by David Archer
“A small amount is applied directly to the skin. There’s been speculation that it might be through the use of a common cotton swab, but there’s no evidence to support that theory just yet.”
“It can’t be that,” Angeline said. “There would be traces of cotton fibers on the bodies, swabs always leave them. Someone should’ve thought of that already.”
Albert turned to her. “That’s good,” he said. “Would you care to speculate on a more feasible method of delivery?”
Angeline narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips. “Any substance that can absorb through skin might contain molecules small enough to migrate through latex, but my first supposition would be some sort of rubber glove. If the substance is on a fingertip, all the perpetrator would have to do is touch them gently. This wouldn’t be your average surgical glove, but something denser, more impervious to penetration. That would make sense, since many chemists use such gloves.”
“She’s right about that,” Liam said. “My sister is a chemist at Wimbledon Pharmaceuticals, and she’s mentioned that they have to use special rubber gloves to avoid being exposed to the drugs they work with.”
Albert nodded. “All right, that’s a lead. We need to look at chemists, which makes sense because we’re dealing with some sort of new chemical. Any other thoughts?”
“Where have the bodies been found?” Charles asked. “That might give us some idea of where our perpetrator lives or works.”
“They’ve been scattered about. Croydon, Harrow, Battersea Park, Hempstead Heath and Northumberland Park. The first one in Croydon was a young woman, found two days ago. Our killer has infected at least nine people directly over the past three days. Catherine Potts and I agree that this is some sort of testing stage, that the real plan is likely to involve large numbers of victims all at once.”
“Oh, good heavens,” Angeline said. “We can’t let this happen. Properly deployed, this type of substance could kill thousands.”
Albert nodded again, then passed out the copies of the file. “Read through these as quickly as you can,” he said, “but we need to get on this immediately. Use whatever resources you have available, but I want some sort of plan of the investigation by the end of the day. You all have my cell?”
“I don’t,” Angeline said.
He gave it to her quickly, and then told them all to stay in the conference room and brainstorm together. He left the room and went back to his office, sat behind his desk and leaned back in his chair.
Albert usually found it easier to think this way, with his eyes closed. Occasionally he had been accused of sleeping on the job, but his mind was actually racing, chasing down ideas that might help him solve whatever case he was working on at the time.
The occasional snore was only a side effect, related to the deep brain activity.
THREE
While the girls headed off to Oxford Circus in search of fashions, Noah, Marco and Neil had other things in mind. First was a quick stop at an electronics store, where Neil chose an assortment of small video cameras, a computer and a 60 inch high-definition monitor.
“You need all that for a videoconferencing system?” Marco asked.
“Yep. The cameras are so that we can each have one pointed at us, getting us all into the conversation. The computer is because the video stream from Neverland is going to be encrypted, so I’ve got to install the same encryption algorithms on our end. That way, we can see and hear whoever’s on the other end of the line, and they can still see and hear us.”
Marco shrugged. “Whatever you said. As long as you know what you’re talking about, I’m happy.”
Once they had loaded everything into the back of the Land Rover, Noah drove them into the Brixton area. He had been perusing used car sales advertisements and spotted a couple he wanted to check out. The first one, in Brixton, was a 1967 Jensen Interceptor, but it turned out not to be in nearly as good a condition as was advertised.
The seller wouldn’t come down on the price, so Noah got back into the Land Rover and drove away. A short time later, he pulled up at a dealership that specialized in classic automobiles, and walked directly to a bright red two-seater that was sitting out on display.
“What is that?” Neil asked. “Is that a Morgan?”
Noah shook his head. “No. This is a 1986 Panther Kallista. They were designed to resemble the Morgan, but they used Ford running gear. This one has the 2.4 L four cylinder engine that was popular in the Ford Pinto, with the same four speed transmission backing it up.”
A tall man who was obviously a salesman came out of the building with a smile on his face.
“I see you’re interested in the Panther,” he said. “That’s one of the finest specimens I’ve ever seen of the Kallista, with only 6,000 km on the odometer. Would you like to take it for a drive?”
“No,” Noah said. “I was just admiring it. I’m actually more interested in something else you have advertised.”
“Wonderful,” the salesman said. “My name is John Bremmer, and might I ask yours?”
“Travis Lightner,” Noah said. “I understand you have a 1962 Triumph Spitfire hidden away somewhere.”
Bremmer’s smile faltered slightly. “Ah, yes,” he said. “We do have one, but I’m afraid it’s not in nearly as good condition as the Panther.”
Noah shot him a smile. “That’s fine,” he said. “I’m looking for something to restore, and it sounded like it might fit the bill. Can we take a look at it?”
Apparently catching a whiff of money, Bremmer’s smile grew again. “Certainly,” he said. “It’s ’round the back, so if you would care to follow me?”
The three men followed him around the showroom building and past the repair shop into a large area that was surrounded by a tall, solid fence. They had to squeeze past a pair of Ford Cortinas, but then they were looking at the Spitfire.
