Plague Ship

  Gil collapsed into his chair. His mouth worked to form words but no sound came out. The past three minutes had been too much. The Golden Dawn. He knew a hundred of the people on that ship, probably two hundred. Now this. This monster telling him that he’d been working for two years on a plan to intentionally sterilize three billion people.

  He wasn’t going to lose any sleep over the sterilization of a couple thousand cruise ship passengers. They’d be depressed, but life would go on, and, as a bonus, he bet a few orphanages would be emptied.

  He should have seen it was going to go far beyond that. What was it Dr. Cooper had written in We’re Breeding Ourselves to Death: Arguably the greatest transfer of wealth in human history occurred when the Plague swept Europe and wiped out a third of its population. Lands were consolidated, allowing for a greater standard of living, not only for the owners but for those who worked for them. This event single-handedly paved the way for the Renaissance and gave rise to European dominationn of the world.

  “We have taken Dr. Cooper’s words and turned them into action,” Kovac said, giving voice to the horror echoing in the empty chasm that had once been Martell’s soul.

  Martell thought he was safe behind his desk for the moment, but he hadn’t counted on the big man’s strength. As if the desk were no more than a cardboard box, Kovac shoved it into Gil, pinning him in his seat against the back wall. He opened his mouth to shout out to his secretary. Kovac wasn’t especially quick, and the Responsivist director managed a hoarse croak before his throat was closed with a jab to his Adam’s apple. His eyes bulged from their sockets as he fought for a breath he could not draw.

  Kovac looked around the office. There was nothing he could see that would make this look like a suicide until he spied the pictures hanging on the wall. He scanned the faces quickly and knew which one he would use. Leaving Martell struggling to fill his lungs, Kovac crossed to a photograph of Donna Sky.

  The actress was too skinny for his tastes, but it wasn’t much of a stretch to believe Martell would be in love with her. He snatched the picture off the wall and carefully slid the glossy from the frame. He smashed the glass on the edge of the desk.

  Kovac pressed Martell into his seat with one massive hand, while, with the other, he selected the largest glass shard, a dagger at least five inches long. He released Martell’s head and grabbed one of his arms, making sure to keep his grip loose enough so he didn’t bruise the tanned skin.

  The glass cut into his flesh with spongy resistance and dark blood welled up from the wound, pooling on the desk before drizzling to the floor. Gil Martell struggled, thrashing in his seat, but he was no match for the Serb. He could only manage a rough cawing sound that wouldn’t be heard beyond the office walls. His movements became slower and more uncoordinated as his strength ebbed through the gash until he finally went limp.

  Careful not to leave bloody footprints, Kovac slid the desk back to its proper position. He hefted Martell’s body from his seat and reversed the chair so he could set the corpse astride it. He lowered Gil’s head until the bruise on his throat was hard up against the chair’s wooden seat back. The coroner would attribute the bruising to his head tipping forward when he passed out from blood loss. The final detail was to arrange the photograph of Donna Sky so it seemed to be the last thing Gil Martell saw before his death.

  As Kovac closed the office door behind him, Martell’s secretary entered the building through the main door. She was carrying a ceramic coffee cup and a large purse. She was in her late fifties with a bad dye job, and an extra fifty pounds hanging from her frame.

  “Well, hello there, Mr. Kovac,” she said brightly.

  He didn’t recall her name, so he said, “Mr. Martell is at his desk already. As you can guess, he’s very upset about what happened last night.”

  “Terrible thing.”

  “Yes, it was,” Kovac agreed with a somber nod. He felt his cell phone vibrate in his pocket. “He asked that he not be disturbed for any reason today.”

  “Are you going to find out who attacked us and get that poor boy back into the fold?”

  “That’s why Mr. Severance called me down here.” Patricia, he thought. Her name was Patricia Ogdenburg. He checked the screen on his phone. It was Thom Severance, requesting a secure phone call. Considering they had spoken earlier that morning, something critical must have happened. Kovac repocketed the cell.

