The Conspiracy II Page 2

  “You don’t think there’s any real danger here in Washington, do you?” Rob asked Jim, who was peering out the back window.

  “We’re just cautious by training,” said Jim. “You’re in my city now. I don’t want any mistakes.”

  “You think the Chinese will want to do me harm?”

  “There are over two thousand Chinese agents active in the United States right now. We’re watching them all. But to answer your question, no, if they let you leave Beijing it’s unlikely they will want to do you harm now.”

  Jim sat back.

  “Where are we heading?” said Rob.

  “You’ll see,” said Jim.

  They headed downtown and turned onto K Street. At a six-story glass block, they went down a parking ramp. Their vehicle passed through a metal frame and Jim showed his ID card at a camera. A steel shutter rolled up and they entered an underground parking lot.

  “Not many in today,” said Rob, looking around. A row of similar vehicles to theirs stood on one side of a mostly empty car park.

  “Yeah, working from home is good for a lot of people,” said Jim. “We only come in when we’re needed.” He adjusted his mask and led Rob to an elevator. It required a pass to open. Jim’s pass had to be used again for the elevator to move.

  He pressed six and a few moments later the elevator doors opened and a wall of air-conditioned air hit them.

  “Keep your mask on here, sir,” said Jim.

  “You guys like it super chilly,” said Rob, moving his arms to get his circulation going.

  “Yeah, a lot of people want to keep this building cold,” said Jim. “It’s not the way I’d have it.”

  He walked ahead, pushed open a door. Beyond was an empty conference room with three large screens at the far end.

  They sat. Jim took a keyboard from the long black table and tapped at it until the screens came to life.

  There was no audio, just video images of three people, one on each screen. One of them was Faith.

  “Before I turn the audio on, I need you to sign something,” said Jim. He picked up an iPad from the table, tapped at it.

  “Scrawl your signature on this.” He handed Rob a white Apple iPad stylus.

  On the screen was a box under his name. Rob scrolled up. The language was dense. The clauses numerous.

  He speed read it.

  After he was finished, he signed. “I see this means you can chop me up into little pieces and bury me in any state I choose,” said Rob.

  “We can do that, anyway,” said Jim. “This just means we can pick the state too.” He put a hand up. “No, to be serious, Rob, anything you learn from being in contact with us is considered top secret under the Espionage Act, that is title eighteen of the United States Code.”

  Rob nodded. “I’ve signed this before,” he said. What he was wondering was what all the enhanced security was about.

  “You signed something for the State Department. This is for the agency.”

  “I thought the FBI looked after internal security matters inside the United States,” said Rob.

  “I work for a joint task force,” said Jim.

  “OK, what do you want from me?”

  “Hold on.” Jim tapped at the keyboard.

  Faith gave a thumbs up on the screen. “Good to see you, Rob,” she said.

  Rob gave her a brief smile. She had done something to her hair. It looked as if a storm had blown through it. It was good to see her.

  “Rob, meet Dr. Alan Strong. He runs TOTALVACS, a vaccine manufacturing firm here in the United States. We wanted you two to meet.” Jim looked over at Rob and gave him a nod.

  “Alan, our friend Rob can give you updates on some vaccine trial plans,” said Jim.

  “First,” said Rob, moving in his chair. This was not going as he’d expected. “Can you give me some background, Dr. Strong. Have you been involved in vaccine manufacture for long?”

  Dr. Alan Strong looked at Rob as if he was a homeless man who had been brought in off the street.

  “I assumed you’d be up to speed on all this before our meeting,” he said. He looked disgruntled as he tapped at something in front of him.

  A pie chart replaced his face on the screen.

  “You need funding for your phase three trials, Rob,” said Dr. Strong. “That’s what we can do for you.”

  “We haven’t got a phase three plan yet,” said Rob. Not one he wanted to talk about anyway.

  “You’re doing a phase two for a few hundred participants, Rob. What you need is to move fast to phase three, as soon as early phase two results are in. That will mean planning a full-scale, thirty-thousand participant trial at the same time as running your phase two. This is what we call an accelerated trials program. It’s what I think you should be doing.”

  Rob fought against an urge to tell Mr. Know-It-All what to do with his advice. He looked at the pie chart. It was titled TOTALVACS FUNDING. It had slices for United States government, pharmaceutical industry, charity endowments, and global investment trusts. Each was about the same size and marked with hundreds of billions of dollars.

  He had to take this guy seriously.

  “You’re well funded,” said Rob. He paused. Funding was the big issue for doing their phase three right. “So what do you want for funding our phase three?”

  “A fifty percent share in an offshoot of your institute created to exploit the breakthroughs you’ve achieved.”

  “I don’t think so. I have partners, you know,” said Rob. He shook his head, his gut tightening at the thought of what a partnership with TOTALVACS might mean—threats and opportunities. “I don’t make such decisions alone.”

  “Work with us and your vaccine will be quicker to market and it’ll save a lot of lives,” said Dr. Strong. “We all need to work fast, McNeil, put aside our personal differences. Humanity deserves every single shot at beating this virus. Isn’t that what you want to do? Save the world. A lot of the vaccine projects currently in the works look like they’re going to fail to me. Your one looks promising. Work with us.”

