Deadly Payload (Rim Country Mysteries Book 4)

by Karen Randau

  I parked the Jeep in the garage, and David left his truck outside under the basketball hoop. Together, we walked the perimeter of the property, finding no sign of interlopers.

  We entered the house through the basement and searched every room and closet both downstairs and upstairs.

  He watched while I activated the security system. “Wow. This is a more advanced system than I have. You can see every inch of your property on this screen.”

  I pulled out my phone and showed him the app that allowed me to watch everything from anywhere. “We have a secure internet connection here called a virtual private network. When I’m away, I login to the VPN. For added security, we have encryption software on our electronic devices, including our phones, computers, smart TVs, activity trackers, and even our robotic vacuum.”

  “Okay, you’ve convinced me. If anything makes me uncomfortable, Emma and I will hightail it over here.”

  He asked me to stand at the end of the driveway to ensure no one slipped through the gate as he drove away.

  With him gone, I locked myself inside the house and left my purse and backpack on the kitchen island while I leaned on it to call Chief of Police Ronald Williams. As I dialed his private cell, a squirrel scampered across the roof. I smiled at the sound, comforted by something normal happening.

  “Rita,” Ronald answered with a smile in his voice.

  “Ronald, I don’t know if you heard, but I got Cliff and Travis transferred to a hospital in Phoenix. I’m feeling lonesome and wondered if you’d like to join an old friend for a homemade dinner at my house tonight.”

  “I’d love it.” He agreed to come over at six.

  I checked the time. It was early afternoon. In the few hours before Ronald showed up, I wanted to learn everything I could about Russian spies in the U.S., along with the activities of Major Kyle Park and Captain Jason Wall while they served in Afghanistan with Mary.

  I removed one of Katy’s homemade casseroles from the freezer and set it on the counter to defrost. As I turned to head down the hall toward Cliff’s and my suite, the empty spot where the dog’s crate used to sit put a lump in my throat and stopped me in my tracks. It stoked my determination to find out what the news reports weren’t telling Rim Vista residents about what kind of evil caused our tragedy.

  In the office connected to our bedroom, I sat in the leather executive chair and stared at a photo of Cliff and me, trying not to allow my emotions to get the best of me. Cliff would be home soon. I laid the frame, photo side down, on the desk.

  “Focus,” I told myself. The words seemed to echo in my empty home.

  I called Cliff, Katy, my mother, and Aunt Zelda to bring them up to date, then again tried calling my friend Taylor Finnegan. It went straight to voicemail.

  “Please be okay.”

  When I began my research, I found an article that described how the American military used artificial intelligence to train soldiers to recognize the scents of agents used in chemical warfare. Another talked about girls made sick by poisonous gas in Afghanistan. Authorities later confirmed that the Russians had tested noxious compounds on those innocent children, who described smelling something strong and sweet before they got sick.

  It smelled like pine, one girl had reported.

  Reading those words sent me running to the refrigerator to throw away the organic fruits and vegetables I selected at the farmer’s market for this week’s visit by Travis and his family. When I finished, I folded myself across the cold granite on the kitchen island, closing my eyes while I tried to convince myself that I couldn’t have known the produce I fed my family from Hawthorne Farms would harm them.

  Healthy eaters got the sickest, Ronald had said.

  The memory ballooned my determination to help my community. Did that creepy Frank Miller with bushy white eyebrows and a chamomile flower tattooed to his arm destroy my community’s food and water? Did Taylor know about this, and that was why she was so scared?

  I made a mental note to ask Ronald if the healthiest people were the only people who had died and walked back to the office.

  As I sat in my chair, I wondered if impairing the water treatment plant was a diversion. Or was it a second line of attack to ensure calamity? Or to test different delivery methods of their deadly compound?

  Why would they assault Rim Vista? There were so many more important communities around the country.

  Research filled the next few hours, beginning with why a man like Frank Miller would tattoo a chamomile flower on his arm. A shudder rolled through me when I learned that chamomile was the national flower of Russia.

