Book of Stolen Tales by D. J. McIntosh Page B

do.”
    Best extracted a file from his briefcase and set it on his lap. He cranked open his window. “It’s stuffy in here.”
    â€œYeah,” Shaheen said, “exhaust will help a lot. What the hell caused what we saw in there?”
    â€œWe have no idea. As you heard, the medical people are knocking themselves out to find it. They suspect it’s a pathogen that’s been engineered and the microbiologists either stumbled across it, not realizing what they found, or were deliberately contaminated. You can imagine the implications if that germ starts to spread to our troops over there. Or gets transported over here. We need you.”
    â€œFor what?”
    â€œTo find the infection site.”
    â€œCome on. The army’s checked every conceivable biohazard location already.”
    â€œI know,” Best said.
    â€œYeah. And they got zero. There’s nothing to find. Before the war, sanctions were so tight it was hard to import a tube of toothpaste let alone dangerous chemicals.”
    At this, Best lost his patience. “Perhaps you’ll allow me some credit, Lieutenant, since I have a few years’ experience. I’ve seen the bloated bodies of the Kurds after Hussein dosed them with poisoned gas at Halabja. Gruesome sights are an occupational hazard for me. Loretti and Hill were sent out to locate evidence of bioweapons and they found something lethal. You’re right, we haven’t discovered any sites—yet. And we’ve had our people go over each place the scientists checked officially. Where we’ve made no headway is with what they did on their own time over there. That will be your job.”
    Shaheen took a package out of his pants pocket and removed a cigarillo.
    â€œLook,” Best said in a friendlier tone, “it takes a different set of skills to pry information out of the locals and that’s your forte, right? A new pair of eyes might help. Your record for turning up dependable information is first class; that’s why we want you. But there are other connections you’d need to explore too. You’ll be going to London first.”
    â€œThe Brits? They’ve got infected people too?”
    Best shook his head. “No. Loretti’s wife told us he’d met with an Englishman, Charles Renwick, in Iraq this August.”
    â€œSo?”
    Best flipped through the report he held and scanned one of the pages. “It looks like Loretti was staying at the same Baghdad hotel as Renwick last August. The wife says Renwick approached her husband with some story about a source of plague.”
    â€œHas Renwick been interrogated?”
    â€œHe’s missing. He may be dead.”
    â€œFrom the same thing that’s infected Loretti and Hill?”
    â€œNo. Police are investigating a robbery at Renwick’s business. They think it went bad. No telling when, or if, this Renwick will turn up. We want you to speak to the London police about their investigation. Get a handle on what Renwick was doing. Oh, and there’s another American involved too.”
    â€œWho?”
    â€œHis name’s John Madison. New Yorker. Antiquities dealer. Renwick hired him to buy a rare book and now Madison’s reported it stolen. Renwick’s lawyer is suspicious. He doesn’t believe Madison’s story. And Madison was also in Iraq last August.”
    Best slapped his folder shut. “That will have to do for now. Your flight to the U.K. leaves this afternoon. You’ll get your boarding pass, reporting protocol, and all the details by email. You work directly with me.”
    Best’s phone rang. He looked at the screen and held his hand up for Shaheen to wait until he took the call. As he listened, Best grimaced, his lips pressed together in a tight white line, and said, “Shit. When did this happen?”
    He listened again and said, “How soon?” And followed that up with, “Okay. I’ll come back