The November Molecule

The November Molecule S. F. Richards Copyright © 2023 S. F. Richards All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher and copyright holder, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. Book layout and interior design by Lisa Gilliam ISBN: 979-8-9879412-0-1 (hardcover) ISBN: 979-8-9879412-1-8 (paperback) ISBN: 979-8-9879412-2-5 (ebook) For Daddy Prologue The deadliest weapon in the world is a Marine and his rifle. —General John Pershing, US Army One shot. One hit. Oorah! Underneath the orange glow of a setting sun in Islamabad, Pakistan, Secretary of State Elizabeth Rhodes collapsed onto the cooling tarmac as blood trailed from her shoulder and collected into a crimson halo around her head, soaking her soft auburn hair. Her security detail ducked low to the ground and scanned the area while nearby military personnel screamed, “Everybody down! Get down! Now! Now, goddamnit, down!” The regular airport security personnel had been replaced with Marine Corps snipers due to the perceived high threat and local unrest, a measure put in place to ensure the safety of the United States SOS, who now lay in a pool of her own blood. Commercial flights had been delayed to allow the Boeing C-32 to land without fanfare or incident. Other than the pilots and the SOS, the only people on the tarmac were Diplomatic Security special agents and highly trained special ops military personnel—there couldn’t have been a more secure spot on the planet. Based on the crack-thump and the angle, sniper spotter Chance Martinez looked to his right and up. On the airport rooftop, his best friend crouched low against a parapet, nevertheless visible to a trained spotter. What the fuck? Bishop? Martinez raised his M40 rifle and looked through the scope in time to see the muzzle flash of the second shot, which hit a nearby special agent, already down on the ground, in the back. A third shot whizzed past, barely missing him. Fuck me. Martinez wiped the sweat from his forehead and took aim at his friend. From the rooftop perch, USMC Scout Sniper Joey Bishop appeared to be watching the chaos unfold as he continued to fire until the return fire from a member of his own company hit him right between the eyes. United States Armed Services Report The US Secretary of State was hit in her left shoulder—the result of friendly fire—shortly after landing in Islamabad. Military personnel responded, mortally wounding USMC Lance Corporal and Scout Sniper Joseph Bishop. That was what the official Armed Services Committee investigative report would say. That and nothing more. Chapter 1 He was perfect. He was a liar. Check. He was reckless. Check. He needed the money. Check. Check. Her computer screen glowed, cascades of files and open tabs revealing all of his secrets, his darkest moments and worst habits—some of them the kind you don’t even tell your best friend about—and now all of them were laid bare, and she catalogued them with great precision. She knew everything about him. How he liked his coffee, his gym routines, his checking account balance, his favorite sex position. Everything she needed to get everything she wanted was staring back at her. This was it. She’d be a hero for this. And she’d make General. The word slipped through her lips. General Savarre. She suppressed a smile. Outside her window, a Japanese maple clung to its few remaining scarlet leaves as the wind gusted ahead of a cold front. Max, her Siamese cat, had positioned himself in the window to watch the neighbor’s Chihuahua run in circles. Savarre leaned back into her chair and cupped her ceramic coffee mug from Starbucks—a Christmas gift from her parents that had arrived a week late with a bag of fair-trade French roast and a stock card that read “Happy Holidays from Mom and Dad”—while she considered the situation. This was what it was like to execute flawlessly. Twenty-one years of military service and three combat tours in Afghanistan had imbued her with sharp senses and laser focus. Her decision-making skills, trademark calm under pressure, and bravery in the field had earned her a full-bird colonel in the army. Things happened because she made them happen. Her aide, Louis Webster, hadn’t been much help, but then he didn’t know everything she knew. He only knew they were looking for a researcher who studied leishmaniasis. He didn’t know they also needed to be vulnerable. Someone with dirty habits. Reasons to lie. Motivated by money. Louis had done the preliminary work—identifying researchers whose primary focus was the leish parasite. She’d done the rest. She’d mobilized the military intelligence corps—in truth lies victory. In her mind, their code was prescient. She’d assigned personnel to mine social media accounts, sift through personnel records, and dig deep into childhood details in hopes of identifying someone whose scientific reputation was strong enough to convince a Senate committee of competency but who had weaknesses that could be exploited if they didn’t play ball. Will St. John was everything she needed. Narcissistic with bad habits that few knew about, a fierce appetite for research funding, and well respected in the scientific community. A softer soul might’ve kissed the screen. There was nothing soft about Army Colonel Susan Savarre. Pouring a three-count Irish whiskey into her coffee, she spoke into her cell phone and waited. She heard the line pick up. He never spoke first. “I found someone.” “Tell me. Everything.” Savarre tapped her computer keyboard. The screen came to life with an image of an early-thirties man with broad shoulders, dark wavy hair, and teeth that were too white. He had a wide smile, and she could imagine him at the helm of a sailboat in the Nantucket Sound.