Lethal Exposure (25 page)

CHAPTER 41

Friday, 5:32 PM

Fox River Medical Center

In Dumenco’s room, the silence of death felt like a heavy shroud. His family members stood around the bed, stunned and quietly grieving.

Paige felt out of place as she looked at the destroyed man. Yet, she realized that death had come as a relief to him. Through a sheen of tears, she saw the polished stone chess set Craig had given him, the icons and crosses and framed Ukrainian cathedrals Trish had retrieved from his apartment.

She had not felt so confused, or devastated, since her father had died, nearly four years ago. The anger and frustration from feeling helpless—and, now, knowing what Nels Piter had done to Dumenco—nearly overwhelmed her. She’d thought she would have been able to handle Dumenco’s death better with his family here—but she was wrong.

Kathryn and Alyx stood close with their mother, holding each other, relieved to have visited their lost father one last time. Young Peter, barely a teenager, looked the most stricken of all those by the bedside. “But I haven’t finished telling you, Father,” he said. “I had so much more to say. We didn’t even thank you for bringing us here to America. . . . “

Ashen-faced, Trish turned away from the scientist’s body and picked up her clipboards, jotting down notes, filling out the death certificate, trying anything to avoid concentrating on what had just happened. “It was so senseless,” she muttered. “Another one for the books, for the database. But we still don’t know how to do anything about such radiation exposures.”

Nels Piter looked awkward at the edge of the doorway, and Paige didn’t know what to do, how to deal with him. He had just confessed to causing the accident that had resulted in Dumenco’s lethal exposure. Murder. Should she call hospital security? She didn’t think the Belgian scientist was a particular risk for wild flight—he had admitted what he’d done, after all. She could wait for Craig, she supposed.

No one paid attention to Piter, no one even seemed to notice him. At the doorway he crumpled up the telegram into a hard little ball and threw it into the wastebasket before he stumbled out into the hall.

Paige followed hesitantly, though she could see he didn’t want to talk to anyone. He shuffled aimlessly down the hall with his head low, his shoulders slumped. This wasn’t the self-confident man she had known for nearly a year, the handsome, sometimes abrasive, always quick-witted professor. A Nobel nominee.

This man looked defeated. A far cry for someone just achieving his lifelong dream.

Paige stopped to retrieve the paper, snatching it out of the trash, thinking it might be an important souvenir. But as she unfolded it and straightened the wrinkles, she glanced down at the text, reading the words there with widening eyes.

The elevator doors by the nurse’s station opened. Craig and Jackson tumbled out, headed directly for Dumenco’s room. Paige wondered as an afterthought if they had recovered the antimatter—but it all seemed insignificant now with Dumenco’s death.

Craig ran past Piter, his chestnut hair flying and his tie flipped over his shoulder. He skidded to a stop on the hospital’s old linoleum floor; Jackson pulled up beside him.

“We captured Nicholas Bretti,” Craig said. “He’s the one who shot Ben Goldfarb and stole the antimatter. It should only be a matter of time before he confesses to having killed Dumenco.” Then he recognized the Belgian’s stricken expression and looked up to see Paige also standing there stunned. “Are we too late—?” Craig hurried into the Ukrainian’s room.

Jackson remained in the hall, silent for a moment, then he turned back for the elevators. He opened and closed a sinewy fist, as if still trying to massage tension out of his muscles. “I’ll go check on Ben.”

Paige held up the telegram as Piter sat down dully in one of the visitor’s chairs. “Nels—you did it.”

The physicist didn’t respond. He looked down at the floor as if she was flouting the accusation. But she meant the telegram, not the lethal exposure.

“Nels, you let Dumenco think he had won. This telegram from the Stockholm committee congratulates
you
for winning the Nobel Prize. You’re a Nobel laureate, not Dumenco. You did that for him.” She felt exhausted, drained. “You let Dumenco die thinking it was him, validating all the black program work he had done for the former Soviet Union.”

Piter looked up, stung. His eyes were red, his face drawn in long lines. “I always thought that winning the Nobel Prize would mean everything to me,” he shook his head. “But instead it means nothing.”

Paige frowned. “You gave a dying man his final wish. He died peacefully because of you—”

“He
died
because of me!” Piter wavered, then seemed to wither. “My research was
shit
. I tried to push the envelope farther than anyone else, and instead I built a crystal-lattice trap that had been invented years before, in a country that was falling apart!” Piter was almost sobbing.

