Bleeding in the Eye of a Brainstorm

Chapter 12

Veil was waiting for me in the hallway outside my apartment when I came out in the morning of the second day after I'd made my call to Heinrich Muller. The man with the shoulder-length blond hair, sea-blue eyes, easy smile, catlike movements, and deadly fighting skills was sitting on the landing, cross-legged and his back to the wall, sipping at a carton of coffee. He nodded and rose to his feet when I came out the door.

"What are you doing here at this hour?" I asked, glancing at my watch. It was 8:30. "Your shift was over a half hour ago. I'd think you'd be home in bed by now. I hope you don't think I'm going to pay you overtime."

Veil smiled thinly. "We had a little incident last night. I wanted you to be aware of it."

I quickly glanced behind me to make sure my apartment door was closed so that Michael, who was busy in the kitchen washing up our breakfast dishes, couldn't hear us. "Are my guests downstairs all right?"

"I presume so. I haven't looked in on them. I don't think they heard anything."

"I didn't hear anything either."

"We had two visitors about three o'clock this morning. They came in through the attic, jimmied the window off the fire escape. They were experts, heavily armed, no identification. They were also well equipped, and it looked like they were prepared to firebomb the whole building if they found what they were looking for."

"My guests."

Veil nodded. "And, presumably, you. I didn't have a chance to interrogate them. I was patrolling the bottom two floors, and Jerry was up here. He confronted them on the landing just below the attic, judged the situation was too dangerous to risk failure if he tried to disable them, so he just killed them both. It was the right decision."

"Ah," I said, thinking that it did not bode well that a brace of assassins had arrived in the middle of the night, instead of a crate of capsules in the morning.

"I got rid of the bodies and the equipment they were carrying."

"Where'd you put them?"

"In the Dumpster down the street by Carnegie Hall."

I smiled grimly. "That Dumpster is becoming quite the in place for corpses."

"The cops are sure to be around the neighborhood asking questions. I considered not telling you, so that you wouldn't have to lie, but then figured that wasn't such a good idea. I figured you should know."

I nodded absently, my mind racing. "No, I'm glad you told me. The police aren't going to bother to canvass the neighborhood; they'll come right here. The precinct captain is going to have a pretty good idea where the corpses came from, if not exactly who made them corpses, but I don't think he'll press it. I'll make sure Francisco understands that I'm the only one who does any talking to the police, and I'll keep your people out of sight. What concerns me more than the police is the fact that I think I just received a very negative message."

"Indeed. When those two don't report in, we're likely to get more visitors."

"The message is the fact that anybody showed up here at all. I managed to tag the outfit that manufactured the drug for the agency, a company called Lorminix with headquarters in Switzerland. I called over there to the guy who was apparently in charge of the program. I tried to pressure him into sending me more of the drug so that I'd have an emergency supply for the three people we've got here, and the nine others we're supposed to rendezvous with on Christmas Eve at Rockefeller Center."

Veil shook his head. "It doesn't look like he's planning to send you the drug, Mongo."

"Nope-and, in a way, I can't say I blame the son of a bitch. I told him I'd try to help him and his company out if he cooperated, but there's no way anybody can help them if the whole story comes out. The man and his company share responsibility for the serial killer who's loose on the streets out there now; he got that way because of the drug. He's a product of the Company's tests of the drug, and an analysis of his blood, and the blood of the other patients, will prove it."

"Forty-six deaths as of this morning, Mongo."

"Jesus," I sighed. "Lorminix is finished if the truth ever comes out. Every single executive who isn't in prison will be fighting personal and corporate lawsuits until there isn't a penny left in the coffers. They don't know I have patients here, but both the CIA and Lorminix know I'm here. The Company and Mr. Heinrich Muller must figure they have no choice but to take me out, destroy any evidence I might have gathered, and then keep hunting for the patients. They will definitely send others."

