that
certain things were milestones. Markers. Events that divided
everything into a before and an after. "It's like snow falling
up," his father used to say. That was his expression. "Snow
falling up." Something that changes you forever.
Like
the inside of that Northwind.
That's
what he was thinking, sheathed in his overcoat, hidden in his
armor-plated Mercedes, as they sped back to Blanes's house.
Some
things leave a mark.
"There's
no answer, sir."
His
right-hand man was beside him. Harrison looked at him out of the
corner of his eye. He was a young guy, with a neat black mustache and
blue eyes; a doting father, devoted to his job, an Anglo-Saxon
through and through. The kind of man you can say anything to, order
to do anything, and know that he'll never question your decisions or
ask uncomfortable questions. That was exactly why he had to keep him
...
.pure,
if
that was the right word. Yes, that might be it. Pure. Virginal.
Isolated from the worst. Harrison was smart enough to know that you
can let your mind go crazy, but you must never let your hands do the
same.
"Should
I try again, sir?"
"How
many times have you called?"
"Three.
It's very odd, sir. And there's still no picture on the screen, just
interference."
That
was why he hadn't let him get on that plane. It was the right
decision.
May
a red velvet curtain hide those things from you forever, kid. May you
never see snow fall up.
Of
the three agents who had boarded the Northwind with him, two were
taken to a hospital, as had the pilots and guards. The third was more
or less OK, though he was heavily sedated. Harrison had coped, just
like he had with Marini's remains in Milan. He had experience. He was
a regular when it came to all things sick and horrifying.
"Call
Max."
"I
did. He's not answering either."
Dawn
was just beginning to break. You could see the light coming over the
treetops. It was going to be a beautiful March in the Madrid sierra,
though Harrison couldn't care less. He was exhausted after the hours
of stress at the airport, but he didn't have time to take a break.
Not until he decided what to do with the remaining scientists, with
those monsters (Professor Robledo included) who were responsible for
horrors like the one he'd just seen inside that Northwind.
A
van as dark and swift as his thoughts sped by in the other direction.
"We've
got coverage now, sir. I'm trying all the channels, but..."
Harrison
blinked. He was running out of ideas, but with the few he had left he
strung together a conclusion.
Neither
Carter nor Max are picking up.
Shit
happens.
The
scientists knew things that they shouldn't. They had found out, for
example, how Marini, Craig, and Valente had collaborated on
experiments Eagle wanted to carry out. Carter explained that Marini,
having panicked about what was happening, had confessed everything to
Blanes in a private conversation in Zurich. Harrison had proof of
that conversation.
Carter
had given it to him.
Paul
Carter. An irreproachable guy, a born warrior, a brick wall of a man,
and smart, too. Ex-military turned mercenary: the best kind possible.
Harrison had known him for over ten years and thought he knew
everything he needed to in order to say he trusted him 99 percent.
Carter had fought (or trained the kids who fought) in the Sudan,
Afghanistan, and Haiti, and was always available to someone who could
pay him for his services. Eagle, on Harrison's own recommendation,
had bought him (paying his weight in gold) to coordinate the military
side of Project Zig Zag. He had only one rule, as far as Harrison
knew. Just one code that he lived by: his safety, and that of his
men. That lent him a certain...
His
safety, and that of his men.
Harrison
fidgeted on the comfortable leather seat.
"I
don't
know what to make of it, sir. Max said he'd stay at the house with
Carter and..."
A
lightbulb clicked on in his brain.
That
van.
"Dave,"
he said through the intercom, speaking to the driver without changing
the tone of his voice. "Dave, turn around."
"Excuse
me?"
"Turn
around. We're going back to the airport."
BRAIN
drain.
Wasn't
that the term they used to explain the sad state of science in
countries like Spain? Victor tried to distract himself with word
games.
Three
scientists are going
down
the
brain drain, like taxpayers' money. They're fleeing like fleas. To be
hidden in Switzerland, like dirty money; to hide from the authorities
and save their hides.
And
there he was with the rest of them at Madrid's Barajas International
Airport, Terminal One, waiting for Carter to get their boarding
passes with fake passports at the Lufthansa counter. He hadn't even
been able to say good-bye to his family, though he'd managed to phone
Teresa (the department secretary) to tell her that he and Elisa had
come down with the same virus and would be out for a few days. He'd
taken delight in that lie.
It
was almost six thirty, but you couldn't see daylight in that part of
the terminal. Just early birds (both men and women) coming and going,
carrying leather briefcases and standing in line. The only thing
Victor had in common with them was that he was tired. He'd been up
all night listening to creepy, horrific stories about an invisible,
sadistic assassin that everyone was desperate to get away from. He
was terrified and tired, in equal parts. On the plane, no doubt,
fatigue would overcome fear and he'd get some sleep. But for now he
felt like he was on a caffeine drip.
"Harrison
probably knows what's happened by now," Elisa said. Looking at
her, Victor again thought that not even the most exhausting night
either of them had ever had could decrease her beauty.
What
a gorgeous woman.
Her
long, jet-black hair drove him wild; it framed her intelligent face
beautifully. He felt lucky to be with her. The smiles she flashed
him, and simply being by her side, made up for everything. It was
cold at the airport, or maybe that was just the excuse he used to put
his arm around her.
Misery
loves company.
That
was another saying. A cliché. Like brain drain. But cliché
or not, Elisa did seem comforted by that arm around her shoulders.