Washington, DC. Office of the US Ambassador to China.
“Yes,Mr Ambassador,” Justin Gatt answered,”Professor Syzmansky called me from Yale this morning. He explained that you were interested in my assignment, and might be helpful in guiding me to unconventional sources of information in China.”
Balzerini smiled at the manner in which his close friend had skirted the subject of gathering information. “Well…that’s all true. But let me be candid. Professor Syzmansky recommended you for an assignment which goes far beyond acquiring competitive business data. An assignment that is more critical to American interests.” The Ambassador paused. “Frankly, I’m not sure you’re prepared to carry it out safely.” He empathized with the anxious grimace on Justin’s handsome face. He was about to ask this intelligent, yet obviously disoriented man—who’d been forced to change careers three times in less than four months—to leap headlong into an unknown and dangerous assignment in an unfamiliar country. As a bonus—it could land him in federal prison—or an early grave.
Emei Shan, Sichuan Province, China. Lili Qi arrived at Emei Station in Baoguosi, the region’s tourist center at the base of Emei Shan, via the Kunming Express, as the sun disappeared behind misty caps. It was too late to prevent the Beijing tour guide’s uncle Zhang from chopping up her forty-six year old mother’s body, and feeding it to the vultures nesting near the Yuxiansi…the Temple of Meeting Immortals, on the southern route to the 10,164 foot summit of Emei Shan.
Level 4 Biological Hazards Lab, Jilin, China–Vials of purified E.coli bacteria and a strange, virus-like organism—biologically classified as a mycoplasma–-were delicately inserted by Dr. Otto Ho Hot into separate sealed compartments in the mortar-shaped canister. The lead scientist from the Taiwan Research Institute for Agricultural Diseases had been mysteriously missing from the institute for several months; along with the entire inventory of an experimental agricultural pathogen he’d smuggled into mainland China. Under orders from a People’s Liberation Army general, he was now packaging the canisters in falsely labeled boxes, for delivery to the United States. The “water filters” would soon explode over Midwest cornfields.Boston — Justin realized his scheme was Frankensteinian—an attempt to attach pieces from separate dying bodies—to breath life into an opus of commerce.He’d always thought of small business as more of an art than a science. He brushed aside logic and dialed the number again.
McGill answered the phone irately…dripping wet and naked. He was leaning outside the steaming shower stall, furious at Gatt’s third call in forty-five minutes. The final call from Boston convinced him.Ross Trenker had received similar pre-dawn phone inquiries from Justin Gatt, who was doggedly probing for the financing commitment which GH Paladin promised. His joint-venture salvage plan had apparently captivated the man’s own imagination. He was borderline irrational, with an emergency room mentality—trying to resuscitate the bankrupt companies on Trenker’s list before Tinius could kill them off.
“I don’t give a damn what Tinius does, or threatens to do, Gatt.”
Cambridge,Mass
Lynne Hurricane studied the Hoover’s Online print-out from an isolated computer terminal in Baker Library, the primary research facility of the Harvard School of Business. She’d uncovered odd $5 million monthly transfers from BoxMart Stores to the Financial Flow Foundation; payments which had been cleared by an unknown official at the Federal Reserve Bank in Boston. “We’re stymied,” she exclaimed hoarsely to her former boyfriend, the head of Access Services at Baker, who suddently pressed his thumbs gently against the cramped muscles in her neck and shouders. “You smell so good when you’re tense. I never should have thrown you out.” He held up his hands and backed away when she turned to argue the opposite. “I know, I know. You love computer geeks and bookworms…but not if we’re the same guy.” He desperately wanted her to remain. “I have another idea, but may have to kill you if we use it.” Lynne watched in amazement as he inserted a CD disk marked, “Experimental Anti-Firewall Software, property of the President and Fellows of Harvard College.”
Sioux City Memorial Hospital
“If you can just keep him alive through a low-sugar cycle, we’ll have proof,” Virginia pleaded. “It’s only your theory,” the cardiologist replied callously. “I’m not familiar with such organisms.” He was thinking about the recent 25-percent increase in liability insurance premiums. “As feasible as it may seem to you and your CDC colleagues, Ms. Richmore, I can’t risk allowing my patient to run low on sugar. If he dies…it will be without my assistance.”
The head nurse heard the frenzied debate. Hasn’t he got that backward?
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