  Patricia looked him in the eye, tilting her head back to do so. “Pardon me for being blunt, but you must know that a lot of folks here are intimidated by you.” When he didn’t reply, she plowed on. “I think you are as tough as you look, but I also think you are a very caring and thoughtful person, too. You understand social responsibility, and I find your presence a comfort. There are so many ignorant people out there that don’t understand all the good we do. I’m glad that you’re here to protect us. Bless you, Zelimir Kovac.” She laughed. “You’re blushing. I think I embarrassed you.”

  “You are very kind,” Kovac said, imagining the loneliness that had driven her, like him, to Responsivism.

  “Well, if a compliment can make you blush then I know I’m right.”

  Oh, how wrong you are, Kovac thought as he left the building without a backward glance.

  CHAPTER 17

  THE HOTEL WAS IN A HISTORIC SIX-STORY BUILDING not far from the Colosseum. The suite they had rented encompassed nearly a quarter of the top floor and had a wrought-iron balcony that wrapped around the outside walls.

  Kyle was still in a chemically induced stupor when Max pushed his wheelchair into the sumptuous entrance, but he could tell by how his son muttered that he was no more than an hour or two of coming awake.

  “Hello,” someone called from deeper in the suite.

  “Hello,” Max replied. “Dr. Jenner?”

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  Jenner stepped into the foyer from the living room. He wore a dark charcoal suit with a faint stripe and white silk pullover. Max noticed that he also wore thin leather gloves and that his hands were curled unnaturally.

  Max couldn’t pin down the psychiatrist’s age. He had a full head of hair with only a few streaks of gray and a tanned face that looked like it could have had some cosmetic work. There were traces of wrinkles around the eyes and mouth, but they seemed to have been smoothed out surgically. For what Jenner charged for his deprogramming services, he could afford the best plastic surgeons in the world, but his face had that startled, deer-caught-in-the-headlights expression so common with inferior cosmetic work.

  It was an incongruity of little importance, but Max was still surprised by it. He held out his hand. “Max Hanley.”

  Jenner held up his own gloved hands. “You will forgive me if I don’t shake. My hands were burned in a car accident when I was younger.”

  “Oh, certainly. No problem. This is Eddie Seng, from the company that rescued my son, and this is Kyle.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Doctor,” Eddie said. “Sorry we couldn’t tell you the name of the hotel until you arrived in Rome. Operational security.”

  “I quite understand.” Jenner led them into one of the suite’s three bedrooms. They settled Kyle, wearing a hospital johnny, into the king-sized four-poster and closed the heavy drapes. Max ran the back of his hand along his son’s jaw. His eyes were a sea of love, pain, hopelessness, and self-incrimination.

  “We’ll bring him back,” Adam Jenner said, doubtlessly having seen Max’s expression on countless parents over the course of his career. Back in the living room, the French doors leading to the balcony were opened, so the sound of Rome’s notorious evening traffic was a background hum. Over the roof of the apartment building across the street, they could see the towering travertine walls and arches of the city’s most famous landmark. With seating for nearly fifty thousand, the Colosseum was as large as any modern sports arena.

  “I trust things went smoothly,” Jenner said. He had a trace of an accent Max couldn’t place, almost as if he was raised by pare
nts who didn’t speak English.

  “Actually, they didn’t,” Max told him.

  “Really? What happened?”

  The eyes, too, Max thought. There was something about them. Behind Jenner’s stylish glasses, his hazel eyes seemed strange. Max could usually read people’s eyes in an instant and tell what kind of person they were, but with Jenner he got nothing.

  “The Responsivists now employ armed guards,” Eddie said when Max didn’t respond.

  Jenner settled into a plush sofa with a sigh. “I’ve been afraid this day would come. Thom and Heidi Severance have been increasingly paranoid in the past few years. I guess it was inevitable that they would start keeping weapons. I am truly sorry. I should have warned you of my growing suspicions.”

  Eddie dismissed Jenner’s concern with a wave. “None of my people were hurt, so it isn’t a big deal.”

