“It’s pancake syrup.”
Charlie and Nathan stood there dazed and stared as the scientist, Navy Lieutenant Brooks, peeled off his protective gear. “Mrs. Butterworth’s if I’m not mistaken. It has an additional additive that gives it a slightly different smell and taste than, say, Log Cabin or Aunt Jemima.”
Tox leaned over to Ren. “Is he shitting us right now?”
“Well, it does taste different, but I see your point.”
North got them back on track. “And as far as other additives?”
“Just plain old syrup. You could pour it on an Eggo.”
“Damn, now I want waffles.” Tox, of course.
“Fucking Sava and his fucking red herrings.” Charlie Bishop allowed the rare burst of temper. “There’s a biotoxin out there that we have no clue how to find.”
“Not necessarily.” Nathan’s face was impassive, but his confidence betrayed his suspicion. “I think Dario Sava acquired something extremely valuable from Detachment 731, and I also think he’s selling it, but I don’t think it’s a virus.” Nathan had their full attention. “I think it’s a formula. Or more specifically, a journal from one of the researchers, or even Ishii himself, containing methods of reengineering viruses, formulas, and results.”
“My God,” Ren reflected, “a bioterrorist guidebook.”
“Exactly,” Nathan confirmed. “The collective research from Detachment 731 has unfathomable potential for devastation.”
“What made you conclude it’s a journal?” Chat queried.
Nathan thanked Lieutenant Brooks, and the scientist retreated to his lab.
“As Charlie mentioned, the CIA has a man inside the Sava organization, Camilo Canto. You guys remember him? He was with the Teams for a couple of years. JJ?”
“Oh shit, yeah. El Jefe de Joder. The boss of fuck.” Tox started to go on, but Ren’s quelling look silenced him. Tox cleared his throat. “You were saying, North?”
“So, Sava’s got all these balls in the air. He tries to abduct Emily. He’s trying to smuggle some sort of bioweapon into the U.S., then out of the blue, he pulls Cam aside and tells him to deliver a set of books to a rare book auction in New York.”
“But why would he even do that when he could just sell the book from the comfort of his home?”
Charlie knew the answer. “It’s what happens when recklessness meets arrogance. Anyone can sell a weapon like that. Dario Sava auctioned off a collection of research on the most lethal biotoxins ever used right under our noses.”
“About a week ago, I had a strange conversation with Anya Amirov, the wife of a very high-profile broker. I correctly assumed her husband would be at the front of the line for a biotoxin purchase. He has ties to both Chechen rebels and Syrian terror groups. I was working her for information on the auction, and she said her husband had complained about a meeting which must have been with Sava’s people. She said he kept going on about how he wasn’t a ‘do-it-yourself-er.’ I didn’t put it together at the time, but Amirov must have been referencing the fact that the item discovered from Detachment 731 was research and not an actual toxin. So, when Cam called to update me and told me about his errand to the book auction, it clicked.”
Charlie blew out an audible breath and looked at Nathan with something akin to pride.
Twitch looked up from her tablet. “Torvald Auction House held a rare book auction this morning. One of the items was the 1945 journal of Japanese writer Yasunari Kawabata.”
“That’s setting off some alarm bells.”
“Not as much as this,” Twitch added. “The journal’s estimated value was between $90,000 and $150,000. It sold for $3.2 million.”
“That’s our book.”
“How do we track it down?”
“We don’t need to.” The group waited for Nathan to elaborate. “It’s sitting in my safe. My doorman Leonard Pipham has a very colorful background in England. My grandfather worked with him.”
“He was in Parliament?”
“Oh, God no. Much less devious. He was a spy, back when they still used that term. A good one, too. Some of his exploits with the SAS are the stuff of legend.”
Ren looked stunned. “Not the Mongoose?”
Twitch rolled her eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. The Mongoose is a Cold War myth invented by people who read too much Follett and Forsyth.”