40. Chapter Forty
Chapter forty
Captain Valmir Zeqiri waited while the Surgeon tended to his patients.
Both were sedated and lay insensate upon the hospital gurneys.
The woman, Milena, recovered faster than her husband, Bill.
He had been at death’s door before the doctor administered the antidote.
Now, his vitals, for all Zeqiri knew of medicine, looked good.
He had a steady heart rate and oxygen levels.
He looked like a man recovering from a long bout of influenza.
Large wet beads of sweat dotted his forehead, and he had deep black rings around his eyes.
Other than that, it would seem, the procedure had worked.
Doctor Kadare had both invented, and cured, a potent virus.
Zeqiri already had buyers on the black market lining up.
Agents of Palestine and Hezbollah in particular were very interested in Kadare’s invention.
There was money to be made, but first there was revenge.
Revenge for the Major. Revenge against the Serbs.
Zeqiri stood on the observation deck, gripping the handrail hard, thinking about releasing the Doctor’s invention on the hapless Serbs. They would pay for their crimes.
Sergeant Besnik, his trusty AK-47 strapped across his chest, mounted the rickety observation deck, causing the whole construction to rattle and sway. He stopped next to Zeqiri, gazed through the safety barrier at the doctor. “He’s done it, hasn’t he?”
Zeqiri nodded. “Yes, my friend. Yes, he has.”
“Finally,” Besnik said. “Our enemies will at last pay for their crimes.”
“Yes,” Zeqiri agreed. “And then you and I will be very rich men.”
Sergeant Besnik grinned and put a hand out. Zeqiri shook it.
It had required months of painstaking labor, but their work had finally paid off. Zeqiri said, “Our mission is not over. There is still plenty to be done. Soon as we have the samples ready for transport, we’ll have to breakdown and sterilize this site.”
“Preparations are already being made,” Besnik assured him. “We can move within hours.”
Inside the containment zone, Doctor Kadare made one last check on the captives, and nodded in satisfaction, before moving toward the makeshift airlock. He stripped out of his hazmat suit, passed through the decontamination control, and threw the plastic flaps aside.
“Gentlemen, I’m pleased to report a complete success.”
“Congratulations, Doctor,” said Zeqiri.
“Yes,” Besnik agreed. “A job well done.”
“More importantly,” said Kadare, “the Serbians will finally understand what it means to kindle the wrath of the Albanians and our most holy prophet.” He turned for a look at Bill and Milena, still strapped to the hospital gurneys.
“It’s been thirty years, but we’ll have our victory at the last. And we shall start with these two.
We can dispatch them now. They are no longer needed.
The only question is how you’d like to do it? ”
“A bullet is too good for these two,” Zeqiri said. “Give them another dose of the virus. Let them suffer.”
The Doctor grinned. “How fitting.”
Captain Zeqiri turned to Besnik. “Have the men tear this place down. We can’t leave behind any evidence.”
The sergeant snapped off a salute and turned toward the stairs.
Zeqiri’s phone started to vibrate in his pocket. He pulled it out and frowned down at the display. The number belonged to the hotel clerk. Zeqiri’s frown deepened. He held up a hand for sergeant Besnik. “Wait.”
The captain put the phone to his ear. “More people asking about the missing couple? Who is it this time?”
“Bet you didn’t expect to hear from me again?”
The voice didn’t belong to Xanders. It was the American.
The first hint of fear tainted Zeqiri’s thinking.
He had decided the American was bluffing about his backup, that he’d been a lone investigator far from home and in over his head.
Zeqiri thought his disappearance would be a mystery to his paymasters back the United States.
Yet, somehow he had survived. Zeqiri’s bushy brows knotted together above his nose.
“Mr. Jacob Goodman. So you live?”
“You aren’t the first two-bit scumbag who tried to off me,” Goodman said. “Probably won’t be the last.”
Zeqiri’s gaze sharpened. Goodman was still alive and in possession of Xanders’ phone. The only conclusion was that Xanders had talked, and was probably dead now. How had Goodman escaped the crusher? That was a question for another time.
The doctor waved at Zeqiri. He wanted to know who was on the line. Sergeant Besnik stood ready, one hand gripping the hilt of his weapon while his eyes darted about the abandoned factory, as if even now a team of American commandos might be swooping down on the place.
Zeqiri held up a finger for them to wait. “I’m surprised Mr. Goodman. Most men in your position would have fled the country by now, grateful to be alive. You must not be very smart.”
“I couldn’t leave yet. I’ve got all sorts of questions. Namely, what happened to Bill Handley and Milena Kova?? Last time we talked, you did all the asking. This time I think we can have a more rewarding back and forth.”
“Is that right?”
“I think we should meet.”
“And why would I do that?”
“Because you don’t like loose ends.”
Zeqiri bared his teeth in frustration. He whipped around looking for something to pummel and had to settle for the handrail. The metal rang under his fist.
Doctor Kadare watched in alarm.
Zeqiri asked, “And where do you propose we meet?”
“I’ll give you a hint.”
Zeqiri heard the loud mechanical whir of an industrial machine coming to life, then the hysterical wails of Xanders begging for his life. “Please, no!” Xanders shrieked. “Please! Somebody help me! Heeeeeelp!”
The line went dead.