Skill Set (8 page)

“Yo, Danny Boy. . .you better come take a look at this. . .” Frankie was illuminated by the glow from the computer screen. The folding paneled doors on each side of the electronic equipment sheltered the glow from being seen through the second floor windows. The rest of the townhouse remained dark.

Daniel hurried to Frankie’s side, adjusting his glasses as he peered at the screen and read the Cyrillic characters of the Russian language. “Just as I thought. She was murdered. This is a message to some higher-up dude confirming the task was completed as directed.

So now we have to uncover the hidden clues without exposing ourselves to anyone. . .especially Isaac. Think we can do it?” He slapped Frankie fondly on the shoulder.

“Hell, yes. But not right now. I need a beer and a slice before it gets cold. We can make plans while we eat and get cracking early tomorrow. Soto isn’t going nowhere, nohow. . .By the way, I can’t believe you still remember your Russian alphabet!”

“Actually, it’s almost identical to the Belarusian which my grandmother taught me as a child and I just never forgot it. . .comes in handy now, you might say…”

Daniel nodded in agreement with his old friend and took off his suit coat and rolled up his shirt sleeves. He realized with surprise he was hungry as a bear himself - a Russian bear, probably. He chuckled as he popped open two Budweiser's and handed one to Frankie.

The two friends poured over the intercepted e-mail messages for several hours, with Daniel scribbling translations feverishly and dictating his versions to Frankie who typed them into the Trackers
’ code and ultimately saved the documents in a computer file especially for that purpose. They both dove-tailed pages from the Director’s file into the one they were building, getting events chronologically arranged for more efficient conclusions.

After eleven-thirty, Daniel threw his pen down on the mass of scribbled legal-pad pages, tilted back his chair and stretched his arms toward the ceiling.

“That’s enough for tonight. . .besides, I think we know where these clues are leading us..” Frankie nodded and hit the key to close and save the file. “Do you want me to forward this transcription to Foxhound?”

“Nope. I think something like this needs to be presented in person as soon as possible. Like now.”

“
Jeez, Danny! It
’s almost midnight!”

“And closer to eight A.M. in Russia, or about that, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. . .” Frankie made a scowling face at Daniel then grinned as he stood up and arched his back, rubbing it with his fingers. “
He
’s gonna be mad as hell when we wake him up. . .”

“Not as mad as he would be if we didn’t notify him of these details…” Daniel tucked his shirttail in more tightly and pulled out a comb to freshen up his hair. “And I imagine we both smell like garlic, so it’s brush teeth time. I’ll wait to call him as we are going out the door. . .”

The two friends were cleaned up and ready in a matter of minutes. Daniel kept the pages of the transcription under his arm in a nondescript navy blue folder as he dialed Foxhound
’s private number on his cell. A few muffled words later and they were quietly out the door, locking it behind them as they moved down the hall like two shadows you might not even notice if you had seen them in the dark of night. But then no one did, or so they thought. They were so accustomed to not being noticed around their townhouse, they inadvertently let their own guard down. They were so intent on preparing their words to impress Foxhound with the necessity for urgency they didn’t notice the silent figure motionless by the side of the dumpster at the corner of the building complex. When they got in their car and its lights came on, the figure in the shadows slid downward like an acrobat folding up into himself. His head was tucked down into his arms and covered with a knitted cap; nothing reflected or indicated a person was there, watching. When their car backed out of its parking place and angled back to swing right and exit, the car’s lights swept the area where the dumpster was standing and there was nothing out of the ordinary to be seen. The extra lumpy shadow near the back corner of the receptacle looked like a discarded plastic bag ready to be added to a full dumpster, waiting to be picked up. The two agents, their adrenaline pumping, automatically observed the dark corners of the night, but they missed one of the shadows they should not have overlooked.

