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Left To Die
Robert grinned, revealing his two missing teeth; his gap-toothed smile clashing with the rest of his immaculately maintained appearance. Adele allowed herself a quiet chuckle, remembering the many farfetched stories her mentor told about how he lost his teeth.
“Well,” said Robert, “I’ll—” But before he could finish his sentence, Adele felt a hand grip her shoulder.
She jolted and whirled sharply around, resisting the urge to strike out with the flat of her palm to distance herself from an attacker. Agent Renee was staring down at her, his eyes holding a mirth that Adele couldn’t quite place. But it was similar to the look he’d carried when he’d teased her about inside information pertaining to Agent Paige.
“What?” Adele snapped.
“Foucault’s off the phone. He sorted it with the BKA.”
Adele’s eyes widened. “Sorted it? What do you mean?”
John cleared his throat, and his expression soured. “I mean we’re headed to Germany. We don’t have time to pack bags. Anything we need we can buy there. But BKA is willing to work with us on this temporarily. They want to catch the guy too.”
John turned and began stalking up the hall, not waiting for Adele to fall into step.
For a moment she stood in the doorway, staring after a partner, her mouth wide. An FBI agent partnered with a DGSI operative, heading to Germany to work with the BKA, all under the supervision of Interpol. It was unheard of.
Adele shook her head in mild shock. The killer wouldn’t escape. Not this time. They were going to catch him. She knew it. They had to.
At the thought, a strange sensation came over her, like shivering after being doused with ice water. She frowned at the ominous feeling, unsure of its origin for the moment. Somehow, though, as the dreadful feeling spread, she knew that what came next wouldn’t be easy. The killer was not the sort to go down lightly. He was arrogant and dangerous; a deadly man. She would have to do her best to make sure no one else was hurt in his apprehension.
Adele glanced back over her shoulder toward Robert, raising an eyebrow. “You still think he has red hair?” she said.
Robert paused, thought, then nodded. “I’m confident he does. I don’t think it’s a wig. But I think you shouldn’t underestimate this man. He’s confident and has been leading the chase for a while now. He won’t go down easy. And if he can, he’s going to take bodies with him.”
Adele pursed her lips. “I think you’re right. See you in a few days, hopefully.”
Robert gave a small rolling finger wave, but he was no longer smiling as he watched her exit the door and hurry after John, racing down the hall to catch up with his long strides.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
So many flights in so few days. Adele could feel the exhaustion weighing on her like sandbags strapped to her limbs. Still, as she settled in the limousine, with Agent Renee against the other window, she glanced toward the young woman seated across from them.
Their German attaché couldn’t have been older than twenty. She had a nervous, excited energy about her as she surveyed the two agents settling in the back seat of the limousine. If the age of their BKA connection didn’t suggest the German authorities were sending a message, then the provided vehicle certainly did. Adele had never been picked up by a limousine in her life.
A twenty-year-old tour guide in a gauche limousine—the BKA were having a go and Adele wasn’t amused.
Through the window, Adele spotted passengers streaming through sliding glass doors toward waiting vehicles or toward the taxis lining the gates. She heard the sound of jet engines rumbling the sky above and could smell gasoline and stale smoke on the air, settling in the still cabin.
Adele moved her right hand between her leg and the door, so the others couldn’t see, and she pinched herself, trying to propel the pain through her system to jolt herself awake. She needed caffeine. They’d served coffee on the plane, though, and it had done little to revive her.
“You’re the BKA correspondent?” said John, eyeing the young attaché.
The German shifted uncomfortably and adjusted in her seat. “Yes,” she answered in nearly flawless English. “My name is Beatrice Marshall. You may call me Agent Marshall.” She inhaled and then, in a rehearsed fashion, declared, “The BKA is happy to work with the FBI and the DGSI, but where you go, I’m required to go—understand?”
Adele smiled at the young woman, remembering her first year working for the DGSI fresh out of college.
Agent Marshall tapped politely on the window divider between them and the driver. “Please take us to Lion Pharmaceutical now,” she said.
