On Tuesday morning, Mitch sat propped up in bed with his laptop open. John and Ellen sat by his hospital bedside.
“I need to get out of here, this is getting too close for comfort,” he said.
“If you don’t stay calm they won’t let you out because your blood pressure will be through the roof,” John reminded him. “Good to see they’ve taken the IV out though.”
“Yeah, now they’re jabbing me instead,” Mitch said. “I’ve got an updated from Dylan Ting… sorry Ellie, he rang in.”
“All good,” she said, “I’m just holding the fort where I can.”
Mitch updated them on Dylan’s work.
“He’s done well,” John agreed. “We’ve formalized the deal with William Ying. His wife and child will be sent back to China but in return for his cooperation she won’t be charged with anything, and I convinced him there was a lot I could think to charge her with.”
“Did he tell you who the VIP is?” Mitch asked.
“Says he doesn’t know either and won’t be told until the last minute by Danny,” John said.
“That’s crap, he must think we’re idiots,” Mitch said. “We can’t trust him.”
“Relax, you’re not supposed to get stressed remember,” John watched him. Mitch ran his hand over his mouth, frustration riding him.
“We’ve got William wired,” Ellen said, “so he may let it slip. Besides we mentioned that Danny Huang hit on his wife that night William left for Cape Hatteras so he’s not feeling too loyal.”
“How did we know that?” Mitch asked.
“Danny boasted about it to the VIP and we picked it up in one of their transcripts.”
“Right. Ellie, John, there’s something happening at the uni I need to sort out,” Mitch said.
“I can get Sam onto that,” John suggested.
Mitch looked at John and back at his laptop. “It was something Joseph Kinaird said in his diary … when he went to collect William Ying to take him to the gallery exhibition, he found William in the science lab talking to a young scientist. William snapped at him and told him to wait outside. But William had no reason to be there and Kinaird was angry because he was a head of department, not some junior.”
“So what was he doing there and who was he involved with?” John asked.
“Exactly. Seeing William Ying there might have got Kinaird killed. Not Samantha, John, I need this handled really carefully,” Mitch said. “Do we know a head of department at the uni we could talk to?”
“Henri will,” John said. “I’ll ask him to make the call.”
“Perfect,” Mitch agreed. “There’s some more information I need; another angle we’ve got to explore … about using midget submarines to infiltrate our shores.”
“I’m following that line, Nick’s helping,” Ellen said.
Mitch nodded. “Thanks. It’s more common than I thought … I read a report this morning that said more than a third of the cocaine smuggled into the U.S. from Colombia travels in midget submarines underwater. They’re not submerging, the subs are just skimming the surface.”
“So are you thinking this might not be an Asian sub?” John asked.
Mitch winced and leaned forward, moving to ease the pain in his back. “I don’t know,” he answered. “I think it’s an Asian sub because there was something in the translation about the Beijing office wasn’t there?”
“There was,” Ellen agreed. “But it could be a privately-funded sub, and I suspect this group is funded by a number of important benefactors.”
“I agree. These subs—the ones used for drug smuggling—are called submersibles, not submarines, because they don’t need a snorkel and periscope above the water,” Mitch continued. “They’re built for one-way trips and are sunk after. I’m not saying that’s the case here, but I want to know all options … what we might expect. I read there are also robot subs; they don’t even have a crew onboard and don’t have to surface.”
“We saw from the test run on the beach that the sub the Asians are using is not going to surface, it’s transferring the VIP using some sort of external oxygenated connection,” Ellen told John.
Mitch moved again.
“OK.” John rose. “We’ve got plenty to do, you need a shot and sleep. I’ll send the nurse in on our way out. What time are they letting you out?”
“Don’t worry about the nurse. Doctor said he’d be here after four, and he’d release me then.”
“I’m sending the nurse,” John said. “You relax, Ellen will manage all we’ve discussed.”
“I know,” Mitch said, leaning back. “Thanks, Ellie.”
She held out her hands for his laptop and logging out, put it on the cabinet beside the bed. He was drifting off before Ellen had even left the room.
Mitch pushed the seat in Henri’s Jaguar all the way back and lowered himself in. He took the crutches from Henri, who closed the door and came around to the driver’s side.
“Thanks for picking me up,” Mitch said.
“Of course,” Henri said as he drove Mitch back to his and Ann’s residence late Tuesday afternoon.
