for a second, several formulas whizzing through her brain. “Since Sarin lacks odor, color and taste, we needed to create a way to see it and stop its spread, to dissipate the gas once it’s released. The implosion sets off high volume high pressure phosphorous Freon. Freon attacks and paints the gas first, suspends its drift because it gives it weight. The chemical mix goes airborne and neutralizes the most deadly pathogen components. The real success was that we made it work without heat generating blasting material so it remains highly effective after detonation.”
Wickum’s mouth hung open. “Wow.”
Cisco stepped in front of him. “Could it seal the doors?”
“No. It’s not that kind of bomb. It creates a flash burn if you’re close or holding it, but it’s cold. You’d end up with mild frostbite unless you got the mix in your eyes. That would blind you.”
“Was there one of these bombs inside the Cradle?”
“Yes. They were stored one level above the cold room.”
“We have to assume the intruders have both the chemical weapons and a means to stop it.” Cisco scowled, rocking back on his heels. Only his gaze shifted to her. “Is that the only project?”
Now it was Sydney’s turn to be silent.
“Please answer the question, Dr. Hale.”
She simply tipped her head to the side. Cisco wanted to push it, but admired her resistance. He was overstepping his authority as it was. He asked her to repeat what she saw and what happened for the third time. Cisco considered that the Marine who saved her life and went back into the fray was one of three lying in a makeshift morgue. But he’d find out for certain.
He reached for his coat, slipping it on. “You’re to remain here, Dr. Hale.” He headed to the door, his black coat flapping like wings.
“Cisco.” He paused to look back. “There were three vials of liquid gas left. Those were used to test the effects of a completed implosion bomb. We used the accelerants for development, in small amounts. They’re not easy to get after nine-eleven, but any good chemist with the formula could make a deadly gas like that.”
“One strike would be plenty. And right now, we don’t have the countermeasure. They do.”
“If they have the countermeasure bomb, they have three prototypes. We did development, not manufacture. They can’t recreate it quickly. It took biochemists and physicists two years to make that work.”
Outside the house, Wickum hunched in his black coat. “She’s not what I expected.”
“They never are.” Cisco had learned that brilliance didn’t have to be explained and most people with minds like Dr. Hale had a sheltered shyness. Dr. Hale was the exception. She’d come a long way from the woman he’d fingerprinted five years ago. She could barely look him in the eye then. Now, he suspected she’d like to see his ass kicked all over the mountain.
“Why didn’t you tell her about the dead Marines?”
Cisco opened a thin cigar and bit the tip, turning his head to spit it aside. He struck a match, the flare turning his features demonic. “No need right now. She’s lost her staff and her life’s work. Her house been filtered yet?”
Wick checked his watch. “It should be done by now. I think you have her all wrong.”
“What I have is a suspect and a witness. She’s smart enough to make a cold implosion bomb, what else could she do?”
“Hell if I know. I flunked chemistry.”
“I don’t trust her, neither should you. Get your hormones under control.”
“Hey, she’s pretty, intelligent, and she does have a nice rack.”
“Yeah, well. She used those charms to get past the Marine guard in time to escape the killing field. Who else did she con?”
“I’ll bet you twenty she’s clean.”
Cisco eyeballed him. “You’re on.”
“You’re going to release her.”
“We can’t mark her without her knowing it. She’d expect it. Get her place wired, and put a tail on her. Let’s see who comes to Dr. Hale. If she’s in this, she’s the brilliance behind it.”
“And if she’s not?”
“We’ll know within forty-eight hours.”
“Yeah, she could be dead by then.”
Cisco squinted thought cigar smoke. “Hence, the tail, Wick.”
Jack slipped inside the darkened house, moving quietly into the living room. Suzie Lyons was curled in a chair, a wad of tissue in her fists. She stared blankly at a TV, the sound turned down.
Jack called her name.
She flinched and hopped out of the chair. “Who’s there?” She grabbed the nearest object, a heavy alabaster ashtray.
“It’s me Suzanne, Jack.” He stepped into the light.
“Oh, my God.” She dropped the alabaster and launched at him. “I thought you got killed! What happened? Why can’t they tell us anything?”
He grabbed her, muffling her mouth with his hand. “Shhh. Sit down.” He forced her into the chair. “No, no lights.” She stared, her pretty tearstained face aglow from the TV.
“How did you survive?”
Anger and bitterness tinged her voice. He didn’t blame her. She was young with a baby and no husband. He was a bachelor with no one. It didn’t make sense to anyone—especially him—that he was here and Lyons would never come home again.
“I’m alive by pure chance, Suzanne. If I could change it, I would gladly have died in his place.”
Her expression softened. “I know you would have, Jack. Carl always said you were the first man in, last man out.”
Jack’s jaw tightened. “He was a good man. He didn’t deserve this; none of them did.”
Tears burst free. “Make me understand, please.”
He told her enough to ease her mind, but not enough to put her in danger. She sat there and whispered the word, murder as if saying it would help her understand.
“I don’t know why it happened, but I’m going to find out.” He gripped her hands. “I swear I’ll get the bastard who pulled the trigger and the one who gave the orders.”
She inhaled. “You can’t. Are you crazy? Think of your career. Oh, Jack, let NCIS handle it. Please.”
He frowned. “Who’s contacted you?”
“No one except the chaplain and the CO. Both said it was a hunting accident.”
Oh, yeah, that washes, Jack thought bitterly. Three expert
