Shofu looked over at Houston. “If you release this unknown form of anthrax, who is to say that it won’t kill three or four billion people before it can be stopped?”
“Shofu, my old friend, the beauty about this disease is that it burns itself out after ninety days,” replied Houston, triumphantly. “There will, of course, be some remote regions where it may go longer. But it has been projected that after ninety days, the virus will be gone and along with it, one-third of the world’s population.”
“What about the world’s supply of farm animals such as cows, pigs, and sheep? If they die as well, you will be dooming billions more to starvation,” pointed out Heike.
Houston shook his head, “I was worried about that too. However, the virus has been modified by my scientists to be harmful only to human beings.”
“What if it doesn’t burn itself out?” asked Mitchell. “What if, like most viruses, it mutates and becomes something that you cannot control?”
The room went quiet.
Houston, paused, smiled at his accomplices and then said, “Mister Mitchell, we have run through countless computer simulations, including the one you just described. I can assure you and everyone in this room that the disease will burn itself out ninety days after it’s released.”
“What if you’re wrong?” asked Mitchell.
“I’m not.”
Kazan asked, “How do you intend to distribute the virus?”
“Initially, it will be dispersed via human hosts into the air at several major airports around the world,” replied Houston. “As it is the Christmas season, the airports will be packed with holiday travelers who will be unwittingly exposed to the virus and take it home with them. Within days, people will start to die all across the planet. The second wave of the disease will be dispersed via a supposed cure for anthrax, which will be sold through several shell pharmaceutical companies in Asia and Latin America. Once the disease hits, people will be clamoring all across the globe for a cure.”
“This is madness!” yelled Owen. “Please think about what you’re about to do and stop it before it begins. Uncle David, you don’t need to do this.”
“It’s this or the slow extinction of the human race through war, disease, and famine!” replied Houston, raising his voice. “We have been given a once in a lifetime opportunity to shape the future of this planet, why not seize the chance while we can?”
“At a considerable profit for yourself,” added Mitchell. “After all, you’ve already fleeced the people in this room of half of their companies. What I’d like to know is, how many billions of dollars is enough for you?”
“That doesn’t concern you,” snapped Houston.
Mitchell grinned; he’d hit a sore point with Houston. “Hey, you’re the one who invited me here.”
“And now I’m asking you to leave,” replied Houston bluntly.
Mitchell heard the sound of a weapon being cocked behind him. Slowly, he stood and locked eyes with Houston. “I don’t understand. Why did you bother to tell me any of this?”
“Because, believe it or not, I did not relish giving the order to have you killed. I still believe that the world is going to need people like you when it resets itself in three months’ time,” said Houston. “Think about what you’ve just heard. If you and your associates willingly join me, I’ll let you all live.”
With that, Mitchell felt a hand on his shoulder.
“It’s time to go now. Don’t try anything stupid,” warned the black guard.
Mitchell quickly leaned down towards Owen and whispered, “He’s mad.”
With a sharp tug, the guard pulled Mitchell away and shoved him towards the door. As he stepped out into the hallway, his heart skipped a beat when he saw McMasters standing there with an evil grin on his face.
“Remember me?” said McMasters.
Before Mitchell could move a muscle, the black guard brought his rifle down on the back of Mitchell’s neck, knocking him to the floor, unconscious.
33
With the taste of too many bad coffees in his mouth, Jackson walked through the airport terminal, unsure of his next move. All he knew from his phone call back in Colombia was his destination and nothing more. He had never been to Albania, let alone Tirana. As he stood there looking around, his ears picked up least a half-dozen different languages. Most people around him spoke English, German and a language Jackson took to be Albanian. He was about to make his way outside to get some fresh air to clear his head when a slender Asian woman in blue jeans and undone black leather jacket walked towards him. Jackson smiled. It was Grace’s young accomplice, Midori.
“How was your flight, Mister Jackson?” asked Midori.
“Long, real long,” he replied.
“Please follow me, we have a bit of a drive ahead of us today,” said Midori as she turned around and headed for the nearest exit.
A sleek black BMW X3 pulled up to the curb, and Jackson and Midori got in. The driver, an Albanian employee of Grace’s, introduced herself as Aleksandra. Jackson wasn’t sure if that was her real name; deciding that he wasn’t going to bother asking, he sat back and asked where they were heading.
“North,” replied Aleksandra cryptically, as she pulled away from the curb and sped off. Within minutes, they were on a highway moving away from the capital.
Hours later, Aleksandra turned off the main road and took a winding trail up into the mountains. They slowed down when they came to a picturesque village with streets barely wide enough for their car to navigate. At the other end of the farming community, Jackson was surprised to see, on a small hill overlooking the road, a couple of abandoned concrete pillboxes sitting there like a pair of silent sentries. Albania was littered with pillboxes and other defensive works, built during the Cold War, which now sat quiet, slowly being reclaimed by the countryside.
Finally, after another hour driving along the narrow mountain roads, Aleksandra brought their car to a halt outside of an old house that reminded Jackson of a German Gasthaus. He followed the women inside and saw that it was set up like a Bavarian restaurant, complete with young servers walking about in white shirts and leather lederhosen. They took a table in the back.
Jackson’s stomach rumbled. He picked up a menu to see what there was when Grace Maxwell walked into the restaurant and joined them at their table.
“Good evening, Mister Jackson, I hope that you’re well rested after your flight,” said Grace.
“Yeah, it was long, but I managed to sleep most of it away,” replied Jackson. He glanced down at his watch and saw that he had forgotten to change the time. “What time is it here?”
“Just after seven,” answered Midori.
“I suggest that we have something to eat, as it may be hours before any of us gets a chance again,” said Grace.
“Sounds good to me,” said Jackson, who promptly ordered a meal of Wiener Schnitzel with fries and vegetables.
After all of their meals arrived, Jackson looked over at Grace. “How did you figure out that Ryan is in Albania?”
“It was too easy. I used the plane’s tail numbers to track their movements,” replied Grace. “All planes have to register their flight plans before taking off. Mitchell’s plane was scheduled to fly on to Spain to refuel before heading to Albania.”
“You sure got the information quickly,” observed Jackson.
Grace smiled. “All it took was a small bribe to an airport official, and voilà, I had the plane’s destination. As Midori and I were already in Europe, it didn’t take us long to get here.”