by Fiona Quinn
“The Eastern European Zorics are aligned with Middle Eastern terrorist groups,” Mr. Black interjected. “As we all understand, the money derived from the cons and scams that take place through the American Zorics is funneled in large part toward funding those who are fighting against US interests.”
“Exactly,” Mr. Green continued. “Now, we have credible data that indicates that the US Zorics are trying out this new means of murder here in America, and if the vehicle for killing goes undetected, then they will start using it against our high-ranking officials. That’s the chatter.”
Monroe pulled his eyebrows in so tightly they touched. “Like whom?”
“That, we don’t know. And we don’t know how concerned we should be in that we don’t know how they accomplish the murder. For example, how close does the murderer need to get to his victim? We just don’t know,” Mr. Green said.
Mr. Black bobbed his head in agreement. “It is imperative that we work on this from several fronts in the US. First, we need to understand how the people are dying, and we mean to do this by studying Radovan Krokov’s death. Second, we need to interrupt the Zoric family’s organized crime through imprisonment and extradition. And third, we need to stop the flow of children into the United States to be used in whatever capacity their handlers see fit. It all comes down to the next few days.” Mr. Black rose from his chair. “Let’s begin with the deaths.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Lacey
Wednesday
Deep circled the National Mall and turned onto Third Street, driving past the National Museum of American Indian Culture, then following the tourist buses down Madison before he cut over. “Maybe we’ll be lucky and find a parking spot on the street,” he said.
Lacey pointed at a minivan full of kids, pulling out ahead of them. “Our lucky day, apparently.” As they waited with the blinker on, Deep leaned over and gave Lacey what she’d call a “very nice kiss, indeed.” Which meant it was fine for public display, but still made her blood hum.
As they left the car and began walking back toward the Mall and the lineup of Smithsonian Museums, the wind whipped in from the river. Ice frosted the air, landing in their hair and on their shoulders. Lacey’s nose was running from the bitter cold. She searched the pocket of the jacket Lynx had bought for her, but found no tissues. She dabbed at her nose with her wrist. Deep snagged a napkin from a hot dog vendor, calling out something in Italian to the guy hunched in the corner of his street-side stand; the guy laughed and waved.
Tourists filled the street with their cameras pointing in every direction, their excited shouts ringing back and forth. She and Deep dodged past the groups huddling on the sidewalks with their tour guides. In Deep’s hand he was carrying the paper bag with their rock. It looked like he was carrying his lunch. Lacey felt stupid. Was Deep’s friend going to look at them with a bewildered stare and wonder if they were pulling his leg? What exactly was Deep going to say about the rock in the bag? And had she actually found the right rocks? Stressed—Lacey was hugely stressed.
Trembling with cold and nerves, Lacey was happy when Deep wrapped his arm around her. He held her slightly in front of his body, using his back to protect her from the brunt of the icy wind. With him towering almost a foot above her and the expanse of his muscular frame, it wasn’t hard for him to act like a human windshield. And Lacey could only feel appreciation. They took the stone steps up to the National Museum of Natural History two at a time and burst through the doors with a gust of wind.
Inside, they both expelled the outdoor air from their lungs in great big exhales. The warmth in the museum was inviting. But before she could acclimate, Deep grabbed her hand and pulled her past the enormous elephant that stood guard in the rotunda. They skittered up the stairs to the second floor where Deep’s friend, Augustine, waited for them next to the Hope Diamond. Deep hugged Augustine, and they exchanged kisses on either cheek.
“You have found a pretty rock that you wish for me to identify, my friend?”
Deep smiled. “This rock has a special history, so if it’s alright, I’d prefer that you look at it in a private office.”
“But of course, mon ami. This way.” He gestured toward the back of the gallery, and the group of three moved forward. “It is a very valuable piece? You are afraid it will be stolen?”
“We think it’s valuable, but not in the way that you’re probably imagining,” Deep replied. His hand patted the man’s shoulder companionably as they walked down the hallway.
They entered a space set up with various microscopes and trays. Augustine sent Deep a quizzical brow as they moved to the counter. “Gloves, then?” he asked.