“That’s it?” Adele asked, frowning. “We don’t need to shake hands with some supervisors or make nice with your boss?”
Agent Marshall shook her head primly, crossing her legs and then adjusting her position to face Adele with an uncomfortable sort of pivot. John was watching her, a small smile curling his lips, like a lion who’d spotted a gazelle.
Adele glanced at her partner and rolled her eyes. “We’re heading directly to the pharmaceutical company?”
“Is that a problem?” replied the young agent.
“No, of course not.”
Inwardly, Adele had hoped she would’ve had time to at least get some sleep. She’d managed to snatch about a half hour of rest on the plane, but scrunched up in business class next to John, with worries and fears cycling through her mind, had made true slumber an impossibility.
Adele settled into the back of the car, listening to the chugging engine and the spinning wheels as the limousine left the airport.
Germany. It wasn’t as jarring to travel from France to Germany. It was only a couple hour flight at best. The transition from US to Europe was a far different kettle of fish as most of the travel was over an open ocean. Now, though, Adele felt a strange sense of nostalgia descending on her. Germany had been her home until she’d turned twelve. Her father still lived here… perhaps a visit was in order.
She thought of Robert back in France, of his offer for her to reclaim her old room. It would be nice, at least, to swim in the indoor pool after her run. Her trip to France was taking unexpected turns.
Perhaps none more unexpected than the latest twist. It seemed like the start to a joke. A BKA officer, a DGSI operative, and an FBI agent all walk into a bar…
Then what? Whatever the punchline was, Adele desperately hoped it involved a red-haired killer.
The limousine carried them through the city, slicing through traffic. They exited the city on a gray highway not long after, pulling out into the suburbs, then eventually a series of fields on the outskirts of Hamburg.
Lion Pharmaceutical wasn’t too far from the airport, but it would still take some time.
John was going over the manila folder as they traveled, and every so often, making eyes toward their young German babysitter. Though the young agent mostly fixed her gaze ahead, facing the backseat from the middle, every so often, she would look up to meet Renee’s gaze and smile. Her legs were still crossed at least.
Adele suppressed the urge to vomit and closed her eyes, trying to focusing on her breathing and steady her nerves. Tired as she was, she couldn’t allow it to slow her thoughts. Her target was in her crosshairs… now it was only a matter of time.
Finally, after nearly an hour, the limousine pulled into a side road that led toward a large metal fence topped with barbed wire.
Adele perked up, peering through the tinted windows toward a large structure in the distance. A giant building of glass and curved windows centered the stretch of fence. The building looked like an aquarium from this distance, except for the rows of barbed wire between the road and the compound.
A couple of men armed with rifles stood outside the gate, holding up halting hands toward the car.
Marshall nodded politely through the window and leaned out, extending identification. “I’m here with the BKA,” she rattled off in German. “My supervisor should’ve called ahead.”
John wrinkled his nose at the foreign language, but Adele listened intently.
Marshall continued, “These are agents Renee and Sharp from the DGSI and FBI. They’re under my supervision; there shouldn’t be any problems.”
A few exchanges later, following a phone call from the gate, the guards stepped aside, and the gate split, rolling on a metal track and allowing them entrance into the parking lot.
The driver guided the limousine further into the compound and pulled up outside the curb closest to the front doors.
Lion Pharmaceutical was displayed in large golden block letters above the giant glass doors. On each of the front windows, a crisp design of a white lion head stenciled the glass.
John exited the vehicle first, pushing open the back door and swinging his long legs out onto the curb. He extended a hand, gallantly offering his arm toward Agent Marshall. Adele rolled her eyes again as the young German operative accepted the French man’s arm and climbed out from the back of the limousine. Adele followed.
She glanced back at the long, black vehicle with the tinted windows. She’d never been one for the German sense of humor. This, though a small one, was a jab in their direction. Sending a young agent in a limousine was the German government’s way of putting them in their place.
Adele adjusted her sleeves and stared up at the enormous blue glass building. Somewhere in that structure, somebody knew who the killer was. She was sure of it.
The chemical compound had been a perfect match for a drug created in this very building.
She turned to John. “You have the files?”
