Infected

10: ☣The World Health Organization☣

COVERT CIA agent, Alex Brenton, had just arrived at the crime scene, having touched down at the Geneva Geneve-Cointrin Airport not less than two hours ago on a sunny Wednesday morning.

Following protocol, the agent marched into the lobby of the World Health Organization, keen to avoid the pack of journalists that were all over the place. He noticed one reporter standing a little further from the rest, her back to the entrance. He heard her refer to him as the criminal scientific consultant.

After he had arrived at the airport, Brenton had received an encrypted call from his boss, notifying him that he should not at all worry about getting his cover compromised. The actual criminal scientific consultant had apparently "called in sick" and Brenton was his substitute.

The Swiss Police stopped him at the lobby. Scrutinizing the man's attire from his polished black loafers that matched his two-piece suit all the way to his face.

Brenton took out his ID and handed it over.

"You're clear, Dr. Lincoln," the officer said, returning the ID and letting him pass.

Under the new alias of "Dr. Avery Lincoln", Alex Brenton made his way to the crime scene, following another officer which took them a couple of floors up.

Brenton noticed how the building's interior had a lot of glass and Plexiglas partitioning, allowing him to see the numerous offices and other departments, most of which were empty except for one small office where several people were standing next to.

There were forensics taking photos, dusting equipment in the room and marking the entire crime scene. A few Swiss police officers were busy talking with another, trying to analyze everything.

Brenton entered the crime scene and his eyes immediately landed on the dried up blood that had painted the entire workplace before dripping onto the floor. The victim's blood.

He noticed the crack where a bullet had splintered a monitor's screen before being pulled out by a forensic and stashed in an evidence bag.

"A burial would've been better," started a voice from his side.

"What?" Brenton turned to find a woman standing next to him.

"He can't help us if he's dead," the woman spoke again and Brenton noted her French accent despite her perfect English. "But then there would be nothing to investigate if he wasn't dead now, is there?"

Brenton was about to respond but the woman cut in.

"Oh, sorry. Detective Colette Laflamme. Homicide," she said, extending a hand.

"I'm-"

"I know who you are," the detective said, locking her fairly chestnut-brown eyes that almost matched with her short auburn hair, with Brenton's.

Brenton was suddenly reminded of a certain actress who starred in the 2022 spy film, The 355. What was her name. . .?

For a split second there, Brenton thought the detective had figured out his true identity but then followed her eyes and found the card that was hanging from his neck that WHO security had given him.

Unlike him, the detective was in a more casual attire of dark blue jeans and a white top over which she had on a black coat. The only thing that identified her as a detective was a golden Swiss Police badge clipped onto her belt, temporarily concealed by her coat.

She scrutinized him a little too long that made Brenton turn away and have a closer look at the victim's desk.

"Janitor found him at around three A.M. on Tuesday," Detective Laflamme said, studying the bloodied desk.

"Dead?" asked Brenton, getting into his Lincoln character.

"Yes."

"Was there anybody else inside?"

"Negative. The building closes at nine P.M., that is for the accounting, management and HR departments. The other departments that stay up late are the scientific and research which is only up to midnight."

Brenton observed the rest of the room's surroundings. "But this isn't any scientific department."

"Clearly," Detective Laflamme said, looking up at the consultant, "apparently the victim here, Dr. Akshay Minajri, was working on something on his computer before his demise."

Now this caught Brenton's interest. Ever since he had arrived in Switzerland, he had been wondering why he was infiltrating a crime scene. He knew a lot of other fields that specialized pretty well in such cases but then his boss hadn't told him the truth entirely. The truth of the mystery that was now beginning to slowly unfold.

"Anything recovered from his computer?" Brenton asked.

"The hard drive was retrieved but there's been no memory of data except for one activity identified to have come from email."

"I'm guessing you didn't happen to get any messages."

"No. Whatever was there wiped itself out."

Brenton looked down at the victim and to the monitor. What message was he sending? And to whom? And why?

"The victim," he said, turning back to the detective, "he was a. . .a geneticist, right?"

The detective nodded. "Not just any geneticist. He was the lead scientist in experimental examinations of the coronavirus vaccines."

"Well, did he have a partner? Someone he worked closely with?"

"Him? No. Not even family or a relative. From what we've gathered, the doctor preferred working alone in his lab."

"And where's his lab?"

"Locked," Laflamme said simply.

"What do you mean 'locked' ?"

"Restricted. Only Class One officials are allowed in that section."

"Class One?"

"It's a United Nations agency. We're in the middle of a pandemic and the latest vaccine came from right here. Only the director and select personnel have clearance."

Which is why, I presume, you are here. . .Dr. Avery Lincoln?"

Brenton mused, marvelling at how perceptive this detective actually was, though his fixed expression did not give that away.

According to his assignment, Brenton was there for a number of reasons. Getting access to where vaccines of one of the world's deadliest viruses were made had not been on his list. Not just yet at least. In the meantime, however, his next priority, now that he had gained some more intel on the geneticist's murder, was right outside the lobby.

Escorted by his personal security, donned in a black suit, the director of the World Health Organization was being rushed into his vehicle, away from the excited journalists.

Brenton watched him from high up inside the building through the window as he disappeared inside the sedan, followed by another younger man whom he recognized as the assistant director before the car drove off and away from the premises.

It seemed like the CIA was trying to establish some sort of connection between the alleged assassination and the WHO itself. This thought brought Brenton back to the present as he pondered on the latest discovery: what had the geneticist been trying to send out to the world?

"Doctor?" Detective Laflamme called, "we have something."

Turning away from the window, Brenton finally recalled the actress that the detective beared a resemblance with.

"Yes, Jessica Chastain?" though he did not say that last part out loud.