“All right, that’s it,” Curt said. He polished off the dregs of his beer and started to slide out from the booth.
“We’ve got one more issue,” Yuri said.
Curt held up.
“I want to move Operation Wolverine up to tomorrow, Thursday.”
“Tomorrow!” Curt echoed with disbelief. “I thought you were going to have trouble meeting Friday’s deadline with the anthrax powder.”
“I worked most of the night and all morning,” Yuri said. “With the second fermenter functioning as well as it is, we’re in good shape. By tonight we’ll have plenty for both lay-downs.”
“I guess we could do that,” Curt said. “Thursday or Friday, there’s really no difference.” He looked at Steve.
“No reason why not,” Steve said. “The getaway is in place. That would be the critical issue.”
“I think we have to do it Thursday,” Yuri said. “As you mentioned last night, security is the issue. Even if we get rid of Jack Stapleton, we have no idea who he’s talked to. To wait another twenty-four hours is taking a risk.”
Curt gave a little chuckle. “You know, I think you’re right.”
“I know I’m right,” Yuri said. “Provided we want to see Operation Wolverine succeed, which, of course, we all do.”
“Absolutely,” Curt said. “What time do you want us to come by tonight for the sausages?”
“Better make it late,” Yuri said. “I’ll need time to get them properly packaged. Let’s say around eleven.”
“Perfect,” Curt said. “We’ll be there.” Curt slid out from the booth. Steve followed. Yuri stayed where he was.
“I want to finish my hamburger,” Yuri explained.
“See you at five,” Curt said. He gave a halfhearted salute before following Steve out of the bar.
Yuri watched them go. He thought their playacting at soldiering was pathetic, and he was embarrassed to be associated with them. Still, after their little meeting, he felt better than he had all day. It seemed that despite all the problems, everything was falling into place. As he chewed another mouthful of his burger he considered stopping at the travel agency on the way home to make his reservation to fly from Newark to Moscow Thursday evening. But then he thought maybe he should do it by phone, since he didn’t want to take too much time. After all, he had a lot of work to do before eleven.
__________
EIGHTEEN
Wednesday, October 20
2:15 P.M.
Jack coasted to a stop at the OCME’s loading dock and climbed off his bike. He was out of breath from the last frantic dash up First Avenue, when he’d kept up with the traffic. By doing so, he’d managed to keep the traffic lights in sync all the way from Houston Street and hadn’t had to stop once.
Hoisting the bike onto his shoulder, he climbed up onto the platform and walked into the building. The jaunt to Brighton Beach had been wonderfully rewarding even if he’d failed to accomplish the original goal. Yet he’d done what he could in that regard. The rest was up to the phlegmatic bureaucracy of the Department of Health, or Yuri Davydov himself.
Jack stopped off in his office and hung his coat behind his office door. He noticed Chet’s microscope was out on his desk with its light on and papers spread around it, suggesting he was in the middle of working on something, although at the moment he was nowhere to be seen. Jack guessed he’d ducked down to the vending machines on the second floor. Chet liked to snack in the afternoons.
Before sitting down at his own desk, Jack walked down the hall toward Laurie’s office. He was still eager to give her the credit for the startling botulinum toxin diagnosis. Unfortunately, her door was closed, which was not normal. Jack could not remember another time when Laurie or her officemate had the door closed in the middle of the day. With a shrug Jack turned back to his office.
Jack had taken only a few steps when he heard a male voice raised in anger. He couldn’t make out what had been said, but the disturbing part was that it seemed to have come from behind Laurie’s closed door. Jack hesitated. A moment later he heard it again with a thump that sounded like a fist striking a metal desk or file cabinet.
Concerned, Jack returned to Laurie’s door. He raised his hand to knock but wavered. Given the closed door, he worried about interfering, but then he heard a distinctive slew of swear words and another percussive thump. Then he heard Laurie’s voice in a pleading tone say, “Please!”
