Chapter 33

Hong Kong and New Jersey

Consumed by the ricin conundrum, John Chi Leigh could not leave his Hong Kong lab until he had the resolution. He reviewed his findings multiple times and always came up with the same answer. Lily had shipped him a series of cards that had been collected from all over the city. Some of the cards had a manufacturing date of November, while the rest were made in December. He could tell this by a small line in the bar code that gave the date the card was made. He also assumed that this would be close to the date that the toxin was embedded into the card, but had understood that the toxin itself had been made much earlier in the year. The perpetrators of the crime would have needed time to extract the ricin, convert the crude toxin into a weaponized form and then join the two processes, that is, embed the cards’ scratch strip with toxin. It was a course of action that was easily a year in the making.

There were only a few laboratories in the world that were capable of accomplishing this high level of chemistry. One was, of course, his own lab. However, the mainland Chinese were also very capable of creating sophisticated drug labs. They were currently manufacturing illicit designer synthetic opioids and cannabinoids, and if the money was right, there was no reason they couldn’t, wouldn’t, make chemicals for warfare.

Synthetic cannabinoids or synthetic marijuana, commonly known as K2 or spice, was something that John Chi had been very familiar with. These man-made chemicals could be sprayed onto other plants and mimic some of the effects of delta-9 tetrahydrocannabinol, the psychoactive ingredient found in marijuana. As the U.S. government banned the new compounds, chemists would simply modify a hydrogen, or nitrogen or hydroxyl group here or there and create a totally new drug that presumably wasn’t banned. While some of these new compounds could produce an elevated mood and a relaxed feeling, more often they created paranoia and hallucinations. Violent behavior, suicidal thoughts and racing hearts or worse brought young people into the emergency departments around the country. It was hard to prevent the Chinese from getting these drugs into the United States. Leigh knew that the DEA was continuing talks with their counterparts in Beijing to crack down on these chemists who fine-tuned chemical formulas just to stay one step ahead of the law. Now opioids were the bigger business. Even John Chi had been approached to get into this game. His lab and his knowledge could be parlayed into billions of dollars. Synthetic fentanyl was in demand now and would be easy for him to make, just a simple cookbook formula. Yet of all the villains looking for chemists to hire for their own revenge schemes or money-making illicit drug enterprises, it was the terrorists who were the most frightening. Scrutinizing the world for new toxins and ways to weaponize them could command an unimaginable price. It was a tempting proposition.

The signature that John Chi saw within the chromatogram was distinct. He knew where the crude toxin had been made. By the look of the extraction process trail, the toxin had been created in Russia, but it was clear the refinement had taken place in China, more specifically in Hong Kong. He recognized the small residual molecules surrounding the larger peaks as an indication of a novel technique, his technique, for making such a fine particle. This was his laboratory’s work. John Chi Leigh had been betrayed. This was never part of the agreement.

* * *

While Leigh worked out his puzzle in Hong Kong, program guides had been delivered to the football stadium ready to showcase the upcoming Super Bowl held in a teeming corner of the United States. Fans were already tailgating in the parking lot while others were streaming into the arena to find their seats. Ticket scalpers remained out front in hopes of finding someone willing to pay thousands of dollars for a chance to be part of history. Government agents and local police had practically surrounded the sports center. Most of the cards had been removed already, but there were still thousands of cards throughout the northeast corridor.

Vendors lined up the beers, the chicken wings, hot dogs and soda, and sold program guides by the thousands. Millions of television viewers turned on their high-definition sets and sat down in groups of families and friends to watch the spectacle. They had created their own dishes of chips and salsa, foot-long hoagies and endless supersized drinks. It was Super Bowl Sunday. The equivalent to the ancient Romans lining the steep seats in the Coliseum to watch the gladiators battle with each other, and with a wild menagerie of exotic creatures. It was time to let the games begin.

* * *

Dr. Francis Becker stayed later at the hospital than he had planned. There was something about these cases that bothered him. Lily had told him that all the victims had been exposed to the same toxin. But Stu Greene, the emergency department physician said some of the patients who presented with similar signs and symptoms survived with supportive treatment, and some died. Why didn’t they all die? On his own autopsies, he noted variable amounts of pathology, some bodies showing more extensive lesions than others. He would have to check with Lily. He decided to let these questions go until the next day and head back to his New York home.

