The Tomorrow File by Lawrence Sanders Read Free Book Online Page B

million humans stopped, plus all other warm-blooded animals, including those marvelous geese with their synthetic-hormone-injected livers. What do we do for foie gras then? Seriously, what would the military do? All those corpora to flame. Vegetation gone too, if we wanted. What’s the point? War is geography. That’s why the military put lethal gas in the icebox and switched to temporary incapacitators. Knock ’em out, walk in wearing masks, take away their weapons, wait for them to wake up. Then they go back to work, the horses pull, the dogs bark, the birds sing, and those geese feel their livers expand. Beautiful. Simple and humane. But at one time, back in the 1970’s and ’80’s, a 5-HT gas existed. Probably still does. In a deep cave somewhere in Colorado.”
    I paused.
    “The New York Peace Department will be very interested in this,” I continued smoothly. “Mary, you did a fine service.”
    If I had told her she was gorgeous, she couldn’t have blushed a deeper hue.
    “Thank you,” she said faintly.
    “Run a lung slice to confirm. I think you’ll find it. Then put the object back together again. Paul will give you the final disposition.”
    She nodded to us and was gone.
    “A very bright ef,” I said, after the door closed behind her. “Sometimes she scares me,” Paul said gloomily.
    ‘‘Pure intelligence is always scary. You’ve never met Lewisohn, have you? There’s a creative intellect that’s terrifying.”
    “ ‘Final disposition’?” he said. “You told Mary I’d give her orders for the final disposition of the object. What?”
    “That’s Angela’s problem. I’m going on a threeday in exactly”^—I looked at my digiwatch—“three hours and fourteen minutes. Angela knows you’re in on this. Catch her alone and ask her what to do with it. She’ll probably want it flamed.” “Probably.”
    “All right. Now let’s get to you, what you found. Did you bring back those Somnorifics in the medicine cabinet?”
    “You told me to.”
    “What were they?”
    “Analyzed? Six-hour Somnorifics.”
    “Uh-huh. What else?”
    He finally shook off his depression, came alive, started talking rapidly.
    ‘ ‘Habitual and recent presence in the apartment of an ef, approximately twenty years old, one sixty-five centimeters. Long, blond hair, trimmed recently. She uses Quik-Eeze Creme Shampoo. She wears tooty shoes. Spike heels. One pair is oxblood red. No Reason perfume, a complete synthetic. Amour Now lip rouge. Color: Passion Flower.”
    “Ah-ha,” I said.
    “Let’s see . . . what else? Slight nasal drip. Low-grade bronchial infection. Fuchsia eye shadow. Ugh! Oh: here’s an oddity; I don’t think she’s on the pill or any other fertility control. Blood type is O-Rh negative. That’s not Harris’. She was recently on a threeday or vacation in a hot, southern climate.” He paused. “Want to know how I know all this?”
    I looked at him.
    “I know exactly how you know all that. You used chromatography, electrophoresis, spectrophotometry, polarizing microscopes, X-ray refraction, the scanning electron microscope, and our very best energy-dispersion analyzer. All this high-priced equipment on hairs you found on the backs of chairs and the sofa. Ditto on stains from hair shampoo. Position of stains gave you height. Then we have rug indentations for the spike heels and rug stains for shoe color. Pillowcase stains and scents for lip rouge and perfume. You might have used the Olfactory Analysis Indicator there. Eye shadow from pillowcase or bathroom towel, which would also give you perspiration specimen, which would give you a partial immunoglobulin profile. Nasal drip and bronchial infection from discarded tissues in the bathroom wastebasket.”
    “And the vacation in a hot, southern climate?”
    “Skin flakes all over the place.”
    "Gee, boss, you’re real smart.”
    “That’s why I’m an Assistant Deputy Director, and you’re my Executive Assistant.”
    It was a mistake.