by Unknown
“Go fuck yourself.”
Zahar sprawled insolently in his chair, pausing only to turn his head and cough on his shoulder. He was looking pretty green, and had vomited twice in a trash can. Radiation poisoning was a bitch.
Tara watched Zahar through the one-way observation room glass. His posture was different than it had been when she’d last interviewed him. This was all bravado … but false. Tara could see how his foot twitched under the table.
“Why did DHS let him go in the first place?” Tara asked. She folded her arms over her chest. She was wearing a white Tyvek suit, like Zahar, and her skin had been scrubbed sunburn-bright. Her clothes had been taken from her for analysis, and the suit was all that anyone had left to give her. It was too large and pooled at her ankles.
Harry grumbled, picking at the seams of his own plastic suit. “DHS says that they let him go, but were keeping him under surveillance. They wanted to see who he’d lead them to.”
“Evidently, they weren’t watching him close enough,” Tara snarked.
“They lost track of him three days ago. He apparently turned out to be sneakier than they thought. But while they had him under surveillance he made contact with some interesting folks on CIA watch lists. Some of these people were the same people trafficking in the secrets from our case.”
“Small world for terrorists.”
“Yeah. The preliminary lab analysis suggests the materials used in the bomb were rather unique. A cocktail of cesium-137, iodine-131, and strontium-90, pretty specific to former USSR installations.” Harry pinched the bridge of his nose. “This is going to be a massive international relations hairball when it gets out.”
Tara leaned forward and stared at Zahar, who was continuing to stonewall the interrogator. “I’d like to try to talk to him.”
Harry shrugged. “Can’t hurt to ask. Homeland Security doesn’t seem to be getting anywhere.”
Harry let himself out of the dim observation room. Tara watched Zahar go pale and ask for another trash can. Irritated, the interrogator stormed out. Tara wondered if Zahar was now regretting the radiation he’d managed to slather all over himself in the creation of the bomb. At the time, he apparently hadn’t cared enough to take precautions.
The door to the observation room cracked open, and the burly interrogator motioned to her. “Your turn, Dr. Sheridan.”
He unlocked the interrogation room door with a key card. “I’ll be watching. Just go to the door when you want to be let out.”
“Thanks.” Tara waited for the green light on the door to blink before she went in.
Zahar looked like a miserable frat boy after a party, cradling a trash can in his lap. He looked up as she entered. Tara sat down opposite him at the table, just as she had days before at the prison.
“Hello, Zahar.”
Zahar spat into the trash can.
Tara folded her hands in front of her. “You’re not the only one with a nice case of radiation poisoning, you know. By last count, more than sixty people are sick. That’s aside, of course, from the eight people you managed to kill with the bomb blast in the baggage area. Twelve more were injured.”
Zahar shrugged. “Not as successful as I hoped, but it was pretty good for a first try.”
“You’re really an amateur, Zahar.” Tara kept her tone cold and level. “You detonated it way too soon. Your handlers are likely very disappointed.”
“Didn’t have much choice. I was surprised to see you there.” Zahar’s brows drew together, and he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I thought your profile was the reason they set me free.”
Tara shook her head. “I knew you were lying. My report recommended we keep you for a good, long time. You got lucky.”
“I don’t believe in luck,” he said, with an edge of arrogance.
“Did you build that bomb yourself?”
“Yeah. It’s mine.”
“Judging by the amount of radiation you seem to have been exposed to, I would think that’s true.” Tara stared hard at him. “You were expelled from the university, and everything from your apartment was taken. Where did you get the materials for this one?”
Zahar leaned back, hugging his trash can like a teddy bear.
“There’s no point in being coy. You’re not ever going to be released from custody, I can guarantee you. Cooperation might win you a private cell or more immediate medical treatment.” Tara eyed Zahar’s Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. She was pretty sure that Zahar had been given only the minimum amount of treatment required to ensure his survival. His comfort was probably not at issue.