  How would Russian spies get to America undetected? I turned my inquiries to immigration.

  While most Americans focused the illegal immigration debate on the southern border, several websites and news articles pointed to the northern border. It suggested that jihadists from the Middle East often found an easy entry point in Canada. Members of a Russian sleeper cell arrested in the early 2000s entered through Canada.

  Most Russian-Americans were like anyone else: peaceful people who wanted a good life for their families. If there were spies among them or us, they slipped through.

  I turned to investigating the officers who served with Mary Zagby in Afghanistan, Major Park and Captain Wall. As Mary had said, Wall died in the line of duty. The official cause of death was sniper fire.

  Park returned to the U.S. to run a pharmaceutical company in Ohio.

  As I clicked to read more about his company, my phone alerted me to a car idling outside my gate.

  I pressed the button to speak to the driver, feeling strange that I thought I should whisper in my empty house. “Good evening, Ronald. Drive on in.”

  Why was I so uncomfortable?

  As soon as Ronald pulled into the driveway, I closed the gate, bustled to the front door, watched him park under the basketball hoop, and waited for him at the top of the stairs.

  “I hope you don’t mind a casserole,” I said.

  “So long as it doesn’t have locally grown vegetables in it.” He followed me inside.

  “After everyone got sick and the grocery shelves were empty, Katy made me a bunch of meals with ingredients from Phoenix.”

  “I won’t ask how she got through the roadblocks.”

  “It’s a good story. I’ll tell you about it when this is over.” My smile faded as I asked, “Why would you avoid locally grown vegetables?” I set the casserole into the microwave and tried to look uninformed while I stood at the island and talked. “Has the government found the source of the pathogen?”

  “They aren’t sharing their findings with me, but I have a hunch.”

  “Tell me about that.” I set plates and forks on the dining table.

  “The people who have died are those who eat the healthiest.” He took glasses from the cabinet, stepped to the water dispenser on the refrigerator, and paused.

  “I have bottled water.” I pointed to a case of water at the top of the basement steps.

  He emptied two containers into our glasses and set them on the table. “Healthy people should be the ones getting well, not perishing.”

  The microwave dinged. I set the steaming dish of vegetable and meat lasagna on the table. Ronald and I sat across from each other. I spooned a generous portion onto his plate and handed it to him as my phone alerted me to movement at the back corner of my property.

  “Excuse me, Ronald. I want to check this out and not take any chances of missing something.”

  I tapped the screen and froze. A woman with tousled hair leaned against the steel pickets as if they supported her. She stood with her hands up, palms and eyes facing the camera. She held a shiny object in one palm.

  Ronald drew his gun. “Stay here.”

  I drew my gun from the concealed waist holster where I put it when David and I visited the reservoir. “Not on your life. This is my house.”

  We walked toward the intruder. As I approached her, I recognized her as the woman David Zagby s
ent away from Emma’s birthday party.

  “Melissa Cooper?”

  “That’s my covert name,” she slurred. “My Russian name is Marina Ivanov. My parents came to America as a young couple in the 1970s. Their mission was to fit into American society and infiltrate the utility grid. My birth, life, and education were part of that plan.” Her head swayed as she turned toward Ronald. “You are Chief of Police Ronald Williams?”

  “Yes.” Ronald lowered his voice to match Melissa’s.

  “I wanted out of this life. If I’m correct, it’s too late. I’ll be dead in minutes.” She pointed to a red spot on her arm. “Have them test me for ricin. I never thought my friends would do this to me.”

  She reached toward Ronald with the hand holding the shiny object I had seen on the video camera, a cell phone. Her voice sounded lower and shakier than before. “I’ve told my story in a video on this. It was the best I could do once I realized they killed me. I only have contact information for my handler and my cell partner. There are more.”

  She slid down the picket and sat on the ground, her head sagging.

