The Blue Prussian

By Eve Penrose

"A modern-day Gaslight"

The Blue Prussian is a spellbinding story told by Blake O'Brien, a beautiful, young executive with a globetrotting career. Blake returns to her native Manhattan from San Francisco after escaping—or so she thinks—her marriage to a dashing man who turned out to be a prince of darkness. She had been hoping for a fresh start but learns that she has been poisoned with thallium—a deadly neurotoxin referred to as the poisoner's poison.

Blake is treated with the only known antidote—Prussian blue—the same synthetic pigment with the deeply saturated hue used in dazzling masterpieces like The Starry Night and The Great Wave. Almost unfathomably, the alchemist who invented Prussian blue was the rumored inspiration for Mary Shelley's character, Dr. Frankenstein. The similarities to Blake's financier ex are striking as his true nature is revealed—including the discovery of a secret room in the brooding Victorian home where they lived their married life together.

The stylish enclaves of Beekman Place in New York City, Nob Hill in San Francisco, and the Mayfair neighborhood in London provide the backdrop as this chilling tale of treachery and betrayal unfolds. Blake's resolve triumphs and the camaraderie of her loyal and charismatic friends fortifies her, as she takes the reader on a tantalizing international pursuit to try to catch her poisoner, who is known to the FBI as The Blue Prussian.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Apr 19, 2024
• ISBN: 9798350918076

Eve Penrose

EVE PENROSE is a storyteller, an advisor on global issues, and formerly an envoy with a security clearance. Her craft and her active imagination provided plenty of fodder for the plot and characters in The Blue Prussian. Eve lives in Manhattan, and she is currently writing the sequel to The Blue Prussian. To learn more, visit www.evepenrose.com.

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© 2024 Byrne Press LLC. All Rights Reserved.

For more information or to request permission to use material from this book, please e-mail [e-mail].

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Scientific and medical aspects of the story were researched but should not be construed as factual. While the purpose of fiction is to entertain, it can also bring awareness to matters of public interest. The great Dame Agatha Christie’s novel, The Pale Horse, is credited with aiding in the identification of thallium poisoning in a child. The author hopes her words have brought meaningful awareness.

Printer’s paper stocks are certified by the Forest Stewardship Council and the Sustainable Forestry Initiative.

ISBN 979-8-35091-806-9

eBook ISBN 979-8-35091-807-6

Contents

PART I THE SERPENT’S VENOM

The Antidote

The Reflection

The Suspicion

The Alchemist

The Alliance

The Knickerbocker

The Blue Ridge

The Teacup Poisoner

The Confirmation

The Respite

The Victorian

The Ruby

The Looking Glass

The Path

The Starry Night

The Calm before the Storm

The Feds

PART II THE PLEIADES

The Last Caress

The Meltdown

The Unraveling

The Reprieve

The Vespers

The Mirror

The Morphing

The Mad Hatters

The Grey Lady

The Gaslighting

The Tempest

The Green Baize

The Eternity

PART III THE RAT TRAP

The Rabbit Hole

The Depravity

The War Room

The Fencer

The Trophy Box

The Grief

The Voiceless

The Proof

The Lady’s Secrets

The Laboratory

The Suffering

The Reckoning

The Rising

The Northern Lights

The Mask

The Serpent Slayer

The Lady Justice

PART I

THE SERPENT’S

VENOM

There was an exquisite poison in the air.

Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray (1890)

The Present

CHAPTER ONE

The Antidote

"Y ou have thallium poisoning."

The world seemed to tilt as my doctor delivered the devastating news. My head spun, and my knees buckled. I dropped into a chair and stared blankly out the window. The sweeping view of the East River from my sunny Beekman Place apartment normally brought me serenity. But in that moment, I struggled to bring the scenery into focus.

Are you there, Blake? asked Dr. Silver.

I wanted to answer him, but I couldn’t grasp any words. I closed my eyes and tried to stop the spinning feeling. I could feel my heart racing.

Are you okay? Just try to breathe and speak slowly when you can.