Craig came back out of the hospital room, looking devastated and angry. “I should have shot Bretti when I had the excuse,” he said bitterly. “He never even came to see all the grief he caused.”

Paige stood next to Piter, who sat helplessly in a chair. “It wasn’t Bretti,” she said, looking at the lethargic Belgian, knowing he wasn’t up to repeating his confession. She explained everything Piter had said, while Craig listened in amazement.

Piter looked down at the floor and spoke in a whisper. “Who in his right mind would ever have thought it was possible to generate billions of times more p-bars than had ever been produced before? As long as it only needed to hold small amounts of antimatter, my crystal-lattice trap worked perfectly. But as soon as a threshold was reached, it became unstable. Dumenco knew about it all along.
I
should have discovered that flaw, but I was too blind, too confident—and now my life’s work was for naught.”

Craig stood tall, intimidating. He started to withdraw his handcuffs, prepared to make an arrest.

But Piter hadn’t finished talking. He looked up, and his voice took on a desperate edge. “It wasn’t my fault Dumenco was in the area! I didn’t know he was in there. He knew the beam dump was off-limits, but the new construction allowed people to circumvent the safety interlocks. He wanted to check out his detectors personally, because he
knew
the data were wrong. He knew he should have detected more p-bars.”

“Because Bretti stole them,” Craig said.

Shaking his head, Piter drew in a deep breath. “Dumenco knew a lot more than any of us.”

Craig said, “I’m going to have to arrest you, Dr. Piter.”

“I was only trying to delay his results until the Nobel committee made the selection. If Dumenco couldn’t show results that verified his underlying theories, the committee would choose me.” He looked down at the floor and whispered, “The greatest day of my life. And it doesn’t mean a thing.”

Paige looked at Craig, and crossed her arms over her blouse. She was struck by the difference in the two men. Unlike Nels Piter, Craig was strong under pressure, silent, thoughtful, unassuming . . . yet extremely confident in his abilities.

The year that they had spent apart had validated her impressions of him, and now seeing Craig come through this stressful week unwavering only made her more certain of his character.

And her growing feelings for him.

She placed a hand on Craig’s shoulder. “Try to keep his arrest quiet until the Stockholm committee can be informed. If word leaks out that he’s won the Nobel, reporters are going to swarm over him like flies.”

Craig nodded, looking at her with an unreadable expression. “Okay, Paige. If that’ll help you out.”

Then he led the handcuffed Nobel laureate toward the side door.

CHAPTER 42

Friday, 5:47 PM

Fox River Medical Center

Craig stood by the hospital room door, waiting as Dumenco’s family paid their last respects. A single light on the dresser cast moody shadows throughout the room as the sun set over the oak-shaded Fox River. The medical equipment and diagnostics had been shut down, and for the first time since Craig had been there, the room seemed peaceful.

Dumenco’s wife Luba sat by her dead husband, gently stroking his hand. She moved her lips close to his head, silently whispering a prayer. His two daughters stood by the window, quietly comforting each other. Peter stared vacantly at his father, as if he could not fathom that the man was dead.

Craig waited patiently, not wanting to disturb the family in their grief. He would have time later to try and understand the remaining loose ends. He could see why Paige had avoided spending more time in the hospital room, not because she didn’t like Trish—he’d seen Paige take care of herself—but because of the memory of her own father’s death.

Now, though, with Bretti’s capture, Dumenco’s death, and Piter’s confession, things could finally return to normal for Fermilab.

Craig missed spending time with Paige, and it hadn’t struck him until now how much he really missed her. . . . This was the third major case they had worked together, and each time he discovered more about the intelligent, exuberant Protocol officer. And he wondered how she viewed him.

Earlier, after he had taken Nels Piter into custody, she met him in the hospital lobby and ran a hand through her blond hair. “You’ve been through a lot today.”

“So have you.” He paused.

Paige gave a small smile. “I’m fine.” She hesitated. “How’s . . . how’s Trish?”

He smiled wryly and placed an uncertain hand on her shoulder. “I need to have a talk with her. In fact, I should have done this when I first got here.” Rubbing his hand down her arm, he turned to go, heading back to the Intensive Care ward. That had been an hour earlier.