Renee continued chatting with Marshall but wiggled the band of a briefcase strapped over his shoulder in Adele’s direction.
The limousine pulled away from the curb in search of a proper parking spot while Adele and her two teammates made their way toward the large glass doors with angled metal handles.
Conspicuous red letters were scrawled across the door: “WARNING: Authorized Personnel Only.”
Elsewhere, stenciled beneath the lion logos, other warnings ornamented the glass, as well as a yellow triangle with black marks over the word: “TOXIC.”
Before they reached the doors, Adele spotted someone through the glass and both doors were pushed open. A man and a woman stood on either side, flanking the entry, both wearing business suits and gesturing politely at the agents to enter.
“Director Mueller is upstairs,” said the man on the right side of the door.
He had no distinguishing features whatsoever. He had an average face, was of average height, and had light brown hair. His complexion was hard to place ethnically, and his voice wasn’t deep nor was it high-pitched. As if to complete the image, he was also wearing a charcoal gray suit.
The woman on the other side of the door didn’t say anything, but kept the door ajar, still smiling politely at them with the sort of feigned excitement a car salesman might have envied.
“Who are you?” John growled in English.
“Personal assistants to Director Mueller,” said the young man, with a light, airy accent, flashing a Colgate smile. “Please, if you will… we’ve been expecting you.”
Adele followed the two young assistants into the lobby of a large white-walled atrium. Strange decor, like the type found in hotels or banks, had been arranged tastefully throughout the space, including a small koi pond beneath a fountain in the center of the room. The sound of trickling water created a peaceful atmosphere in the otherwise intimidating building.
“Director Mueller is quite busy today,” the male assistant began, turning to face the agents with a smile, his hands on his hips. “If you wouldn’t mind waiting—er, excuse me, miss!”
Two sets of stairs ascended the back of the room, and an elevator door presented itself at the base of the stairs.
Adele marched toward the stairs without invitation, ignoring the calls of the assistant. She ignored the elevator, while John hesitated, his hand hovering, about to push the button. She started stomping up the stairs, heard John grumble behind her, but, reluctantly, she could hear him follow after her, leaving the elevator.
The hurried footsteps of the assistants followed also, and both of them were now calling after Adele. “Excuse me, please! Wait! Director Mueller was very express in his desire not to be disturbed!”
But Adele ignored them and continued her trek up the stairs.
While it was true that Interpol had gone to great lengths to connect her with the BKA and designate temporary jurisdiction in this country, that didn’t mean she had to play nice. Someone in this laboratory had killed at least six people, and had attempted to kill a seventh. Most likely there were bodies she didn’t know about.
Somehow, Lion Pharmaceutical’s drug had ended up in the hands of a serial killer.
They had to act quickly. Before he escaped. She reached the top of the stairs and glanced around. A long hall led toward a circular waiting area with glass windows on all sides. Various doors lined the hallway. A couple of them looked like offices, one a bathroom and another a supply closet.
Adele strode quickly past these doors and reached the waiting area. Two giant brown double doors held the opposite wall.
Adele reached for the handle, and, still ignoring the protests from the assistants behind her, she pulled the door open and stepped into the room beyond
“Director Mueller, I presume?” she asked, projecting her voice across the large office. The floor-to-ceiling windows displayed a breathtaking view of the surrounding countryside and a distant glimpse of the city center.
A handsome man with features a little too fixed to be natural stared across her over a chic, slim desk. It was one of those standing desks Angus had gone on and on about back in San Francisco. In one corner of the office, a treadmill faced the window, flanked by a small rack of dumbbells.
The man standing behind his desk was on the phone, but stopped mid-sentence at Adele’s unannounced entry.
He glanced at her, then his dark eyes flicked past her, and he raised an eyebrow toward his assistants. At least, he tried to raise an eyebrow. Surgeon’s scalpels and injections had long limited the man’s ability to properly express, however, and all he managed was a generic twitch of his forehead.
Adele cleared her throat. “I apologize,” she said in English. “But it’s a matter of some urgency.”
Director Mueller eyed her up and down and slowly lowered the phone into his pocket.
