Bretti knew it would be a mistake to think of this man as his friend.
“No. No tea.” Bretti shifted in his chair, setting the heavy suitcase of p-bars on the floor beside him. He plugged an extension cord from the wall to the suitcase, recharging the lithium batteries. “Things have changed at the Lab. I need to get out of here today like we planned, but I won’t have as much of the… uh, product as I had promised. I have a more efficient trap collecting particles of antimatter right now. In less than a week- after the excitement cools down-it’ll have a full supply. When I return, I can make good on the final delivery.”
Chandrawalia’s facial expression remained frozen in a perpetual smile. “I am sorry to hear that. Will this affect our agreement, Dr. Bretti?‘’
“Mr. Bretti. Call me mister.” Bretti screwed up his face. The man knew damned well he was still a grad student. “I’ve got some antimatter, enough for your people to start their medical isotope project. And that’s the important thing. Now get me out of here.”
“We’ve inspected your holding apparatus,” said Chandrawalia smoothly. “Your device is making our security people nervous. They think it could be some sort of sophisticated bomb.”
“Just don’t x-ray the container. That would increase the antiproton diffusion rate out of the magnetic bottle.” To Chandrawalia’s blank stare, Bretti growled, “You’ll make it leak faster. It’s tough enough keeping the p-bars contained in this type of trap without agitating them.”
Did they really think he was stupid enough to bring a bomb into this place? And what on earth for? Of course, enough antimatter particles could be as deadly as a bomb-as the vaporized substation proved-but this Penning trap didn’t hold nearly enough p-bars to cause any damage. Later in the week, when he returned for the crystal-lattice trap, then he would have enough antimatter to make someone worry.
“I see.” Chandrawalia reached into a drawer, withdrew a folder and slid it across the polished desktop. “Here are tickets for today’s flight to New Delhi. Your passport is in there as well, stamped with our visa. You leave at five P.M. We are putting your storage device in a diplomatic pouch-a container that can be hooked up to the plane’s electrical system during the trip to India. It will not be inspected by your customs officials.”
Bretti scooped up the ticket. “You’ve got me flying out on the Concord. Cool.” The Indians really wanted those p-bars. Their stake in major new medical research and opening the process to lucrative markets supposedly depended on it.
“The program in Bangalore is anxiously waiting for your material. One of my associates will meet you there.” Chandrawalia held up a finger and frowned for the first time in the conversation. The expression sent a chill through Bretti. “Please remember the need for discretion, Mr. Bretti. This, ah, project is hardly well publicized, or even endorsed by my government. Few people in this embassy are aware of what we are doing. If it proves to be a success”-he shrugged-“then things may change and everyone will want to take credit. But for now, the fewer people who know about this, the better.”
“That’s the tack I’ve been taking,” said Bretti sourly. The less said the better, and the less chance any sort of investigation would finger him. He wasn’t even supposed to be in Illinois this week.
“Good.” Chandrawalia stood, clearly ending the meeting. Placing his hands on the desk, he bowed slightly. “Please instruct my people as to the care and operation of your storage device. We will then escort you to O’Hare and past customs as my official guest to our country.”
“What about my car?” Things were moving too fast. He didn’t even have a suitcase with him, no clothes, not even a toothbrush. But if Chandrawalia came through with the money they had promised, Bretti could buy all he wanted when he got to India.
“It will remain in our garage until you return.” For the first time since things had taken a nosedive at the substation, Bretti actually felt calm and somewhat hopeful again. He allowed a small smile on his face as he shook hands with Chandrawalia. He just might pull this off after all…
But the official’s grip was cold and his expression hard. “Do not forget that your device will be in the passenger hold. If anything goes wrong, both you and your plane will meet the same fate. Have a nice flight… and enjoy India.”
CHAPTER NINE
Tuesday, 3:49 p.m.
Fermilab
The dogs strained on their leashes, intent on their job- professionals, just like everything else the FBI used. But Special Agent Schultz didn’t expect them to find anything. He had already been over the various substations, searching for some hint as to the cause of the massive explosion that had vaporized one of the blockhouses.
The handler from the county sheriff’s office followed the two dogs to the next substation. They barked and sniffed, making a beeline toward the heavy metal door. Schultz had a key to each of the padlocks, and this one looked just as secure as the others had. It would probably be a dud too.
He and his team had been on the scene for two days already, but still had found no clues. His evidence technicians and crime-scene chemists had narrowed the list of possibilities until nothing remained.
Normal bombs left telltale trace compounds, chemical residue, nitrates, by-products-but the fused crater showed nothing at all. The explosion had been clean, with intense heat, and of extremely short duration; electrical power from miles around had been disrupted. At first, the investigators had detected a small increase in the background radiation, but the crater was the wrong shape for even a miniature atomic weapon. Schultz could not begin to imagine what could cause such destruction.
The dogs scratched against the metal door of the blockhouse, anxious and whimpering. “Something’s got them excited,” the handler said.
Schultz came forward, sorting through a string of keys the Fermilab Director’s Office had provided him. “One of the techs probably left a box of takeout chicken inside.”
He didn’t like being in charge of such a high-profile investigation with nothing to show for it. FBI headquarters didn’t look at that too kindly. The other two California agents were working on their own, looking into the radiation exposure case, but they didn’t have any assistance, no backup, no facilities at their disposal. Given those stumbling blocks, he certainly didn’t expect them to uncover anything he and his people had missed.
He twisted a key in the padlock, then pulled the heavy door open. The two dogs impatiently pushed their way into the small substation. One even let out a yip, and Schultz frowned at their poor training. The sheriff’s dogs should behave better than that.
But then he noticed that the lights were on. The last person in there must have left everything on, everything running. The walls were covered with diagnostics racks, oscilloscopes, computers, TV monitors, like props from an old TV show. One of the chairs had tipped over, and notepads and debris had fallen from the shelves.
Sprawled on the floor lay a man in a pool of blood.
Schultz froze, falling into his role as crime scene investigator. He recognized the dark suit, curly hair, pudgy physique. “It’s that FBI agent from Oakland,” he said, “Goldfarb.” He hurried forward, dropping to his knee as the handler tried to keep his dogs under control.
“Get out your phone,” Schultz snapped. “Call for emergency medical assistance. And get me the Chicago office. Code Red-an agent is down.”
In the Fox River Medical Center, Craig found a bank of pay phones and tried Goldfarb’s cell phone again. He had already been scolded twice by the nurses that he wasn’t allowed to use his own cell phone inside the hospital itself, because it might interfere with pacemakers or medical diagnostics-not that he got good reception inside the heavily shielded building anyway.