exchanges, but the major's last statement sent a chill through his blood.
He read it aloud.
Chin stood with hands behind his back on the far side of his desk. 'From the beginning, I thought there was something odd about that blast. So I consulted Sigma's demolition expert. He came to the same conclusion. For a detonation strong enough to break through bedrock and crack open a geothermal spring, the concussive blast radius should have been tenfold larger.'
A gruff voice interrupted from the doorway. 'That's right. Not nearly enough bang.'
Painter turned to the doorway again. Apparently Sigma's new resident bomb expert had come to support Chin's assessment. The man leaned against the door frame. He stood half a foot taller than Chin, and outweighed his teammate by a good forty pounds, most of it muscle. His dark hair was stubble, but he still slicked back what little was there with gel. The man wore the same coveralls as Chin, but from the bared chest, it looked like he was wearing nothing underneath.
In his right hand, he kneaded a fistful of clay.
Painter grew concerned. 'Kowalski, is that the C4 from the weapons locker?'
The man straightened with a shrug, suddenly looking sheepish. 'Thought I'd run a test...'
Painter felt a sick lurch in his stomach. Joe Kowalski was ex-Navy, hired by Sigma a few years ago. Unlike others, he was more of an adoptee than a recruit. He had been serving as muscle and team support, but Painter sensed there might be more to this guy than met the eye, a vein of sharpness hidden beneath that dull exterior.
At least he hoped so.
Painter had reviewed the man's dossier since he'd joined Sigma-evaluating his aptitude and skills-and eventually assigned him to a field of study for which he seemed best suited: blowing stuff up.
Painter was beginning to regret that decision. 'I don't think any explosives tests will be necessary.' He tapped the file on his desk. 'Have you read this field report?'
'I skimmed it.'
'What's your take?'
'Definitely wasn't C4.' He lifted his fist of explosive and gave it a squeeze. 'The explosion was something else.'
'Any thoughts?'
'Not without examining the blast field. Collecting some samples. Otherwise I have no clue.'
He had to give Kowalski credit. It was a passable evaluation.
'Well, someone knows the truth.' Painter leaned back in his desk chair and glanced to the screen with the frozen image of the bomber. 'That is, if we can find her.'
2:22 P.M.
Utah Wilderness
Kai hid in a dense thicket of mountain willows alongside a cold stream. She knelt, cupped the clear water, and drank. She ignored the nagging concerns of giardia or other intestinal parasites. Most of the flow here was fresh snowmelt. As thirsty as she was, she'd take her chances.
After drinking enough to wet her mouth and take the edge off her thirst, she covered her face with icy-wet palms. The cold helped her focus.
Still, even with closed eyes, she could not get the image out of her head. As she had fled the burial cave, she had glanced back in time to see the flash of brilliance, hear the thunderclap. Screams and cries chased her into the deeper woods.
John Hawkes had sworn the C4 was safe. He'd said she could fire a bullet into one of the explosive charges, and nothing would happen. So what went wrong? Already scared, she came up with one frightening possibility. Had someone from WAHYA witnessed her flight out of the cave and telephoned in the detonation command?
But why would they do that, knowing people were around?
No one was supposed to get hurt.
She hadn't had any time to think. For the past two hours, she'd been running headlong through the woods, as fleet-footed as any deer. She kept hidden from the air as much as possible. She'd already spotted one helicopter as it skimmed past a ridgeline. It looked like a news chopper rather than law enforcement, but it still sent her diving for the thicket.
During the remaining hours of daylight, she had to put as much distance as possible between herself and any pursuers. She knew they'd be looking for her. She pictured her face being broadcast across the nation. She was under no illusion that her identity would remain a secret for long.
It was only a matter of time before she was caught.
She needed help.
But whom could she trust?
Washington, D.C.
'Director, it looks like we finally caught a break.'
'Show me,' Painter said as he stepped into the darkened room, lit only by a circular bank of monitors and glowing computer screens.
Sigma's satellite com always reminded him of the control room on a nuclear submarine, where the ambient light was kept low to preserve night vision. And like a sub's control room, this was the nerve center of Sigma Command. All information flowed into and out of this interconnected web of feeds from various intelligence agencies, both domestic and foreign.
The spider of this particular web stood before a bank of monitors and waved Painter over. Captain Kathryn Bryant was Sigma's chief intelligence expert and had grown to become Painter's second-in-command at Sigma. She was his eyes and ears throughout Washington and a savvy player in the internecine world of D.C. politics. And like any good spider, she maintained a meticulous web, casting strands far and wide. But her best asset was an uncanny ability to monitor each vibrating filament of her web, filter out the static, and produce results.
Like now.
Kat had called him down here with the promise of a breakthrough.
'Give me a second to bring up the feed from Salt Lake City,' she said.
She winced slightly, placed a palm on her belly, and continued to type one-handed on a keyboard. At eight months along, she was huge, but she refused to go out early for maternity leave. Her only concession to her condition was that she'd abandoned her usual tight dress blues for a casual loose dress and jacket, and allowed the curls of her auburn hair to drape past her shoulders, rather than pinning them up.
'Why don't you at least sit down?' he said, and pulled out the chair in front of the monitor.
'I've been sitting all day. Baby's been doing a tap dance on my bladder since lunch.' She waved him closer. 'Director, you need to see this. From the start of the investigation, I've been monitoring the local news programs over in Salt Lake City. It wasn't difficult to hack into their computer servers and look over their shoulders as they readied their evening news broadcasts.'
'Why?'
'Because I figured it's damn easy to hide a cell phone.'
He glanced quizzically at her.
She explained. 'From the number of people who witnessed the attack, the odds were good that someone got a picture or video of the bomber. So why no footage?'
