The Einstein Pursuit (12 page)

Dial tried not to stare. To him, Olsen looked like he belonged on a slab, not in a lab.

‘Dr Alexander Olsen, this is Chief Nick Dial,’ Eklund said in English. ‘He’s here from Interpol’s main office in France to help us work through a case. Chief Dial, this is Dr Alexander Olsen, professor of anatomy here at the university. Though I assure you his knowledge covers a wide array of other topics.’

‘
Bonjour. Ravi … de … vous rencontrer
,’ Olsen said in broken French.

Dial shook his hand. ‘I’m actually an American.’

‘An American from France in Sweden?’ Olsen said, as if trying to work things out in his head. He stared at Dial for an awkward moment before finally accepting the situation. ‘I assume you’re here because of the explosion?’

‘Unfortunately, yes.’

Olsen turned away and busied himself with a box of specimen jars. They were filled with formaldehyde and a wide assortment of body parts from cadavers. The gangly doctor gave no indication that he was at all intrigued by Dial’s visit. It was as if unannounced visitors from foreign law enforcement agencies were a daily occurrence.

Dial leaned close to Eklund. ‘Is he always like this?’

‘Admittedly, yes,’ Eklund said. ‘I don’t think he gets out much. The bodies are his life, and everything else is secondary. I know, it’s sort of off-putting at first, but you get used to it.’

‘Like I said, it’s your show.’

Dial had met nearly every type of personality over his years of service, and an obsessive scientist barely registered on his intolerance scale. To be honest, what struck him more was the way in which Olsen had dehumanized the corpses. To Dial, every body meant a life lost, a future unfulfilled. But to Olsen, they were simply pieces of meat to be studied. He didn’t disapprove of Olsen’s approach; it was the nature of his job.

‘What do you know about the incident?’ Dial asked. He knew the media had reported the explosion, but many of the details about the laboratory had not been released.

‘I know that more than a handful of scientists lost their lives,’ replied Olsen. ‘People talk. Someone says that an explosion destroyed a lab in Stockholm, and suddenly my phone is ringing off the hook. Half the callers were checking to make sure I wasn’t one of those caught in the flames, the other half were people wanting to know if I knew anyone that was.’

‘Did you?’

‘Not that I’m currently aware of, but these things take time. I’m sure once you have sorted through all the bodies there will be a name or two that I’m familiar with.’

‘Why do you say that?’ Dial asked.

‘Because the scientific community in Sweden is a tight-knit group, and the Karolinska Institute is the center of their universe.’

‘So I’ve heard.’

Olsen looked up from his specimens, suddenly concerned. ‘Wait! Is that why you’re here? To tell me all the people from the institute who were killed?’

‘No,’ Eklund said in a calming tone. ‘We’re here for the science. Nothing more.’

‘Oh, good … Wait! What science?’

‘That’s what we were hoping you could tell us. If we showed you a list of supplies and equipment, could you explain what it might have been used for?’

‘Sure, where’s the list?’

Eklund opened a folder and handed Olsen a sheet of paper. But before he reviewed it, Olsen made a point of putting on his extra-long and way-too-wide lab coat. He obviously thought it made him look intelligent; Dial thought it made him look like Gandalf.

Of course, at this point of the investigation, they could use a little magic.

Olsen studied the list for nearly a minute without muttering a single word. Eventually, he shrugged his shoulders and sighed. ‘I’ve
never
seen a lab like this.
Ever
.’

‘Meaning what?’ Eklund asked.

‘Labs like this simply don’t exist. These chemicals. This equipment. It’s like someone took every area of science known to man, put them into a blender, and poured the resulting concoction into this list. To run a lab like this, you would need a chemist, a molecular biologist, and I don’t know – experts in at least a dozen other fields.’

‘Well, we have experts like that at the scene,’ Dial said.

‘Then why are you talking to me?’

‘Because all of them are in body bags.’

The Payne Industries building was guarded around the clock by a security force that had been hand-picked by Payne and personally trained by Jones. It was the safest place in the city to keep Sahlberg until they figured out what was going on.

