“Exactly what do you mean ‘case closed’?” Nikolai questioned with growing concern.
“After the operation, Dmitry and I came back here and got some of the binary nerve agent that we brought for emergencies. Then I went back out and used enough of it to take care of the situation.”
“Uh-oh! So, you think he is dead?”
“Without doubt. Either that or he’s at death’s door. I applied enough for an elephant on the door handle of his truck.”
“Shit! Using Novichok is like leaving a goddamn Russian calling card. Didn’t you think of that?”
“Who’s going to guess it’s Novichok up here in the middle of nowhere,” Alexei said. “Besides, the ass worked for a pest control company, which will get the blame. Who’d make the association of it being a manufactured nerve agent…the sole country doctor here in town? I don’t think so, not in the short run, and I thought we were getting out of here this afternoon.”
“Why didn’t you just shoot him in the confusion of last night’s operation and be done with it?”
“At the time it was too chaotic. I didn’t even see Ethan at the end of the maneuver to be honest. You have no idea how confusing it was, with darkness and drinking and gunfire the whole damn night.”
“Somehow, I can imagine from those times when I was present, as it had been bedlam. But now, with this development, it’s going to be even more important that we finish up this final harvest as rapidly as possible and get the hell out of here.”
“Why don’t we just skip it, so we can leave this afternoon like we talked about?”
“It would be all right with me, but my sense is that Viktor is not going to go for it. He’s committed to this final release. Considering how well this mission has gone, I think he hates to see it over. My sense is that he’s already viewing his theta prion discovery as his crowning life’s work in the service of Mother Russia. But what do I know? Listen, here’s what we’ll do. While I go and roust Dmitry, you finish dressing and duck downstairs to tell Viktor. Who knows?Maybe he’ll change his mind about leaving today, although I doubt it. If not, you and Dmitry will be in a position to get right on the road. If what we need, particularly the yeast, is in stock in Albany and you get it back here, with a little bit of luck we can be on our way home in days.”
“One last question,” Alexei said as Nikolai headed out into the hallway and started toward Dmitry’s door. He had to yell to be heard. “What are the chances we’ll be going through New York on our way home like we talked about?”
“Nonexistent,” Nikolai called over his shoulder as he reached Dmitry’s door. A moment later he disappeared from view.
“Ay ay ay,” Alexei groaned as he turned and sat on the edge of the bed to pull on his shoes. It seemed that things were rapidly going to hell.
Chapter 3
Tuesday, July 22, 6:15a.m.
New York, New York
John Stapleton, or Jack as he was known to the world, reacted by reflex as if he were a coiled spring. Almost the exact moment his smartphone stirred and began to sound its wake-up alarm, his hand shot out from beneath the bedsheet and snatched the instrument up from the night table. In an instant, even before he was completely awake and conscious of time and place, he’d turned it off. Only then did he focus on what he was holding, comprehend what it was, and quietly lay it back down on the night table.
Gently pushing himself up on an elbow, he looked over at Laurie Montgomery Stapleton, his wife, who was lying next to him. His frantic effort to turn the alarm off as soon as possible was born of his desire not to bother her since she could sleep for another half hour or so before her trio of alarms sounded. As per usual, she’d not stirred. Her ability to sleep through his alarm in the morning never failed to impress him because he was just the opposite when it came to any alarm whatsoever.
Knowing it best not to tempt fate by lying back down and possibly falling back asleep himself, Jack immediately swung his pajama clad legs out from under the sheet and sat up. From where he was sitting, he had a direct view of the two oversized, double-hung windows of their master bedroom that faced out onto 106th Street on the Upper West Side. Although black-out, honeycomb shades covered both, more than enough sunlight was currently penetrating the sides of each to adequately light the room. It was also an indication that the sun was shining, meaning the weather was fine. For Jack this was positive news since he was anticipating his usual bicycle commute to work on the Lower East Side of Manhattan, which he did almost every day, and he certainly preferred good weather. Purposefully he never bothered to check the weather the previous evening, as he had enough to worry about, and he just accepted whatever conditions he had to endure.
Both Jack and Laurie were doctors with a subspecialty in forensic pathology who had been working for longer than they liked to admit at the Office of Chief Medical Examiner, OCME, in New York City, the largest such organization in the world and one of the oldest. Currently Laurie was officially the chief medical examiner, although a number of months previously she’d asked the deputy chief, Dr. George Fontworth, with the mayor’s blessing, to take over most of the day-to-day responsibilities of being the chief so that she could refresh her forensic pathology knowledge, which was her real love.
But things had not worked out quite as she’d planned because simultaneously with her wish to rejuvenate her professional medical credentials, the political demands of being chief peaked with the need for a new autopsy building, which she could not in good conscience hand off to George, as dealing with the involved personalitiesrequired significant interpersonal tact, which wasn’t George’s strength. The result was that she wasn’t getting nearly as much practical experience doing autopsies and reading the literature as she wanted and was more than a bit frustrated.
Jack stood up and set out. The central air-conditioning made the bare oak flooring feel cold to his feet as he rounded the end of the bed en route to take his morning wake-up shower. But halfway he paused and looked back down at his wife. He couldn’t help but feel sorry for her being caught up in time-sensitive negotiations for a new, very needed NYC morgue. The issue had become a huge deal because they were about to be kicked out of the building where the current morgue was located and moved into new quarters in the massive $1.6-billion Kips Bay health science research center that would soon be built four blocks south on First Avenue. The problem was that there was a scramble for space and location within the new complex by other competing city organizations, which required Laurie to enter into continuing nonstop negotiations in hopes of getting what was needed. Whatever the outcome, there was little doubt that it was going to seriously affect the function of the OCME for the next century.
Jack wished there was something he could do to help her get off the treadmill she was on, but he couldn’t think of anything. In many ways the problem was that she was ultimately too damn responsible for her own good. If he were the chief, a position he never would have accepted, he’d spend a day or two making his points and then just turn the whole mess over to the bureaucrats and be done with it. Unfortunately there was no way Laurie would do anything similar.
Shrugging his shoulders at her honorable personality and accepting his own limitations, Jack continued on into the bathroom. Two minutes later he was standing under the showerhead andletting the water pound against the top of his head with his eyes closed. This morning routine had a symbolic aspect, washing away the previous day’s problems and preparing him to face the new day. Then to his utter surprise he became aware that he wasn’t alone. Opening his eyes he saw that Laurie had joined him in the double shower and turned on the second one.
“What the hell! I don’t believe this!” he shouted loud enough to be heard over the sound of the two powerful showerheads. “How come you’re up so early? What’s up?”
“I told you last night that I have what I hope will be the final early morning meeting at eight with Miss Waters, the dean of Hunter-Bellevue School of Nursing, in her office. The OCME transport team is picking me up in about a half hour from now. Don’t you remember?”
Jack inwardly grimaced at this latest minor faux pas on his part. Now that she mentioned it, he did remember her telling him. Unfortunately she’d told him right after he’d come home completely exhausted from his almost nightly pickup basketball session. He was relieved that she didn’t call him out on this latest memory gaffe, something which often did irk her. Instead, to his relief, she concentrated on her shower. Five minutes later they were both finished and stepped out into the bathroom proper to begin toweling off.
“After today’s meeting, do you see yourself doing more autopsies like you’d hoped?” Jack asked, trying to change the issue to something she’d find more appealing as he dried his back.
“Wouldn’t that be nice,” Laurie said. “We’ll have to see. I am hoping that we’ll come to an agreement this morning, at least between us and Hunter College, which is the last sticking point for getting the new morgue in the best location in the new science center. We’re close. There’s no question.”
