Gideon's Corpse by Douglas Preston Read Free Book Online Page A

soldier—a most unusual combination—having won two Silver Stars and a Purple Heart in action in Desert Storm.
    Dart finished organizing the papers and looked up. “This is a pretty unusual portfolio they’ve given you two.”
    Fordyce nodded.
    “As commander of NEST,” Dart went on, “I’ve already thoroughly briefed the FBI. But I see they want you to have a little extra.”
    Gideon said nothing. He had no intention of taking the lead. That’s what Fordyce was there for: to run interference, take the heat, and, if necessary, present his ass for kicking. Gideon intended to lie low.
    “We’re an independent team,” said Fordyce. “We appreciate you giving us this private briefing, sir.” His voice was mild, nonconfrontational. Here was a man who knew how the game was played.
    Dart’s eyes swiveled to Gideon. “And I’ve been told you’ve been hired by a private contractor whose identity is classified.”
    Gideon nodded.
    “I thought I recognized you. We worked together at Los Alamos. How did you happen to get from there to here?”
    “It’s a long story. I’m on an extended vacation from the lab.”
    “You were on the Stockpile Stewardship Team, as I recollect. Same as Chalker.” This little fact hung in the air. It was hard for Gideon to gauge how much Dart knew or what he thought about it.
    “You were in on the incident,” Dart continued.
    “They brought me in to try to talk him down…but it didn’t work out.” Gideon felt his face flush.
    Dart seemed to sense the awkwardness. He waved his hand. “I’m sorry about that. It must have been tough. They tell me you saved the two kids.”
    Gideon didn’t answer. He felt the flush deepen.
    “All right, moving on.” Dart opened a file and shuffled more papers. Fordyce had his notebook out and ready. Gideon chose to take no notes; he had discovered in graduate school that note taking interfered with his ability to assemble the big picture in his mind.
    Dart spoke rapidly while looking at the papers in front of him. “The autopsy and analysis of the personal effects of Chalker are not finished, but we have preliminary results.”
    Fordyce began scribbling.
    “Nuclear spectroscopy from swipes of Chalker’s hands and neutron activation tests showed conclusively that there were traces of highly enriched uranium 235 on his palms and fingers. He’d handled it in the past twenty-four hours. Chalker’s clothes were contaminated with absorbed and adsorbed radioactive isotopes, including cerium 144, barium 140, iodine 131, and cesium 137. These are the classic fission products of a U-235 criticality event. The iodine 131 has a half-life of eight days, and we found a high level of it, so we know the accident took place no more than twenty-four hours ago.”
    Dart glanced at Fordyce. “If some of this is confusing to you, Agent Fordyce, Dr. Crew will explain it later.”
    He examined other sheets of paper. “The contents of his pockets have been inventoried. There was an admission ticket stub in his pocket, dated Friday last week, to the Smithsonian Air and Space Museum.”
    Fordyce scribbled faster.
    “Slow down before you burn out a tendon,” Gideon said, nudging Fordyce.
    “There was a train ticket receipt, one way, Washington Union Station to New York Grand Central, dated yesterday afternoon. There was a piece of paper with a website address written on it and several phone numbers. The phone numbers are being analyzed.”
    Fordyce glanced up. “The website address?”
    “I’m afraid I’m not authorized to release that information.”
    There was a silence. “Excuse me,” said Fordyce, “but I thought we were authorized to receive all information.”
    Dart looked at him with his brightly gleaming eyes. “In an investigation like this,” he said, “there has to be a certain level of compartmentalization. Each investigator is given what he needs to know, and not more. We all have to work within parameters.” His glance shifted to Gideon.