I inhaled and exhaled sharply. Yes, Dr. Silver. I’m here.

I apologize for giving you the lab results over the phone, but I felt you needed to know the diagnosis immediately. I am afraid this is as serious as it gets. His formal voice registered a gravity I had never heard before in our conversations. It was filled with distress, which was uncharacteristic of the unflappable physician.

I understand. Could you just give me a moment?

Of course. I’ll stay on the line; just let me know when you’re ready to hear the rest.

I eked out a thank you and accidentally dropped my phone. It fell to the herringbone floor with a clamor. As I reached down to retrieve it, the wood pattern appeared to rotate. It was just my mind playing tricks on me, but it made me dizzy. I felt like I was falling down the rabbit hole all over again. I had been pulled back into the dark and twisted world I lived in during my marriage to a Machiavellian. The lies, deceit, and betrayal were behind me, and before me was the return of grace. Or so I had thought.

I had just moved back to my beloved New York City from San Francisco, having escaped a soulless marriage to a soulless man—a man who possessed what I first thought were endearing eccentricities but later came to understand were massive gaping holes of decency and morality that registered as psychopathy. My return to Manhattan did not feel triumphant in a way worthy of an Alicia Keys verse, but I knew my having survived him was. For that I thanked the heavens each morning and night.

Yet, I had been poisoned with thallium. Thallium was a lethal neurotoxin and more dangerous than the more common heavy metals like lead and mercury. I remembered news stories reporting that thallium was the murder weapon of choice for politically motivated poisonings. Thallium was used as an agent of death by the Stasi, the FSB, and Saddam Hussein to dispense with dissidents and defectors. It conjured tales of Russian spies and defectors of certain dictatorial regimes. It also evoked stories from nineteenth century England of rampant familial poisonings by thallium, arsenic, and other heavy metals. I recalled the nefarious plot of The Pale Horse by Agatha Christie, in which thallium played a starring role.

I knew what thallium was, and I knew who had poisoned me. The fear and adrenaline response surged over me like it had during every toxic episode from my marriage. In the beginning it had taken me longer to recover from the cruelty and malice as I had been so shocked by my then-husband’s behavior. Not that I ever got used to it, because I never did. I don’t think normal, empathic people ever can. Instead, I learned that to survive I needed to change how I responded to danger. I had to compartmentalize the evil and shift my focus on how to protect myself from it. Because it had been a prolonged campaign of psychological terror, I had to dodge attacks continuously while trying to figure out how to survive.

But I had survived. And I was determined to keep doing just that. I had been to hell and back before in my life, and I could do it again. Losing my parents at an early age to tragedy had forged my character and my grit. I relied on both to guide me and help me persevere through my subsequent years as a top college athlete, through law school, in my present daily life as an executive leading a global team at an innovative green energy company, and in extricating myself from my doomed marriage. I needed to go into problem-solving mode. That is how I had handled every crisis, no matter how grueling or complex.

I took a few deep breaths and regained my bearings. The sun sparkling off the river outside came into crystalline picture. Petals from the cherry blossoms floated to the ground on Roosevelt Island. I focused on that marvelous image and steeled myself for what was to come. I grabbed my phone. Dr. Silver, I’m back. I’m focused now, or as much as I can be. I know that thallium is a neurotoxin. What should I expect going forward?

He spoke solemnly. It affects the human nervous system, heart, liver, lungs, and kidneys. The primary symptoms of thallium poisoning are neurological, causing grave damage to the brain, spine, and nerves. Thallium is one of the most dangerous and effective poisons on the planet. He paused to let that sink in. If we hadn’t caught it, the thallium would have remained in your body and caused prolonged suffering and degeneration of the central nervous system, psychosis, multiple organ failure, and, ultimately, death. It is what has been making you sick and causing your neurological symptoms such as the ataxia and the tremor, as well as your mental fragmentation and the musculoskeletal pain.

Will I recover?

There is an antidote, but you must know it is not a cure.

Meaning it will remove the thallium but not reverse the damage already done?

