The Green Trap Page 27

Tulius called his assistant and ordered coffee. “Bring some sweets, too. Sticky buns, if they have any in the cafeteria,” he said into his phone.

  When he returned to the table, Cochrane said, “Mike’s data will make up the heart of the paper. All we have to do is write an explanation of what it’s about.”

  “Yes,” Tulius said agreeably. “And Michael’s name should be on the paper.”

  “He ought to be the first name. Then yours.”

  Nodding, Tulius said, “And your own.”

  “Mine? I didn’t do any of the work. I don’t belong on the paper.”

  Tulius said, “My boy, you have no idea of how many times a person’s name is added to a paper even though that person didn’t contribute directly to the research.”

  “Department heads,” Cochrane said. “I know.”

  Tulius’s phone buzzed. He hurried to his desk and picked it up.

  “Yes,” he said. “Come right in.”

  The office door opened, but instead of the assistant bringing in coffee, Lionel Gould stepped in.

  Cochrane felt his jaw drop open. Gould looked equally surprised. But he recovered quickly.

  “Dr. Cochrane,” he said, with a broad, toothy smile. “What a pleasant surprise.”

  PALO ALTO:

  CALVIN RESEARCH CENTER

  PARKING LOT

  To his shame, Akhmad Kadryov was asleep, snoring gently as he sat slumped behind the wheel of his rented Toyota Corolla.

  He was rudely awakened by a hard tapping on the door window beside him. Startled, he saw a stern-faced young man wearing a dark suit staring at him. Kadryov saw the reflection of his own stubble-jawed sleepy face in the man’s rimless mirror glasses.

  “Roll it down,” the man demanded, through the closed window. His blond hair was cut so short he looked almost shaved bald.

  Blinking sleep from his eyes, Kadryov rolled down the window.

  “You work here?”

  Without thinking, Kadryov nodded.

  “Lemme see your ID.”

  Kadryov fumbled through his pockets, stammering, “I… I must have left it home.”

  “Better go home and get it, then.”

  The blond didn’t look like the type who brooked arguments. Kadryov touched the butt of the pistol tucked into his waistband, hidden beneath his windbreaker. He thought briefly about toughing it out with this security type, but remembered that his assignment was to watch, not fight. He was supposed to be keeping Tulius under surveillance; he’d been watching the scientist’s house since midnight. When Tulius had left early that morning, Kadryov had followed him to the Calvin Research Center and parked in the employees’ lot. Then he’d drifted to sleep.

  Nodding wordlessly at the blond, Kadryov started his rental car with a roar and drove slowly off the parking lot. As he passed the building’s front entrance he noticed a long black limousine parked in front of the main entrance. There were three bulky black SUVs parked in visitors’ slots, as well, with several other men in dark suits and sunglasses standing by them. The blond who had accosted him was walking toward them.

  Kadryov pulled out onto the access road, but drove less than a block before parking next to a high hedge that screened another office building. He got out of the Toyota and walked back to the end of the hedge, where he had a distant but clear view of the Calvin Center and its parking lot. He thought about phoning his cell leader, whom he knew only as Asian, but decided against it. Wait and watch, he told himself.

  He went back to the car and pulled his binoculars from the glove box, then returned to survey the parking lot again. Tulius’s silver Lexus was still in its slot. Good. And the limousine and those SUVs hadn’t moved. I wonder who is the VIP of the limousine? Kadryov asked himself. Whoever he is, he’s brought a considerable amount of security along with him.

  The late morning sunshine felt warm on his shoulders, although a cooling breeze was coming in off the hills that edged the seaside. He put the binoculars down. It wouldn’t do to have someone driving by wondering why a short, stocky, swarthy man with a thick dark mustache was spying on the Calvin Research Center. Instead he returned to the car and zipped up his windbreaker.

  Wait and watch, he told himself. Wait and watch.

  This is an unexpected pleasure,” Gould said as he sat himself beside Sandoval at Tulius’s round conference table. With a smirk, he added, “Ah, there are no steak knives in sight. I suppose I’m safe, then.”

  Cochrane, too stunned to get up from his chair, asked, “What the hell are you doing here?”

