Kevin Anderson - Lethal Exposure

Craig thought fteetingly of General Ursov and his pride in the Russian Strategic Rocket Forces.

“Back then, Mr. Kreident, weapons physicists like myself were the sorcerers-court magicians who transformed a collection of diverse and backward republics into one of the strongest nations on Earth.”

“So you designed nuclear weapons? How does that relate to your antimatter work at Fermilab?”

Dumenco shook his head, rustling the pillow. “Not nuclear warheads, Mr. Kreident. Directed-energy weapons , particle beams, and lasers-but these required massive but compact amounts of energy. We studied the use of nuclear detonations as power sources, which would of course destroy a weapon each time it was used. The United States itself advocated fielding a nuclear-powered x-ray laser in space. But I set my sights on another, more elegant solution.

“Matter-antimatter reactions could power the directed-energy weapons my nation desperately needed to counter President Reagan’s Strategic Defense Initiative, the so-called Star Wars program. It was the only way the Soviet Union could stay in this new arms race. Of course, then the key question was how to produce sufficient amounts of antimatter to make such a scheme practical.”

His brow creased with concern. “If the Soviet Union had had access to the powerful particle accelerators here or at CERN, we could have gone forward with my antimatter enhancement technique. We would have been successful. We would have been able to counter your SDI, and we would have had true directed-energy weapons.” He opened his eyes as he whispered, “But perhaps it is the best for all of us in this world that we did not succeed.”

Craig put down his small notebook as everything fell in place. “So you pioneered antimatter work in the Soviet Union and brought it with you when you defected. That’s why the U.S. wanted you so badly.”

Dumenco nodded. “At Aramazas 16 I discovered the mechanism for increasing the production of antimatter, for enhancing the p-bar beam, which I am ‘rediscovering’ here. And it was at Aramazas 16 that I also built the first crystal-lattice storage device, years before the esteemed Dr. Nels Piter. But because my work was classified, I could tell no one about it.”

Craig drew a quick breath. “Does Piter know this?” The Belgian scientist was banking on his CERN development to win him a Nobel Prize. But if Dumenco had already done the work years before…

“Dr. Piter knows very little, if the truth is told. He is a talker, not a researcher. I gave up my efforts with the crystal-lattice trap-I suspect that with the present level of technology, it is too unreliable. Unstable. Unfortunately, we have not had sufficient antimatter available to test the upper limits of crystal-lattice containment. Until now. My own concepts for dramatically increasing p-bar production in the accelerator beam should have changed all this.”

With a gesture more vehement than Craig expected, Dumenco struck the papers on his bedside table. “But it doesn’t work! The Tevatron should be creating orders of magnitude more antiprotons, but they just aren’t showing up! I have checked and rechecked the experiment. It works, I know it does-but the results aren’t there!”

Craig placed a hand on the old man’s shoulder, struck to be in the presence of someone so pivotal in the course of political changes, all behind the scenes. The actions of individual people at critical times determined the flow of world events.

“I’ll let you get back to your work,” he said, cowed. Someday, perhaps, Dumenco’s discoveries would be recognized for their importance. Someday.

Craig just hoped the Ukrainian was still alive when the Nobel committee announced their choice. Georg Dumenco had earned the prize, whether or not anybody knew it.

Thursday, 8:49 p.m.

Fox RiverMedicalCenter

After he received the fax from the Oakland Bureau office, Craig knew the next part was a job for Paige Mitchell and no one else. He found her in the hospital halls. She had been looking for him.

“Paige, you’re the people person, the Protocol Officer,” he said, gripping the curling fax in his hand. “You talk well to strangers. You know how to make people feel at ease even in difficult situations.”

She smiled and crossed her arms over her cream cable-knit sweater. The loose sweater hung long over her hips, complimenting dark brown slacks. “Keep on like that, Craig, and you’re going to make my head swell.”

Craig didn’t joke with her as he held out the list of names and addresses. “I need you to do some calling for me. Time to break the bad news and bring in the cavalry, for what it’s worth.”

Paige squinted down at the names, then looked up at him with her blue eyes. “What is this?”

“Georg Dumenco’s family. Their names were changed, everything kept classified. He wants to see them one last time.”

Paige studied the addresses. “They’re right here in the Midwest,” she said. “And Dumenco kept them secret?”

Craig shook his head. “The U.S. Marshal kept them secret. Dumenco didn’t know where they lived-he’s only seen them once a year since he fled to this country. Dumenco wanted it that way, for their own protection.”

Paige’s eyes widened. “You mean they’ve all been here within a day’s drive of Fermilab, and they never saw him, never got in touch?”

“Only once a year, under U.S. Marshal supervision, on carefully prearranged visits.”

“But putting the family up so close to him and yet blocked away, they must have known everything he was doing. Dumenco was in the paper often enough, at least in the technical journals. His wife could have tracked him down without much trouble.”

“Unless she was afraid. Unless he had told them not to.”

Paige shook her head. “I can’t decide if that was a kindness or a cruelty on Dumenco’s part.”

Craig sighed. “I won’t debate the matter with you, but it’s time for one last kindness. I’ve insisted on it.” He nudged the paper in Paige’s hand. “I want you to get in touch with them and bring them here. Now. Tonight. The FBI will provide the transportation, Code Red.” He looked down the long halls of hospital rooms. “Time for a final family reunion.”

At the nurse’s station several women and one man looked at computer screens, drank coffee, and gossiped with each other. Overhead, Craig saw one of the fluorescent light bulbs flickering, trying to throw out just a few more photons before it finally gave up the ghost… like Dumenco would, sometime soon.

Craig watched Paige’s expression grow serious. She swallowed hard and then nodded. Her eyes were misty. “Of course, Craig, I’ll do it. It’s the least I can do.”

She went immediately over to a pay phone by the waiting room, picked up the receiver, and began dialing.

Friday, 4:47 a.m.

Fermilab

Nicholas Bretti knew that this early in the morning, the Fermilab grad students would be groggy, fueling themselves with stale coffee and paying no attention to anything but the largest disaster, such as the accelerator going down. It was too late for faculty or staff members to be around, and too early for the cleaning crew.

But it was the perfect time to slip in, move around without being hindered. He could retrieve his crystal-lattice trap and head back to O’Hare.

After Dumenco’s clumsy accident had wrecked his previous stash of antimatter, and after the emergency repairs to get the Tevatron up and running again, the accelerator had provided a good beam almost continuously for days. By now, the sophisticated antimatter trap would be filled nearly to capacity with p-bars.