Francis Becker sat down in his comfortable chair back at the apartment, pulled up a table of goodies and cursed his leg filled with shrapnel and pain. His fluffy cat rubbed up against his ankle, but she was not as good a cure as the Bourbon and branch. He let out a small cough, wiped the sweat off his brow with his shirtsleeve and rubbed his tired eyes. The TV set flickered and the first anticipated commercial filled the screen. He had the perfect seat for the unfolding spectacle.

Eric Vandermeer had not been able to leave Mercy Hospital as Becker had. He was still a captive. The image of Alexis floated in his head and he wanted to return to the museum as soon as possible to learn more about her. He pressed the call button by his bed and asked one of the nurses to fix his pillows for him so he could get the angle straight for viewing the TV. He had trouble focusing because of the double vision, but he wasn’t about to miss the Super Bowl. He would call Lily in the morning.

Jim Cassidy was riding the ambulance around the city. “Hey, can you turn on the radio,” he said to his driver. “I’d like to see if we can get the football game on and catch the score. Oh, we’ve got another call. Twenty-five-year-old woman found down near the Park. Let’s get over there now.” The number of calls regarding acute respiratory distress and pulmonary edema seemed to Jim, to be slowing down. But the number of opioid overdoses was clearly on the rise. The narcotics just kept bombarding the city’s vulnerable population without an end in sight.

* * *

The dark-haired man and I wait in a specially-equipped van near the parking lot by the gates of the football stadium. It’s as good a place as any on this Sunday night. The cards have been found all over the city. Our vehicle is ready to move out to any location in an emergency, and it carries a supply of Hazmat suits and fine particle respirators. The biggest fear the producers of the Super Bowl faced had been the chance of a major snowfall. There had been much criticism for having the game in a cold weather city and not under the safety of a glass dome or someplace where the temperatures were mild and the cold air didn’t take your breath away. If only I could reassure the world that cold temperatures and even snow would be preferable to ricin. I’ve still not heard from John Chi. The idea that he would have a hand in this makes me angry. I trusted him and believed that he trusted me.

* * *

John Chi went to the drug synthesis lab in the far end of the facility and looked at all the equipment. The lab hadn’t been used for quite some time. Everything one would need to make weaponized ricin could be found here. Over in the corner hung a mask used for highly dangerous work. He could tell that it had been hanging on the peg for a while. There was a little dust on the band and the filter didn’t appear to be brand new. It had been used before.

He donned protective clothing, then removed the filter and rinsed it, capturing the fluid. He added various solvents until he had collected enough of the liquid to concentrate the mixture. Then he waited.

When the extraction was completed, he injected the mixture into the mass spectrometer. He waited patiently for the signal to emerge. There it was. Ricin. The same peak he had identified in samples sent from New York appeared here. The original specimens also contained the metabolite ricine, and another unidentified peak which he could also see in this analysis. The number of peaks appeared to be variable across the samples. One thing was certain, the creation of the weaponized toxin had been done in this lab, in his lab. He was furious. He went down to the security section of the lab. It was closed this early in the morning, but he was the laboratory’s director and had been employed there long enough to know how things worked. He found a way to get inside and turned on the computer. He typed in his passcode. Access to the security files was denied. He looked around the desk and under the keyboard.

Ming, he thought, from the mainland. How many times have we been told to never leave our password under the keyboard? He typed in Ming’s password and was able to log into the security database. He methodically searched back over the last year looking for any clues that would suggest who had access to the lab after hours. There it was. He found it. It was a single month, almost a year ago. The lab had been visited after hours every night presumably to process a backlog of specimens that had been shipped from Australia. There were several horse-racing clubs that sent their specimens to his lab because of its high-quality work, but Leigh had signed off on those samples himself. There would have been no need to work on these specimens after hours.

The number on the ID badge that had accessed the lab late at night was 0404. He went to the employee directory to look up the number to find the name. There was a sound at the door. John Chi Leigh quickly shut down the computer and moved away from the desk. A janitor came into the room to empty the trashcans from the previous day while Leigh stood behind the blue security lab coats neatly hung on a clothes rack. When he was convinced the janitor had left the area, he returned to the computer to find the culprit. He ran down the numbers, 0401, 02, 03, 04. His finger stopped on the name adjacent to 0404. Disbelief filled his mind. He bristled and sunk deep into the chair. The office door opened.

“Dr. Leigh, what a surprise to find you in my office. Is there something I can do for you?” said Ming. He looked at his computer. The screen was black.

“So sorry, Ming. I, I was looking for…”

“What could you possibly be looking for in my office, Dr. Leigh? I am head of security.”

