Traitors Unleashed

By MM Justine

Althonat Global, CEO, Dr. Martina Strömstedt Edgren hovers between life and death in hospital after a Dodger van slammed her Volvo into the icy sea. It may have been attempted murder, nearly identical to her parents’ fatal accident. She had unveiled a sinister plot by a rival company which had engineered a drug that compromised the immune system, as part of its covert “population reduction” plan. At the onset of the controversy, Martina staked her life to save humanity.

As the earth spins out of control, the evil cabal tightens its grip on humanity, intimidating the population into submission to dangerous treatment. At every hour, there was a throbbing force that pervaded the universe with a feverish pace drifting here and there destroying lives, leaving the masses grasping for hope that Martina will recuperate and stand as a shield for humanity.

If Martina dies, there will be no salvation for mankind. Humanity will cease to exist.
Will Martina survive to save mankind? Find out in Traitors Unleashed.

‘Fast-paced and heart-pumping.’
~ Eugene Libres.

‘The author injects mystery and suspense into a tale of feuding drug companies. The thriller turns pharmaceuticals into sheer entertainment, with the protagonist hounded by individuals who apparently want her dead. Laudable villains are unmistakably creepy like when Martina exposes a shocking (potential) traitor.’
~ Kirkus reviews

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Jan 7, 2016
• ISBN: 9781504945455

MM Justine

MM Justine, is a Swedish/Ugandan author. She was born in Uganda, the pearl of Africa, where she grew up on the shores of Lake Victoria, in Entebbe. She has traveled widely, lived, and worked on four continents. She long dreamed of writing stories relevant to our changing world. She finally plucked up the courage to write, The Traitors Trilogy. She is a corporate executive with long experience in both public and private sector. MM Justine lives in Sweden with her family.

Book preview

© 2016 MM Justine. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 01/21/2019

ISBN: 978-1-5049-4544-8 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5049-4543-1 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-5049-4545-5 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

www.mmjustine.com

Contents

Acknowledgements

About The Author

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Note From The Author

For Mom, for all time.

PRAISES FOR TRAITORS UNLEASHED

‘Traitors Unleashed is a gripping sequel to Traitors From Inside Out. It is a thought-provoking novel; it stayed with me. It is purely fiction, though it connects with the reader making one wonder about the state of the world.’

~ Shifa Sarguru

‘Martina is there to give voice where silence is demanded. Astounding writing, a gripping plot coupled with authentic and raw emotional details. Five stars all around for MM Justine.’

~ Elizabeth Tasumba

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I owe my deepest gratitude to my publisher, Author House, for giving me a platform to voice my say. To my graphics designer, Ramwil Mendoza, thank you for your skills and contribution to the front and back cover of the book. To Judy Cook, my publication associate, thank you for providing me with insight and wisdom, and to my editor, Kelly Hartigan, your time and expertise were invaluable in polishing the manuscript. I would like to express my gratitude to those who saw me through the writing process and those who read and reviewed the book and allowed me to quote their remarks. My very special thanks to Brenda and Ann for understanding my long days at the computer, and to Nasser, thank you for encouraging me to seek my dreams.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

MM Justine, is a Swedish/Ugandan author. She was born in Uganda, the pearl of Africa, where she grew up on the shores of Lake Victoria, in Entebbe. She has traveled widely, lived, and worked on four continents. She long dreamed of writing stories relevant to our changing world. She finally plucked up the courage to write, the Traitors Trilogy. She is a corporate executive with long experience in both public and private sector. MM Justine lives in Sweden with her family.

Chapter 1

A grim silence settled over the congregation. Shock, grief, anger. Another day, another funeral for the staff of Althonat Global. Giant candlesticks illuminated the altar of St. Klara Church. The steps leading up to the lectern were decked with bright flowers and wreaths. A woman stepped over them. She stood at the front of the altar, staring out into a sea of mourning faces.

‘Let not this agony be in vain,’ propounded Diana. ‘Our hearts are broken, but our spirits are strong.’ She looked directly down at the front row as she spoke.