Prompted by instinct more than thought, Jack knocked and opened the door at the same time. Laurie was backed up against the wall next to the file cabinet. She wasn’t cowering, yet her face reflected a mixture of fear and indignation. Paul Sutherland stood in front of her, dressed in a dark business suit. His tanned face was flushed and his right index finger was no more than six inches from Laurie’s nose. Jack’s entrance had seemed to freeze him in place.
“I hope I’m not interfering,” Jack said.
“But you are interfering!” Paul snapped, coming to life. “That’s why the goddamn door was closed.” He faced around toward Jack and challengingly perched his fists on his hips.
“I’m awfully sorry,” Jack said. He bent slightly to the side to have a better look at Laurie around Paul’s stocky silhouette. “Laurie, do you feel the same way?”
“Hardly,” Laurie said. “I think this discussion, if you can call it that, was getting out of hand.”
“Get out of here!” Paul snarled. “Laurie and I are going to have this out here and now.”
“This is neither the time nor the place,” Laurie said. “I already told you that.”
“Well, it seems there’s a disagreement here,” Jack said lightly. “I don’t mind offering my services as an arbitrator.”
“I’m warning you!” Paul said. His eyes narrowed. He took a threatening step forward.
“Paul, please!” Laurie said angrily. “I think you should leave! “
Paul did not take his eyes off Jack. “Get the hell out of here! “ he repeated.
“I heard you the first time,” Jack said airily. “But this is Dr. Montgomery’s office, and her wishes reign. I think it’s time you left, unless you’d like to discuss the issue with Sergeant Murphy downstairs.”
Paul lunged forward in an attempt to hit Jack with a roundhouse blow. Anticipating the punch, Jack leaned back out of reach. Then, taking advantage of Paul’s momentary loss of balance, Jack grabbed a handful of his silk suit and yanked him out through the open door, into the hall. The maneuver was accompanied by a distinct ripping sound.
Paul quickly regained his footing and assumed a crouched position with his fists raised by his head, giving Jack the impression he knew how to box. Recognizing his own limited abilities in the sport, Jack debated whether to run or envelop the man in a protective bear hug. Luckily, Jack did not have to make a decision. A yell sounded from down the hall as Chet came running at them, an open bag of potato chips and a can of pop in hand.
Faced with overwhelming odds, Paul straightened up from his threatening stance. With angry gestures he examined his finely tailored jacket and found that it had been ripped.
“Sorry,” Jack said, seeing the damage he’d caused. “Luckily, it looks like it was just a seam.”
“What the hell is going on here?” Chet asked.
“Paul and I had a momentary disagreement,” Jack said. “But thanks to you, I think it’s ironed out, so to speak.”
Paul wagged his finger at Jack’s face the way he had with Laurie. “You’re going to hear from me about this,” he snarled. “Mark my words!”
“I’ll look forward to it,” Jack said.
“Paul, why don’t you just leave?” Laurie said. “Unless you want to be arrested, please go! I’ve called security.”
Paul straightened his tie and tucked his matching pocket square back into his breast pocket. The whole time, he kept his eyes glued to Jack. “You’ve not seen the last of me,” he spat. Then turning to Laurie he said with equivalent venom, “And I’ll talk to you later.??
? After squaring his shoulders he started down the hallway toward the elevator.
Jack, Laurie, and Chet watched him go.
“What was this all about?” Chet asked.
Neither Jack nor Laurie responded.
“Did you really call security?” Jack asked.
“No,” Laurie said. “I was about to when I heard Chet’s yell. It’s better this way.”
“Thanks for coming when you did, Chet,” Jack said.
“Glad to help,” Chet said. “Anybody want a potato chip?” He held the bag out for Jack and Laurie. Both shook their heads.
“Would you like to talk?” Jack asked Laurie.
Laurie nodded. “I would, actually.”
“Chet, old sport,” Jack said, giving Chet a pat on the back. “Thanks for being the cavalry, and I’ll see you back at the orifice in a few minutes.” “Orifice” was a comical malapropism for “office” that Jack and Chet frequently used when speaking with each other.
“I can sense when three’s a crowd,” Chet said. He set off, happily munching his snack.
