Page 41 of So Sinister
She started on the list and quickly found a repeated pattern among the dismissals.All of them were assigned to the baggage handling department in positions ranging from the check-in counter alongside TSA agents to the handling facility in the terminal to the loading area where trams would be filled with bags to be taken to the airplanes.All of them signed non-disclosure agreements that prevented them from discussing the circumstances of their firing.
All but one received settlements.The amounts were undisclosed but surely greater than the zero that Robert Stevenson received.
Jessica returned just as Faith began looking deeper into Mr.Stevenson.She set a sandwich in front of Faith and stopped when she noticed Faith’s intent stare at her laptop screen.“Hello,” she said.“Can I presume that you’ve found someone?”
“Maybe,” Faith said.“Turns out that nine airport security personnel were let go within six weeks of the bombing.All of them signed NDAs and all but one of them received settlements.”
"Ah.The NDAs make sense.They were terminated because their bosses screwed up, and the NDAs were because they didn't want the individuals talking about how badly their leadership screwed up.The settlements were because theyreallydidn’t want these disgruntled individuals coming back with juicy stories about how much airport security screwed up.”
“Exactly.”
“Hmm.”Jessica leaned back and folded her arms across her chest.“The plot thickens.We’ve been assuming TSA screwed up here, but it might not just be the TSA.Airport security at Thurgood Marshall apparently feels they screws up too.”
“But they feel that Robert Stevenson screwed up too,” Faith said.“Enough that they didn’t think they needed to offerhima settlement.”
"Right," Jessica said."That conversation wasn't a polite one.That probably looked more like, 'sign this and be grateful we're not throwing you to the wolves."
“My thoughts exactly,” Faith agreed.
“So what did Mr.Stevenson do to deserve being shunned like this?”
“That’s an excellent question,” Faith said.“I think we should find out.”She looked through the window at the darkening sky.“And quickly.It’s been thirty-six hours since the last death.I don’t think our killer’s going to wait much longer before giving the world another message.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“That’s unacceptable, staff sergeant.”
Staff Sergeant Miranda Whitaker of the Marine Corp’s 93rdTesting Brigade, secretly a CIA research project to develop a telepathic process for controlling military working dogs, rolled her eyes.“Well, I’m not sure what you want me to do about it, sir.If he’s not at work, he’s not at work.”
“Can you find outwhenhe’ll be at work?”Colonel Randall Chastain, the commanding officer of the Brigade, asked in a peevish voice.
Miranda was at the FBI’s K9 School campus.Chastain was back at the 93rdbunker at the extreme southern end of Marine Corps Base Quantico.If all had gone well, Dr.Friedman would have ceased to be a threat about ten minutes ago.
Unfortunately, all hadnotgone well, which was why Chastain was so upset with Miranda.Not that there was a damned thing she could have done about it.
“I asked,” Miranda explained patiently.“They said they didn’t know.He called in feeling under the weather.That could mean he has the sniffles and he’ll be back tomorrow, or he has COVID and he’ll be out for two weeks pending a clean swab.”
“We don’t have two weeks to wait, staff sergeant.”
Miranda rolled her eyes again.Chastain waffled unpredictably between brilliance and idiocy and just as unpredictably between calm and petulance.Maybe it was the curse of genius that caused him to be so mercurial.Maybe it was just the fact that he was an officer and officers never learned how to handle disappointment like adults.
Then again, Chastain wasn’t really a Marine.He joined the Brigade through the CIA, not the Corps, and his rank was only a procedural necessity to ensure he had access to certain resources at Marine Corps Base Quantico.Maybe his petulance was because he’d earned his eagle in a lab and not a battlefield.
Either way, she’d have to manage him the way she managed every officer with more brains than sense.“Sir, our options are to wait for Dr.Friedman to return to work or to attack him at his home.I suggest that we attack him at his home because—”
“No.We’ve been through this.Policy is concerned about the visibility of an attack on his home.”
“Does Policy think we’ll be invisible somehow if we kill him at the FBI Academy?”
“Policy thinks, as do I, that his death at the hands of a patient is an uncommon but explainable tragedy.Thirteen veterinarians have died from animal maulings in the past twenty years.Rare, but again, not unheard of.On the other hand, if we break into his home and sic Asset Sierra-9 on him, then that looks an awful lot like homicide, and guess who will be investigating that homicide?”
“Which is exactly why I think we need to kill Faith Bold too, sir.”
“And who investigates her death?I’ll give you a hint.It’s a three-letter word for the most powerful law enforcement agency in the country.”
Actually, FBI was an acronym, not a word, but that was just Miranda being petulant now.“Yes, sir.”
Chastain sighed.“He’s running.The bastard’s running.”
