James Born - Burn Zone

She had looked on the Internet and spoken to one of the other forensic scientists about the possibility of something being contaminated by a cargo. No one seemed to know the answer.

She started checking and learned that U.S. Customs used small radioactive "pagers" that would set off an alarm if they came in contact with a ship that was carrying anything radioactive. She called over to the customs office in the Port of Palm Beach and couldn't get anyone but a machine on the phone.

Finally it started to bother her enough that she decided to take one of the shipping notices over there herself.

She had already slipped it into a plastic evidence bag and now into an old metal box that had been sitting unused for years in the crime scene room. She lugged the box to her Honda and decided today she would eat lunch in Riviera Beach, conveniently right next to the port. She had her sheriff's office ID and hoped she'd be more successful talking to someone in person.

ALEX DUARTE OPENED THE DOOR TO THE HOTEL ROOM A CRACK and tried to see inside. The bright sunlight made it difficult to see into the gloomy room. For a reason unknown to him, he slid his right hand to the butt of his pistol. He leaned into the door and opened it a little farther.

The room still remained too dark to see anything. He went ahead and pushed the door inward, feeling it catch slightly on something. For a moment, he thought he might be finding another dead body. That was starting to get old.

As the door opened all the way, with his hand still resting on the knob, he looked into the room and saw the white propane gas tank. Then he thought about the slight catch in the door and saw the loose curtain strings on the floor.

His mind just reacted and he pulled the door to him, hoping to contain the blast he knew would come.

He saw the flash in the crack of the door and heard the blast just as the door was about to close.

Orange flames peeked out all around the door, and the window next to him blew out.

At the same time, he felt the door fly loose from its hinges and lift horizontally off the ground, with him still holding on.

He flew across the breezeway and into the parking lot like he was riding a magic carpet instead of a propane gas-powered door.

He made no sound as the explosion filled his eyes and vision.

He caught a glimpse of Félix instinctively ducking as he passed by him on the floating door.

Pelly smiled when he saw the old lady give Duarte the key and then go back to minding her own business. He couldn't have planned it more precisely. It was almost like the ATF agent was following his script.

Then Pelly saw him hesitate at the door. He opened it a crack and paused. Had he detected the trap?

Pelly thought back over his actions and tried to see if he could determine what he might have done to give away his plan.

Then Duarte pushed the door open.

Pelly let out his breath, knowing the pins had just been pulled from the grenades, and when they detonated so would the propane. He involuntarily squinted his eyes.

Duarte jumped back outside, but it was too late. The flash of the explosion reached Pelly before the sound.

That was one less problem as far as Pelly was concerned. The ATF man wouldn't bother him or the colonel again.

ALEX DUARTE FLINCHED AS FÉLIX BAEZ TREATED A CUT ON HIS head with some peroxide they had bought on their way back to the hotel in New Orleans.

Considering the size of the blast and the damage to the hotel room, Duarte was still amazed he had gotten away with only a few cuts and some singed hair on the right side of his head.

Félix said, "You sure we shouldn't have stayed and talked to the responding cops?"

Duarte shook his head. "No one was hurt." He jumped when the peroxide and cotton struck an open wound. "Except me." He took another breath. "I don't want to give anyone a reason to take me off this case. Someone is going to a lot of trouble to keep us from finding out everything. That pisses me off."

Félix smiled. "I've never seen you pissed off." He paused. "Or happy or sad or tickled or annoyed."

"Yeah, I got it, I got it."

Félix chuckled. "I never seen a flying ATF man. You looked like Aladdin floating across that lot." He laughed louder. "And the old cleaning woman. She looked like she seen a ghost."

Duarte slipped past Félix and stood, stretching out his back and arms. He wouldn't admit that anything was sore from the blast. But everything below his eyes did hurt.

"Okay, Félix. Tomorrow I'll find this Jessup character over in Biloxi."

"What time should I be ready?"

Duarte held up his hand. "Not on this. I can handle it. You need to stay on Lina and see what she knows. She's got the source, Pale Girl, and anything Staub learns. I don't think she's been sharing like she should."

Félix snorted. "That's not her, that's the damn FBI. Fucking Bunch of Idiots. They don't like to share nothin'."

Duarte nodded, feeling the exhaustion wash over him. He was glad Félix had agreed so easily to staying in New Orleans. Another reason Duarte hadn't wanted to take him was that Félix had been rough on the Ryder manager, and Duarte didn't want to risk what he'd do to the head of a racist organization, especially with what he felt about Gastlin's death.

Félix told him to relax and get to bed early, then the DEA man headed out to eat.

Duarte nodded and eased back on his bed, still in his clothes.

He heard the door close and started to slip into sleep immediately. Everything seemed to catch up to him at once. As he drifted off, he jerked awake thinking he had heard another blast. How many had he heard in his thirty years? More than most people heard in a lifetime. As he started to drift off again, he realized this might not be the deep restful sleep he had hoped it would be.

The young agent from ICE, which stood for Immigration and Customs Enforcement, appeared genuinely interested in answering any of Alice Brainard's questions. She didn't think her position at the sheriff's office had anything to do with his attitude either. She could tell it was more the position he had in mind for the two of them. He was young and buff-the customs guys always seemed to have time to work out-and had a cute face surrounded by lots of light brown hair like a surfer's.

He wore a dark blue uniform and took more than ten minutes to explain his complex and dangerous duties around the Port of Palm Beach.

She smiled and said, "I'm sure it's hell, but what do you do if there's something radioactive on one of the ships?"

"Run." He laughed at his sharp wit.

"I mean, how would you know?"

"Oh, we have these pagers that sound and take a sample of the emission."

"The pager ever go off?"

"Oh sure. Maybe three or four times a year."

"Is it scary?" She really wanted to know, as well as make sure the young Homeland Security ICE agent thought she cared so he would still help.

"No. The first couple of times we got excited, but now we know it's a false alarm. Big loads of timber or tile can set 'em off. Sometimes a larger instrument of some kind with a radioactive gauge on it."

"Why would tile set them off?"

"A lot of organic things have natural radioactivity. We send the readings from the pagers to the RAD team so they can analyze them. They usually get back to us within an hour or so."

"How do they know what it is?"

"They can tell by the alpha emissions if it is fissionable and from enriched uranium or plutonium. Something that can be made into a weapon."

She nodded, her scientific mind trying to understand the process as well as the reasons to do it. She could tell the guy was just reciting what he had learned in a class. He had no more idea about fission or the uses of enriched plutonium than a manatee, but he had been told to recite what he had learned. He did it well and looked good doing it.