‘The passing of a brave and youthful life is a terrible thing to behold,’ Diana continued. She went on, appealing to the congregation to find courage, hope and inspiration in their sadness, to unite as Evert would have wanted. Finally, she finished. Muffled sobs echoed around the church. The little boy in the front row covered his face.

Diana stepped off the altar and took her seat, next to Evert’s relatives. The woman next to her sat motionless, tears streaming down her cheeks, rolling softly off her round belly. The child would grow up fatherless, Diana noted, wiping her eyes. A tragedy, and only the latest to occur.

The priest made his way to the front of the church. He nodded sympathetically to those in the front row, and cleared his throat, ‘Now, let us pray.’

At the last hymn, the aisles filled with the doleful congregation as they converged behind the casket. The church emptied. They carried the coffin, draped in lilies, over to Solna Cemetery. Diana walked behind the pallbearers. All around her she could hear the disrespectful whispers, speculation about what had occurred.

‘I heard his body was dumped at sea!’

‘First Ludwig, now Evert! At this rate Martina won’t have any bodyguards left!’

‘I always thought Gothenburg was a safe place to live…’

‘Cursed position…’

Diana’s thoughts turned to Martina. The CEO of Althonat Global was currently in a hospital bed somewhere on the south side of the city, hovering between life and death. She questioned what would happen if Martina didn’t pull through. Would she, as deputy CEO, have to take over? Could she handle that much responsibility? Diana chastised herself for her own thoughts. It wasn’t the time or place to be thinking of such things. She wrapped a reassuring arm around Evert’s widow, directing her away from the vicious whisperers.

Later, however, as she watched the body being lowered into the ground, Diana’s mind flickered back to the earlier conversation. Disrespectful rumours aside, did she really want to be the CEO of Althonat? Two funerals in two weeks, possibly even a third to come shortly. Was it worth it? Did she value her job that much?

A low rumble of thunder distracted her from her thoughts. The heavens opened, and the mourners began to scatter. Diana climbed into a waiting vehicle.

‘Althonat Hospital, please,’ she said.

* * *

At Althonat Hospital, in a small town of Järna, south of Stockholm, Dr Stefan Thörn glanced at the screen in front of him.

‘Positive news,’ he muttered under his breath. He switched off the monitor. Around him, the office was cluttered. Paper was strewn over the desk, and books lay disorganised in an overflowing bookshelf. It had been a long night.

The door behind him opened. A man walked into the office.

‘Morning Jonas,’ Stefan said.

‘Have you even slept?’

Stefan yawned. He scratched the back of his neck and looked at Jonas.

‘How is she?’ asked Jonas, moving further into the room.

‘Blood pressure has declined again, despite fluid replacement and active re-warming.’

‘What about the pneumonia?’

‘The antibiotics didn’t work…’ he lowered his voice. ‘There’s something else too…’

‘Oh?’

‘I think we should try Rensblad.’

‘The herbal agent?’

‘That’s the one. We need to raise her blood pressure, and it should have an impact on the pneumonia too.’

Jonas thought about it for a moment. ‘Get on with it, Stefan,’ he said.

‘Rensblad intravenously every six hours,’ said Stefan. ‘I’ll try it for two or three days, but in the meantime, I’ll brainstorm for other ideas, so at least we’ll have something to fall back on if it doesn’t work.’

Jonas nodded. ‘Keep me informed.’ He stepped out of the office. He headed down a long corridor, and paused in front of the door to the ICU. He sanitised his hands, twice, dried them, and stepped through the entrance.

The room beyond the door was almost completely silent, interrupted only by the low hum of various life-support machines. It was dark in the room, with the blinds drawn. Jonas walked over to a bed in the corner. He pulled up a chair and sat down. Next to him, Martina lay motionless.

Six days had passed since the accident. Martina had been passing over Gothenburg bridge, when a Dodge van struck her Volvo, sending her plunging into the sea. Somehow, she’d sustained no major breaks or fractures, but the frozen water had induced severe hypothermia. Jonas looked at her. He knew she was on the brink.

