4 Thrillers For The Vacations 2023: Thriller package

By Jack Raymond and Alfred Bekker

This volume contains the following mystery novels:





Killer Without Remorse (Jack Raymond)

Schaven (Jack Raymond)

Killer Without Mercy (Jack Raymond)

Inspector Jörgensen And The Murderer From The Museum (Alfred Bekker)





When the star takes a real bullet during the shooting of an action movie, the investigation of Jesse Trevellian and his team begins - because it was not an accident, as it soon turns out.
An action star deeply involved in the machinations of organized crime, against which he always fought in his films, and a power struggle within the underworld - that's what Trevellian has to deal with in this case. And soon he is also on the hit list of the syndicates...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alfredbooks
• Release date: May 3, 2023
• ISBN: 9783745229455

Book preview

Jack Raymond, Alfred Bekker

4 Thrillers For The Vacations 2023: Thriller package

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Inhaltsverzeichnis

4 Thrillers For The Vacations 2023: Thriller package

​Copyright

Killer Without Remorse: Thriller

Schaven: Thriller

Killer Without Mercy: Thriller

Inspector Jörgensen And The Murderer From The Museum: Thriller

4 Thrillers For The Vacations 2023: Thriller package

Jack Raymond, Alfred Bekker

This volume contains the following mystery novels:

Killer Without Remorse (Jack Raymond)

Schaven (Jack Raymond)

Killer Without Mercy (Jack Raymond)

Inspector Jörgensen And The Murderer From The Museum (Alfred Bekker)

When the star takes a real bullet during the shooting of an action movie, the investigation of Jesse Trevellian and his team begins - because it was not an accident, as it soon turns out.

An action star deeply involved in the machinations of organized crime, against which he always fought in his films, and a power struggle within the underworld - that's what Trevellian has to deal with in this case. And soon he is also on the hit list of the syndicates...

​Copyright

A CassiopeiaPress book: CASSIOPEIAPRESS, UKSAK E-Books, Alfred Bekker, Alfred Bekker presents, Casssiopeia-XXX-press, Alfredbooks, Uksak Special Edition, Cassiopeiapress Extra Edition, Cassiopeiapress/AlfredBooks and BEKKERpublishing are imprints of

Alfred Bekker

© Roman by Author

Jack Raymond is a pseudonym of Alfred Bekker

COVER A.PANADERO

© of this issue 2023 by AlfredBekker/CassiopeiaPress, Lengerich/Westphalia

The invented persons have nothing to do with actual living persons. Similarities in names are coincidental and not intended.

All rights reserved.

www.AlfredBekker.de

[e-mail]

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To the publisher's blog!

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Everything about fiction!

Killer Without Remorse: Thriller

Jack Raymond

Copyright

A CassiopeiaPress book: CASSIOPEIAPRESS, UKSAK E-Books, Alfred Bekker, Alfred Bekker presents, Casssiopeia-XXX-press, Alfredbooks, Uksak Special Edition, Cassiopeiapress Extra Edition, Cassiopeiapress/AlfredBooks and BEKKERpublishing are imprints of

Alfred Bekker

© Roman by Author

Jack Raymond is a pseudonym of Alfred Bekker

COVER A.PANADERO

© of this issue 2023 by AlfredBekker/CassiopeiaPress, Lengerich/Westphalia

The invented persons have nothing to do with actual living persons. Similarities in names are coincidental and not intended.

All rights reserved.

www.AlfredBekker.de

[e-mail]

Follow on Facebook:

https://www.facebook.com/alfred.bekker.758/

Follow on Twitter:

https://twitter.com/BekkerAlfred

Get the latest news here:

https://alfred-bekker-autor.business.site/

To the publisher's blog!

Be informed about new releases and backgrounds!

https://cassiopeia.press

Everything about fiction!

Killer Without Remorse: Thriller

by Jack Raymond

The size of this book is equivalent to 206 paperback pages.

The lives of thousands upon thousands are threatened when a sect of madmen decides to bring death and destruction to the metropolis of New York.

FBI agent Jesse Trevellian and his team don't have much time to thwart this plan - because the end is near and supposedly unstoppable...

1

New York 1998

The muzzle flash flickered blood-red from the silencer of an automatic. The shot was barely audible. There was a short 'plop!' and the snarling German shepherd was writhing on the ground. A short twitch and the animal lay motionless on the cold asphalt.

The uniformed guard jerked up his submachine gun. The man's face widened in horror. Before the security man could fire his weapon, it popped a second time.

A red dot formed on the guard's forehead and quickly grew larger. The man staggered. Then he hit the ground lengthwise. He landed heavily on the asphalt.

Two masked men stepped out of the darkness of the night.

They wore dark clothes and balaclavas that left only their eyes exposed. One of them was armed with an automatic, on the barrel of which there was an elongated silencer. Over his shoulder hung a sports bag.

The other carried an Uzi-type MPi.

The man with the automatic pointed at the dead guard.