Now it was Veil's turn to smile without humor. "Well, I hope they clean out that Dumpster on a regular basis, because it may be getting a lot of use. I'm going to double the guard."

I nodded my thanks, and we started down the stairs together, passing yet another one of Veil's students, an attractive redhead in her mid-thirties, who was on her way up. "Where the hell are all these people coming from?" I asked my friend. "I didn't think you took on that many pupils."

"I have enough," Veil replied evenly. "You let me worry about security. Oh, one other thing. Some guy by the name of Theo Barnes was around the other day looking for you and asking questions about Michael. He obviously knows both of you."

"Ah yes, good old Theo. Michael was his meal ticket."

"Problem?"

"I don't think so."

"He was told there was no Michael here, and advised not to call you, you'd call him."

"Advised?"

"Very strongly."

"Good."

"What are you going to do now?"

"First, I'm going to call that prick in Switzerland to let him know I'm alive and very disappointed in him sending me goons instead of the drug. Maybe it will shake him up. If he finds out I'm not so easy to get rid of, thanks to you, he may reconsider his options and send me more of the medication-assuming there's any of it left. After that …"

"What?"

I was thinking of Bailey Kramer, whom I hadn't heard from and couldn't reach. There didn't seem to be any sense in going out to search for him, because I didn't know where to start looking. By now I was almost certain he'd been killed or captured and put on ice for the duration as a result of our little chat on the street. I felt very bad, and I didn't want to talk about it. "I don't know," I replied at last. "I don't know what else I can do, and the clock is ticking."

We paused at the entrance to my office on the first floor, and Veil said, "You should have somebody with you when you go out."

I shook my head. "There's nothing any of your people could do about a sniper if somebody wants to take a shot at me, and I can take care of a tail myself. In fact, I'd like to find somebody following me, and whoever it is better have either answers or disability insurance. You're already doing way more than your share by securing the brown-stone. But thanks anyway. I appreciate the offer."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure. Go home and get some sleep."

Veil gave me a rather reluctant nod, then poked me on the shoulder and left. I walked into the reception area, said good morning to a rather concerned-looking Francisco, then went into my private office at the rear of the suite, closed the door behind me, then sat down at my desk. I tried Bailey's home again, but there was still no answer. I desperately wanted to find him, rescue him if he was in trouble, but there was nothing to go on. I knew nothing of his habits or friends. The only places where I knew how to reach him were his apartment, where the phone wasn't being answered at any hour of the day or night, and his place of work, which was closed for the holidays. I spent the better part of an hour calling hospitals and morgues in all five boroughs, but there was no record of any patient or corpse identified as Bailey Kramer, and his general description would have fit thousands of New Yorkers. There was always the possibility that he had been arrested for something and was languishing in jail, but I couldn't risk using any of my police contacts to try to trace him.

It was time for another talk with Herr Heinrich Muller, if he hadn't yet left the office. When I called his private number I heard a recorded message telling me it was no longer in use. Cute. I found out the number of the main office, dialed it, got a receptionist who claimed to speak no English. In my own laborious French I asked to speak to Heinrich Muller. I was informed not only that there was no Heinrich Muller working there now, but that Lorminix had never employed anybody by that name. Even cuter. No, I could not speak with any other executive, unless I knew that executive's name and submitted a written request for a telephone interview; no, it didn't make any difference if I wanted to talk about the CIA, a place called Rivercliff, or two people named Punch and Judy.

Outrageous.

I slammed down the receiver, leaned back in my chair, and ground my knuckles into my eyes in frustration. So Heinrich Muller was on an extended leave of absence-or perhaps even dead. And the giant drug company, perhaps after consultations with the CIA, was going to stonewall right to the end. I couldn't see how they could successfully deny that a Heinrich Muller had ever worked there-but then again, maybe they could; Lorminix wasn't exactly governed by the laws of New York State. There was no way I could disprove their story in the short time I had left, and no point in even trying-at least not over the telephone. With Bailey Kramer missing, getting the help, however grudgingly, of Lorminix executives was my last hope of avoiding a Christmas Eve deadline that was probably hopeless anyway, since I expected most of the patients would be dead soon afterward. A more personal approach to the people at Lorminix was needed. It was time for the approach Garth would undoubtedly have taken, but it was my job to do, not his.