Introduced in 1962, the Triumph Spitfire was intended to be a competitor for the MG Midget and the Austin Healey Sprite. It was quite successful, despite some problems with the rear axle that caused difficulty steering when the car was driven hard. Slightly modified versions did incredibly well both on the street and in racing, but the original car came with a 1.1 L four-cylinder engine and a four speed transmission.
The car before them had certainly seen better days, but Noah looked it over very carefully. He got down on the ground to check the frame for rust and looked closely at the suspension, opened the doors and inspected the bottoms of the doors and the rocker panels of the car, then raised the hood and looked over the tiny little engine with its twin SU carburetors.
“Will it start?” Noah asked Bremmer.
“It did when we got it here, three weeks ago. In fact, it was driven into the lot. I don’t believe I would wish to drive it very far, of course.”
“What kind of price you have on it?” Noah asked.
Bremmer named a figure, and Noah started looking the car over more thoroughly. He spent another twenty minutes reaching in under the seats and down into the seams around the trunk and fender wells, then finally looked up at Bremmer and nodded.
“I’ll take it,” he said. “Can you arrange to have it delivered out to Feeney Manor, out near Guildford?”
Bremmer’s eyes widened. “Of course,” he said. “Shall we go into my office?”
They went inside the building and completed all the paperwork necessary to transfer ownership to “Travis Lightner.” Bremmer was delighted when Noah produced a platinum card under that name and paid the entire purchase price, plus the taxes and shipping charges, without a quibble.
“And it’s all yours, Mr. Lightner,” Bremmer said as he handed back the card and receipt. “It will take a few hours to get a lorry arranged, but the car should be delivered to you this afternoon.”
“That’ll be perfect,” Noah said, shaking the man’s hand once again. “I’m looking forward to restoring it.”
“I’m sure,” Bremmer said. “Please do bring it by and show it to us when you�
��ve done.”
Noah promised to do so, and then he, Neil and Marco climbed back into the Land Rover. Neil took out his phone and called Jenny to see what the girls were doing, and caught them as they were just beginning to think about lunch.
“You guys wanna meet us somewhere?” Jenny asked. “We’d love that.”
Neil looked at Noah and Marco. “You guys ready for lunch? The girls are getting hungry and want to know if you want to meet up somewhere.”
Both men nodded, and Noah said, “How about a chip shop? Fish and chips sounds good.”
The girls agreed, so they chose one not far from the mall where they were shopping. They still needed to check out of the store they were in, so they would arrive at about the same time as the men.
Noah put the address of the chip shop into his GPS, then followed the directions. It took almost half an hour to get there, but they found that the girls had not yet arrived, so they arranged a table that would be big enough for all of them and ordered soft drinks as they waited.
It was another twenty minutes before the girls arrived, and then they placed their orders. As they ate, Noah told them about the Spitfire and the girls described their shopping adventure.
“The stores are amazing,” Sarah said. “I’m not usually real big on fashion, but some of the new stuff is really awesome.”
“Oh, it is,” Renée said. “Honey, I bought a couple of dresses you are going to love.”
Neil looked at Jenny. “And what did you get?”
“Oh, I didn’t get left out. I found several outfits I like, and I hope you’re going to like them, too. I think you will.”
The smile on her face brought one to Neil’s, as well. “I’m sure I will,” he said.
The shopping excursion wasn’t over, so the girls decided to go to Piccadilly Circus after lunch. Noah and the guys headed back toward Feeney Manor, so that Neil could get started on the videoconferencing system.
For reasons of privacy, Noah decided to put the conference center into one of the extra suites on the second floor. The smallest of them was only a single room, though it was plenty large enough for a number of people to gather if necessary. Neil mounted the monitor on one wall, then began setting up the computer and the cameras. He could connect directly through the house’s Wi-Fi system, since all of the encryption would be handled by the dedicated computer connected to the monitor. With Noah and Marco helping, the whole job was done in less than two hours.
That turned out to be impeccable timing, because the sound of a diesel engine echoed through the house at that moment. The three of them went downstairs and out the front door just in time to see the truck carrying the Spitfire arrive in the circular driveway.
The driver climbed down from the cab. “Would one of ye be Mr. Lightner?” he asked.
Noah nodded. “That’s me,” he said. The driver handed over some paperwork for him to sign, then set the ramps in place so that he could unload the car.
“Mr. Bremmer told his lads to put a battery in the car and get it to start,” the driver said. He climbed up on the trailer and got into the car, then started up the engine and backed it down the ramps. He left it running and smiled as Noah, Marco, Neil and all of Thomas’s sons gathered around the antique sports car.
Little Tom, who happened to be Thomas’ oldest son, wore a huge smile. “Cor, blimey,” he said, “been many a year since I seen one of these! What is it, sixty-five?”
Noah shot him a grin. “Sixty-two. This is the Mark I, and they used to call it the Spitfire 4 because of the little four cylinder engine. Everybody thought they would come out with a six cylinder version, but that didn’t happen for several years.”
Chauncey, the youngest of the brothers, found the hood release and raised the hood. “That’s got four cylinders? Don’t think I’ve ever seen a motor that small, not in a car. Brendan, look, it’s got a smaller motor than the garden tractor.”
