The eye of the lion

“Fantastic,” said Elias Waiss with obvious pride after taking a careful sip from the glass of foaming cappuccino which steamed in his hand. “Don’t you think?”

I nodded, smiling with feigned satisfaction, fearful that Richard Castañeda, emperor of Colombian coffee, would soon be deprived of his artificial moustache.

We were in Waiss’ office at Netgen. He had called me at “My Hotel” in Essex, to ask me to come and take a good look at the first samples of genetically modified coffee, produced in incredibly just three-and-a-half months of genetic manipulation and ripening. The phone-call, of course, had been intercepted by Mark on the “hotel’s switchboard” and routed to Jessica the “receptionist” who put it through to me in Randall’s office.

More than three months had passed since our last encounter, and my team and I were all desperate for another opportunity to get into Waiss’ factory, since there was no other way to be able to move forward with the investigation. Our surveillance of

Waiss from a distance hadn’t given us anything of any use, and Mark’s attempts to penetrate the insurmountable electronic wall of Netgen’s computer system had failed time and time again, much to his extreme frustration.

And it wasn’t that the guy was incapable, far from it - rather that he was pitting his wits against a monolithic, invulnerable, extremely powerful computer system, protected by fire walls that would have turned the Pentagon itself green with envy. We were down a dead-end street, from which we could catch a glimpse of one option only, and that was to get back into Netgen.

There was something else that worried and concerned us. The Colonel. He had continued to send us funding as usual, even greater amounts, but since hearing about Fouchet’s mysterious death in France we had not heard his voice or received any emails from him, and that was unheard of for him.

The Colonel was a very professional, careful man, who liked to follow his men’s movements very closely in every assignment. His absence and silence were a mystery.

Waiss looked at me, waiting for my comments.

“Only a true gourmet could tell the difference,” I said with the erudite air of a professional taster.

Waiss smiled, satisfied. He took another sip, savoring the creamy coffee, and then looked at me with a strange gleam in his eye.

“So, tell me something, Richard,” Waiss began. “How did you find us?”

“I mean...” he said, “We’re not exactly at the top of the “genetic engineering” listings in the Yellow Pages or on the Internet...”

An alarm bell rang in my head. Waiss could have been checking up on us, or be suspecting something. The doctor continued,

“...And I’ve been curious about that since our first meeting.”

“Well...” I stammered, “The truth is that before I came to you, I’m afraid to say, I had interviews with other genetic engineering companies, Dr. Waiss.”

My pulse was racing. Waiss smiled.

“Of course. I understand. Several of our competitors spend a fortune on publicity. We prefer to spend it on investigation.”

I was about to nod, relieved, when Waiss took another shot. This time I was worried.

“May I ask who you saw?” inquired Waiss with the expression of a child about to do something naughty.

My mind was racing. What was it? Hell! What was the name of that other damned company? I should have memorized the entire list that Mark had printed for me...!

“Intergenics” I murmured, half sure.

“Of course...” nodded Waiss. Then he smiled. “I thought so. And, let me guess, Paul...?”

I gazed at him immobile, my heart in my throat. I could smell a rat a mile off. What was he saying? What if there wasn’t a Paul in Intergenics?! What if he said no? I would have to invent a name and of course he was bound to know everyone in that company!

I was starting to sink into the quick-sand, and fast. I should have studied the business’ damned directory and its eight thousand employees! My mouth started to open to say something, anything!

Heaven came to my aid. Waiss continued before I could answer him.

“...I’m sure that fat idiot showed you everything, spun you his mega-corporation propaganda and promised you a very favorable economic arrangement, but in the end he told you there were some additional details to sort out... Isn’t that what

happened?”

I nodded out of pure inertia. He continued,

“...And that those details were that you would be obligated to include a notice on all your packets and boxes which would warn your distributors and the public that your coffee was the product of a genetically modified crop. Isn’t that true?”

I nodded immediately, relieved.

“Nothing escapes you, Dr. Waiss.”

“And then you realized that only we could help you, didn’t you, Richard?” asked Waiss with obvious pride in his deductive ability.

“When I heard about the corn in Mexico...” I said.

“Of course!” He laughed whole-heartedly. “And have you heard any Mexicans complaining?”

“Not yet,” I said, laughing as well. The danger was passing.

Just then, an Asian man who looked like a technician knocked at the door. As I turned to look at him I could see that he was carrying a pile of CD’s in transparent cases. I turned back towards Waiss who was looking at the technician, and then he looked at me.

“Richard, I’m sorry to interrupt our chat, but there’s some business I need to attend to.”

“Of course,” I said, rising to my feet. “I’m more than satisfied with the sample of the new coffee, Dr. Waiss, you’ve done an excellent job. When can we have the first shipments of the new strains?”

“I need to talk to my production manager, but I don’t think it’s too risky to say in two months’ time,” replied Waiss, also rising from his seat. “How much longer will you stay in England? I would like you to join us for dinner before you go to Colombia, Richard.”

I smiled. Another opportunity to investigate before being shut out.

“I’d love to come, Doctor. I’ll be in the country for a few more weeks, visiting some prospective clients.”

“Perfect. I’ll be waiting for your call then.”

We shook hands and I walked to the door while Waiss pushed a button on his desk, which summoned the elevator. I passed the Asian man, who nodded a brief greeting, and I walked down the corridor towards the elevator whose doors were opening just at that moment.

That was when luck, or fate, or providence caused my memory - or, rather, my sometimes deficient memory - to hand me on a silver platter a unique, once in a life-time opportunity.

I had left my briefcase in Waiss’ office. I turned around without getting into the elevator, and walked back down the corridor towards the office. When I stopped in the doorway my trained eyes only needed a brief glimpse to etch the scene before me on my mind.

And before Waiss turned his head and saw me, I had already turned my gaze to the doctor and imprinted the image of the room onto my brain like a photograph.

Waiss left what he was doing and took a step forward, subtly trying to cover up his action, but I hid mine better and smiled, going towards the chair.

“Excuse me, Dr. Waiss, I’m a fool. I forgot my briefcase,” I apologized.

I felt Waiss’ eyes observing me sharply, trying to perceive in my actions something that would tell him I had seen more than I should. But I knew my game and acted completely naturally, picking up my briefcase, without even trying to look at anything else, and then my innocent gaze went straight to his face.

I was so convincing that Waiss was satisfied with Richard Castañeda’s lack of observance, and he bought into my

forgetfulness.

“I do apologize, doctor.”

“Oh, don’t worry, Richard. I’ll be waiting for your call.”

We shook hands again, and I left the office.

On the way back, as Randall was driving and observing me, perplexed by my silence, I was looking at the image that had been branded onto my mind, the image of Waiss standing before the open door of a safe which was usually hidden behind the wooden wall panels.

He was putting the pile of CDs that the man had given him into the safe, and in a brief but revealing moment, inside the safe, on top of a yellow parcel, I spied Ed Kelly’s green booklet.