Laurie led the way back into her office. She closed the door behind Jack. “I hope you don’t mind me shutting you in here like this.”
“I can think of worse fates,” Jack said.
Laurie enveloped Jack in a sustained hug. Jack hugged her back.
“Thanks for being a friend once again,” she said after a full minute of silence. She released her grip, gave Jack a crooked smile, and then sat down. She got a tissue out of one of her drawers and dabbed at her eyes. She shook her head. “I hate it when I cry,” she said.
“It seems to me to be rather an appropriate response after having to put up with that kind of behavior.”
Laurie shook her head in dismay. “I can’t believe it. I’m flabbergasted. Just three days ago it was sheer bliss.”
“What happened?” Jack asked. He leaned against Laurie’s desk.
“Last night at dinner I tried to have a conversation with him about what you and Lou told me,” Laurie said. “It didn’t work. It immediately became confrontational.”
“That’s not a good sign,” Jack said.
“Don’t I know,” Laurie said. She dabbed at her eyes again. “It made me feel he was hiding something, and that idea was bolstered by his behavior today. I shouldn’t have let him in, but he called up from downstairs saying he wanted to apologize. Some apology!”
“What do you think he’s hiding?” Jack asked.
“I’m not sure,” Laurie admitted. “But I think he might be selling illegal Bulgarian AK-47 assault rifles.”
Jack whistled. “That’s bad news!”
“That’s an understatement,” Laurie said. She shook her head. “I suppose I could deal with his being an arms dealer if I understood it had some legitimate purpose for national defense. I certainly could forgive a past run-in with the law about cocaine possession, provided he wasn’t still using the stuff. But I’d never tolerate his selling illegal assault rifles or guns of any sort to private people, particularly kids. It turns out that skinhead, Brad Cassidy, who I posted on Monday, had also been involved as some sort of middleman with those Bulgarian guns.”
“My word, what a coincidence,” Jack said.
“And you know my feelings about gun control,” Laurie added.
“Indeed,” Jack said. “So what does all this mean for Laurie Montgomery?”
“I don’t know exactly,” Laurie said with a sigh. “I suppose I’ll let things slide with Paul and try to talk to him again in a week or so. Meanwhile, like I said this morning, I’ll dive into my work. It’ll take my mind off my disastrous personal life.”
“I hope he leaves you alone,” Jack said. “He strikes me as a rather persistent sort.”
“I know what you mean,” Laurie said. “Which brings me to the matter of asking you for a favor.”
“Sure, what do you need?”
“I don’t want to be sitting by the phone tonight, or tomorrow night for that matter. I’d like to be with friends. Do you think there’s any chance you and I could go with Chet and Colleen to that Monet show Chet mentioned yesterday?”
“I’d have to check with Chet,” Jack said. “But I’d be happy to go.”
“Wonderful,” Laurie said. “And as for tonight, what do you think about going out for a bite with me and Lou. I think I owe you guys something for my behavior last night, so it will be my treat.”
“You don’t owe anybody anything,” Jack said. “I can’t speak for Lou, but as for me, I’d be delighted to eat with you tonight. It will give me a chance to fill you in on what brought me here to your office a few minutes ago.”
“And what was that?”
“Your suggestion about Connie Davydov was right on the money,” Jack said. “She died of botulinum toxin.”
“No kidding!” Laurie said. Her flushed face lit up with a smile.
“Scout’s honor,” Jack said. “Peter confirmed it this morning.”
“Good grief!” Laurie exclaimed. “So what happened? Did you call Randolph Sanders?”
Jack pushed off from the desk. “I’ll tell you all about it tonight. When and where shall it be for dinner?”
“Would eight be a good time?”
“Sounds fine,” Jack said. “Where?”
“How about Lou’s favorite restaurant in Little Italy?” Laurie said. “I haven’t been there in ages.”
“What’s the name?”
“It doesn’t have a name,” Laurie explained.
“Okay, what’s the address?”
“I can’t remember.”
“Wonderful!” Jack commented sarcastically.
“Pick me up on your way downtown,” Laurie said. “I’ll be able to find it. It’s on a little street off Mulberry. But come in a cab, not on your bike.”
