The Einstein Pursuit

63

Payne and Jones stepped inside the house cautiously, one scanning high and to the right, the other covering low and to the left.

The house was warm and inviting. In the main sitting room, two massive, overstuffed leather couches were arranged around a driftwood coffee table. A mahogany bar stood in the corner. Row after row of top-shelf liquor was displayed in glass cabinets on either side. Above the fireplace was a projection screen that spanned the width of the chimney. Beyond that, tall bay windows looked out across the length of the lake.

‘Here,’ Jones said as he aimed his rifle at the floor.

Behind the farthest couch lay the final guard. He was struggling for breath, a gaping hole in his back where Masseri’s bullet had torn through him.

Jones crouched low and pressed a finger to the man’s neck, checking his pulse. A moment later he shook his head.

Payne nodded and stepped deeper into the house.

They made their way down a long hallway lined with photos. The story of Harrison Zidane, told in pictures. School graduations. Big game fishing. Posing with politicians and celebrities at various awards ceremonies. All the best moments of his life were represented.

They passed offices and bedrooms, each furnished with the trappings of opulence. Fifteen-hundred-dollar Aeron desk chairs. Four-thousand-dollar Charlotte Thomas bedding. Priceless works of art on every wall. No expense had been spared.

They continued toward the farthest door, checking each room as they passed. When they reached the end, they found a spacious library that had been transformed into a makeshift treatment center. Payne had seen intensive care units that were less equipped.

The first person they spotted was Tomas Berglund. He was standing in the back half of the room in front of two large canisters of oxygen and a third filled with an unknown gas. He had a terrified look on his face, a reaction to the chaos he had heard unfolding outside.

Beside Berglund was Harrison Zidane. One of his hands was resting on the desk in front of him, as if he needed its support to remain upright. His other hand was at his side, partially obscured by the desk itself. His skin was pale, but his eyes were bright and hopeful. He showed none of the fear that Berglund exhibited, as if gunfights were commonplace on his property.

Payne and Jones raised their weapons, but both knew they couldn’t risk a shot. Not without the possibility of their bullets going through Zidane and rupturing one of the tanks behind him.

‘Where’s Hendrik Cole?’ Payne demanded.

‘Dead,’ Zidane replied. ‘I am told he was wounded in Rakovnik and that he didn’t survive the trip to Italy.’

‘Did you see him die?’ Jones asked Berglund.

‘My face was bound in some sort of covering,’ Berglund answered. ‘I could not see or hear anything until we made it to the villa. But I have not seen him since we arrived.’

‘I know that men in your profession cannot be certain of anything until you see the body for yourselves,’ Zidane stated, ‘but I am afraid that in this instance such a meeting simply cannot be arranged. Cole’s remains were disposed of en route. No one but the men involved could give you an exact location, and I am afraid they are now dead as well.’ Zidane nodded toward the carnage that was strewn about his patio as he sat down at his desk.

Payne lowered his weapon as Zidane placed both hands where they could be seen.

‘Cole’s death was inevitable, really,’ Zidane continued. ‘He was never part of the long-term plan.’

‘Which was?’ Payne asked.

‘A partnership,’ Zidane said. ‘One that would bring us unimaginable wealth, not to mention extra years to spend it.’

Jones laughed. ‘You need to check your meds. I think you’ve lost your mind.’

‘Actually, my friend, I never lose.’ Zidane flashed his best smile. ‘I am offering the chance of a lifetime. The breakthroughs Tomas has made will revolutionize the human body. No more disease. No more weakness. The perfect machine, customized to your choosing.’ He glanced at their weapons. ‘Imagine the military applications. The healthiest, most advanced fighting force the world has ever seen, with the ability to heal themselves on the battlefield.’

‘You’re talking about super-soldiers,’ Payne said.

‘Exactly! With this technology we can create an entire army of such men. There’s no limit to what people would pay for such an advantage. Your military. Mine. The rest of the world. We could sell the technology to the highest bidder, then we could tweak the science and sell it again.’

‘Immortality to the highest bidder,’ Jones concluded.

‘While we control the balance of power,’ Zidane stated.

‘Who is we?’ Payne asked, egging him on.

‘Your company and mine,’ Zidane smiled. ‘The power will remain solely with us.’

Payne smiled and lowered his weapon. ‘In that case …’

Zidane moved to congratulate the men he now saw as his partners. ‘Excellent! I knew you could be convinced. Believe it or not, Jonathon, we are a lot alike. We come from wealth, yet we yearn for more.’

Zidane offered his hand to seal the deal, but Payne used it against him. He gripped it hard then squeezed it harder until Zidane fell back into his chair. As he did, the smile on Payne’s face turned into a menacing scowl.

Payne glared at Zidane, his hold still firm. ‘You’re a sick son-of-a-bitch responsible for the death of dozens of innocent people. You and I are nothing alike.’

Zidane’s face grew pale as his reality began to sink in. For the first time in his life, he had met someone who could not be swayed by money or power.

‘How long do we have?’ Payne asked.

‘What do you mean?’ Zidane replied.

Payne squeezed until he could feel Zidane’s knuckles begin to pop. ‘How long … do we have?’ Payne demanded.

From the moment Zidane had sat down, Payne had sensed his ploy. Zidane was stalling. He was buying himself precious minutes, waiting for whatever was to happen next. Payne had sensed exactly what was going on, but he’d chosen to take advantage of it. If Zidane was going to offer information about his master plan, Payne was willing to listen. Now that he had heard enough about Zidane’s grandiose vision, all he wanted to know was how quickly reinforcements would be arriving.

A moment later, he had his answer.

Payne and Jones knew they had to move the moment they heard Masseri’s voice through their earpieces.

‘You guys have company!’ Masseri announced. ‘A yacht just pulled up at the dock, and whoever’s on board is in one hell of hurry.’

‘Can you cover us?’ Jones asked.

‘Negative,’ Masseri answered. ‘The boat is blocking my shot. It’s directly between me and the house. You’re on your own.’

With a jerk of his arm, Payne pulled Zidane to his feet. In the same motion, he spun Zidane around and pinned his hand behind him. ‘The stairs to the boathouse, now!’ Payne ordered as he pushed Zidane in front of him.

Jones grabbed Berglund by the belt and ushered him after Payne and Zidane. It wasn’t an act of aggression, but it was forceful enough to let Berglund know that Jones’s directions should be followed without question.

Payne and Jones were in charge.

Berglund needed to trust them if he wanted to survive.