Somewhere to the right of Martina, the life support machine beeped loudly. Tubes ran from beneath her nose, down to the base of her spine. She lay supine in a ten-degree head-down tilt. Her chest rose and fell softly beneath the covers. Her face was almost entirely pale – unnaturally white. She looked nothing like the woman that Jonas knew. He touched her forehead, and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. He inspected the sterile dressing on her hands, carefully massaging the tips. When Martina had arrived at the hospital, her fingers and toes had been a grey-ish yellow colour, waxy almost, and rigid from the freezing ocean temperature. Although physical therapy had been performed, they still didn’t know if it would be enough.

Jonas picked up a small light from the table next to him. He gently raised Martina’s eyelids with his fingers. Her pupils were dilated. He checked her pulse. It was slow. Jonas sighed and leaned back in his chair. He muttered a prayer under his breath. If the Rensblad didn’t work…

The door to the ICU opened. A man stood in the doorway, watching Jonas for a moment. He observed the doctor, who didn’t seem to have noticed him, lightly stroking Martina’s neck. He cleared his throat loudly, and Jonas stood up – surprised.

‘Good morning, Sebastian.’

‘And to you, Jonas. How’s my sister doing?’

Jonas gestured for him to take a seat. Sebastian advanced and sat in the chair next to Martina’s bed. He sat down awkwardly, cramming himself onto the stool. He was a tall man with harder features than Martina – but Jonas noted that they had the same eyes. He was Sweden’s military attaché in the States. He had arrived, from Washington, D.C., the day after the accident. He knew about Jonas. Martina had told him they were dating, but that was something he did not want to get into right now.

‘Her skin injuries have improved,’ Jonas told him, ‘but her blood pressure and pneumonia are still of great concern.’

Sebastian looked down at his sister’s body, ‘How long is she going to be like this?’

‘Dr Thörn suggested a change in medication…’

‘Six days … why didn’t he think of that before?’ Sebastian said hoarsely.

‘We’re doing everything we can.’

‘Well try harder!’ growled Sebastian. He looked at Jonas, ‘Where is Dr Thörn?’

‘In his office.’

Abruptly, Sebastian stood. Without another word, he walked out of the room.

Jonas watched him leave. He took Martina’s hand in his, and squeezed it lightly, tracing the lifeline of her palm. Behind the blinds, the sun began to rise.

Dr Jonas Eneroth headed downstairs, back to his room. Seated at his desk, he stared out of the window at the dark, gloomy sky. He understood Sebastian’s outburst and his frustration that Martina’s condition remained critical. In his mind, he analysed the treatment they had given her. He racked his brains for anything they might have missed—a test they hadn’t done, a failure in the analysis of blood samples, what? Why wasn’t she responding to treatment? He reflected on Dr Stockenfeldt’s words: the Coast Guard and rescue team had arrived at the scene of the accident immediately, but it had taken time to cut her free from the wreckage. She had been lucky, she had not drowned, but Jonas feared she might have starved of oxygen. The possibility of brain damage loomed large in his mind. He shook his head, discarding the idea.

But an endless stream of thoughts ran through Jonas’ head. Dazed, he recalled the urgent board meeting when news of the accident had broken. Christer Sorenson, the security director, had reported that Steven Rangor had been in Gothenburg and that he had aggressively threatened Martina. Ever since that half-witted dumbass had gate-crashed the Strömstedt funeral, he had been trouble to Martina, barging into her office insinuating entitlement to Althonat Global’s secret projects. His move to her neighbourhood in Väddö had frightened her; his house was right next to hers. He had pursued her to Gothenburg, killed her bodyguards, and finally knocked her into the icy sea. Jonas fought the urge to go and search for Rangor, teach him a lesson, and drive him out of town. Police had not confirmed who had done it, but in his mind, Rangor was the prime suspect.

Jonas’ thoughts drifted further to the medical establishment that remained reserved to the integration of alternative medicine into mainstream medicine and the government’s uncommitted stand to modernize laws that favoured the same. That put Martina in a hard place. The success of the drug known as Rensblad, a natural herbal drug, produced by Althonat Global, had made her enemies nervous; many wanted a piece of her destroyed.