Yes, I am afraid so.

What is the name of the antidote?

The antidote is Prussian blue.

As in the pigment? I asked, as the intense deep-blue color came to mind.

Yes, the synthetic pigment used in painting. Despite all the advances of modern medicine, the only known antidote to thallium poisoning is Prussian blue in its insoluble form.

Wow. Okay. How is it administered?

In powder form packed into capsules. You will take eighteen capsules—that’s six capsules three times per day—for thirty days.

What does the antidote do exactly?

Prussian blue binds to thallium in the gastrointestinal tract and is excreted from the body via the liver. It is exceedingly difficult for the body to rid itself of thallium on its own. That is why the antidote must be taken. Without it, the human body continues to recirculate it and continues to degenerate. If it works, the antidote will remove the thallium from your system so that it cannot do any more harm. However, as you deduced, it won’t reverse the neurological harm already done.

Prussian blue might not have been a cure, but I was grateful that an antidote existed to stave off what sounded like an excruciating decline and certain death. Is there any other way to remediate the damage already done? I wondered if others had been able to do the same.

Patients with high levels of thallium toxicity rarely survive, so there isn’t much of a body of research. They typically present to an emergency room. Many perish before the medical team can figure out the culprit. You are in a much better condition than most other thallium patients. I expect you will no longer regress and that you will improve once we start you on the antidote. But you need to know that the neurological loss you have incurred up to this point may be permanent.

That felt like a leveling blow. But I would fight with everything I had to reverse the damage. How prevalent is thallium poisoning? I have seen the political cases in the news. And I know it lives in novels and movies of pop culture, but how many cases are there in real life?

It is exceedingly rare. Most doctors are familiar with the common heavy metals such as lead and mercury but not thallium. Most haven’t seen it present clinically, so they don’t think to check for it.

You did.

We are lucky we caught it, Dr. Silver said with his usual humility.

***

It all made terribly perfect sense. Things had become blurry months ago. Until then I had been quick-minded, which had served me well in school and in my career. But I had been having trouble ordering and vocalizing my thoughts as rapidly as I used to. My ataxia wasn’t so marked that most people would notice. But I had. And I attributed it to the hell of the past few years. I had visited several doctors, but my symptoms were always left unanswered. The responses I received were the same that so many other women had heard: Oh, it’s just stress, You’ll be fine, or my favorite, Just take a trip around the world. Argh.

I wanted to take notes on the information that Dr. Silver was relaying, but it would have been just illegible scribbles on paper. A tremor had developed in my hands, which made holding a pen and writing difficult. At least now I knew what caused that distressing neurological symptom. My health and wellness had always been important to me. I was adept at monitoring and adjusting my body as needed, but nothing I had tried made any improvement. In fact, I had continued to deteriorate and couldn’t manage my basic activity level. SoulCycle had become my salvation during my difficult marriage. I considered it a dynamic form of emotional therapy, and the camaraderie in class was palpable. Plus, the sound of cleats clickety-clacking in the studio brought me back to my field hockey days at the University of Virginia. They say scent has memory. I knew that sound did too.

But all of that had changed. I had been exhausted for some time. I hadn’t been able to exercise for months. It was the longest stretch that I had been inactive in my life. No matter how demanding my personal or professional life got, the restorative benefits of my fitness regime had always propped me up and propelled me forward. The problem was that this time, things were getting worse, not better. It turned out that my mind and body weren’t as elastic as I had hoped. I was physically and mentally regressing despite all my efforts. That is why I had made an appointment with Dr. Silver at his Fifth Avenue medical and wellness practice. During that visit we talked about my overall health, my former days as a competitive athlete, my career demands, and all other aspects of my life. I offered him only a glimpse of my personal life: I had just left a demon. Dr. Silver seemed to understand and said how important it was to release pain caused by others. As he continued to observe many of my symptoms, he began to suspect that heavy metal toxicity might be the cause. He asked me pointed questions about any potential heavy metal exposures. As I answered, Dr. Silver listened to me even more closely. It was the first time I felt that a doctor really had.