“No English,” he said, quietly. Then, in German, he said, “Why did you let this American in without giving me until the end of my phone call?” His voice was clipped but patient.
The bland-featured assistant and his partner hurried past Adele, trying their best not to touch her, but moving with urgency so they brushed against her as they slipped into the room. “Sorry, sir,” said the young man in German. “But BKA is with them. You said they’d called ahead.”
Director Mueller nodded a couple of times. “They did. But that doesn’t mean I don’t still have work to do. I can’t shut everything down the moment they want, BKA or not. Which of them speaks German?”
He glanced past Adele toward the other two agents. John was scowling again and doing his best to look intimidating. Agent Marshall, though, stepped forward, raising a small hand. Before she could speak, though, Adele raised her voice. “I can speak German.”
She felt the eyes in the room dart toward her, settling on her in surprise.
“I actually grew up here.”
She glanced back and noticed the look of surprise on John’s face. For some reason, this gave her no small amount of pleasure. She smirked in his direction, and then turned back to the man at the desk. “I’m sorry for the intrusion, Director Mueller. I promise to be in and out as quick as possible. I know you have business to conduct and research to complete. It is not my intention to intrude beyond a reasonable capacity.”
Director Mueller’s already high eyebrows flicked up even further. “You do speak German. And quite well. Well, darling, what can I do to help?”
Adele tried not to show her displeasure at the familiar term. His tone suggested an air of condescension.
She knew men like this. Men in positions of power and authority who didn’t take kindly to anyone intruding on their turf. Adele wasn’t some activist, and she didn’t desire to alter the way people thought; it was simply an observation. As an investigator, it was up to her to notice things. And to use them.
There were some agents, if looked down on, who might take offense. But Adele wasn’t in the business of changing hearts and minds. She was here to catch a killer.
She adjusted her posture. Instead of squaring her shoulders, she slouched, instead of standing with her arms at her side, she crossed them, in a defensive, submissive position. She put one leg over the other for a second, fidgeting and scratching at her ankle with her foot in an awkward, ungainly gesture. She shuffled again, trying to find purchase, and muttered quietly to herself as if trying to gather her nerves.
“Sorry,” she said, quickly. “I’m so sorry.” She even raised her voice a little bit, softening her consonants and extending her vowels in a sort of childish way. “I know how busy you must be. Please, could you tell me about this compound? It’s quite difficult to understand.”
“I have to finish this phone call,” said Director Mueller. At her words, he seemed to calm somewhat. “You could come back in a half hour, say, and I’d be happy to answer whatever questions you have.”
Adele fidgeted, gnawing on the corner for lip, playing clueless. She did have boundaries. But if she needed to play the sheep, she would play it. If she needed to flirt, she would do that too. There were those, especially those like Agent Paige, who thought every problem was a nail, and so they played the hammer. But Adele had learned from Robert that sometimes you caught more bees with honey.
“The thing is,” she said, “if we wait half an hour, then more agents from the BKA may come by. It could become this whole thing. I really don’t want to have to shut down your offices today. To be honest, it sounds unfair to me, but that’s just the way policy works.” She gave a helpless little shrug.
Director Mueller was frowning now.
Adele continued, “If you could just tell me what this compound is, we could be on our way in a minute. Please? I need your help.” She kept her tone earnest, her arms still crossed.
Director Mueller rolled his eyes and met the gaze of the male assistant in the room, sharing a knowing look over Adele’s shoulder. But finally, he waved his hand from behind his standing desk like a king imperiously summoning a subject. “Show me what compound,” he said.
Adele turned and retrieved the folder from John—who flashed her a wink—before approaching Director Mueller.
He opened the folder and scanned it, his plastic features betraying no expression whatsoever. At last though, frowning, his eyes flicked up. “Where did you get this?”
Adele gnawed on her lip again. “I’m not really sure. But it’s connected to something. It’s not a big deal. But do you know where it’s from?”
Everyone else in the room remained quiet, watching the strange exchange between the director and the FBI agent.
Director Mueller glanced at the file again and clicked his tongue.