Isaac Rose had leaned over his legal pad for so many hours he didn’t even realize dinnertime had come and gone. He was lost in concentration, his left hand holding his chin propped up while his hazel eyes darted left and right, not seeing anything in the room, but visualizing the puzzling murder of a high-ranking government official. There had to be a helluva good reason to risk death or at the very least, life imprisonment, for a crime of that nature. And, he thought to himself, it was almost a given that there had to have been inside help. Government officials of high rank are not that visible, not that easy to take out.

Isaac sat up abruptly and flicked the turned back pages of the legal pad glancing at each one, searching for something he had just remembered. He had propped his reading glasses on top of his head and his narrowed eyes scanned the pages of his notes like a well-oiled machine. His right hand crawled across the desk top, seemingly of its own volition and homed in on a highball glass half-full of amber- colored liquid and melting ice cubes. He pulled it closer to his chest without even looking at it, then slowly lifted it to his mouth and took a long swallow. Suddenly he stood up so abruptly he almost toppled the glass over. He picked it up and held it up to the light, grinning.

“Ah ha! My old favorite! Cream soda! My God, I wonder if the answer is really that simple!” He sat down again and placed the glass to his right and once again stared at the pages of notes. “I thought so. . .the M.E. didn’t test the water for a poisonous residue. Dumb shits. There’s always the smart ass that takes everything for granted - especially his own arrogant opinion!”

Isaac glanced at his wrist watch and shook his head in disbelief. It was almost one A.M. and he hadn
’t eaten anything since a quick lunch about eleven the previous morning. He pulled the phone closer and opened a hand-sized directory distributed to only the most trusted members of the Trackers. Most of the numbers he called frequently were memorized and remembered within seconds but the Medical Examiner’s office number was not one he needed very often.

He listened to the recorded message requesting the caller
’s name, number, Classification of Urgency (meaning whether immediate, within one day, or when possible) and he ran his fingers through his hair in frustration.

“Yes, this is Special Agent Isaac Rose and I have some information pertaining to the murder of the Defense Secretary, Emma Soto. You missed a big one, Everett, old chap. And you’d better hope the evidence found at the scene was not compromised or handled. I’m going to leave here in about five and head over to your office. . .I’ll keep trying your unlisted home number in hopes I can dig you out of dreamland and meet you face to face at the lab. And before you cry out for old Daddy Foxhound, I can tell you this was a homicide and it was perpetrated by someone very, very knowledgeable about specific poisons, especially those that are almost impossible to detect and are extremely dangerous - such as Sarin. Does that ring a bell, Everett? It’
s tasteless, odorless, doesn
’t have to be ingested to be effective, and it’s rarely curable once it attacks the nervous system. Get with it, old man. I look forward to sharing my findings with you or with whomever you delegated this responsibility. . .” He slammed up the receiver and turned his glass of cream soda up to the ceiling and drained the remaining liquid in one gulp. Emitting a loud burp, he smiled at nothing, put the glass upright on the desktop and after stuffing papers in his briefcase, hurried out the front door, locking it behind him. He wasted no time getting to his souped up Dodge Intrepid, just like the plainclothes cops’ cars were. He deliberately waited to turn on the car’s headlights until he was well away from the sleeping tenants in his building, and drove carefully and steadily back to the center of town and the M.E’s office. Checking his watch, he noticed it had taken him about twenty-five minutes. Shaking his head in disbelief, he parked in a reserved space, next to Foxhound’
s Mercedes coupe.
“He didn’t waste any time, calling Dad to come referee, did he?”
Isaac smiled at
his own jibe, grabbed his briefcase and exited the car. He checked the lock, making certain it was engaged, then rushed up the long pebble-concrete walk and into the dark, three-story building. He went to the stairwell entrance, aware the elevators wouldn’t be running at this hour and took the stairs two at a time, daring himself to even think of getting winded.