“Medical treatment?” he echoed.
“Looks like you gave yourself a heavier radiation dose than you expected,” Tara said, neutrally.
“How much?” His eyes widened in startlement. Without his laboratory, there probably wasn’t any way Zahar could have known what he’d exposed himself to.
Tara stared at him levelly. “Where did you get the materials?”
Zahar stared miserably into the murky depths of the trash can. “My handler got in touch with me. Said he had a job.”
“Bullshit,” Tara said. “I know you were lying about being blackmailed for your sister. Tell me the truth.”
“Look, just because I don’t have a sister doesn’t mean I don’t have a handler.” Zahar burped. “The guy called me, said he had something he wanted me to build. Had some raw materials.”
“Who?”
“I just know him as Masozi. He’s the guy who recruited me. Said he had the materials, but couldn’t build the bomb. At first, I was just supposed to build it, but then …” His shoulders slumped.
“What? You didn’t want to be the one to detonate it?”
Zahar opened his mouth, closed it. “I was honored to do it. You’ve been oppressing my people for years. We want you to know what it feels like.”
Tara looked at him. One part of her wanted to reason with him, to point out the comforts his Western education had provided him, to call him a hypocrite. The other wanted to slap the living daylights out of him. Instead, she said: “Where did the material come from?”
“It was old stuff, pretty substandard,” Zahar admitted. “I was told that it was fragments from a dismantled Russian nuclear site.”
“How much stuff?”
“About three cubic feet of cesium and strontium.” Zahar began to sway. “About that medical attention …”
“I’ll see what I can do.” Tara stood up to leave, turning away from the sound of retching echoing in the trash can like the angry ocean in a shell.
INFORMATION WAS A LOT LIKE RADIATION. IT WAS CONTAGIOUS, sticking to things that walked away with it.
And information was what Tara needed most.
She leaned against the back of the elevator cab in the Special Projects building, still in her Tyvek suit. She hadn’t been back to the Steves, but she’d called Cassie to check on her. She’d been up all night with the airport debacle, and no sleep was likely to be on the horizon.
Though most of the furor surrounded Zahar, Tara was thoroughly dejected that the Chimera had slipped away. But she was going to correct her mistake. She was going to find him, no matter what it took.
Her fingers tightened around two brand-new presentation flipcharts and boxes of markers. Veriss was dead; he wouldn’t be needing them. She needed them more: as an offering to the knowledge gods. She imagined this was the way it had worked with the fabled lynx-eyed librarians back at Alexandria.
Tara’s cell phone rang in the purse draped over her shoulder. She’d left the purse in Harry’s car when they’d gone chasing after the Chimera. Good thing: her cards would’ve been difficult to replace.
She glanced at the caller ID. It was the Pythia. This time, she decided to answer. Better to have this conversation well beyond Cassie’s earshot. She punched the button to stop the elevator for privacy before she answered. “Hello.”
The Pythia’s contralto voice was irritated. “I’ve been trying
to reach you.”
“I’ve been busy. What do you want?”
There was a pause. “Well, I was attempting to warn you about a terrorist attack on an airport, but it seems as if you have that well in hand.”
Tara made a face the Pythia couldn’t see. Had her pride kept her from learning something that could have stopped the attack? She rubbed her temple. Shit.
The Pythia continued. “I know that Cassie is safe, and—”
“Don’t you dare try to take her back. Not after what you did.”
A moment of silence stretched. “I give you my word as Pythia that I won’t. I will not take her back. If Cassie returns to us, it will be of her own accord.”
Tara rocked back on her plastic-covered heels, chewing on that. The Pythia rarely gave her word. But when she did, Tara could think of no occasions when she’d broken it. Breaking such an oath would be sufficient grounds for her to step down. And the title of Pythia would be Cassie’s. This was no light oath for her ilk.
“How is she?”
“She’s been better.” Just because the Pythia wasn’t physically going after Cassie didn’t mean that Tara was going to give the Pythia more information to screw with her head.