We have to pull the dead man out of there. He's right in the light, he whispered.

Okay.

They walked up to the body, grabbed it by the arms and dragged it out of the glow of light emanating from the exterior lights of the three-story building complex.

MADISON GEN-TECH was written in large neon letters on the flat roof of the cuboid complex.

They laid the dead man in the shade of a large flowerpot. They did the same with the dog.

The building complex was widely cordoned off by a high fence. The two masked men still had a considerable distance to cover to reach the site of the MADISON GEN-TECH company. Almost four hundred meters, where their only protection was darkness.

They were lucky that the guard had only crossed their path on the way back.

The hardest part of the job was done long ago....

Now they just had to make sure that they left the MADISON GEN-TECH site as unnoticed as they had entered it.

Otherwise, it was all for nothing in the end.

If someone discovered the dead guard, all hell would break loose here from one second to the next. Large spotlights would swing around and search the area. That was not allowed to happen.

Come, said the man with the automatic.

His left hand pressed the sports bag against his upper body.

He was already about to start a spurt.

But before it came to that, he froze in mid-motion.

Freeze, drop your weapon! a hoarse voice shouted.

Two guards with drawn revolvers stood barely a dozen yards from the two masked men. One of the guards muttered something into a walkie-talkie.

The masked man with the Uzi did not hesitate for a second. He simply shot at it. One of the guards screamed and fell to the ground. The other threw himself to the side, fired his revolver twice without hitting.

An alarm siren sounded.

The headlights circled...

Dogs barked through the night.

Exactly that scenario had occurred, which the two masked men had tried to avoid.

Come on, to the gate! the masked man with the silencer weapon shouted hoarsely.

The main gate was in the exact opposite direction from where the two men had climbed through the fence. But it was just closer. Considerably closer.

And that could possibly be the salvation.

They ran off, across a completely empty, asphalt lot that served as a parking lot for MADISON GEN-TECH employees during the day.

The two masked men ran and shot wildly.

The dog barking became louder.

The security people shot back. Voices could be heard from different sides. Then the sound of engines. A car was started. The headlights had the fugitives constantly in their relentlessly bright cone.

One of these headlights was shredded by the hail of bullets from the Uzi.

Every lantern the masked man could catch was shot.

It got a little darker.

The guy with the automatic took out a radio from his jacket pocket.

To the main gate, Tom, he whispered. Did you hear me? To the main gate!

Okay, it came back from the radio.

The masked man said, Don't drive close, you hear? There's going to be a pretty big bang...

They had reached the gate and were panting.

The man with the Uzi turned around, ripped the magazine out of the gun and replaced it with a new one. The figures of guards could now be seen from all sides.

They were carrying dogs and MPis.

A jeep roared up.

The man with the Uzi did not hesitate for long.

A burst of fire from his gun burst the front tires of the vehicle in quick succession. The driver braked, struggling to keep control of the vehicle....

Now get on with it! the guy with the Uzi shouted at his accomplice.

The latter took out a cuboid object from the inside pocket of his jacket. He tore off a piece of protective foil from an adhesive strip and attached the thing to the lock of the main gate. Then he pulled out a bolt from the cuboid object on a metal ring.

As if at a secret sign, both masked men took a step back.

A detonation followed.

The flames rose brightly. A wave of pressure and heat spread. The gate burst open. With a kick, the man with the automatic opened it, while his accomplice fired wildly with the Uzi. He kept the guards at a distance.

A car emerged from the darkness.

The two masked men ran toward it.

The man with the automatic stopped short and hurled an egg-shaped object at the pursuers. They had no chance at all to recognize what it was in time.

Around a hand grenade.

The detonation was terrible. A murderous mushroom cloud of flames turned night into day for terrible seconds. Screams echoed through the cold night.

Meanwhile, the masked men had reached the car. They tore open the doors and got in. The car sped away with screeching tires.

2

The crime scene was in New Rochelle, north of the Bronx. In the middle of the night, I and my colleague Milo Tucker had been roused from our sleep and sent here together with several other special agents of the FBI.

I had only heard the bare essentials over the phone.

Unknown persons had committed a robbery on the premises of the company MADISON GEN-TECH.

A case that potentially touched on national security.

We would learn more details at the scene.

We were among the last to arrive. Our colleagues Agent Orry Medina and Clive Caravaggio were already waiting for us when we entered the MADISON premises.

The area was almost hermetically sealed off by uniformed personnel. Some of them were police officers, but there were also members of a private security service, which apparently had to ensure that no unauthorized persons were on the premises of MADISON GEN-TECH.

Some men in white disease control suits caught my attention. Since the suits bore the company emblem of MADISON GEN-TECH, I assumed that they were employees.

Do you have any clue what's going on yet, Orry?, I turned to Agent Medina.

All that is certain is that at least two perpetrators entered the company premises and fired wildly when they were noticed. One of the guards has been murdered. We also have several injured guards.

Does anyone know what the perpetrators were looking for here? asked Milo.

