Chapter 1
Tristan
Lyons, France
The world rewards those with purpose, and little cares for truth. Take a few threads of truth, stitch in the necessary fictions and weave it all together to form the lie you require for your purpose. Such is the world in modern times. Has it always been so?
“Sir, Nigel can see you now.” The petite assistant with cropped stark white hair, dramatic black oversized frames and a close-lipped smile breaks me out of my reverie and opens the impenetrable walnut door to the director’s office with the practiced ease of someone who has filled the assistant role for decades, as I’m certain Ms. Penny Lanshire has.
“Thank you. Did I mention how lovely you look today?”
The phone on her desk, a vintage contraption with multiple clear buttons along the bottom, rings, one of the clear buttons glows, and she charges forward, the only sign that she heard my belated cordiality a slight uptick on the right side of her maroon-stained lips.
“Get in and close the door,” Nigel calls with his usual authoritative gruffness.
With a good twenty years on me, I imagine Nigel, my boss and a direct report to the Deputy Secretary General of Interpol, has a plenitude of reasons to be surly. Our job is to facilitate international police cooperation and to control crime that crosses borders. It’s the cooperation piece that is a thorny bugger.
“Hun Tap Tareth died.”
The door closes with a firm push and a click and I attempt to place the Cambodian name. “He was the senator who had been willing to speak with us?” He blinks acquiescence.
“The official account states he committed suicide by shooting himself three times.”
“Ah. One of those.” I sit across from the expansive walnut desk and glimpse myself in Nigel’s spectacles. To avoid the temptation of fixing my unruly hair, I shift back in the armchair, out of the range of my reflection, and consider the situation. No one commits suicide by shooting themselves three times. To state it in an official account is a warning.
“Who do you think orchestrated it?” A silvery eyebrow rises above Nigel’s circular wire frames. “The suicide,” I clarify. “Do you think it has to do with our inquiry into Manet’s compounds?”
“Possible. No evidence that’s the case, of course. What did you learn from the girl?”
And this is where it’s my turn to weave fiction and truth. Because I have a purpose.
“Anna Sloane Watson, an esteemed scientist.” I pause for emphasis, acknowledging her maturity and status. “She shared what we have long suspected. Research companies are using the compounds for preliminary testing to speed products to market. Although her direct experience pertains to the compound near Phnom Penh, one can infer that similar practices are likely employed across all compounds. For years, we have been aware of the use of these compounds for organ sourcing, so the notion of testing comes as no great surprise. All compounds are under scrutiny; be it China, Vietnam, Malaysia, or Cambodia.”
The criminal enterprises in Southeast Asia have turned human exploitation into a lucrative trade, enticing vulnerable migrants into deceptive work agreements. These egregious violations of human rights span from A to Z, constituting crimes that transcend borders and squarely demand Interpol’s attention. Regrettably, powerful players profit from the arrangement, making the case for engagement problematic. Moreover, when it comes to international diplomacy, the appetite to anger China is nil. It’s why I wouldn’t promise Saint, a liaison, resolution in Cambodia.
“Why’d they go after her?” Nigel steeples his hands, elbows planted on the ergonomic office chair armrests. He’s sent me thrice to meet with the Americans working on the Watson girl’s abduction case, all because we need more evidence before we can act. He might not have agreed to send me, except his acquaintance with Jack Sullivan, one of the founding partners of the black ops firm Arrow Tactical, goes back decades to Jack’s CIA intelligence days. One night over scotch, Nigel shared he owed Jack his life. He didn’t divulge details, but he imparted enough for me to understand I needed to handle the missing American’s case in earnest. Over time it became apparent Jack Sullivan wasn’t the only individual who cared deeply about the case.
“She unwittingly assimilated data that proves organs are being sourced from individuals either exposed to cancer-causing substances or, as we suspect, they are being used as human guinea pigs. In essence, she uncovered the evidence we’ve been needing to open an investigation.”
“She’s a whistleblower?”
“Not exactly. She didn’t comprehend what she uncovered. Obviously, someone else did. Someone who had much to lose from an investigation.”
“Why abduct her?”
“The instructions from the power players were to kill her. An ex-lover intervened.”