Isaac was familiar with the lay-out of the morgue. The M.E.
’s private office was toward the rear of the large autopsy room which was kept at an almost freezing temperature most of the time. There was a bank of closed compartment doors, all gleaming stainless steel, most containing the bodies of victims as yet unidentified or at least not released for burial or cremation. There were four stainless exam tables in front of the compartments, all gleaming with sterile cleanliness, all awaiting their grim duties in the day to come. Isaac covered the room in four strides and shoved open the door to Dr. Everett Mason’s office. He and Foxhound were waiting for him with expectant expressions on their tired faces, and Foxhound in particular seemed to be seriously rankled because of having lost a lot of sleep for this meeting. Isaac noticed he was smoking which he never did anymore unless he was really pissed about something. Neither of the older men seemed to be in a friendly mood.

“
Well?
” Foxhound barely moved his lips as he spoke and the escaping blue cigarette smoke arose like large hazy apostrophes, one on each side of his shaggy head.

“ ‘
Well
’ is right! Okay. . .I’
m positive we
’ve got a murder on our hands. . .” Isaac looked from one stony, glaring face to the other.l “
I
’m not kidding. I regret not thinking of it sooner but I didn’t. . .and no one else did, either.” “You damned well better have good facts to back up your claim…”

“Yessir, I do. . .now, just hear me out, okay?” Neither of the men moved a muscle. “Emma Soto had plans for several days ahead, including a hair appointment and plane tickets for a weekend at the Grand Bahama Hotel four weeks from now, with reservations for a couple. Did you get that? A couple!”

Both men blinked in unison. Isaac began to pace the floor, his excitement
in
Soto
’s building.

“None of us even considered murder. We assumed she off’ed herself and with no concrete reason to do so. This is not acceptable, gentlemen, not at our level.”

Dr. Mason cleared his throat.
“We agree, Rose. Just get on with it and share your evidence with us, please. . .”

“Right. Okay, listen. Emma Soto had no reason at all to bow out in a hurry. She was in line for a possible bonus for her work during the last crisis with the complaint from the Chinese delegation to the Asian Conference . . .she had plans, gentlemen, plans, which I guarantee you did not include suicide!” Isaac stopped pacing and put his fists on his hips as he faced the men he had to convince of his theory. “It was just too fast, too easy, to assume this was a suicide. We are all guilty, not just the M.E. I want this glass…” he reached into his briefcase and removed a plastic bag, tied closed, in which was suspended the empty water glass found near Emma Soto’
s body.
“
No, I
insist
this glass be tested for microscopic residue of some kind of deadly poison that is tasteless, colorless, and as potent and fatal as sarin or arsenic! And I have no doubt whatsoever there
will
be traces of whatever was used to kill Emma Soto. . .”
All three men stared at the glass inside the clear plastic bag as Isaac placed it carefully on the desk in front of the M.E. No one said a word for nearly a full minute.

“Young man, if you are correct, we are headed for a law suit, no doubt about it. . .” Dr. Everett Mason had a sparkling line of perspiration glinting from his forehead and his upper lip. “If you will sign this possible evidence over to me, I’ll get a tech started on this immediately. . .” He stood up and pulled a pad of forms out of the middle drawer of the desk, then filled out the time and date on the top sheet and held it out to Isaac. “Sign and date this and I’ll take it back to the lab myself. . .”

Isaac signed the form and holding the plastic bag by the top edges above the closing knot, handed it to the M.E. who grabbed it and left the small office as if he were going to put out a fire, which perhaps he was.

“All right, you’ve made your point, now sit down and wait. . .nothing more can be done until we know something. . .” Foxhound’s tone wasn’t as accusative as it had been.

Isaac collapsed into the nearest chair and leaned forward his elbows on his knees. He massaged his eyes with his fingers then looked at his superior.
“
I
’m ashamed I didn’t think of this sooner but it never entered my mind. . .just goes to show you, we can’t ever be too thorough or let ourselves get too damned cocky. . .”

“You are correct about that! Now tell me what you think might be a possibility. . .I have no doubt you have a convincing scenario in that head of yours. . .”