They got into the labs, Orry opined.

I couldn't get the disease control suits out of my head.

If this was the normal working uniform in the laboratories of MADISON, it could only mean that highly dangerous substances were handled there...

Meanwhile, more FBI agents arrived. Forensic experts above all. The entire area had to be searched thoroughly so that we could follow up even the smallest clue to the perpetrators.

When Milo and I tried to enter the MADISON building, we were denied access by a man in a gray suit and thick glasses.

You can't come through here, he said, waving his arms around. On his lapel was an ID card with a photo and name. After that, his name was Dr. John Tremayne.

I held out my service card to him.

Special Agent Jesse Trevellian, FBI. We can very well go in here, I said politely but very firmly.

No, you can't, Tremayne replied. At least not if you value your life and the lives of many others...

Who are you?

Dr. Tremayne. I'm employed in this lab...

I shrugged my shoulders. Enlighten me about what's going on here! I demanded.

The intruders, it seems, have penetrated a very sensitive area of our microbiology laboratories. An area where the highest security is imperative. If they have destroyed something there, then...

What are they working on there?, I asked.

Tremayne looked at me. His face looked wrinkled and cold.

He seemed to be thinking. Then he said, I don't know if I'm authorized to talk to you about this.

You are, I explained. And if you delay our investigation, there will be consequences.

A man with a half bald head appeared behind Tremayne. He was quite portly. His face was serious.

Tremayne turned to face him.

Dr. Ressing...

Everything seems to be safe, Ressing said. The lab area can be entered... He looked at us.

Who...?

My ID card answered his question. He nodded.

Come on, sir!

3

We put on gauzy white overalls over our everyday clothes.

Dr. Ressing smiled wanly as he noticed our skeptical looks. These suits are not for your protection. They're to prevent you from carrying any microorganisms or dust particles into the labs that can destroy years of our work. He shrugged.

Unfortunately, these uninvited visitors were less than considerate...

What are you working on?, I asked.

MADISON is a company that has made a name for itself in the field of genetic engineering, Ressing explained.

I realize that, I said. What exactly is this about?

We are experimenting with genetically modified microorganisms.

For what purpose?

For example, to make new vaccines!

Then experiment with pathogens!, I concluded.

Ressing smiled. That's right. There's no other way to achieve success in this field.

I understand.

The bacterial preparations in our laboratories would be enough to depopulate the entire United States. A real Pandora's box, if you know what I mean. That's why everything here is secured like Fort Knox.

As we walked down a long, bare hallway, a young man with a pale face approached us. He wore an ID card on the collar of his white protective overalls.

Dr. Ressing! One of the CX containers is missing, the young man said in a muffled voice.

A few deep furrows appeared on Dr. Ressing's face.

Are you sure?

No mistake, sir!

My God... All color fled from Dr. Ressing's face as well. He wiped his face with a nervous movement of his hand. The horror was visible on his face. Then he looked up, straight into my eyes. A container with Pesterregern has been stolen by the burglars...

Isn't that a disease from the Middle Ages that has long since been eradicated?, I asked.

No, I'm afraid not, Ressing said. The last major plague epidemic spilled over into California from China in the 1920s. The disease is still very common today among rodents in North America and Eurasia. But since there is hardly any direct contact between humans and rodents such as rats and mice, smaller, regionally limited epidemics break out only rarely. Now and then this happens in Africa or India. Since the invention of antibiotics, however, it's no problem to quickly get such an epidemic under control.

Milo said, So you're telling us that there's nothing to worry about...

Not quite, Ressing said. He was fuming a bit.

Slowly but surely, I found it quite annoying how we had to pull the information out of his nose one by one. For some reason, they seemed to find us annoying at MADISON GEN-TECH.

So what's the deal with this missing container?, I inquired.

The plague pathogens were genetically modified, Ressing explained.

In what way?

They were resistant to antibiotics.

A sentence Ressing therefore said like a cold fish.

No movement was visible in his face.

That means there is no antidote, I said. An epidemic would be able to spread unhindered...

Dr. Ressing raised his eyebrows.

That would be a very unfavorable scenario.

I couldn't help but think of the shootout that the perpetrators had with the security forces. The thought that the container could have been destroyed in the process could only bring horror...

4

In the early afternoon, we sat in the office of Special Agent in Charge Jonathan D. McKee. Mr. McKee was the Chief of the New York FBI District and thus our direct supervisor.

Besides Milo and me, there were a good dozen other agents present, plus specialists from various fields. The FBI has scientists from almost every specialty in its ranks.

In this case, in addition to the usual specialists in forensics and ballistics, these were primarily medical doctors and biologists.

The aim was to discuss initial search measures.

FBI specialists were still examining the MADISON labs and site. Every projectile at the scene was collected and examined by ballistics.

We listened to remarks by Dr. James Satory, an epidemiologist from the National Institutes of Health.

