Loyalty in Death by J. D. Robb

yesterday. I told him you weren’t the type for flowers, but he thinks everyone is.”
    “I like flowers.” Feeling slightly defensive about Peabody’s take on her, Eve deliberately bent down and sniffed them. Twice. “What’s not to like? So what’s baby brother up to today?”
    “He’s got a list of museums and galleries. A long list,” Peabody added. “Then he’s going to go down and stand in line for discount theater tickets for tonight. He doesn’t care what show, as long as he gets to see something on Broadway.”
    Eve studied Peabody’s face, the concerned eyes, the teeth McNab had admired busily gnawing her bottom lip. “Peabody, people manage to do all the things he’s planning and survive New York every day.”
    “Yeah, I know. And we went over all the warnings. Six or seven times,” she added with a wry smile. “But he’s just so… Zeke. Anyway, first he’s going to contact the Bransons, again, see what they want him to do. He couldn’t reach them yesterday.”
    “Hmm.” Eve sat and began to poke through the interoffice and outside mail Peabody had already brought in and stacked. “Roarke and I sat in on the will reading last night. Cooke terminates her lover and inherits millions.” Eve shook her head. “We’re going to drop by her place this morning, have a little chat about that. Who the hell is Cassandra?”
    “Who?”
    “That’s what I said.” Frowning, Eve turned over the disc pouch. “Outside package — return address in the Lower East Side. I don’t like packages from people I don’t know.”
    “All outside deliveries are scanned for explosives, poisons, and hazardous materials.”
    “Yeah, yeah.” But instinct had her reaching in a drawer for a can of Seal-It and coating her fingers before she opened the pouch and took out the disc. “The virus killer on this thing in working order?”
    Peabody looked sadly at Eve’s computer. “Your guess is as good as mine.”
    “Fucking piece of junk,” Eve muttered and slipped the disc into a slot. “Computer, engage and run disc.”
    There was a low buzzing, like a distant swarm of angry bees on the rise. Her screen blinked on, off, then with a whine came on again.
    “First chance I get,” Eve vowed, “I’m paying a personal visit to those clowns in maintenance.”
    Disc in text only. Message as follows…
    Lieutenant Eve Dallas, New York Police and Security, Cop Central, Homicide Division.
    We are Cassandra. We are the gods of justice. We are loyal.
    The present corrupt government with its self-serving and weak-stomached leaders must and will be destroyed. We will dismantle, we will remove, we will annihilate as it becomes necessary to make way for the republic. No longer will the masses tolerate the abuse, the suppression of ideas and voices, the neglect of the pitiful few who cling to power.
    Under our rule, all will live free.
    We admire your skills. We admire your loyalty in the matter of Howard Bassi, known as The Fixer. He was useful to us and terminated only because he proved defective.
    Eve slammed another disc into a slot. “Computer, copy disc currently running.”
    We are Cassandra. Our memory is long. We are prepared. We will make our needs and demands known to you, in time. At nine-fifteen this morning, we will provide a small demonstration of our scope. You will believe. Then you will listen.
    “A demonstration,” Eve said when the message ended. With a quick check of her wrist unit, she grabbed both discs, sealed the original. “We’ve got less than ten minutes.”
    “To do what?”
    “They gave us an address.”.She tapped a finger on the pouch, scooped up her jacket. “Let’s check it out.”
    “If these are the people who took out Fixer,” Peabody began as they strode to the elevator, “they already know you’re looking into it.”
    “Not that hard to know. I’ve been in contact with New Jersey, I went to his shop yesterday. Run the address, Peabody, see what it is. Apartment, private