Strong Cold Dead (Caitlin Strong, #8)(98)
Probably right in the area of White Eagle’s patch of land, Caitlin thought, as Young Roger leaned forward.
“So you figure some portion of the aquifer feeding the reservation its water has levels of acidity comparable to this river,” he presumed.
Beauchamp nodded. “Corn wasn’t a staple of the Inuit diet; fish was. So, yes, I think the fish was contaminated with the very same toxin that killed all those people in that Austin diner. And since that area has been abandoned ever since, we have no way of knowing how often the toxicity has returned.”
“But like you said,” started Caitlin, “fish was as much a part of the Inuit diet as corn is for the Comanche on that reservation. But I’m guessing only a small portion of the cuitlacoche is affected when the contaminated water leaches upward. And that’s the portion that can be weaponized.”
“All well and good,” Jones noted. “But in case we’re forgetting, those folks in Hoover’s Cooking weren’t killed by accidental leaching. They were murdered, and in case you didn’t read the report, no trace of any such toxin was found in the remains of their food—either what was left on their plates or inside their stomachs.”
“That’s because it was gone,” Caitlin interjected.
“Ranger,” said Captain Tepper, holding his box of Marlboro reds in his lap, “if I weren’t strapped into this damn thing, I’d come over there and shake some sense into you.”
“Hear me out on this, Captain. It’s the only thing that makes any sense, the only explanation for how the waitstaff in Hoover’s was killed too, even though they didn’t eat or drink anything during the same period.”
“Christ on a crutch. So what killed them?”
“Smell,” Young Roger answered, before Caitlin could. “The neurotoxin entered the body through the nasal cavity, just like it did to those Inuit in 1930.” He paused to let that sink in, then went on. “More specifically, through the paranasal sinuses. I’d recommend the CDC teams on the ground now perform detailed examinations of those sinuses in the remains of the victims, along with the throat, larynx, and primary nasal passages, in search of any abnormalities in the form of lesions or even the slightest tissue damage. I expect they’ll find enough—at least something that proves we’re looking at a weapon spread through smell.”
Caitlin turned back toward Tepper. “Go back to the days Jack Strong got himself involved with the same reservation, D.W. All those men who got torn apart in those hotel rooms were already dead, or totally incapacitated, when they were attacked. That’s how it all happened so fast; that’s why they never even screamed. The Comanche were trying to scare John D. Rockefeller off by perpetuating the myth of a monster spawned by nature, some otherworldly force rising when necessary to protect them. But that monster was no more than warriors turned into violent killing machines after ingesting a particularly potent strain of peyote. That’s what those manacles I found in the cave were for, to keep the warriors restrained until the effects of the drug finally wore off.”
“You’re saying they brought their mythical killer back when the need arose,” said Jones, “only this time thanks to Cray Rawls instead of John D. Rockefeller.”
“I believe so, yes. And I asked Young Roger here to look into the possibility of smell as a weapon, even before I had any inkling about this corn fungus. This ringing any bells with you, Jones? Because the military’s had a program in it for decades.”
“Sure,” Jones cut in, “under nonlethal weapons development. Last time I checked, though, what we’re facing here is pretty damn lethal.”
“On that subject,” began Young Roger, “in 2007, a fireball hurtled out of the sky and blasted a forty-foot crater in Peru. The crater filled with boiling liquid and a noxious gas poured out that sent dozens of people to the hospital. Some of them suffered temporary paralysis and nerve damage. It was determined that whatever leaked out of that crater affected their nervous systems. Sound familiar?”
“Any of them die, kid?”
“Not a one,” Young Roger told Jones. “But you ever hear of an Israeli company called Odortec?”
Jones stiffened. “That’s classified.”
“Not here, it’s not,” said Tepper. “Keep talking, son.”
“Odortec has been specializing in scent-based weapons of the nonlethal variety for law enforcement for years. Word is they’ve expanded their horizons considerably as of late.”
“Word from where?” Jones challenged.
“The Deep Web. Would you like me to cite the specifics?” Young Roger asked him.
“Homeland’s connected to this company … have I got that right, Jones?” Caitlin challenged.
“I’m taking the Fifth,” he said, still glaring at Young Roger.
“The fact that the toxin disappears when the smell does makes it close to the perfect weapon,” Young Roger said, addressing all of them. “No trace elements, no residue, minimal collateral damage, and no way to trace anything to potential perpetrators.”
“I imagine that would make aroma the perfect means of delivery,” Caitlin ventured. “Right, Jones? An untraceable weapon of mass destruction.”
“You said it,” Jones conceded. “I didn’t.”