Deep’s lips thinned into a tight line, and he nodded.
Augustine pulled out a pair of nitrile gloves. The gloves that Lacey had on hand at the gallery were white cotton; she’d never realized how ubiquitous these blue gloves were. Well, maybe not abundant in regular society – perhaps just for people in Deep’s circles.
Augustine placed the evidence bag on a counter, reached in, and gently lifted the rock. After spending a moment looking it over, he sent a confused glance toward Deep. “Really? This is your mystery rock?” He shook his head with disappointment. “My friend, I was hoping that you were bringing me something truly extraordinary.”
“What is it?” Lacey asked, unable to contain her curiosity.
“It is simply a rock that is formed by the compression of calcium carbonate skeletons from long-dead corals, or other calcareous organisms.”
“Like sandstone?” Deep asked.
“In that both are sedimentary. This, of course, was formed in an ocean.” Augustine reached out his foot to snag a rolling stool and dragged it over. Sitting down, he pulled out his gemologist loupe and examined the rock.
A colleague stood at the door and knocked. “What have you got there? It looks like live rock.”
“Live rock?” Deep rolled the words around in his mouth. “Why would someone have a piece of this kind of rock? It’s not very attractive.”
“Ben,” the guy in the doorway said, extending his hand first to Deep, then to Lacey. Neither one mentioned their names in return; instead, they offered up a ‘hi’ and a ‘hello.’ “So live rock—I guess the only place you’d find it is in people’s aquariums. You’ve seen it, I’m sure. It helps make hides and habitats for fish.”
“This is so,” Augustine said. “Of course, this is true in the wild as well. And importantly in the wild it will contain numerous algae, bacteria, and small invertebrates, all of which are important for the ecosystem.”
“Interesting,” Deep said, leaning his hip into the counter and crossing his arms over his chest, watching Augustine scrutinize of the rock. “Do you think that if, say, someone wanted to use this rock, oh, I don’t know, decoratively, or in a bird cage, or even in a garden, would they want to boil it first to get rid of those things? I’d imagine if someone didn’t boil it first, then the decaying biological materials would smell really badly as they decomposed.”
Augustine frowned and tilted his head back and forth. “I can’t imagine using this rock in those instances, can you, Ben? It’s not very attractive.”
“Could it be something for birds? Filing their beaks, maybe?” Lacey asked.
“Calcium carbonate, which makes up this rock, is important to a bird’s diet. It’s the main substance found in eggshells. But calcium phosphate is found in their bones. You’d want a combination of the two, and you’d need to be careful that the birds weren’t getting too much.” Ben gave her a friendly smile. “I wouldn’t give them a rock to peck on at will, I’d get a powder or liquid from the pet shop; something that can be measured, especially if you’re talking about high-priced birds, like parrots.”
“Or love birds?” Lacey wandered closer to Deep, and he put his hand on her lower back. It felt to Lacey like Deep was sending out a secret boy-signal, laying his claim. Both of the other men seemed to get the message and the atmosphere in the room subtl
y shifted. Lacey looked over at Deep, and without looking back her way, he lowered his hand to rub over her hip and thigh before he returned it to its place under her jacket in the small of her back.
“Yeah,” Ben said. “I wouldn’t do it. I don’t think this has to do with birds.”
“What about boiling it would make this significant, besides removing any live matter from the crevices? Does the calcium carbonate dissolve in boiling water?”
“No, it’s insoluble,” Augustine said, pulling the loupe from his eye, and laying the rock back on the tray where the four of them stared at it.
“Any other guesses why you’d boil this rock?” Deep asked.
The two scientists crossed their arms and stared at the rock, tipping their heads one way or the other. Finally, Augustine said, “What if you wanted to introduce this to a freshwater aquarium, and you didn’t wish to introduce certain bacteria that might kill your freshwater fish?”