After a halfhearted promise not to bicycle to her apartment that evening, Jack went back to his office. As he walked in, Chet looked up from his microscope.
“So,” Chet said. “What was that all about?”
“It’s all very complicated,” Jack replied, plopping himself down in his chair. Between the excitement with Paul and the long bike ride, he was suddenly feeling tired. “But one result is that Laurie has changed her mind about tomorrow night. So if you and Colleen still want some company, we’re available.”
“Great!” Chet said. He reached for his phone. “I’ll give Colleen a call to see if she can get any more tickets.”
“Wait a second,” Jack said. “What about the veterinarian epidemiologists? Were you able to get ahold of any of them?”
“I did,” Chet said. “I talked with a Dr. Clark Simsarian who chaired the seminar. I asked him if they’d come up with a diagnosis for the rats, but they haven’t. They’ve also not come across any more anthrax ulcers.”
“I’ve got a suggestion for them,” Jack said. “Call Dr. Simsarian back and suggest they check for botulinum toxin.”
“Botulinum toxin!” Chet said. “Is that what Connie Davydov died of?”
“Apparently,” Jack said. “At least according to Peter Letterman.”
“And you still think the rats and Connie might be related?” Chet questioned.
“It’s a long shot,” Jack agreed. “But since the vets haven’t come up with anything else, they might as well give it a try. I stopped by a veterinarian’s office out in Brighton Beach today. He said that even some local cats have been dying mysteriously.”
“I’ll pass the tip along,” Chet said. “What about Randolph Sanders? Have you let him know about the botulinum toxin?”
“I did,” Jack said. “And I’m embarrassed to say I enjoyed making him writhe.”
“I’ll be curious to hear the fallout,” Chet said, shaking his head. “Deciding not to do an autopsy and then finding out the patient died of botulism is a medical examiner’s worst nightmare.”
“I’m curious, too,” Jack said. “In fact, while you make your calls, I think I’ll see what I can find out.”
&nbs
p; Jack phoned the Brooklyn office and asked for Dr. Sanders. Since the ME wasn’t in his office, Jack had him paged. While he waited, Chet got through to Colleen and got a positive reaction. Chet gave Jack a thumbs-up sign just as Randolph Sanders came on the line.
“Sorry to bother you,” Jack said into the phone with the same breezy style he’d used earlier when he’d spoken with the man. “Chet and I have been talking about the Davydov case. We’re curious as to what’s going on.”
“It’s a nightmare,” Randolph said.
“That’s just how Chet characterized it a moment ago,” Jack said. He winked at Chet, who was waiting for Dr. Simsarian to pick up.
“I can’t believe the luck,” Randolph said. “Right after I spoke with you this morning, I called the Strickland funeral home, and they gave me a bit of bad news.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Jack said.
“The body has been cremated.”
“Oh!” Jack moaned with feigned sympathy.
“There wasn’t much I could do at that point other than turn the situation over to Jim Bennett.”
“And what’s he done?”
“Nothing yet,” Randolph said. “But I know he has a call in to Bingham. This whole mess is gong to have to be handled by top brass, specifically Harold Bingham.”
“I guess you must feel pretty bad,” Jack said. In spite of his dislike for the man, he couldn’t help but feel a tinge of true sympathy.
“Nothing like this has ever happened to me before,” Randolph said.
“You’ll get through this,” Jack said. “In jobs like ours, it’s impossible to catch everything. And you’re doing the best you can at this point.”
Jack and Chet hung up from their respective calls almost simultaneously. They turned and faced each other.
“You first,” Chet said. “What did you learn?”
“There’s no fallout,” Jack said. “At least not yet. Bingham’s in the loop but hasn’t been told yet. The real problem is that the body’s gone. It was cremated.” Jack shook his head. “It’s a mess. The only thing I know is that it’s out of my hands.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Chet said. “And let it stay out of your hands! As far as Dr. Simsarian is concerned, he wasn’t excited about your suggestion, but he said that he’d give it a try.”