and regain possession of the missing canisters. Believe me, gentlemen, Triple X is not something we want floating around out there. And particularly not six canisters’ worth.” She looked at the admiral. “How in God’s name did this happen?”
“How’s not important right now,” he told her almost gently. “Right now we need to focus on what. Please continue, Doctor.”
Zoe nodded. The thought of six canisters of Triple X set loose on the unsuspecting world made her blood feel like ice water as it flowed through her veins. It was terrifying. And she wasn’t used to feeling terrified, even though her job was a frightening one most of the time. She spent hours upon hours learning the awful details of all the different weapons of mass destruction that were out there, ready to wreak havoc on the planet. But she’d learned to sleep dreamlessly at night, untouched by nightmares. She’d learned to sit impassively while reading reports of countries that tested chemical weapons on prisoners and the infirm. Women and children.
But six missing canisters of Trip X …
That scared her to death.
Still, she took a deep breath and stood up, because she’d also learned how to give tight, to-the-point, emotionless information even when she was badly shaken.
“Triple X is currently the nastiest chemical weapon in the world,” she reported. “It’s twenty times more potent than the nerve agent VX, and like VX, it kills by paralysis. Get a noseful of Triple X, gentlemen, and you choke to death, because your lungs, like the other muscles in your body, slowly seize up. Trip X or Tri X or T-X. It’s all the same thing—airborne death.”
Zoe moved around the table to the whiteboard that was on the wall behind Admiral Robinson. She picked up a marker and scribbled the two chemical components on the board, labeling them A and B.
“Trip X is a triple compound, which makes it far more stable to store and transport. It also makes it far more adaptable as a weapon.” She pointed to the board. “These two compounds are stored dry, in powder forms that are, on their own, relatively harmless. But just like Betty Crocker’s dromedary gingerbread mix, just add water. And then it’s time to put your gas mask on. Instant poison. It’s that easy, boys. You get me two balloons, about a teaspoonful each of Trip X compounds A and B, both harmless in dried form, remember, and a little H2O laced with some acid or lye, and I can make a weapon that will take out this entire building—the entire Pentagon—as well as a good number of people on the street. Water sealed in one balloon, which is tucked inside of the other, which is also filled with air and that little bit of compounds A and B. A little acid or lye in the water eats through the rubber. Balloon springs a leak, water hits old A and B. It causes a chemical reaction that creates both a liquid and a gaseous form of Triple X, sending it out into the air, and eventually through the building’s ventilation system, killing everyone who comes into contact with it.”
The room was dead silent as she put the marker down.
Jake Robinson had taken his seat as she’d started her little lecture, turning to face her as she’d stood in front of the whiteboard. She was directly in front of him now. He was close enough to reach out and touch. And smell. He wore a subtle amount of Polo Sport—just enough to smell completely delicious.
She drew in a deep breath to steady herself—and to remind herself that although her world was fraught with evil, there was good in it, too. It held men like Jake Robinson.
“That’s what two teaspoons of Trip X can do, gentlemen,” she said. “As for six canisters …” She shook her head.
“I know it’s hard to imagine a disaster of this magnitude,” the admiral said quietly, “but in your opinion, how many thermos-size canisters would it take to wipe out this city?”
“Washington, D.C.?” Zoe chewed her lower lip. “Rough guess? Four? Depending on which way the wind was blowing.”
He nodded. Clearly he’d already known that. And six were missing.
She looked around the room. “Any other questions?”
Senior Chief Becker lifted his hand. “You said our only option was to find the Triple X and regain possession of it. Is there any way to destroy it?”
“The two powders can be burned,” she told him with a tight smile. “Just don’t put the fire out with water.”
Lieutenant O’Donlon raised his hand. “I have a question for Admiral Robinson. After two weeks, sir, you must have some idea who was behind the theft.”
The admiral stood up. He towered over her by a solid six inches. She started toward her seat, but he caught her elbow, his fingers warm against her bare skin. “Stay,” he commanded softly.
She nodded. “Of course, sir.”
“We have identified the terrorist group that stole the Trip X,” Jake told them, “and we also believe we’ve found the location of the missing canisters.”
Everyone started talking at once.
“That’s great,” Zoe said.
“Yeah, well, it’s not as great as it sounds,” the admiral told her in a low voice. “Nothing’s ever that easy.”
“When do we ship out?” she asked just as quietly. “I’m guessing our destination is somewhere in the Middle East.”
“Guess again, Doctor. And maybe you should wait for all the facts and details before you agree to sign on. I’ve got a feeling you’re not going to like this assignment very much.”
Zoe met his steady gaze with an equal air of calm. “I don’t need to know the details. I’m all yours—if you’ll have me.”
It wasn’t until the words left her mouth that she realized how dreadfully suggestive they were.
But then she thought, why not? She was attracted to this man on virtually every level. Why not let him know it?
But something shifted in his eyes, something unidentifiable flitted across his face, and she realized in another flash that he wore a wedding band on his left hand.
“I’m sorry, sir,” she said swiftly. “I didn’t mean for that to sound—”
His smile was crooked. “It’s okay, I know what you meant. It’s a juicy assignment. But you won’t be going to the Middle East.” He turned and knocked on the table to regain the room’s attention. “The terrorists who took the Triple X live right here in the United States. We’ve traced the canisters to their stronghold in Montana. They’re U.S. citizens, although they’re trying hard to secede from the union. They’re led by a man named Christopher Vincent, and they call themselves the CRO, or the Chosen Race Organization.”
The CRO.
The admiral glanced at her, and Zoe nodded. She knew all about the CRO. And this was what he’d meant about waiting to find out the details. The CRO was mysogynistic as well as being neo-Nazi, antigovernment and downright vicious. If Jake Robinson’s plan was to send her into the CRO fortress as part of an undercover team assigned to retrieve the Trip X, it wasn’t going to be fun. Women were treated little better than slaves in the CRO. They served, silently, tirelessly, unquestioningly. They were treated as possessions by their husbands and fathers. And they frequently were physically
