An attempt to save mankind

"Why should man have more rights than a monkey, a fly or a worm? Human rights is a bunch of bullshit. We have the same genetic material down to the protozoa. And we imagine we're special? It's a sign of delusions of grandeur. Look at the state of our earth! War and chaos everywhere. Natural resources are being plundered. The world's oceans, once sung by the great poets, are now dumps. When a new continent is discovered, it consists of square kilometres of plastic scrap that has wedged together. It would be best if we just left. Yes, all life would breathe a sigh of relief. It would take thousands of years for the damage we have caused to be repaired to some extent. But things would pick up again. Gee, if only man wasn't so horribly stupid." Dr. Milbert pulls his whistle, himself horrified by the just held Philippika. Did he really say all that? His tweed-acco stretches when he sits down and doesn't let his conversation partner out of sight. 

Mr Frohmann looks down in silence. His mission, he now realizes, was hopeless from the beginning. How can he win a man for the salvation of mankind who wishes him to die? Could he be behind this himself? Unlikely, but not impossible. He definitely has the knowledge to make a virus really sharp. "Well, Doctor!" He gathers to find the right words. "I guess there's no point in continuing our conversation."

"I agree with you, Mr. Frohmann. I'm sorry you came all this way for nothing. This question could also have been clarified by telephone. Would you like to stay for dinner?"

"Thank you, I must be going." If he has a mass murderer in front of him, it's an extremely cultivated one.

"In this case, I wish you a safe journey home," says Milbert as he rises and stretches out his hand in a flowing, somehow rehearsed movement. This grabs them with a slight bow.

"I am nevertheless honored that you have received me, Dr. Milbert."

"Too much credit. My assistant will escort you outside. Mr. Weinrich, would you be so kind?"

A young man in his late twenties with black hair combed back and dark horn-rimmed glasses rises from his laptop. His clean-shaven face smiles like an insurance salesman. "Mr. Frohmann, if you'll follow me." 

As he walks out, Frohmann lets his gaze wander over the high shelves of the venerable library. Old folios stand side by side with modern textbooks. His eye catches titles that seem to come from chemistry, biology and medicine. He can't decipher the lettering on the old books.

"What are you researching about here," asks Frohmann as they walk through the corridor towards the exit.

"About pathogenic viruses and bacteria. "As you know, we have high-security laboratories in the neighbouring building complex."

"And who are your clients?"

"I'm afraid I can't tell you that." He smiles his insurance salesman. "Our driver will take you to the station.