"Mongo?"

I took my knuckles out of my eyes, saw Francisco standing in the doorway looking very anxious. "What is it, Francisco?"

"I. . saw you through the glass. Are you all right?"

"Yeah," I answered, rising from my chair. "Call SwissAir and book me on the first available flight to Switzerland. Also, get me a hotel reservation somewhere in or near Berne, and then call me a cab."

"Yes, sir."

I went up to my apartment, hurriedly pocketed my passport, and packed a bag, evading Michael's tentative, anxious questions about where I was going. I did not want to get his hopes up. This trip to Switzerland was sure to cost me a minimum of two days, assuming I was successful and didn't run afoul of any Swiss police, and by the time I got back, Margaret's supply of capsules would be almost gone. I dearly wished I had made a copy of the Punch and Judy tape to take along with me, but I hadn't. I doubted MacWhorter would authorize releasing a copy when he found out why I wanted it, and there was nothing to be done about it now. On the other hand, key Lorminix executives already knew what I knew, and undoubtedly knew that I knew it; the problem wasn't in getting their attention, but getting them to cooperate.

Francisco was on the phone as I passed the glass wall of the office on my way out. I tapped on the glass to wave goodbye. He saw me and started, then urgently motioned for me to come in. I opened the door and leaned in as he covered the receiver with his palm. "Have I got a flight?"

"Yes. Your plane leaves in fifty-five minutes, and SwissAir will arrange for your hotel reservation. You have-"

"Jesus," I said, glancing at my watch. If I was blessed, I just might make it to JFK in time.

Francisco, a worried expression on his face, held out the telephone. "You have a call, Mongo."

"Is it from or concerning Bailey Kramer?"

"No, but-"

"Then tell them I'll get back to them. I'll call you here or at home when I get in."

Without waiting for his reply, I went out the door, bounded down the steps and across the sidewalk to the cab waiting at the curb. I hurled my bag into the back seat, got in after it, and slammed the door. "JFK," I said to the husky woman driver who was wearing a Rangers cap backward. "I know you may find this surprising, coming from a New Yorker, but I'm in a hurry. I'll pay for any tickets, and there's a fifty-buck tip if you can get me to the SwissAir terminal in forty minutes."

"Yo," she said, and slammed the car into gear.

As the cab pulled away from the curb, I glanced out the side window and saw Francisco standing outside the entrance to the brown-stone, waving his arms and shouting at me. I couldn't hear him through the glass, but when he pointed to his lips and slowly mouthed the word, I could make it out.

In-ter-pol.

"Stop."

"Hey, mister, you want to get to JFK in forty minutes at this time of day, we don't have a second to spare."

"It's all right. Just pull over to the curb and wait for me."

The woman pulled the car over, braked to a stop. I got out, walked quickly back to the brownstone to where Francisco, who had now managed to look even more worried, waited. "Interpol?" I asked.

My office manager nodded. "An Inspector something-a French name. He says it's extremely urgent."

I went into the office, picked up the receiver. "Gerard? What's up? I was just on my way to catch a plane to come over there."

"No, no, Mongo!" the Swiss man said quickly. "You must not come here! My friend, what have you done?!"

"Actually, Gerard," I said, tapping my fingers impatiently on the desk, "I've been up to quite a few things lately. Why don't you tell me what I've done that prompted this phone call."

"Mongo, this call is unofficial, from a friend. This is not an Interpol matter, but I've heard from local sources that you've been accused of a serious violation of Swiss law. If you try to enter the country, you will be arrested and detained. You must not come to Switzerland!"