GUM Department Store, Vladivostok, Russia
Jerry followed closely by Ben ran up the stairs. Ben dialed a number on his cell phone. There was a loud ongoing ring. They ran towards the sound.
They reached the opposite end of the floor. Their eyes darted everywhere. The phone rang again. Books fell to the floor as Jerry dug around for the ringing phone.
Ben shook his head, cursed and hit a speed dial. He rushed to the window and looked up and down the street. "Door to door search. Begin!" He ended the call and cursed again.
Jerry held the phone up. "Very smart."
Chirp. Chirp.
Jerry took out his cell phone and said, "Sir, she's not here. We are searching door to door." He pulled the phone away as Peter began to make his anger quite obvious. He waited the tirade out. "Yes, sir, I understand." Jerry ended the call.
"Well?" asked Ben.
"Patrols continue until she's found. We are authorized to hire local help," replied Jerry.
"She will be weak now. Disoriented."
Jerry shook his head. He looked at the phone in his hand. "I do not believe she will make the same mistakes as before. We must use other ways to find her."
Peter seemed calm and collected on the outside but he was fuming on the inside. The latest report from the patrols were not encouraging. The weather was hampering their search. Their paid informants at hospitals, hotels and police stations had reported nothing. The ferry, train station and airport were being physically watched at all times.
He said into the speakerphone, "What about the ports and docks? How many people do we have there?"
"We have informants at customs and the ticket offices. We will know if she tries to buy a ticket," said Ben. "She has no visa. She cannot leave."
"She will attempt to leave the city. Somehow."
"She will be sick soon."
"Will she? I'm beginning to have doubts," said Peter. "We have no physical trace of her. The phone was artfully used to deceive. In an unknown, non-English city, she has remained hidden. And, she was dressed for travel. That I could see for myself."
"We have watched her closely. The security was-" began Ben.
"Was more than adequate," said Peter. "This means only one thing. The bitch planned it. She only had to wait for the right time."
"She has none of her medication. How can she live?"
"Stubbornly," said Peter. "She would rather die than return here. Have you found an agent for hire in Port Charles?"
Ben hesitated before replying, "No. Once I specified the persons and locations to watch, they refused to do business."
"Refused? To watch the police station and a house?"
"I could hear fear in their voices when I said Scorpio," said Ben.
His cell phone began to ring. His eyes widened at seeing the display.
"I must take this call," said Peter. "Listen to me. Double the reward on her. Hire more informants. Robin must eat and find medicine soon. She will have to come out. Be ready when she does."
He ended the meeting and answered his cell phone. "Donatella, how pleasant to hear from you."
The voice on the other end was clipped precise. "He has agreed to see you in five days in Moscow. Exact details to be forthcoming. I tried for something in two days but it was not possible."
"Wait! I said to ... to cancel that request! I don't need to see him."
"You uttered the two magic words 'Anna Devane' and I had to report it."
"It was trivial!" Peter's voice went up an octave. He cleared his throat and resumed at his normal level and tone. "Some things have changed. It's not important any longer."
"You have piqued his curiosity. Cancellation is impossible."
"Our cousin is a busy man. Um, perhaps, I would be wasting his time and-"
"His book tour ends in three weeks. He has shifted his schedule to see you. You will see him as scheduled."
"It would be more convenient for me to travel to his location. Maybe meet him on a stop of the tour in three weeks or maybe after his tour."
"Unadvisable. Looking at his schedule, he is in the states then Canada," said Donatella. "He prefers to not mix his various ... concerns too much. You know this."
"Isn't he persona non grata in this area of the world?" asked Peter.
"That would not be an obstacle to him, would it?"
"No, I guess not," said Peter. "Moscow in winter is brutal. I can go to the states instead. Where is the tour scheduled?"
"He is in Boston today. The next cities are Port Charles, Chicago, Dallas, Los Angeles and San Francisco."
"P-P-Port Charles? For a s-s-signing?"
"A signing, yes, and dinner," said Donatella.
"Port Charles in New York?"
"Yes. Is something the matter?"
"No, nothing. I ... I thought it a strange choice. Why not New York City?"
"I do not make his schedule. He did live in Port Charles for some time. He must have fond memories," said Donatella. "Remember five days. Goodbye, Peter."
At the sound of the disconnection, Peter leapt to his feet and began to pace and fret.
"He knows! He knows she's dead. Why else would he go there?" said Peter. "Would he know it was a different person? After all these years, would he know? Of course he would, idiot!"
