Free Capital Crimes by Stuart Woods Page B

they’re talking to newspeople and to take care not to alarm them. Just see if any of them called in sick today.”
    Helen came back into his office. “Have we got another victim?”
    “I don’t know,” he replied, “but, given the circumstances, I hope not.”
     
    KINNEY REMAINED at his desk, waiting to hear from his pathologist. The call came shortly after seven o’clock.
    “You want a summary, or all the details?” the doctor asked.
    “Let’s start with a summary.”
    “We conducted a full-blown antibiological field autopsy, complete with all the gear—sealed suits, the works. None of Brennan’s blood work or tissue samples revealed any pathogen, biological or chemical. Everything came back normal. None of the people who came into contact with Brennan at the hospital have exhibited any symptoms of infection.”
    “Cause of death?”
    “Complete collapse of the cardiopulmonary system, with no apparent underlying cause.”
    “Jesus.”
    “Exactly. I’m bringing blood and tissue samples back to D.C. with me, and I’ll run further tests and issue a report in a day or two.”
    “Did you find any sign of external injury?”
    “He had a shaving cut, apparently inflicted yesterday sometime, and there was a small puncture mark on the left calf muscle, just below the knee. I examined his trousers at that location and found a tiny trace of xylocaine present.”
    “That’s a local anesthetic, isn’t it? The sort of thing you get at the dentist’s?”
    “Or in the emergency room, if you’re, say, getting a cut stitched. You want my best guess?”
    “Please.”
    “By some unknown means he was injected with a fluid containing an unknown pathogen and xylocaine. The anesthetic would relieve any pain from the puncture almost immediately, so Brennan would get over it quickly. I think the pathogen was chemical, rather than biological.”
    “So he was poisoned?”
    “That’s what it amounts to, but so far, there is absolutely no trace of the poison, not even on the clothing where I found the xylocaine. And that is very disturbing.”
    “An unanalyzable poison?”
    “Yes. Such things do exist. A poison can be made by combining two common household cleaning agents in the right proportions. When ingested, it causes death within twenty-four hours, and it cannot be analyzed. Also, if some stranger injected the poison, it would have to have been done very quickly, so as not to arouse Brennan’s suspicions, so the amount would have to have been very small, certainly much less than a cubic centimeter.”
    “There was a case like this in London back in the seventies, I think. A man was stabbed with a poisoned umbrella tip on the street.”
    “I’m familiar with that case, but Brennan died much more quickly than that victim, who, to the best of my recollection, took three days to expire.”
    “So he was killed by an injection of a tiny amount of an unanalyzable poison.”
    “That’s my initial and unofficial diagnosis,” the doctor replied. “And I need hardly point out that, if my diagnosis can be confirmed, we’re likely looking at the involvement of a foreign intelligence service. The London killing was traced to the Romanian or the Bulgarian service, I believe. Cold War stuff.”
    “Get back to me as soon as you’ve confirmed something,” Kinney said. “And thanks for calling.” He hung up.
    Helen came into the office. “So?”
    “We’ve got another victim, and this is getting very, very strange.”
     
     
    18
    KINNEY WAS ABOUT TO LEAVE his apartment when his cell phone rang. “Yes?”
    “This is the director’s secretary, Mr. Kinney,” she said. “The director got your memo this morning about the Brennan death, and he would like you to accompany him to the White House this morning for the president’s intelligence briefing.”
    “All right.”
    “The director’s car will pick you up in fifteen minutes.”
    “Please tell the director that I’ll drive my own car and meet him there, if