Chapter 14
THAT HIT A nerve. Pope’s face flushed indignantly. ‘If you must know, I work sports normally,’ she said, thrusting out her chin. ‘What of it?’
‘It means I know things about this case that you don’t,’ Knight repeated.
‘Is that so?’ Pope shot back. ‘Well, I’m the one holding the letter, aren’t I, Mr Knight? You know, I really would prefer to deal with Mr, uh, Hooligan.’
Before Knight could reply, an American male voice said: ‘It would be smart to let Peter in on the examination, Ms Pope. He’s the best we’ve got.’
A tall man with surfer good looks, the American stuck out his hand and shook hers saying, ‘Jack Morgan. Your editor arranged through me for the analysis. I’d like to be there as well, if possible.’
‘All right,’ Pope said without enthusiasm. ‘But the contents of this envelope cannot be revealed to anyone unless you’ve seen it published in the Sun. Agreed?’
‘Absolutely,’ Jack said, and smiled genuinely
Knight admired the owner and founder of Private. Jack was younger than Knight, and even more in a hurry than Knight. He was also smart and driven, and believed in surrounding himself with smart, driven people and paying them well. He also cared about the people who worked for him. He’d been devastated at the loss of Carter and the other Private London operators and had come across the Atlantic immediately to help Knight pick up the slack.
The foursome went to Hooligan’s lab one floor down. Jack fell in beside Knight who was moving much more slowly than the others. ‘Good job with Lancer,’ he said. ‘Saving his ass, I mean.’
‘We aim to please,’ Knight said.
‘He was very grateful, and said I should give you a raise,’ Jack said.
Knight did not reply. They had not yet talked about any salary upgrade that might be due in light of his new responsibilities.
Jack seemed to remember and said, ‘We’ll talk money after the Games.’ Then the American shot him a more critical look. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Feel like I’ve been playing in a rugby scrum, but I remain chipper,’ Knight assured him as they entered Private London’s science unit, a cutting-edge operation in every respect.
Hooligan led them to a far corner of the area, to an anteroom off a clean lab where he told them all to don disposable white jumpsuits and hoods. Knight groaned, but once in the suit and hood he followed Hooligan through an airlock and into the clean room. The science officer moved to a workstation that included an electron microscope and state-of-the-art spectrographic equipment. He took the envelope from Pope, opened it, and looked inside.
He asked, ‘Did you put these in sleeves or did they come to you like this?’
Knight heard the question over a headset built into his hood, which made all their ensuing conversation sound like transmissions from outer space.
‘I did that,’ Pope replied. ‘I knew right away that they’d need to be protected.’
‘Smart,’ Hooligan said, wagging a gloved finger at her and looking over at Knight and Jack. ‘Very smart.’
Despite his initial dislike of Pope, Knight had to agree. He asked, ‘Who touched these before you protected them?’
‘Just me,’ Pope said as Hooligan removed the sleeve that contained the letter. ‘And the killer, I suppose. He has a name. You’ll see it there. He calls himself “Cronus”.’