Page 55 of Identity Unknown
“And you’re sure he didn’t?” the NASA director asks.
“I’m sure,” I reply, noticing a hint of robin-egg blue.
I think about the small radiodense shape I noticed earlier on x-ray. I explain that Sal swallowed some type of capsule, and I finish rinsing it, setting it down on the clean blue towel Marino placed on a cart. He begins to take photographs.
“Half blue, half white with no markings on it that might hint at what it is.” I pick up the hand magnifier. “In fact, the only thing I’m seeing on it is a smiley face.”
“Are you sure that’s what it is?” Gus’s voice sounds puzzled. “Possibly what you’re seeing is a trademark symbol?”
“No,” I reply. “It’s definitely a smiley face. Two eyes, an upturned mouth, a circle around them.”
“That’s bizarre,” Interpol weighs in.
“I might laugh if there was anything funny about this,” Bella comments.
“Someone taunting us,” the NSA suggests.
“My thoughts too,” AARO adds while Benton says nothing.
“How did the capsule get there?” Marino asks what seems a nonsensical question. “That’s important to consider.”
“Get where?” Bella’s dubious voice sounds inside my hood.
“In his stomach,” Marino answers. “Inside his body where it would be found by us.”
“He swallowed it,” I state the obvious. “That’s the only way it could have gotten into his stomach.”
“Yeah, well, there was a crop circle around his body, and his driverless car went off the mountain with the seat belts fastened.” Marino is back to that for the umpteenth time. “Maybe the capsule is some kind of super high-tech device that wasimplanted by whatever was flying the UAP he was thrown out of.”
“A high-tech device for what purpose?” Benton puzzles.
“To manipulate humans somehow,” Marino replies. “Or warn us about something. Hell if I know. But he was tossed out of a UAP, so it’s a good idea to be thinking outside the box.”
“I don’t mean to burst your bubble,” says AARO, “but most UAPs are proven to be of human origin.”
“Most. As in not all of them,” Marino argues.
“Doctor Scarpetta, are we sure it’s not dangerous?” Bella asks as I pick up the capsule in my gloved fingers, and it’s as light as a feather. “Since we don’t know what’s inside it?”
“I’ll be careful.” Placing it under a chemical fume hood, I turn on the exhaust fan. “We’ll take a look while protected by the highest level of PPE in case we’re dealing with something toxic like anthrax or ricin.”
Carefully, I twist open the blue-and-white plastic halves, and inside is a dark square of a filmlike material no bigger than the head of a match. Without touching it, I tap it out on top of a glass slide, protecting it with a cover slip.
Carrying this across the room in the palm of my gloved hand, I sit down at the countertop in front of an optical microscope, switching on its lamp. Peering through the binocular lenses, I adjust the magnification, bumping it up to 100X, and what I’m looking at is a microphotograph also known as microfilm.
Moving the slide around on the stage and making further adjustments, I sharpen the image into focus as I explain what I’m doing.
“I’m going to guess he swallowed this early on before he was stripped of his clothing,” I suggest. “He likely had the capsule hidden on his person, perhaps in a pocket, making it easily accessible in an emergency.”
As I’m saying this, I think of my visit with Sal on his driveway yesterday. He may have had the capsule in a pocket then. Yet he said nothing to me. Maybe if I’d paid closer attention I might have questioned whether his heavy mood was about more than turning sixty. Maybe he had good reason to suspect he wouldn’t be alive much longer.
“A microphotograph of what?” Gus asks.
“A message in Sal’s hand.” I peer at his magnified neat writing in black ink on a piece of lined yellow paper that he photographed through a microscope.
TN-5L-7R-9L
“I’m going to read what it says.” I glance up at everyone. “TN,followed by the number five and the letterL. Next is the number seven and the letterR. Then the number nine and the letterL.”