Now, a movement in the dark corner of Dumenco’s room caught his eye. Trish. A glint of light reflected off her wide glasses. She stood with her arms folded across her breasts, intently watching the family’s reactions, as if she were comparing them against some set standard.

Trish slowly looked his way. Her face lacked expression. She stared at him for a moment, and he gestured with his chin to the door. He followed her out into the hall. Trish lounged back against the wall, her head tilted up and her eyes closed. “It’s always hard when someone dies,” she said.

“You look like you took it pretty well.”

“I have to. It’s the nature of the game.”

“You always could be detached.” Craig braced himself.

Trish glanced sideways at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Craig chose his words carefully. “When you first called, asking me to come out here, I thought you might have a deeper interest in this than you said. But now your reaction is so clinical. Judging from the passion you put into some of your PR-Cubed opinion pieces, I thought you’d be railing up and down the halls.”

An orderly walked past the elevators; nurse’s voices came from around the corner.

“Strictly professional,” she said. “I see now that a lot of the PR-Cubed soapboxing was just . . . words, nothing more.”

“How so?” Craig asked. “What made it change for you?”

Trish spoke in a small voice. “It’s so hard, day after day, seeing people die. I do everything I can for them, work myself ragged. I use every known technology trying to save someone, and then they die for no apparent reason. You have to keep it all inside—aloof, not get involved. Otherwise you’d be racked with grief. I
have
to be detached, damn it. Don’t fault me for it.”

Craig set his mouth as the words struck home. His own career was much the same, seeing people die, many of them innocent victims of circumstance. If he were to get personally involved, he’d never be able to do his job. “I do understand,” he whispered.

“I doubt it.” Trish setting her mouth in a firm line, dismissing him.

Craig remained quiet, unwilling to fight about it. He’d already had that experience too many times with her. Instead, he leaned over and put an arm awkwardly around her. “But it wasn’t your fault. And we never would have caught Bretti—or Dr. Piter for that matter—unless you chose to get involved and called me.” He hesitated. “You’ve always been involved. I realize that now. It’s your way, and you won’t ever change—not for Dumenco . . . and not for me.”

He drew her close, and for the first time in years smelled her hair. He felt Trish nestle into his arms, and he held her tight .

But he felt nothing for her except pity; pity that she had chosen to excel in a field where she would always feel the pain of other people, no matter how far she tried to distance herself from it.

CHAPTER 43

Friday, 9:38 PM

Fox River Medical Center

Craig stood by Julene Goldfarb’s side, a hand on her shoulder as they looked down at her husband’s hospital bed. Paige waited directly behind him, and Jackson knelt with one knee on the floor in front of the bed—the tall, lanky black agent looked very uncomfortable in the awkward position. Ben Goldfarb’s two girls fidgeted on chairs at the other side of the room, doing their absolute best to be good and stay quiet. Outside, a powdery snow whipped against the windows.

Craig felt a flash of
deja vu
—four hours ago he had stood with another family, two floors away, as they grieved over Georg Dumenco’s death. Luckily, this situation wasn’t nearly so tragic.

Craig watched his short, curly-haired partner wince as he tried to roll over on his side. Hanging from supports above the bed, two intravenous tubes ran into his arm, while others disappeared under the sheets. The numerous tubes and diagnostics made Goldfarb look like a mannequin supported by thick strings.

Jackson stood up, helped position his partner, then stuffed a pillow behind him to support Goldfarb while lying on his side.

“Thanks,” whispered Goldfarb. “I feel like one of those lab rats.”

“I’m not sure the doctors want you to be off your back, Ben,” said Julene.

Goldfarb snorted, then started coughing as it tickled his throat. “Everybody wants me off their back.”

“Sounds like he’s in pretty good shape to me. “ As Paige leaned over to Craig, he caught a hint of White Shoulders perfume; he felt strangely giddy with her face so close to his.

Jackson turned to the dresser and picked up a paper Starbuck’s cup covered with a white plastic lid. “Brought you something, big guy.” Removing the lid, he waved the cup under Goldfarb’s nose. “Bet you hadn’t tasted this for a while.”

Goldfarb’s eyes lit up. “That coffee smells heavenly. Bring it over here!”

“Randall Jackson!” Julene leaned over to pluck the coffee cup away. “You know he’s not supposed to have any caffeine.”