Not only did the building house hundreds of offices for the company’s employees, it also had a magnificent penthouse on the highest floor. The scenic residence gave Payne the option of staying in the building when his meetings ran late or whenever an early flight had been scheduled. From here, he could wake up, grab a quick bite, and be taken by chopper to the airport instead of having to fight rush-hour traffic from his house in the suburbs.

It was also a great place to entertain.

On this night, the only person they were worried about was Sahlberg. He was nursing a glass of wine at the dining room table, well out of earshot of Payne and Jones, who were preparing dinner in the kitchen. Though both of them could cook, neither was in the mood after that day’s events, so their preparations involved little more than pulling a pizza out of its box and dumping the cartons of takeout pasta and salad into serving dishes.

Though it wasn’t a two-man job, it gave them a chance to speak in private.

A chance to debrief. A chance to honor the dead.

Jones stuffed a piece of garlic bread into his mouth. ‘Holy shit! Did you see that guy fly through the air? He flew, like, fifty feet. I knew I hit him hard, but that’s ridiculous.’

Payne shook his head. ‘You didn’t hit him. Your Escalade did.’

‘But I was driving.’

‘Is that what you call it? From where I was standing, it looked like you were ducking, not driving. You’re lucky you even hit the guy.’

Jones rolled his eyes. ‘Speaking of ducking, isn’t that what you were doing when I arrived? I don’t remember seeing you in the middle of the street when I risked my life and car to kill the gunman who was trying to kill you.’

‘You didn’t see me because I was inside the station – you know, the one filling with tear gas – taking out several gunmen on my own.’

‘That’s not true.’

‘What’s not true?’

‘You didn’t do
anything
on your own. From what I understand, the old Swede saved your ass on the incline. Then I saved your ass on the street. How embarrassing is that?’

‘Not as embarrassing as your lip. It looks like a Snickers bar.’

Jones pretended to be insulted. ‘Despite your malicious, unprovoked and possibly racist comment, do you know what bothers me the most?’

‘The fact that I’m younger, taller and richer than you.’

Jones shook his head. ‘Unless I’m mistaken, you haven’t thanked either one of us yet.’

‘Actually, I planned on doing that over dinner – an Italian feast that I ordered myself and paid for with my hard-earned inheritance – but you had to ruin the moment by questioning my gratitude. You should be ashamed of yourself.’

Jones stared at him. ‘So where does that leave us?’

Payne arched an eyebrow. He knew exactly what his best friend was referring to. ‘Where does that leave us? Do you really want to compare how many times you’ve saved my life versus how many times I’ve saved yours? Really?’

‘No,’ Jones grunted. ‘You’re still ahead.’

‘DJ, it’s not a competition – but yeah, I’m
way
ahead.’

Most people would have been traumatized by the events at the incline, but Payne and Jones were able to joke about it with ease. It was a defense mechanism they had developed over their years of service in the military. Even in the direst of situations, they never lost their sense of humor. Besides, a few dead men and some tear gas paled in comparison to the horrors of war.

Payne and Jones carried the food and water to the table where Sahlberg was sipping his wine. He was staring aimlessly out the window, captivated by the panoramic view.

‘Dr Sahlberg, are you okay?’ Jones asked.

Sahlberg snapped to attention and turned to face Payne and Jones. ‘Yes, yes, I’m fine. Thanks to you. Thanks to both of you.’

‘Happy to help,’ Payne replied.

‘Says the guy who’s going to have my Cadillac detailed,’ Jones teased.

‘Nonsense!’ Sahlberg said. ‘Whatever the damage, I’ll pay for the repairs.’

‘That isn’t necessary,’ Payne clarified. ‘He was joking. But I do have a few serious questions for you, if you don’t mind?’

‘Not at all,’ Sahlberg replied.

‘Well, for starters, who the hell is following you?’

‘I wish I knew. I went for a walk this afternoon, and when I came home there were four men waiting at my house. Actually, they weren’t waiting; they were breaking in. They were disguised as deliverymen, but I watched them pick the lock and pull guns. At that point, I fled.’

‘Why?’ Jones wondered.

‘Why did I flee?’ Sahlberg asked, confused.

‘No. Why are you so valuable that someone would send a team of heavily armed thugs to track you down at any cost?’

‘Probably my work,’ he said cryptically.