***

How could I have been exposed to something like that? I asked.

Thallium is all but illegal in the United States because it is so lethal. It is banned as an ingredient in consumer products. It used to be contained in rodenticides, but it was removed in the middle of the last century. Thallium has very few and tightly controlled medical and industrial applications. It is used in selected laboratory settings. There have been a few cases where medical lab workers who handled thallium were exposed when safety protocols weren’t followed. Aside from that, accidental exposure in the United States is a rare occurrence. Exposure pathways of an environmental or occupational nature are unlikely here given your career, lifestyle, and geography.

I grasped what he was telling me but needed to rule out other possibilities. Is there any other way I could have been accidentally exposed?

Not according to the Centers for Disease Control (CDC). I checked. There are no other reported cases in San Francisco or New York. He paused before continuing. There is something else you should know, Blake. The CDC toxicologists agree with my assessment: such a high toxicity level only results from something more insidious. The most likely explanation is that you were deliberately poisoned. Thallium is regarded as ‘the poisoner’s poison’ because it is the ideal poison. It is odorless, colorless, and tasteless, so victims never wise to it, and it is otherwise undetectable without the advanced tests I had the specialized lab run.

I understand. I had been poisoned. That depraved reality was inescapable.

Blake, you sound steady and composed. I know you are resilient. Is this how you normally react to terrible news?

Yes, it is. Why do you ask?

I just want to make sure you aren’t in shock.

I appreciate it, Dr. Silver. I try to stay focused and calm once I process the initial gut punch. Keeping myself levelheaded helps me figure a way through tough things.

Good, because I need to tell you my clinical theory.

I’m okay, please continue.

I surmise you were poisoned steadily at low levels over a course of time, thus avoiding detection as you would enter a slow decline, rather than an acute episode that might land you in the emergency room. In some documented cases, large doses of thallium delivered over a brief time have caused severe vomiting and diarrhea, and sometimes, hair loss. Those are symptoms that any physician would have probed if a young, healthy woman presented in their ER. Wanting to avoid that outcome may have been a guiding factor in your poisoner’s decision to poison you slowly. And it was likely done by someone close enough to you to dose your food or drink repeatedly over time. Dr. Silver said, confirming my worst fear. His voice was even. Blake, is there anyone in your life that you believe could have done this to you?

There was. He is no longer in my life. A sailboat pierced the serene blue water of the East River. My mind wondered what it would feel like to be on that boat, far away from dealing with this. I shook my head and returned my thoughts to the problem at hand. I resolved to survive this alternate reality and conquer whatever lay ahead.

You should know that the CDC notifies the FBI immediately of any thallium poisoning cases, Dr. Silver informed me.

I told him I understood. He had scheduled an appointment for me first thing the following Monday when he would be back in the office so we could speak to scientists from the CDC and the lead pharmacist at Theia Pharmaceuticals, the sole company authorized to manufacture Prussian blue. My lab results had come in while he was away for a long weekend with his family in the Adirondacks, and he had called me straightaway. That is, after he had spent hours on the phone with various officials at the CDC and with Theia Pharmaceuticals to secure the antidote for me. He explained why Prussian blue was so difficult to obtain. It was listed on the National Emergency Radiation Stockpile Drug List, and the CDC controlled all access to it. Prussian blue wasn’t available at the neighborhood pharmacy. Once cleared by the CDC, Theia Pharmaceuticals would overnight my treatment course of Prussian blue via a temperature-controlled delivery. Because of all the red tape, it was expected to take a full week before the antidote that would save my life would arrive in New York City.

Dr. Silver would be closely monitoring my response to the Prussian blue and my thallium levels. The antidote taxed the liver, so liver enzyme, potassium, and electrolyte levels would be tested regularly. It made sense that you needed a heavy-duty antidote to combat a heavy-duty toxin. There were a few other potential risks and side effects. He shared a particularly quirky one. You will be taking a high dose of the deeply pigmented Prussian blue powder. Once ingested, the Prussian blue turns the human body a blueish tint—your skin and your fluids.

