The Sinai Secret

EIGHTEEN

University of Amsterdam

Thirty Minutes Later

By the time Lang had returned to the university, only a couple of uniformed policemen remained in the ruins of what had been Benjamin Yadish's laboratory.

Louis stood to one side, anxiously smoking a cigarette.

"You have spoken to the police?" Lang asked pointedly.

Louis nodded. "I told them we knew we were about to die and how you threw something to divert their attention. I was not sure what happened next."

About as good as Lang could have expected.

He looked at the cigarette in the Belgian's fingers. "I didn't know you smoked."

"I quit ten years ago."

Lang Reilly: the antidote to Nicorette.

In addition to the cops in the room, a distraught little man in a seedy sweater and wrinkled corduroys was walking over. Lang didn't fully understand Louis's introduction, only that the man's name was Pierson, a professor and some sort of official at the university.

"I hope, Mr. Reilly," Pierson began in accented but understandable English, "I hope you will accept a great apology for what happened tonight. This is not a normal, er, thing to happen in Amsterdam."

"I'm sure," Lang said.

"Amsterdam is a peaceful city…"

It should be. Everyone was either stoned, just laid, or both.

"… and we at the university greatly appreciate the donations of your foundation."

Now Lang understood the professor's consternation. A chemistry professor was replaceable, but a generous contributor…

The Dutch were a practical people.

An older man Lang had not seen before interrupted. "Forgive me. I am Police Inspector Van Decker."

Rotund but not obese, pug nose, dark eyes peering out from under bushy eyebrows like those of a small animal hesitant to leave its burrow. Other than contemporary dress, the man could have stepped out of Rembrandt's Night Watch, one of those burghers who paid the artist to be depicted with others of the city's volunteer police force.

He handed Lang a card. "You are Lang Reilly?"

Lang studied the card before putting it in his wallet. "I am."

"You knew Dr. Yadish?"

Lang shook his head. "Actually I never met the man. He was recommended by a friend."

Eyebrows arched like bushy caterpillars. "You hire people you do not know?"

Lang thought a moment, composing his answer. "Inspector, I am president of the Janice and Jeff Holt Foundation, a multinational charity. We support largely medical care and research for children in third-world countries, but occasionally other scientific causes such as the one Dr. Yadish was working on. I doubt I personally know a dozen of the people actually involved with our projects worldwide. We're fortunate to have people on site like Louis deVille here to keep an eye on things."

Van Decker turned his attention to Louis. "How long was Dr. Yadish employed by you before he died in Bruges?"

Louis thought a moment. "Not quite two years. But he really was not working for the foundation. He was a professor of chemistry here. We gave him a grant, money to do the research."

Van Decker's expression indicated that he was unsure of the distinction. The universal policeman's notebook appeared. "He was working on some sort of fuel?"

"A replacement for fossil fuels."

There was no doubt the inspector didn't understand.

"Gasoline, petrol," Lang volunteered. "He was looking for a substitute."

The policeman made a note. "That would be good?"

Louis nodded. "If such a fuel could be replenished like, say, hydrogen, yes."

"He was working on hydrogen?"

Louis shook his head. "No. There's already a lot of study going on in that area."

Van Decker looked up from his pad. "Then what?"

"I… I don't get involved in the actual research. I do ask for reports. All I know is that he was experimenting with platinum group metals."

That was the first Lang had heard of the subject of Yadish's work. But then, he could not have been specific about any of the foundation's projects.

"What are platinum group metals?" the inspector asked.

Louis shrugged. "I am not a scientist, but I understand the group has extraordinary strength, and is used in surgical and dental instruments."

Van Decker carefully wrote that down for reasons beyond Lang's imagination before he rolled a wrist over and checked his watch. "It is late and you must be tired. Other questions can wait until we finish with our examination of the room. Perhaps you would be so kind as to join me at my office in the morning?"

Surprised by the sudden concern, Lang readily agreed.

Walking back to the hotel rooms Louis had reserved, Lang asked, "What are platinum group metals, and what do they have to do with any kind of fuel?"

Louis, looking nervously over his shoulder every few minutes, admitted that he didn't know.

"Call whatever scientific guru you need to and find out."

"Guru?" Louis sounded as if it might be some sort of animal.

"Professor, doctor, somebody."

Louis was looking around again. "What happened to the man who ran away, the other man you shot?"

"Had a boating accident." Lang pulled out his wallet and extracted a card. "Which reminds me…" He scribbled a series of numbers and handed it to Louis. "This is the registration number-was the registration number- of a canal boat named Manna. Call whomever you need to, but I want to know to whom that boat belonged."

"Belonged?"

"It was the one involved in the accident."

Louis stopped under a streetlight. "You did this yourself?"

"OnStar service wasn't available."

"OnStar?"

Louis looked at his employer in a manner Lang had never seen in the Belgian before. Not only was there the usual respect but something else. Lang couldn't tell if it was awe or fear.

Perhaps both.