The eye of the lion

The asphalt ribbon wound through the dark English countryside lit up by the head-lights of the old Citroën, driven by Randall.

We had not said a word for the whole ride. Partly because we were mentally going over the details of our plan which had been painstakingly laid out that morning, and partly because the news about Russia that we had heard on the television that morning had made us very tense.

I tried to take my mind off those things and focus on the job.

“Everyone in position? We’re about to arrive,” I announced into my jacket lapel.

“We’re ready,” answered a voice in my tiny ear-piece.

The boys were following us down the road at a safe distance,

in the van. We were getting close to the site of the Netgen factory.

Kratz had left that morning in another car to prepare what he called his “Distraction Plan”, much to my relief. The farther he was from the action, the less it mattered to me what he did. I had more pressing things to worry about.

The car’s headlights illuminated the concrete and steel lettering of the factory.

“Well, here we go,” murmured Randall.

The night was cold and crystal clear.

Waiss greeted us in the factory lobby and led us to the elevator, which took us up to the third floor, one floor above his office, on which the doctor had designed a kind of apartment in which he lived for most of the time. It was a sumptuous place, in Victorian style, diametrically opposed to the cold, minimalist atmosphere of his office, whose only features were the elevator doors we came through and the presence of a lap-top which showed the images of the security cameras from all over the plant.

Waiss proudly showed us his imposing collection of antique books, displayed in beautiful cedar floor-to-ceiling bookcases. He showed us a couple of valuable incunables from the 14th century, followed by his magnificent Manet, and then we took our

places at the table which was being laid by a couple of servants.

I noticed that Waiss was tense as we started dinner. So I decided to open the conversation on that note.

“Well, I think we’re all a little concerned about this Russian madness, aren’t we?” I commented. “What’s going on in the East is worrying to say the least, don’t you think?”

“It’s hard to believe”, added Randall.

“What were the Russians thinking when they put Vostrikov in charge?” I asked. “The man’s psychotic!”

“And what the devil were the Americans doing when they let it happen? They’d had their eye on him for years!” declared Waiss, pouring himself another glass of white wine. A servant approached and placed a large lobster in the center of the table.

“Now with China in on the deal, things are looking very ugly,” I added.

Waiss looked at his watch.

“In a few minutes the American Secretary of State is going to make a statement. I think it would be worth seeing.”

He took a small remote control from the table and pointed it at a picture on the wall opposite the table. A wooden panel behind the picture opened silently and revealed a large plasma screen, on which the CNN news appeared.

Randall and I looked at the time which was displayed in a box on the screen and exchanged a discreet glance. There were ten minutes left until I would excuse myself to go to the bathroom and our operation would begin.

Waiss was watching the television as he bit off a piece of lobster. On the screen, a commentator was talking about the journey to Great Britain that the President was undertaking at that moment.

That was when it happened.

The item was cut short and a nervous commentator appeared on camera. Next to him was a sign which read: “News Flash”.

“We are interrupting the broadcasting of this report to bring you some important news which occurred a few minutes ago at the Holy See and which has just been confirmed by the Governor of that state.”

The three of us were motionless, watching the screen.

“Cardinal Bruno Voquessi, second in command of the Vatican, was assassinated this evening in the Vatican by a bullet in the head, discharged from a building near the episcopal palace by someone who is yet to be identified. No-one has yet been detained...”

Waiss stood up slowly, without taking his eyes off the television. I turned to see him so that I could observe his reaction. The report continued,

“There are unconfirmed reports that indicate that his Holiness John XXIV also died this same evening, of natural causes. But this information has not yet been confirmed...”

Suspicions regarding the person responsible for Voquessi’s assassination started to materialize in my mind. I studied Waiss, who was still motionless.

Randall, too, seemed really surprised.

“Both of them dead?!” he murmured.

That was when Dr. Waiss looked me in the eye and I saw something that answered my questions, but brought up new ones as well: There was genuine surprise in his eyes. Real astonishment in his expression. And then I knew it.

Waiss wasn’t responsible for that brutal death! There were new guests at the party.