Lethal Exposure

Holding a hand to his mouth as he coughed, Craig paced the lobby of Little Naples, waiting for Paige. The small restaurant had dark wood paneling that had been popular several decades ago. It was adorned with scenes from the Italian Alps, photographs of immigrants, and an old coat of arms. A local hole in the wall, Paige had said, with extremely good Italian food.

Craig wore a maroon tie, white shirt, and a dark blue suit while his other clothes were cleaned to remove the chlorine smell, though he doubted they could be salvaged. At least now that he was on “official travel,” the Bureau paid per diem for sundries such as dry cleaning-and for a new suit, since the old one had been damaged in the line of duty.

Paige walked in wearing the same light blouse and blue skirt she had worn at the hospital, but she had added a smart-fitting jacket and a string of pearls. Craig held out both hands to greet her. “You look great.”

“Thanks.” Paige squeezed his hands, then flipped her blond hair behind her shoulders. “How are you feeling?”

Craig gave a wan smile, then coughed again. “Hanging in there. Trish seems to think I’ll recover quickly.”

Paige became serious. “Yes. Patrice takes your accident pretty lightly, from what I could see. You’ve got to take care of yourself-otherwise, you’ll be sharing a room with Goldfarb.”

Craig blinked. Did she just not get along with Trish, or was there a hint of jealousy? He never had a problem reading body language of suspects-he wished he could do the same with Paige… and Trish. He forced a smile. “At least I’m glad we got a chance to be alone. I’d like to go over some details of the case-after all, we’ve got a good track record of working together so far.”

Paige cleared her throat as she stepped up to the hostess. “Mitchell, party of three. Reservations at eight.”

As the young lady ran her finger down a list of names, Craig lifted his eyebrows. “Three?”

Paige stepped quickly after the hostess, as if she didn’t want to talk about it. “Nels is joining us, if that’s all right. I thought it would be good to include him in the discussions.”

Craig’s face grew warm. He followed Paige as they wound around tables to a private area by the window. Three place settings adorned a red tablecloth, rotated 90 degrees on top of a white tablecloth. Large red wine glasses and smaller white wine glasses sparkled in the flicker of a single candle. A long-stemmed red rose perched in a clear vase. The hostess moved to pull out a chair for Paige, but Craig stepped forward and beat her to it.

After taking his seat, Craig scanned Paige’s face. “So far, you’re the only person I’ve discounted from Dumenco’s case. I don’t think it’s a good idea to talk about the case in front of Dr. Piter. He could be the man responsible.”

“Nels a suspect? Oh, Craig, he’s a perfect gentleman and well respected in his field. It would be like Albert Einstein killing someone out of professional jealousy. He may have a big ego-”

“I’ll say,” muttered Craig, unfolding his napkin.

“But he means well,” continued Paige.

Craig stopped his retort as a busboy silently poured water for them. After he left, Craig leaned forward and spoke with carefully measured words. “Someone did try to kill Dumenco. Someone did destroy his home computer and his personal files. That substation exploded, Goldfarb was shot, and Jackson and I were attacked with chlorine gas. All this might have something to do with Dumenco’s work, or the Nobel Prize, or Dumenco’s past.”

Paige frowned. “Just another one of your complicated cases, Craig.”

“Dumenco himself is keeping information from me. I’m not sure what it is, but he’s hiding something. And on top of that, he’s more concerned with his experimental results than in helping me out. Until I learn otherwise, Nels Piter is going to have to remain a suspect.”

He paused for a moment, trying not to change the subject too obviously. “So, just how well have you known Dr. Piter the past year?” He studied her face, looking for any clues as to exactly what type of relationship Paige had with the research director.

Paige smiled coyly as she reached for her glass of water. “Craig, now what do you mean by that?”

He fumbled with his napkin. “What’s your professional relationship with Dr. Piter?”

“Oh, I thought you were concerned about something else.”

He raced through several comebacks, and almost told her the truth-that yes, dammit, he did have feelings for her-but then a thin, nasal voice interrupted them. “Paige, sorry I’m late. I was on the phone with a colleague in Stockholm -he had gotten up early to call me, so I had to hear him out.” Nels Piter walked briskly up, bent down and kissed Paige on the cheek.

Paige smiled. “Craig and I just got here, Nels.”

Piter took notice of Craig for the first time and curtly extended his hand. “Agent Kreident, good evening. Nice of you to invite me along tonight.”

“Yes,” answered Craig in a monotone. “Glad you could make it.”

The cocktail waitress stepped to the side of the table. “Excuse me, would you care for a drink?”

Piter spoke before either of them could respond. “We’ll have a bottle of your best Chianti, please.” He shooed her away as Craig scowled, since he didn’t particularly like wine. Paige didn’t complain, though he had expected her to order an imported Italian beer or something.

The Belgian scientist had high color in his cheeks as he told Paige about the phone call. He made no attempt to hold the details quiet, speaking just loudly enough that the nearest tables could hear. “So I have it on authority that the committee has down-selected to a short list of three candidates.”

“And you’re one of the finalists?” Paige asked.

Piter toyed with his empty wine glass. “Marvelous, isn’t it? They’re going to announce the winner Friday. And the latest copy of Phys Rev Letters hits the stands tomorrow with the latest Fermilab results of my antimatter trap design.” He threw a glance at Craig. “The device I invented while at CERN. The timing of the article couldn’t be better.”

“What about the other two finalists?” Craig asked. “Do you know who they are?‘’ He coughed.

“No,” said Piter curtly, “just that I’m on the short list. But now that the chances are down to one in three, I can win against anyone.”

“Even Georg Dumenco?”

Piter looked as if he had swallowed something very sour. “He’s probably on the short list as well. Georg is one of those rare individuals who could have won the Nobel at any time-if not this year, then the next, or the one after. He is extremely well known and liked. And as a Ukrainian, he is a favorite of the judges. So he is sure to win one of these years.”

“He’s not going to have another chance,” Craig said, coughing to the side. “He’ll be dead in a few days.”

“Pity they can’t award it posthumously.” Piter hesitated. He looked down at his empty wine glass and spoke with a hint of bitterness, and with a suddenly quiet voice. “But for me… this may be my final chance. My work is several years old, and that’s why I’m hoping this new paper will generate some excitement.” He looked at Paige. “I cannot afford to let chance play a part in the selection.”

Craig folded his hands on the tablecloth, speaking calmly as he watched Piter. “So what does the Nobel process involve? I’m not familiar with the details.”

Piter raised his chin, taking on the air of a lecturer as the cocktail waitress returned with a bottle of wine. He dismissed her with a wave after she opened the bottle and poured glasses for each of them.

“Each year the physics committee invites thousands of scientists, members of scientific academies, and university professors throughout the world to nominate candidates for the Nobel Prize. As you can imagine, the competition is intense, and I’ve been subtly campaigning for years. The nominations are then investigated by dozens of experts appointed by the Nobel foundation. The committee then makes a selection among the candidates and submits a short list of three finalists.”

Paige looked at him with a bit too much admiration, as far as Craig was concerned. “So that’s where you are now,” she said.

Craig pushed his wine glass aside without taking a drink. “I always thought the Nobel Prize was awarded years after a big discovery, so the long-term ramifications could be assessed.”

Piter took another sip of the deep red wine and forced a smile. “Yes, indeed. Science is about peer review and