She pointed to the file. “There’s background information in there,” she said, referring to Ranga’s profile. “Some of it you may know, some of it maybe not.”
Hawker began to read. She could see the tension in his face, could sense him battling the frustration and anger.
“I hate to say this,” she added, “but that’s not the worst of it.”
Hawker looked up.
“The day before Ranga’s disappearance, a letter was received at the UN. It carried a rather bizarre rambling threat and also some form of unknown virus.”
“I heard about an anthrax scare,” he said. “Is that what we’re talking about?”
“That’s just the cover story,” she said. “To keep people calm.”
“Anthrax is the cover story?” he repeated. “What the hell is the real story then?”
“It’s bad,” she said. “It’s like nothing anyone has seen before. It may be close to one hundred percent infectious. The threat indicates it is designed to cause a plague.”
By the look on his face, Hawker had already guessed where this was going. “And the source?”
“The letter was anonymous, but on an impermeable layer inside the envelope they found fingerprints pretty much everywhere. The prints are Ranga’s.”
Hawker looked up at the ceiling and exhaled. It wasn’t a look of disbelief but a look of frustration, as if something long feared had just been confirmed.
“He said he’d done something unforgivable. I’m guessing this is it.”
“He was your friend,” Danielle said, “so I don’t expect this to be easy. But I need you to tell me anything about him that we might not already know.”
“You know more than I do,” he said, holding up the file.
“We don’t know what happened in Africa. We have pictures, guesses. You were with him.”
He closed the file but held on to it. She sensed a reluctance to talk on his part, but he spoke anyway.
“I met Ranga in ’05. I spent fourteen months with him and his daughter, providing protection. First he was looking for funding and then he took a job in the Republic of the Congo in central Africa, studying drought-resistant crops or something like that. I went with them.”
He put the file down, pushed it away.
“It didn’t take long for them to ask him for something more, something other than what he’d agreed to. Eventually they began to make threats. At one point they tried to take his daughter hostage to force his hand.”
Hawker glanced out the window. The Citation had begun to taxi.
“After that he promised them whatever they wanted and things calmed down for a while. I don’t know if he believed them or if he just wanted to use them as long as he could, but I almost had to put a gun to his head to get him to leave.”
“He’s known to be obsessive,” she said.
He nodded.
“Usually people like that have an ax to grind. Some perceived slight to avenge. Did you sense that at all?”
Hawker shook his head.
“Did he ever tell you what he was working on? Or at least hint at it?”
Hawker leaned back, a distant look in his eyes, as he tried to recall.
“He talked more about God than genetics,” Hawker said. “Wondered how any god could allow what was happening around the world. He seemed to cycle between atheism and fearing that God was punishing him for things he’d said and done. I remember him asking what a man like me thought about divine retribution.”
Knowing Hawker’s past, she understood why the question might matter. But the issue was Ranga.
“Do you think he’s capable of this?” she asked. “Not the construction of the virus — we assume that — but the use of it?”
Hawker took his time. “I know Interpol has him labeled as some public enemy — slash — mad scientist. I’ll give you the mad part, but the guy I knew could not be a mass murderer. On our run out of the Congo, he would not carry a weapon because he didn’t want to kill anyone.”
“People change,” she said.
“You asked me what I thought.”
“I did,” she replied.
“He was trying to get my help for a reason,” Hawker said. “Someone was hunting him. My guess is, whoever that was caught him and forced him to send the virus. I mean if you’re going to foist a plague on the world and send the letter anonymously, are you really going to be dumb enough to get your fingerprints all over it?”
It was a good point. And the fact that the UN letter had come through internal sources while Ranga Milan was three thousand miles away meant someone else was involved. But who?
Unfortunately, UN security was almost wholly focused on the perimeter. Few cameras or controls were allowed on the inside, so the diplomats could move and talk freely without fear of being recorded.
Across from her, Hawker leaned forward. Looking into her eyes, his intensity ratcheting up, he spoke.
“I honestly don’t know what the hell Ranga was doing. Either then or now. But I know he was basically a good man. I feel it. I saw it. Otherwise he would have just given the bastards in the Congo what they wanted. Or he would have given these people what they wanted instead of ending up dead.”
She paused, considering what he’d said and the force with which he’d said it. She knew he was leading up to something. She could guess what it was.
“You want to go after them?”
He nodded. “When this plane lands in Hamburg, I’m off the clock. I’m asking for whatever information you can share. But I can’t let this stand.”
“I understand how you feel,” she said. “I’m not surprised. But there’s a bigger issue.”
“You’re going to fight me on this?”
“No,” she said. “I’m going to help you. We — the NRI — we’re going to help you. It’s an odd coincidence, but Ambassador Gonzales was once an employee of the NRI, ten years ago. And as you’re now working with us, the powers that be have determined that we’re the appropriate agency to work this case. Back home we’re teaming with the CDC to study the virus, out here … out here we’ve been ordered to track down the players involved, if we can. That includes the people who killed your friend.”
Hawker sat back again, a look of concern on his face.
“You’d rather do it alone?” she asked.
“No,” he said.
“You don’t believe we’ll be helpful?”
“No,” he said. “I don’t believe in coincidence, and for the second time in twenty-four hours I’m staring one in the face.”
Danielle nodded. She didn’t much believe in coincidence, either, but the fact was, Claudia Gonzales had worked for the public division of the NRI, as had several hundred thousand other people over the last decade. Many of them had gone on to important careers in corporate America, politics, and other government agencies. Gonzales had no connection with the operations division, would not even know its real purpose, and certainly, having left ten years ago, knew nothing about Hawker’s role with the NRI.
If ever there was a coincidence, this was one.
“Does it change your mind?” she asked.
“No,” he said. “Nothing on earth could change my mind right now.”
Danielle nodded and pressed her intercom switch, buzzing the pilot.
“We’re ready for takeoff,” the pilot said.
“Good,” she replied. “As soon as we’re over international waters, I want you to amend the flight plan.”
“Where to?”
“Paris?” she said, looking over at Hawker.
He nodded.
“Direct to Paris,” she said, speaking to the pilot.
Hawker leaned back in his seat. He offered a halfhearted smile. “Wish it was under better circumstances,” he said. “But it’s nice to be working with you again.”
CHAPTER 7