“After we talk some more,” Lyons said, “we’ll bring you back to D.C. But it doesn’t end there.”

“I can deal,” Yoo said. “Let’s talk.”

“Good,” she said. “You are going to spy on the Triad for us. If we think you’re jerking our chain, we’ll let it be known through our people in Hong Kong that you are a turncoat.”

“That wouldn’t be healthy,” Yoo said. “I’ll do it.”

They questioned him further until deciding there was little more to gain. They taped him up again and drove back to the Hoover Building. There, they removed the tape and dropped him off on the sidewalk. Then they drove back to NUMA.

“My head is spinning,” Caitlin Lyons said. “What just happened?”

“The Pyramid Triad has developed an influenza virus that they want to use to bring down the Chinese government,” Austin said. “They hijacked the lab working on a vaccine for the virus, and, once the Triad topples the government, Pyramid will market the antiviral around the world and make billions.”

“Hundreds of thousands of people could die before that happens,” she said.

“Do you think anyone at Pyramid gives a damn?” he asked.

“Not from what I’ve seen. Where do we start?”

“Get the Asian Crime Unit to crack down on the Ghost Devils. While you handle this end, Joe and I will try to find the lab.”

“What should I do about Charlie Yoo?”

“Use him, then lose him.”

“I like that,” she said with an evil smile on her face.

Lyons dropped them off at the NUMA tower. Austin and Zavala headed their separate ways home to pick up their bags and said they would hook up again at the airport.

Austin checked his cell phone while driving home. He had left it in the car when he went to investigate the cookie factory. He listened to the voice mail from Phelps, saying he was an FBI agent. Yoo had told the truth about one thing.

Austin clicked the phone off and nailed the accelerator.

Time, as always, had become the enemy.

Unknown

NUMA 8 - Medusa

CHAPTER 30

AT THREE O’CLOCK IN THE MORNING, THE NAVY BLUE SUV pulled up to a hangar at Reagan National Airport and parked next to a sleek Cessna Citation X jet that had NUMA emblazoned in black on its turquoise fuselage. Austin and Casey emerged from the SUV’s backseat, and the lieutenant handed over an eleven-by-sixteen-inch plastic pouch.

“This packet contains the nuts-and-bolts details of the mission we talked about on the drive to the airport,” Casey said. “Good luck, Kurt. And keep your eyes peeled for sharks.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” Austin said as they shook hands. “But I’ll take a dorsal-finned man-eater any day over the schools of sharp-toothed politicians and government bureaucrats that swarm the Potomac waters.”

Casey gave him a knowing smile.

“I’ll remember to keep my shark repellant handy, Kurt.”