  Gould laughed. “I’ve come to check out my latest acquisition.”

  “Acquisition?” Sandoval asked.

  “Didn’t Dr. Tulius tell you? The Gould Trust is buying the Calvin Research Center. Lock, stock, and barrel, as they say.”

  “I’ll be damned,” Cochrane muttered.

  “Probably so,” said Gould cheerfully. “Probably so.”

  Tulius hadn’t moved from his chair, either. “The deal isn’t finalized,” he said weakly.

  “Oh, it will be, I assure you,” Gould said. “This research institution will make a fine addition to the Gould Trust. The jewel in our crown, so to speak.”

  Tulius said nothing.

  “You’ve sold out to him,” Cochrane said. “You’ve let him buy you out.”

  “More than that,” said Gould, his voice hardening. “Dr. Tulius is holding certain properties of mine. Properties that were stolen from me. I want them. Now.”

  His eyes widening, Tulius sprang up from his chair and hurried to his desk. He unlocked the drawer and took out three brushed aluminum oblongs.

  “The hard drives,” Cochrane murmured.

  Laying the drives on the conference table in front of Gould, Tulius said, “Dr. Cochrane also has the data in his own laptop.”

  Gould looked at Cochrane, his eyes hard as ice. “Is that so, Dr. Cochrane?”

  Before Cochrane could answer, Sandoval said, “Yes, it’s true.”

  “I should have thought of that,” Gould muttered, half to himself. “With all this shuffling back and forth, I forgot.”

  Cochrane asked Tulius, “How’d you get the hard drives? I thought—”

  “What you think is of no consequence,” Gould snapped. “Where is your laptop? I want it.”

  Bargaining chip, Cochrane thought. If I can keep him from getting my laptop, we’ve got something to bargain with.

  Gould frowned at his silence. “Dr. Cochrane, I have a dozen security agents here. We can bring you to a nice, quiet place and extract the information from you in any of several ways. All of them rather unpleasant—for you.”

  “The laptop’s being delivered to his apartment in Tucson,” Sandoval said, her voice flat, emotionless.

  Cochrane glared at her. She looked back at him, helpless, defeated.

  Gould pulled a tissue from his pocket and mopped at his face. Pushing himself up from the table, he said, “It seems we must journey to Tucson, then.”

  “Me, too?” Tulius asked.

  Thinking it over for a moment, Gould replied, “No, that’s not necessary. This is between Dr. Cochrane and myself. And the lovely Elena, of course.”

  From his spot by the hedge, Kadryov saw three people emerge from the Calvin Center’s front entrance, two men and a woman. Quickly he yanked a digital camera from his pocket and snapped as many images as he could before they all got into the waiting limousine. Most of the dark-suited security people piled into two of the SUVs, leaving four of them standing by the third one.

  Frantically, Kadryov pawed at his cell phone.

  “Well?” Asian’s voice.

  “There’s something going on,” Kadryov said. “Important people have visited Tulius and now they are leaving.”

  “Important people? Who?”

  “I don’t know! But they are in a limousine and there’s a squad of guards in SUVs going along with them.”

  He could hear Asian’s heavy breathing. Then, “Follow them. See where they are
going.”

  “And Tulius?”

  “I’ll have someone else take up the watch on him.”

  Kadryov nodded, clicked the phone shut, and sprinted to his Toyota, hoping that the limousine hadn’t gotten too far away for him to pick it up.

  TUCSON:

  SUNRISE APARTMENTS

  A Federal Express truck was standing by the front entrance of the Sunrise Apartments building when Gould’s limousine pulled up behind it.

  Gould, Sandoval, and Cochrane had flown in Gould’s twin-jet Cessna from the Palo Alto airport to Tucson International, where a fresh limo was waiting for them in the bright, hot sunshine of early afternoon. Only one of the security men had accompanied them; he sat up front in the limo with the driver.

  Cringing in the blazing sunlight, Cochrane held out a hand to help Sandoval exit the limousine. The driver hurried around the long black car to offer help to Gould as he struggled his bulk through the open rear door. The security guy stood by the front door of the limo, staring squarely at Cochrane through his dark glasses.

