“I have not limited my search to Chemturion biosuits,” the man said, bringing up a window that showed the records from the company’s sales. “There are a number of companies and governments that produce similar items, but I think we will be dealing with Chemturion. They sold a number of biosuits this year, and not all of them make sense. There is an order of ten to a biotech company called Biosynthetica, Inc. in Maryland.”
“Biosynthetica,” Johnston said.
“Ja. However, although they are registered, they do not seem to exist.”
Johnston raised his eyebrows. “Really?”
“Ja. Very suspicious. There is an address, but it is a suite in Essex. This—” He tapped at another keyboard and brought up a search engine and reverse phone directory. “—is actually a UPS Store, formerly a Mailboxes, Etc.”
“It’s a letter box,” Johnston said.
“Yes. They call their mailboxes suites so it might give the owner the appearance of having an office suite.”
“Do they have a computer—”
”Not that I have found yet, but wait a moment.”
Johnston knew better than to rush Vogel. The man understood the urgency, but he needed to lead Johnston through things step by step.
“We are also looking for biological cabinets — hoods, they call them — that can be used in biosafety level 3 or 4. The manufacturers of these are very few, and in the United States, even fewer.”
“Is it possible they bought them from outside the country?”
“Possible, but unlikely if they are doing what you think they are doing. Why bring such a device through customs and immigration controls? Why risk a possible red flag and the amount of paperwork necessary? Understand my reasoning?”
“Yes. Go on.”
“This company—” Another window on a second computer screen. “—Beckman… manufacturers a limited number of theses types of biological cabinets. They re-circulate the air within the facility only, not outside the facility. They have sold five of them in the last eighteen months. One to Fort Detrick. Two to the CDC. One to the University of Arizona. And one to—”
He tapped a key. Johnston read the invoice. “Biosynthetica, Inc. Damn. Same address?”
“Oh no,” Vogel said. This was shipped to the Frederick Airport where it was picked up personally by representatives of Biosynthetica, Inc.” Vogel cut again to another screen, this one indicating a pickup of a large freight container delivered from the Beckman manufacturing facility in Houston.
“Jesus.” Johnston’s heart sank.
“Ah,” Vogel said. “We are on the trail, my…” He smiled. “Comrade. We are on their trail. You see, though we do not have access to the UPS Store computer, they did not pay for this biological cabinet with cash. They used a credit card. A corporate credit card with Citibank Visa.”
“It has a mailing address,” Johnston said, heart racing.
“Ah. UPS Store in Essex. The same drop box. However…”
Johnston looked at him, waiting.
“However,” Vogel repeated. “This credit card has some very interesting activity on it.”
“It’s being paid.”
Vogel brought up the Citibank Visa computer system. Johnston didn’t want to think about the security they must have and how easily Vogel had gotten through it. “From an account in Geneva, Switzerland, Banque Diamantaire Anversoise (Suisse) S.A. That would take some time, I’m afraid. No, back to Citibank Visa. You see, they have been buying vehicles — Humvees and motorcycles and panel vans. These are interesting, but I’m afraid they are a dead end. No, what interests me is this—” The man’s finger pointed to a line in the Citibank Visa listing. It was a reference to another credit card.
“What’s that?”
“A second line of credit. For another company related to Biosynthetica, Inc. It is for a company called TFA Holdings, Inc. They have a corporate headquarters in Sioux Falls, Iowa.”
“Address?” Johnston demanded, starting to lose his patience.
“Another UPS Store. It does not matter. I believe it’s a mail drop for a shell corporation. TFA Holdings owns four companies.”
He brought them up on the computer. Angelika Research, Inc. JavaJones Materials, Inc. RAC, Inc. Andarbek Industries, Inc. “They are all incorporated as off-shore accounts, they all have credit and, as far as I have been able to tell, do not actually exist except as these corporations. However…”
Johnston waited. There was something in Vogel’s manner that indicated that this might be worth waiting for.
“However,” Vogel said. “Andarbek Industries, Inc. claims to be involved in warehousing non-perishable food products to be distributed to small stores — your so-called mom-and-pop fast food stores.”
Johnston looked confused.
“Andarbek Industries, Inc. appears to have leased a large warehouse in Alexandria, Virginia from TGLM Properties,” Vogel said.
“A large warehouse,” Johnston repeated.
Vogel brought up an address and a map of Alexandria. “Ja. I would check this out, James. But very, very carefully.”
52
Derek, lying with his own blood smeared on his face, didn’t have long to wait. Only a few minutes after slumping to the cot he heard a noise at the door. It swung open and a blue spacesuited figure stepped in and crouched over him. In one quick motion Derek hooked his arm behind the figure’s legs and swept them out from under him. With a cry the figure crashed to the floor, thrashing awkwardly in the clumsy spacesuit.
Derek leapt over him, sprinting into the main part of the laboratory. A second spacesuited figure stood momentarily paralyzed before racing toward the door. But no one could run fast in a spacesuit and Derek was on him in a second, catching the figure from behind, bringing his arm around the neck of the spacesuit and spinning around and hauling the figure with a spine-cracking thrust over his shoulder. The figure crashed to the laboratory floor and lay motionless, the helmet of the spacesuit at an odd angle.
Derek returned to the first spacesuited figure, who was climbing to his feet. He recognized the features of Dr. Kim Pak Lee through the visor of the helmet, eyes wide in panic. Derek rushed him as the Korean desperately tried to reach a laboratory bench. Derek intercepted him, grabbing the spacesuit material in both hands and slamming the scientist to the floor. It was no contest, really. With nimble fingers Derek detached the helmet and yanked it off Lee’s head.
“Not in here!” Lee hissed. “This is Level 4.”
“Life’s a bitch,” Derek said, pressing his forearm into the Korean’s neck. “Now, you’re going to tell me what your plan is.”
“I will not!”
“You will!” he said, applying more pressure to the scientist’s neck, mindful of how this had gone horribly wrong with Irina Khournikova… or Nadia Kosov.
“No! It is too late. The Fallen has already begun. You cannot stop it!”
“Where is he?”
Lee clamped his mouth shut. Furiously, Derek tried to think of something he could say or do that would make the man talk. His gaze roved over the laboratory equipment on the counters and on the open shelves. He locked in on a glass bottle. It said H2SO4 on the label.
He hauled Lee to his feet and dragged him over to the counter. With one hand holding Lee, he picked up the bottle of sulfuric acid in the other. He uncapped the glass stopper.
“I’ll start with your eyes,” he said.
Lee blinked.
“And I’ll burn off your face. And make you drink it. But believe me… you’re going to tell me what you’re doing with Chimera. Where’s Coffee? Where’s The Fallen?”