“And the animals?”
Tara’s heart warmed a degree or two to hear the Pythia ask about Maggie and Oscar. “They’re fine.”
“Good.”
“You know Cassie’s safe. You know the dirty bomb exploded. What else do you want?”
Tara heard the staticky sound of the Pythia exhaling smoke over the receiver. “You’re going to chase your killer down. Back to Chernobyl. I want to help you. If you will accept my help, that is.”
Tara blinked. “What do you have in mind? And what kind of strings are you attaching to this ‘help’?”
“No strings. Delphi’s Daughters wants this man stopped, as much as you do.”
“Like you wanted to stop that child molester Cassie killed?”
The Pythia paused. “I understand that you fail to appreciate my … economy of action. But in this situation, our interests neatly intersect. I will make travel arrangements for you and Harry to—”
“Not Harry,” Tara said. “Just me.” She didn’t want to get Harry sucked into more of the Pythia’s games. Though the Pythia had promised to leave Cassie alone, she’d made no such guarantees for Tara or Harry.
“All right, then,” the Pythia continued smoothly. “I’ll provide you with a guide, as well. I’ll get the information to you shortly. When will you be ready to leave?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Good. I’ll be in touch.”
The phone went dead, and Tara punched the button to resume the elevator’s descent. She frowned at the dark screen of the phone. She didn’t trust the Pythia, didn’t want to get sucked back into her games. But she didn’t really have a choice. The Chimera had to be stopped, or else they were courting more disasters like the dirty bomb explosion.
But she’d do her damndest to keep the ones she loved out of the Pythia’s grip.
The elevator doors opened on one of the LOC floors, the floor she’d found Jenny tucked away in her archives with her photographic plates. When she stepped out onto the concrete floor, the motion-detector lights fizzled on, heralding her arrival.
“Hello? Jenny?” Tara called into the gloom. It was past nine AM. The archivist should be lurking around here, somewhere—if she wasn’t taking a day off.
A light blinked on in the distance. Tara breathed a sigh of relief. She was here.
The archivist approached, wearing a set of brown coveralls and what looked like welder’s gloves. A pair of safety glasses was perched on the top of her head. She assessed Tara’s costume. “You dressed for the same party?”
Tara looked down at her Tyvek suit and grimaced. “Let’s just say that it’s been a thoroughly sucktastic day.” She extended her arms with Veriss’s office supplies. “I brought you a bribe.”
“Oooh. Those are expensive, and Finance never approves requests for those.” Jenny picked up the charts and markers, flipping through the pages to make sure they were new. “And what kind of information would you be needing today?”
“I’m taking a trip,” Tara said. “To Chernobyl. I need maps of the surrounding area, as good as you can get. I need information on transportation, places to stay, a decent phrase book … anything you can find for me.”
Jenny’s eyebrows lifted. “Your own chain of command would typically provide those to you for an investigation.”
Tara shook her head, thinking of Harry. He had his hands full, but she knew that he wouldn’t want her to go. Better that he knew nothing. “My chain of command is blissfully unaware of my trip.”
“Follow me.” Jenny hauled the supplies back to her office. Tara followed, her suit making strange swishing noises. The synthetic material was beginning to itch, and she self-consciously scratched her shoulder as Jenny rummaged around her shelves.
“This is for you.” Jenny picked up a cardboard box on the floor and handed it to her. It was curiously light. Tara peered inside. She saw file folders full of papers and more Tyvek suits.
“Protective gear. The kind archivists use for handling hazardous chemicals is pretty low-level protection, but you aren’t going to be able to get a full Level A contamination suit on a plane. Well, you could get it on a plane, but it’ll probably get stolen long before you get to your destination. Those things are expensive, and worth good money in the underground market. The rest is documentation, stop-off points, and some contact information.”
The skin on the back of Tara’s neck prickled, and she took a step back. “You knew that I was coming.”