“I was hoping you had a log of all the specimens that came in from other countries.”

“I think you should be able to find that in the billing office. But then that’s not why you are here, is it Dr. Leigh?”

* * *

The football game has begun in the Meadowlands in New Jersey. I haven’t seen any perfume cards, so there’s probably no need to worry here at the sports arena. Any cards that would have been handed out at the subway or trains would have been confiscated by the authorities. The security cameras throughout the arena have links to monitors in the van so we can keep an eye on the entrances, exits and concession stands. Hundreds of cameras also focus on different sections of the stadium seating allowing us to scroll through the screens and see how the fans are doing. So far, they’re enjoying the game. The score is 8 to 0. I feel complacent for the moment, and then something catches my eye.

I’m looking at the camera from the main concession stand and I see a short stocky man wearing a surgical facemask. Not that unusual given this is flu season. Many people wear them in large crowds to prevent transmission of respiratory diseases and the public has been warned that this is a particularly virulent flu season. But on closer inspection, it looks more like an N95 respirator, a facemask that is capable of filtering particles perhaps 0.3 microns small. My heart starts accelerating, I reach out and grab JP’s arm and call over Agent Parker.

“Look at the screen,” I say excitedly. I think that’s Markovic. That’s the man I saw at the Museum. I know that’s him. Both agents scrutinize the monitor.

“Robinson may be right,” say’s JP. “Parker, take some men down there and check it out.”

I’ve already slipped out of the van and rush over to the concession stand. JP will disapprove so I don’t ask him. My security pass lets me go anywhere I need to and the van is not that far from the main entrance. I’m not going there to apprehend Markovic; I just want to know what he’s doing here wearing a respirator. He wouldn’t be wearing the mask unless he’s expecting something to happen, and if the perfume cards are no longer in play, then what could it be?

When I reach the concession area, I can see Markovic standing to the right of the snack bar. It appears as if he is more interested in the merchandise than anything else. He’s watching what the fans are purchasing. What am I missing? I can see Parker and the other agents approaching and Markovic sees them too, so he starts his exit. I know I can’t stop him, but I can get in his way to slow his escape.

Our bodies collide. “Stop,” I shout. “Markovic, where’s the toxin?”

He’s startled, and then with complete composure, answers with those steel gray eyes staring at me above the mask, “Ahh, Dr. Robinson. Enjoy flipping through pages to satisfy your curiosity.” Then he just bolts with Parker and the other agents close behind.

Flipping through pages? Flipping through pages of what? What could he mean by that?

* * *

Back in Hong Kong, Dr. Leigh felt trapped in the chair in Ming’s office. How was he going to explain himself? He really had no good explanation as to why he was there other than to determine which chemist had had access to the lab after hours about a year ago. Suppose Ming was also involved in this conspiracy? Dr. Leigh knew that even though he was the scientific head of the laboratory there were restrictions as to where he could and could not be, and Ming had caught him flat out.

“Ming, I have found some irregularities in my synthesis lab,” said Dr. Leigh. He waited to see how Ming would react.

“Are you concerned about a security matter? If not, then the chemists are your responsibility. Good day, Dr. Leigh.”

John Chi left the security office and headed back to his own. He was relieved and felt it was unlikely that Ming was involved based on his response. Unless of course he was letting Leigh go to see what he would do next. Leigh was contemplative when he entered his office and sat down at his desk to review his options. His reputation and personal integrity were at stake.

The stream of laboratory workers checked in and began to assemble at their benches. They donned all their personal protective equipment, lab coat, gloves, and eyewear, and where necessary, masks. They gathered urine and blood specimens from the refrigerators and began their acid and base extractions. Each specimen had been assigned an accession number and results would be given to the client under those numbers. Leigh went out into the lab to check on the work. He stopped at the bench of a young chemist dressed in his starched white lab coat.

“Good morning Dr. Lin,” said John Chi. “What are you working on today?”

George Sun Lin looked at Dr. Leigh and smiled. Leigh had been his model scientist since he had started his own training as a student chemist.

“Good morning, Dr. Leigh. I’m doing an extraction for some potential designer drugs.”

“Of course, they would give you the most difficult work. You are one of our best scientists. Isn’t that right Dr. Lin?”

George Sun Lin was flattered.

“Dr. Lin, George, when you get to a stopping point, please come to my office so I can discuss an exciting project with you.”

