Дэвид Балдаччи - Walk the Wire

Information flashed back to the sensor pack in the robot’s brain and confirmation was made. The probe receded but did not fully return to the cavity from which it had emerged. The robot turned and headed back out as the probe swiveled from side to side, drawing in myriad scents in its path, as it searched for only one, that of Brad Daniels.

It turned right and left and then stopped at a closed door. The probe twitched, like the nose on a scent hound, and a red light illuminated on the front of the robot’s steel wall. The robot retreated about a foot, a portal opened on the front of it, and stabilizers shot out from its sides and gripped the floor, like a construction crane would employ to keep upright and balanced.

The next moment the round fired from the portal smashed into the door and the force of the impact caused it to topple inward.

Through the smoke emerged Reel. She saw the robot, her gaze ran over its contours, she raised her weapon and placed three incendiary rounds with explosive kickers right into the thing’s hide, with one round impacting the machine’s laser eye.

The laser eye went out, the rounds performed as they were engineered, and the robot disappeared behind a thick cloud of smoke.

Reel heard the alarming screech of a timer and threw herself back into the room, right as the robot’s failsafe counter hit zero.

The blast collapsed the walls of the room Reel had leapt back into.

When the smoke cleared, sirens could be heard.

The two big trucks that had been parked in front of the nursing home, and from which the attack robot had been launched, were long gone.

Inside the room, a coughing and sputtering Robie and Reel slowly rose from the remains of the shattered room. They were alive only because they had taken cover behind a large metal storage unit standing against one wall.

As they gazed around, their collective eyes caught and held on Daniels. He was still in his wheelchair, but he hung limply to the side. His head was bleeding, and his breaths were shallow. A section of the ceiling had fallen on him.

Reel raced over to him and felt for his pulse. “Really weak.”

Robie cleared the debris away and pushed him out of the room and down the hall, toward the front entrance. Reel was right next to him.

“If he dies—” she began.

“—then we’ve lost,” Robie finished for her.

“He’s in a coma,” said Robie. “They don’t know if he’s going to make it. But he’s a tough old bird. My money’s on him.”

It was the following evening and he was sitting in the back seat of Jamison’s SUV. Decker was in the passenger seat. Reel had gone to stay with Daniels at the hospital.

“A robot?” said Jamison. “They sent a freaking robot?”

“A killing machine,” said Robie. “Didn’t expect to see it at a nursing home in North Dakota.”

“So we don’t know what he told Purdy,” said Decker.

“He was just about to tell us when everything went to hell.”

“We keep swinging and missing,” said Decker. “And we’re getting down to our last outs.” A text appeared on his phone and he looked down at it.

“The ME just completed the post on McClellan, and he has some interesting findings.”

“Let’s go hear what they are,” said Jamison.

Robie opened the truck door and climbed out. “I’d like to remain in the background. Loop me in later.”

Twenty minutes after leaving Robie they stared down at the naked body of Stuart McClellan. Joe Kelly had joined them at the funeral home. McClellan had been professionally sliced and diced by an ME provided by the FBI. Tom Reynolds was a stern-looking gent in his late fifties with a military haircut, and his manner was no-nonsense. But there was a twinkle in his eyes that perhaps evinced the interesting development he had mentioned in his text.

“What do you have?” said Decker.

“Death was certainly by carbon monoxide poisoning. Tissue samples presented classic microscopic hemorrhaging and dead tissue throughout. Congestion and swelling of the brain, spleen, liver, and kidneys. The skin is obviously flushed, another classic sign, and the blood was a cherry red, a further telltale sign.”

“So it was suicide then?” said Kelly.

“No, it’s not,” said Decker, as he closely eyed Reynolds. “Something that straightforward would not have prompted you to text me about some ‘interesting findings.’ ”

“Correct,” said Reynolds. “Do you know what TTX is?”

Kelly shook his head but Decker said, “Tetrodotoxin. It’s a powerful neurotoxin.”

Reynolds nodded. “Nasty stuff. It stops nerve conduction between the brain and body by, in part, shutting down sodium channels. A tiny bit paralyzes the muscles needed to breathe and the heart to keep pumping blood. It’s lethal whether ingested, inhaled, or absorbed into the skin, like through a cut. Takes about six hours to fully take effect. Once it stops the diaphragm, you’re dead. It’s one of the deadliest substances on the planet. Only seen it one other time in my career, on the other side of the world.”

“And yet here it shows up in London, North Dakota,” said Decker.

“How did you find it?” asked Jamison.

Reynolds led them over to a highly complex-looking device. “I always bring this baby with me. Never know when it might come in handy. There were certain puzzling elements that I saw in the brain, the diaphragm, and the heart that made me suspicious, made me think that something neurological was going on that could not be explained away simply by the carbon monoxide. They were slight, but I have enough experience for warning bells to go off. So I ran a test on some urine in the body. And there it was, clear as day.”

“Where the hell does someone get this TTX?” said Kelly.

“It’s found in marine life,” replied Reynolds. “Most principally in the puffer fish. The puffer fish is a Japanese delicacy. Most TTX deaths are accidental and take place because of improperly prepared puffer fish. If the organs containing the toxin are damaged or not completely removed, that dish might be the last one you ever eat. Me, I’d stick with chicken nuggets. They’ll eventually kill you, but it’ll take decades.” He grinned.

Decker did not smile back. “Was it ingested, inhaled, or absorbed?” he said.

“If I had to make an educated guess, I’d say ingested.”

“So it might have been in something he drank?”

“Yes.”

“But why poison a guy and then kill him with carbon monoxide?” asked Kelly.

“To incapacitate him and get him into the car,” replied Jamison. “That way it looks like a suicide.” She looked at the machine that Reynolds had used to find the poison. “And without that, we’d probably never have known. Walt Southern for sure would never have found it.”

“And a murder would have been missed,” added Decker. He glanced at Reynolds. “You said you’d handled a case of TTX before. Where was that, exactly?”

“The vic was found in a hotel room in Brisbane.”

“Brisbane, Australia?”

“Puffer fish are found in those waters, and those in Asia. They’re not indigenous to American waters.”

They thanked Reynolds and walked back outside.

“Australia,” said Decker again, looking thoughtful.

“What about it?” said Kelly.

“Hugh Dawson lives there part of the year, right? During the winters here?”

Kelly looked taken aback. “Okay but we already went over this. What would the motive be? He just made a ton of money off McClellan.”

“I don’t know what the motive might be. I’m just saying he had the means and the opportunity. And I don’t like coincidences. And here we have a big one.”