He sighed, disturbed by a world turned upside down, where good deeds went unrecognised and unappreciated. Instead, they were downplayed and discouraged and the author hounded into submission with threats and intimidation. If she resisted, she was doomed to a life encircled by security guards. He believed in the good Martina was doing towards saving humanity, but nonetheless, his indignation remained. Her work exposed her to danger. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. He wanted to protect her. If she survived this, he would propose marriage to her. That in itself was no protection, but at least he would be there for her, spending every waking day with her, keeping an eye on her, advising and supporting her as only a husband could. This time, he was not going to let her put him off, stringing him along indefinitely with her unwillingness to commit to marriage.

The next evening, Thomas Edgren, Martina’s ex-husband, arrived at the hospital. He did not ask Jonas for security clearance to visit Martina; instead he had called her brother, Sebastian, who cleared him.

In the ICU, Thomas and Sebastian observed Martina. She lay motionless, hooked to tubes and bottles, receiving Rensblad intravenously every six hours. There was no significant change in her condition, but colour had returned to her face.

At eight p.m. they emerged from the ICU and stood talking in the corridor about Joachim and how he was coping with his mother’s accident. ‘He keeps asking about her,’ said Thomas.

‘Did you tell him you were coming to see her?’ asked Sebastian.

‘No, I don’t tell him much, but it is becoming increasingly difficult.’

‘Difficult?’

‘Yes, with the news on television and things he picks up from friends at school. It makes him anxious.’

‘Where is he now? With your parents?’

‘No, he’s at my place with Lisa,’ said Thomas. ‘Lisa has been helpful, babysitting him whenever I need help. I didn’t want to bring him here.’

‘Maybe it would help if you brought him to see his mother.’

‘I don’t know if that is a good idea.’

Dr Jonas Eneroth appeared.

The knucklehead, thought Thomas. He hadn’t forgotten the day they almost tore at each other, over Martina, at the launching of Rensblad. Since then he had called Jonas the bully. To think that Jonas had won Martina’s heart still crushed his soul to the deepest emotional level. Nonetheless, he softened his face and feigned a smile, but his displeasure remained apparent in his floppy handshake. ‘Jonas,’ he said, by way of greeting.

‘Good evening,’ replied Jonas in an equally unenthusiastic voice.

Jonas was used to Sebastian’s comings and goings, keeping vigil over his sister, but Thomas, thick-skulled as he was, had no business coming here. Such a blockhead, why can’t he get it that he and Martina were divorced, thought Jonas. He knew Thomas and Sebastian were still close friends despite Thomas’ divorce from Martina. He guessed Sebastian had cleared him for security. He couldn’t contend with that, but if it weren’t for Sebastian, Jonas would have thrown Thomas off the premises in a heartbeat.

‘I presume you two have met,’ said Sebastian, careful to avoid awkwardness.

‘Sort of,’ said Jonas with a vicious glare at Thomas.

‘Thomas, ask Dr Eneroth about Joachim’s situation,’ said Sebastian.

‘What do you want to know?’ asked Jonas.

‘It’s nothing,’ said Thomas.

‘Anything concerning a child is important,’ said Jonas, staring at Thomas. ‘Go ahead—what is it?’

‘I ‘m not sure if it’s appropriate to bring Joachim to see his mother,’ said Thomas.

‘When it comes to children in situations like this, we advise the parent to decide when it is appropriate,’ said Jonas.

Without warning, the alarms in the ICU room went off. Machines blipped louder and faster. Jonas darted inside, followed by Sebastian and Thomas. Martina lay in bed heaving in violent seizures, pulling IVs out of her veins, and thrashing around in bed. Jonas raised the guardrails on the bed, preventing her from falling out and quickly turned to the two men. ‘Sebastian, I’m sorry, I have to ask you to leave. Thomas, please.’

The men wrenched themselves out of the room, but every step magnified their fear. At the door, they stumbled on Dr Thörn and his medical team, who were rushing into ICU. A nurse slammed the door shut behind them.

Minutes later, Jonas came out of the room, stony-faced, and stalked away, his head hanging. The two men followed him with their sombre gazes as he disappeared down the hallway.

‘Good Lord … what’s going on?’ Sebastian asked, obviously startled.

Despite his horror, Thomas was more concerned about Sebastian. He was as white as a sheet. ‘Sebastian, we must keep the faith,’ he said.