  Rob didn’t answer. The guy had a point. A quicker, funded phase three trial would be a real help.

  “You have three days to get their buy-in, Rob. Don’t leave Washington,” said Jim.

  Faith smiled.

  “What’s your part in all this, Faith?” said Rob.

  “I’ll be working with you,” said Faith. “Putting you two together was my idea.”

  5

  Labinsk, SW Russia, May 29th, 2020

  Vladimir put the sample box on the seat beside him. At least this train had proper first-class cabins with lockable doors, wide seats that folded down, and a restaurant, though with limited service. He’d been warned in the station restaurant that he should stock up with a lavash sandwich with cubed lamb and a few bottles of local water before he boarded, as the food service on the train had been restricted to bars of Russian chocolate and hot tea.

  He’d taken the advice. Why he’d chosen to go back to Moscow by train was another question. The journey would take almost twenty-two hours.

  The reason was paranoia.

  The sample he was carrying proved that the Coronavirus had jumped to chickens and could wipe out an entire Russian industry—five-hundred million chickens producing billions of eggs a month and a big fat percentage of the meat for all Russian tables.

  Word of his trip and the destruction of the farm would have reached the ears of many interested parties already. He didn’t think someone would plant a bomb on a plane in such a short space of time, but a colleague had died in a mysterious plane crash a decade before. It was possible.

  And some ruthless people knew Vladimir was heading back to Moscow with samples.

  Better safe than dead.

  He put his jacket over the sample box, checked the door was locked, and lay back as the train picked up speed, heading away from the foothills of the Caucuses on the long journey north to Moscow.

  6

  Washingt
on DC, May 29th, 2020

  “You sure know how to put someone on the spot,” said Rob. They were being driven back to Rob’s hotel.

  “You want to sign up, right? It’s the patriotic thing,” said Jim, hitting Rob’s shoulder with his fist.

  Rob didn’t respond. There were small investors in the institute, but the two big players he’d have to convince, Sean Ryan and Peter Fitzgerald, would take some talking around. Sean was American, but Peter was English.

  Dr. Strong was right about one thing though, they needed proper funding for a large-scale phase three trial. Funding applications had been submitted, and they were confident they’d get what they wanted, but nothing was ever sure with medical research until after the funds hit your bank account.

  Did Strong know they were waiting for responses?

  The car stopped at a traffic light. It was green. Jim peered forward to see what was happening. A stream of people, black and white, many holding placards, were crossing the road in front of them.

  “I thought the big demo was tomorrow?” said Jim.

  “Getting in some practice,” said Rob.

  “Some people like to make us look bad,” said Jim.

  “Who do you mean?” said Rob.

  “I’m sure you can guess,” said Jim.

  “You want to meet for dinner tonight?” said Rob, to get the conversation back to business.

  “Where to?”

  “There’s a Chinese restaurant near their embassy. I want to check it out,” said Rob. “The review in the Washington Echo said embassy staff often ate there, so it has to be good, right?”

  Jim looked at him, shook his head. “You’re not going to go rogue on me, are you?”

  “Would I invite you along if I was?”

  They moved off from the lights and sped through light traffic toward Rob’s hotel. When they reached it, he opened the door, stepped out, and turned to Jim.

  “Eight o’clock, the Eye of the Ocean. And if Faith’s around, ask her to join us.”

  “What makes you think Faith is in DC?” asked Jim.

  “I bet you the tab for the restaurant that she is.”

  “It’s probably closed, anyway,” said Jim.

  “It is, but still do a great takeaway and we can order their famous spring rolls. We can eat them in one of your vehicles and catch up. Humor me.”

  Jim was still shaking his head as the door of the black Chevrolet closed and the vehicle moved off.

  It was possible they wouldn’t show, but they’d probably be intrigued enough to do so. Letting him wander around close to Chinese Embassy staff would make them anxious. Having him under control would be their goal.

  He let himself into his hotel room and went straight into the shower. He had a free afternoon and there was a lot he needed to do.

  An hour later, after grabbing a ham and cheese bagel from the limited-service coffee shop inside the hotel, he was walking out of town toward the Chinese Embassy. He needed some air. And he needed to think, to come up with a plan.

  Two blocks from the hotel, he picked up a cab. It took only fifteen minutes to reach the tree-lined street which held the embassy. The building was an off white, ultramodern design, set back from the road on a street lined with other embassies.

  He paid the driver and went to the semi-circular single-story security building, which controlled access to the embassy compound. The gate leading into the compound was closed. A giant red Chinese flag waved from a high flag pole inside the gate. Security cameras pointed in his direction as he knocked at the glass door into the security building. His knock echoed. No one came. He knocked again, louder.

  He knew he was acting crazy coming here. Jim and Faith had probably already been notified; they had to be watching this place, but he didn’t care. The woman who had probably killed his wife was here, and he didn’t believe the Chinese would try to kill him for knocking on their embassy door. But he was sure that if he didn’t try to see her, try to get some closure, it would eat at him for as long as he lived.

  He knocked again, this time with his fist, sending reverberations through the tall plates of glass that made up the entrance.

