From his backpack, Mixell pulled out a small container and unscrewed the base, revealing a ring inside with a sharp metal point the size of a tack and covered by a transparent plastic sheath. Mixell slid the ring onto his right hand, then rotated it until the metal point faced in toward his palm.

The metal tip was coated with a poison that would paralyze the heart, simulating a heart attack within minutes. It was also coated with a numbing agent, so the victim wouldn’t feel the puncture and suspect anything until it was too late.

As expected, Hoskins appeared on the trail ten minutes later, still a fair bit away, partially visible through the foliage. What wasn’t expected, however, was that he was accompanied by a young girl about ten years old.

The girl in the car with the woman.

Mixell connected the dots. Hoskins was divorced and his wife had custody of their daughter. This was his weekend with her, and he had decided to take her hiking with him this time. The woman and girl had been waiting in the parking lot for Hoskins to arrive.

Mixell chastised himself for his inadequate reconnaissance and assessment, not accounting for the possibility that Hoskins’s daughter would accompany him on his next hike. He analyzed the issue quickly, deciding he would kill only Hoskins and not his daughter. He killed people who deserved to be killed, with deserved meeting a broad definition that included those he’d been paid to kill and those he wanted to kill. But innocent kids were typically off-limits.

He’d have to be careful, poisoning only Hoskins and not the girl. The situation wasn’t ideal. He preferred that the girl not be with her dad when he dropped dead, but he had other issues to attend to and couldn’t let this opportunity go to waste.

Hoskins and his daughter emerged from the foliage and spotted him leaning against the boulder, the laces of his right shoe loosened.

“Are you okay?” Hoskins asked.

“Sprained my ankle,” Mixell replied. “I sure could use a hand.”

“I’ll help,” the daughter said as she moved eagerly toward him.

“Thanks, sweetie, but I’m too heavy. I’ll need your dad’s help.” He shifted his gaze to Hoskins. “If you could help me down the mountain, I’d really appreciate it.”

“No problem,” Hoskins replied as he stepped toward Mixell.

As the man approached, Mixell reached into the palm of his right hand and removed the plastic sheath from the poisoned tack. He extended his right hand and Hoskins gripped it, pulling Mixell to his feet. Hoskins seemed not to notice the tack penetrating his palm; the numbing agent worked as advertised.

“Thanks,” Mixell said, gingerly putting weight onto his right ankle. “Wow,” he said. “It feels much better now.” He took a tentative step. “You know what? I think I can make it back down by myself.”

“You sure?” Hoskins asked.

Mixell took another few steps, putting more weight on his right foot. “Yeah, I can make it. I just needed to rest for a while.”

“I’d be happy to help you down,” Hoskins offered again.

Mixell preferred he not be around once the toxin took effect, not wanting to be associated with Hoskins’s death.

“Thanks, but I’ll be all right. Why don’t you enjoy the hike with your daughter?”

“All right,” Hoskins said as Mixell grabbed his backpack and started down the mountain. “But be careful!”

Mixell waved his appreciation as he kept moving, then carefully slid the plastic sheath back onto the ring’s tack, concealing the action with his body.

A few minutes later, as Mixell worked his way down the trail, he heard a young girl’s faint scream from farther up the mountain.

He smiled.

That leaves Harrison.

23

POTOMAC, MARYLAND

On the second floor of her residence, Brenda Verbeck closed the door to the study and approached Dan Snyder, who had his back to her as he examined one of the oil paintings on the wall. While not up to Snyder’s standards — only paintings worth ten million dollars or more would grace the walls of his mansion — the six-figure abstract painting complemented the study’s décor quite well.

As usual, Snyder was dressed to impress, wearing one of his expensive Desmond Merrion suits. Brenda stopped behind him and, when he seemed not to notice, cleared her throat.

When he turned around, she slapped him across the face.

Snyder’s eyes widened, and he took a step back when he noticed the fury on his sister’s face.

“How dare you put me in this situation!” she said.

“What situation?”

“You know damn well what I’m talking about! Did you think your deal with Iran would go unnoticed?”

Snyder opened his mouth to deny any knowledge of what she was talking about, then decided otherwise. “How did you find out?”