“How romantic.” His tone conveys the sarcasm his muted expression conceals.
“She nearly killed him.” Another single silvery eyebrow raise requests I explain, so I comply. “The ex-lover. It’s my understanding his wife is distraught.”
“Lovely.”
“Quite. The full report is in your inbox.” The report leaves out any mention of Saint, and we won’t mention his name in these offices, either. There can be no mention of an undercover officer having penetrated the Kontinuum Syndicate. “An investigation into the compounds won’t stop anything. You know this as well as I do. They’ll give us the same spiel as always. The workers are there legally and come and go as they please. They’ll tell us we are overstepping and that it is of no concern to Interpol. International concern for immigrants and the world’s poor isn’t terribly high. If an investigation is opened, it will be swiftly closed.”
“I concur. But we have enough information to open a formal investigation into Lumina International. Once we brief the Swiss authorities, they’ll take over. They’ve enough damage from banking scandals. The last thing they need is a pharmaceutical scandal that will further undermine their position on the world landscape. They’ll handle it seriously.”
He’s speaking the truth.
“Why are you hesitant?” Nigel’s intuitive skills are legendary.
“If the Swiss authorities get wind of an investigation, the media will have a field day.”
His eyes narrow over his steepled hands. “I thought your parents sold Lumina years ago? Don’t tell me they’re still involved.”
“My father is long retired. My mother has a start-up cosmetics company. Both sit on the board but neither are involved.” But it’s still the company my great grandfather founded. “The current CEO is interim CEO. He’s been in place for less than a year.”
“That’s right. The CEO and CFO died in a small plane crash about a year and a half ago. Do you think…”
“No one expects foul play. The weather was horrible. They should have never flown. But if you look at the report, I think it’s clear what we’re dealing with.”
“Enlighten me.”
“There’s a drug currently on the market that ran broad spectrum testing through these illegal channels. They learned at a quick pace what adjustments to make, then proceeded with legal clinical trials in either India or China. There will be significant financial incentive to keep this under wraps. That has to be the motivation here.”
I cross an ankle over my knee and feign a loose cufflink, aiming for cavalier.
“That’s not our problem, Tristan.” He means it’s the Swiss authorities problem, and he’s correct. But I don’t want this to destroy the company my great grandfather founded. I want to root out the culprits and keep it out of the public eye.
“If the Swiss authorities investigate, they’ll discover the guilty parties within Switzerland, but not those who hired Lumina. Those people will simply seek another Lumina, possibly in another country.” His steepled fingers tap each other. “If only there were an international policing organization that could investigate all the guilty parties and bring it all to an end.”
The light reflecting off his spectacles partially veils his subtle eye roll.
“You suspect Lumina of testing every product in these compounds?”
“Only the ones with justifiable opportunity. The company has forty-seven thousand employees. The Swiss authorities will never successfully find those responsible.”
“I trust a full investigation will flush out the truth.”
He’s full of it. I cross an ankle over my leg, repositioning to approach from an alternate angle. “Sloane Watson plans to release the data she found for peer review. She believes scientists working together will identify which potential drugs caused a cancer cluster during initial testing. She’s quite eager to do this as it’s likely these drugs are out on the market and we simply don’t have the data yet to identify all the side effects.”
“That’s quite a theory.”
“It’s happened before. We’ve released vaccines and drugs onto the marketplace only to find years later they have detrimental, deadly side effects. Not all side effects show up in a three-year testing window.”
“This is a case for the local authorities.”
“Nigel.” I stand, unable to sit while I push. “Think about it. The black market for organs has existed for ages. The international community has been aware these compounds are a source for organs for just as long. We’ve done nothing. If we commandeered local police and conducted a raid, it would be a headline on a BBC article for a day and it wouldn’t even get top billing. That’s not worth killing a scientist. It’s not worth hiring mercenaries to abduct the scientist’s sister. It’s not worth murder. But, if we uncover the companies testing products illegally, we’ll uncover which drugs are already on the market thanks to unscrupulous testing procedures. Those drugs will need to be pulled, at least temporarily, and reviewed. Employees might face prison time. Depending on how extensive the enterprise is, at least one pharmaceutical giant will go under. Maybe more. When someone went after Sloane Watson, they weren’t afraid of the BBC article. They feared something much worse, and we need to lead this to ensure those fears are realized.” A thorough, discreet investigation is the only way to ensure we root out the culprits. It’s the only way for me to keep my word to Saint.
