Read Online Immune by Richard Phillips - Free Book Online

Bogart movies.
    In an odd way, he felt like Bogey right now, lurching along this rough New Mexico dirt road as the sun sank toward the western horizon. He hadn’t seen any rattlesnakes yet, but surely they were out there waiting for him, coiled under bushes and rocks, every bit as menacing as the leeches that had awaited Bogey in that African river. His sense of isolation was heightened because Freddy hadn’t seen a house, car, or person since he had left the county road an hour ago. And Freddy didn’t even have a bossy Katherine Hepburn to keep him company.
    The thought of bossy women reminded him of his ex-wives. Maybe solitude wasn’t that bad after all.
    He glanced over at his satchel, sitting on the passenger seat beside him. Inside it, along with his Nikon camera, rolls of film, and his tape recorder, was the letter that had sent him scurrying to New Mexico as fast as the old car could carry him. Two days of hard driving had brought him to Taos. From there, it had taken a number of stops at courthouses to find the exact location of the spot he was looking for. Even with the GPS device, his one surrender to modern digital technology, it had taken most of the rest of the day to find the right set of barbed wire gates to get this far.
    The letter had come via overnight mail. In all the years he had known the retired New York City medical examiner, Freddy had never gotten anything from Benny Marucci that wasn’t sent at the cheapest postal rate possible. Yet there it was: an overnight, registered letter, with its Little Italy postmark.
    Benny was one of the few old Italians left in what had once been the heart of Italian New York City. Now, for all intents and purposes, it was a part of Chinatown. Most of the Italian families had long since departed, including Benny’s. But not Benny Marucci.
    His father had been a mob boss. His three brothers had risen through the ranks of the family business from low-level enforcers to high-ranking crime figures. Two of them had died under a hail of bullets in Morris Park and the other died in prison. But somehow Benny had served thirty years as a New York City M.E. while eating Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners with the mob. Having survived numerous investigations by Internal Affairs and a couple of hit attempts, Benny had just kept on working until he hit the mandatory retirement age.
    Benny Marucci was a bulldog of a man, even now, late into his seventies.
    The letter had confirmed that the fingers strung onto the necklace had been cut from the female victims while they were still alive with a guillotine-style cigar cutter. The fingers were from five different women, each of whom had been reported missing in northern New Mexico in the last year. Benny had included pictures and short bios of each. All of them were in their twenties, beautiful, and rich.
    But it was the contents of the microscope slide specimen that had caused Benny to send the response with such urgency.
    It was a razor-thin slice of human heart tissue. By calling in a few old debts, Benny had gained access to the DNA record of one Carlton “Priest” Williams and had verified that the sample was, in fact, his. The man’s records after joining the military were only partially available, indicative of a highly classified position. His discharge under other than honorable conditions in 2002 did not elaborate on the reasons.
    What made the sliver of heart pressed between the glass slides so astounding was the blood. It was infested by something that Benny could not identify, other than to say that it contained a high concentration of microscopic machines of unknown manufacture and purpose. Benny had never seen anything like it and didn’t seem to think anyone else had either.
    The letter had ended with just three words. “Be careful, paesano .”
    Unfortunately, careful wouldn’t get it done for Freddy. These last few years had been filled with a growing sense that he was buried under circumstances beyond his