While this was going on, a projector threw up on the wall the image of a so-called CX container as it had been stolen from MADISON. According to Dr. Satory, it was a container with special safety standards, used for the transport or storage of biologically sensitive material.

The plague pathogen is called Yersinia Pestis and is originally found in rodents, Satory then explained. Rodent-to-human transmission occurs via fleas. Between humans, droplet infection is possible - like a flu-like infection. In the great epidemics of the Middle Ages, whole swaths of land were depopulated. The disease typically proceeds like this: After an incubation period of 3-6 days, chills, fever and swelling of the lymph nodes occur. If severe, death can occur within a few days. Satory's face was very serious as he then continued, I have some data material here that the development department of MADISON GEN-TECH gave me. The contents of the CX container consist of pathogens that have been genetically modified. This means that, on the basis of animal experiments, various effects of this artificial mutation can be demonstrated: First, antibiotic resistance; second, substantially increased and accelerated mortality in the diseased organisms; and third, the pathogen now appears to have a biochemical mechanism that provides an incubation period of unusual variability.

What are the implications of that? asked Mr. McKee.

Devastating! At least in the case of an epidemic. Of course, one cannot transfer animal experiments one-to-one to humans, but I think one can say the following: we must expect that on the one hand there will be sufferers who are already dead within a day of infection, while others may carry the disease for up to a period of three years, without symptoms. The modified version of the plague pathogen has the diabolical ability to survive for years in the most unfavorable conditions, then multiply explosively. Unfortunately, we know too little about the mechanism I spoke of to make more accurate predictions. Except perhaps this: even the most advanced health care system is almost impotent in the face of such a fluctuating incubation period, because any quarantine measure will come to naught. Satory pointed to a stack of stapled computer printouts. The most important characteristics of the pathogen - as far as I could glean from MADISON GEN-TECH's records, I've summarized them here for each of you! A metropolis of millions like New York City is tailor-made for the spread of a plague epidemic.... And considering that it is genetically engineered Yersinia Pestis, God have mercy on us if this missing container falls into the hands of terrorists or fanatics.... There is no antidote, the risk of infection is immense, and the pathogen may even survive without a host, for example in sewage. A toy for madmen!

All it takes is one clueless person, Milo pointed out.

I think that danger is rather low, said agent Nat Norton. He worked in the office and was a specialist in business administration. His main job was to uncover money flows and corporate interlocks. In organized crime investigations, that was an essential part of the investigative work. I even fear that the container may already be out of the country.

Checks have been tightened at all airports and border crossings, Mr. McKee indicated.

Still, Norton opined. When you ask who might be interested in genetically engineered Yersinia pestis, the first thing you come up with is anyone who wants to build an arsenal of biological warfare agents but doesn't have the capability to develop it themselves.

So at least two dozen states, with their intelligence agencies, would be considered the perpetrators of this intrusion, Mr. McKee stated somberly.

I noticed that the MADISON representatives have been decidedly tight-lipped with us so far, I explained. I didn't get the sense that they were really interested in making our jobs easier. Maybe it would be worthwhile to do some research on this company.

A wan smile slid across Nat Norton's face. Well, I've already put together what there is to be found in a hurry about MADISON GEN-TECH in our data stores. The majority of shares are held by a Swiss company called Fürbringer Holding in Zurich. This holding combines various companies in the genetic engineering and biotechnology sectors, as well as pharmaceutical and chemical companies all over the world. Economically, however, Fürbringer is anything but a giant. But in certain market segments the companies of this holding have a dominant position. We have information from the CIA, according to which some Fürbringer subsidiaries are suspected of having had a hand in the development of bioweapons in various Middle Eastern states.

Is there such a suspicion against MADISON as well?, I asked.

Norton shook his head.

I would guess that MADISON GEN-TECH is something like the clean development center where know-how is proliferated - while other ferry subsidiaries then do the dirty work.

But that's just a guess, Mr. McKee noted. There is nothing concrete against either MADISON or Fürbringer.

That's right, Norton had to concede.

This Dr. Ressing I talked to told me something about vaccines, I interjected.

Norton contorted his face into a thin smile.

One of MADISON's best customers is our government, Jesse! There is a need for vaccines of all kinds everywhere! But the same knowledge that can be used to develop such serums is just as good for developing B-weapons. Remember, you can only use these weapons effectively if you have a way to protect your own people. After all, bacteria are not governed by national borders or political sentiments...

5

The man wore a small earring and had a sharp-cut face. He was staring at the CX container that stood on the table of the spartanly furnished motel. The container was cylindrical in shape. On top was a plastic carrying handle.

The sooner we get rid of this thing, the better, said the other man in the room.

He had pleated with a beer can on one of the beds. Next to him lay a dainty-looking Uzi submachine gun ready to hand.

Don't get your panties in a bunch, Ray!

Ray drank the beer can empty and tried to hit the wastebasket with it. The can missed with a clang and banged against the wall. He sat up. I don't get it, Tony! Our man should be here by now!

The man with the earring looked at his watch. He shrugged his shoulders.

