Capitol Punishment (An Art Jefferson Thriller Book 3) by Ryne Douglas Pearson

those exposed without protection. VZ has twice the LD-50 of VX when inhaled, and four times when absorbed percutaneously.”
    “What’s the dose?” Art asked.
    “For VZ you’re talking point-two-five milligrams if inhaled, and four milligrams if absorbed through the skin. But VZ, unlike VX, mists extremely well into minuscule droplets, which means that anyone unprotected will almost certainly breathe in a lethal dose before they absorb it.”
    Art tried to imagine so small an amount, but couldn’t grasp it effectively. “And how much is in one of those cylinders?”
    “My estimate is about fourteen ounces,” Orwell answered.
    “And how many people could that much VZ kill?”
    “That would depend on a lot of factors,” Orwell said. “Environment. Dispersion.”
    “A ballpark figure,” Art said. “Assume that there are lots of people and everything goes just right.”
    The captain thought for a moment. “Figuring that half the agent would be wasted as it spread, a guess would be four to five thousand.”
    The number, spoken clinically as just a combination of digits, floored the three agents.
    “Five thousand people?” Frankie asked.
    “In the nightmare scenario your partner gave me, yes,” Orwell affirmed.
    “If someone of Allen’s kind has it and is planning to use it, you can bet they envision the nightmare scenario,” Art said.
    “So how do we stop them?” Hidalgo wondered for the group.
    “Well, pardon my French, but Jerry’s fuckup may have given us a little edge,” Art observed. “Everyone knows that there was a release of VX thanks to him, and they also think that that was it. The fact that we’re investigating just goes along with the incident.”
    “So whoever has the VZ might be feeling more secure because they think we think there’s nothing more out there,” Hidalgo said. “And the fact that we’re still checking around to tie together loose ends might not spook them either.”
    “Not if they were as careful as I bet they were,” Art said.
    “If King was insulated well,” Frankie began, “just imagine how tight the folks behind this are wrapped up.”
    Hidalgo considered the proposition that his lead agents were laying out. “So we press this without actually saying publicly what our real focus is?”
    “I think that’s our edge,” Art said.
    “But what about public safety?” Hidalgo asked. “If something happens...”
    “There’s no way you can protect anyone from this,” Orwell said. “I may not be a cop, but what Jefferson is saying is logical. The only way to protect the public is to get this stuff away from whoever might use it.”
    Secrecy was not uncommon in an investigation, but Hidalgo could just imagine the media and the civil libertarians crying “cover-up” if something happened before the Bureau could find and secure the nerve agent. But experience told him that a wide-open investigation might simply push the bad guys deeper into hiding, or, worse, into using their trump card before it could be taken from them.
    “Do it, Art,” Hidalgo said. “You’re senior on this. Find it.” Find them.
    “Will do,” Art promised, seeing the added desire in the A-SAC’s eyes...along with the fire.
    “Captain,” Hidalgo said. “Thanks for digging this up. You may have saved some lives.”
    “I hope so.”
    Hidalgo excused himself and headed back up to Jerry Donovan’s office, leaving Orwell with the two agents.
    “If you need anything...” Orwell offered.
    “I’m sure we will,” Frankie said. She looked to Art. “Early morning tomorrow, partner?”
    “Tomorrow, and the next day, and the next... We’ll figure a split between us tomorrow.” Art glanced at his watch. This very late dinner with Anne could end up being his last for a while. He wanted to get going, but there was one thing still nagging at him. “Captain, you said we never made VZ for our inventory, even though it was more deadly.”
    “But not on the battlefield,” Orwell repeated