Isaac looked at his boss a few minutes as if to discern whether or not he was sincere or was still looking for ways to discredit his abrupt, headstrong manner of investigating.
He cleared his throat and began speaking. “Um, yessir, I do have sort of an idea. . .no proof, you understand but just an idea. . .He swallowed and took a deep breath before continuing. “
I
’m sure you are aware Secretary Soto was on the committee to strengthen South Korea’s position in the Asian Conference. . .members of her family still live there and the North Koreans have hated the Soto family and all their close relatives for years. Remember when she visited there four or five years ago and was incommunicado for . . .what?. . .four-five days?”

Foxhound nodded in agreement, leaning forward slightly, as if to hear better.
“Yes, that was when she admitted she had been under the radar visiting a terminally ill cousin, the daughter of her deceased brother. . .in a village outside of Pyongyang…”

“You are correct, sir. But we never asked for proof that her destination was, in fact, Pyongyang, did we?”

“And just what are you implying?”

“ Not implying, sir. Stating a fact. Yes, she went to Pyongyang but then took a night flight on Air Koryo north to Vladivostok with a quick overnight to Moscow then a hop to Tianjin and Beijing then back to Pyongyang for another quiet day and evening and then back to the states the next day. Her official itinerary initialed by herself before and after as well as by her adjutant and secretarial assistant who accompanied her, verifies all of the destinations with the exception of those in North Korea, Russia and China. Red China. Don’t forget, she was one of very few with an up-to-date knowledge of lots of Top Secret information such as where every rocket silo was located, where the other ammunition stores were hidden, how to access the below-ground bunker in Colorado where the indispensable government personnel would be hidden in the event of an attack, and what the oral command was to initial the launching of the final flight of the squadron carrying ten atomic bombs. She also knew where these bombers were hangared and how long it would take them to be airborne. She was scrupulously careful with a story of an unexpected storm over the mountains blowing her flight over North Korea off course and causing their electrical system aboard the plane to be inoperative. Which was a lot of bull shit. . .if you’
ll excuse me, sir.
”

Foxhound nodded in assent; his cigarette had gone out between his fingers, but he didn
’t seem to notice. He motioned for Isaac to continue.

“Yes, sir, thank you, sir. It was during this ‘
short honeymoon
’ our Defense Secretary crammed for a final exam, so to speak. The Russian and Chinese highest-ranking linguists and foreign information specialists were waiting for her with concentrated computer files of questions for her to answer in code, immediately or later if she could memorize the material, and her heavy infusion of knowledge in both Russian, Chinese, and Korean stood her in good stead. She was the only high-ranking American with fluency in all three languages plus English and who also had a working knowledge of sensitive information including the maximum distance our striking power could reach. In return , they promised her the world’s best cancer specialists to care for her niece beginning immediately, plus a huge monetary bonus deposited into an off-shores account under an assumed name only she would know. They let her accompany her bed-ridden niece along with her adjutant and secretary and two male nurses trained in the latest cancer therapies to go along and she and this cortege were escorted by plainclothesmen and two uniformed policemen - North Koreans - to the research hospital in Vladivostok. Once her niece was ensconced in a private suite, our gullible Defense Secretary was whisked away on the rest of the scheduled journey, deliberately and elaborately staged to distract her from her niece who was mercifully and immediately killed with the same undetectable poison that recently killed Emma Soto herself. She had begun to grow suspicious and her niece still hadn’t returned her calls, so she had decided she had been duped and was planning on telling us about the whole thing, trying to make amends and salvage as much as she could of her reputation. But, as you have guessed by this time, they couldn’t afford to trust her anymore, so they eliminated her as well. I suspect the poison used was similar to the nerve gas, sarin, or to arsenic, which is tasteless and colorless and only 2/10s of a milligram, administered in water, is enough to be deadly in a matter of minutes. I’m sure Dr. Mason will find what I suspect was the culprit. . .”