I grin at Lorenzo before speaking. “I’m here. Thank you for sending Lorenzo.”
“I sent him yesterday morning. He has made excellent progress. But now I need to hear from you. Tell me everything that happened.”
I give Romano a rundown of the events since I arrived, including Leblanc recognising me, Victoria Callico in the waiting room, the gift from Leblanc and the assassin. Romano asks no questions, just waits for me to finish my story, right up to Lorenzo riding in and rescuing me.
“Sounds to me as though you saved Leblanc’s life tonight. Unfortunately, in doing so, you have also put a spotlight on yourself.”
“Were the men who followed me government agents?” I ask after a pause.
“No. That much I can tell you with confidence. During the raid, they discovered your ripped and bloody T-shirt with bullet holes next to the remains of a large fire at the back of the grounds. They found human remains in the ashes, and an agent took the cloth away for examination. Since then, let’s just say that things have died down concerning Gabriel Redbrick. They believe you are dead. Although once they get to see your performance tonight, caught on video, that may change.”
“Who do you think they were, then?”
“I believe they are linked to Puchinsky. We’ve been watching him closely. But after the press conference, the man has gone to ground. He is getting desperate. But how these men knew to follow you, I cannot say.”
“I can answer that. I took the attacker’s backpack. He had a mobile phone tucked inside. I’m sure that’s how they tracked me. We dumped the phone on the way here.”
“You had the phone Leblanc’s killer brought to the room?”
“I did. I got rid of it along the way, I’m afraid. I worried they might track us here. But I kept the other contents, if that helps.”
“Good work. And what did you find?”
“One moment.”
I look up at Lorenzo, who nods his understanding and leaves the room.
“Lorenzo is getting my bag now. Can I ask a question? Did you send copies of the clinical trial papers we found to the media outlets?”
“And to key members of the WHO. In the hope that one or both would take action.”
“Is that why you think Puchinsky sent the killer to Leblanc’s room?”
“To be honest, I did not believe Puchinsky would be so bold or reckless. Hunted men get desperate. So yes, I believe Puchinsky—or one of his sponsors—sent somebody to finish what they had started.”
“Started? What do you mean?”
“The second clinical trial was overseen by Sylvie Leblanc, assisted by Stephan Dytrovich. I received confirmation yesterday. The information will reach the press this morning. Journalists—being who they are—are likely to make connections and draw conclusions linking the trial, the accident and the attack on Leblanc. No doubt the police will want to question Puchinsky, as well. While you have been away, I have also been looking into the minibus driver, Bill McDonald. According to the pathologist’s report, he had a rare and fatal blood disorder. Probably had three to four months to live. In addition, a substantial cash deposit had been made into his wife’s account two weeks before the accident. And I could not trace the donor.”
“You have solid proof of this?”
“This could be unrelated. But there will be enough evidence in the public domain to stop the release of this miracle drug. Puchinsky will never stand trial for murder, you do know that, don’t you? He is too clever. Nothing will stick. He has made sure nothing could be traced back to him.”
“Then I will—”
“No. I told you. Puchinsky will be dealt with when the time is right.”
“What if he tries to have Leblanc killed?”
“As desperate as he is, even he would not be that crazy or stupid. After tonight, she will have police protection. A guard on her room around the clock.”
“Hold on one second, Doctor. Lorenzo is back.”
Lorenzo enters the room and hands me my rucksack. I open the flap, dig out the contents of the attacker’s bag and lay everything on the table.
“There’s around three thousand in cash, an architect’s blueprint of the hospital, an empty vial and a blue Belarusian passport bearing the name of Dzmitryi Ganchar. The photograph is definitely the man I tackled in the room. There’s also a black metal handgun, probably manufactured in Eastern Europe—”
“A Makarov pistol, Russian design,” says Lorenzo, picking up the weapon.