‘What does that mean?’

‘I’ve spent the last six decades working with some of the finest minds in the world. Not working with them personally, at least not every day, but working in the same circles.’

‘In what field?’

‘Biomedical research, mainly. With forays into the associated fields: engineering, chemistry, things of that nature.’

‘What does any of that have to do with Payne Industries?’ Jones asked.

‘And why call me?’ Payne added. ‘When people feel threatened, they don’t usually turn to their former employer for help. They go to the cops.’

Sahlberg stared at him. ‘I’ve heard the stories. I know what you’re capable of.’

Payne returned his stare, unsure how much Sahlberg knew about his past. As a former employee, he would definitely know about Payne’s military career, since it was mentioned on the company’s website, but only his closest friends – those with very high security clearances – knew about his time with the MANIACs. ‘What stories are those?’

‘I know about your time in Greece, and your recent adventures in Mexico.’

‘You mean
our
adventures,’ Jones blurted. ‘Not just his.
I
was there too.’

Sahlberg nodded. ‘I also know you’re someone I can trust.’

Payne arched an eyebrow. ‘How do you know that?’

‘Because your father spoke of you often.’

Payne’s father had died when Jonathon was in the eighth grade. As a kid, he knew his father was being groomed by his grandfather to take over the operation of Payne Industries, but he never fully understood his father’s role in the corporation. His memories were more personal. Things like the backyard football games on Thanksgiving with the other families in the neighborhood, and the days they would play hooky from work and school and head over to Kennywood, an amusement park in the Pittsburgh suburbs.

That was how Payne remembered his dad.

Those were the memories he clung to.

As Payne’s involvement in the company grew, he had reviewed many of the files relating to his father’s work there. He had hoped to better understand what his father had accomplished, but what he had found provided little insight. Most of the projects his father had worked on had been short-term undertakings, usually in conjunction with numerous subcontractors. Few people within the company could remember any meaningful interaction with his father, and those that could described him as Payne Industries’ jack of all trades: a man who would bounce from project to project as needed, helping when he could but mostly keeping to himself.

Sahlberg, on the other hand, appeared to know his father personally, yet until that morning, Payne had never heard of Sahlberg or his research.

He was eager to learn why. ‘Please start from the beginning. I want to know everything about you, your research for the company, and your connection to my father. The more I know, the sooner I’ll be able to figure out today’s events.’

Jones cleared his throat. ‘What Jon meant to say is: the more
we
know, the sooner
we’ll
be able to figure out today’s events. Sometimes he forgets about me.’

Payne grabbed the bowl of pasta and scooped some on to Sahlberg’s plate. ‘Actually, I didn’t mean that at all. Besides, how could I forget about you? Your lip is the size of a bagel.’

Sahlberg laughed at their banter. It had been several weeks since he had spoken to his own best friend, and he missed their late-night conversations. ‘I studied both biology and medicine at Lund University in Stockholm. I won’t confess to the year, but suffice it to say that it was long before either of you were born.’

‘Good school,’ Jones offered.

Payne glanced at him, silently asking for clarification.

Jones recognized the look. ‘It would be like Princeton or Harvard.’

Payne nodded his understanding. ‘Go on.’

‘I was a bit of a scholar – what you might call a nerd or a geek these days – and was courted by the Royal Swedish Academy of Sciences. Though top of my class at Lund, I would have been just another drone at the academy. There, only a Nobel Prize earns you recognition among your peers. Perhaps it was arrogance that led me in another direction, or maybe it was fear that I would never live up to their expectations. Whatever the case, I was far more intrigued by the offer I received from the young entrepreneur at the American steel company.’

‘My father,’ Payne said.

‘Yes,’ Sahlberg replied, ‘your father.’

Payne hadn’t realized that his father had traveled overseas to recruit scientists to work at Payne Industries. The mere thought of it was intriguing – and confusing.

Sahlberg continued. ‘He came to me upon my graduation and invited me to dinner. He said he only wanted an hour of my time, and if I wasn’t convinced by then, he would never bother me again. Though I couldn’t see any connection between the steel industry and my work, I was young and poor, and the offer of a free meal was enough to bring me to the table.’