Gretchen McNeil - 3:59

They paused at one door, unmarked, and Richard dropped his voice. “This was, er, is Dr. Byrne’s office,” he said.

Josie perked up. “My mom’s office?” So it had been left untouched. That could be promising.

“Yes,” he said. “We’ve kept it pretty much intact if she—” He paused again, visibly flustered. “I mean when she returns.”

Dr. Byrne’s office. Like all the others, it had an access-card scanner to unlock the door. Which meant she needed to get her hands on a card.

Suddenly, Josie had an idea. “I need to use the ladies’ room,” she said.

“Now?” Richard asked.

Josie nodded.

“I can let you in with my access card,” Richard said with a touch of consternation. “All the doors on this floor require an access badge.”

So Josie had noticed.

Richard marched her down the hall and let her into the ladies’ room. As soon as the door closed behind her, Josie searched the stalls, making sure she was alone, then stashed her purse behind one of the garbage cans. After running the water as if washing her hands, Josie emerged from the ladies’ room with a sweet smile, and followed Richard and Nick downstairs.

Josie waited until Richard was halfway through his tour of the more innocuous second floor—which included his own semiprivate office—before she put phase two of the plan into motion.

“Ask to see the cafeteria,” Josie whispered in Nick’s ear.

He nodded. “Richard,” he said, interrupting the Director of Public Outreach’s monologue about the various tasks that made up his job. “I was wondering if I might be able to see the cafeteria? Getting kind of hungry.”

Josie piped up. “Me too.”

“Oh,” Richard said. He sounded deflated. “I suppose, if you want. It’s on the concourse level. Follow me.”

“Oh no!” Josie said a few minutes later, as the elevator door opened on the basement level.

“What is it, Miss Byrne?”

Josie smiled sheepishly. “I’ve lost my purse! I’m so careless like that.”

“Where do you think you left it?” Richard asked. His patience, even so far as it extended to the daughter of Mr. Byrne, was wearing thin.

“In the ladies’ room. On the fourth floor.”

“The fourth floor?” Richard asked. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.” She eyed the access badge on Richard’s belt. “If you just lend me your badge, I can pop upstairs and get it.” Richard hesitated. “Or I can just tell my father where I lost it and he can find it for me?” she added.

“No,” Richard said quickly, and handed over the badge.

Josie grabbed it before he could change his mind, and pressed the elevator button. “I’ll grab it, then meet you guys in the cafeteria.”

As the doors closed, Nick gave her a quick wink. She just hoped he could stall long enough, and that she’d actually find something.

3:22 P.M.

WALKING INTO DR. BYRNE’S OFFICE WAS LIKE walking into a tomb.

It wasn’t the lab where she and Nick’s brother had conducted the experiment, of that Josie was sure. It wasn’t big enough, for starters, and lacked a full lab setup. This was strictly an office: desk, chairs, bookcases, file cabinet, framed diplomas on the wall. All perfectly normal.

Josie didn’t have much time before Richard might get suspicious. There was no way the findings of the investigation would be locked away in Dr. Byrne’s office, but maybe Josie could find something else that might hint at what happened to the X-FEL that day? It was her only shot. She had to think: Where would Dr. Byrne keep important information about her projects?

The locked file cabinet was the obvious choice. Six feet tall with four enormous drawers, it probably had experimental notes going back a decade or more. But that would be more of a reference for Dr. Byrne. Not an easily accessible source of information. No, that would be in her desk.

Josie sat down and opened the large bottom drawer. It was lined with hanging file folders containing the most recent notes and findings. Okay, this was a start. But what exactly was she looking for? A filed marked “How to openly sabotage an X-FEL” was probably a stretch.

Josie flipped through a few files. The names were all innocuous: “calibrations,” “beam tests,” “Jo’s school projects.”

“Jo’s school projects?” Josie said out loud. That didn’t sound right. Josie glanced at the framed photo of Jo and Dr. Byrne on the desk. As far as Josie could tell, Jo wasn’t exactly an academic.

With a trembling hand, Josie pulled the file from the drawer.

The first thing she noticed was that the file was full of chat transcripts. Printed out conversations between two anonymous screen names: xa929 and drtr000. There were no personal references—no names, no genders, no job descriptions—and as Josie read through them, she quickly understood why.

xa929: $200 million is the final offer

drtr000: Accepted

xa929: When can we expect delivery of the product?

drtr000: After the first test, I shall deliver the product the following day as soon as I have confirmation that the money has been wired into my account

xa929: How will you obtain the product?

drtr000: Not your concern

xa929: Understood

Holy shit.

A “product” sold to the highest bidder.

Had Josie just stumbled across proof that Tony Fiorino’s experiment had been sabotaged?

4:45 P.M.

Nick loosened his tie as he sped back to Bowie. “And you’re sure that’s what you saw?”

“Positive.”

“Two hundred million dollars.” Nick whistled. “That’s enough to kill for.”

“I wonder who they were selling to?” Josie wondered out loud.

“A foreign power, a private company.” Nick ran his fingers through his hair. “Hell, maybe even the Grid. Everyone and their mom would want exclusive ownership of a way to get rid of the Nox.”

Josie nodded. “A traitor. There was a traitor working on Project Raze.” She paused, and looked right at Nick. “It could be anyone,” she said. “Anyone with access to the laser.”

“Even Dr. Byrne herself,” Nick said.

“Would she really keep transcripts of her own illegal activities in her desk drawer?” Josie asked. Seemed like a bonehead move.

“Maybe.” Nick shrugged. “If she felt like she was about to get caught, she could always pretend to be a whistle-blower.”

Josie nodded. “Yeah, that could make sense.”

Nick set his jaw. “If it’s true,” he said slowly, “if she’s responsible for my brother’s death, she’d better pray she never comes back here.”

3:59 A.M.

“NO!”

There’s a crash and a bang from the kitchen, then the violent sound of breaking glass. Jo runs down the hall to the kitchen and stops short at the door.

Her mom is ripping the kitchen apart. She opens every cupboard, every drawer, and pulls their contents out. She examines everything, then drops them on the floor. She dumps boxes of cereal and pasta on the counter. Canisters of flour, sugar, and who knows what else are poured unceremoniously on the table. Plates and silverware, condiments and tea bags—she’s tearing the room apart.

After every inch of the kitchen has been ravaged, her mom leans on the counter, her back to Jo.

“Mom?” Jo asks.

She doesn’t turn around, just continues to lean on her elbows, head hung low, panting.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s gone,” she says, her voice little more than a croak. “I’ve lost it.”