“A Swiss investigation will land several executives in prison.”
“People have killed to avoid prison.” He knows I’m right. “If the Swiss authorities announce an investigation, any legitimate source of information will likely be eliminated. And while the guilty parties clean house, the Swiss authorities will uncover some unlucky chap to take the blame. Most likely the CEO and CFO, who are conveniently dead and therefore can’t represent themselves.”
And the practice will continue. In my family’s company. The company my grandfather devoted his life to building. I pace the room to prevent myself from revealing exactly how personal this is to me. It’s my heritage.
“You want something, Tristan. I have a meeting in ten minutes. Spit it out.”
“Let me handle the investigation. Don’t turn it over to the Swiss authorities.”
“Forty-six thousand employees worldwide. It’s the definition of a needle in a haystack.”
“Yes, but we know which part of the stack to search.”
“We do?”
“William Salo is the ex-lover who intervened on Dr. Watson’s behalf. That narrows the field. A superior within his division is most likely one culprit. But this isn’t a one-man operation. Sources so far have referenced the leaders as a plural. You and I both know if investigators go in in an official capacity, we’ll only find what they want us to find. Discreet is our best option. Both my parents retain seats on the board. My mother is currently running a cosmetics off-shoot, but she remains heavily engaged with the division heads. If I suggest I’m considering getting involved with the family company, she’ll find me a position. My joining the company is my parent’s dream. They’ll be too eager to ask questions.”
“You think the culprits would expose the son of founding board members to illegitimate activity?” His skepticism is both marked and warranted.
“No. But, I’ll get to know the players. Ask the right questions. Observe. I’ve been working undercover roles for a decade now. I have the skills and I’m the only officer with access.”
“How do you get out? No one knows you work for Interpol. If you blow your cover, I would be forced to relieve you of your position.”
My family and friends are unaware I work for Interpol in an elite, secretive group. I pursued the position. Trained to become a chameleon. Without the use of my family name and with slight alterations of appearance, I can blend seamlessly into a variety of situations. My backgrounds allows me to explore affluent circles that other officers from less affluent backgrounds couldn’t as easily infiltrate.
We live in a world run by kleptocracies and criminal enterprises. Eighty percent of the world’s wealth exists in shadow companies. Investigating the wealthiest of criminals, often the most intelligent of perpetrators, thrills like no other career.
And I won’t give that up.
“I’ve spent my life playing the role of a spoiled man, leading a life of leisure. My parents will be disappointed when I walk away, but it won’t surprise anyone. Quitting the company fits my public personality profile.”
“You really want to do this, don’t you?”
The Wagner name may no longer be on the building, but our family name remains embedded in the foundational history. “I do.”
“We don’t need to spread Interpol’s resources further. This is well within the domain of the Swiss authorities.”
“Let me do this, and we’ll catch Anton Solonov.”
The known assassin has been on Red Notice for years. It’s becoming an embarrassment to the organization that he’s still on the prowl. He’s not even in hiding. He’s actively taking assignments around the world. And he’s the bait needed to lure Nigel.
His posture changes, and I’m in.
“Three months.” He holds three fingers up. “In ninety days, we turn everything over to local authorities. Agree?”
“Unequivocally.”
“You’re being considered for a strategic position. See to it this little side project doesn’t diminish your chances.”
“I am flattered, but uninterested.”
“I told them you’d say that. But once we organize our affairs, at least listen to our proposal.”
I narrow my eyes in a way that lets Nigel understand I have no intention of entertaining a desk job. I don’t need money nor a higher title. They have no bait to lure me.
There are two reasons I work. One is to avoid a life of boredom bred from a mundane existence, and another is to lead a worthwhile life. As long as Interpol gives me those two things, I’ll stick with them. When they cease to meet my objectives, I won’t.
My fingers grasp the door lever as Nigel’s authoritative command reaches me. “And Tristan. Get me Solonov.”