Suddenly the scene cut back to the anchor. "We just received word from Cairo that an agreement has been reached and that the hostages will be released momentarily. We're switching live to the U.S. embassy…"
Roger watched as several men emerged with assault rifles on the rooftop of the embassy. On the street below Egyptian troops were shielded behind barricades. Smoke rose from piles of tires and burnt out cars.
"From this vantage, we can see Ambassador Boyle and seven staffers being escorted by their captors. They appear to be awaiting the U.S. helicopter…"
Another camera pulled in the large helicopter gunship approaching the embassy. While the blades whirled, the captors released the seven staff members who ran to the opening where U.S. soldiers helped them aboard.
When the last was aboard, the captors waved the chopper to leave, holding behind the ambassador, still in handcuffs.
The camera closed in on the lifting craft when suddenly the captors opened up with machine guns and grenade launchers. Instantly the rear end of the helicopter exploded, sending the vehicle into a tipsy angle toward the ground.
"Oh my God!" cried the announcer.
At the sound of the explosion, the group of gunmen cheered. Then as the camera closed in, the leader led the ambassador to the edge of the building, shot him in the head with a pistol, and pushed him off the roof.
Sickened, Roger snapped off the set.
"I have become death."
36
"I don't know how the videos got out. It's been thirteen years. People steal things," explained Quentin Cross. "No one's left from the old lab. They're all gone-some retired, some dead. I don't know how they got out."
"It was still careless," Antoine said. He was calling from his Lear jet. "You should have had those locked in your vault."
"Duplicates were made. What can I say?"
"The important thing is, can you still reproduce the compound if you had samples?"
"Of course we can. You know that."
It had taken years to pull themselves out of the debt Chris Bacon had left them in, but Darby had a first-rate laboratory with all the necessary technology to determine molecular composition of most compounds. And what they lacked, they could buy.
"All we need is a few cubic centimeters and we can make the stuff by the gallon," Quentin said.
"What about the technical staff?"
"We have the right people."
"People we can trust, not just clever technicians?"
"Trust can be bought. All you need is enough capital."
He could hear Antoine chuckle. "You're getting cynical in your old age."
"I have every reason to be," he said, tasting the sourness in his own voice. "Do you have any idea where they are?"
"I have ideas, yes."
Vince had boasted about an extensive computer network and ace hackers who could infiltrate the file systems of major corporations, departments of motor vehicles, local hospitals, the Social Security Administration, even a few banks. "If you've got a pulse, we'll find you," he had said.
"May I ask where?"
"You may, but I'm not going to tell you. Your job is geniuses and test tubes. Stay well, my friend. Bon soir."
Quentin hung and recalled why he disliked Antoine. He was a slick, arrogant thug. Other people were just rungs on his ladder. But that was not why Quentin needed him. His Consortium was an aging lot of multimillionaires who were hankering for the promised land.
And they needed him and not just to reproduce the stuff. He had people ready to get their hands on the body fluids and brain tissue of Roger Glover to see what made him tick.
It was a little after nine when Quentin got off his office phone. For the last six days, Darby Pharms had been crawling with media and protesters. Twice he had to call the police to break up fights between factions trying to break inside the plant.
He had even hired armed security guards to patrol the premises night and day. That and an enhanced monitoring system had cost him thousands.
But it would be worth it when they brought Glover in. And it wasn't just a cash cow come home. Every time Quentin looked at the photo of Robyn on his desk he saw in the glass the reflection of a tired middle-aged man, grown heavy in body and spirit, and weighted by the same dull routine of running a midsize pharmaceutical company. Perhaps it was a decade of struggling to get back on his feet, but he had lost his old belly fire. He missed those days when they were scrambling about for their great bonanza, pushing out walls and buying fancy staff and equipment. No, it wasn't the old man he missed. Ross was a prick who dismissed his ideas as pipe dreams, who never showed him respect as an equal. The only reason he had made him CFO was to keep the company in the family. The old bastard had deserved to die. No, what Quentin missed was a younger Quentin, so full of dreams and fight and years.
What passed for belly fire these days was the yearning to get his hands on Chris Bacon for what he had done to those dreams.
He glanced at the clock. Maybe there was hope still.
As he gathered his stuff to leave, Quentin noticed the red security light flash silently on the far wall.
His back had been turned to it while talking to Antoine, so he had no idea how long it had been flashing. It had gone on and off all day, but with the full security contingent to hold back the crowds there was no reason for alarm.
Motion sensors that rimmed the building had apparently picked something up earlier but had not been cleared.
Quentin cut to the security office across the hall. He flicked a switch to light up a panel of twelve surveillance monitors which gave him a full sweep of the property in real light and infrared. Maybe it was a stray dog or raccoon, because the lights showed nobody anywhere around the building.
The security guard sat conspicuously out front in a black vehicle. He would drive around the grounds through the parking lot periodically.
Another light flicked on.
Movement in the storage room at the rear of the building.
That was odd. At night, the security guards patrolled only the outside of the building. Even during the day, that area was a restricted zone of high-security substances. Also, that end of the building was a cinderblock-and-steel structure essentially impregnable. There were no windows, and the only doors were the service bay for trucks and a single entrance made of steel and wired to an alarm. The only way inside was a battery of keys or an infantry tank.
Quentin left the office area.
He walked down the long corridor to the storage area. With his keys, he let himself inside. The heavy steel door closed behind him with a loud snap of the lock sliding into place.
The place was dim but for the night lights. And quiet. The only sound was the soft hum from the air circulation system.
Quentin slowly walked past the long aisles where they stored thousands of chemicals in bottles and boxes. The heels of his shoes snapped on the clean cement floor.
Nothing out of the ordinary.
Overhead he spotted the security cameras and motion sensors that lit up red as he moved by. In the security office the silent red lights would be blinking wildly.
Because the place was so tightly sealed, there was no way an animal could have gotten inside. Unless it was a pigeon that had strayed in through the delivery bay during the day. That had happened occasionally. But he could see none. If it were perched in the rafters, they would have to get it out tomorrow or the red lights would never go off.