“So if the man with the gun is not your suspect, who is?”
“A doctor named Hagen. He worked in the hospital part-time. Hagen has a shady past. We knew he was waiting to take delivery of something and we knew it was to arrive today. We just didn’t know where it was coming from, who was delivering it or what exactly it was. But we were able to confirm his presence in three of the locations during and before the time of the other attacks. So we believe he was connected.”
Kurt put the parts together. “So the dead man with the gun was the courier,” he said, “bringing this nerve agent or toxin to your Dr. Hagen, when it literally blew up in his face.”
“That’s our theory,” she replied.
“And what about Hagen?”
She offered a dour look. “Of the roughly five thousand people on Lampedusa, Hagen is the only one currently unaccounted for. We had him under constant surveillance, but, unfortunately, the team was afflicted by the toxin like everyone else.”
Kurt leaned back in his chair and stared up at the ceiling, his eyes settling on a line where two different shades of paint overlapped, forming a third, darker color. “So a deadly cloud covers the island and the only two people apparently immune to its effects are your suspect and the man who tried to kill us.”
She nodded. “Correct. Does that tell you something?”
Of course it did. “They have some kind of antidote,” he said. “Something that blocks the paralyzing effects of whatever toxin caused these comas.”
“Our thinking exactly,” she said. “Unfortunately, we’ve found nothing in Hagen’s office or his home or his vehicle that can help us. Nor have we found anything in the dead man’s blood that would allow us to guess what the antidote was.”
“Is that surprising?” Kurt asked.
“Not really,” she said. “Since the nerve agent was short-lived, it stands to reason that any antidote would have a short half-life as well.”
Kurt could see the progression now. “So the antidote has already decayed. But if you could find your missing doctor, he might be persuaded to tell you where we can get some more.”
She grinned broadly. “You’re very sharp, Mr. Austin.”
“Stop calling me that,” he said. “It makes me feel old.”
“Kurt, then,” she said. “Call me Renata.”
He liked that. “Any idea where your suspect might be hiding?”
She gave him a sideways glance. “Why do you ask?”
“No reason.”
“You’re not planning on looking for him, are you?”
“Of course not,” Kurt said. “That sounds dangerous. Whatever would make you think such a thing?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” she said coyly. “Only everything I’ve seen from you so far, backed up by a conversation I had with the Assistant Director of the National Underwater and Marine Agency shortly before you broke into my temporary medical ward.”
Kurt offered a droll look. “You spoke to my boss?”
“Rudi Gunn,” she said. “Yes. Charming man. He told me you’d probably ask to help. And if I refused your offer, you’d get involved anyway and most likely muck everything up.”
She wore a permanent grin now, so pleased with the direction of the conversation that Kurt could easily guess what had transpired. “So how much did he sell me for?”
“I’m afraid he gave you away for a song.”
“O sole mio?”
“Not quite sole,” she said. “He threw in Mr. Zavala as a bonus.”
Kurt feigned indignation at being traded to the Italians like a minor-league ballplayer, but he was more than happy with the deal. “So do I get paid in euros or—”
“Satisfaction,” she said. “We’re going to find the people that did this and we’re going to stop whatever it is they’re up to. And if we’re lucky, the antidote that kept Hagen and the assailant from succumbing to the toxin can be used to bring the victims out of their comas.”