“Well, no,” Ben countered. “You’d typically put river rock in a fresh water aquarium. Saltwater coral rock wouldn’t look natural in a freshwater aquarium, would it? I’ve only heard of live rock being used in saltwater aquariums. Though in that application, you wouldn’t boil them, right? The purpose for adding them is to introduce microscopic and macroscopic organisms to your aquarium to help break down the waste. Ammonia and what have you.”
Deep patted Lacey. “Is there an aquarium at that house?”
“No,” she said.
Augustine shook his head. “I have absolutely no idea. Hey, hey Paul.” Augustine flagged the guy walking by the door. “Do you have a second?”
A guy in a mustard yellow polyester shirt and brown hand-knit vest stopped at the door. “What’s up?”
“Why would you boil calcium carbonate?”
“You’re bored?” Paul shrugged.
“Come on. Seriously. Why would you boil this rock?” Augustine held the specimen up for Paul’s inspection.
Paul moved closer and ducked his head to get a better look at it. “You have a death wish?”
“Wait. What?” Deep shifted in a nanosecond from just a guy hanging out with a friend in the lab to a soldier, ready to drop behind enemy lines. “Why?”
Paul shrugged. “Apparently boiling this rock can be lethal, that’s the takeaway I got from a story I heard at one of the Christmas parties this year. Remember guys? It was about Jones doing an experiment. He was boiling live rock as part of the protocol, and he nearly died, didn’t he?”
The other men look blank faced.
“Come on, guys, Jones was telling us—do you remember what he was saying?” Paul swung his gaze from Ben to Augustine. “At the McVie Foundation’s Christmas Party.”
They shook their heads.
“Yeah, I can’t remember what it was either, I was pretty wasted. Well, something happened in his lab,” Paul said.
“What does Jones do?” Lacey asked.
“He’s a marine biologist who focuses his studies on reef culture. Reefs, of course, are made up of this kind of rock along with live corals.”
“Is he local? Could you perhaps call and ask if he’d see us?” Deep asked.
“Sure,” Paul said. He pulled out his phone, searched through his contact list, and turned to murmur into his phone. They all waited in silence. Paul covered the receiver. “Dr. Jones says he can see you next month, if you could please send him an email.”
“Would you tell Dr. Jones that this is a matter of some urgency, and I’m willing to pay him double his normal consultation fee if he can see us immediately?”
Paul got back on the phone and made final arrangements. He moved to a drawer and took out a pad of paper and pen. “Dr. Jones says he’s flying in to DC now. I caught him between flights; he’s on a layover in Chicago. He’ll be back in his office in the morning, though. If you can go in around 10:30, that would work, and he can devote the time you need.” Paul tapped his contact window and jotted down the information. “His office number, his cell number, his home number — just in case, and the address of his lab.”
Augustine pulled the paper bag over to him. Before he put the rock away, he held it up to the light. “Really? If you boil this rock, it can kill you?”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Steve
Wednesday Afternoon
“Dr. Nadeer, would you please make your report?” Mr. Black stood at the head of the table and held the chair out for the wizened man with intelligent eyes and a spry step.
“I actually have very little to report, I’m afraid,” he said. When he sat, he looked like a child at the adults’ table, as the lip of the wood hit him at chest height.
Mr. Black moved a chair closer to Dr. Nadeer’s, and he put his elbows on his knees as he leaned close as if to catch every last syllable and nuance of the doctor’s words.
“The body of Radovan Krokov was exhumed, as you ordered, Mr. Black,” Dr. Nadeem continued. “Unfortunately, the body had been preserved through the embalming procedures prior to autopsy. Embalming fluids make toxicology studies extremely difficult, if not impossible.” He stopped to clear his throat and gather his thoughts.
Steve, too, scooted his chair closer.
“The subject presents as a male, sixty-six years of age, with prior cardiac history and a pace maker. The damage found to the heart is in line with a terminal cardiac episode.”
“Have they continued to study the subject’s toxicity?” Mr. Green asked.
