Plague Ship - Cussler Clive - Страница 48
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Kovac held a finger to his fleshy lips in a shushing gesture before Martell could speak. When Kovac reached the desk, he shut off the jammer, then took a small piece of electronics from the inside pocket of his black leather jacket. He systematically swept the room, his small eyes never leaving the electronic readout as he moved the device over bookshelves, furniture, and the carpet. Satisfied, he slipped it back into his pocket.
“So there weren’t any—”
The weight of Kovac’s stare pressed Gil Martell farther into his chair.
Kovac upended the desk lamp and peeled the tiny eavesdropper from the base. He wasn’t familiar with the particular brand, but he recognized its sophistication. Because the bug was so small, he knew that somewhere within a mile or so of the compound a booster transceiver retransmitted whatever the bug heard to a circling satellite. Searching for it would be futile.
“End transmission,” he said into the microphone, doing his best to mask his accent. He then crushed the bug between his thick fingernails, grinding it until it was as fine as particles of sand. He finally looked to Martell. “Now you may speak.”
“Was that the only one?”
Kovac didn’t bother answering such an inane question. “I will need to sweep everywhere the intruders penetrated.” It would be tedious but necessary. “Have the guards draw up a map of the possibly infected areas.”
“Of course. But I can tell you that they only entered my office and the dorm.” Feeling his head throb at Martell’s utter stupidity, Kovac had to physically calm himself. When he spoke, his English was heavily accented but clear. “They had to breach the perimeter wall and cross the compound to this building and then make their way to the dormitory. They could have dropped bugs along the paths, thrown them into bushes, stuck them to trees, and even left some on top of the walls.”
“Oh. I didn’t understand.”
Kovac gave him a look that said: You are right. You don’t understand. “Was there anything on your computer pertaining to the upcoming mission?”
“No. Absolutely not. All that stuff is in my safe. It’s the first thing I checked after getting off the phone with Thom.”
“Give me that material,” Kovac ordered.
Martell considered defying the Serb and calling Severance, but he knew that Thom trusted Kovac on all matters concerning security and that his protests would fall on deaf ears. The less he had to do with their scheme the better. In fact, maybe it was time to move on from here. The break-in might be a sign telling him to cash in while he could. He’d skimmed almost a million dollars from the Greek retreat. It wasn’t enough to live on for the rest of his life, but it would certainly establish him well enough until he found something else.
He got up from behind his desk and strode across to his office sitting area. Kovac did nothing to help him move the furniture off the Oriental rug or fold it back to reveal a trapdoor and, below, a midsize safe embedded in the floor.
“The chairs and tables were in their exact position when I came in, so I know nothing was moved,” he explained as he worked. “And look, the wax seal over the keyhole is intact.” Kovac didn’t bother telling Martell that a professional team, like the one who’d entered the retreat, would know to replace the furniture in its correct position, and, while a wax seal was a good touch, it could be duplicated if they’d had enough time. But he wasn’t all that worried that the safe had been their objective. He’d glanced at the file they had on Kyle Hanley, and he suspected the young Californian’s family had hired a hostage-rescue team to return their son. No doubt they would have hired a deprogrammer as well. Most likely Adam Jenner.
The very thought of the man’s name balled Kovac’s hands into fists.
“Here we go,” Martell said, and pulled a strongbox out of the safe. There was an electronic keypad on its lid. The facility’s director tapped a numerical sequence and smirked at Kovac. “According to the box’s memory, it hasn’t been opened in four days, which is when I got the latest updates from Thom.” A child could have reprogrammed the strongbox with a UBS cord and a laptop, but, again, Kovac held his tongue. “Open it.”
Martell entered his pass-code numbers. The box beeped and the lid lifted slightly. Inside was a three-inch-thick manila folder. Kovac stretched out his hand for Martell to hand him the file. He glanced through the pages quickly. It was lists of names, ships, ports of call, schedules, as well as short biographies of crew members. Completely innocuous to anyone who didn’t know their significance. The dates mentioned weren’t too far in the future.
“Close the safe,” Kovac said absently as he thumbed the file.
Martell complied, settling the lockbox back into its niche and securing the door. “I’ll put on the wax seal later.”
Kovac glared.
“Or I’ll do it now.” Martell’s tone was flippant. He kept the wax in his desk, and the seal was the prep school ring he wore but had never earned. A few minutes later, the kilim rug was back down and the couch, chairs, and coffee table in their places.
“Did Kyle Hanley know anything about this?” Kovac held up the file like a zealot proffering a holy book.
“No. I explained it to Thom. Hanley had only been here a short time. He’d seen the machines but knew nothing of the plan.”
Martell’s casual response triggered a look of suspicion on Kovac’s face. The room seemed to chill a few degrees. Gil made his decision. As soon as Kovac left, he’d head to his house, pack up a few things, and hop the next plane to Zurich, where he kept his numbered account.
“It’s possible he might have heard rumors,” he amended.
“What sort of rumors, Martell?”
Gil didn’t like how Kovac said his surname and swallowed. “Ah, a few of the kids here are talking about a Sea Retreat, like those that went on the Golden Dawn. They make it sound like a big party.” For the first time, Kovac’s cool veneer seemed to slip. “Do you have any idea what happened to that ship?”
“No. I don’t let anyone here watch the news or use the Internet. I haven’t either. Why, did something go wrong?”
Kovac recalled Mr. Severance’s words when he’d phoned from California this morning: Do what you think is right. Now he understood what the Responsivist leader had meant. “Mr. Severance doesn’t trust you much.”
“How dare you. He put me in charge of this retreat and the training of our people,” Martell blustered.
“He trusts me as much as he does you.”
“No, Mr. Martell. That is not the case. You see, two days ago I was on the Golden Dawn and participated in an experiment. It was glorious. Everyone on that vessel died in ways I haven’t imagined in my worst nightmares.”
“They what?” Martell shouted, sickened by the news and the reverent way Kovac said it, as though he were talking about a favorite piece of art or the peacefulness of a sleeping child.
“They are dead. All of them. And the ship scuttled. I had to secure the bridge before releasing the virus, so nobody could report what was happening. It swept through the ship like wildfire. It couldn’t have taken more than an hour. Young and old, it didn’t matter. Their bodies couldn’t fight it.” Gil Martell backed around his desk, as if it could act as a barrier to the horror he was hearing. He reached for the phone. “I have to call Thom. This can’t be right.”
“By all means. Call him.”
Martell’s hand hovered over the handset. He knew that if he made the call Thom would verify everything the twisted thug had said. Two things flashed through his mind. The first was that he was in far over his head. And the second was that Kovac wasn’t going to let him out of his office alive.
“Just what did Mr. Severance tell you about the operation?” Kovac asked.
Keep him talking, Martell thought frantically. There was a button under his desk that buzzed his secretary in the outer office. Surely Kovac wouldn’t attempt anything with witnesses.
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