Page 31 of Radar

“Yeah, we do. He’s at the women’s prison, having a family reunion. It makes it harder that they’re speaking in Slovak, but our interpreters will give us a readout and their impressions byend of day. Like any good crime family, they’re well-practiced in talking about nothing while the real message is sewn between the lines. We’ll do our best with that and get the report to the stakeholders, including Adele.”

“Good. And York? What are the doctors saying happened to him?” Xander jerked his wheel to get around a car that came to an inexplicable stop in the middle of the road. His wheels hummed on the pavement designed to keep drivers from falling asleep.

When the cacophony stopped, Long said, “Doctors are running tests. Those of us involved think it’s probable that Orest Kalinsky knew York was following him. York started having issues on the plane over the Atlantic. He’d sent us a series of texts, and we met at the plane with our toxicologists to find out if somehow Orest had been able to get the Zoric neurotoxins close to York.”

“Was anyone else on the plane having symptoms? How about the people sitting near him?” Xander asked as he pressed the gas down and weaved through the traffic.

“No one complained of anything, and we made sure that the paramedics interviewed them before they took off for their connecting flights, asking about heart palpitations or breathing issues.”

“But no pathologist report yet on York?” Xander asked, thinking of Nutsbe and how Anna’s letter gave him some kind of reprieve. Finley had said, “Looking over your shoulder every second of every day for a Russian shadow to pop out at you is hell.” Wasn’t that the damned truth?

“Nothing yet,” Long said. “We had to keep this on the downlow. The hospital was counseled that York owns a coral fish tank and might have had a palytoxin exposure, not that they knew what that was. I think a lot of Google searches went on as I left the room. The nurses were in full PPE when theyscrubbed York down. They took blood, we took blood. ‘We’ being the FBI tech who Finley sent over. I don’t touch blood. York’s clothes and effects were all put in hazard bags. I’m waiting on someone from Foggy Bottom to show up and take them to their lab. Knowing the neurotoxins have a short shelf life, Finley is meeting the special agents at Hoover, and he’s going to go impress upon them the urgency of the case. He’s hoping to move it into the number one slot.”

“No one’s going to find anything in York’s blood if Orest poisoned him over the Atlantic. The half-life is too short. It does its damage and disappears. It’s worth a try, but it’s not a rule-in, rule-out.”

“If it were easily identified, we’d have Orest Kalinsky face down with his hands cuffed behind his back instead of checking into his five-star this morning. Regardless, the medical staff is prepping the O.R. for emergency open heart surgery.”

“Is York responsive?” Xander asked.

“He’s aware. He’s focused on breathing right now. I’m standing in an empty hall. The staff know they aren’t allowed into York’s room unaccompanied. As close as we are to the Capitol, this cloak-and-dagger shit isn’t unfamiliar to them.”

“He can’t be left alone with what’s in his head,” Xander said, tapping on his blinker and sliding toward the exit.

“Nope, we can’t have him muttering State secrets to the orderlies. I’m on duty for now. I want to be a friendly, familiar face for him. But as he’s getting better, we can send some paper pushers over to hold his hand, which I think he’ll prefer, leaving him to fart in peace. My understanding is that you were meeting with York for a handoff of Kalinsky?”

Xander stomped down hard on his brakes to keep from hitting the biker, who swerved out of the way of the person getting out of their car, in what could have been an escalation of bad outcomes if his brakes hadn't been as responsive. “I wasadvised to meet with York and be ready to accept the baton if he wanted to pass it. But neurotoxins, man, I need to think this gig through.” Xander swung his head to check his mirrors as he popped his turn signal on, then slid into the hospital lot. “I’m here. I’m finding a parking space. I’ll be with you in a beat.”

***

Xander tapped on the door, then stuck his head in, sweeping the room. The bed was gone. Long sat in the blue Naugahyde guest chair, looking shell-shocked.

Xander’s skin prickled with cold.

“He coded,” Long said. “Damned violent what they do to bring a person back. Then they grabbed hold of his bed and raced him toward the surgical wing.”

“Well, shit.” Xander shut the door behind him, then stepped farther in so he could talk in low tones. “Where are we? What do we know? You said York sent you some texts?”

Long pulled his phone from his pocket and opened the messages before handing it off to Xander.

York:I feel like I might be dying. Get an ambulance in place. Tell the docs about the Zoric secret sauce. This came on too suddenly. I may be getting up there in age, but I passed my physicals with flying colors.

York:If not me, and it’s not going to be me, someone needs to follow this son of a bitch and see what he’s up to.

York:Here’s what I know about his itinerary. Arrived on my flight. Day in D.C. paying his respects to the jailbird side of the family. Heading to Alaska to seehis puppy dogs—D.C. Newark flight XVC 921 Newark Fairbanks KNP 783

York:Things are stirred up. Channels popping. Zorics leaving their houses. Too many of them are leaving their houses and heading in different directions. Their biggest muscles are heading west, the rest of the family is heading east to island.

York:I swear these goddammed Zorics.

York:I don’t think I’m going to make it back to the U.S.

York:This might be it, my friend. Thank you for our years. Love to all.

“Jeezis.” Xander ran through the texts one more time, then handed the phone back to Long.

Long spread his feet wider and leaned his forearms onto his thighs. “Yeah, it was a kick in the nuts. I still feel like puking.”

“And the doctors said?”

---