Peter looked up, down and all around in his office. "If ... if he realizes I've made a fool of him, he'll be seeing me sooner than two weeks. Here! I ... I can't let that happen. I need to have Robin as a shield."
His eyes went to the phone. He began to dial a number from memory. It was answered immediately. "Elena? I need a contact for a short job in the states."
"Of course, my love," came Elena's easy reply. "Where, when and what do you need done?"
"Surveillance and ... and maybe a break-in," answered Peter. "Tonight or tomorrow at the latest. Someone in ... in New York City. I'm not sure of the exact location but it's about there. Give me a name and number and I'll arrange the details and payment."
"As luck would have it, I do have a contact in New Jersey. Close enough?"
Peter frowned trying to remember stateside geography. "Perfect! And, ah, no scruples about breaking the law?"
"Not at all," said Elena. "I'll email you the information. Use our usual password to decrypt the message."
"Thank you, my dearest," said Peter. The knot in his chest was slowly unwinding. At last, there would be some real help. "How are things there? Still besieged by inspectors and the like?"
"It's endless," said Elena. "Building codes, fire codes, facility codes. And the press have been more annoying than usual. But no one has found anything harmful to our project. We have returned our patients to their normal routines."
"Business as usual. That's wonderful news. I'm relieved," said Peter. "And the culprit?"
Elena sighed. "We nearly had her but she slipped through our fingers. A professional job from all accounts and she had help."
"That sounds ominous," said Peter.
Elena's tone was imperious as she said, "It was a desperate and clumsy attempt at infiltration by a group known to us. They broke into our computer systems before and they tried to again but they failed."
"And the fire?"
"Was an inspired diversion," said Elena.
"Was anything taken?" asked Peter. "Files, records, pictures?"
"No. From the scant camera footage we have, she was simply walking around. Reconnaissance as I said," said Elena. "We have nothing to worry about."
In a few minutes, Peter ended the call and dialed another number. "Mr. Vandenberg? Peter Sinclair. Do you have a few minutes?"
Arnold "Arn" Vandenberg, second in command of the Gemini Group, answered with, "I'm waiting for a plane. I have nothing but time. What do you want to discuss, Peter?"
"Well, I need a favor, Arnold," said Peter keeping his tone as meek and subservient as he could manage.
"All right. Name it."
"Would it be possible to borrow a few of your people?"
"For what?"
Peter sighed. "It's embarrassing but I've lost a patient."
"Excuse me?" asked Arnold. "We helped to secure the delivery and see to its disposal, did we not? Or are you saying that you have another escapee?"
"Yes, I'm afraid I do."
"Peter, I've supported your programs for years. I'm a firm believer in your work. That's why I defend its mission when I can," said Arnold. "But you're getting sloppy."
"It's my fault. I should have bought a bigger generator to use when the weather kills the electricity," said Peter. "You know this is abnormal for us. We don't lose patients to the public. Help me this once and I'll return the favor."
"Hmm, there is one thing, Peter. In exchange for a Gem security squad, I want a dozen vials of the amnesia drug and one dozen vials of Compound A," said Arnold.
"A? But we haven't used that in years. I can't vouch completely for the results. It's always been unpredictable," said Peter.
"Not to worry, Peter. We need it to do some crude testing," said Arnold. "I assure you we won't be using it in the field. Certainly not on civilians."
"Good. It will take two days beginning tomorrow to create the initial base formula then two days of modification and testing."
"Why so long?" asked Arnold.
"Too long?" asked Peter. "It's due to the volatility of the chemical. Separating the process adds to production time but the end result is a much more balanced formulation."
"Got it," said Arnold. "Give me a few minutes to get clearance. I'll call you right back."
On a dark blue bandana laid flat on the passenger side seat lay Robin's late dinner - juice, sweet bread and an apple. She sat relaxed in the driver's seat. The view in the port hole was of darkening skies and icy sleet. Under her, she could feel the freighter swaying gently in the swelling waters. Sometimes, her ears picked up the clang of metal against metal or the grinding monotony of large machinery doing their assigned tasks.
She had not heard any human traffic near her location yet she remained cautious. Several crates barricaded the door. She had unveiled the buggy only halfway keeping most of it and her shielded from immediate view from the doorway. She had not dared to make excessive noise or lights. She had dusted the buggy's seats and arranged her belongings under the tarpaulin but within easy reach.
With the wool blanket covering her legs, she ate with a pleasure and leisure that she had not experienced in years. In the light from her penlight, she examined the woman's wallet she had stolen earlier in the day.
