Wanted: A Leopold Blake Thriller (29 page)


Dottore
Ginelli,” the man said. “I wanted to take the opportunity to speak with you before you retired for the evening.”

Luca heard the man’s voice through the intercom system. The stranger spoke with an accent, a mixture of dialects that the technician couldn’t quite figure out. What was unmistakable, however, was the man’s tone – somewhere between polite and menacing, the vocal equivalent of a switchblade wrapped in silk.

“Who are you?” asked Luca, forcing himself not to stammer. “This is a restricted area. You can’t be down here.” He felt his chest start to tighten, a common reaction whenever he was nervous.

“I beg to differ,
Dottore
.” The man held up a security pass.

Luca wiped the back of his hand across his nose. “Who are you?” he repeated.

“Please excuse my manners. You might have been aware of the recent change in ownership?”

The technician nodded.

“Well, I’m here to make sure the company I bought is going to be worth the investment. You’ve been doing some very interesting work. I’ve been reading your case files. Impressive.” He flashed a smile, although the expression was cold.

“Then you’ll also know the experiments were a failure.”

“Oh?”

“The nanoparticles we engineered targeted healthy cells as well as mutated ones. They destroyed everything they came into contact with. It was a complete failure.”

“I wouldn’t call that a failure,
Dottore
.”

Luca rubbed his temples, feeling a migraine coming on. “In what world would you call it a success? Instead of developing a new way to target and destroy cancer cells, we created something even worse than the disease we were trying to cure. I recommended that the research be shut down and the results made public. We could learn a lot from the way this new virus works.”

“That’s not an option, I’m afraid.” The man sighed. “You’ve done some wonderful work, as have your colleagues, but I’m afraid it’s time for you to move on.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Your work has been exemplary, and we appreciate the results you’ve given us. Unfortunately, some information has recently come to my attention that paints you in a rather negative light.”

Luca felt the tightness in his chest get worse. “What information?”

“We monitor all incoming and outgoing cell phone signals here. I understand you’ve been having some conversations with the World Health Organization. That kind of behavior won’t be tolerated.”

“My rights are protected by international law,” said Luca, stepping closer to the glass window. “Unlock this door. I’ll be gone by the morning and you can discuss this with my union representative.”

“Your union representative is otherwise engaged. And I’m afraid you won’t be going anywhere.” He rapped a knuckle on the glass. “Tell me, how are you feeling?”

Luca coughed into his hands, feeling something warm and wet against his palms.

“I thought as much,” the man said. “Your work with viruses has been fascinating, but where they excel in terms of transmissibility and virulence, they can often take hours, or even days to reach full strength.”

Luca looked down at his hands. They were covered in a brownish-red mucus. His migraine intensified as he tried to take a deep breath. He felt his heart begin to pump faster.

“For speedier results on a smaller scale, it made sense to look elsewhere.” The man kept his dark eyes fixed on the technician as he spoke. “Some of your colleagues have been doing some wonderful things with synthetic nerve agents.” He smiled again.

His head spinning, Luca dropped to his knees. “What the hell have you done?” he said, struggling to force enough air through his lungs to form the words.

“You can consider yourself the first human test subject for our latest breakthrough. It’s based largely on the VX nerve agent, but we’ve made it a little bit nastier, as I’m sure you can tell.” He paused. “We’ve not been able to come up with a name for it yet. Any ideas?”

Luca didn’t reply, succumbing to a coughing fit. He could scarcely catch his breath.

“Never mind. I’m sure we’ll think of something. The nerve agent we released through the vents is preventing all the muscles in your body from receiving signals from your brain. Following a period of intense muscle contraction,” he let the words sink in, “your body will shut down entirely. I’m afraid it won’t be pleasant.”

The urge to cough faded and Luca felt his throat start to close up. “Wh-who the hell are you?” he said, as the tightness increased. It felt as though he were being strangled by invisible hands.

“I suppose that’s a fair question.” He stepped closer to the glass so that his breath left a fog.

Luca tried to speak but couldn’t. His chest felt as though it were made of stone, and his futile attempts to breathe only intensified the pain in his skull. His heart started to pound more violently, struggling to deal with the shock of what was happening. The searing pain inside his lungs made him want to scream, but nothing came out. Then the pain stopped.

In the moments before his death, Luca Ginelli’s life didn’t flash before his eyes. He didn’t ponder his regrets or wonder what might have been, he didn’t even picture his family and friends. He only noticed the stranger at the window speaking the last words he would ever hear:

“My name is Robert. Robert Blake.”

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About the Author

Nick Stephenson was born and raised in Cambridgeshire, England. He writes mysteries, thrillers, and suspense novels, as well as the occasional witty postcard, all of which are designed to get your pulse pounding. His approach to writing is to hit hard, hit fast, and leave as few spelling errors as possible. Don’t let his headshot fool you – he’s actually full color (on most days).

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