Lawrence adjusted his gas mask and studied the Indian woman lying on the floor. The ISA agent lay slack-jawed. Her eyes were half-closed, the lids having drooped from the effect of the toxin. But what was more important to Lawrence was the complete absence of movement in her chest.
He stared at the white-coated technician, who was checking the woman's pulse. Lawrence waited until he could no longer contain his impatience. "Well?"
"She's dead."
Success! Lawrence felt his chest swell and almost let loose a triumphant shout. It's lethal. The toxin is lethal.
Smiling behind the mask, he turned to the door and waited for the technicians to do their security checks before opening the door. There was little chance that the toxin was still present in the room when Lawrence entered, but they still took precautions to ensure nobody was accidentally poisoned.
Dr. Schreiner was standing immediately on the other side of the door. Lawrence removed the mask and smiled. "You have succeeded."
"Of course," the doctor replied. "It was merely a matter of time."
Lawrence barely heard the response. "How long will it take to produce the trial batch?"
"Herr Alamain, we must complete our testing here, before we can move into production."
Feeling his frustration mount, Lawrence asked, "So how long will that take."
Schreiner thought for a moment, but seemed to clearly understand Lawrence's impatience. "If we work around the clock, we could complete the tests in three days. Then another two to three days while we prepare the larger batch and ensure its stability." He paused. "To be blunt, Herr Alamain, we should wait for some longer-term testing before we ship the toxin anywhere."
"You have one week. At that time, I am leaving this country for America." He studied the doctor carefully. "Make sure the toxin is suitable for transfer and, of course, for our demonstration."
"But-"
"No buts, Doctor. One week. That is all the time you have."
Turning on his heels, Lawrence glanced at Ivan. "Come, Ivan. We have some planning to do."
His manservant followed him out of the research area of the compound to Lawrence's villa. As they walked, Lawrence looked up at the sun shining above.
"This is a great day, Ivan," he said. "Today, we have taken the first step to changing the world."
Ivan reached the villa door first, and held it open for Lawrence. Once inside, Lawrence walked toward the great room, which overlooked the ocean below. In many ways, the villa reminded him of his estate in Alamainia.
"Champagne, Ivan," Lawrence ordered. "We must toast this grand occasion."
As Ivan disappeared from the room, Lawrence stared out at the ocean and smiled. He would soon be back in Alamainina where he could look out at the ocean from his true home. They would spend another week here and then move their operation to the facility in Salem, which was already being readied for his arrival.
"Won't our dear friends in Salem be surprised," he said, his voice ripe with amusement. "I'll be right under their noses and they won't even know it."
It would only take a few weeks at most before he could deploy the toxin. There would only be one demonstration, but it would be enough. Salem would mourn and the world leaders would be exposed as the impotent fools they were. Meanwhile, every despot and terrorist in the world would line up to bid on Lawrence's toxin.
"The world will fear me," Lawerence declared.
"Yes, sir," Ivan said, as he reappeared with a bottle of Krug and two champagne flutes. He quickly released the cork, filled the two glasses, and handed one to Lawrence.
Lawrence held his glass up, but faced the window and the ocean, not Ivan. "This is a great day, Ivan, because today we have taken a great step to restoring the name of Alamain to its proper place in this world. Those fools in America and the ISA think me incapable of taking on my father's mantle, but they are wrong. I will prove to them that the name Alamain is one to be feared in the West, and now I have the means to make them tremble before me."
"Your father would be proud," Ivan said.
"Yes, he would. . . ." Lawrence turned from the window and crossed over to a bookshelf that held a framed photograph. He lifted it, seeing the picture of himself as a teenager, standing next to his father. Back in those days, Leopold Alamain was a strong, powerful man - a strong leader and a shrewd businessman. In his dotage, Leopold had grown softer, but, in Lawrence's eyes, he remained the man he had been.
And they killed him. Donovan, Devereaux and Brady. Those hated names.
"They took you from me, Father," Lawrence said to the photograph. "They took you."
Lawrence held the glass up once more. "To the future where the Alamain name is feared as it should be."
"Here, here," Ivan added.
"Yes, Ivan." Lawrence took a sip of the expensive champagne, looked once more at his father's image in the picture, and then set it down on the shelf. He took another sip as he turned back to Ivan and raised his glass once more. "Another toast. To our friends in Salem. . . ." He waited for Ivan to raise his glass. "Yes, to our friends in Salem . . . and to seeing justice served."
Lawrence chuckled as he finished and Ivan said, "To justice." Then he lifted the glass to his lips, drank deeply, and repeated, "To justice."