‘I can’t lose her now!’ mumbled Sebastian as he leaned against a wall, panic in his eyes. ‘If she dies, that will be the ultimate … uttermost loss. I can’t bear it.’ He straightened up and looked about in a confused manner.

Thomas struggled to keep his own anxiety in check, dreading the possibility of telling his son that his mother had died. It would devastate Joachim. Lord, let her live, he prayed silently.

Sebastian crossed his arms over his chest, struggling for self-composure, but his emotions overpowered him. Tears trailed down his cheeks unhampered. He brushed them away with his shaking hand.

‘We mustn’t give up,’ said Thomas.

Sebastian said nothing, but the contortions of dread in his face amplified tenfold, and the instinct of horror developed in his mind. ‘What is taking so long?’ he howled and strode to the ICU door. Thomas sprang after him.

‘Sebastian, let them do their job,’ said Thomas, gently taking him by the arm, directing him away from the door.

The waiting became unbearable as seconds ticked to minutes and time stood still. Paralysed as if rooted to something solid, Sebastian touched base with the sudden loss of his parents—the cold graveyard, the tormented faces of friends and relatives, and the lonely empty country home in Väddö after the funeral. He said, ‘Noo … not again!’

Dr Thörn burst out of the ICU looking rattled. Sebastian froze. The doctor rushed to his office without a word and almost immediately returned.

‘Doctor, Doctor … is she dead?’ howled Sebastian, his anguished voice echoing through the silent corridor. Dr Thörn said nothing, but as he re-entered the ICU room, Sebastian attempted to follow him. The doctor turned to him. ‘Sebastian, I’ll be with you in a moment.’

Thomas suggested they get coffee. With a shaking, hesitant step, Sebastian did as he was told.

Chapter 2

Contrary to what was happening at Althonat Hospital, the atmosphere at Vittaby Villa, in Dalernesund, appeared sedated with no emotion or tears of grief. The group had gathered to discuss course of action after Martina’s accident. Her accident had unleashed a wave of public sympathy, a move that translated into hiked sales for the wonder drug, Rensblad. Even mainstream physicians had started prescribing Rensblad for their patients. Citaraph shares had plunged and were still dropping.

Jacob Mattsson, Citaraph’s CEO, broke the strangled silence. ‘She is making money as she lies in that hospital bed.’

‘That is if she is not dead,’ said Dr Steven Rangor in a subdued voice.

Stellan Strömstedt scowled at Rangor, dreading the wretched words from his untamed lips.

‘All channels reported her condition was critical,’ said Fabian.

‘According to Forbes magazine, she’s worth nine hundred billion Swedish kroner,’ said Mattsson, still focusing on numbers.

‘What is that in real money?’ asked Rangor.

‘In euros?’ said Mattsson.

‘No, in US dollars!’ said Rangor.

‘Oh, at least over a hundred billion dollars,’ said Mattsson.

‘Her brother, Sebastian, is next of kin,’ said Tord Stenbeck.

‘A diplomat and a soldier. He knows nothing about business,’ said Fabian Franzén.

‘A novice at that. It will further our business goals,’ said Tord, his hard eyes fixed on Stellan Strömstedt as if he expected a contention from him.

The conversation continued in complete disregard of Stellan’s feelings.

‘Sebastian Strömstedt is witless about running a global business,’ said Rangor as he turned his imperious eye on Stellan.

Stellan sat with his head hanging, absorbed in deep thought.

‘Sebastian lacks his father’s vision and his sister’s guts,’ propounded Fabian.

‘What are you glaring at?’ Stellan said as he raised his eyes to meet Rangor’s gaze.

‘You … you could have been next of kin if you’d had the nerve to fight for Althonat Global,’ said Rangor.

‘Are you enjoying this?’ said Stellan.

‘You don’t have to be so sensitive. Your niece and nephew don’t give a damn about you,’ stormed Rangor with a condescending smile. ‘In fact, I suggest you consider the idea. I think it’s a brilliant.’

Stellan stared at him, understanding Rangor’s manipulative nature – always planting evil concepts in others’ minds, trying to ensnare them into reacting to a situation so he could jump in and take advantage.

