The Doomsday Key (Sigma Force 6)

As Boutha continued, Painter spotted Karlsen across the crowd. He was flanked by two women. One was svelte and tall with long blond hair, her face mostly hidden within the hood of her parka. The other woman was older and bent Karlsen’s ear as Boutha spoke.

“Who’s that?” Painter asked, indicating the woman speaking to Karlsen.

“She’s the former president of Rockefeller’s Population Council and another member of Ivar’s inner circle. They’ve been friends for years.”

Painter knew about the Population Council. They were major advocates for population control through family planning and birth control, and if you believed some of the wilder rumors and rhetoric, some of their methods bordered on eugenics.

No wonder Karlsen was such good friends with her.

Gorman pointed out a few other figures in the crowd who were members of the inner cabal. “That large fellow with the beer gut over there represents a major German chemical and pharmaceutical company. Viatus has been researching how to incorporate one of their insecticides into a new generation of GM crops. If he’s successful, it would severely lessen the pesticide load needed in fields, making crops cheaper to grow and increasing yields.”

Painter nodded as Gorman listed others. It seemed Karlsen’s circle consisted of those who were either seeking ways to address the overpopulation crisis or researching ways to increase food supplies. The senator was right. The man did seem to have the world’s welfare at heart.

So how did that balance with a man who ordered the massacre of a village and who pushed forward the wholesale release of a genetic threat that could contaminate and corrupt the biosphere?

The senator’s earlier assessment was right.

It didn’t make sense.

Painter drew his attention back to Karlsen. Before he confronted the man, he wanted to know all the key players. “What about that other woman,” he asked, “the blonde practically hanging off Karlsen’s arm?”

Gorman squinted. “I don’t know. She looks vaguely familiar, but she’s not a member of his inner circle. Maybe just a friend.”

Satisfied, Painter nudged Gorman and headed through the crowd. In such a gathering, it was doubtful Karlsen would do anything directly to threaten them. Where could he run?

Shifting through the partygoers, Painter soon stood before Karlsen. The man was momentarily alone, having finished his conversation with the Population Council president. Even the woman hanging on his arm had wandered off toward the buffet table.

Karlsen failed to recognize Painter. His gaze skipped over and fixed on Senator Gorman instead. The Norwegian’s face immediately brightened with delight as he thrust out an arm.

Reflexively, Gorman shook it.

“Dear God, Sebastian,” Karlsen said. “When did you get here? How did you get here? I tried calling your hotel when you didn’t show up at the airport. With all the commotion after that attack last night, I couldn’t get through. I thought maybe you’d flown home.”

“No. Security just moved me to a new hotel,” Gorman explained smoothly. “I couldn’t make it to the airport in time, and I didn’t want to hold everyone up. So I booked my own flight.”

“You didn’t have to do that. I insist that Viatus cover your expenses.”

Painter watched the two interact. Though the senator put on a good show, he was plainly out of sorts, clearly on edge and unsettled.

Karlsen, on the other hand, looked genuinely pleased to see the senator. His expression was sincere. Painter could read no evidence that the man standing here had ordered the senator’s assassination the night before. Either Karlsen truly wasn’t involved or he was one frighteningly cool customer.

Gorman glanced over at Painter. The senator’s expression radiated growing doubt. He stammered for a moment, then lifted a hand toward Painter. “I think you’ve already met the investigator from the office of the Inspector General.”

The Norwegian’s weighty gaze dropped on Painter. A moment of confusion settled back to recognition. “Of course, I’m sorry. We spoke briefly yesterday. You’ll have to forgive me. It’s been an insane twenty-four hours.”

Tell me about it, Painter thought.

As he shook Karlsen’s hand, he continued to study the man’s face, looking for cracks in his demeanor. If the man knew Painter was more than just a DCIS agent, he wasn’t showing it.

“The senator was kind enough to allow me to join him,” Painter said. “I had hoped we might still conduct our interview. I only have a few questions, to tie up some loose ends. I promise it won’t take long. Maybe there’s a private place we could chat.”

Karlsen looked put out, but he glanced over at Gorman. Maybe for just an instant, Painter spotted a flicker of guilt. It had been the senator’s son who had been killed in the massacre in Africa. How could he say no in front of a grieving father?

Karlsen checked his watch, then nodded toward a doorway off to the right. “There are some offices back there. Catering has taken up the front half, but there’s a small conference room that should be unoccupied.”

“That will do fine.”

They headed off together.

From across the crowd, Painter noted the blond woman staring at them. Though her expression was deadpan, it was also colder than the Arctic temperature in the vault. Caught looking, she glanced away.

Abandoned at the party, she did not look happy.

Krista watched the trio enter the vault’s administration office. That couldn’t be good.

Moments ago, she had almost choked on the olive floating in her vodka tonic, shocked to see the black-haired Sigma operative appear out of nowhere. With Senator Gorman in tow. She had barely gotten out of the way in time.

She stared at the office door as it closed. How could they be here? She thought she’d left them far behind in Oslo.

Suddenly feeling as if eyes were upon her from all directions, she adjusted the hood of her parka so its mink-lined edge better shadowed her face. She was glad she had taken the extra precaution to don a blond wig for the excursion here. She didn’t want any more trouble like with Antonio Gravel.

She retreated down the tunnel. It ended at a cross passage that branched into the three seed vaults, each secured by air locks. With everyone still listening to speeches, she had the place to herself for the moment and a chance to regroup.

Leaning her back against one of the seed vault doors, she clutched the phone in her pocket. She had not heard any word from her superior. What was she supposed to do? He had told her that he’d take care of the Sigma operative, but here the man was with the senator. Should she act on her own? Wait for orders? At her level in the organization, she was expected to think on her feet, to improvise as needed.