CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Robert Hahn arrived at the Metro Transit Authority depot at 7:15 AM, thirty minutes before his scheduled departure time.The morning air was crisp and clean, carrying the promise of another busy day, transporting commuters through the congested arteries of Washington D.C.At fifty-three years of age, Robert had been driving city buses for nearly twenty years, and the pre-route inspection had become as automatic as brushing his teeth.He rather enjoyed it, too—a way to get a feel for the bus before taking her out on the route.
He was a stocky man with calloused hands and graying hair that was cut short and practical.The navy Metro uniform fit him comfortably, worn soft from years of washing and wearing.A thermos of coffee sat in his lunch bag alongside the sandwich his wife had packed the night before.
Bus 479 sat in its assigned space at the far end of the depot, a forty-foot articulated vehicle that could carry up to sixty passengers during peak hours.Robert had been driving this particular bus for about seven months, long enough to know its quirks and personality.The engine ran a little rough when cold, the passenger door sometimes stuck in humid weather, and the air conditioning system made odd crackling noises but kept the interior comfortable.
He unlocked the driver's compartment and climbed aboard, settling into the familiar driver's seat.The depot around him was coming to life as other drivers arrived for their shifts.Diesel engines coughed to life in the distance, their exhaust creating small clouds in the cool morning air.Radio chatter from the dispatch office provided a constant background hum of route updates and schedule changes.
Robert began his inspection routine while humming a tune under his breath.He checked the driver's controls first, testing the steering, brakes, and transmission.The horn blared briefly as he verified its function.Warning lights flickered on and off as he cycled through the electrical systems.He walked the length of the bus, examining each seat for damage or debris that might have been missed during overnight cleaning.The floors were swept and mopped, the windows reasonably clean despite the previous day's rain.Handrails were secure, emergency exits properly marked and functional.Everything looked normal for a city bus preparing for another day of service.
The exterior inspection took him around the entire vehicle.Tires showed normal wear patterns, though the rear left would need replacement soon.Mirrors were clean and properly adjusted.The destination sign displayed the correct route information.Fluid levels under the hood were adequate, though the oil was getting dark and would need changing by the end of the week.
Robert returned to the driver's seat and began the final checks of his pre-route routine.Radio communication with dispatch crackled clearly through the speaker.The fare collection system powered up without error.
At 7:42, three minutes ahead of schedule, Robert was ready to begin his route.He started the engine and felt the familiar vibration of the diesel motor settling into its steady rhythm.The bus felt solid and reliable beneath him, ready for another day of stops and starts through the city's morning traffic.
But as he prepared to shift into drive, Robert noticed something unusual.A faint smell drifted through the bus interior, sweet but with an artificial edge that reminded him of cleaning products.It combined in a strange way with the other smells—the air freshener he kept hidden up front, the exhaust from the back of the bus.He frowned and sniffed again, trying to identify the source.The overnight cleaning crew sometimes used strong chemicals, but this scent was different.Sharper.More chemical than anything the custodial staff typically used.
Robert's stomach began to feel unsettled, though he figured that might have something to do with the larger-than-usual breakfast he’d consumed.But the feeling intensified as the sweet smell grew stronger.His head started to feel fuzzy, like the beginning of a migraine but without the usual pain.Something was definitely wrong.
He stood up from the driver's seat and walked toward the back of the bus, trying to locate the source of the smell.The chemical odor grew more pronounced as he moved away from the front door, suggesting it was coming from somewhere in the passenger compartment.Robert checked the overhead vents, wondering if something had gotten into the air circulation system.
The dizziness was getting worse.Robert gripped a seat back for support as the bus interior seemed to tilt slightly around him.His throat began to burn with a sensation he'd never experienced before, as if he were breathing acid instead of air.The smell filled his nostrils completely now, coating the back of his throat with an unpleasant taste.
He then recalled the news reports about the kindergarten teacher found dead in her classroom.Chemical attack, the reporters had called it, some sort of gas poisoning that had killed an innocent woman while she prepared lessons for her students.The memory of those news broadcasts sent a flicker of fear through him when he realized he might be experiencing something similar.
For just a moment, he fought between the desire to keep searching the bus and to get the hell out of there.He decided to run, but his legs felt like jelly when he tried to dash forward.The chemical smell was everywhere now, burning his lungs and making each breath a struggle against invisible flames.His coordination was failing as whatever he was inhaling attacked his nervous system.He felt it all failing as a spear of pain tore through his entire body.
He stumbled toward the front of the bus, using seat backs and handrails to keep himself upright.The distance to the door felt enormous, though it was probably no more than thirty feet.His vision tunneled down to a narrow field directly in front of him while everything else went gray and indistinct.
Robert reached the driver's compartment and fumbled for the door controls.His fingers felt thick and unresponsive, but he managed to activate the pneumatic system that opened the front passenger door.Fresh air rushed in from outside, but it was too little too late.The toxic gas had already done its work on his respiratory system.
He tried to call out for help, but his voice came out as nothing more than a raspy whisper.Other drivers were moving around the depot, preparing their own buses for morning routes, but none of them was close enough to hear his distress.Robert's legs gave out completely as he reached the open door, sending him crashing to his knees on the bus steps.
The concrete floor of the depot looked impossibly far below him, though it was only a few feet down.Robert tried to grip the door frame to steady himself, but his hands wouldn't obey his commands.The world spun sickeningly around him as his body prepared to shut down completely.
He tumbled forward through the open door, his body a dead weight that struck the concrete with a sickening thud.The thermos of coffee his wife had prepared rolled across the floor beside him, its contents spilling in a dark stain that spread slowly across the gray surface.
Robert's last conscious thought was of his wife, of how she’d react when she got the call about what had happened to him.When she learned that she was a widow.
The sweet chemical smell continued to pour from the bus, but there was no one left inside to smell it.Around the depot, other drivers continued their pre-route preparations, unaware that one of their colleagues lay dying on the concrete just a few yards away.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Miles adjusted his seatbelt as Vic navigated through the morning traffic toward the FBI field office.While they’d been speaking with Lawson, Vic had received a text informing her that the security footage from Petals & Stems had finally arrived overnight, transferred from the florist shop's antiquated recording system to digital files they could analyze frame by frame.Miles could only hope it might lead to something, seeing as how they’d struck out with Lawson.
“How far back do you think we need to go through the footage?”Miles asked.
“I’d go back as far as six weeks.It’s quite the task, I know…but there was only one camera so it’s not as bad as itcouldbe.Single camera mounted above the cash register, probably installed ten years ago.But it covers the front entrance and most of the main shop area.”Vic changed lanes to avoid a delivery truck.“We're looking for anyone who might have caused the location or asked unusual questions about Janet's business practices.We might very well have to home in on anyone who seems remotely suspicious.I figure we can work with the other two shop employees to weed them all out.”
Miles felt cautiously optimistic about the security footage.Visual evidence could provide the breakthrough they needed, especially if the killer had visited the shop during normal business hours to study the layout and ventilation system.Even a partial image might lead them to identify their suspect through facial recognition databases.
His phone rang as they approached downtown D.C: Assistant Director Hayes.Miles was always anxious when he saw the name on his caller display.He was still worried that he’d be pulled off the case at any moment, even after playing a huge role in San Francisco.
He answered the call and barely got out his greeting before Hayes interrupted him.“Sterling, where are you and Agent Stone right now?” It was almost an exact replay of yesterday morning’s call.
“Heading to the field office to review security footage from the flower shop,” he answered.“Why?”
