The Einstein Pursuit (38 page)

‘You go up,’ Payne said. ‘I’m going to check out the basement.’

‘See you outside,’ Jones replied as he raced up to the next level. He kicked the door open and ducked behind the wall as shots ricocheted around him.

The goon waiting for his arrival had just missed his best opportunity.

Jones stepped through the door and aimed his rifle where he expected his opposition to be, but there was no one visible in the gloom. All he could see were the animal cages he had passed on the way in. Row after row of mice, rats, cats and more. All of them riled up from the panic and noise and fear. They, more than men, could sense danger.

Suddenly Jones saw a shadow dart across the room.

Two more joined the hunt, moving more quickly than humanly possible.

Another shot rang out, this time missing Jones by mere inches. He returned fire with a spray of bullets from his M4 and used the commotion to adjust his position, creeping around toppled transport cages that were now strewn about the room, trying to locate his target. He steadied himself and listened, hoping that his quarry would give himself away.

What he heard instead sent a chill down his spine.

The man’s scream was shrill. A horrified shriek like the wailing of a banshee. It was followed by two rapid gunshots, then a sickening, gurgling plea for help.

Jones stepped forward cautiously, unsure of what he would find. As he came upon the gunman, he realized that shooting him would have been an act of kindness.

But he wasn’t in the mood to be kind.

A dead chimpanzee lay at the man’s side. He had killed it with the pistol that dangled from his limp hand. The other two chimps were busy dismantling the man’s face. His eyes and ears had been removed, and his throat had been torn open. Jones could see from the man’s wounds that he was close to death, as the carotid artery had stopped spurting blood into the pool that had gathered around his head. Now it was just a trickle.

‘Got what you deserved,’ Jones muttered as he retreated toward the exit, not the least bit concerned about the angry chimps. He had set them free earlier, and they had cleared his way. He knew they wouldn’t attack him from behind.

‘Headed for the surface,’ Jones announced.

‘Copy that,’ Rhino answered. ‘You have eyes on Panther?’

‘Negative, Rhino. Panther, do you read?’

But Payne did not respond.

As Payne entered the basement, the acrid scent of burned flesh and noxious gas stung his nostrils. He had seen pictures of the crematorium used in the Stockholm laboratory, but this was different … very different. This was something straight from the horrors of Auschwitz or Dachau. Here the incinerator was virtually the entire floor – a long corridor of flamethrowing nozzles that could be sealed at either end.

The chamber was open.

And gas was venting into the room.

A cough from somewhere in the distance pulled Payne’s attention from the gas that was spreading throughout the basement. Then he heard loud, labored breathing.

Following the wall of the incinerator deeper into the basement, his rifle at the ready, he found the source of the sound as Hendrik Cole emerged from the shadows at the far end of the floor. Blood seeped from a gunshot wound in his abdomen.

Cole wouldn’t survive the night without medical attention.

Payne knew it, and Cole knew it too.

He laughed at the sight of Payne. ‘I’d put the rifle down …’ He pulled Tomas Berglund into view. He looked terrified. ‘… Unless you want us all to burn.’

Payne knew he was out of options. He could feel the air thickening with the flammable gas used to fuel the incinerator. If he fired his M4, the muzzle flare would ignite the room, turning the basement into a raging inferno.

‘Masseri gave us up before you killed him?’ Cole asked. When Payne didn’t respond, a surprised smile spread across Cole’s face as he began to understand the truth. ‘You didn’t kill him, did you? He
led
you here.’ He laughed at the thought.

‘And I’ll bet you thought assassins were trustworthy,’ Payne taunted.

Cole shrugged as blood seeped from his gut. ‘Good help is hard to find. I guess I’ll just have to make better decisions in the future.’

‘What makes you think you have a future?’

Cole pounded on the metal wall. The hollow echo of the tunnel behind it resonated throughout the room. ‘Always give yourself a way out.’

Payne lowered his rifle. ‘You better run fast. I’ll be coming.’

Cole opened the steel door and pushed Berglund into the tunnel. He lingered in the doorway for an extra second. ‘Actually, you’re the one who better run fast.’

