BooksBarbecue
Back Slow Burn
Chapters (54)
  1. Cover
  2. Title
  3. Chapter One
  4. Chapter Two
  5. Chapter Three
  6. Incident One
  7. Chapter Four
  8. Chapter Five
  9. Chapter Six
  10. Chapter Seven
  11. Chapter Eight
  12. Incident Two
  13. Chapter Nine
  14. Incident Three
  15. Chapter Ten
  16. Chapter Eleven
  17. Chapter Twelve
  18. Chapter Thirteen
  19. Chapter Fourteen
  20. Incident Four
  21. Chapter Fifteen
  22. Chapter Sixteen
  23. Chapter Seventeen
  24. Chapter Eighteen
  25. Chapter Nineteen
  26. Chapter Twenty
  27. Chapter Twenty-one
  28. Chapter Twenty-two
  29. Chapter Twenty-three
  30. Chapter Twenty-four
  31. Chapter Twenty-five
  32. Chapter Twenty-six
  33. Chapter Twenty-seven
  34. Chapter Twenty-eight
  35. Chapter Twenty-nine
  36. Chapter Thirty
  37. Chapter Thirty-one
  38. Chapter Thirty-two
  39. Chapter Thirty-three
  40. Incident Five
  41. Chapter Thirty-four
  42. Chapter Thirty-five
  43. Chapter Thirty-six
  44. Chapter Thirty-seven
  45. Chapter Thirty-eight
  46. Chapter Thirty-nine
  47. Chapter Forty
  48. Chapter Forty-one
  49. Chapter Forty-two
  50. Chapter Forty-three
  51. Chapter Forty-four
  52. Acknowledgments
  53. Special Thanks
  54. About the Author

Pretty and young. He wasn’t sure from the suit if she was office staff or agent, and didn’t want to be wrong. They stood in silence, blowing streams of white smoke out toward the city.

“You’re Grady,” she finally said. He looked over at her in surprise. “OEH. I saw your reports on the water contamination. Good work.”

“Thanks.” He shrugged, eyeing her. He didn’t recognize her, and didn’t want to get caught out. In Washington, in bureaucracies, everything was political, even compliments.

“It’s all wrong, you know,” she finished.

“What makes you think so?”

She just smiled. Cold pink spots burned in her cheeks under smooth makeup. “You know, the administration’s buying your report, pork barrel and all. They’re committing resources. It’s a goddamn waste.”

“Look, lady—”

“Adrian Carling.”

“Ms. Carling, we should discuss this inside.” He gestured vaguely with his cigarette at the city spread out in front of them, the pedestrians hurrying past at the end of the walk, the armed guards at the gates. There was a knot of dispirited protesters waving signs across the street. She gave him a bitter smile and stubbed out her Marlboro with two or three puffs left in it. She was wearing some light lipstick, coral or peach or something; it left a shimmer on the butt.

“They can’t keep this thing buttoned up for long,” she said, and pulled her arms close over her chest. “You know that. A couple more public occurrences, and we’re going to have our faces all over CNN.”

Martin finished his cigarette and flicked the butt out into the fog in the general direction of the Pentagon.

“Yeah, well, we’ve got our orders.”

“The Bureau has a possible terrorist connection.”

“You’re shitting me.” There were a lot of bureaucrats, but only one Bureau. The Bureau was always following terrorist threats, like kids chasing balloons in the wind.

Carling turned away. He reached out and grabbed her shoulder.

Agent, not office worker. He slowly removed his hand, as if he’d stuck it into the bars of a tiger cage.

“We’re not wrong,” he told her. Carling cocked her head and brushed a strand of auburn hair back from her forehead. Under her tweed jacket he caught a glimpse of metal. “It’s not terrorists. It’s an environmental hazard.”

“Well, Marty.” She took in a deep breath of foggy air and gave him a cool brilliant smile. “You’d better be right, hadn’t you?”

Incident Three

LAS VEGAS, NEVADA