  “You are being too modest, Mr. Seng. I’ve been in combat, so I understand what you’ve been through.”

  Vietnam, Max thought, putting Jenner near his own age. Mystery solved, and he felt better for it. “So how does this work?” he asked.

  “Normally, we would hold an intervention with Kyle’s friends and family to let him know he has the support he needs to break away from the Responsivists. However, in this type of situation I will need to speak with Kyle alone for the first few sessions. It’s going to be quite a shock when he wakes up and realizes what’s happened to him.” Jenner gave a wan smile. “And it’s my experience that shock turns to anger very quickly.”

  “Kyle’s not violent, if you’re concerned,” Max assured him. “Unlike his old man, the boy doesn’t have a temper.”

  “I usually prescribe something to keep subjects calm anyway, until the shock wears off.” He waved one of his gloves at a side table where an old-fashioned black doctor’s bag was perched next to an arrangement of fresh flowers.

  “How many people have you helped, Doctor.”

  “Please, call me Adam. Well over two hundred.”

  “All successful?”

  “I wish I could say yes, but that’s not the case. I’ve had a handful commit suicide, and even more return to the cult. It’s sad, really. People get sucked in by what they perceive to be the good works of the Responsivists, but it’s only when they have been there for a while that the group begins to exert more and more control, especially by making its members lose contact with their loved ones. Once that happens, it is sometimes difficult to get them to return to their real lives.”

  “Why do people let it happen?” Eddie asked, but he already knew the answer. It was the same in Chinatown when he was a kid. The pressure to join a gang was intense, and, once you did, they never let you go.

  “Loneliness, a sense of disconnect from the world. The Responsivists make them feel they are part of something much larger than themselves, something important that can give them meaning. It’s pretty much the same symptoms that lead others to drugs or alcohol, and the rehabilitation is similar. So you have successes as well as failures.”

  “According to his mother, Kyle’s been involved with Responsivism for only a few months, so I think he should be okay.”

  “Duration has nothing to do with it,” Jenner countered. “It’s how deeply he has allowed them to poison his mind. I had a case once where a woman had been going to Responsivist meetings for only two weeks when her husband became concerned and hired me. She ended up leaving him and is now the secretary to the director of their Greek retreat where you rescued your son. Pattie Ogdenburg. Funny how you remember the names of your failures but never those of your successes.”

  Max and Eddie nodded in unison. They had shared many of each together.

  “I’m curious,” Eddie said into the gathering silence, “how does someone as successful as Donna Sky get mixed up in something like this?”

  “Same as everyone else. Just because she has awards and accolades and an entourage doesn’t mean she’s any less lonely than anyone else. Oftentimes, celebrities are more estranged from reality than most and are easily swayed. Out in the real world, she’s mobbed by fans, but within the organization she’s just Donna. And yet, her fame helps recruit new members all the time.”

  “I will never understand any of this,” Max groaned.

  “Which is why you hired me.” Jenner spoke in a bright voice to lighten the somber mood. “You don’t need to understand it. All you have to do is be ready to show your son how much you love him.”

  “Do you know anything about a Responsivist center in the Philippines?” Eddie asked to change the subject.

  Jenner paused to think about the question. “Not specifically. I wouldn’t be surprised if they had family-planning clinics there, but . . . No, wait, that’s right. There was talk about them opening another retreat. I believe they have bought land someplace, but nothing’s been built. Or very little anyway.”

  “What about leasing a cruise ship?”

  “You’re talking about the Golden Dawn? What a horrible tragedy. I suspect that is what they call a Sea Retreat. They have done that a number of times over the past couple of years. They often lease out an entire ship, or book at least half the cabins, and hold meetings and discuss the movement. I went on one just to see what it was all about. It seemed to me that it was a recruiting tool to get at lonely widows still flush with their late husbands’ pensions.”

  Jenner stood. “I should go check on Kyle.”