“So, what did you find out at the uni, anything?” Mitch asked.
“I’m not talking work with you Mitch, you’re in recovery.” Henri looked at him then back at the road as he pulled out of the hospital parking lot.
Mitch’s jaw locked with frustration as he looked out the window.
“Do I have to call John and ask him?” Mitch said.
“You know why you’re tired and can’t keep your eyes open? Because your body is trying to recover,” Henri explained, “and until you let it, it keeps shutting down, which is why …”
Mitch tuned out and tapped his fingers on the arm rest in frustration. When Henri finished, he tried again.
“Henri, please tell me what you found out at the uni,” Mitch asked again.
Henri sighed.
Mitch looked at him.
“Fine then,” Henri said. “Last year the Chinese government was working on a genetic weapon.” He stopped to allow that to sink in.
Mitch waited.
“It is a weapon that if, and I stress the if, it could be developed, is designed to spread an airborne virus that can kill a particular genetic group within a set period of time.”
“When you say genetic group, are you suggesting a broad group, like Caucasians?”
“That’s exactly what I’m referring to,” Henri said. “So if they were successful, they could expose all leaders at the G20 to this virus, which they in turn could carry home to their respective countries, thus potentially eliminating Caucasians, African, African Americans, Hispanic races or whomever they chose.”
“Anyone who is not Asian,” Mitch finished.
“In theory.”
“And can they?”
“No, well not yet, maybe never. We got wind of it actually through MI-5 in London and jointly we were working on both beating them to it and shutting it down,” Henri said.
Mitch shook his head. “For chrissake.”
“Yes. The university had a sample, that is, has a sample.”
“Don’t tell me William was trying to get access to it?”
“Yes, trying at the time he was in the role of ambassador, but now that you’ve discovered him alive, I’d say he’s been working underground on it for the last year, but the latter is just my guess,” Henri said.
“And the lab person that was working on it with him, the person Kinaird saw William Ying with … do we know what happened to him?”
“Left not long after William disappeared,” Henri said.
“Funny, that,” Mitch said.
“We’ve got it—the prototype—it’s not going to happen and it is a long way from happening.”
“Has it been tested?” Mitch asked.
“Not to my knowledge, they couldn’t advance it to that level,” Henri said.
“I wonder if the VIP is connected with the weapon? Does William Ying’s team think that the VIP can give them this weapon and whatever else they want to take out of the country?”
“They must know that it hasn’t succeeded, but they might want the blueprint. Who’s to say a weapon of this nature isn’t being developed somewhere else in China or in the world—just not here, not now.”
“Thanks Henri.” Mitch leaned back on the head rest.
Henri nodded, clearly displeased.
Mitch’s phone rang.
“Hi John,” Mitch answered. He listened. “Thanks, got that, and just got the update from Henri on the uni. I spoke with Dylan and Ellen earlier and we need to get back to Cape Hatteras tomorrow. The classmates are going straight there after the certificate ceremony at noon so they’ll arrive about seven tomorrow night and the lift is still planned for Friday morning.”
Mitch listened, finished his conversation and hung up. His phone rang again.
“Ellie, all OK?” Mitch asked. He listened to her update. “Yep, agreed. That all sounds good and thanks for carrying it.” Mitch hung up.
Henri shook his head.
“Tell me you’re not going to Cape Hatteras, Mitch,” Henri said.
Mitch hesitated, anticipating Henri’s disapproval. “We’re in the middle of a case; actually we’re at the very end of a case that’s about to be blown wide open, and I’ve got to stay on it,” he said.
“Mitch, you’ve got to sit behind a desk for a few days at least. I’ll call John,” Henri said.
“Could you write a letter and get me out of school as well?”
Henri smiled. “If that’s what it takes.”
“I’m going back tomorrow, it’ll be OK, Nick and Ellie will be there. It’s only a few broken ribs and some bruising, seriously, I’ve had worse,” Mitch assured him.
“It’s ten stitches, a black eye, cracked ribs, concussion, bruising around your back and kidneys, two lacerations to the back of the head, a severe burn, a leg contusion, treatment for shock, that’s off the top of my head,” Henri said as he turned the car into the driveway of a large Georgian-style home. The gates opened and he drove in.
“Thanks for reminding me.”
Henri steered into the garage and exited the car. He opened the passenger door for Mitch who, grabbing his crutches, hobbled out, swayed and steadied himself, supported by the car door.
