Set Up With The Agent. Lori Harris L.

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      Unfortunately he couldn’t do either of those things. He had a meeting in Boston in the morning, and in the meantime he had a job to do.

      The kitchen light went on and then there was an extended stretch of silence where he was left to wonder what she was doing.

      After several minutes, he finally took half a step toward the kitchen. “Can I help?”

      “No,” she answered in a voice that was an octave higher than usual. “That’s okay. I’ve got it.”

      “How long have you lived here?”

      “Three years,” she said over the soft thump of a cabinet door closing. “I bought it as soon as I was assigned to the Baltimore office.”

      Hearing the kitchen faucet run and figuring that she’d be busy for a few minutes more at least, he stepped across the foyer and into the darkened home office. At one time the space would have been a formal dining room. Like the living room, the furnishings were also contemporary. He took off the khaki-colored trench coat and folded it over the back of the desk chair, before turning his attention to the wall of family photos.

      She was the only daughter of a diplomat. Geoffrey Benedict had done stints in both France and Turkey, which accounted for Beth’s proficiency in Turkish and French. And for the numerous black-and-white photos with European and Middle-Eastern backgrounds.

      Though she held a degree in accounting, he suspected the FBI had been more impressed with her language skills. Since becoming a government employee, she’d added Farsi and Spanish to the list. And with the global environment out there now, that ability would only become more important as time went on.

      So why was Bill Monroe so determined to terminate her? Was she really the loose gun her personnel file suggested? Unwilling to follow orders? Unable to function as part of a team? That wasn’t the recruit Mark remembered.

      He’d first noticed her in his class because, even at twenty-three, she’d been a standout. Not only physically but also intellectually. Her questions had demonstrated an awareness of world views that most of the other recruits had yet to recognize. She had intrigued him then. And she intrigued him now. Perhaps more than was wise.

      Suddenly the overhead light went on. “Make yourself at home.”

      Glancing over his shoulder, he didn’t miss the slight rebuff. Or that she’d taken off the coat and scarf, but didn’t appear to have checked the head wound. If she had, she would have wiped away the dried blood on the side of her neck. She had dark-gray eyes and nearly black hair that was on the short side. And if anything, she was more attractive than she’d been three years ago.

      “Coffee will be a few minutes,” she offered as she took an additional step into the room. “Maybe while we’re waiting on it, you could tell me what this is about. Why you went to see Rheaume? And why you came to see me?”

      He turned and faced her. “What I’m about to say can’t leave this room.” He held her gaze. “You understand?”

      “Okay.” She crossed to the desk chair and sat, looking up at him, her hands resting palm up in her lap. She wanted to look at ease, but he sensed she wasn’t.

      Maybe he was making a mistake here. Several members of the task force, men he trusted, had questioned the advisability of approaching Beth Benedict. But given the situation, he didn’t feel he could ignore any lead.

      “Nearly four months ago, despite tight security, a canister of MX141 was taken by Harvey Thesing, a chemist who had been instrumental in its development. He not only managed to circumvent the stringent safeguards that were in place, he was also able to conceal the theft for several days.”

      “And what exactly is MX141?”

      “The next generation chemical weapon. So deadly that exposure to the vaporized form kills in less than a minute. With other types of exposure, either to the skin or ingestion, you’re looking at five minutes tops.”

      He grabbed the remaining chair. It didn’t surprise him that she didn’t know anything about MX141. Currently, because there was a very real concern of a full-scale panic should the public learn about the theft, only key members of the administration, the defense department and Mark’s unit knew anything about it.

      “By the time the theft was noticed, Thesing was dead and the container was missing. The assumption at the time was that the weapon had changed hands, and Thesing’s buyer had decided it was cheaper to pay with a bullet than with cash.”

      “I’m assuming his bank account supported the theory.”

      He nodded. “No unusual activity.”

      She shifted her hands in her lap, the motion drawing his gaze down. She’d removed her damaged stockings. Her legs were now bare, her skin pale and smooth and…

      “Any theory on who the buyer was?”

      “No. We’ve been looking at a number of groups, both foreign and domestic. Thesing had recently aligned himself with environmental causes.”

      “And that was four months ago?” Beth clarified, obviously trying to figure out the connection between what he was telling her and Rabbit Rheaume and even herself. And also possibly recognizing that for months now the terrorism alert level had remained in the elevated level, when, given the situation, it should have been much higher.

      Mark straightened. “We’ve been chasing leads with little progress. Recently, because continued Intel hasn’t picked up any mention of the theft or the weapon, we had started to theorize that Thesing may have had second thoughts and either destroyed the MX141 or possibly hidden it somewhere. That his death had been a result of his refusal to turn it over to the buyer.”

      Leaning forward, he propped his elbows on his knees and met her gaze. “And then just this morning I received a call from Rabbit Rheaume’s attorney. Rheaume claimed to have been approached in early July by a man looking to sell MX141. In exchange for the prosecution dropping a number of charges, Rheaume would give us his identity.”

      Her shoulders dropped slightly. “And now Rabbit is dead?” As if she’d noticed his previous interest in her legs, she tugged at the hem of the navy-blue skirt, tucking one ankle in even more tightly behind the other.

      It was a prim-and-proper pose that he suspected she’d perfected during the years when she’d acted as her father’s unofficial hostess following her mother’s death.

      “And you don’t really think it’s a coincidence. You think whoever has the chemical weapon knew Rheaume was about to give him up?”

      “The timing and the way it went down certainly leaves open the possibility.”

      Her eyes narrowed. “How did it happen?”

      “An inmate using a shiv got Rabbit in the jugular. He was dead before prison guards could get to him.”

      “And the inmate? Did you question him?”

      “Didn’t get the chance. A guard shot him.” Mark clasped his hands in front of him. “Right now we’re interviewing any recent visitors the inmate had, but there’s only a few and none of them look promising.”

      Her СКАЧАТЬ