〃Should I know you？〃
Howell glanced over his shoulder at a tall； thin man with sweptback hair and eyes so dark they appeared black。 He guessed that Herr Weizsel was in his late thirties； spent a small fortune on his clothes and stylist； and looked down at most of the world with undisguised contempt。
〃Peter Howell；〃 he said。
〃An Englishman。。。 Do you have business with the Offenbach Bank？〃
〃I have business with you。〃
Weizsel blinked rapidly。 〃There must be some mistake。 I have never heard of you。〃
〃But you've heard of Ivan Beria； haven't you； old son？〃
Howell had his hand on Weizsil's arm； just above the elbow。 Weizsel's mouth worked furiously as Howell pressed down on a nerve。
〃There's a nice； quiet table in the corner。 Why don't we have a drink？〃
Howell steered the banker into the corner of a banquette and slipped in beside him； effectively trapping Weizsel。
〃You can't do this！〃 Weizsel gasped； rubbing his elbow。 〃We have laws…〃
〃I'm not here about your laws；〃 Howell cut him off。 〃We're interested in one of your clients。〃
〃I can't discuss confidential matters！〃
〃But the name Beria rang a bell； didn't it？ You service his account。 I don't want the money。 All we need to know is who sends it in。〃
Weizsel glanced around； looking at the growing crowd at the bar。 He strained to catch the maitre d's eye。
〃Don't bother；〃 Howell told him。 〃I gave him money not to disturb us。〃
〃You are a criminal！〃 Weizsel declared。 〃You are holding me against my will。 Even if I give you what you want； you will never leave…〃
Howell placed a small recorder on the table。 Plugging in an earpiece； he handed it to Weizsel。 〃Listen。〃
The banker did as he was told。 After a moment； his eyes widened in disbelief。 Yanking out the earpiece； he flung it across the table。 Peter Howell thought that it had been farsighted of Jon Smith to provide that particular portion of the interrogation where Beria mentioned Weizsel。
〃So my name is spoken。 What of it？ Who is this man？〃
〃You recognized his voice； didn't you？〃 Howell said softly。
Weizsel fidgeted。 〃Perhaps。〃
〃And perhaps you remember it belonging to someone called Ivan Beria。〃
〃What if I do？〃
Howell leaned in close。 〃Beria is an assassin。 He works for the Russians。 How much Russian money do you handle； Herr Weizsel？〃
The banker's silence was telling。
〃I thought so；〃 Howell continued。 〃So let me tell you what will happen if you don't cooperate。 I will make sure the Russians learn that you were quite forthing when it came to their money… where it es from； how and when it's moved； all those little details they thought were safe because； after all； they paid you handsomely for your discretion。〃
Howell paused to let the import of his words sink in。
〃Now；〃 he picked up； 〃once the Russians know this； they will be upset…understandably so。 Explanations will be demanded。 Excuses will not be tolerated。 And once trust has been broken； my dear Weizsel； you are finished。 You've dealt with enough Russians to know that they never forget； never forgive。 They'll want revenge； and your precious Swiss laws and police won't stand in their way。 Am I making myself clear？〃
Weizsel felt his stomach sour。 The Englishman was right： the Russians were barbarians； swaggering about Zurich； flaunting their newfound wealth。 And every banker wanted a piece of their booty。 No questions were asked。 Demands made became demands satisfied。 The Russians groused about the fees； but in the end they paid。 They also made it very clear to brokers like Weizsel that they could not run； could never hide； if they broke trust。 The Englishman was the kind of man who could make it seem that Weizsel had betrayed his clients。 And nothing the banker could say or do would change the Russians' minds once they were convinced of his treachery。
〃What was the name again？〃 Weizsel asked almost inaudibly。
〃Ivan Beria；〃 Howell replied。 〃Who feeds him his money？〃
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
Five hours had elapsed since Dylan Reed had sequestered himself in the Spacelab。 During this time； he had monitored the crew's movements and conversations via his headset。 Twice； Megan Olson had asked if he needed some help； another time she wanted to know how much longer he would be。 She was eager to start her own experiments。
She wouldn't be so anxious i f she knew what was going on in here； Reed thought grimly。
Politely but firmly he told Megan that she and the others would have to wait until he was finished。
Because Reed had to monitor the crew； the work was taking much longer than he had hoped it would。 Another distraction was the almost nonstop conversation between the crew and mission control。 Nonetheless； Reed worked as quickly as he could； pausing only to rest his hands； which； encased in the long rubber gloves attached to the box； tended to cramp。
The enormity of what he was doing almost overwhelmed him。 Staring through the microscope； he gazed upon a world of smallpox that had never been seen before… except by its creator； Karl Bauer。 In his Hawaii laboratory； the Swiss scientist had managed to take the variola virus and reengineer it so that it tripled in size。 He was then able to open it up so that it would be receptive to even further growth。 But Bauer had been constrained by earth's gravity； Reed was not。
The genesis of Bauer's work could be traced back to one of the first shuttle missions。 Astronauts had discovered a two…day…old bag of sandwiches that they had forgotten to eat。 The food was stored in a sealed plastic bag that was floating like a beach ball。 Opening the bag； the crew thought the sandwiches would be fine… until one member pointed out that the only way the bag could float was because the bacteria in the food had produced enough gas to make the bag puff up。
This impromptu observation gave scientists incontrovertible proof that bacteria grow faster and bigger in a microgravity environment。
When Karl Bauer read the NASA report on the phenomenon； he immediately concluded that what was true for bacteria might also apply to viruses。 The initial research proved heady； but hampered by gravity； Bauer was unable to reach a definitive conclusion。 Years would pass until he found Reed and a way to conduct the final experiments in space。
Now what Reed observed was a variola ten times as large and potent as anything on earth。 Its protein bubbles； which on earth would burst at a certain size； retained their integrity and lethal capacity。 As a battlefield weapon； this strain would have no equal。 Reed shuddered when he imagined how quickly entire populations would be decimated if this variant was released through an air…burst bomb。 The variola would speed its way from the respiratory tract to the lymph nodes； then spread to the spleen； bone marrow； and other lymphatic organs。 Eventually it would make its way to the small blood vessels in the skin。 With a normal strain of smallpox； such a process would take five to ten days。 Reed estimated that the incubation and infection period would now be measured in minutes。 The body would simply have no chance to rally any defense。
Reed withdrew his hands from the Glovebox； wiped them； and took a moment to pose himself。 Then he activated his throat mike。
〃Hey； folks。 I'm just about done here。 Is it dinnertime yet？〃
〃We were just about to call you；〃 Stone replied。 〃Everyone's ordered steak and eggs。〃
Reed managed to laugh。 〃Wait until you see what it looks like。〃 He paused。 〃I'd like everybody in the mess so I can go over the schedule。〃
〃Roger that。 We'll save you some of that steak。 See you in a little while。〃
Reed closed his eyes and willed himself to stay calm。 He switched off his mike but not his earpiece。 He did not want to hear the next sounds the crew would make。 They would be nothing human。 But to gauge how fast the variola acted； he had no choice but to listen。
Returning to the Biorack； he once again donned the rubber gloves and carefully filled the small tube with the altered variola。 Securing the tube； he removed it from the Glovebox through a small air lock and placed it in the freezer。
Using the footholds； he moved to the back of the lab and opened a locker。 Inside was a fully contained extrav