“And balance problems,” Henri added to his injury list.
Mitch sighed. “I’ve got to find a new place.”
“You can stay in our guest wing as long as you like. Ann insists. It’s separate, has its own entrance; you don’t even have to see us unless you want company.”
“Thanks Henri but— ”
Henri interrupted him. “But if you don’t stay in the main house for a few days now, you’ll really upset Ann. She hasn’t had anyone to fuss over since her son moved to Seattle. She’s aired the room and has cooked … I might have mentioned you’ve lost weight.”
Mitch grinned. “I’ll just have to do my part then.”
The next morning, Ellen sat propped behind the wheel of Mitch’s Audi, looking pleased with herself. “I can’t believe you’re letting me drive your car again. That’s twice in a week.” Ellen grinned. “I love this car, don’t I look good behind the wheel?”
“I can’t watch; I’m keeping my eyes closed, so just be careful,” Mitch said, sprawled out on the backseat.
“When can we stop for coffee?” Nick asked from the front passenger seat.
“We can’t,” Mitch answered. “You should have had a coffee at breakfast.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be sleeping so that we can wake you up when we get there, grumpy? Do you need another painkiller?” Nick asked.
“As soon as we need gas, we’ll get coffee,” Ellen appeased Nick.
Mitch lay back, resting his head on the closed window frame; he crossed his arms and tried to keep his injured leg straight. He could see his own reflection in the car window and the outside scenery speeding by. He tuned out of Nick’s and Ellen’s conversation and glanced at his watch; the graduation ceremony should be taking place soon; he could call Dylan Ting after one p.m.
What am I going to do about Sam? Desk duty for now works, but long-term? Is she too reckless to have around?
It wasn’t the first incident; he recalled her actions in London in the Underground and her lack of discipline in the Library of Congress.
She’ll get herself—or one of us—killed. Do I keep saying that until it happens?
He woke to the smell of coffee, groaned and pulled himself upright. Two hours had passed.
“Yeah, you should have got a wagon.” Nick handed him a large coffee over the backseat.
“These painkillers are great,” Mitch said. “I didn’t even hear you pull up.”
Ellen pulled the car out of the gas station and continued on to Cape Hatteras. Mitch dialed Dylan Ting’s number.
“Dylan, can you talk?” Mitch asked.
“I can,” Dylan answered. “You all right?”
“Yeah, thanks. Hang on and I’ll put you on speaker phone. I’m with Nick and Ellen. So what’s the latest?”
“Afternoon all,” Dylan said, “Well they all graduated, there was much hand shaking and many photos taken. Behind the scenes, Hai seems to be really relishing being in-charge. Since we spoke last night, Mitch, they’ve confirmed that Hai and Froggy will head back to the VIP house this afternoon leaving about three p.m. Ru is not coming down until Thursday.”
“Do you know what they’re doing?” Mitch asked.
“Not yet. I’ll keep prodding. Hai is expecting to hear from Danny from Beijing I think, so we should send a text.”
“Yes, thanks for that, we intended to. I’ll get onto it,” Mitch said. “And the VIP?”
“I overheard that William is going to collect him and they are both going to the VIP house together on Thursday really early … and no, I don’t know who it is yet. They just call him the VIP,” Dylan said. “Get this, they’ve asked me if I would like to go with Ru to organize a drop off this afternoon. And we’re going out for a bite tonight.”
“This is good,” Mitch said. “Are you feeling like they have accepted you, bought the frustrated with your life act?”
“Yeah, I do,” Dylan said. “I’ve been laying it on a bit thick, but I think they believe it.”
“Mm, be careful … hang on … for chrissake Ellie, slow down on the corners.”
Ellen grinned in the front seat. “But this car grips, it’s fantastic.”
Mitch shook his head. “Sorry Dylan. Yeah, so timing?”
“The lift is on-schedule for this Friday.”
“Phew, we’re running out of time … can we slow it down?” Mitch sighed.
“I wish,” Dylan agreed. “I’m going back to the office for an hour before I meet Ru for the drop off, whatever that is. Want me to organize the text from Danny Huang’s phone to Hai saying all OK and move ahead with the VIP drop?”
“That would be great, thanks Dylan. I’ll call John now and let him know you’ll be in and to give you access to Danny’s phone. Stay in touch.” Mitch hung up.
“Couldn’t Sam help with that?” Nick asked.
Mitch didn’t answer.