Part 33 (1/2)
”In the refrigerator,” Ramirez said.
Smythe opened the doors of the stainless steel laboratory refrigerator. The samples were individually wrapped in clear, air-tight plastic bags. There were two hot dogs, a corn dog, three slices of pizza, and a piece of fried chicken. He had an idea.
”Did you eat lunch?” he asked.
”No, sir. I've been working straight through.”
”Take a break. You earned it.”
”But...” Ramirez looked at the gas chromatograph.
”The machine will still be there after you eat,” Smythe said. ”I need some fresh air, anyway. I'm going to take a long walk outside. I'll come back after I figure out how I want to proceed.”
”Yes, sir.”
Smythe went back to the guest quarters, where he was staying. It was a large bedroom with a private bathroom. A plain, wooden dresser contained his small collection of clothes. The room seemed empty, but it contained all of his remaining personal possessions.
He grabbed a heavy coat from a coat rack. He left his phone behind since Ethel might use the radio signal to track him. Then, he hurried back to the laboratory. Ramirez was gone. Smythe took a hot dog and a slice of pizza from the refrigerator, and he gently stuffed the wrapped samples into his pockets.
Now it was time to leave. On the way out, he pa.s.sed Jack, who was sitting in his bullet proof control booth. His console had dozens of small video displays. b.u.t.tons at his fingertips controlled the many security measures in headquarters. He could lock down the entire place in an instant and activate batteries of defensive weapons.
”Hey,” Smythe said, ”I'm going out for a long lunch. I need to stretch my legs.”
Jack's blue eyes showed no emotion. ”Yes, sir.”
”Can you give me some cash? I don't have any.”
Jack took a stack of twenty dollar bills from under his console. He pa.s.sed them through a slot in the thick gla.s.s. ”Will that be enough, sir?”
Smythe counted out five hundred dollars. ”Yes, thanks. I'm curious, how much money do you have under there?”
”We always have at least a million dollars in cash and gold on hand in case of emergencies.”
”Oh.”
”We like to be prepared, sir,” Jack said.
”Don't you ever feel like taking a bundle for yourself and having some fun? There's plenty to do in Chicago.”
Jack raised his eyebrows.
”Sorry I asked,” Smythe said. ”I'll be back in an hour or so.”
”Yes, sir.”
He went out through the garage and took the lift up to the street level. When he walked out into the shadows of Lower Wacker Drive, a chilly wind hit him in the face. Too many sunspots? Or too few?
He didn't know Chicago, but he felt certain he would find what he was looking for quickly. He headed north and crossed the Chicago River on a rusty steel bridge. Slow moving traffic filled the city streets, and all the drivers had irritated expressions. Car horns blended with the wind noise.
A lot of people were wearing Cubs baseball caps. He vaguely recalled that the team had made the playoffs, and he wondered if they were still playing. Probably not, he thought. The Cubs always lose in the end.
He spotted a grocery store in the ground floor of a tall building. He went inside.
He purchased a small ice chest, two bags of ice, duct tape, and a permanent marker with a fine tip. After paying for the items, he went back outside and walked around to an alley where he could have some privacy.
He poured all the ice into the chest. He took the poisoned food samples from his pockets and pushed them deep into the ice.
On the inside of the lid he wrote, ”These samples contain the poison that causes PRooFS. a.n.a.lyze immediately. Use extreme caution. A group called the Order of Eternal Night is responsible. - Captain Timothy Smythe”
He closed the lid and wrapped the chest with duct tape. He used the entire roll in an attempt to make the package as water tight as possible.
He went off in search of a public pay phone. In the era of the cell phone, public phones were a rarity, but he eventually found one in a train station on Grand Avenue. He flipped through the directory to find a courier service. Using change from the grocery store, he made the call.
”Amazing Messenger Service,” a woman answered. ”What can I do for you?”
”I need a package delivered immediately,” Smythe said. ”It's extremely urgent.”
”Where are you? Where is it going?”
”I'm standing in the 'L train' entrance at the corner of Grand and State in downtown Chicago. The Red Line. The package is going to the Saint Athanasius Hospital in Naperville. I'll give special instructions to the courier when he gets here.”
”How large is the package?” the woman asked.
”It's an ice chest. Maybe fifteen pounds.”
”What are the contents of the chest?”
”Medical samples,” Smythe said. ”This delivery is very time sensitive.”
”Is the package hazardous?”
”No.” He was lying, but telling the truth would wreck the entire plan.
The woman paused. ”That will be one hundred and seventy five dollars, sir, paid in advance. We take cash and credit cards. No personal checks. The courier will be there within an hour.”
”If he gets here in fifteen minutes, I'll give him a hundred dollar tip.”
”I'll let him know that, sir. Look for a green car with the words 'Amazing Messenger Service' on the side. What number can I call you at?”
Smythe read the phone number off the pay phone.
”Thank you for your business, sir. Good bye.”
He hung up the phone.
Smiling, he sat on a bench on the sidewalk. The location gave him a full view of the street, and he could also hear the phone if it rang.