The Sigma Protocol
“The zipper on Anna’s garment bag snagged on one of her dresses just as the taxi arrived and honked impatiently.
“All right, all right,” she groaned. “Cool it.”
She yanked at the zipper again, with no luck. Then the telephone rang. “Good God!”
She was late, trying to get to Reagan National Airport to catch the evening flight to Zurich. No time to get the phone. She decided to let the voice mail answer it; then she changed her mind.
“Agent Navarro, forgive me for calling you at home.” She recognized the high, hoarse voice at once, though she’d only spoken to him once before. “I got your home number from Sergeant Arsenault. It’s Denis Weese from the Chemistry Section of the Nova Scotia Forensic Laboratory.”
He spoke excruciatingly slowly. “Yes,” she said impatiently, “the toxicologist. What’s up?”
“Well, the ocular fluid you asked me to look at?”
She finally worked the fabric of her dress loose from the zipper’s teeth. She tried not to think of how much the dress had cost.
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