Chapter 21

Leverkusen, Germany

“If the thumb drive is not recovered and the Tree of Life project becomes public knowledge, history will not be kind to us, Herr Schader.”

Katrina Günther crossed the top-floor office of Bayer AG’s Special Archives department and stood before the ceiling-to-floor windows overlooking the Rhine River. She’d passed through Warin Schader’s secretary’s effort to deny her access, like a great white shark through a colony of drugged penguins.

The Director of Corporate History and Special Archives remained seated behind his desk. He gave Hilda Möglichmacher a, ‘You did as well as you could’ smile and mimed a closing door with his right hand.

Without turning from the view, the young woman continued,

“Need I remind you of the clause in your employment contract regarding donating your body for research purposes? The timing of such a retirement option is entirely at the discretion of its Board of Directors. Of which,” the youngest, and only female on the board, turned for the briefest moments of direct eye contact, “I am about to be named chief operating officer.”

“I am quite aware of my duties and responsibilities, Fraulein Günther. Our sub-contractor has confirmed the current location of two of the three remaining suspects. This, I might add, without use of the US State department’s resources. I am reasonably certain the recovery of the information your department allowed to be lost is imminent.”

*****

Chicago, Illinois

“Sorry to call at such an ungodly hour of the morning, Leann. I’ve found one of our student-fugitives, Kyle Harrington. I should qualify the ‘found him’ as, ‘I spoke to him on the phone’. Didn’t get much useful information from the kid. Crazy-intelligent young man, just not very smart.” I walked to the window and watched the rising sun try to set fire the Chicago skyline. Where was Mrs. O’Leary when you really needed her?

“I take it you don’t have children, Ian.”

“No, not in the game plan. At least according to my ex-wife.”

“Does that include your own family?”

“No. They had their own lives to live. Of course, I was good with that; they provided me with a trust fund and a healthy suspicion of family loyalties. As a result, I thrived on the notion of being loyal to my wife. To my surprise I couldn’t maintain the passion or energy.”

I thought about the house I lived in, an oversized consolation prize, “Let’s have a round of applause for Ian! He really gave it the old college try.’ Sipping my room service apple juice I remembered how much my dog enjoyed it when we moved into the house. The too-short memories made it worthwhile. I remembered that I was in a hotel room in Chicago and returned to my expense accountable phone call.

“So this group, that Starr belonged to, this Hermes Consortium? Typical disgruntled youth?” I thought that getting the conversation back to the case would be helpful, both to my mood and my chances of producing the results my client expected.

“Yes. With the qualification that all of its members were burdened with top-percentile IQs, a need to rebel and excessive wealth; mostly old family money. Their ideas of pranks on the establishment made run-of-the-mill industrial espionage look like spray-can art on highway overpasses.”

“Just like Fitzgerald tried to warn Hemingway?”

“Now, Ian. Trying to impress a Radcliffe department head while she’s still in her pajamas is not playing fair.” I felt good, then felt guilty, got the upper hand and went back to feeling good.

“Have I succeeded?”

“The jury is still out.” There was a smile and a raised eyebrow in her voice that made a return to Cambridge for a visit a certainty.

“With privilege comes raised thresholds on establishing one’s identity, apart and separate from parents. The entire group was cut from the same cloth, with one exception.

The Ryan girl. She stands out on all counts. What she lacked in a sense of privilege and entitlement she more than made up for in sheer commitment to life. She had what the others, including your client’s younger sister, lacked.”

“Maslow’s drive to self-actualization?” I caught myself with a slap to the back of my own head. Too late. My face grew warm at the thought of being obvious; of overplaying the erudite private detective schtick.

“That’s one view of personal development that would explain Miz Ryan,” She didn’t react to my obscure knowledge dropping; I relaxed and made a note to not underestimate the good doctor Thunberg.

“Family. Society demands participation from its constituents, and, like it or not, the basic unit of society is still the family unit. Being young means the luxury or handicap of being deaf to the standards our culture sets on the significance of the individual.”

“Remind me again of what’s the point of, or to use a middle management term, the mission statement of this Hermes Consortium. I recall our first conversation, you characterized them as focused on the techno-financial cross matrix. The 21st century iteration of the Willy Sutton paradigm.”

“Something like that.” Leann laughed like a surprised coed, a would-be boyfriend barging into her dormitory suite with a cardboard tray of coffee, a bag of donuts and a sense of purpose.

“Who’s the biggest corporate presence in the sciences at Radcliffe?”

“That’s an easy one. Bayer AG. The original evil empire.” This time she didn’t laugh.

*****

Crissfield, Maryland

“You’re looking well, Sister Margaret”

A smile, like the accompanying touch of hand during a conversation that one person wanted to make as personal as possible, put italics on the word, ‘well’.

“At least what there is of you to see.”

The face of the woman on Margret Ryan’s phone radiated confidence. It always fascinated the young novitiate how some people not only were confident, but projected an energy that denied disagreement.

Swiveling in her chair rapidly enough to generate a blonde tsunami, Anya Claireaux turned her back to her computer and spoke in a deep voice,

“Margaret Ryan, I am your father.”

Sister Margaret felt a laugh-shiver threaten to undermine her resolve. With no hope of fooling the woman in Chicago, she forced her eyebrows into a frown.

The fingers of her right hand found the worn-wooden crucifix that she wore, the result was to smooth her brow, her faith replacing any calculation or strategy.

She felt hope.

“I have a favor to ask. If, that is, you’re done playing games.”

“What games?” Anya returned to facing the camera, her look of innocence available only to the truly innocent or the genuinely evil.

“Say ‘what’ one more time. I dare you…” Margaret saw the surprise on the other woman’s face and felt her own confidence return. Both women laughed.

“I have a friend who is being hunted down by a multi-national corporation.” Before the question could be completed in eyebrow semaphore, she continued,

“My friend has a thumb drive containing information the corporation would rather no one knows about. I can have this friend bring it to you. In exchange, I only ask that, as part of whatever conversations you may have with this corporation, you have them call off the hit on my friend and the only two other people who know of its existence.”

“You being one of the ‘two other people’?” Anya Claireaux was made for her work, mentally, physically and spiritually. No less than the perfect pitch enjoyed by accomplished musicians or the extreme muscle control of an athlete or a neurosurgeon, she was a predator, first and foremost. A skill set always in demand.

“And who might this multi-national corporation be?”

“Bayer AG. They create products that are capable of killing the human race and manufacture drugs that help the average person not care.”

Sister Margaret Ryan watched Anya Claireaux’s attractive face become radiant.