“We never-,” Paris began but Cyrus walked quickly to him and slapped him so hard across the face that Paris was knocked halfway around. He would have fallen had Tonton not stepped up and caught him.
“Don’t ever make excuses to me, boy. That’s all you’ve ever done. You were a disappointment as a child, and as a man you’re a joke. At least your sister has enough personal integrity to say nothing when she has nothing useful to say.”
As Tonton moved, Conrad Veder used the opportunity to shift his position. He had a plastic four-shot pistol in a holster inside his pants. The bullets were caseless ceramic shells that would explode a human skull. He could draw and fire in less than a second.
Hecate said, “What did you mean that you were going to kill our clients?”
Cyrus smiled. “You see, Paris? When she speaks she asks an intelligent question.” He clasped his hands behind his back. “I’m sure you’ve wondered about the water. About whether there was something in it.” When Hecate nodded, he said, “Did you test it?”
“Of course. We found no trace of poisons or pathogens.”
“Naturally not. There are no pathogens in the water.”
Hecate nodded. “Genes,” she said. “You’ve figured out how to do gene therapy with purified water.”
Cyrus looked pleased. “You were always my favorite, Hecate. Not nearly the total disappointment your brother has become. Did you do DNA testing?”
“We started to,” she said. “We haven’t finished.”
“What did you think I put in the water?”
“One of the genes that encourage addiction. A1 allele of the dopa-mine receptor gene DRD2, or something like that.”
“If I was a street nigger who wanted to sell crack cocaine maybe,” Cyrus said harshly. “Have more respect.”
She shook her head rather than give the wrong answer.
“Otto and I-and a few very talented friends-have spent decades weaponizing ethnic-specific diseases. Ten years ago we cracked the science of turning inherited diseases like Tay-Sachs and sickle-cell anemia into communicable pathogens. Anyone with a genetic predisposition to those diseases would go into full-blown outbreak after even minimal exposure to the pathogen.”
“But there were no pathogens in the water!” Paris said.
“No. The pathogens are being released into lakes, streams, and reservoirs worldwide. The bottled water contains the gene for the disease. Drink a bottle of water… even brew a cup of tea with it… and specific ethnic groups and subgroups will develop the genetic disorder. Within a few weeks they will be vulnerable to infection from the pathogens in the regular drinking water. Or from exposure to anyone who has become infected. No one would think to look in the bottled water for the genes because no one can do gene therapy with bottled water.”
“No one except us,” said Otto. “Funny thing is… it wasn’t as hard as we thought.”
“But why?” demanded Hecate. “This is monstrous!”
“It’s God’s will,” said Cyrus. “It’s the beginning of a New Order that will purify the world by removing the polluted races. Blacks and Jews and Gypsies and-”
“Are you fucking crazy?” demanded Paris. “What kind of Nazi bullshit is this?”
Cyrus’s smile grew and grew. “Nazi. Now… the moron shows a spark of intelligence by choosing exactly the right word.”
Hecate looked confused. “Wait… you’re a Nazi? Since when?”
“Since always, my pet. Since the very beginning.”
“Since the beginning of what?”
“Since the beginning of Nationalsozialismus,” Cyrus said, letting his German accent seep through. “Since the beginning of National Socialism in Germany. For me personally, I first embraced the ideals while working in the reserve medical corps of the Fifth SS Panzergrenadier Division Wiking. But it wasn’t until I met Otto at Auschwitz that I discovered the full potential of the party ideals.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” snapped Paris. “That’s World War Two crap. You weren’t even born then…”
Otto and Cyrus laughed out loud. “Idiot boy,” said Cyrus, “I was older than you when I came to work at Auschwitz. I was older than you when I made a name for myself that the world will never forget.”
Paris shook his head, unable to grasp any of this.
“Father… you’re rambling,” said Hecate. “You were born in 1946.”
“No,” he said, wagging his finger back and forth, “Cyrus Jakoby was born in 1946. As were a dozen other cover names in six countries. But I was born in 1911.”
“That’s impossible!” said Paris.
Cyrus looked around. “We stand here in the midst of unicorns and flying dragons and you tell me antiaging gene therapy is impossible? Otto and I have been tampering with those genes for years. Granted there are…,” he gestured vaguely to his head, “… the occasional psychological side effects, but we’re managing those.”
“But… but…,” Hecate began. “If Cyrus Jakoby is an alias… then who are you?”
Otto said, “He’s a man you should be on your knees worshiping. Your father is the boldest, most innovative medical researcher of this or any generation.”
The Twins stared at him, and even Veder’s eyes flickered with genuine interest.
Cyrus touched his face. “Under all of this reconstructive surgery, beneath the changes I’ve made with gene therapy to change my hair color and eye color… beyond the façade,” he said, “I am the former Chief Medical Officer of the infirmary at Auschwitz-Birkenau. I am der weisse Engel-the ‘white angel’ that the Jews came to fear more than God or the Devil.”
He smiled a demon’s smile.
“I am Josef Mengele.”
Chapter One Hundred Eight
The Dragon Factory
Twenty minutes ago
The guard never heard a sound. He strolled back and forth along the footpath between the docks and the main building. He chewed peppermint gum and glanced now and again at the stars. Patrol duty was boring. Except for the night when the hit came in, the months of his service at the Dragon Factory were a huge ho-hum, and he’d been off-shift that night. The hit team had been taken out by a Stinger dog and one of the Berserkers.
The guard hated the Berserkers. Those ugly goons got all the perks. Everyone thought they were so cool. Fucking transgenic ape assholes.
He spit out his gum and began to turn to pace back to the dock.
He never heard a sound, never felt anything more than a quick burn across his throat when Grace Courtland came up behind him and slit his throat from ear to ear.
GRACE DROPPED THE corpse and two of her men dragged it into the bushes away from the light from the tiki-torches.
She ran like a dark breeze along the edge of the path. Grace sheathed her knife and drew a silenced.22, and as she rounded the corner she saw two guards-one bending forward to light his cigarette from the lighter held in the cupped hands of the second. Grace shot them both in the head, two shots each.
The path ended at the front of the building where two immense men stood guarding the tall glass doors. There was too much light from inside the building for a stealthy approach. Grace signaled to Redman, her second in command. She indicated the guards and gave a double twitch of her trigger finger. Redman waved another operative forward and they flattened out on either side of the path and flipped night vision over the scopes of their sniper rifles. Both rifles had sound suppressors. It would drop the foot-pounds of impact, but at this distance the loss of impact would be minimal.
Redman fired a split second before Fayed. Two shots, two kills. The big guards slammed against the glass doors and fell.
Grace Courtland smiled a cold killer’s smile and ran forward.