James Born - Burn Zone

The manager, Mr. Duplantis, had been told to leave, and the colonel had been shown how to set the alarm. In the bright fluorescent light of the office, Pelly wondered if Colonel Staub ever worried about the moral consequences of his acts.

Pelly justified his own actions one of two ways: business reasons or teaching someone a lesson about making fun of him and his condition. But a nuclear weapon set off in the U.S.? That was going to kill a lot of people no matter where they sent it. He mulled over the prospect as he sat in silence with Colonel Staub.

After more than an hour, the bell for the front door rang. Pelly looked up at the colonel, who nodded for him to answer it.

Pelly walked past the big bay door that allowed trucks into the facility and went to the small door marked PUBLIC/ADMINISTRATIVE. He opened the hollow metal door, then froze for a second. This wasn't who he had expected.

Alice Brainard had gotten Scott Mahovich working right away on the samples that Alex had sent her. She had a growing sense of the importance of this case.

No one was saying that a nuclear weapon had come from the cargo ship, but they weren't taking any chances. No one at the sheriff's office had asked her about the FBI interview. She had just continued her work. But all she could think about was Alex Duarte and his safety.

Scott, the DNA scientist, popped into her office. "I'm working on these samples you gave me, but in light of the interest by the FBI, I'm going to have to report what I've been working on."

She cut her eyes up from the clothing she was searching for fibers. She was past the point of leading this guy on. She was not in a cute workout leotard. She didn't have on makeup or have her hair in anything but a ponytail.

She leveled her stare and said, "You will work those samples up, keep your mouth shut and stop bothering me."

"Or what?"

"Or I'll get up, march over to you and you'll have to tell all your deputy buddies how a girl kicked your ass."

He hesitated.

She stood up quickly, scooting the chair out from behind her.

He held up his hands. "Okay, okay. But when will it end? Am I going to just keep doing samples for your boyfriend?"

"Yes, until he doesn't need our help anymore." She went back to work, ignoring the tall, gangly man. She thought, That felt kinda good.

Pelly heard the colonel call out, "Who is it?"

Pelly smiled, knowing this was not what his employer expected either. He stood aside so the guest could enter. "Please, Dr. Tuznia, come in."

The forty-year-old woman did not look like a nuclear scientist. She was very well-built with dark hair that ran across her pretty face. If it weren't for her Slavic cheekbones, she would have looked Hispanic.

Her hips swayed in a very unprofessorlike way in her midlength skirt. Her large breasts jigged slightly as she walked. Pelly didn't even mind the fascinated look she gave him. As she stepped through the door, she ran a confident hand across his overgrown face and winked.

"That is impressive," she said, her accent sounding like a Russian spy in a cartoon. "Hypertrichosis?"

Pelly nodded.

"I like it." Her long straight nose was the perfect highlight to her high cheeks and white teeth.

Pelly didn't want to miss the look on the colonel's face as she walked into sight. This was the spitting image of every woman he had ever ordered whipped. She even looked like the secretary the colonel had beaten for using the phone for personal calls.

Staub stood inside the office, smiling at first, then, failing to hide his surprise, said, "Who the hell is this?"

The professor stepped into the office and offered her hand. "Marise Tuznia."

Staub took it, his mouth still agape. He didn't give his name.

"I thought Dr. Tuznia was a man."

"He was. That was my father. I am also a Ph.D. in physics. I could call my brother. But he is a doctor of dentistry."

Staub stood speechless.

Pelly enjoyed every second of it.

The professor said, "Now, Mr. Ortíz, do you have my money?"

Staub nodded. He stepped over to the crate he had had brought up to the office, popped opened a big folding knife and cut the seal around the top. Then he pried off the top of the crate.

Even Pelly had to catch his breath at the sight of the U.S. currency stacked inside the box.

The good-looking professor stooped down to the crate and ran her hand over a couple of rows of cash.

Staub said, "Do you wish to count it?"

She gazed down at the fifty-dollar bills and shook her head. "Even if you are off by a million or two, I'm still rich." She stood and said, "Where is the device?"

"On its way."

The professor looked at Pelly and smiled. "What could we do with the free time?"

Pelly smiled until he saw the look on his employer's face.

ALEX DUARTE NAVIGATED THE STREETS OF HOUSTON CAREFULLY as they looked for the entrance to the industrial park that housed the address about which the hotel clerk had said William Floyd had asked. It was almost dark now, and traffic had quieted to the occasional big rig tearing out on a late delivery.

They knew Floyd was no longer using a Ryder truck, but had no idea what he was driving. What concerned Duarte most was, if they were done with the truck, what had happened to whatever they were transporting?

"Wish I could've talked to Forrest Jessup. I think he would've known what was going on and clued us in."

From the backseat, Félix mumbled, "This guy Floyd is the key. He'll tell us if Ortíz killed Gastlin."

Duarte thought about that as he shot a look to Lina, who was giving him a glare back. Had Félix lost track of what they were doing?

The DEA man said, "Lina knows this guy, and she hasn't given us shit. That's the fucking FBI for you."

Lina turned to face him. "What's that mean?"

"You probably already know about this asshole, Ortíz."

"No one knows who he is. I only know Floyd, and I guarantee he didn't do anything in Panama."

"Why don't you tell us everything you know about Floyd, then?"

"Because he's a source, and some of it's not for release."

"We're not fucking reporters. What's that mean, 'not for release'? Does that mean it's classified?" His speech was slurred.

"Yeah, pretty much."

"You said you guys got him on a child pornography beef. What sort of information could he give that would get him out of that? I'd never make a deal with a child molester." Félix folded his arms like he had just had the last word.

Duarte was concerned about his friend's demeanor and insistence on focusing on a single murder when the possibility of some kind of dirty bomb was a very real threat.

Lina said, "Let's just say he knew some very dangerous people."

"When?" asked Félix.

"The mid-nineties."

"And you still keep track of him?"

"He's involved in the whole white-power scene. He knows militiamen, Klan guys, Nazis. His latest group of friends are the border-protection people. They've been preaching to him about the need to secure our borders before something catastrophic happens."

Félix said, "Not all terrorism comes from other countries. Look at Oklahoma City."

Duarte looked over at Lina, who was silent and obviously tired of this conversation.

Félix threw down another beer, settled into the backseat and started snoring almost immediately.

Staub steamed at the behavior of this Ukrainian whore who apparently had one, overpriced skill. He sent Pelly to help her drive her Audi in through the big bay door into the central receiving area. Pelly then had to retrieve a huge case out of the new car's trunk.

Staub said, "Nice car on a college professor's salary."