As he pulled the door shut behind him, he lobbed something back into the basement. Payne immediately recognized the device as a flash-bang grenade. It wasn’t normally lethal, but he knew that the white-hot spray of burning magnesium that would erupt from the canister was sure to ignite the explosive vapor hanging in the air.

He cursed and broke for the stairwell, trying to outrun the flames. As he sprinted up the stairs, he felt the air rush past him as the exploding grenade drew in the available oxygen before exhaling in a mighty roar. He turned a corner and slammed a door, flames nipping at his heels. By the time he was at the top level of the compound, the fire had reached the main lab. Freshly fueled by the chemicals, the flames devoured the top two stories of the building just as Payne charged through the exit.

Jones watched as his best friend dove for cover a split second before the front entrance of the building was destroyed by the explosive force of the escaping fire. He ran forward and dragged Payne from the reach of the flames. As he did, he could smell the acrid stench of burned hair and cloth. He looked down to make sure his best friend wasn’t on fire.

‘Jon,’ he demanded, ‘are you okay?’

Payne opened his eyes and shook his head, clearing the ringing in his ears. ‘They got away.’

‘Who?’

‘Cole and Berglund. They got out through a tunnel in the basement.’

Without saying a word, Jones used a series of hand gestures to notify Hulk and Rhino of the development. In response, the two soldiers took off into the woods surrounding the compound. Jones helped Payne to his feet, and together they stumbled toward the crowd of rescued scientists that had gathered a safe distance from the building.

‘What of Herr Cole?’ a man asked nervously in a heavy German accent. ‘He is dead?’

‘I’m afraid not,’ Payne answered. ‘He made it out.’

‘Tomas?’ a woman’s voice shouted.

‘He made it out as well,’ Payne assured them.

A murmur of relief ran through the crowd.

‘Does anyone know where the tunnel under the building ends?’ Jones asked.

A slight man in his fifties stepped forward. His accent gave away his Swiss ancestry. ‘I’m afraid none of us were permitted into the basement. Only Mr Cole and his men were allowed on that level. We know nothing of a tunnel, or anything else that took place down there.’

From the tone of his voice, Payne and Jones could tell that the scientists understood the implications of what happened in the basement. No doubt they had sent countless test subjects to the lower level for disposal. How that was accomplished and who was in charge of the actual disposal was a mystery that none of them were eager to uncover.

A third man, younger than most and of Asian descent, approached the group and spoke to them in a language that neither Payne nor Jones could understand. The Swiss scientist nodded his agreement with whatever the man was talking about.

‘Doctor …’ Jones said, looking for the Swiss scientist’s name.

‘Yuler,’ the scientist offered. ‘Roger Yuler.’

‘Dr Yuler, what’s he saying?’

Yuler explained. ‘He says that a tunnel makes sense. It explains the sudden arrival of our patient, even at the oddest of hours.’

Payne frowned. ‘Your patient? What are you talking about? I thought this was an experimental facility.’

Yuler shook his head. ‘We are studying experimental sciences, but this is a
medical
facility. Though we are limited to specific areas of treatment, I assure you that our sole intent is to offer aid.’ His tone was now defensive, as if he were trying to justify the secretive nature of the compound, even though they weren’t working there by choice.

‘I’m confused. What were you treating?’ Payne asked.

‘Cancer,’ Yuler replied.

‘That doesn’t explain
this
,’ Jones chimed in. ‘A lot of people are treating cancer. And they aren’t doing it at gunpoint inside a secret laboratory in the middle of nowhere.’

‘A lot of people
are
treating it,’ Yuler agreed. ‘But I assure you that no one is treating it quite like we are.’

‘Keep talking,’ Jones pressed.

‘Cancer is, at its basest level, a mutation. A cellular anomaly that turns the body against itself. Its causes are broad and varied, but the treatment is almost always the same: remove or reduce the affected areas, counter the secondary infections and other ailments with pharmaceuticals, and hope that the cancer retreats into a state of remission.’

‘You’ve come up with something more effective?’ Payne guessed.

