Sam watched as all three cars exploded simultaneously.
The shockwave produced was almost enough to destroy the Magdalena and definitely enough to injure every single person who surrounded her on the ground.
No more than a few seconds later, he felt the Magdalena lurch forward as Ryan and Brett cut the anchor ropes.
He pushed the throttles forward to full, and the airship began to pick up speed.
Behind him, Sam heard the scattered sounds of gunfire.
“They’re waking up!” Sam yelled.
“We’re on it,” Brett replied, as he ran out onto the open-air gangway.
Sam adjusted the settings so that the Magdalena was ready to fly at maximum speed.
Then he heard the sound of the grenades exploding below.
Once the explosions settled, the sound of gunfire ceased.
Sam set a course, and sailed the Magdalena toward home.
Chapter Thirty
Sam knocked on the door of his father’s Boston penthouse.
It always irritated him that he should still have to do this. The place was guarded more heavily than the Pentagon, his father would have already known that he was on his way up, or else Sam would never have been able to reach his floor. It was that simple.
Standing next to him, Aliana was wearing a flowery dress, which he thought made her appear even more beautiful, if that was even possible. Despite receiving the sad news of her father’s death, she was determined to see the good in the world, and vowed to make the Wolfgang Corporation the leader in medical research using the additional 10 billion dollars now in her father’s bank account.
Aliana, Sam decided, would make his father happy, if nothing else.
“Enter.” His father’s voice sounded as though he really did believe that he was right up there with God.
Sam walked in, holding Aliana’s hand in his.
“Afternoon, dad.” He said, as he found his father sitting next to another, older gentleman wearing an Armani suit. He might have been any one of his father’s many employees, advisers, politicians, or anyone whose name appeared on the Forbes Top Ten Rich List. “This is Aliana, the girl I told you about.”
His father stood up and kissed her on both cheeks, “I’m James Reilly, and it’s an absolute pleasure to meet you.”
Sam noted that his dad didn’t bother to introduce the old man with whom, he’d been sitting, and Sam didn’t bother to inquire. If his dad didn’t choose to make the introduction, it was because he didn’t want to. His father might be an arrogant, certified megalomaniac, but no one ever said that he was anything less than exceptionally intelligent, precise and deliberate in everything he did.
A butler entered, and handed Sam a glass of red wine. Grange. 1994 vintage. Then he gave Aliana a glass of white Muscato. She looked at Sam as if to say, how did he know exactly what I like? “Don’t feel too excited, Aliana,” he said, “It would have been Martin, my dad’s butler, who took it upon himself to find out what you like to drink. My old man wouldn’t have thought about offering us any refreshments at all.”
“That’s not true, Sam. I don’t like to be the only one drinking, when I’m not alone.” His father continued to completely ignore the older man, who still sat quietly at his side, sipping his drink. “And where’s Tom?”
“He’s back on the Maria Helena.”
“Ah, at least that makes one of you who actually does some work for what I pay you,” James Reilly said. “And, Aliana, what type of work do you do?”
“I’m a microbiologist. I’m soon to complete a PhD in microbiology at MIT.”
“Excellent. And when do you start working for me?” His father said, assuming that all intelligent people should be under his employ.
“Thank you, but I plan to lead the research department of my late father’s company.” She then smiled politely at him, and said, “I’ll let you know if I’m ever in need of a job.”
“You do that, won’t you?” He then turned to Sam: “So. What’s your plan now? When do you return to the Maria Helena?”
“End of the week. First, Aliana and I are going on a holiday. A real one this time and then we’re both returning to work. The Maria Helena is off to the Gulf of Mexico, where a large amount of dead sea life has recently washed up ashore. My money is on one of the big mining companies doing something they shouldn’t be doing.”
“Mexico? Well, they can’t pay very much, surely?” His father said, sounding disgusted.
“They don’t pay at all,” Sam corrected.
“You’re doing pro bono work now, son?”
“No, technically, I’m still being paid by you,” Sam quipped and then laughed. It was a rare day when he got the best of his father.
“Hurry back, and do some real work — something that at least brings money into the company, will you?”
“You do know that dead fish in Mexico will lead to dead fish in the U.S., don’t you?” Sam asked.
“Ah, that’s not my problem,” His father said, arrogantly.
The older gentleman sitting next to James Reilly turned to look at him, and said in his upper-class British accent, the precise class of aristocratic British snobbery to which his father could relate, “Thanks for the drink James, but I must be on my way home. I have a flight to catch. They won’t hold my Lear Jet indefinitely. Glad to hear it all turned out well for you.”
“Thanks Blake, I do appreciate your help,” Sam’s father replied, shaking the man’s hand.
“Of course,” the man nodded his head solemnly, “when its family.” The man then turned to leave, but hesitated briefly. “Oh, and I almost forgot to mention, here’s that painting that was stolen from you.”
“Ah, much appreciated,” James said.
Then as the others were admiring the original Monet, James Reilly tore the back off of it and removed a small sealed vial labeled, Hitler’s Virus: Antidote.
“I do appreciate your efforts, Blake, but this thing is virtually useless now.”
Mr. Simmonds gave it his most basic perusal, as only a fine European antiquities collector could, and then said, “Excluding of course, the almost priceless value of Claude Monet’s first attempt at painting water lilies.”
“Well, I suppose that’s of some consolation. I’ll have it put up somewhere around here, I’m sure. If Sam’s mother was around I’m sure she’d insist it be hung in the kitchen, or some other silly notion. Perhaps I’ll have it hung in the study, as a reminder not to be so frivolous with my money again.”
“Yes, I imagine that’s probably the only real value of it,” Blake agreed, before closing the door behind himself as he left.
Sam looked at his father.
“Well, you do look pissed, don’t you?” James Reilly said.
“That man tried to kill me and steal the virus whose only purpose was to destroy humanity. I thought you said I could trust him?” Sam said, belligerently.
“Me? No, I never said you could trust him. I merely said that he could provide you with answers. As it was, I didn’t realize that he worked for someone who wanted more than answers to your mystery, and who was willing to stop at nothing, including murder, to achieve his goal.”
“What now, then?”
“What do you mean?” His father looked genuinely surprised at the question. “Now we carry on with our lives. What you choose to do with yours is entirely up to you.”
“No, I mean, what about Blake Simmonds?
“I still don’t know what you’re referring to, son. I suppose he will go on with whatever it is that strikes his fancy, just as both you and I will do.” He then looked at Aliana, and glanced back at Sam, adding, “Although, I think that among the three of us, you have the better deal.”