  They started for the front door of the apartment building, Cochrane in the lead.

  “Say, you wouldn’t be Paul Cochrane, would you?”

  Cochrane turned to see the FedEx driver standing a few feet away.

  His heart sinking, Cochrane admitted, “Yeah, that’s me.”

  “Good. Thought I’d missed you.” The driver sprinted to his truck, disappeared inside, then came out bearing a square FedEx packing box in his hands.

  “I need a signature,” he said, pushing the box at Cochrane.

  My laptop, Cochrane knew as he scrawled his name on the printed form on the deliveryman’s clipboard.

  Gould beamed at him. “It seems we arrived just in the nick of time.”

  Cochrane tucked the package under his arm and led them into the air-conditioned lobby. The driver and security man trailed behind him, Sandoval, and Gould.

  Once inside the apartment, Cochrane put the package on his kitchen table and ripped it open, then slid his computer out of it.

  Worldlessly, Sandoval took the empty box and stuffed it into the wastebasket beneath the sink. Smart, Cochrane thought: she doesn’t want Gould to see who sent it here. She’s protecting Fiona. And her own safe haven.

  The driver and the security man had helped themselves to chairs in the living room, stationing themselves between Cochrane and the front door.

  Gould said impatiently, “Well, start it up.”

  “The battery’s dead,” Cochrane said, opening the laptop. “I’ll have to plug it into the wall.”

  Fiona had included the AC power pack and its cords. Reluctantly, Cochrane unwound the black lines and plugged one end into the computer, the other into a wall socket beside the sink. The computer stirred to life when he pushed the “on” button, quickly flicked through its self-analysis, then played its usual little tune to announce it was ready to work.

  Gould edged up beside him, his eyes on the screen, his forehead beaded with perspiration. Cochrane thought about turning his air-conditioning cooler, but decided, To hell with it; let the bastard sweat.

  But Sandoval went to the thermostat on the wall and clicked the temperature lower. Cochrane heard the air conditioner grumble and then hum into action.

  “Well?” Gould said, as Sandoval returned to the table.

  Cochrane thought about picking up the laptop and heaving it through the kitchen window. But that would accomplish the same result Gould wants, he told himself. He wants to destroy Mike’s work.

  Instead, he leaned over the table and tapped on the keyboard until Mike’s data began to scroll across the display screen.

  Gould huffed at the equations rolling past. “That’s it?” he asked.

  “That’s it,” Cochrane said tightly.

  Dabbing at his sweaty face, Gould said, “Very well. Erase it.”

  Cochrane hesitated, then hit the “select all” key. Mike’s words and equations immediately were highlighted in yellow. “Erase,” Cochrane tapped.

  ARE YOU SURE YOU WANT TO ERASE THE ENTIRE DOCUMENT? Y/N.

  Before Cochrane could react, Gould leaned over his shoulder and pressed the Y key with a heavy thumb.

  Mike’s document disappeared.

  Cochrane straightened up, looked at Sandoval. Her face was expressionless.

  “Now erase it from the recycle bin,” Gould said.

  Cochrane’s eyes widened.

  “Oh, yes,” said Gould. “I know something about computers. I know that they hold a copy of everything you erase in their recycle file. Erase it, please. And then I’ll have to take the hard drive. I want your brother’s work completely gone, once and for all.”

  Tulius had watched Gould and his people escort Cochrane and the Sandoval woman from his office. Feeling that he was in much deeper water than he wanted to be, he sat at his desk for several minutes, then went to the window and saw Gould’s limousine pull out of the center’s driveway and onto the access road leading to the freeway.

  His phone rang. The private, secure line.

  He went back to the desk and pressed the console’s “on” button. Zelinkshah Shamil’s face appeared on the wall screen. His dark face looked suspicious, almost angry.

  Without preliminaries, Shamil said, “I’ve been informed that Lionel Gould has visited your laboratory.”

  Tulius sank into his swivel chair, heart pounding.

  “Gould?”

  “One of my men photographed him leaving your building and e-mailed the picture to me. I recognized him immediately.”