  I kneeled beside her and grasped her hand.

  Bubbles foamed at the creases of her mouth. She lifted her eyes to mine and propped her forehead on the picket. “They’re watching you because of your association with Mary Zagby. I’ve been trying to warn her brother, but he thought my intent was different than it was.”

  The color drained from her face. “Run,” she whispered as life left her eyes.

  31

  I crab-walked away from Melissa, unable to pull air into my lungs.

  Ronald grasped my arms and pulled me to my feet. My knees collapsed. He wrapped an arm around my shoulders and cradled my elbow to hold me upright as he herded me up my back porch, inside the house, and toward the cooling food on the dining table.

  “She died right in front of us.” My whisper caught in my throat.

  “Sit.” He guided me toward a chair.

  I sank.

  He handed me the glass of water he’d poured for me earlier.

  I guzzled it. My entire body trembled. When I tried to speak, a guttural moan escaped.

  Ronald knelt in front of me. “Take deep breaths.” He drew in air and exhaled to demonstrate.

  I followed his example. Again. One more time. My words came in disconnected whispers. “Melissa’s friends killed her? Russian spies in Rim Vista? How? They’re watching me? Why? Is anyone in my family safe? Taylor? The CDC has her.”

  Ronald stood. “Take as much time as you need. We can heat this food later. I need to call for the medical examiner and a forensics team to come here.”

  “My appetite vanished.” My senses trickled back as I returned the food to the refrigerator and joined Ronald on the front porch to wait for his crew.

  Sitting in a chair in front of a backdrop of the rolling hills in and around Rim Vista, Ronald found the video Melissa put on the cell she gave him. We both hovered over the phone as Melissa’s image appeared.

  I couldn’t shake the feeling we needed to remain quiet, even outside. I resisted the urge to tell Ronald to turn down the volume on the video.

  “My American friends know me as Melissa Cooper, but my Russian name is Marina Ivanov.” Dark circles surrounded Melissa’s eyes.

  I thought of a similar look that had concerned me about Mary’s eyes.

  “My parents were Beth and Lucas Cooper from Beachwood, Ohio. Their real names were Olesya and Ugo Ivanov. My father was a chemist. They migrated from Russia to Canada as a young married couple in the 1970s during the Cold War. They moved to America when Mom was pregnant with me, so I would be an American citizen and grow up to become a water engineer. Officially, our family didn’t exist to Russia. If we ever got caught, we were on our own. Like now.”

  Melissa said the news reports say her father shot her mother and then himself. “I believe the Russian government assassinated them because I tried to contact the State Department in Phoenix to defect. I confronted my handler, Frank Miller. He claimed to be a former KGB assassin, but something’s wrong with that story. He slapped my arm and called me a traitor. I felt a pinch, and now I’m sick. I suspect he injected me with a ricin pellet. It’s an old school tactic, but it works. There is no antidote.”

  In a five-minute monologue, Melissa detailed how her parents raised her to hate America and distrust Americans. “After I left their home to attend MIT, their influence over me paled. I discovered that Americans are generous and caring people, nothing like what my parents tried to make me believe.”

  After earning a master’s degree, and under threat from Frank Miller of harm coming to her parents if she refused, he assigned Melissa to the water treatment plant in Rim Vista. “They wanted to test their pathogen on a small town before a larger attack. My job was to gain the trust of management, learn all aspects of the American water system, and eventually move up through the ranks to have influence over the national grid. No matter the cost, I had to defect when I learned that the recent attack was practice for a larger strike to gain con—”

  A flash of light crossed the screen. She glanced behind her. “They’re here. I have to run before it’s too late to warn you of what’s coming.” The video ended.

  From our spot on my front porch, I saw a car park in the street in front of my house. Ronald pocketed Melissa’s phone and met two officers and the ME at the gate.

  I called David, covering my face to avoid anyone reading my lips, whispering so no one would hear me. “That thing we talked about has happened. You and Emma need to come to my house now.”