"The exchange rate must be good," said Robin fingering several thousand ruble bills in addition to two hundred dollar bills. The bills were added to her ziplock bag of assorted currencies. She studied the drivers license of Mary Randell of Orem, Utah. She slipped the drivers license into her waist pack. Of the others in the tour group, Robin had selected Randell because of her dark hair and age which were close to her own. Their height and weight were different but only a detailed study of the license would make that obvious. If she arranged her short hair in a different style, she could look similar enough. A drivers license alone was insufficient to be able to travel internationally without a passport but any form of identification would be needed in any case.
She smiled as she flipped through some small pictures in the wallet. The credit cards she left alone. A business card for Randell Professional Editorial Services was added to the waist pack. One item made her yelp in surprise - an international phone card. It was the kind that was preloaded and could be used in many countries to call the United States. This one was a British phone card. It went into the waist pack. The wallet was returned to her backpack to be disposed of later.
The rumble of thunder made her look up. Lightning flashed across the now dark skies. Robin finished her meal and took her medication. With her layers of clothing and the wool blanket, she was warm enough. The cargo hold was dry even if the air was musty.
"I'll get fresh air tomorrow," she muttered as she began to fall into a drowsy sleep.
Peter ended his second call with Arnold after agreeing to delivery in four days' time of the vials of Compound A and the separate mind altering drug that imparted a form of amnesia on the subject before the application of a compound solution. He groaned as he felt his back twitch. He'd sat rigid as a stick during the call and he was paying for his bad posture.
He went to his computer terminal and logged in. Absentmindedly, he displayed the inventory of drugs in the facility. As expected, there were no stores of Compound A, not even test vials.
"I do have four days to do a two day job," said Peter. He had padded the time estimate he'd given to Arnold. He had learned long ago to always double the project time. He called up the database that stored the formulations of all the compounds. He looked through the index and selected Compound A. He clicked.
His screen changed to another that listed the base and top level formulations. Robin had long ago settled on a base formula over which she applied different formulations that had different effects and results. He had been dubious of the separation in theory but Robin had succeeded. It had led to stabilizing the compound and accelerating product development. It was the reason he had had to find ways to insure her continued cooperation.
His eyes drifted over the base formula or recipe. It was familiar and close to what he remembered of his original formula. He clicked on the link to the top level formula and recoiled.
The entry field was blank!
He gaped at the screen. The only movement was the blinking of his eyes.
"No! No!" he screamed. He selected Compound M randomly. The base formula was intact but the top level entry was blank. In quick succession, he tried a dozen more. The results were all the same.
"All gone! That bitch!" He pounded a fist on his desk. How could he fulfill Arnold's delivery without the recipe? His eyes went to Robin's journal. Hilda must have collected it and put it on his desk in his absence. He rage was tempered slightly. He had long ago made sure that Robin recorded all her activities manually. Her journal entries were then transferred to the computer system. Peter also knew that Robin had had to copy the recipes into the journal because she'd had no access to the computer system. She habitually copied the recipes into a new journal before turning in the old one.
Peter lifted the journal. "Robin, you are victim of your own caution." He flipped through the pages. He smiled seeing the familiar hand and, more importantly, the recipes he was looking for. "C ... F ... L ... yes, they're all here. Thank God!"
He leaned back in the chair and breathed deeply a few times. He rubbed at his watery eyes. His sense of relief was overpowering. After he was fully calm, he opened the journal to the front page. He would copy the recipe for Compound A into the computer himself. Greta would enter the rest the next day.
The first few pages were equations and conversion tables. He reached a page with a title of Compound A. The recipe began near the bottom of the page. He typed slowly and carefully. He double-checked the entry then flipped the page.
The next page's title was Compound B. He frowned. He flipped back to the first page then turned the page again. The other side was blank and the facing page was for Compound B. With growing panic, he turned several more pages. His horror outpaced his panic.
Each page was the same as the first. Every compound only listed a handful of the recipe. The main parts of the recipes were gone. The inside spine of the journal showed ragged bits of paper as if pages had been ripped off.
Numb, he accessed the backup database. Surely, it had a full copy of the formula database. He pressed a few keys and accessed the copy. As before he inspected a few formulas and the results were the same - missing parts of the recipe. The system had copied the real database AFTER the erasures had been done. He had a sinking feeling that the third backup would have the same result. Robin never did anything by half.
"Oh, gods! It's all gone! Gone!" exclaimed Sinclair. His hands squeezed the journal tight. "I have to find her. She's the only one who can restore the formula and then I'm going to enjoy killing her." His face became grim and his lips formed into a hard line. "The world already knows Robin Scorpio is dead. I'm simply making sure she STAYS dead."