It's rush hour now. The highways are jammed. No wonder if he's a little late...

I just hope we don't end up looking like the stupid ones, Tony!

What's all this talk about? Man, what's wrong with your nerves! You'd think this was your first job!

The first of its kind, anyway, Ray returned, pointing to the container.

There was a knock at the door.

Ray grabbed the Uzi, made a dash for it, and posted himself to the left of the door.

Tony loosened the fit of the automatic in the belt holster, but made sure the gun was concealed by his jacket. He went to the door, looked through the peephole.

Who is it? asked Tony then through the brightly sounding wooden door.

Harry Smith, came from outside.

The name was something of a code word. Ray and Tony exchanged a quick glance and nodded.

Okay, Tony said, and opened.

Outside stood a man in a raincoat. Underneath, he wore a somewhat unfashionable-looking, ill-fitting suit.

Harry Smith' looked very conservative. He was clean-shaven, his face pale and almost contourless. He was still young. In his mid-twenties at the most.

Where is the container? the man asked.

There on the table, Tony replied.

The man who had called himself Smith entered. His pale blue eyes focused on the CX container on the table, then on the barrel of the Uzi. Ray's gun pointed at Smith, but that didn't seem to impress him.

I hope it's the right container, Tony said.

I think so, Smith said. He briefly checked the identification number on the tiny label.

Then he reached into the inside pocket of his jacket.

Ray raised the Uzi.

Smith smiled coldly.

That scared? I thought you were stone-cold professionals.

I have a thing about frantic movement, Ray commented.

A phenomenon of our times, Smith replied, pulling out a wad of bills. He laid it on the table. Then he said, Count it if you like. It's fifty thousand dollars!

Smith reached out toward the container.

But Tony was on him in a single bound and grabbed him by the wrist.

The man with the earring bared his teeth like a predator.

It seems to me that you haven't understood something correctly, Smith! You were talking about a different sum!

You'll get the rest after we determine if the material is worth that price!

That wasn't the deal!

Smith smiled coldly.

Do you think we're going to spend a fortune without first checking what we're going to get in return?

Oh no, Smith! That's not the way we bet. Either you stick to our agreements in every detail, or you can shove your canister!

Let go of me, Smith said calmly. His voice clinked like ice.

Tony obeyed. He took the container with a quick movement and pulled out his automatic.

They're trying to rip us off, Smith. He said this in the tone of a statement. He lifted the container slightly. What's in here, anyway?

You couldn't do anything with it, Smith said. So be reasonable.

That it has to be one of those gene hogs is already clear to me. But what?

They'll find out soon enough!

There was nothing in the news about the container. Probably about the break-in, but nothing about the container. Tony took a deep breath. That can only mean that this thing is really red hot...

We have made you a good offer. You should accept it!

Come back with more cash, Smith! Or nothing will happen.

Smith put his hands in his coat pocket.

You're overestimating yourself.

"Oh, yeah?

Now Ray interfered. He lowered the Uzi, took a step closer. Come on Tony, let's reason with him!

A shot cracked off.

The man who called himself Smith had fired from his coat pocket. The bullet had shot out through the thin poplin fabric and driven into Tony's stomach.

Tony folded up like a pocket knife. The grip of his right hand still clung to his automatic. But he could no longer hold the CX container. It fell hard to the floor and rolled a little way toward the door.

Tony slumped down.

Smith whirled around in the same second.

He was a very good and very fast shooter.

Before Ray could even raise his Uzi to fire a burst of 20 or thirty rounds per second, a red dot formed on his forehead and quickly grew larger.

The force of the projectile jerked Ray backward. He seemed to take a step backward and then slammed down lengthwise. As the Uzi hit the ground, a shot came out of it.

Then there was silence.

Smith did not dignify the two dead men with a glance.

He stepped over Tony, took the fifty thousand dollars back, and then walked a few steps toward the door. There he stopped for a moment and bent down for the container.

Fortunately, these things are pretty sturdy, it went through his mind before he stepped outside into the open.

6

Alec Mercer, CEO of MADISON GEN-TECH, welcomed us to his office in midtown Manhattan. Experiments with genetically modified microorganisms were carried out in the laboratories in New Rochelle - but MADISON's business was controlled from this office floor on Third Avenue.

Of course, we hoped that they would be a little less buttoned up than we had been used to from this company.

Mercer was enthroned behind an enormous desk. Large-format paintings hung on the walls, their painting style reminiscent of graffiti in the Bronx. Mercer seemed to attach importance to the fact that people thought he and his company were innovative.

Mr. Trevellian and Mr. Tucker from the FBI, purred the brunette secretary who had ushered us in.

Mercer reached out to us one by one. He gripped it hard, like a man who wants to show who's boss.

Please take a seat. Would you like a coffee?

We better get right to it, Milo said.

Mercer shrugged and scratched his angular chin.

That's fine with me, too. However, I honestly fail to see how I could assist your investigation.

We sat down.