Jenny shrugged nonchalantly, didn’t meet her gaze. “I got a call earlier in the day that you’d want these things.”
“From who?” Tara knew the answer, but she wanted to hear it. Her knuckles whitened on the box.
“From a mutual friend.” Jenny set the flipcharts down on the floor, stepped back to admire them. “Amira thinks very highly of you.”
That bitch. That bitch was always one step ahead. And Tara could almost hear the click and whir of the Pythia’s machinations closing around her.
Chapter Sixteen
WHAT THE hell happened to you?”
Cassie launched herself into Tara’s arms, then pulled back, staring at the crinkly Tyvek suits Tara and Harry were wearing. Maggie sniffed at the plastic. Even Oscar was curious enough to pad across the Steves’ living room to investigate. He began to wind his way around Tara’s calves in a figure eight pattern, seeming to delight at the static electricity generated by his fur sticking to the plastic.
“Were you at the airport?” Cassie asked.
“Yeah. It wasn’t good.”
In the background of the house, a news channel could be heard reporting on the dirty bomb explosion. The Cowboy was watching the television with crossed arms, an inscrutable expression on his face. He glanced up to say: “Y’all look like you got into a tussle with some aliens. Hope you didn’t get probed.”
Harry crossed the room and sank into the couch opposite the Cowboy. “Steve. What’s up?”
“You better not be getting radioactive particles all over this new leather couch.”
Harry snorted. “You still owe me for getting chupacabra guts all over the interior of a rental car. Don’t worry about the fucking particles.”
The Kahuna finished locking up downstairs and closed the loft door. A bar towel was cast over his shoulder. “Anybody want a drink?”
“I can’t stay,” Harry said. “I need to get back and—”
“Bullshit,” the Kahuna said. “The Department of Homeland Security looks like they’re pretending to have things well in hand.” He handed Harry a beer. “Drink up, boy.”
Harry stared into the glass. “Have you ever thought that you might have a problem with alcohol, Steve?”
“Have you ever thought you might have a problem with being an asshole, Harry?”
Har
ry grinned and raised the glass. “Cheers, Steve.”
Tara rolled her eyes. She didn’t want to imagine the three of them on a road trip involving Chupacabra innards. “You guys mind if I go take a shower?” The Tyvek suit didn’t breathe much, and Tara’s toes were squishing in sweat. The suit was now covered in cat fur from the knees down.
“Have at it.”
Tara plodded off down the hallway. Cassie followed her to the bedroom. “Are you sure you’re okay?” the girl asked.
Tara nodded. “Just tired. And you?”
Cassie gave her a weak smile. “The Steves are feeding me well.”
“You like them?”
“Yeah. They’re pretty funny. And they brew good beer.”
Not a resounding endorsement, but Tara would take it. “How would you feel about staying with them for a while?”
Cassie sat down on the edge of the bed. “What do you mean, ‘a while’?”
Tara took a deep breath. “This man we’re chasing. He’s a survivor from Chernobyl—altered into something other than human. The lives he’s taking, he’s absorbing their DNA and memories. He’s a chimera, of sorts.” She left out the uglier parts of the absorption of his victims. “He’s very dangerous, and he’s selling the secrets he’s taken.”
Cassie paused, and Tara could see her mind working to understand, to make the intuitive connections. “Chiron, from my charts. Half man, half beast. And he’s bringing the knowledge of fire to those who shouldn’t have it.”
Tara nodded. “We chased him to the airport, but he escaped in the bomb explosion you saw on the news. Our Chimera is on his way back to Chernobyl. I need to stop him.” Tara looked the girl full in the face. “But I want to make sure that you’re feeling safe.”
“Feeling safe and being safe are two different things.” Cassie wrapped her arms around her elbows.
“I spoke to the Pythia.”
Cassie blinked, looked up. She didn’t say anything, just waited for Tara to continue.
“She’s sworn that she will not come after you.”
“Do you believe her?”