Rangor lapsed into silence as his thoughts shifted to Martina. He had tracked her down to Gothenburg to stop her from launching Botanik Herbier, the new anti-malarial drug, but had failed to appeal to her senses. His face creased in frustration thinking how to get hold of that formula.

‘Botanik Herbier is overriding our Malariozi,’ said Mattsson as if he read Rangor’s thoughts. ‘One dose of Botanik Herbier cures malaria for all time. Steven, what about the Botanik Herbier formula?’

All eyes turned to Rangor. ‘I’m working on it,’ he said.

‘We don’t have much time,’ said Mattsson.

‘If she dies, it will buy us time,’ said Rangor, his voice mockingly nonchalant.

Stellan’s blood heated up, and only the clenching of his fist prevented him from landing a hard blow on Rangor’s lousy mouth.

Tord Stenbeck, the police inspector, sat quietly with a grim expression on his face. He appeared preoccupied with something that seemed to consume him.

‘Tord, what do you say?’ asked Fabian.

‘You tell me,’ retorted Tord, animated, his voice a gruff, husky tenor. ‘Whether the Strömstedt woman dies or not is of no consequence. Rensblad is out there living a life of its own, creating sensation and havoc in markets depending on how you look at it. The masses have embraced Rensblad, and that leaves Citaraph in a precarious situation. And now, with Botanik Herbier, she’s light years ahead. We can’t catch up. The only way to succeed is to withdraw Rensblad and Botanik Herbier from the market.’ He paused. His face turned hard like an iron mask. ‘Unless we take over Althonat Global,’ he concluded.

Everyone was startled. The idea was ingenious. It had never crossed their minds.

Stellan turned to Tord with a witheringly despotic glare. His memory strayed to a bitter past when Tord had played a role in breaking up his marriage to Ingrid. Tord had loved her behind Stellan’s back at a most crucial time when Stellan was struggling to save his business and keep his family intact. They had known each other a long time, but Stellan had never liked Tord, and he knew the feeling was mutual. That they ended up in the Group had been dictated by circumstances beyond their control. Tord was already working with Dr Fritz Grenzken when Rangor brought him aboard. He looked at Tord again. His cold, inexpressive face, almost cruel, told him that Tord was determined to destroy Martina. He let out a silent sigh, realising for the first time that he belonged nowhere. He wanted to visit his niece, Martina, in the hospital but dared not for fear of security and the dread of casting another suspicious shadow on his person. Sebastian must have arrived, from Washington, to tend to his sister, but he doubted Sebastian would clear him for security given their history. He hadn’t seen him or Martina since the Christmas row. He raised his sombre gaze and studied the faces of the men around the table. He pondered, How the hell did I end up here with such despicable creatures?

‘Now that’s brilliant, Tord,’ said Fabian. ‘Withdrawing Rensblad from the market would take pulling a lot of strings, but a takeover of Althonat Global is more like it.’

Fritz Grenzken, the father of Life-Vaccine, sat hunched up with an expression of indignation on his face. The silly blabbering of the Group disinterested him. Since the launching of Rensblad, he preferred to keep a low profile. The events discussed suggested another grievous fiasco on his part. He had lost half of the Rensblad formula back to Martina, contributing to her momentum in the marketplace, giving Althonat Global an advantage. That was the most atrocious failure he had ever experienced in his entire career. The memory brought on jitters as he relived the day Martina launched Rensblad. The news broke like the landfall of an angry storm. He hadn’t been able to comprehend what he heard when the news broke. Losing the formula and Anna’s disappearance had resulted in Citaraph refuting full payment for engineering Life-Vaccine. That had pissed him off. True, he had created a scandal, but denying him full remuneration was a gross infringement on his contract with Citaraph.

His dull, tamed face glared at the men at the table, understanding they were all nothing more than gangsters—parasites feeding on the system, as Martina had once expressed it when he met her at the Nobel Banquet. Citaraph made the majority of its money from government vaccine programs, paid for by taxpayers’ money. Yes, Martina was right; they were feeding off the hardworking majority and making money on his invention, Life-Vaccine. He made them rich. Without him, they were nothing more than leeches, yet they had infringed on his rights.