Oh, I could think of a few things, I replied.

Mercer raised his eyebrows. Oh, yeah?

For example, you could get your science department not to play cat and mouse with us, I said.

A businesslike smile appeared on Mercer's face.

Maybe our people sometimes overdo it with the secrecy. But you have to understand, Mr. Trevellian. We operate in an extremely sensitive area. An area that is becoming more and more important. There are many sites that are burning with interest in the knowledge that our scientists in New Rochelle are gaining. And we can't afford to invest millions only to have the fruits of our labor stolen by our competitors just before we reach our goal.

Who do you think might have an interest in a container of plague bacteria?, I asked. Perhaps one of your competitors or business partners?

I don't think that's out of the question, Mercer said.

The burglars knew very well what they were doing. They knew how to trick the alarm systems, the rhythm at which the guards patrolled, and which container they had to take...

Mercer sighed. The way you say that sounds disturbing, Mr. Trevellian.

It is reasonable to suspect that the perpetrators had one or more accomplices among the staff. Otherwise, this coup is difficult to imagine for me...

We are very careful in the selection of our personnel, I can assure you, Mercer replied, somewhat indignantly.

Milo said, I'm afraid the facts speak for themselves, Mr. Mercer. We would like to have the personnel data so that we can run all eligible individuals through the grid. That data would be here at your headquarters...

That's right, Mercer admitted somewhat hesitantly.

Then please make them available to us!

Mercer leaned back a bit, ticking his finger nervously on the desk top. Do you have any kind of document authorizing you to do that?

He had not finished speaking when Milo had already brought out the court order. After our first experiences with MADISON, we had played it safe.

After all, we didn't want to leave this office empty-handed.

Mercer read through the document in detail.

Then he pressed the intercom button. If you'll just come to my office, Harold, he growled. Turning to me, he then continued. I'd like to have our lawyer look into this first, sir! He pursed his mouth. A mere technicality.

Of course! Tell me, how do you actually recruit your security personnel?, I asked.

We have a separate department for this. Our guards are highly trained. All ex-cops, ex-Marines and so on. Of course, with impeccable reputations.

But these men had no idea of what was stored inside the labs.

Just a rough idea. That they are dangerous substances, for which the highest security level applies. Why do you ask?

I am thinking of the firefight that the guards had with the burglars. The pester pathogens could very easily have escaped in the process if the container had been compromised!

Mercer smiled like a wolf. A gold tooth flashed.

Have you ever seen a CX containment?

Yes, I was shown some.

I hope that they then also explained to you what extreme loads these containers can withstand. Incidentally, our security guards were apparently unaware that a break-in had already taken place.

Our colleagues had taken statements from all the guards at the scene, Milo noted. But they tend to indicate that your people were not at all aware of what they were there to guard - let alone that they were somehow trained to do so!

Secrecy is everything in our business, sir!

Milo wanted to say something else in reply.

But at that moment, a man in a dark suit entered the room. Mercer stood up. He handed the man the court order. Read this, Harold!

It did not take the lawyer long to form an opinion.

I'm afraid there's nothing you can do about it, sir! This is a judicial search warrant.

Does that mean they could turn everything upside down here? asked Mercer indignantly.

Harold nodded. That's right.

I said coolly, Maybe you'll be a little more cooperative now.

Mercer pressed the intercom and instructed his secretary to give us a personnel update.

7

The man, who called himself Smith, had taken a plastic bag from the glove compartment, put the CX container in it, and placed it that way on the passenger seat of his Chevy.

The raincoat with the bullet hole was on the back seat.

Again and again, he glanced in the rearview mirror while his Chevy struggled through New York's evening traffic.

He made about a dozen turns, driving in circles on one-way streets. He had to make sure that no one followed him.

I've done two, it went through his head. Two!

But there were three of them...

And the third man would be anything but amused to learn that his two accomplices were lying riddled with bullets in a cheap motel room.

Smith took a deep breath.

At some point, when he finally reached the Upper East Side, he turned into a small side alley.

The house fronts rose abruptly.

On both sides of the street, one car parked behind the other. Finally, Smith found a space. It took him a few moments to drive the Chevy into the narrow space.

He took the plastic bag with the CX container and got out.

With a careless movement, he locked the car.

He walked back down the street about fifty yards, then stopped in front of a ten-story building. A dull smile appeared on his face as he pressed the intercom at the entrance. A surveillance camera pointed its lens at him.

Good afternoon, what do you want? asked a female voice.

This is Smith. I'm expected!

8

The next morning, as we sat in Mr. McKee's office, the ballistics report was available. It turned out that one of the weapons used in the raid on the MADISON GEN-TECH site was already listed in our databases.

It was a .45 caliber automatic pistol, which had been used two years ago to shoot a guard who was on duty outside a Navy armory and ammunition depot.

It remained an attempted robbery at that time, Agent Max Carter, an inside investigator with the DEA, explained to us. One of the perpetrators was caught, the others got away. According to witnesses, there must have been two or three men who attempted to enter the depot. However, they were apparently discovered before they could capture anything.