“We have biopsied and examined the tissues. We are doing everything in our power to discover what could have entered the deceased’s system to make a lethal encounter look like it was natural in origin. It would be extremely helpful to our team if we had a direction. Any behavioral clues prior to his death. Anything that he might have complained about. Did he have an upset stomach? Was he nauseated? Did he experience shortness of breath? Was he dizzy? Also, anything unusual in his environments, in his food supply; any special treats, for example, that might have arrived in the home. Was anyone else affected? Pets, even. We are really looking for a needle in a compromised hay stack. I’m sorry.” Dr. Nadeer shifted his weight between his hips and turned to Mr. Black. “Since we last spoke, has any of this information become available?”
Steve’s shoulders gave a sudden jerk, which he tried to hide with a fake sneeze.
“No. It has not.” Mr. Black turned an assessing eye on Steve.
Shit, Steve thought—pretty much the only thought he’d been having all day long.
Mr. Black paused for a long moment. Black’s focus on Steve didn’t waver as he spoke. “Doctor, I would ask, at this juncture, if you wouldn’t mind stepping outside of the door and having a seat in the reception area. Please let our receptionist know if there’s anything he can get you to make you feel more comfortable. A cup of coffee, perhaps.”
Mr. Black cupped his hand under Dr. Nadeer’s elbow and steered him to the door. Stood there and made sure that Dr. Nadeer had settled, offered him a smile, and shut the door.
He walked unhurriedly back to the table where the meeting participants looked at him expectantly. “Finley,” he said, “why don’t you tell us what you’re sitting on.”
Steve cleared his throat. “As I reported to you in September, there is a possibility that we have a witness.”
Mr. Black sat down again at the head of the table in the chair vacated by Dr. Nadeer.
“Why are you qualifying this information? What is the witness’s name?” Mr. Green asked.
“Lacey Stuart—the real Lacey Stuart.”
Mr. Black nodded and brushed his hand over his neatly crossed leg as if removing a crumb.
“And the word ‘possibility’?” Mr. Green continued.
“Miss Stuart was at Radovan Krokov’s home the day prior to the discovery of his body by the housekeeper, Agatha Bowling. This would have been during the timeframe between Radovan Krokov’s death and the discovery of his body. I know these pieces to be a fact. I received a call from Danika Zoric telling me tha
t her cousin Musclav Zoric was going to shoot Lacey Stuart.” Steve paused and wondered if that was enough information.
“Because?” Mr. Green prompted.
Steve sent a questioning glance at Mr. Black, but Mr. Black sat stone-faced.
“From what I can gather,” Steve explained. “Lacey was in Radovan’s home for some reason associated with the art gallery. Musclav saw her and addressed Lacey as Danika. He allowed Lacey to leave. Once she had driven away, Musclav followed up with a phone call to Danika to verify that it was indeed her.” Steve’s heel beat a steady tattoo into the carpeted floor, jiggling his body. He had guarded this story so tightly that saying it out loud in a room with so many people felt perilous. HE didn’t know whether Black wanted him to share this or not. And he couldn’t understand Mr. Black’s posture. It certainly didn’t give him clues about showing his hand or holding his cards close to his vest. Steve swallowed and continued. “Musclav hadn’t expected Danika at the house. And, of course, Danika was not there. Musclav told Danika that Lacey had seen his face, and he needed to kill her. Musclav went after Lacey in his truck, causing Lacey to have a car accident. When I arrived on the scene, Musclav was preparing to shoot Lacey, but I talked him out of it.” Steve’s throat grew sticky as his subconscious tried to grasp his words and hold them away from the other agents. “I explained to Musclav that it would ruin whatever they had going on up the road if she were killed. Musclav left. I helped to keep Lacey safe until rescue could arrive.”
Andersson pushed a bottle of water from the center of the table toward Steve. He hadn’t even noticed the bottles sitting there. He gratefully untwisted the top and took a long slug.
“And you were close enough to the scene of the accident, why?” Monroe asked.
“I was following up on information from Mr. Green.” Steve nodded toward the silhouette on the video screen. “CIA had received word that the assassination had taken place and that the cleanup crew needed to make a final sweep, and then all would be pristine and complete. I was hoping to gather any evidence that needed to be swept. But I obviously had already missed that opportunity, and I diverted to save Lacey Stuart.”