  A shadowy figure appeared behind the glass. It was a Chinese security guard. He was angry, waving at Rob, motioning him to go away. The guard pointed at a notice taped to the glass to the inside of the door. Rob had read it already. Because of the Coronavirus, the embassy is closed. Applications for visas and passports can be made online. A website address was shown.

  He knocked again, shaking his head. The security guard shook his head and waved Rob away, more angrily this time.

  Rob turned his back on the guard and rapped with his knuckles on the glass.

  He continued rapping, taking a break, and rapping at the glass again for five, then ten, then about twenty minutes.

  Finally, the door to his left opened and a face with a white N95 mask peered out at him.

  “You must go away,” said an angry voice. “We closed.”

  Rob rushed to the door and put his foot in the gap. The guard shrieked and kicked at Rob’s foot. A steel-capped toe connected with Rob’s shin, but he didn’t move. The guard raised a weapon, a taser with a yellow snub nose.

  “Step back. This Chinese state property. Leave now,” the guard shouted.

  “I’m not leaving. I must see one of your staff, now. Right now.”

  A surge of anger poured through him. Behind the guard, two others were rushing toward them. The guard he was struggling with hesitated, as shouts in Chinese echoed from behind him. Rob took his chance and slammed his shoulder into the door. It burst open. He pushed in.

  Hands grappled him, threw him face down. He turned as he went down. His shoulder hit the floor first, jarring his teeth.

  He’d certainly got their attention.

  As he was being searched, he looked out the window and back toward the street. A black Chevy with dark windows was passing slowly by. The noon sun glinted on its chrome. The taste of blood filled his mouth.

  7

  Rostov on Don, SW Russia, May 29th, 2020

  As the train approached Rostov on Don, it grew dark. The gold onion domes of an Orthodox church twinkled on the horizon. The land was flat and green with trees. As they slowed, approaching the station, he could hear people in the corridor outside.

  He finished the rest of his sandwich and read the cheap paperback he’d picked up in Moscow before flying down the night before.

  He looked out the window as the train stopped with a hiss. The station was mostly empty. A couple of people with red face masks were hurrying toward a side exit. He settled back to finish his sandwich as the train pulled out of the station five minutes later. A spray of twinkling lights flashed by as the city disappeared behind them.

  Two hard knocks sounded on the door to his compartment. He covered the sample box with his jacket, made sure his leather holster button was undone, and clicked the door lock open. The door came toward him fast.

  “This is a passenger inspection,” boomed a voice in thickly accented Russian. “Have your papers ready.” The first man who pushed in was a giant with a hard face. It looked as if he could take a few bullets and still pull your head off your shoulders.

  “I am FSB,” shouted Vladimir, reaching for his wallet and ID. “You are not allowed to disturb me.”

  The giant put a hand up to grab Vladimir, who stepped back to get out of his reach. The man was clearly used to people stepping away from him as he proceeded to crowd Vladimir toward the window. A second man was now in the compartment.

  “We must examine all packages passengers are carrying,” said the second man. “There’ve been a number of lone-wolf terrorist incidents and we have full state authority to check all passengers and cargo traveling from Rostov on Don.”

  Vladimir put his hand on the giant’s chest and pushed. The man swung his hand up to grab Vladimir. He pulled his pistol and pressed it into the man’s side.

  “Call off your dog or I will blow him apar
t,” said Vladimir with a growl into the giant’s face.

  The giant either didn’t hear him or didn’t care. He stepped closer to Vladimir and squeezed him back against the window. Lights flashed behind Vladimir as they passed through a station. The train whistle sounded. An overpowering smell of stale sweat came to him. He licked his lips. His finger twitched on the trigger.

  And then, someone grabbed his pistol and bent it awkwardly down.

  He pressed the trigger. A deafening burst of gunfire echoed in the compartment.

  The giant screamed like a child. He stepped back into the man behind him.

  Vladimir looked down. As he’d expected, the two-bullet blast had missed the giant. The blue couch where Vladimir had been lying had two holes in it.

  “Sit down, both of you, and put your hands on your head.” Vladimir swung the pistol from one man to the other.

  They complied. The giant was looking at his jacket. There were two holes in it. He’d been lucky. The bullets had passed closer to him than Vladimir had expected.

  The door of the compartment burst open. Two train guards, big men with dark bushy beards, rushed in.

  “I’m FSB,” said Vladimir. “I am on important state business. Take the handcuffs these men must be carrying and cuff them.”

  The train guards looked from Vladimir to the two men. One of them started speaking in a local Russian dialect. The smaller of the two men who’d rushed him replied.

  The two train guards walked toward Vladimir.

  “Identity document,” one said.

  Vladimir pulled out his FSB ID.

  “Apologies, comrade,” said the older of the guards.

  8

  Washington DC, May 29th, 2020

  Rob groaned as they pushed him down the white-walled corridor. The embassy reeked of disinfectant. The four men escorting him all had masks on. Masks with respirators. His own mask had fallen off. They didn’t seem to care. When they reached the end of the corridor, they opened the door to what looked like an interview room and pushed him in. One of them shouted at him in Chinese and dropped a white face mask on the table.