Blue!? I asked in disbelief.

Yes, blue. You have porcelain skin owing to your Welsh and Irish heritage, so be prepared for it to take on a distinct hue rather quickly. It may just be a tinge, but it will be noticeable. Don’t worry when that happens. It is expected, and it will recede after the treatment course ends. Rest assured that your luminous complexion will return.

Everything he had told me sounded like science fiction. It was surreal. I had been poisoned with an obscure element, and the only known antidote was a centuries-old pigment that would turn me blue. I would be a 5’10" human avatar with my ice-blue eyes and long raven hair. That would be a sight.

Dr. Silver’s voice brought me out of my trance. Do you like art, Blake?

Yes.

"Well, then you are in for a surprise. Prussian blue is something you now have in common with Vincent van Gogh! It was the predominant color used by van Gogh to paint The Starry Night."

Of course, I replied. I envisioned the masterpiece with its bright golden stars set in a sky of deep blue swirls. Colors of gemstones and every shade of blue spun a kaleidoscope in my mind. The splendid imagery disappeared when I recalled that some historians surmised that van Gogh’s mental illness may have been in part attributable to lead poisoning. The painter had a fondness for placing his brushes in his mouth and nibbling paint chips as he pondered his work. Paint in those days was leaden. Van Gogh was celebrated for his creative genius yet vilified for his madness. It was a horrid twist of fate that the paints which he applied impasto on canvases to such spectacular result may have been caused by a heavy metal poisoning which exacerbated his illness. Heavy metal poisoning may have been our shared fate. It was an odd similarity to hold with the great artist. I shared that connection with Dr. Silver.

My goodness, you’re right! he exclaimed. Are you familiar with the Japanese woodblock artist Katsushika Hokusai? The prolific painter and printmaker of the Edo period?

"Yes. The Great Wave is one of my favorite pieces. It’s so dynamic, so striking." I recalled Hokusai’s iconic masterpiece. Images of the frothing waves reaching out from the sea like tentacles took shape in my mind. I felt the plight of the fishing boats threatened by the monstrous wave.

Dr. Silver continued his discourse, saying, "The color used in that print was Prussian blue as well. Van Gogh was paying homage to Hokusai with The Starry Night. Van Gogh often talked about Hokusai’s influence on his style and technique. He particularly admired that print. If you look at the two pieces side-by-side, the resemblance is astounding."

I never connected the two works of art, but, yes, I can picture it now. I have always been drawn to that wave.

Ah, yes, you are an ocean lover! Are you heading out to Montauk this weekend? Dr. Silver continued to make small talk. I believed he did so not just to confirm that I was still lucid after such an upsetting diagnosis but because he was a genuinely caring doctor.

No, but I went out last weekend, and it was breathtaking. I would rise early in the morning to see the sunrise and walk on the beach and listen to the ocean sounds. I had been too tired to surf, but the waves and the salt air were therapeutic.

Well, I assure you, this is not the end of the world, replied Dr. Silver. I laughed at the comforting play on words as Montauk had been nicknamed the End of the World because it lies at the farthest eastern tip of Long Island and seemingly disappears into the vast Atlantic Ocean.

***

My mind drifted. Ever since I was a little girl visiting my grandparents, whom I lovingly called Amma and Pop, at their beach cottage in Montauk, we would swim and surf in the Atlantic. Just to sit on a board and witness the glory of the ocean was calming. To start the day, Pop would wake me up early and we would cruise in his red Cadillac out to Gin Beach to watch our neighbor, Mr. Finn, fly his twin-engine plane. He served as a naval aviator in his younger years and had never lost his love of flying. Gin Beach was the best spot to watch the small planes take-off and land on the short runway at Montauk Airport, which was lined by cattails and wild blueberry bushes and was a popular stomping ground for deer, fox, and wild turkeys. After our adventure, we would always drive back to town with the windows down so I could feel the wind on my face and go to Barbara’s Bakery. We would first select a box of jelly doughnuts to take home to Amma and my mom and dad. Then Pop would order a black coffee and let me choose whatever I wanted for breakfast. Without fail, that was always a giant chocolate chip cookie. We would sit at one of the well-worn picnic benches outside of the bakery and share the cookie, and Pop would always allow me a few sips of his coffee. Those were special times. And to this day, whenever something has me down, I walk to the nearest local bakery for a chocolate chip cookie and a dark roast coffee. It brought me back to those comforting and carefree days before I lost my parents. Losing them toughened me.