‘Not me personally,’ Yuler replied. ‘I was merely a consultant. Tomas Berglund is the true mastermind behind our therapy.’

‘Which is what?’ Jones asked.

‘Rather than treat the effects of the cancer after the cells have mutated, Tomas envisioned a method of preventing the abnormalities altogether.’

‘How?’ Payne asked.

‘Nanotechnology,’ Yuler answered. ‘He developed a microscopic vessel – essentially an artificial cell – that could not only eradicate cancer cells, but could also seek out other, precancerous cells before they could transform into something life-threatening. These synthetic entities could actually be programmed to detect the precursors of the cancerous formation: chemical flags that signal the forthcoming malignancy.’

‘You could wipe out cancer before it even existed,’ Jones stated in fascination.

‘Theoretically, yes, with a high enough dosage. But delivering enough of the agent to search every part of the body proved impossible. The immune system interprets the introduction of that many foreign bodies as an all-out invasion. The resulting defense is more than the body can handle.’

‘The therapy ends up killing the patient,’ Payne summarized.

‘Yes, but only when we attempted to immunize the
whole
body. By concentrating the therapy to one organ or another – in other words,
localized
treatment – our methods proved almost one hundred percent effective. In clinical trials, the primary concern was not the conflict between the treatment and the immune system; it was establishing guidelines for a proper dosage. Fortunately, there are a number of factors to guide us. In real-world applications, a patient’s family medical history would be considered.’

‘So, localized treatments were working on your patient?’ Jones asked.

Yuler shook his head. ‘Unfortunately, they were not an option. When our patient came to us, his cancer had already metastasized throughout his body. Our only option was to alter the primary course of therapy.’

‘In what way?’ Payne wondered.

‘We first allowed the nano-cells to locate and eradicate the known cancers. Then, to stop his body from destroying itself, we reprogrammed a second batch of nano-cells to destroy his white blood cells, lymphocytes, T-cells, and all his other defenses.’

‘You replaced his immune system?’

‘We did.’

‘And now your technology is the only thing keeping him alive.’

‘It is,’ Yuler admitted. ‘And the effects are finite. The nano-cells cannot replicate, nor can they function in perpetuity. If the inoperative nano-cells are not continuously flushed out of the system and replaced by new nano-cells, something as innocuous as the common cold would have devastating effects.’

‘Jesus,’ Jones mumbled under his breath.

Payne remained focused. ‘That explains the
what
, but what about the
who
? Someone went to great lengths to establish this facility and keep you all here. We need to know who it was.’

Yuler agreed. ‘Our patient was Harrison Zidane.’

As a young man, Zidane had worked for an industrial radiography company owned by his father. His job was to transport canisters of material used in X-ray technology – the derivation known as iridium 192 – to and from the various facilities that produced and utilized the radioactive isotope.

During one of his deliveries in northern Africa, a canister of iridium somehow fell from his truck. It was discovered by two children, who played with it for five days before presenting it to their grandmother. Unfortunately, the radiation damage caused by the iridium led to severe chemical burns in the case of the children, as well as thyroid and breast cancer in several relatives and neighbors. At the time, it was assumed the kids must have pried the canister open or it had been damaged when it had fallen from the truck. After further study, it was determined that the company had improperly contained its product.

The family had been exposed to the iridium for less than a week.

Zidane had been transporting the element for more than a year.

His contact with the radiation had been intermittent, but the sum total of its effect would make itself known. By the age of forty, Zidane had undergone a multitude of biopsies to remove tumors throughout his body. By fifty, he had been diagnosed with a wide variety of cancers. Though he had managed to evade an immediate death sentence – the cancers were fought with aggressive surgery and intensive chemotherapy – the doctors did not give him much time.

Determined to live, Zidane used the modest inheritance from his father’s estate to finance anything that might discover a cure for his ailments. Along the way, his efforts made him a vast fortune and eventually led him to Tomas Berglund, who gave him something much more important than money.

Tomas Berglund gave him hope.

Payne and Jones had saved many scientists at the laboratory in Rakovnik, but they had failed to deliver the two things they had promised Masseri: Tomas Berglund and Hendrik Cole.