“Then…you already know.”
“I wasn’t even sure of that,” Quinn said. “If you know more, tell me.”
There was a long silence.
“It is very…ambitious,” the Mole began. “Remember…we only had the…damaged tissue…sample to work…with…nerve tissue it…turns out…still…we could only…guess.”
“But you know what it is, don’t you?”
“We were able…to download…the documents from the…address…on the bracelet.”
“You figured out the password?” Quinn said, surprised.
There was a pause. “Yes.”
“What did you find?”
“Two files…a document…and a video clip.”
“And?”
“The document…contains a breakdown…of the virus…it helped us to…understand why it was…not easily categorized…it has been tailored.”
“Tailored?”
“The document…had a brief note from Jansen…shall I read it…to you?”
“Okay,” Quinn said, unsure he really wanted to hear.
“‘The attached breakdown is what…the people paying…the bills have…dubbed an act of…purification,’” the Mole read. “‘What they believe…their scientists have created is basically…a genocide bug…designed specifically to…affect a targeted…population…what they could not…achieve in war…they think they…can achieve with this…new form of…ethnic cleansing.’”
The world around Quinn seemed to disappear. The cars, the trucks, the people. He could hear none of them, see none of them.
“These are individuals…who…think in old ways,” the Mole said, no longer reading. “Some ancestral fights…never seem to end…particularly when the…objects of their anger…share the same land…the same water…the same air…I would say by the…identity of the virus…base…the level of hatred…is extremely harsh.”
“So you do know what the base is?”
“It was difficult to…determine that at…first because…of the alterations…but Jansen’s documents told us…what…to look for…call it…a…supervirus…resistant to treatment…including previous…inoculations…easy to spread.”
“What is it?”
“Polio,” the Mole said. “A killer…and a maimer…all in one.”
Quinn held the phone tightly against his ear. He didn’t want to breathe or speak or even think anymore. He wanted to be out, to be far, far away. But running was not an option for him. Garrett needed him.
No, he thought. Not just Garrett.
“Who’s the target?” he asked.
“Muslims.”
“Arabs,” Quinn said in disbelief.
“No…you misunderstand…Bosnianks…Bosnian Muslims…”
Sonofafuckingbitch. “Borko’s a Serb,” Quinn said.
“Yes…but an…extremist…never forget that.”
Quinn’s breath caught in his throat. What had he heard on the news? It was while he was waiting at Sophie’s, while Dr. Garber examined Nate. There was a gathering, a meeting, something. What the hell was it? “It’s not the IOMP convention,” Quinn said as the memory came back to him. “It’s the EU Friendship Conference on the Balkans. It starts—”
“Tomorrow,” the Mole said.
The world that had disappeared a moment ago came rushing back at Quinn. He suddenly felt like he was being watched, that at any second the knowledge he now possessed would get him killed.
“It is…worse than you…think.”
“What do you mean?”
“Watch…the video.”
The idea of creating a disease to kill a specific section of the population made Quinn want to vomit on the spot. It was extremism in the severest of forms. If they were successful, the act would rival what Adolf Hitler had done to the Jews during World War II.
The choice of disease was revealing, too. Polio. Millions would die. And many of those who didn’t perish early on would be crippled and eventually have the life squeezed painfully out of them. Gruesome, hideous, atrocious, immoral. No word Quinn could think of seemed strong enough.
The Mole’s revelation did clear up one thing, though. Campobello. Quinn should have seen it earlier. Taggert, or rather Jansen, had been trying to deliver the message even after he died. It was right there on his driver’s license. Not Campobello, Nevada. Campobello Island. The one off the coast of Maine, where FDR had had a summer home. The same famous home he’d been in when he learned of his own polio diagnosis.
There was a small shopping mall on Karl Marx Strasse, near the north end of Neukölln. Quinn found an American-style burger place on the second floor with a couple of public Internet stations set up in the lobby.
The first thing he did was use the password the Mole had given him to download the video and save it to his memory stick. He resisted the temptation to watch it right away. There were too many people around.
Next, he pulled up a new window. He had a hunch, and he needed to see if he was right.
Within seconds he was on the website for Grob Communications. A link on the left side of the screen led him to a list of upcoming events being serviced to some extent or another by Duke’s company. Most of the list comprised names of German organizations holding meetings and conferences. But two others stood out:
International Organization of Medical Professionals
And several items below it:
European Union Friendship Conference
for the Balkan States
Quinn clicked on the conference. There were lists of which countries had accepted the invitation to attend and who they were sending as representatives. Grob Communications was organizing several events, including the opening luncheon at the St. Martin Hotel the following day — only hours after Borko’s deadline for shipment.
All the member nations of the EU would be represented, as well as Russia, Ukraine, and Switzerland. But the stars of the show were Croatia, Slovenia, Macedonia, Serbia, Montenegro, and Bosnia-Herzegovina. Each nation was sending dozens of attendees. By the looks of the list, most were civilians, people in positions of influence. The government officials on the list seemed to be mid-level office holders, probably the people who really got the work done. Quinn noted that the largest delegation by far was from Bosnia.
He sat back, letting it all sink in. After a few moments, he clicked off the Grob Communications website. He sent a final e-mail to the Mole, then went back outside and called Peter.
“Christ, Quinn. What the hell is going on?”
“Have you figured out who your double agent is yet?” Quinn asked.
“I told you. There is no double agent.”
After what Quinn had learned in Brussels, he’d begun to suspect that himself, but he wanted to hear the whole story from Peter. “Then who fed Borko the info he needed to take you down?”
There was a pause, then Peter said, “I know you’ve talked to Burroughs. So you know Jills was working for us.”
“Yeah,” Quinn said. “Why didn’t you just tell me that in the first place?”
“I had clients. Certain trusts that couldn’t be broken.”
“Yet you rolled over on Burroughs.”
“I gave you the name of someone you could talk to,” Peter said. “That’s all.”
Quinn shook his head. In Peter’s world, he had just been trying to save face. Even in desperation, he’d been unwilling to compromise his integrity. Not because of any moral code, but because doing so might jeopardize future work.
“What about Jills?”
“She wasn’t just a one-time hire. She’d started working for me fulltime six months ago. Not ops work. She was here with me, working on project planning. I put her on the Taggert job because I trusted her and needed it done right.”