“There wouldn’t be time,” Anna said. “Martini said the man probably died in a matter of minutes.”
“How’d he get it into his system?”
“They think he drank it…was slipped it in a drink.”
“I wonder if they can aerosol it like a nerve agent?”
“I hope not,” she said, her voice wavering. “That’s right, I understand you used to work with the American Air Force, dealing with chemical and biological weapons. How would you use something like this?”
“Depends on what you want to do. You could contaminate a city’s water supply, but that would require a large dose of nanoprobes and it would be hard to get at those systems now. Like I said, it would depend on what these folks have in mind. Do they want to target a certain group?”
Anna’s hands shook on the steering wheel, and she swiveled her head. “What about Jews? Could they target Jews?”
“That would take some bio-engineering,” Jake said, his thoughts back on the professor at Magdeburg University. “There are genes in the main Jewish genome that could be targeted. I guess it’s possible. But how would they target Jews? How would they get out there to find them? And besides, I don’t think the Teutonic Knights went after Jews that heavily. They were mostly on Crusades in Prussia and against the Muslim world.” When he said the words out loud, they finally resonated in his brain. Of course.
“You think they might target Muslims?”
“I don’t know. You’ve heard the news recently. The media is calling it foreign hate crimes. You’ve probably even read through Interpol documents saying certain groups have been hit with violence across Europe.”
“Sure. You think these men have something to do with the violence?”
Jake clicked through more pages, trying to find out everything he could on Hermann Conrad and his men. At least those that he knew about.
“Well,” Jake said. “Those men in Budapest weren’t too friendly. And there has been recent violence against foreigners there. Even a government official.”
“Right. Started off with beatings. Turks mostly. Then it turned into shootings more recently.”
“That’s what I’m talkin’ about. Not efficient enough, though. Think about the history of Budapest. The Turks ruled the place for a couple hundred years. Now they’re back and the Magyars don’t like that. You add the idea of a new Order, planted by a guy like Conrad, and you’re just throwing gas on a fire. Here we go.” Jake scrolled down a screen and read. “Conrad keeps a woman in Vienna. In an apartment on Kartner Ring.”
“Nice address.”
“Yeah, a woman named Alexandra Bykofsky.”
“Russian?”
Jake thought and then said, “No. I’d guess Ukrainian. I worked there for a while and I’ve heard the last name. Damn it. Now I wish we were still in Vienna. We could check out the woman.”
“I could have Franz Martini look into her.”
“Hate to say it, but that’s a good plan.”
She got back on the phone and called Martini, mentioning not only the woman, but Conrad and his nanotech research business. With all that had gone on recently — the Donau Bar, the two priests in Bratislava, the Budapest shooting, and now the mole getting nanoed — it was too much of a coincidence to not think that Conrad had something to do with all of this mess.
Back in Vienna within minutes of ten a.m., Hermann Conrad sat out front of Alexandra’s apartment in his rental BMW, the engine running and him listening to the weather report. Snow and plenty of it. Great. And so Alexandra had forgotten her favorite undergarments and had to run back up to her apartment to retrieve them. Well, it was to his advantage. He had bought the skimpy, sexy black garter belt, bra, bustier, and panties for her. She looked like the sexiest dominatrix he had ever seen wearing that outfit. God, he was getting a hard-on just thinking about her in that.
There she was now, coming out of the front door in her waist-length chinchilla coat, her black leather pants, and black high-heeled boots to just below the knees. Rounding off the combo with the matching chinchilla hat, she was something to see. In her right hand was her Gucci bag, obviously stuffed with her outfit. She smiled and got in, thanking him for allowing her to go back for the outfit.
“Anything for you, my darling,” Conrad said as he put the BMW in gear and pulled away.
On the sidewalk, Franz Martini and Jack Donicht walked past the BMW just as it pulled away from the curb. Martini took a long look at the woman in the passenger seat. She was stunning, he thought, as he looked over his shoulder at the car driving down the Kartner Ring.
After getting no answer on the apartment door, Martini flashed his badge and convinced the concierge of the upscale apartment to let him into Alexandra Bykofsky’s apartment. He and Donicht looked around the nice place with the splendid view of the State Opera House, being careful not to intrude too much — the concierge insisted on watching them from the door.
“I told you she was not here,” the concierge said. “I just talked with her as she left the building.”
Martini turned toward the short man with perfect hair and dressed in a fine Italian suit. “You didn’t say that before.”
“You didn’t ask.”
Moving closer to the concierge, his arm around the man and turning him toward the door, Martini whispered into the man’s ear, “Do you know where she went? I must speak with her. She could be in danger.”
The concierge’s eyes got big. “Seriously? How so?”
“I can’t explain,” Martini said, his face just inches from the other man’s. “Where did she go?”
As the concierge explained how Alexandra had talked to him just before leaving, Martini could hear Donicht in the background doing as he was told. The man’s level of detail could have made him an honorary polizei inspector.
“You say she was wearing a matching chinchilla coat and hat,” Martini asked, thinking of the woman in the car.
“Yes. As I said, she went away for the weekend with Herr Conrad. He’s filthy rich. But I already told you that.” The concierge put his hand on Martini’s jacket.
Glancing around behind him, Martini got a nod from Donicht, meaning he had gotten the information.
They both thanked the concierge and reinforced to him that he must be discreet in this matter and not mention that they had been there. Alexandra’s life could depend on it, Martini said.
Back in the unmarked polizei car, Martini pulled out a cigarette and shoved it in his mouth.
Donicht was on the phone with the office, waiting for information on the phone calls made from Alexandra’s apartment, along with information on cell phones the woman might own. In Europe now it was quite possible for people to use their cell phones exclusively, and many had more than one phone. Features were everything.
“Thought you had quit smoking for good, Franz?” Donicht said, his hand over the receiver of his cell.
Martini lit the cigarette and sucked in a good deal of smoke. “Once this case ends. I promise.” He didn’t want to worry his old friend about his prostate cancer.
“Ja,” Donicht said into the cell phone. He listened for more than a minute and then hung up.
“Well?”
“This Alexandra Bykofsky…up until a few months ago the woman did not exist.” Donicht went on to explain how she had started working at a club in town, getting a work permit at that time, and her old apartment was rented month by month. But she had only been in Vienna a few weeks before moving into her current apartment on Kartner Ring.
“That’s strange,” Martini admitted. “We’ll have to process the prints you got from her place. She made quick time picking up a benefactor like Hermann Conrad that fast.” Something wasn’t right about this woman. He’d find out soon enough what that was.