  Feeling thoroughly frightened, Tulius temporized, “Yes, Mr. Gould was here. He’s made an offer to buy Calvin Research. He dropped in—completely unexpected—to inspect the labs.”

  “He didn’t stay long.”

  “No, he didn’t.”

  “Who were the people with him?”

  “Security.”

  “There was a man and a woman who didn’t look like security types to me.”

  “The woman was Elena Sandoval.”

  “Who is she?”

  Tulius could feel sweat popping out on his brow. “She was with the other fellow.”

  “And who is he?” Shamil demanded impatiently.

  “A scientist.”

  “What’s his name?”

  Tulius thought about lying, but he couldn’t think of what to say on the spur of the moment. So he confessed, “Cochrane.”

  “Cochrane?” Shamil snapped. “Isn’t that the name of your employee, the one who was killed?”

  “Yes,” Tulius admitted. “That was his brother.”

  “Why is he going with Gould?”

  “He… he’s trying to find out who murdered his brother.”

  “And Gould’s helping him?”

  “I suppose so.”

  Shamil’s face radiated distrust. “Where did they go?”

  “I don’t know. They didn’t say.”

  “Cochrane,” Shamil muttered. “With Gould.”

  “I… I think Cochrane lives in Tucson,” Tulius blurted. “He works at the university there.”

  “Dr. Tulius,” said Shamil, his tone lower, darker. “I don’t like the idea that you are friendly with Gould. He’s the enemy.”

  “He’s made an offer to buy Calvin Research!” Tulius bleated. “He popped in here unexpected, unannounced. There was nothing I could do about it.”

  “Truly?”

  “I got rid of him as quickly as I could.”

  “And this man Cochrane just happened to be in your labs at the same time.”

  “He’s investigating his brother’s murder. I told you. The woman with him is a private detective, I think.”

  Shamil seemed to think that over for a few moments, while Tulius’s pulse thundered in his ears.

  “And the data from those hard drives that my men gave you?”

  “My people are working on that,” Tulius lied. “It should take several days, maybe a week.”

  “Very well,” sai
d Shamil, looking completely unconvinced. “Perhaps I should visit your laboratory myself.”

  Tulius felt his insides go hollow. But he took a deep breath and then replied, “In a few days. Once we have the data from the hard drives. Then you can fly out here.”

  Shamil nodded warily. “Until then.”

  The wall screen went dark and Tulius sagged in his chair. Gould said he’d get the FBI to round up Shamil’s people, he told himself. The sooner the better. The sooner the better.

  Shamil stared at the darkened wall screen in his New York office. He turned to his computer and looked up the University of Arizona faculty. A Dr. Paul Cochrane was listed in the astronomy department. From a white pages directory he obtained Dr. Paul Cochrane’s street address and telephone number.

  Then he phoned Asian, in California. Their conversation was brief, guarded.

  “Get to Dr. Paul Cochrane in Tucson.” Shamil gave the Chechen cell leader Cochrane’s address and phone number. “Immediately,” he added.

  “And?” Asian asked.

  “Phone me once you have him.”

  No reply except the click of the phone.

  TUCSON INTERNATIONAL

  AIRPORT

  Asian Denikin felt distinctly uncomfortable as he and two of his cell members walked hurriedly along the airport terminal toward the baggage claim area. They could not bring guns into the plane with them, of course, so they had disassembled all three of their pistols and then packed the pieces into a scuffed old duffel bag, which Asian checked at the Palo Alto airport when they boarded the flight to Tucson. The X-ray screening is only as good as the people watching the screens, he told himself. They won’t recognize the disassembled pieces of the pistols, he hoped.

  While one of his team went to rent a car for them, Asian hung back from the crowd at the baggage carousel, watching for security agents as the duffel went around the slowly moving conveyor twice. By the time his man returned from the rental counter, he decided it was probably safe to pick up the duffel.

  He nodded to the third man of his team, who went quickly through the thinning crowd of arriving passengers and scooped up the duffel the next time it passed. Asian had made certain that all three of them had shaved. Profiling or not, he did not want any of them to look like a skulking, stubble-jawed alien.