  “We’re just finishing—”

  “Stop what you’re doing and come here. Don’t pack. Run. The police are here.”

  They arrived minutes later, Emma in pajamas decorated with the image of Princess Elsa from the Disney movie Frozen. Tucked sideways under David’s arm, Emma’s limbs flopped with each of his steps. David held an envelope under his other arm.

  He scurried past the growing group of uniformed officers in my front yard, set Emma on the driveway, and held her hand. “What’s going on?”

  I placed my index finger over my lips to indicate that we shouldn’t talk, but I couldn’t explain why even to myself.

  “Melissa wasn’t stalking you,” I whispered. “She was trying to warn you. I’ll explain later. Go inside. I need to speak to the Chief of Police for a minute.”

  “Maybe you could use baby sign language like we do,” Emma whispered.

  “Do you know baby sign language?” David asked.

  We shared a tense chuckle as I shook my head to indicate that I didn’t. Katy and Travis never used it with Neri.

  David and Emma climbed the stairs and disappeared into my family room as I approached Ronald to pull him away from a group of three police officers.

  “Could you please have someone check my house and yard for listening devices?” I whispered.

  “Do you have any evidence of someone listening?”

  “No. It’s a creepy feeling I have. Melissa said someone was watching me.”

  “A feeling.” He hung his head, inhaled, and blew out a deep breath but maintained a quiet tone. “If anyone is watching you, it isn’t here. How would anyone get into this fortress without you seeing?”

  “I haven't figured it out, but I would feel more secure if you checked. How did Melissa know she’d find you here and not at your own house?”

  He tsked and made a call. After arranging for a tech to come by, he said, “Maybe Melissa wasn’t looking for me. Maybe she planned to give the phone to you until she saw me.”

  “Maybe.” I thought of the squirrel scampering across my roof earlier. “Have your tech check the roof.”

  “If you didn’t have such good instincts, I’d tell you to stop watching spy movies.”

  “People have bugged this place before, remember?”

  “Yeah, but people you hosted planted them in obvious places. Have you had any guests besides me in your home recently?”


  “No. Well … Travis and his family, but they don’t count. This creepy feeling started after I heard a squirrel on my roof.”

  “I’m short staffed because of this illness, but I’m indulging you because of our friendship. They won’t find anything.”

  “I hope not. I’ll show David and Emma their bedrooms, and I won’t tell anyone what I’ve learned until after you’ve swept for bugs.” I stepped toward the house, remembered the envelope under David’s arm, and paused. I moved closer to Ronald and whispered into his ear, “And I suspect David has some new evidence to show you.”

  I climbed the steps to the front door.

  Inside the house, David sat on my couch with Emma leaning against him. The envelope from under his arm sat on the coffee table.

  I approached Emma. “Would you like to sleep in my daughter’s room tonight?”

  She nodded. I led them to Zoe’s room.

  “It’s so pretty,” Emma exclaimed as she smoothed her hand across the pillow sham.

  David pulled down the matching comforter and patted the sheet. “See if it meets your approval.”

  Emma climbed in, laid her head on the pillow, and scrunched her eyebrows. “Where will Uncle David sleep?”

  I opened the door to the Jack and Jill bathroom that separated my children’s bedrooms. “This connects your bedroom to Uncle David’s. I’m sure he’ll want to sleep with both of the doors open so he can hear you.”

  She smiled and crawled out of bed.

  “We ate dinner, she’s had her bath, and we were about to read when you called,” David said.

  Someone clomped on the roof, and we all looked up.

  I didn’t want to alarm Emma. “They’re looking for something I lost up there.”

  I grasped her hand and led her to the sofa in the family room. David sat in the chair across from Emma and me.

  “Tell me more about baby sign language,” I said to Emma.

  David piped up. “Mary wanted to teach it to Emma. I indulged her, and now it’s our stealthy way of communicating when we want privacy.”