telephone when Mildred entered his office.
"Well, okay. If you find out anything, please let me know." He returned the handset to its cradle and turned to Mildred.
"That was a friend of mine in the Federal Aviation Agency's airport security office. Boy, do they hate stiffs turning up in airports. Hurts the image that airports are antiseptic, user friendly places. I call him every so often to kibitz. Used that today, pretending that I hadn't heard a thing."
"Any idea who the attacker might be?" Mildred said.
"So far, the only thing we have is the body of an unnamed, thirtyish, black-haired, blue-eyed, Caucasian female. The National Airport Police think she may have been the victim of an attempted rape and robbery. The corpse had no identification or money. When the airport police showed her photograph around, some shuttle flight attendant remembered seeing her on a flight from La Guardia.
"Even so, there were no boarding passes, purses, or other identifying items. This is why the police think that robbery may have been the motive. The labels on her clothes were all general brand names. We will have little to go on. We can't get directly involved without revealing that one of our agents was the killer. Consequently, we're going to have to rely on normal channels.
"At least you had the good sense to neutralize her on FAA regulated property. The FBI will eventually get some information. Between them and my friend at the FAA, we should be able to get something. In addition, our DIA agents will be able to get something and may already have. The gases in the pellet are designed to disintegrate completely and be absorbed in the dying body so that any residual concentration is minimal.
"Any autopsy they perform on your friend will conclude that she died of a puncture wound to her abdomen area, followed by cardiac arrest. The medical examiner will likely conclude the deflated lungs were due to the physical attack. Luckily, the explosion was so fast that the tissue damage can be just as easily interpreted as being externally caused. There will be no suspicion that your friend's death was caused by internal trauma. I guess it's another scalp for your belt, Mildred."
"I'm getting too old for scalps. That's why I downgraded to Level Two. This was supposed to be a milk run. Do we have any idea what this person was up to?"
"Can't be sure until we get some form of positive identification. I understand that the Arlington County medical examiner sent your friend's prints to the national crime center in Atlanta, Georgia. At least we'll be able to see if we've met her before. I have a feeling that the prints will come up negative. The garrote was homemade. No sophistication whatsoever."
"Could it be I was made?" said Mildred.
"The boys don't think so, given the speed in which the courier assignment was made. On the other hand, if this person made you at the airport and decided to bag a big one on the spur of the moment, that would explain the homemade garrote."
"Hate to disagree, George. There's no way she could have had access to wires and wood at the airport."
"We'll find out in due course, Mildred. Meanwhile, go get some rest. Do you want some backup on your trip home?"
"No, George. Even retired Level Ones like to travel alone. I'm going down to the laboratory, my knitting needle needs a refill," she said, shaking her head in disbelief. "Oh, by the way. Can I have the garrote back?"
"Sure," said Smith, hesitantly. He didn't have to ask why because he knew and he understood. It was painful to think that his old friend Mildred still needed to keep such things.
1993: Somewhere in Minnesota
2100 Hours: Thursday, June 10, 1993: Outside of Mankato, Minnesota
"Tell us where the message is and you can go," said Tim Walsh, his voice calm and even.
"I keep telling you, I don't know what you're talking about," said the disheveled man tied to a
"Well, okay. If you find out anything, please let me know." He returned the handset to its cradle and turned to Mildred.
"That was a friend of mine in the Federal Aviation Agency's airport security office. Boy, do they hate stiffs turning up in airports. Hurts the image that airports are antiseptic, user friendly places. I call him every so often to kibitz. Used that today, pretending that I hadn't heard a thing."
"Any idea who the attacker might be?" Mildred said.
"So far, the only thing we have is the body of an unnamed, thirtyish, black-haired, blue-eyed, Caucasian female. The National Airport Police think she may have been the victim of an attempted rape and robbery. The corpse had no identification or money. When the airport police showed her photograph around, some shuttle flight attendant remembered seeing her on a flight from La Guardia.
"Even so, there were no boarding passes, purses, or other identifying items. This is why the police think that robbery may have been the motive. The labels on her clothes were all general brand names. We will have little to go on. We can't get directly involved without revealing that one of our agents was the killer. Consequently, we're going to have to rely on normal channels.
"At least you had the good sense to neutralize her on FAA regulated property. The FBI will eventually get some information. Between them and my friend at the FAA, we should be able to get something. In addition, our DIA agents will be able to get something and may already have. The gases in the pellet are designed to disintegrate completely and be absorbed in the dying body so that any residual concentration is minimal.
"Any autopsy they perform on your friend will conclude that she died of a puncture wound to her abdomen area, followed by cardiac arrest. The medical examiner will likely conclude the deflated lungs were due to the physical attack. Luckily, the explosion was so fast that the tissue damage can be just as easily interpreted as being externally caused. There will be no suspicion that your friend's death was caused by internal trauma. I guess it's another scalp for your belt, Mildred."
"I'm getting too old for scalps. That's why I downgraded to Level Two. This was supposed to be a milk run. Do we have any idea what this person was up to?"
"Can't be sure until we get some form of positive identification. I understand that the Arlington County medical examiner sent your friend's prints to the national crime center in Atlanta, Georgia. At least we'll be able to see if we've met her before. I have a feeling that the prints will come up negative. The garrote was homemade. No sophistication whatsoever."
"Could it be I was made?" said Mildred.
"The boys don't think so, given the speed in which the courier assignment was made. On the other hand, if this person made you at the airport and decided to bag a big one on the spur of the moment, that would explain the homemade garrote."
"Hate to disagree, George. There's no way she could have had access to wires and wood at the airport."
"We'll find out in due course, Mildred. Meanwhile, go get some rest. Do you want some backup on your trip home?"
"No, George. Even retired Level Ones like to travel alone. I'm going down to the laboratory, my knitting needle needs a refill," she said, shaking her head in disbelief. "Oh, by the way. Can I have the garrote back?"
"Sure," said Smith, hesitantly. He didn't have to ask why because he knew and he understood. It was painful to think that his old friend Mildred still needed to keep such things.
1993: Somewhere in Minnesota
2100 Hours: Thursday, June 10, 1993: Outside of Mankato, Minnesota
"Tell us where the message is and you can go," said Tim Walsh, his voice calm and even.
"I keep telling you, I don't know what you're talking about," said the disheveled man tied to a
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