“Screw the lockdown,” Rachel said, defiantly picking up her coffee mug. “You and I certainly aren’t a threat. They’re not going to waste an attack on either of us. Wouldn’t you agree?”

The little burning sensation in Maria’s scar flared.

Something was off.

Something she’d done or said had triggered Rachel and now she was acting strange.

I need to let this play out. See if I can nudge her into making a mistake or until I figure out what’s going on.

“Let’s do it,” she said, picking up her coffee. “After all, you know me. I prefer to live dangerously.”

CHAPTER
THIRTY-EIGHT

SECURE HANGAR

EAST END OF THE AIRFIELD

ADJACENT TO THE APPROACH END OF RUNWAY 32

NAVAL AIR STATION PATUXENT RIVER

1930 HOURS LOCAL

“You can’t really be serious, Ben,” Jed said, turning to the Shepherd commander, outrage threatening to boil over.

After tracking the energy weapon literally around the globe and repeatedly risking his life and the lives of his teammates, they were now expected to hand it over to the CIA, no questions asked. As far as he was concerned, that was the definition of insanity.

“I’m afraid the matter has been decided above your pay grade, soldier,” Gayle’s boss, Steve Schmidt, said, taking the liberty to answer for Ben.

Jed looked at the balding, middle-aged, potbellied man in his golf shirt, chinos, and boat shoes. “Yeah, well, I’m afraid you’ll have to do better than giving us your word, since we’re the ones who almost died recovering it and all,” he said, his fists balled up and one rude comment away from punching the smug spook in the mouth.

“Jed, I’m afraid he’s right,” Ben said, but there was sympathy in his voice. “We’ve received direction from the ODNI that Mr. Schmidt will be taking possession of the weapon.”

“Brilliant idea. That way the CIA can reverse engineer an exact replica and we can have two morally vacant governments in charge of weapons that turn humans into piles of smoldering ash from the sky. Until the tech leaks out—and then every terrorist in the world will find a way to get it. No way that’s the plan, Ben.”

“I’m not the enemy, Jed,” Schmidt said. “I find this weapon as horrifying as you. It’s a weapon of terror, with no real strategic application in any case. But we can’t put this genie back in the bottle. The weapon exists in the world. They made one; they can make more, Jed.”

The continued use of his name in the familiar was like spitting lemon juice in Jed’s eyes, and on top of that, he didn’t believe for a second that the CIA didn’t see a “strategic application” for such a weapon.

“We have the man who invented it,” Jed protested. “We pulled him out of China.”