True love is this: to lift, to heal, to defend, to enable, to create. Love makes a person greater than the sum of their parts, and true love is ever unfailing.
~ Excerpt from A Discourse of Broken Hearts by Finne Mari I3–2071
Monday March 17, 2070
Florida District 8
Commonwealth of North America
Sam watched the EMT roll away the last of the lab-blast survivors. In her hand was the name tag of the last victim; Henry Troom wasn’t walking out of this one. The police had pulled his plastic ID card out of the wall.
“Agent Rose?” The lab facilitator approached her cautiously. “I’m so sorry, why aren’t they taking Troom out yet?”
“Because it’s a crime scene, Dr. Morr, and because I can’t allow anyone in there who doesn’t have the proper security clearance. Someone will be here shortly,” she lied.
Drenmann Labs was a major source of contention between Sam and her oversight agent at HQ in Orlando. Drenmann was a secure facility attached to NASA and sometimes used by the naval post and Patrick Air Force Base. All of which fell under the heading of Too Classified to Think About in Public and within the boundaries of Florida District 6.
Senior Agent Petrilli of District 6 had a full staff with ten full-time agents and two full medical examiners with class-four or higher security clearance.
Senior Agent Samantha Rose of Florida District 8—the Canaveral District—had one junior agent, an agreement with the local PD and coroner’s office, and a bunch of retirees stretched along the space coast like beached albino whales. The crime rate here didn’t justify keeping a larger CBI force. Drenmann Labs was the exception; it needed a full-time Marine Corps guard.
She stepped into a small conference room and locked the door behind her before calling the main office.
“Junior Agent Dan Edwin speaking, how may I direct your call, sir or ma’am?”
“Hi, Edwin, it’s Rose.”
“Agent Rose!” Her junior agent’s voice cracked. He was an excitable puppy of a person. Sometimes it seemed like a miracle he didn’t jump up and lick her face.
“Did you get in touch with Petrilli yet? I need that coroner.”
“Petrilli has one out on vacation, and the other is elbow deep in something. I didn’t get details.”
“That’s not what I want to hear, Edwin. What I need to hear you say is, ‘Yes, ma’am. Your medical examiner will be there in twenty minutes.’ Can you do that for me?”
“Yes, ma’am. I called around, and there was a conference in Orlando. One of the doctors has clearance, so I had him pulled off the plane. He should arrive shortly.”
“Orlando is over an hour away,” Sam said with a sigh. “Good try though.”
“Not to worry, ma’am. The air force had a set of fighters doing a refuel at the airport, so I commissioned one of them to bring the ME to the local airfield, and there’s a car waiting. They should be touching down now, ma’am.”
Sam rubbed the bridge of her nose. “You scrambled a fighter jet?”
“You said it was urgent, ma’am.”
“Tell me, Edwin, have you ever heard the term overkill?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Outside, Sam heard the whine of police sirens coming closer. “What kind of car did you have waiting for our kidnapped ME, Edwin?” She had a sinking suspicion that she already knew.
“I called the PD, ma’am. You did say fast.”
“Thank you, Edwin. Remind me to note your diligence and willingness to think outside the box in your next performance review.” Sam hung up the phone and shook her head. Excitable little pup. If he hadn’t been a six-foot-ten Viking with curly red hair and an eager smile, she might have broken down and used her private nickname for him out loud.
Sam walked back into the main lobby as the ME walked in with police escort. Six-foot-something in shiny black dress shoes, dark hair, muscular, wraparound sunglasses, and wearing a thick black trench coat over black slacks and a black shirt. Wherever he was flying to, it wasn’t in the South, where early-spring temperatures were already making it shorts and skimpy dress weather.
“Dr. Morr,” Sam called, motioning for the facilitator to come over. “Our ME has arrived. Do you want me to go back with him, or would you like to be there?”
“Um.” Dr. Morr twisted a handkerchief in his hands. “Is it likely to be, uh, organic?”
“Most deaths are. But it would help us immensely if you could look over the scene and comment on the position of equipment, maybe tell us if anything is missing.” The doctor paled. “If you’d like to wait until after the body is moved, however, that’s fine.”
Dr. Morr nodded.
“Agent Rose,” a familiar voice said. “You are the only woman I know who would scramble a fighter jet just to see me.”
“What can I say, Agent MacKenzie? I wanted to show you my corpse.”
THE END