The Sinai Secret Read Online Free PDF Page B

like him, routinely testified against Lang's clients. The names changed but that special uniformity did not.
    The cop at the door followed the new man in and pointed to Morse. The man stepped purposefully across the room. Lang thought he heard a "Shit!" from the detective.
    The man held up a wallet with a badge attached to it. "Special Agent Charles Witherspoon, FBI."
    He did not extend a hand to shake.
    Neither did Morse. "A Fibbie. Now, ain't that a surprise, the bureau workin' such late hours? I woulda sworn he'd be from the funeral home they gonna take the vie to."
    Either Special Agent Witherspoon was inured to the barbs of local cops or he wasn't clever enough to recognize them. "You are Det. Franklin Morse?"
    Lang could see a wisecrack flash across the detective's mind, but Morse said, "Yep. What can I do for you, Agent Witherspoon, seein' as how this is purely a local matter?"
    "I'm here to offer the bureau's complete and total assistance."
    That, Lang knew, translated into a statement of intent to take the case over if any possible federal grounds for doing so could be found or, for that matter, created.
    Witherspoon turned to Lang. "And you are?"
    "He'd be head of the foundation that funds... funded Dr. Lewis's research," Morse said before Lang could reply. "The doctor was engaged in some sort of non-fossil fuel research. You know, like ethanol to run cars."
    The federal man was clearly annoyed that Morse had taken over the interview, and Morse was just as clearly enjoying it. Lang would not have been totally surprised to see each man start urinating around the room to mark each square foot as his exclusive territory.
    Disappointingly, no bodily functions ensued.
    Instead Morse asked, "And just what can I thank for havin' the bureau's offer of assistance?"
    Without so much as a flicker of a smile, Witherspoon replied, "National security."
    "Based on what?" the detective asked.
    "I'm not at liberty to say."
    "Okay, then, how did you find out about a killin' so quick?"
    "Again, I'm not at liberty to say."
    Morse leaned back, stroking his chin as if in thought. "Lemme see here, now. You want to know whatever we find out, you're willin' to cooperate, but you ain't answerin' none o' my questions. That about it?"
    Lang fully expected the same response about lack of liberty to say.
    Instead Witherspoon gave a chilly smile. "Detective, you and I will get along a lot better if you simply tell me what the bureau can do."
    Morse appeared to give the matter serious thought. "For starters, you can reduce the number o' folks standin' 'round the crime scene by one. Gimme your card an' I'll call soon's I figger what else you can do."
    This time Witherspoon understood. "Mind if I look around?"
    "Long's you don't touch anythin' an' don' git in the way o' my folks."
    The G-man turned to Lang. "What do you know about Dr. Lewis?"
    Lang shrugged, about to repeat what he had told Morse.
    Th' man was an internationally renowned scientist," the detective volunteered.
    "Your foundation funds hospitals and medical services
    in poor countries," Witherspoon said to Lang. "What made you deviate into supporting fuel research?"
    Lang paused before answering, again surprised at how readily information was accessible day or night. "A friend in London suggested it, actually. He was a personal acquaintance of Dr. Lewis's. The people in charge of new grants checked him and his work out and decided that finding an alternative to fossil fuels was a worthy cause."
    Witherspoon shot a quick glance to someone who was taking pictures of the wreckage. "Exactly what sort of alternative fuel was he working on?"
    The question was almost a statement, without the inflection of real curiosity, as if Witherspoon either didn't care or already knew the answer.
    "I'm not sure. He'd been here less than six months, so a detailed progress report wasn't due yet. If you're really interested, I can—"
    The man who had been at the computer interrupted. "Detective, the hard