Heathrow Airport in Great Britain is one of the world's busiest hubs for air travel. Besides being the main airport for the UK, flights from the Americas heading to Europe and the rest of the world funnel into it and back out, crossing paths with the flights heading the other way. On any given day, over 1300 planes take off or land there, with 250 of those involving travel to the US. Three of these flights are from Philadelphia, and on one of them were two weary doctors on the first leg of a long trip that would lead them to Marrakesh, where an outbreak of a highly contagious virus that mimicked the effects of Tuberculosis. Doctors Cavendish and Tyson were experts in the field with degrees in microbiology and pathology. They were traveling lightly, with only small carry-on bags, and had just made the flight from Philadelphia. They relaxed during the six-hour flight to London with wine and dinner in the first-class section but said little to each other. Their layover in London was only two hours, which they would spend in the lounge only fifty feet from their next gate. When they could talk freely, both agreed that, for once, Nihalia had done a perfect job with the flights. A good meal and a few drinks and they'd be on their way into another part of the world.

From London, they would fly to Casablanca and then catch a flight to Marrakesh. They actually had no intention of staying in Marrakesh. They would check in to the hotel in separate rooms and ask not to be disturbed, needing rest. After reaching their rooms, they would change clothes to loose, Middle Eastern garb, including the facemasks being worn in the city to prevent the spread of disease. Within an hour, they'd be on a bus back to Casablanca, charter a small plane, and begin their travel back to Europe and a rendezvous with their third colleague who was caring for a young girl on her way to a private clinic.

As they walked from the gate, another plane landed at the large airport, also from Philadelphia. The private jet had left Philadelphia and filed a flight plan that would have taken them directly to Prague, a nine-hour flight. Once they were over the Atlantic, Victor informed the pilot that they would land in London for three days in the city. The chartered jet would continue to Prague. Despite being happy with the job Eric was doing, Eric hadn't spent a lifetime staying one step ahead of nosey authorities. Victor often changed his travel plans on a whim. In London, he would spend the night and leave on a different plane in the early morning hours. His current jet would land in London, refuel, and have a routine check-up done for a problem that didn't exist, then leave for Prague after a six-hour delay. Victor would not be staying in London more than the two hours it took to bribe certain people and obtain a new plane and pilot from a firm he had done work with before. They might fly to Prague, or Amsterdam, or Dresden. He'd make up his mind after take off.

Also at the Heathrow airport was a team of Interpol agents. Agent Landi had received a strange email hours earlier. All attempts to find where the communication had originated from had failed. Whoever had sent it had covered their tracks completely and professionally.

"Greetings. My associates and I are very happy to see you carrying on the work of the late Agent Sims. She was a tireless warrior in the fight against corruption in the world, and she will be greatly missed. Seeing you pick up the threads of her investigations and successfully capture the terrorists responsible for these terrible crimes is thrilling to read about. We know you must be very busy, but we were hoping to share information with you from time to time, as we did with Agent Sims. Following your investigation showed us that we were both seeking similar people, and we have found the travel plans of two of your quarry. We hope that you find the information useful.

Two criminals who have committed genetic research crimes are traveling today from Philadelphia International Airport to Heathrow Airport on British Airways flight 602 under the names of Dr. Theodore Cavendish and Dr. Raphael Tyler. You may know them better as Doctors Swinkler and Shepherd (among many aliases). I have enclosed current photographs and fingerprints for both.

Good hunting, Agent Landi. We'll be in touch."

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Landi had made six phone calls, and three hours later, her team was drinking tea and waiting for flight 602 to land. Officially, the entire squad was taking off personal days and playing in a poker tournament at a London club. Their authorizations, arrest warrants, and other paperwork had been handled while flying from Lyon to London and only seen by a select group of people at Interpol Headquarters.

"Tell us the truth, Landi. Do we really have arrests to make, or are we actually here to play cards?"

"And don't get us wrong, we're fine with either."

"And how the devil did you get us invites to the Garrick Club Tournament?"

Landi could tell that if the trip turned out to be just a poker game tomorrow night, she'd still be in her team's good graces. "As it turns out, Inspector Deville has a membership, and as he was reviewing my request to travel, suggested it." She was about to say more when she spotted a private jet taxing to a hangar.

"Give me information on that jet over there. I don't remember that one on the list of other arrivals in our target's timeframe." Landi had learned much working with the older agents, and one of those things was to expect the criminals they chased to cover their tracks. They changed names and destinations constantly as they traveled, and many other things to confuse their trail. She was expecting her two doctors to skip their next flight and either disappear into the city or, more likely, take a private flight that neglected to mention to more passengers. Every flight in and out was being monitored.

"It's also coming in from Philadelphia. Diverted from its destination for fuel and to check out a possible faulty airspeed indicator. They were headed to Prague with an ill patient traveling in a medical pod."

"Keep eyes on it. Get photos of who gets on and off, and get someone tracking where they go. They wouldn't be disembarking just for a quick refuel." She could see the passengers coming off. Four heavyset men in suits that screamed bodyguard, followed by a slow-moving older man with silver hair and beard. Something about him was familiar. She lost the thought as flight 602 disembarked. She half expected this to be a wild goose chase or fake lead, but there they were, walking quickly off the plane. She stepped up to one of them and took his arm firmly. "Please step this way, please, sir. This will only take a minute." Another agent had the second doctor in hand. Their eyes showed a bit of panic, and then they seemed to relax.

"Of course, what is this about? We're on a medical assistance mission to Marrakesh. It's essential that we make our next flight."

As soon as they had them off to the side, Captain Delaque showed his badge. "Gentlemen, I am Captain John Delaque of Interpol. The two of you are under arrest for the crimes of smuggling medical supplies, illegal medical research, and a long list of crimes that I will be happy to present to your lawyers." Handcuffs were snapped on as the two protested.

Agent Miles had been looking up the data on the private jet and sending pictures of its occupants to find matches in the Interpol Database. He whistled loudly, then walked to Landi and the Captain. "You are not going to believe this, but I think we know who these two were meeting with. That's Victor Seimovich down there with the pod."

Landi looked at the two men in front of her. They had visibly reacted when the name Seimovich was mentioned. "Know anything about him, boys? You seem very worried. I haven't seen grown men sweat so much in a long time. I'd almost say you were scared for your lives. Maybe you can share a jail cell with Victor after we pick him up."

One man still thought he could talk his way out, "This is a mistake. We're just doctors!"

The other one thought differently. "Screw that. Put me in protection, and I'll tell you everything I know. But you can't let Victor know I'm here."

The Captain looked at Landi, who nodded. "Take them away—separate cells, two guards each. Tell the locals they were smuggling drugs. The rest of you are with me and Landi. Let's go explain to Mr. Seimovich that he isn't in the US of A anymore and what that means for him. He's not leaving this airport. Have that private jet grounded, and I want medical personnel to find out who or what is in that pod."