  When he was out of the room, Max crossed to the sideboard where bottles of liquor were lined up like soldiers on parade. He splashed some whiskey into a cut-glass tumbler and indicated to Eddie if he wanted one, too. The former spook declined.

  “This isn’t a mission,” Max said, taking a sip. “You don’t need to teetotal.”

  “Just the same. So what do you think?”

  “I think we hit the jackpot with him. He certainly knows what he’s dealing with. You?”

  “I agree. Linda did a great job finding him, and I’m sure that Kyle will be fine.”

  “Thanks for babysitting us,” Max said, but there was much more behind the words.

  “You’d do the same for any of us.”

  Max’s cell phone purred. He reached into his pocket for it. The caller ID read CHAIRMAN.

  “We’re here, safe and sound,” he said by way of greeting.

  “Glad to hear it,” Cabrillo replied. “Was Jenner there?”

  “Yes. Eddie and I were just talking about how lucky we feel to have found him.”

  “Good.”

  “How’s everything on the Oregon?”

  “I just got off the phone with Langston. I think I need Julia to install a colostomy bag, because he ripped me a new one for driving the ship through the Corinth Canal.”

  “Little angry, was he?”

  “Oh, my friend, angry was not the word. Through back channels, he’s trying to convince the Greeks it wasn’t some terrorist plot to destroy the canal. They want to call out NATO, for heaven’s sake.”

  Max winced. “What did I tell you about you and your damned plan Cs.”

  Juan chuckled. "If any future operation requires a plan C, you can have my resignation.”

  “I heard that, and Eddie’s my witness.”

  Cabrillo turned serious. “How’s Kyle doing?”

  “He’ll be coming out of the drugs pretty soon. We’ll know then.”

  “You’ve got a whole boatload of people pulling for the both of you.”

  “This has been tough,” Max admitted. “A lot tougher than I had realized.”

  “He’s your son. Even if you two aren’t close, you still love him. Nothing changes that.”

  “It’s just that I’m so angry.”

  “No, Max, you’re guilty. Two separate things, and you’ve got to get over it or you won’t be able to help him. Life happens the way it happens. Some things we can change and some things we can’t. You just have to be smart enough to know the difference and act accordingly.”

  “I feel like I let him do
wn, you know?”

  “And there isn’t a parent in the world who doesn’t feel that way about their kids at some point in time. That’s all part of the process.”

  Max digested what Cabrillo said and nodded. Realizing Juan couldn’t see the gesture, he grudgingly said, “You have a point. It’s just . . .”

  “Tough. I know. Max, when we’re on an op, we plan out every detail, every possible contingency, so we’re never surprised. And, even then, we get thrown curves. Think about trying to do that in the other parts of our lives. It’s impossible. You’re doing what any good parent does. You’re there for Kyle now. You can’t say that this would or wouldn’t have happened if you’d been around when he was growing up. Just deal with the here and now. Okay?”

  “You’re going to make a hell of a father someday.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Juan laughed. “I know how rotten the world is. I wouldn’t let a kid out of his bedroom until he was at least thirty, and even then I’d only let him go as far as the fenced-in yard.”

  “Where are you guys now?”

  “Almost due south of you. We’ll hit the Riviera late tomorrow night and have full surveillance of the arms dealer in place by the following morning.”

  “I should be with you.”

  “You should be with Kyle. Don’t worry about anything. Take all the time you need. Okay?”

  “Okay.” Eddie gestured for the phone. “Hold on, Eddie wants to talk to you.”

  “Juan, I was talking with Jenner, and he mentioned the Responsivists have hired cruise ships in the past.”

  “And?”

  “Could be a wild-goose chase, but it wouldn’t hurt to have Eric and Mark cross-reference those voyages to see if anything weird went down.”

  “Not a bad idea. Anything else?”

  “He said there are rumors they are building a new retreat in the Philippines. If there was something like four hundred Responsivists on the Dawn when she sank, I think they’re further along in construction than Dr. Jenner knows. Might be worth checking out.”