Dr. Leigh was the most renowned chemist in Hong Kong if not the world. His reputation was unmatched and George Sun wanted to be held in the same esteem. He would quickly get his sample into the chromatograph and see Dr. Leigh while he waited for his results.

“Please, sit down Dr. Lin,” said Dr. Leigh. He turned to the bench that ran along the back wall of his office and unplugged the electric teakettle which had clearly reached the boiling point. “I’ll make us a nice cup of tea.” Hong Kong still felt the influences of the British way of life.

George Lin watched while the tea kettle settled and Leigh added some dried tea leaves to the cups. He poured the boiling water into the teacups and waited while the steam teemed over the top. “Best to let it steep awhile. It’s a special tea from my colleague in America and it needs to sit to bring out its full flavor.” He let the cups cool in the office air.

George Sun was thrilled to be in John Chi’s office and having tea with him. John Chi handed the cup to the young chemist after exchanging a few pleasantries.

“I’ve had my eye on you for some time,” Leigh said. “You have been studying many of my methods and techniques, haven’t you?”

“Why yes, Dr. Leigh. I’ve read all of your books and have tried to follow all of your procedures for extraction and synthesis of chemicals and drugs.”

“You are probably the most gifted young chemist we have in this lab today,” said Leigh. “You most undoubtedly will go far. Where are you living now, George?”

“I’m living in a little flat past Jordan station, but I’m planning on moving this spring.” He took a sip of the tea. It was still a bit hot.

“Oh, why are you moving?” Leigh responded.

“I wanted to have a nicer place, a bigger flat fit for...” His voice trailed off. Perhaps he had revealed too much. He took another larger sip of tea since the liquid was now cooler.

“So ambitious for a young man. I suppose you have extra money from the working overtime late in the lab?”

George became uncomfortable. His lips were numb and he felt as if he were drooling, just a little.

“What do you mean, Dr. Leigh? Umm, I’m not feeling very well at the moment. Maybe we could speak later,” he said with a slight slur.

Leigh sipped his tea and said, “Oh, perhaps a little more tea to settle your stomach.”

The teacup dropped from George’s hand and broke when it hit the floor.

Leigh looked at him and could see he was struggling with his breathing.

“Tell me George, did you disclose to them you were George Sun Lin or did you tell them you were John Chi Leigh?

“I don’t know what you are talking about?” His voice was indistinct.

“You know exactly what I am talking about. The ricin, Dr. Lin. The ricin.”

George Sun Lin’s eyes widened and his mouth assumed the shape of the letter O. He felt frightened and considered asking for forgiveness. He had no comprehension of Dr. Leigh’s intent.

“I, I told them I was you so I could get the job. We all look the same to the Westerners anyway. He didn’t suspect anything. What is happening to me? What did you give me?” His voice slurred and his pulse slowed.

“Who was your connection, George? Who gave you this job?” By this time Leigh was on the floor holding him by the front of his lab coat. George Sun was barely breathing now.

“He was Russian, that’s all I know. He had, he had a very crude toxin. But I fixed...” These words came out garbled and then he stopped talking. Dr. Lin had used Leigh’s name and reputation. He had sifted through his notebooks and listened clandestinely on some of his phone calls. He wanted more than anything to be Dr. Leigh.

John Chi let go of George’s lab coat and his head thumped on the floor. Leigh quietly sat there and finished his tea. He looked at the tea leaves at the bottom of his cup and those splattered on the floor next to George Sun.

“Ah,” he said out loud as if he had an audience, “my tea leaves tell me I’m to have good fortune and many long years ahead. But Dr. Lin, no such luck for you.”

* * *

The half-time show is almost over. There have been no overhead sirens and no calls for medics other than the usual: alcohol intoxication, occasional drug overdoses, and minor cuts and bruises. I return to the van for a scolding by JP for playing Russian roulette, and try to understand what Markovic meant when he said flipping through pages to satisfy my curiosity. Why flipping through pages? Parker and the other agents have not returned and Markovic is out there somewhere. We almost had him.

