Read Online Code White by Scott Britz-Cunningham - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Scott Britz-Cunningham
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police officers on the scene, the two men hugged the wall on the side of the Endocrinology Clinic. The double doors of the clinic had been propped wide open to diffuse the force of any blast and to minimize the amount of glass shrapnel in case a bomb went off. About fifty yards away on either side of the clinic, the fire doors had been closed to seal off the Pike from foot traffic.
Inside the lobby of the clinic a single man, wrapped in a bulky green Kevlar EOD suit and wearing a helmet with a wide, wraparound face shield like a deep-sea diver, knelt near the far window in front of a fan-shaped portable CR 50XP X-ray machine. He had moved the planter to one side, and set the X-ray next to the shopping bag. He carefully slipped the flat twelve-inch digital phosphorescent detector plate behind the bag, and adjusted the voltage controls of the CR 50XP. Too low a voltage and the image would turn out a murky bunch of shadows. Too high and it would be useless glare. Either way, there could be a loss of a critical detail—a potentially fatal error.
Out in the corridor, the south side fire door opened, and Harry watched a tall, light-skinned African-American man in a dark suit come into the corridor. The stranger coolly scanned the faces along the wall, and without a break in his stride walked straight toward Harry. From one glance Harry took him for a Fed.
“Are you the security director?” he asked in an assertive baritone.
“Yes, Lewton’s the name. Harry Lewton.”
The man flipped open a bifold wallet to show a photo ID and a small metallic shield surmounted by an eagle. “Special Agent Terrell Scopes, with the FBI’s Evidence Response Team. I happened to be in town for a meeting and was notified by local law enforcement that you might have a situation here.”
“Glad you could come. I’ve already turned the scene over to Captain Avery and the local bomb squad.”
“Has there been a confirmation of the threat?” asked Scopes.
“Any minute, now.”
Scopes was agreeably businesslike, but when the door opened again, there appeared a short, slightly built Asian man in the same regulation black suit. Harry felt his shoulders stiffen as he recognized the owlish glasses, the upthrust jaw, and the mincing step of the newcomer. Aw, Christ! he groused to himself. Not that conceited little prick! Not in my hospital!
“Gentlemen,” said Scopes, “this is my colleague, Raymond Lee, with the FBI’s Critical Incident Response Group.”
Lee walked right past Harry without even looking at him, making a beeline for Avery’s blue tunic and brass bars. “Glenn! Just the man I’d have liked to see here,” he said in a thin, nasal voice. “Good to see that Chicago’s sent out its A-team.”
“Well, well, Ray!” exclaimed Avery. “We must be in a heap of doo-doo for you to show up.” Lee was a good ten inches shorter than Avery, and looked almost diminutive standing beside the Captain’s strapping bench-press bulk. But Harry noticed how Avery, who up until then had been strutting, arms akimbo like a dockside boss, now drew his stance a little narrower as Lee approached.
“Just a courtesy visit,” said Lee. “You guys carry on like we’re not here.”
“This is the man who found the package,” said Avery, pointing to Harry.
Lee craned his neck back toward Harry. Then his jaw dropped like someone had punched him in the solar plexus. “You’re that fellow from Texas, aren’t you?” he muttered. “Lewis.”
“Lewton.”
Avery, not very observant of the chill between them, chuckled. “You guys know each other?”
“Had the privilege,” said Harry, without moving a muscle. Lee said nothing at all.
It had happened on the FBI’s turf. Harry had just been appointed to lead the Tactical Unit of the Nacogdoches Police Department, and his chief had sent him out to the Hazardous Devices School at Redstone Arsenal, in Alabama, “to find out what those FBI folks know about dynamite.” Lee taught a course
Inside the lobby of the clinic a single man, wrapped in a bulky green Kevlar EOD suit and wearing a helmet with a wide, wraparound face shield like a deep-sea diver, knelt near the far window in front of a fan-shaped portable CR 50XP X-ray machine. He had moved the planter to one side, and set the X-ray next to the shopping bag. He carefully slipped the flat twelve-inch digital phosphorescent detector plate behind the bag, and adjusted the voltage controls of the CR 50XP. Too low a voltage and the image would turn out a murky bunch of shadows. Too high and it would be useless glare. Either way, there could be a loss of a critical detail—a potentially fatal error.
Out in the corridor, the south side fire door opened, and Harry watched a tall, light-skinned African-American man in a dark suit come into the corridor. The stranger coolly scanned the faces along the wall, and without a break in his stride walked straight toward Harry. From one glance Harry took him for a Fed.
“Are you the security director?” he asked in an assertive baritone.
“Yes, Lewton’s the name. Harry Lewton.”
The man flipped open a bifold wallet to show a photo ID and a small metallic shield surmounted by an eagle. “Special Agent Terrell Scopes, with the FBI’s Evidence Response Team. I happened to be in town for a meeting and was notified by local law enforcement that you might have a situation here.”
“Glad you could come. I’ve already turned the scene over to Captain Avery and the local bomb squad.”
“Has there been a confirmation of the threat?” asked Scopes.
“Any minute, now.”
Scopes was agreeably businesslike, but when the door opened again, there appeared a short, slightly built Asian man in the same regulation black suit. Harry felt his shoulders stiffen as he recognized the owlish glasses, the upthrust jaw, and the mincing step of the newcomer. Aw, Christ! he groused to himself. Not that conceited little prick! Not in my hospital!
“Gentlemen,” said Scopes, “this is my colleague, Raymond Lee, with the FBI’s Critical Incident Response Group.”
Lee walked right past Harry without even looking at him, making a beeline for Avery’s blue tunic and brass bars. “Glenn! Just the man I’d have liked to see here,” he said in a thin, nasal voice. “Good to see that Chicago’s sent out its A-team.”
“Well, well, Ray!” exclaimed Avery. “We must be in a heap of doo-doo for you to show up.” Lee was a good ten inches shorter than Avery, and looked almost diminutive standing beside the Captain’s strapping bench-press bulk. But Harry noticed how Avery, who up until then had been strutting, arms akimbo like a dockside boss, now drew his stance a little narrower as Lee approached.
“Just a courtesy visit,” said Lee. “You guys carry on like we’re not here.”
“This is the man who found the package,” said Avery, pointing to Harry.
Lee craned his neck back toward Harry. Then his jaw dropped like someone had punched him in the solar plexus. “You’re that fellow from Texas, aren’t you?” he muttered. “Lewis.”
“Lewton.”
Avery, not very observant of the chill between them, chuckled. “You guys know each other?”
“Had the privilege,” said Harry, without moving a muscle. Lee said nothing at all.
It had happened on the FBI’s turf. Harry had just been appointed to lead the Tactical Unit of the Nacogdoches Police Department, and his chief had sent him out to the Hazardous Devices School at Redstone Arsenal, in Alabama, “to find out what those FBI folks know about dynamite.” Lee taught a course
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