"What about other uses? Could potassium potentially form an unusually potent acid? Or an exceptionally lethal poison? Could a tiny amount contaminate a large water supply, for example?"
Chuck paused for a very short time, then continued.
"Again, ‘no.’ Potassium hydroxide, also called caustic potash, is corrosive, but not extraordinarily so. And based on the nature of potassium bonds in existing compounds, development of a more highly caustic one is unlikely. In addition, there are already many extremely caustic acids and bases that any chem student could acquire or concentrate with little risk or expense. Why invent a new one?
"As far as poisons go… while some new potassium compounds certainly could be toxic to humans, cyanide, iodine, and arsenic are all more deadly. And the formula for sarin nerve gas is not complex — just four ingredients. I can’t imagine that any potassium compound might be more lethal.
"I’m sorry, but I just don’t think Dr. Westerman’s fertilizer research is useful for military or terrorist purposes."
Seemed a reach for me as well.
Of course, I knew that Timothy McVeigh had used a mammoth truck bomb made from fertilizer and diesel fuel to blow up most of the Federal Building in Oklahoma City. But that was a nitrogen-based explosive. Nothing to do with potassium. Still, one should never underestimate the ingenuity of one’s enemies.
"I’m sure the President will be relieved that the University doesn’t appear to have any liability exposure owing to uses of the professor’s work product," I said.
I was running out of ideas for things to ask Chuck.
"Is there anyone else at the Facility who may have known Dr. Westerman more intimately?"
"His lab assistant, Farris. But he hasn’t shown up for work since the professor’s death. I can get you his address?"
"Thank you. I’ll take the address and anything else you have on Farris — resumé, job application, social security number, cell number, pictures, whatever. I’ll also need copies of Dr. Westerman’s reports to you for the past three years."
Chuck didn’t sense my urgency. Academia has its own timetables.
"I’d like to tell the President that I have them in hand today?"
That moved Chuck out of the starting gate. "Of course. I’ll have Rita ready them for you right away." He reached for his desk phone to relay the instructions.
"Thank you very much for your assistance. Shall I wait for the copies in the reception area?" I said, when he’d hung up the phone.
Chuck looked a bit perturbed at my lack of patience, but not perturbed enough to risk irritating the University President.
"The documents will be ready very soon. The reception area is fine."
"Nice to meet you, Chuck," I said.
"And you as well… Beck!"
There may have been a tinge of unnecessary emphasis on my name. No matter. I didn’t need Chuck to be my buddy.
Departing Chuck’s office, I returned to the reception area where Rita, the cute co-ed, was already efficiently producing the documents I had requested. I admired the photographic fields a while longer.
In a few minutes, the documents were ready. I thanked Rita for her assistance and headed out the office door.
CHAPTER 5
Farris Ahmed’s journey to the University Agricultural Lab in Ottawa County, Minnesota had been a long one. At the age of eleven years, his father enrolled Farris at a Madrassa in a remote Saudi village. There he was taught the strict principles of militaristic Islam. In addition to academics, the teachers spoke untiringly of the Great Satan — a foreign entity with immense earthly power to do evil — an entity which Farris later recognized as the United States.
It was every Muslim’s solemn duty to fight for Allah in the Jihad against the Great Satan. And the teachers at the Madrassa made sure each pupil left their care with that message drilled deeply into his brain.
After departing the Madrassa at age eighteen, Farris moved to the United Kingdom, where he attended and graduated from Cambridge University with an emphasis in chemistry. During his final year at Cambridge, Farris had been accepted to the postgraduate chemistry program at the University of Minnesota School of Agriculture.
It was there that he had met the professor — the man he was convinced could help him take the next step toward ultimate service to Allah among the infidels.
The same man whose throat he had slit only minutes ago.
It was truly unfortunate that the professor had to die. But he had caught Farris rummaging through the professor’s locked desk. Though he felt no pity for the infidel, Farris recognized that he had learned a great deal of creative chemistry from the professor — so his death had, indeed, been a loss of sorts.
Only two months ago, Farris had filed a report with his command cell, describing the new apparatus the professor had designed to isolate potassium metal, and its successful testing. He didn’t know if the Mawlawi had found this information significant. But Farris, himself, was very impressed.
Now, following the unanticipated need to kill the professor, Farris had to regroup. There were plans for such contingencies. But he wasn’t pleased to employ one already, and certainly not for this exigency. Nevertheless, using the prescribed emergency communication method — in this case, a disposable cell phone — Farris had contacted the command cell for direction.
Farris offered some disposal alternatives and the Mawlawi had instructed Farris to deposit the body and the professor’s car in the Prairie River. Afterward, Farris was to return to the Lab on foot to pick up his own car — the distance from river to Lab was only a few miles. Then he would drive to the designated safe house. On the way, he would receive further information and instructions on his laptop, via its wireless connection to the web.
Farris did as he was told. The professor and his car went into the river. And Farris departed the Lab for the safe house, taking the potassium apparatus with him.
CHAPTER 6
The Al Qaeda operative needed to report the attorney’s Lab visit to his commander. Mr. Becker’s presence at the crime scene was troubling. It may be that some action would need to be taken to deal with this unanticipated development.
Encrypted communications were exchanged.
Ultimately, the operative was told that he had done well and should not concern himself further with this situation. He should stay on task. The commander would handle Mr. Becker’s intrusion.
CHAPTER 7
After traversing what seemed like a thousand miles of rutted dirt roads through the darkness, Farris finally arrived at the end of the safe house driveway. It was just after dawn on Tuesday… a mere six hours after the professor’s murder.
He was still driving his own car. He knew there had been some risk in that. But his route had been largely on hardened dirt roadways bordered by farmland. The risk was acceptable.
Farris also knew that, once the professor’s murder was discovered, he would be the prime suspect. Besides leaving his fingerprints everywhere, he had no doubt left bloody footprints and all kinds of DNA evidence at the scene. Not to mention the obvious fact that he was absent from work and nowhere to be found today.