Brendan, who was the biggest of the three brothers, leaned over the fender. “I could pick that up with one hand,” he said with a grin. He looked up at Noah. “You gonna rebuild this thing, are you?”
“That’s the idea,” Noah said. “I like to tinker with old cars, and these are supposed to be fun to drive.”
Brendan looked him up and down, then glanced at the driver’s seat. “Bit tight, maybe,” he said. “Don’t think they built it for a bloke the size of you.”
Noah grinned at him. “I’ll be fine,” he said. “It’s not that tight a fit.”
He opened the door and slid behind the wheel, then had to shove the seat as far back as it would go before he could get his feet inside. A quick glance at the gauges showed him that the engine was running surprisingly well, though the oil pressure seemed a little low. He tapped the gas pedal and the engine sputtered, then caught and revved up.
“Definitely needs a tuneup,” he said, raising his voice over the loud exhaust. “I’m going to take it around to the garage.” He pushed in the clutch and put the transmission in gear, then fluttered the gas pedal as he eased the clutch out. The car started moving slowly, then the engine caught again and he let the clutch out all the way. The little tires actually threw a bit of gravel as he followed the driveway around the house to get to the garage, with all five young men jogging along behind.
Chauncey opened the door to the garage, the one that opened onto the service bay. This part of the garage was set up like a mechanic shop, with a lift and other equipment necessary for the maintenance of automobiles. Noah pulled the Spitfire inside, revved the engine one more time, then shut it off. He climbed out of the car by coming over the door, since it wouldn’t open from the inside.
“I don’t know, boss,” Marco said. “That looks like it’s going to be quite a project.”
Noah nodded. “That was exactly the plan,” he said. “Something to do when I just need a break from everything else. I’ve always liked working on old vehicles, and now I can afford to indulge the hobby.”
They all stood around and looked over the car a bit longer, putting it up on the lift to inspect the undercarriage. There was some rust in the floor pans and many holes in the exhaust pipe and muffler, and Noah started making a list of parts he was certain to need. Most of them would be available online, but he knew he might have to search for a few items.
They closed the garage and went back to the house while the three brothers went back to their usual duties. Noah, Neil and Marco settled in the larger sitting room, which had been arranged as a living room, and turned on the big screen television.
The TV had been set to a news station, and the announcer was speaking intently about the poisonings throughout the city of London. Noah leaned forward to listen closely, and the others followed suit.
“… a recent announcement from MI6, which states that these events seem to indicate a forthcoming act of terrorism. Our Megan Johnson spoke today with Albert Lingenfelter, a senior agent with SIS.”
The scene cut to a reporter standing with a tall, older man in front of the SIS building.
“Agent Lingenfelter, can you tell me why the SIS is regarding the recent poisonings as a precursor to terrorism?”
“Yes, Megan,” Albert said. “It’s our opinion that the poisonings that have occurred so far appear to be some sort of testing, as if the perpetrator is simply experimenting with the formula. We believe that a poison so potent is likely to be used against a larger number of people at some point, and that this is almost certainly connected to some sort of international terror threat.”
“And what advice would you give to our citizens?”
“At this point, the best advice I can give to anyone is to avoid any physical contact. This is especially true with strangers, because we believe the poison is being administered with nothing but a simple touch. Also, if you come across someone who appears to be unconscious or dead, do not attempt to resuscitate them yourself. Call the emergency services, because they have the trained professionals who are prepared to deal with the risks imposed by
this substance. Simply touching a person who has been exposed to it could transmit the exposure to yourself.”
The reporter turned toward the camera. “I’ll repeat that, just to be sure. Please, be very careful about any kind of physical contact with strangers, and do not attempt to help someone who seems to be unconscious or deceased. Call the emergency services and keep your distance.”
Marco looked over at Noah. “What the hell? Poisonings? In London?”
“This is the first I’ve heard of it,” Noah said. “Neil?”
Neil hurried out of the room and up the stairs, and the two of them followed him. They went into his suite and found him typing on his computer.
“So far, there have been a total of fourteen victims,” he said as they entered the room. “It’s some sort of unknown poison, and according to the limited data I can find online, it’s extremely fast acting. A couple of paramedics died within fifteen minutes after touching the first victim, while they were riding back to the hospital in an ambulance.”
Noah took out his phone and dialed Sarah immediately. She answered on the second ring.
“Hey, babe,” she said cheerfully.
“Finish whatever you’re doing and get back here,” Noah said. “There’s something going on in London, and it may involve terrorism. I want you and the others here, where it’s safer.”
The cheerfulness vanished. “All right,” she said. “We just checked out, so we’ll be on the way as soon as we get to the car.”
She hung up the phone, and Noah put it back into his pocket. A moment later, both Marco and Neil grabbed their own phones as they began to ring.
FOUR
“Mr. Lingenfelter?” The voice on the phone seemed uncertain, but Albert recognized the nervous girl from the SIS labs. “This is Millie. You asked us to let you know about any developments with the analysis of the unknown substance? Well, there’s been one.”
Albert’s eyes widened suddenly as he leaned forward in his chair. “Yes? What is it?”