“I was just going to let him smell it, ma’am,” protested Jackson, taking the cup back with a swift movement. “Let him inhale.”

“Starbucks is potent enough to have a jolt just in the fumes,” Goldfarb said wistfully.

“Mom! Mr. Jackson’s spilling on me!” Goldfarb’s oldest girl pushed back in her chair as Jackson swung the hot cup of coffee over her. Jackson put a hand under the cup to keep the liquid from sloshing out.

Craig started to laugh when his pager beeped. Digging it out of his suit jacket, he checked the number. June Atwood, calling to check in.

Craig dialed the number from Goldfarb’s bedside phone. June sounded anxious and curious. “I got your summary of the events regarding the incidents at Fermilab—but you didn’t tell me how Ben is doing!”

Craig smiled at the clear concern behind her stern voice. “I told you it was an incomplete report, June.” He glanced at the commotion in the room. Jackson alternated between sweeping the coffee under Ben’s nose and keeping it at bay from Julene. Julene resorted to folding her arms and staring coldly at him. . . .

“I think Ben’s made it over the hump. Remember how much he moaned about breaking his pinky finger in Nevada—he’ll probably milk this for a promotion, or at least a bonus.”

“He’s lucid?” asked June. “Is anything the matter? I can hear some sort of commotion in the background.”

Craig smiled. “Uh, it’s nothing. Just a difference in opinion on post-traumatic recovery procedures. He’ll be fine. Another few days and he’ll be able to fly home.”

“I really should have come out myself.” June sounded guilty.

“Jackson coordinated everything at the hospital. And you wouldn’t have been able to do anything out here—Jackson wouldn’t have let you. They’re quite a team.”

“You
all
are. Including that Ms. Mitchell. I’m looking forward to meeting her.”

Uh, oh
, thought Craig. “Uh, I doubt you’ll have a chance to do that, June,” he said. “She’s working out here in Fermilab.”

Paige looked at him curiously. Craig just shrugged.

“For the time being,” said June dryly. “But we’ll see about that.”

Now Craig was really confused. “What do you mean?”

June sighed. “I don’t know how you two manage to do it, but the breakthroughs you and Paige Mitchell have made on the last few cases—even though you’ve been thrown together by circumstances rather than any conscious design—have gained attention as a model for interagency cooperation. Both the Attorney General and the Department of Energy have already spotted an opportunity.”

“An opportunity? What are you talking about?” His boss must have been working on this behind the scenes for a long time, completely without his knowledge.

“An opportunity to quickly solve high-tech crimes, just like the ones you’ve been working on with Ms. Mitchell. We feel that such a cross-disciplinary government team will not only get the job done because of your joint experience base, but it also costs less money than creating a separate agency. In short, you and Mitchell working together—with assistance from special agents such as Jackson and Goldfarb—is a good idea.”

Craig raised an eyebrow at Paige, who stood with her arms crossed looking at him. She tilted her head quizzically; Craig held up a finger as June continued.

“And that brings me to this call. The Director is appointing you as the Bureau representative to an interagency mobile technical investigative task force, effective today.”

“What does that mean?” asked Craig. Earlier, he had received the Shield of Bravery, had been promoted to Relief Supervisor for Squad 22—high tech investigations—and had solved several major cases. Maybe he had attracted
too
much attention to himself.

“From now on, you are on-call for these types of highly technical investigations, like the ones you cracked at Livermore, the Nevada Test Site, and now at Fermilab. You’ll head up a small interagency group that has the authority to pull in additional experts, as needed. They’re going to be more common, and more difficult to solve.”

Craig blinked. The assignment was so unusual he didn’t know if he should be happy or wary. It sounded interesting, but there were other considerations, like Paige.

He snapped his attention back to the phone as June Atwood continued. “—you’ll still be based out of the Oakland office, with your own case load, and Jackson and Goldfarb will be part of your support team. But any time you get the call, this task force takes precedence over your other duties. We’ll discuss details later, but you’ll start as soon as you get back.”

“This sounds great, June,” said Craig. “But what does Paige have to do with this?” She hovered beside him, anxious to know what the conversation was about.

“The Department of Energy representative is going to be Ms. Mitchell, if she agrees, of course. The Secretary of Energy will detail her with an IPA assignment to the FBI—Intergovernmental Personnel Act, good for up to four years, effective immediately. With your track record, you two will continue to work together in the future.”

