“It didn’t matter to you that people were dying by the millions?”
“And you think the world cares about AIDS? Get real, Grant. Lots of talk, little action. It’s a unique disease. The perception is that it mainly kills blacks, gays, and drug users. The whole epidemic has rolled back a big rotting log and revealed all the squirming life underneath—the main themes of our existence—sex, death, power, money, love, hate, panic. In nearly every way that AIDS has been conceptualized, imagined, researched, and financed, it’s become the most political of diseases.”
And what Karyn Walde said earlier came to mind. It’s just not killing the right people yet.
“What about the other pharmaceutical companies?” Lyndsey said. “Weren’t you afraid they’d find a cure?”
“A risk, but I’ve kept a close eye on our competition. Let’s just say that their research bought little more than mistakes.” He was feeling good. After all this time, he liked talking about it. “Would you like to see where the bacteria live?”
The man’s eyes lit up. “Here?”
He nodded. “Close by.”
Malone 3 - The Venetian Betrayal
SIXTY-FIVE
SAMARKAND
9:15 A.M.
CASSIOPEIA WAS TAKEN FROM THE PLANE BY TWO OF ZOVASTINA’S guardsmen. She’d been told that they would escort her to the palace, where she’d be held.
“You realize,” she said to Zovastina, from beside the open car door, “that you’ve bargained for trouble.”
Zovastina surely would not want to have this conversation here, on an open tarmac, with an airport crew and her guardsmen nearby. On the plane, alone, would have been the time. But Cassiopeia had purposefully stayed silent the last two hours of the flight.
“Trouble is a way of life here,” Zovastina said.
As she was guided into the rear seat, her hands cuffed behind her back, Cassiopeia decided to insert the knife. “You were wrong about the bones.”
Zovastina seemed to consider the challenge. Venice had, for all intents and purposes, been a failure, so it was no surprise when Zovastina approached and asked, “How so?”
The whine of jet engines and a stiff spring breeze stirred the fume-filled air. Cassiopeia sat calmly in the rear seat and stared out through the front windshield. “There was something to find.” She faced the Supreme Minister. “And you missed it.”
“Taunting me will not help.”
She ignored the threat. “If you want to solve the riddle, you’re going to have to bargain.”
This demon was easy to read. Certainly, Zovastina had suspected she knew things. Why else bring her? And Cassiopeia had been careful so far, knowing that she could not reveal too much. After all, her life literally depended on how much information she could effectively withhold.
One of the guardsmen stepped forward and whispered in Zovastina’s ear. The Minister listened, and she saw a momentary shock sweep across her face. Then Zovastina nodded and the guardsman withdrew.
“Trouble?” Cassiopeia asked.
“The perils of being Supreme Minister. You and I will talk later.”
And she marched off.
THE FRONT DOOR OF THE HOUSE STOOD OPEN. NOTHING DAMAGED. No evidence of forced entry. Inside, two of her Sacred Band waited. Zovastina glared at one and asked, “What happened?”
“Both of our men were shot through the head. Sometime last night. The nurse and Karyn Walde are gone. Their clothes are still here. The nurse’s alarm clock was set and on for six A.M.Nothing shows they intended to voluntarily leave.”
She walked back to the master bedroom. The respirator stood silent, the intravenous drip connected to no one. Had Karyn escaped? And where would she go? She stepped back to the foyer and asked her two men, “Any witnesses?”
“We asked at the other residences, but no one saw or heard anything.”
It had all happened while she was gone. That could not be a coincidence. She decided to play a hunch. She stepped to one of the house phones and dialed her personal secretary. She told her what she wanted and waited three minutes until the woman returned on the line and said, “Vincenti entered the Federation last night at 1:40 A.M.Private plane using his open visa.”
She still believed Vincenti had been behind the assassination attempt. He must have known she’d left the Federation. Her government clearly possessed a multitude of leaks—Henrik Thorvaldsen and Cassiopeia Vitt were proof of that—but what to do about those things?
“Minister,” her secretary said through the phone, “I was about to try and locate you. You have a visitor.”
“Vincenti?” she asked, a bit too quickly.
“Another American.”
“The ambassador?” Samarkand was dotted with foreign embassies, and many of her days were filled with visits from their various representatives.
“Edwin Davis, the deputy national security adviser to the American president. He entered the country a few hours ago on a diplomatic passport.”
“Unannounced?”
“He simply appeared at the palace, asking to see you. He will not discuss with anyone why he’s here.”
That was not a coincidence, either.
“I’ll be there shortly.”
Malone 3 - The Venetian Betrayal
SIXTY-SIX
SAMARKAND
10:30 A.M