All evening the Group discussed a path forward, weighing scenarios upon scenarios of if Martina lived or died, and how Citaraph would benefit. The discussion narrowed down to Nicholas Strand, who was Dr Fritz Grenzken’s patient, at Devilund Clinic.

In retrospect, Nicholas, at the age of three, had regressed after receiving a vaccine shot. He lost eye contact and communication capability and developed behaviour problems. His favourite preoccupation most of the day was rearranging the furniture in circles and chewing on his toes. Patrick Strand and his late wife, Ebba, never really agreed on the kind of treatment that was best for their son, Nicholas. Patrick Strand, unlike Ebba, was against alternative medicine. In consultation with Dr Steven Rangor, Patrick Strand agreed to sell his son, Nicholas, then eight years old, into a research program at Ribbyburg Clinic. Ebba opposed the move. The dispute prompted Rangor to relocate Nicholas to a covert research facility, Devilund Clinic where Grenzken prepared to use him as an unknowing, unwilling subject in his research experiments.

Martina, a friend of Ebba’s, had learnt of this through her surveillance team and sent her security director, Torsten Widstam, to rescue Nicholas. The rescue team had taken Nicholas to Althonat Hospital. Encouraged by Rangor, Patrick Strand turned around and sued Althonat Global for kidnapping his son.

Mattsson spoke: ‘The case against Nicholas’ kidnapping has gained momentum in the press, and the authorities are beginning to point a finger at Althonat Global. If Martina survives, that could tie up her time in the courts, taking her focus off business. If handled right, it could cause havoc among the public. And even if she died, the same weapon could bring her company down, destroying it.’

The Group exchanged glances in unison. Tord remained impassive. He preferred action. Too much talk, hypothetical theories, and detailed scheduling took the steam out of things. In his opinion, taking over Althonat Global was the only viable solution.

Chapter 3

At Althonat Hospital, Sebastian and Thomas waited for Dr Thörn. The coffee they had drunk had dried up in their systems. They appeared depleted by the torrents of mixed emotions that bounded ceaselessly in their feeble minds, bringing conversation to a halt. Sebastian simply stared into space, struggling to ward off dark thoughts. Thomas’ mood fluctuated from high to low—hopeful one second and full of despair the next.

Dr Thörn appeared at the door. Sebastian and Thomas gingerly rose to their feet.

‘Doctor, is she all right?’ asked Sebastian, his heart throbbing in his mouth.

‘The change in medication caused a reaction,’ said Dr Thörn. ‘She’s still in a coma, but stable. The next twenty-four hours are critical. We’re closely monitoring her.’

‘Can we see her?’ said Sebastian.

‘You may go in, but only for a while.’

In the ICU, Sebastian observed Martina connected to yet more tubes and machines. The blipping and blinking of devices made him physically sick. She lay motionless, trapped between life and death, confined in a dark place, unresponsive, her body rising and falling in rhythm to the shudder of machines. The sterile dressings on her fingers were gone, but no visible improvement was tangible even after a change in medication. Sebastian quivered at the prospect of brain damage.

Thomas regarded the mother of his son lying helpless. ‘Helpless’ never rang true for Martina; she was a capable, strong woman who could manoeuvre any situation, be it life threatening or daunting. He had failed her; he had been a strong-headed husband who drove her into divorcing him, but her generous heart had never abandoned him. She had encouraged him to be her friend and inspired him to be a good father to their son, Joachim. The prospect of his son growing up motherless frightened him. Joachim had already suffered the loss of his greatpa and greatma and had even hovered on the brink of losing his life. It was unthinkable and unfair to think he would lose his mother now. How could he raise his son without the loving warmth of Martina?

Almost by telepathy, the two men realised there was nothing they could do but wait, as Dr Thörn had suggested. The nurse came in and hovered over Martina, checking her vital signs. She smiled courageously and left.

‘Thomas, we had better go home,’ said Sebastian in a disheartened voice.

It was past midnight when they emerged from the ICU. Sebastian stepped out first.

Thomas lingered a little but eventually followed Sebastian. He paused to close the ICU door, throwing a last cautious glance at Martina as he did so. He steeled himself, thinking he saw her move a finger.

‘Sebastian!’ he said