The news made Craig feel both warm and uneasy at the same time. It was great knowing they’d be investigative partners, and this time in a planned, official capacity instead of letting chance throw them together. But then again, he wasn’t sure if they would have a chance to develop a real, personal relationship; working together on a professional basis might put a damper on that.

Or perhaps the opposite would happen.

Craig nodded into the phone. “I’ll head back to San Francisco tomorrow, then. I think Agent Schultz at the Chicago office can do—”

“No,” said June immediately. “We don’t need you back here until Wednesday, so take some time off—maybe you and Ms. Mitchell can coordinate your long-range plans. You’ve got to talk her into this position, after all.”

“I think I can handle that,” said Craig, glancing at Paige.

“And one more thing. A representative from the State Department will escort you to the Indian consulate tomorrow afternoon. India is making a formal apology for Mr. Chandrawalia’s behavior and wants to officially distance themselves from his radical ‘Liberty-for-All Party.’ They’re taking the unprecedented step of waiving Chandrawalia’s diplomatic immunity, and they intend to cut off the clandestine weapons work going on in Bangalore, so they’re pulling out all the stops for you. They’re even bringing out a Dr. Punjab, director of the Sikander Lodi Research Institute, to testify that Bretti was involved in smuggling p-bars into India for weapons research.

“And since you were the arresting agent, their Ambassador is flying from D.C. to Chicago tomorrow to give his personal thanks.” June paused and added dryly. “I don’t know how you do it, Craig, but between the Russians and the Indians, you’re making quite the splash internationally. Just be on your best behavior.”

Craig grinned. “Right. You’ll get a full report next week.”

Hanging up the phone, he glanced up at Paige, who looked entirely curious, impatient, but hopeful. He gestured for her to join him out in the hall. As an orderly shuffled by, and an intercom announcement rang from the ceiling, he ran a hand through his hair.

Paige crossed her arms, waiting for him. “Well?”

Craig drew a deep breath. “Got any plans for the next few years?” Then he explained June’s offer.

She stepped close, so that her blue, blue eyes were within inches of his face. He could feel her breath lightly on him. She swept strands of her blond hair over her shoulder. As she was bringing back her hand, Paige rested it lightly on his lapel. “I always thought we should be working together,” she said, finally breaking the silence. “Who says the government can’t do things right?”

“Given enough time,” Craig said.

“I saw you saying goodbye to Trish,” she said, fishing. “It looked permanent.”

“It was something I had to do.” Craig’s eyes focused on the elevators down the hall. “She was an important part of my life, but that’s over now. It’s time to move on.”

Paige pressed her lips together, nodding. “You know, I think I feel the same way about Fermilab. After what happened last year with Uncle Mike, I couldn’t bear to go back to Livermore—there were just too many memories for me to deal with. But after living here in the Midwest for a year, and now after all this with Nels and Dumenco and Bretti, I think I’m ready to go back.” She ran a hand through her hair and smiled. “But as teammates with you this time.”

Craig nodded and tried to keep his broad grin from making him look like an idiot. “The Bureau is big on partners. June wants me to stick around here for a couple of days to relax before I head back—maybe we can talk about a few . . . details? We’re going to be plowing new ground, setting a standard for interagency teams.”

Paige looked up at him with her blue, blue eyes. She put a hand on his lapel. “Then maybe we should try to set a new way partners work with each other—starting this weekend. What do you think? You’ve got a lot to see around Chicago, and this may be my last chance to do some of the important sights. They don’t dress up as much in the west, either.”

Craig flushed, then laughed at his own embarrassment. He thought he was
really
going to enjoy this new assignment . . . no matter how things turned out. “Yes, ma’am, whatever you say. And speaking of dressing up, got any plans for tomorrow afternoon? There’s an Embassy function I’d like you to attend. You might find it interesting.”

Paige’s eyes grew wide. “Sounds exciting, Special Agent Kreident,” she murmured. “I’ve never been in an Embassy before. You must be an important man.”

Craig shrugged, more to shake off the giddiness he felt from her presence than anything else. “It’s not that big of a deal. I’ll fill you in on the details on the way over tomorrow afternoon.”

Paige looked up with her blue eyes. Her voice was so soft Craig had to strain to hear the words. “If you’re not busy, why don’t we start tonight?”