What about the one that was caught then? asked Mr. McKee.

It was a guy named John F. Monty, Carter explained. And he's still incarcerated on Riker's Island today. Unfortunately, he never revealed his accomplices.

Maybe we'll still get somewhere through this Monty guy, Agent Medina said. Orry was of Native American descent and known for always walking around dressed to the nines. He was considered the best-dressed G-man in the District. As he brought the coffee cup to his mouth, he loosened his silk tie a bit.

Maybe you and Clive could take care of that, Mr. McKee opined. After all, the fact that Monty didn't testify at the time in order to secure a more merciful justice system must have been for a reason. Maybe he or someone in his family is being financially supported.... I don't know!

Orry nodded.

We'll take a look at this man's environment, he promised.

Does anyone know anything about the motives Monty and his accomplices had at the time?, I asked, turning to Carter.

The latter shook his head.

Unfortunately, no, Jesse. Monty does, however, have a criminal record that actually points to a very common criminal.

Nothing that pointed in the direction of intelligence? echoed Mr. McKee.

No, Carter said. But, of course, that doesn't have to mean anything. Even if ordinary criminals carried out the robbery of MADISON GEN-TECH, that says nothing about who commissioned the coup. Gangsters of the stature of John F. Monty are simply too small fry to have the ability to independently market a CX container of gene-modified Yersinia pestis. Perhaps the perpetrators didn't even know what exactly they were capturing. They were simply doing their job. The only question is for whom.

9

The manhunt was in full swing. Above all, of course, we were looking for the missing CX container. Every police officer in New York City received a kind of wanted poster with a precise description of this container and color photos. Radio and television broadcast search reports, but these did not mention the contents of this container. After all, firstly, no panic was to be caused, and secondly, there were tactical reasons for not spreading detailed information. After all, the circle of those who could know about the contents of this container was very limited. Perhaps not even the perpetrators belonged to it, but certainly their clients.

However, search messages strongly warned against opening or damaging the CX container.

In the meantime, a first evaluation of the personnel data of MADISON GEN-TECH was available.

There was a list of a total of twelve people who had had access to the microbiology laboratory from which the CX container had been stolen. These were exclusively scientists.

Only these twelve could have known where the container of Yersinia Pestis would be on the night of the raid, Carter explained. And as we know, the perpetrators didn't have much time to look!

Couldn't it also be that someone has tapped into MADISON's databases? asked Milo.

Theoretically possible, but unlikely in this case. The laboratory computers have no contact with the outside world. There are no remote data connections or anything like that. Apparently, they wanted to play it safe and prevent MADISON's know-how from falling into the hands of the competition by any means.

So let's assume that at least the principals knew what was being worked on at MADISON, I said.

So these twelve are really the only ones who could pass on this knowledge? Surely you'd have to add a few people at Manhattan's MADISON headquarters. Alec Mercer, for example, knew quite well. And, of course, Fürbringer in Zurich.

I'm talking about detailed knowledge, Carter replied. How far Alec Mercer's knowledge goes, I don't know. But there's actually a thirteenth person we should look at more closely. It's noted in the personnel records that this person has been absolutely banned from entering the lab area for two months.

Who are we talking about?, I asked.

Dr. George Hiram. There is no justification for this in the records. But Hiram should be consulted at some point.

Now Mr. McKee butted in and asked, Is there anything about the other twelve that stands out?

Dr. Tremayne traveled to Karachi, Pakistan, four times last year.

To take a vacation or on behalf of the company?

An interesting question, sir, to which I'm afraid we don't have an answer yet!

Mr. McKee turned to Milo and me.

Both of you take a look at that list and try to do something with it...

10

George Hiram had an apartment in midtown Manhattan.

Sinfully expensive and quite narrow, but there we did not meet him.

We learned from neighbors that Hiram was currently recuperating at his vacation home in Florida.

Florida, New York State, mind you - a small sleepy nest on a gorgeous lake about seventy miles northwest of New York City.

It was quite a long drive there. On the way, Milo read me parts of the dossier that Agent Carter had compiled for us on Hiram.

He was without a doubt an interesting man.

He had initially enjoyed an impressive university career. A virtually meteoric rise, then a move into the private sector. He became head of the development department at Fürbringer do Brasil, the Brazilian subsidiary of the Zurich-based company. Finally, two years ago, he moved to MADISON GEN-TECH.

We refrained from asking MADISON headquarters what was up with Hiram being prohibited from entering the lab area. First we wanted to hear Hiram's version of the story - without it being possible to influence it in any way beforehand.

In addition, Hiram knew the entire team of researchers currently working in the MADISON labs.

And perhaps we could get a crucial clue through him.

Because we didn't have much time.

Mr. McKee hadn't even needed to say it. It was clear to every G-man working on the case that every moment the container of gene-modified Yersinia plague pathogens was in the wrong hands meant danger.