I recalled a memory of getting thrashed in the waves off Montauk. I couldn’t have been older than twelve. That summer, I befriended a group of older kids from the neighborhood. I was strong and tall for my age and could keep up during most of the pick-up sports they played, so they let me hang out with them. They planned to go body surfing the morning after a fierce storm had pummeled the East End. They were daredevils, and I wanted to be just like them. I hopped in the back of their Jeep before they could ditch me. We made our way along Montauk Highway. We were headed for Turtle Cove, known by locals to have the premier post-storm surge in the area. At the bends in the road, the massive, unrelenting waves could be seen revealing themselves in the mist and barreling into shore. The whitecaps seemed to multiply in size as the old Montauk Point Lighthouse on the bluff above the cove came into view. The excitement as we hopped out of the car was electrifying. I remembered feeling intimidated by the fast-moving swells but rushing into the choppy surf anyway. The undertow was more powerful than any I had ever been in, and it kept pulling me under. But I kept fighting my way back to the surface. It was exhilarating and terrifying. I stayed out in the swirl a long time and then fought my way back to shore.

***

It felt like I was back in that turbulence and getting thrashed, but I was determined to keep my head above the choppy saltwater. They say that’s the problem with survivors. We know we can survive. And with that, I thanked Dr. Silver and signed off, knowing exactly what I had to do.

CHAPTER TWO

The Reflection

I didn’t move from my chair for a long time after the call with Dr. Silver. I stared out the window, transfixed by the swift current of the water. The East River was a misnomer—it wasn’t a river, but a tempestuous tidal strait stretching from the New York Harbor north through Hell’s Gate, a perilous passage where vast whirlpools had swallowed ships and wild rapids had crashed vessels onto hidden rocks for centuries. I thought about my ex-husband and my mind drifted to the first time I met him. Many times, I wished I never had. Nevermore so in that moment.

His full given name was Jack Milton Oxley Jr. Milt’s father was known as Jack, so his son had been relegated to being called by his middle name. Our first introduction was work-related. Milt was in finance—investment banking—to be precise. He was a junior Managing Director in the San Francisco office of Bodles, a century-old firm founded in New York by three brothers with a reputation for sound strategy, and for being cautious and fiscally conservative.

I was the Head of Investor Relations for Viridian Holdings U.K., a global green energy company. We were in mid-growth stage and firms were clamoring to invest in Viridian’s continued growth and technological advances in the green energy space. With the company’s origins in wind power off the coast of Aberdeen and expansion into other sources, I was part of the team assessing potential investments and deal structures.

I had flown to San Francisco for that and other meetings. As I approached the conference room at Bodles with a view stretching for miles across the foggy bay that fateful day, I could see through the glass door that all the other meeting participants were men. Here we go again, I thought to myself as they all leaped out of their chairs when I entered the room. Milt was more noticeable than the rest. He was a head taller—standing at 6’4"—and made prolonged eye contact when we shook hands. He was also younger and far less reserved than the other capitalists in the room. Deference and discretion were the main currency of the Bodles company culture. Neither seemed to be his concern.

Bodles was known as much for its tactful advisors as its legendary financial portfolio. I observed that the more senior players appeared slightly perturbed by Milt. I wondered if I was witnessing a changing of the guard as Bodles made its move into the green energy sector. Firms like Bodles were markedly staid. The powers-that-be believed their consistent and successful record was owing to the unwavering manner in which they had comported themselves and conducted their business for the past hundred years. They had a code, and all were compliant. Whether that was the true formula for