He turned toward his standing desk and tapped at a laptop keyboard. A second later, his eyes scanned the screen, and he nodded. “I knew I recognized it. Yes. That was Project 132z. It was supposed to be a paralytic for the medical field, but we weren’t granted the proper approvals from,” he paused, and then very quickly recited, “the Bundesinstitut für Arzneimittel und Medizinprodukte.” He smirked at Adele. “Do you know what that is?”
Inwardly, Adele translated the title as, The Federal Institute for Drugs and Medical Devices. But out loud, she said, “They sound important. So this drug of yours—it was forbidden?”
Director Mueller nodded. “We had to cancel Project 132z. It wasn’t one of our bigger earners, anyway. What’s this about? Did a competitor put you on this?”
Adele shook her head. “No, this has nothing to do with a competitor. So you’re saying your lab did make the substance?”
Director Mueller paused, noticing a shift in Adele’s tone. His eyes narrowed for a moment, “I think perhaps I have to speak with a lawyer.”
But Adele leaned on his standing desk, looking Director Mueller in the eyes. “We’re not interested in your company, sir. That I can promise you. We’re here to find a murderer. I can’t go into the details, but he’s been using that substance of yours. And, as I said earlier, I have no interest in shutting down your operations, or having BKA agents swarming your company—who knows what they might find. I can’t imagine that would do anything nice to your stock prices.”
The sudden shift in Adele’s posture and tone caught Mueller off guard. A flicker of annoyance crossed his features. A king rarely enjoyed being questioned by a subject, but Adele spoke quickly, not allowing his emotions to settle, hoping she would engage the part of him most concerned with his job rather than his ego. Robert had been a master at manipulating conversations, and some of his acumen had rubbed off on her.
“If you could just help us,” she said, “we’ll be on our way without interrupting anything. It is important to note that your drug is at the center of six separate murder investigations. Now, we could investigate your company…”
At this, the director’s expression soured. “I have thousands of employees. I can’t possibly know what all of them are up to.”
On a lark, Adele asked, “Do any of those employees have red hair?”
Mueller frowned. “Employee information is private unless you have a judge’s order…” He trailed off, glancing past her toward the other agents in the room with a questioning look. “No? Well, in that case—”
Here, Agent Marshall stepped forward from her position in the doorway, clearing her throat. “Actually, sir, the order is being written. But right now, we’re under a joint task force. She’s telling you the truth.” Marshall lowered her voice conspiratorially. “Interpol is involved. But this doesn’t have to become some sort of international investigation into your company—we wouldn’t want what happened to Bedelwen Industries to happen here, now would we?” Marshall winced. “Bankruptcy, civil lawsuits… All because of a prolonged investigation…”
Mueller’s face paled at this.
Marshall continued, “With your compliance, I’m sure we can limit the scope of our interference in your company.”
Adele glanced back, flashing a look of gratitude toward the younger agent. Marshall kept her gaze on Mueller, her expression still polite.
The director glanced between the two women, still frowning. At last though, he sighed and said, “I can give you personnel files, but you can’t stay here looking into them. It would be bad for business if it got out that private information was freely handed over to the government, understand? I’m expecting discretion here.”
Adele nodded her thanks. “When can we have those files by?”
The director shrugged. “In a couple of days, I’m sure—”
“—Within the hour. Email them here.” Adele grabbed an expensive-looking pen sticking from an ornamental desk set and scribbled on a notepad; she pushed the email address toward the director. “Please,” she added. “We won’t take any more of your time. The employee records need to be in that inbox within the hour, or I’m coming back with a crime scene team.” Here, she leaned into the threat, fixing her gaze on the director.
Sometimes, even kings needed proper motivation. She didn’t want to cause any trouble, but any delay could allow the killer to escape; that was something she simply couldn’t afford. Adele turned and exited the office, leading Agents Renee and Marshall away from the office and through the circular, glass waiting room of the Lion Pharmaceutical company.
Somewhere in those records, they would find a red-haired man who’d been traveling in the last few weeks. Adele would stake everything on it. That would be their killer. They were closing in, and he didn’t even know it.