A danger to countless lives.

I don't know what to wish for in this situation, Milo said at one point, while driving. Assuming that some intelligence agency has long since taken the devil's stuff out of the country, one can at least hope that it will then be properly stored in a military depot first...

In the hands of some petty dictator who wants to use it to make big world policy?, I mused.

Regimes change quickly, Jesse. It may never get used! In any case, I'm still a lot more comfortable with the thought of it than I am imagining the stuff falling into the hands of dilettantes or maniacs here in New York...

I understood what Milo meant.

The first option can be just as disastrous, I said, however. Although the catastrophe may then be a few years down the road.

It took us almost two hours to cover the 70 miles.

Florida, N.Y. was small but classy.

Lake Florida was fantastically situated in the mountains and surrounded by sophisticated private villas. These houses belonged to people who had made it far enough to be able to retreat a little from the anthill of New York City.

In Florida, however, they were still close enough to Wall Street's control centers to maintain control.

No wonder land prices here had risen in recent years to a degree that was beyond all reason.

George Hiram might have been an important scientist, but the fact that he earned enough at MADISON to be able to settle here is a little surprising to me.

It took Milo and me another hour to find Hiram's bungalow. By the standards of Florida, N.Y., it was a modest property, even though it was right on the lake and also had a swimming pool.

I parked the sports car in the driveway.

We got out, so called the clear air. The sun was shining and made the surface of the lake glisten.

I could stand it here, too, Milo said.

We went to the door and rang the bell.

A woman in her thirties opened to us.

She had brunette hair, a fine-cut face and wore earrings with three white pearls each.

The black swimsuit clung skin-tight to her perfect body.

She had her left hand on her curved hip.

And in her right hand she held a revolver, the barrel of which was aimed directly at my stomach.

11

Who are you? the woman asked. Her steel-blue eyes examined me from top to bottom.

I said, ''Jesse Trevellian, special agent with the FBI.'' The man next to me is my colleague Agent Tucker. And if you promise not to get nervous, I'll even show you my badge!"

For a moment she seemed undecided about what to do. She shifted the heavy weight of her body to the other leg. Her exciting figure formed a curved line. Downright dizzying.

All right, she said, but very slowly. Pay close attention!

You should pay attention, I replied coolly.

Oh, yeah? She smiled in a way I didn't like. You misjudge the situation, Jesse - or whatever your name is. You see, I have the trigger on the gun - not you! So do what I say!

Cop killings are punishable by death in New York State!

Do you think they will ever find your bones if we bury your bodies here somewhere in the mountains?

I very carefully reached into the inside pocket of the light leather jacket I was wearing.

When I then held out the FBI badge to my counterpart in the next moment, she blanched a bit.

The barrel of her gun lowered.

A man with a full dark beard emerged from the background. He was at least ten years older than the woman in the black swimsuit.

What's wrong, Sally? he asked.

We have a visitor, George, she muttered to herself.

Mr. George Hiram?, I asked.

Yes. What do you want?

Trevellian, FBI. We'd like to ask you a few questions in connection with the raid on the MADISON GEN-TECH laboratories.

George Hiram and Sally looked at each other briefly. A few deep furrows appeared on Hiram's forehead.

I wouldn't know what to say about that, he explained.

We'll see about that, I replied.

Hiram took a deep breath. Come in!

He led us through the bungalow to the terrace.

He pointed to the seating area and offered us a seat.

Would you like something to drink? he asked after we sat down.

A coffee at the most, I said.

And Milo joined in.

Hiram nodded. All right. I apologize for the somewhat rough reception from my wife... He put an arm around Sally's waist. On the way here, she had let the revolver disappear somewhere. At any rate, she no longer held it in the dainty-looking fingers of her right hand. Her teeth flashed as she smiled.

I'll make you some coffee, she promised.

I looked after her.

Her movements had something catlike. Silently, her slender feet slid across the stone floor.

Her swimsuit was low-cut at the back, leaving pretty much the entire back exposed. I noticed a dark spot between the shoulder blades. Only at second glance did I see what it was.

It was a tattoo.

A strange symbol that I had never seen before.

Three crosses arranged like the leaves of a shamrock.

Hiram noticed my look, but said nothing.

You have questions for me? he stated. He dropped into one of the wide wicker chairs. I have heard about the robbery of MADISON GEN-TECH, of course. However, it's a mystery to me why you would come to me, of all people, with your questions...

Do you know what the burglars took from there? asked Milo.

Dr. Hiram turned his head slightly, then shrugged his broad shoulders. I can only guess.

And what do you suspect?

If the thieves were stupid, they settled for the cafeteria cash, he tried to joke. If they knew what was valuable, they will have tried to get hold of data material and steal research results.

They have a CX container of genetically modified Yersinia pestis cultures in their possession, Milo stated matter-of-factly.

Hiram's face remained unmoved.

He barely moved his lips as he said, Then I wish you the best of luck in your task - even if it's hardly something to envy.