The Serpent's Kiss

63

Agent Simona Toreanno sat in John Simmons’s office. Even though the building and this office had been swept by the bomb squad, she had taken no chances on entering. She took Dr. Webster’s master key and asked him to move down the hallway, and every step of the way she took whatever precautions she could to make sure she wasn’t at the center of an explosion or gas attack.

It had seemed damn near anticlimactic when nothing happened. Webster had shot her a curious expression, but she had not apologized for her caution. Better safe than in pieces.

He watched her carefully sift through Simmons’s office, then asked if she still needed him. She had assured him she did not and said she would let herself out. He had paused for a moment, no doubt wondering if he should leave her alone in the building. Finally he had agreed and left.

Silence fell with his departure. It was a little disturbing being alone in the building. It felt empty. And there was still the smell of smoke. She could hear the sounds of the ventilation system, the whir of generators, the whisper of computers. But otherwise it had the peculiar feel of an abandoned building.

She studied Simmons’s office. Prominent on the desk was a photograph of Simmons with another woman, presumably Rebecca Harrington. They were a nice-looking couple. Probably in their forties somewhere, fit, wearing casual clothes, arms around each other, smiling. The background was a sunset over a lake — possibly Lake Michigan, based on the distant horizon. A romantic trip somewhere? She felt a pang for them, for their deaths.

Agent Toreanno wondered if this entire disaster with The Serpent had been sparked by their affair? If William Harrington had snapped and decided to take out hundreds of people along with his ex-wife and her lover. She shivered, thinking of her ex-husband. At one time or another she would gladly have put a bullet in the bastard’s head, but not really! He was Bureau, too, now working in D.C. His own affairs had put an end to their marriage, and her humiliation had almost ended her own career. It probably was true that the spouse was always the last one to know.

But she had worked her way high in this branch of the Bureau. She and Roger Kandling had a friendly competition for promotion, either here or elsewhere. She respected Roger, though he was almost as political as Matt Gray. She was much more cautious in her politics, preferring to do good, hard work and accomplish things, and try to stay on everybody’s good side without compromising herself with politics. Maybe she was just an idealist. She preferred to focus on the job, not on personal advancement. Sure, she wanted to succeed and she hoped to work out of D.C. someday, but it wasn’t her overall ambition. In her job, the wrong focus could cost lives.

She scanned the office, taking in the details, hoping to get a sense of its occupant. Simmons kept a neat office, clean, not too messy. It looked like a working office. Files were piled neatly on a folding table along one wall. It also held his laser printer, a scanner and boxes of computer disks. The bookcases were utilitarian, but everything aligned and upright; photographs of a number of people, many who looked like graduate students, decorated the walls and the bookcases. Simmons, she thought, had been a people person.

She reached over and picked up one photograph. It was of ten people sitting at tables in what she recognized as ground zero of The Boulevard Café. There were varying expressions on their faces, but they all seemed to be in a good mood, enjoying each other’s company. There was William Harrington, sitting across from Rebecca Harrington. Simmons next to Rebecca, friends, maybe not yet lovers. A tall goofy-looking guy, she had identified as Brad Beales, the linguist.

She put the photo carefully back where it was, feeling her mood sink. So much destruction and death. Such a waste.

Toreanno checked her watch and quickly made a phone call to headquarters, asking for an update. She was told that everybody was at the Greektown Casino, that Church and Stillwater might have gotten a step ahead of The Serpent. So far, no additional deaths.

She booted up the computer, found it wasn’t password protected, and began to sift through Simmons’s documents. She found the same scenarios that Derek Stillwater had been hunting. Patiently, methodically working her way through them, she came up with Scenario #27 and read it through. Good job, Stillwater, she thought, reading. Nice work, Jill. Several hundred gamblers owe you their lives.

She printed it out, then decided she needed to just take the computer with her. This was serious evidence that was going to be useful in court if they ever caught The Serpent.

But before she shut down, she printed out Simmons’s contact list, then cross-referenced it with the authors’ names on Scenario #27. The CBCTR’s Working Group appeared to have ten names, though quickly scanning through a few of the other scenarios indicated that the Working Group changed periodically. Some of the names were graduate students in various departments. Others were faculty members from different departments. Every scenario she checked had both Harrington and Simmons’ names on them, probably because they were the director and assistant director of the CBCTR.

Frowning, she took out her notebook, clicked on Scenario #1 and checked the names. She started a list of all the Working Group members. There always seemed to be ten. She saw that Agent Frank McMillan was cited as a consultant for the FBI. In addition, there were names for contacts with the Detroit Police Department, the Detroit Fire Department, the State Police, the Michigan Department of Public Health and various Emergency Medical Services and security firms. But those weren’t actually part of the Working Group. They were people who consulted with the Working Group. Who presumably answered questions and provided information on how their organization would behave under different situations.

She felt a sense of loss at Frank’s death. They had been more than friends… maybe. Could have been, anyway. The saddest words on the planet: could have been.

We’ll get him, Frank. Count on it. I promise.

Brushing away a tear, Toreanno started a list of all the people involved in the Working Group, cross-checking them with each Scenario. These people were going to help nail The Serpent. She was sure of it. They would be able to help throw a noose around William Harrington. It was only a matter of time.