The second half of the game is beginning, and there’s a stir in the stands. We can see through the monitors that several rows of spectators are coughing uncontrollably and two women have passed out. There’s a radio call for help and now a call has come in specifically for our assistance. A Hazmat technician, a medic and I suit up and make our way to the disturbance. Television cameras are instructed to focus on the game and on parts of the stadium that are not affected. JP is monitoring our intervention from the van ready to call in more aid in a flash. When we reach the stands, the medic and technician take the women by stretcher from out between the rows. They will be transported to the hospital. Spectators are alarmed to see individuals wearing space suits in their midst. I hear gasps from the crowd, so I try to assure the remaining people who are now feeling dizzy that everything is under control. I’m looking around for those advertising cards and don’t see any. There are only souvenir programs left on the seats. Handling one carefully, I notice that the programs have been initially sealed with glue. I flip through the pages to see if there are any advertising cards inserted between the leaves. And then it hits me. Markovic has embedded ricin in the glue that holds the programs’ front and back cover together to keep the pages within secure until the spectator separates the two. As this idea begins to sink in, my heart starts racing once again with the terrifying realization that thousands of programs are all through the stadium and mass poisoning is upon us. Individuals seated in that section are quickly evacuated from their seats and brought inside the covered part of the stadium. How do we empty this entire arena calmly and ask everyone to leave their program guide at their seat? I’ve got to be sure. I collect a few programs, my wits, and focus my clinical mind. Why the delay? I wonder. If the programs were to spew the toxin at the opening, why now and not earlier? I spend some time with the remaining victims who did not lose consciousness and whose breathing seems relatively normal now, and then go back toward the van with some programs and many questions.

When I get to the van, JP is waiting for an update. I tell him it’s worse than we thought. I tell him that I believe the program guides may also contain toxin. I show him one of the programs I’ve collected from the stands, now safely contained in an airtight bag. “JP, we’re going to have to interrupt the game and make an announcement.”

The dark-haired man is now conferring with officials from the sports arena. Apparently, they’ve discovered a gas leak in the section of the stadium where the fans had gotten sick and felt that this had been the reason for the coughing and dizziness. It is possible. But then Markovic’s clue has me flipping through the pages.

It’s the third quarter of the game and the only score is by the favored team. JP has left the van to meet with city authorities to review exit plans and instruct someone to oversee the collection of any remaining program guides just in case my hunch is right. I haven’t seen any widespread commotion after the initial false alarm, but my gut tells me it’s the program guides. Though there’s been no mass reaction in the stadium that we can detect, it’s the only thing that makes sense. I can’t explain it. I’m so engrossed in the puzzle, I don’t realize the fourth quarter has ended. The favored team has just been kicked out of the park by the underdogs at a rousing score of 43-8. Fans are going wild, and I can just about hear my cell phone ring. It’s a Hong Kong exchange. Leigh!

“Leigh, where the hell have you been?” I yell into the phone. Then I let him have it. “I have been trying to get you for the last two days. You do realize that there are a slew of events happening all day and all night in the metropolitan area. In fact, the Super Bowl is playing and it’s almost over, no it is over. We’ve collected thousands of cards from around the city. Leigh, I’m pretty sure that the football souvenir program guides are also laced with ricin. The sports arena is still standing, but we did have some sick fans. We have additional agents at the Garden and throughout the city since any event could be targeted.” I managed to spew it all out at once before he could get a word in.

“Lily Robinson,” Leigh says speaking to me slowly. “There is no longer any danger.”

“What are you talking about?”

“It turns out one of my finest chemists worked with a Russian to make the toxin and get it into a weaponized grade. But they made one critical mistake in the extraction process and created an unstable form. The stability of the toxin, I estimate, may be two months once encapsulated, then it begins to break down into a non-toxic compound. I found the signature breakdown product on the cards, and even in some of the body fluids you sent me. I expect that the ricin was made quite a while ago, and had already started to degrade. If the powder had been incorporated into a glue form, rather than a core particle, it probably would break down that much quicker.”

“Oh my God,” I say, my heart pounding once again. “We may have lucked out, Leigh.” And to think I doubted him. “Listen, I need to give the team the all clear. We can talk tomorrow. Thank you, John. Really, thank you.”

“Lily, one more thing. Do you remember when you visited me the last time, we exchanged gifts?”

“Yes, John. What’s this about?”

“I gave you an ampoule of saxitoxin and you gave me tea leaves from your magic garden. Yes, I think I might like to see that garden one day. You invited me once.”

“You mean I gave you dried leaves and roots from Wolfsbane or monkshood, the devil’s helmet. It contains my favorite poison, aconite.” He knows this; why bring this up now? “And of course, you’re always welcome to visit me, and my garden,” I tell him.

“Well that Chinese chemist and I shared a cup of tea while we had our little chat this morning. He had your tea, I had my tea.”

I get it now. “John, you poisoned him?”

“Yes, Lily Robinson, with the Queen of all Poisons.”