“I’m sorry, but the hard disk from the computer at the cybercafé is a dead end,” announced Stefan Zurn to his brothers Raimond and Udo, as they walked into the hotel room carrying sandwiches. “Public computers in cybercafés are notorious for being infected with keystroke-logging spyware — a phenomenon I had hoped to exploit. But in this case, the computer had an updated security suite installed. Also, cookies were disabled in the browser, and there was nothing useful cached in virtual memory. I found no clues to help lead us to Foster.”
“It’s okay. I know where he is,” Raimond replied, clapping his hand on his younger brother’s shoulder.
“How?”
“It appears the American made a fatal mistake — he trusted a woman,” Raimond said. Udo laughed loudly at the comment, too loudly, and it annoyed him. “As I was saying, Foster contacted a woman who lives in Wien and asked her for help. She’s also an American; her name is Julie Ponte.”
“And your source is?”
“Our employer, Frau Morley, she phoned me personally with the good news five minutes ago.”
“Even the coldest of bitches eventually warm to your charms, brother. How do you do it?”
Raimond laughed. “After you hacked her VoIP account, I called her directly in her office and blackmailed her. She’s been most cooperative ever since. The hack was a nice piece of work, by the way.”
“Danke. It was nothing. A child could have done it,” Stefan said and then added, “Blackmail is terribly underrated in my opinion; it has been working so well for us all these years.”
Raimond tapped the top of Stefan’s laptop computer screen and said, “Let’s find out where Julie Ponte lives, shall we? Ponte is spelled “P-O-N-T-E.”
Stefan opened a browser window and performed an Internet search. “Hmm,” he mumbled as his eyes scanned the list. “I find only one woman in Wien named Julie Ponte. I’ll SMS the address to your phone.”
Raimond’s phone chimed and the text message with Julie’s address appeared on the screen. Their job had become so much simpler with the advent of the Internet and mobile phones. Finding people had once been a tedious and painstaking endeavor, now it was as simple as a click of button.
“What now?” asked Udo.
“We pack the van and drive to Wien. It’s time to collect our fee.”
“Tell me something, Raimond. Why is this American, Will Foster, so important?” Stefan asked.
“They don’t tell me why, and I don’t ask. Remember, we are like garbage men; we get paid to clean up other people’s messes. They don’t want to see us. They don’t want to talk to us. And most of all, they don’t want to know what we do with the trash.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“Oh, my God,” Julie uttered. Will looked at the screen and then at Julie, perplexed, “Is it significant that Vyrogen owns Leighton-Harris?”
She stole a glance at the maroon-colored mouse pad on her desk. Printed beneath the company logo in bright white letters were the words:
Wien Bioscience
a Vyrogen Company
She repositioned the mouse so that it covered the text. Dodging his question, she redirected, “What was the name of the facility in Prague where you were held in quarantine?”
“I don’t know. It was total information blackout at that place from the day I arrived. The facility was part research hospital, part laboratory. All I know is that my pants had the words ‘CN Hospital’ stenciled across the butt.”
Julie opened a new browser tab. She entered “Prague + CN Hospital” as a new search string in Google and pressed the search button. The page refreshed with the search results. She scanned the list and clicked on a link she thought looked promising. The site was written entirely in Czech and had no English language option. As she scrolled, she quickly ruled out the site, as it was full of pictures of dogs, cats, and smiling veterinarians. She clicked back to Google and entered a new search string: “Vyrogen + Prague + CN Hospital.” The screen populated with a new list of links, and she read through them until one caught her eye. She clicked on the link and it took her to a BBC World News article reporting:
“… US-based multinational drug giant, Vyrogen Pharmaceuticals, has announced today that it has acquired Chiarek Norse, the fifth largest research hospital in the Czech Republic…”
“Holy shit! That’s it!” Will said, reading over her shoulder.
Julie looked up at him. “So it seems. I have one more hunch I want to check.”
She opened a third browser tab, and repeated the drill. This time she searched for “Vyrogen + CDC + Xavier Pope.” The first hit was a link to a Wall Street Journal article. She clicked on it and found an announcement listing:
“New Jersey-based Vyrogen Pharmaceuticals has announced today that Dr. Xavier Pope, formerly of the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, has been hired as the director of the company’s Immunological Therapeutics Division.”
“When did you enroll in the vaccine trial?”
“About five months ago.”
“Look at the date of this press announcement,” Julie said.
“Four months ago.” Will grimaced. “So, Vyrogen recruited Pope away from the CDC because of me.”
“Do you know how huge this is, Will?”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”
Julie rubbed her temples. She didn’t dare tell him that, technically, she worked for Vyrogen too. When she had accepted the position at Wien Bioscience five years ago, it had been an independent and privately held Austrian company. Eighteen months ago, Wien Bioscience had been acquired by Vyrogen. As was the Vyrogen strategic policy, any acquisition that had strong brand equity retained its name and was permitted to function with tolerable autonomy. Julie had never really considered herself as working for “Vyrogen,” but she knew who wrote her paychecks. She could only imagine how Will would react, if she told him. He would immediately reclassify her as the enemy and distance himself from her, if not physically, definitely emotionally. His trust in her would be obliterated.
Her mobile phone chimed. She retrieved it from her purse and checked the caller ID.
BLOCKED.
“Hmm,” she said, and then warily pressed the TALK button. “Hello?”
“Julie Ponte, my name is Meredith Morley,” said the voice on the line, “You have something that belongs to me, and you’re going to help me get it back…”
Ashen-faced, Julie hung up her phone and turned to Will.
“What was that all about?”
“I’ll explain later. Right now, we need to get the hell out of here.” She darted to her closet, grabbed a backpack, and began stuffing it with essentials.
“Talk to me, Julie. Who was that on the phone?”
“Vyrogen. They know you’re with me. It’s only a matter of time before they come here.”
The look in her eyes was all the motivation he needed. He swiped her mobile phone from her hand and powered it off. “They can track us with this,” he said, handing it back to her. “Keep it turned off.” Then, he grabbed the computer printouts off the desk and began stuffing them into the bag.
“Shhhh — quiet,” she whispered.
Will froze. In the stillness, they heard the deadbolt click open on the apartment door.
“Shit, they’ve found us!”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Will ducked behind the half-closed door to Julie’s bedroom. She handed him a pair of scissors from her desk, which he turned point downward and gripped like a knife. Her Viennese city apartment was small and bereft of hiding places. Their only hope was for Julie to distract the intruder momentarily so that he would have the element of surprise for an attack.