The maître'd approached them. Lampson requested a table in the far corner that would offer them more privacy. Once seated, both men ordered only coffee. Grant quickly scanned the ceiling above the table, then lifted the white napkin, intentionally knocking a spoon onto the floor. As he bent over to pick it up, he shot a quick glance under the table. It wasn’t likely there’d be any hidden devices, but an extra gram of caution wouldn’t hurt.
Lampson reached into his pocket and withdrew the note, sliding it across the table to Grant. He spoke in a hushed voice, still wary of his surroundings. "This was taped to the inside of the medicine cabinet in my room."
Grant read it, then looked at the photograph Lampson passed to him. He instinctively thought to himself: How the hell did they get this note into his room so fast?
"They're my sons, Captain." Grant looked at him completely expressionless. Lampson's voice trailed off. "I feel as if I've handed them over on a silver platter from being so stupid in thinking no one would find out." He shook his head slowly. "I should've gotten them out, but Greta… "
Grant put the photograph face down on the table. His mind was already racing at full throttle. "You have a picture of her?"
With sadness in his voice, Lampson responded, "Regrettably, no. We couldn't risk it being found in case my things were riffled through."
"Understood. Now, what's her last name?"
"Verner," Lampson answered, then spelled it out.
"Okay, Rick, why don't you start from the beginning?"
Lampson nodded. He placed his fingertips on the photo, sliding it closer to him. "Greta and I met at the university. We'd occasionally have lunch or dinner together in public, but never met at either one of our apartments. Her uncle had a place on the outskirts of the city with a small cottage at the back portion of the property, totally secluded. Then one day," Lampson continued, "she disappeared. She just up and left her job, her flat… and me."
No one had to tell Grant that Lampson wasn't a hard-core agent. The man was truly shaken. He couldn’t hide the bewilderment he was feeling from the incident. Grant pushed the half-filled coffee cup further from him, then rested his arms on the table. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Adler holding his coffee cup in his left hand. Grant knew that was the all-clear signal. Then he refocused his full attention on the story Lampson was unfolding.
Lampson sat back against the brown leather chair. "About eight months later, out of the blue, she called and asked me to meet her at her uncle's place. I knew something was wrong right away, but she refused to tell me anything over the phone." He picked up the photo, staring at the little faces.
"Why didn't she let you know right from the beginning about her pregnancy?" Grant finally asked.
"Old world thinking, Captain. It meant embarrassment and disgrace for herself, but she was thinking mostly of her family. She had nowhere to go but her uncle's. The babies were born there, so he was kind enough to let them stay in the cottage." He lowered his head, then slowly raised it and looked directly at Grant. "But it was old world thinking on my part, too. They're all my responsibility, but more than that… I love them. I need to get all of them out."
Grant swirled the coffee around in the cup, then took a swallow of the warm brew. "You were planning to go back after the debriefing, weren't you?" Lampson looked away, unable to bring himself to answer. "Now you want my help, right?"
"I don't know who else to turn to, Captain. Right now, you're the only one I can trust, considering the number of individuals that could have planted that note. I mean… shit! My extraction from the East was supposed to be a top secret operation."
Grant’s brown eyes seemed to bore right through Lampson, and in a low, deep voice he said, "I've got some ears in D.C., but I think that before I commit to 'grabbing my ankles,’ I'd better check with my boss. You do understand, right?" Lampson nodded his response. "Now, you're going to have to answer some questions. Why did word come down to extract you? What was your debriefing with Wharton going to cover?"
Lampson's chest heaved, as if he were trying to rid it of a huge weight. He knew that security was about to be thrown right out the window. "I don't even know if you're aware of why I was sent in."
"Why don't you fill me in?"
"Our intelligence reported that the East German military was working on a new virus, a strain of Monkey Virus B that's been mutated. It's so potent that half a pint would eliminate the population of New York City in twenty-four hours."
Grant leaned closer. "What about the drug, Rick?"
"Shit! You seem to be one step ahead of me, Captain. Who's your source?" One look at Grant's expression and Lampson knew it had been foolish to even ask. "But you're right. That's the worry… never mind the virus. The drug, SD-7, is mind-altering in every sense of the word. Its base is a derivative of LSD, but much more powerful. There was a helluva lot of mixing and matching. Depending on the dose, one could expect anything from complete lethargy, to insanity, to death."
"I get the picture," Grant said grimly. "I assume they tested their new 'tools'?"
Lampson paled. "We tested on rats and mice, but… " He lowered his head momentarily before looking up. "It was never confirmed to us, but we knew they randomly chose political prisoners, and even drug addicts they'd find in the streets."
"You can’t feel guilty about that, Rick. Now, why don't you pick up from your orders."
"The Company checked out several professors at Humboldt Universitat au Berlin. I was instructed to make contact with Herman Schmitt, head of the law faculty. Schmitt had been a newly appointed judge in Berlin when the Russians began flooding the courts with their own partisan personnel. He was allowed a chair at the university where he became involved with Dr. Josef Von Wenzel who worked in the university's chemistry department.
"Dr. Von Wenzel had been ordered to develop deadly strains of mutant viruses and agents from other known biological and nerve agents. He sought out Schmitt to explore the legal and Geneva Convention positions as to the work he had been ordered to undertake. Through Schmitt, word was leaked to the U.S. intelligence community.” Lampson weakly smiled. “I'm that result. The West knew Schmitt had a strong desire to see Germany reunited, and he was in a perfect position to assist in getting me hired. I already had papers prepared in advance, you know, like resumes and recommendations. So, I followed him for a week or so trying to find out what he did in his spare time. The man has a penchant for art and architecture of the ancient world. Every day he’d go to the Pergamon Museum. That's where I struck up a conversation, standing by the Ishtar Gate from Babylon.
“After several meetings and dinners, he took me under his wing, and it was mostly by his word alone that got me hired as a biochemistry professor. Five months later, because of my background and reputation at the university, plus a few good words from Schmitt, I was recruited by the military command to assist in bringing the virus and drug to fruition."
Grant made a mental note to run an intel check on Schmitt anyway, and one on Greta Verner. Then he said, "Look, I know that the Russians had rounded up German scientists to work in Soviet industries. The ones working with you at the military lab must be the cream of the crop."
"You're right. There were five: Rolf Ehrdmann, Franz Wilstoff, Wilhelm Freidling, Josef Von Wenzel and Fredric Heisen."
"'Wilstoff,’" Grant mumbled. "Wasn't he nominated for a Nobel Prize awhile back?"
Lampson confirmed with a nod, shaking an index finger in Grant's direction. "Now, Heisen… there was a remarkable individual."
"How so?
"He’s been deaf since birth. He communicates with sign language and he reads lips." Lampson realized he'd drifted off the main reason for the conversation. "Sorry, Captain, didn't mean to… "