potassium hydroxide, some carbonate and a smidge of potassium chloride.”
“How difficult is it to get your hands on potassium cyanide these days?”
“Not difficult. It’s used in a lot of industries. Usually as a cleaning solution or fixative. It’s used in making plastics, some photographic development processes, even in fumigating ships. There was about seventy-five milligrams in the capsule the kid spit out. With little food in the digestive tract, that dose causes almost an instantaneous collapse and cessation of all respiration. Of course, that starts only after the plastic capsule is dissolved, but I’d say within minutes. Absorbs all the oxygen out of the cells. Not a pretty or fun way to die. The victims literally strangle to death from the inside out.”
“So why not just stick their guns in their mouths like most teenage boys who commit suicide?” Both images bothered Maggie, and Ganza raised his eyebrows at the impatience and sarcasm in her voice.
“You know the answer to that as well as I do. Psychologically it’s much easier to swallow a pill than pull the trigger, especially if you’re not so keen on the idea to begin with.”
“So you don’t think this was their idea?”
“Do you?”
“I wish it were that simple.” She ran her fingers through her hair, only now noticing the tangles. “They found a two-way radio inside the cabin, so they were in contact with someone. We just don’t know who. And, of course, there was a huge arsenal underneath the cabin.”
“Oh, yes, the arsenal.” Ganza opened a file folder and shuffled through several pages. “We were able to track the serial numbers on about a dozen of the weapons.”
“That was fast. I’m guessing they were stolen instead of bought at some gun show, right?”
“Not exactly.” He pulled out several documents. “You’re not going to like it.”
“Try me.”
“They came from a storage facility at Fort Bragg.”
“So they were stolen.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Then what exactly did you say?” She came to stand at his side, looking over his arm at the document he had extracted.
“The military never knew they were missing.”
“How is that possible?”
“They retired the weapons long ago, sent them to storage. Whoever got ahold of them would have had to have high-level clearance or some type of official access.”
“You’re kidding!”
“It gets even more interesting.” He handed her an envelope stamped Document Department and motioned for her to open it.
Maggie pulled out several sheets of paper, which included a land title from the state of Massachusetts for ten acres of property, as well as for a cabin and docking rights to the Neponset River.
“Great,” she said after scanning the copy. “So the land was donated to some nonprofit organization. These guys really know how to hide their tracks.”
“Not that unusual,” Ganza said. “A lot of these groups filter weapons and money, even property, through bogus NPOs. Saves them from paying taxes and allows them to thumb their noses at the government they profess to hate so much. That’s usually all they have the courage to do.”
“But this group is into more dangerous stuff than tax evasion. Whoever is behind this, this maniac’s willing to sacrifice his own men…boys, really.” Maggie flipped through the pages. “So what in the world is the Church of Spiritual Freedom? I’ve never heard of it before.” She looked back up at Ganza, who shrugged his bony shoulders. “What the hell did Delaney get in the middle of?”
CHAPTER 9
FBI Headquarters
Washington, D.C.
M aggie waited for Keith Ganza to finish the work she had interrupted. He was used to her barging into his lab at FBI headquarters, whether invited or not—usually not. And although he grumbled about it, she knew he didn’t mind, even late on a Saturday afternoon when everyone else had already called it a day and left.
As the head of the FBI crime lab, Ganza had seen
“How difficult is it to get your hands on potassium cyanide these days?”
“Not difficult. It’s used in a lot of industries. Usually as a cleaning solution or fixative. It’s used in making plastics, some photographic development processes, even in fumigating ships. There was about seventy-five milligrams in the capsule the kid spit out. With little food in the digestive tract, that dose causes almost an instantaneous collapse and cessation of all respiration. Of course, that starts only after the plastic capsule is dissolved, but I’d say within minutes. Absorbs all the oxygen out of the cells. Not a pretty or fun way to die. The victims literally strangle to death from the inside out.”
“So why not just stick their guns in their mouths like most teenage boys who commit suicide?” Both images bothered Maggie, and Ganza raised his eyebrows at the impatience and sarcasm in her voice.
“You know the answer to that as well as I do. Psychologically it’s much easier to swallow a pill than pull the trigger, especially if you’re not so keen on the idea to begin with.”
“So you don’t think this was their idea?”
“Do you?”
“I wish it were that simple.” She ran her fingers through her hair, only now noticing the tangles. “They found a two-way radio inside the cabin, so they were in contact with someone. We just don’t know who. And, of course, there was a huge arsenal underneath the cabin.”
“Oh, yes, the arsenal.” Ganza opened a file folder and shuffled through several pages. “We were able to track the serial numbers on about a dozen of the weapons.”
“That was fast. I’m guessing they were stolen instead of bought at some gun show, right?”
“Not exactly.” He pulled out several documents. “You’re not going to like it.”
“Try me.”
“They came from a storage facility at Fort Bragg.”
“So they were stolen.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Then what exactly did you say?” She came to stand at his side, looking over his arm at the document he had extracted.
“The military never knew they were missing.”
“How is that possible?”
“They retired the weapons long ago, sent them to storage. Whoever got ahold of them would have had to have high-level clearance or some type of official access.”
“You’re kidding!”
“It gets even more interesting.” He handed her an envelope stamped Document Department and motioned for her to open it.
Maggie pulled out several sheets of paper, which included a land title from the state of Massachusetts for ten acres of property, as well as for a cabin and docking rights to the Neponset River.
“Great,” she said after scanning the copy. “So the land was donated to some nonprofit organization. These guys really know how to hide their tracks.”
“Not that unusual,” Ganza said. “A lot of these groups filter weapons and money, even property, through bogus NPOs. Saves them from paying taxes and allows them to thumb their noses at the government they profess to hate so much. That’s usually all they have the courage to do.”
“But this group is into more dangerous stuff than tax evasion. Whoever is behind this, this maniac’s willing to sacrifice his own men…boys, really.” Maggie flipped through the pages. “So what in the world is the Church of Spiritual Freedom? I’ve never heard of it before.” She looked back up at Ganza, who shrugged his bony shoulders. “What the hell did Delaney get in the middle of?”
CHAPTER 9
FBI Headquarters
Washington, D.C.
M aggie waited for Keith Ganza to finish the work she had interrupted. He was used to her barging into his lab at FBI headquarters, whether invited or not—usually not. And although he grumbled about it, she knew he didn’t mind, even late on a Saturday afternoon when everyone else had already called it a day and left.
As the head of the FBI crime lab, Ganza had seen
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