Piranha (Oregon Files 10)
Horne tented his fingers and peered at Juan. “I’m sorry, Mr. Cochran. What is your relation to Mr. Kensit?”
“So you remember him and Dr. Lutzen’s diary?”
“Certainly. But the diary made no mention of him being a doctor. Although it was more than two years ago, it was a fascinating case. It’s not often we translate a document that old. How do you know about it?”
“I represent a collector who is interested in buying it. I can’t say who it is, but he’s a wealthy tech entrepreneur who collects rare scientific journals. Mr. Kensit is thinking of selling it, so we wanted to verify its authenticity.”
The glasses Juan was wearing contained a microcamera. If he could get Horne to let him flip through the original German or the English translation, he would have it all recorded so he could take it back to the Oregon for examination later.
“You do have a copy of the document,” Juan said helpfully.
Horne’s eyes briefly flicked to a file cabinet. “As I said, it was a special case. My translator, Bob Gillman, was not allowed to record his translation into the computer. Those were Mr. Kensit’s instructions.”
“But you have a physical copy in that cabinet.”
“Of course not!” Horne exclaimed with feigned offense. “We were under strict orders to destroy even the handwritten copy.”
Juan nodded and looked toward the lobby as if he were considering other options. A deliveryman in a green jacket and cap was dropping off a package with the receptionist. Urban Jungle, the back of his uniform read. Not a well-fitting outfit, either. The sleeves were comically short.
Juan turned back to Horne as if he’d gotten a sudden idea. “May I speak to Mr. Gillman? Perhaps he can provide me with the information I need.”
“I’m sad to say that Bob was struck by a car outside of our offices just a few months ago. Hit-and-run. The driver got away. Bob was killed instantly.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Yes, very tragic.”
“It sounds like you were privy to the contents of the document.”
Another eye flick to the cabinet. “I review the work of many of my employees.”
“Mr. Kensit claims the journal outlines a radical new scientific development unknown at that time. Can you confirm that?”
Horne shifted in his chair. “Mr. Cochran, perhaps you should have Mr. Kensit contact me. I can’t share confidential information without a release form.”
Juan put up his hands. “I understand. I don’t want you to divulge anything you shouldn’t.”
“Besides, although I can translate German scientific language, it doesn’t mean I can understand the science behind it.”
“That certainly makes sense. But if I could have a brief look—”
Horne suddenly stood. “Mr. Cochran, we don’t have a copy of the document, and I resent the implication that we would violate a trust like that.”
Juan got to his feet as well. Pushing further would accomplish nothing. But his assessment of the building’s security made it clear that breaking in this evening and photographing the copy of the journal that obviously was in the file cabinet would be a simple task.
“I’m sorry I can’t help more,” Horne said as he ushered Juan out to the lobby. All of the translators had gone home, leaving the receptionist as the lone employee. “Please have Mr. Kensit send me a notarized request to consult on the translation authentication and I will be glad to assist you.”
The receptionist handed him the package sitting on the counter. “This came urgent from the UN, Mr. Horne.”
“Thanks, Jill,” he said, and put the box under his arm. “Good-bye, Mr. Cochran.”
Juan shook his hand, and Horne walked back to his office. Juan called Eric to find out where he was and looked down to the street below to see if he could spot him.
He didn’t see Eric, but the deliveryman from Urban Jungle was still out there, looking up at the building. Now that Juan could see his face, he recognized the man immediately.
It was the assassin who’d been sent to kill Juan in Jamaica. For a moment, Juan thought the killer was waiting for him to exit the building.
Then he remembered the package.