She might have lied about the bugs, just to throw him off. He glanced around the room. Six bugs? Where would they have hidden them? Behind the corkboard? Under the desk?

“Minute traces. Not enough to prove anything—but it does raise suspicions. It’s possible the stuff could be ingested, or absorbed through the skin.”

“And once in the body …”

“Once in the body, it causes a violent chemical reaction that starts a self-fueling fire,” he continued. Was it under the desk? He had to resist the urge to lean over and look, couldn’t resist running his fingers under the drawer in front of him. Something bumpy there. It felt like an ancient wad of chewing gum. “Spontaneous combustion.”

She waved away a white veil of smoke. Her smile looked predatory.

“Fantasy,” she said. “Nicely done, though. I like the charts, very colorful. I’ll bet you even have overheads, don’t you? Maybe, if you’re really ingenious, you’ll have a multimedia presentation. They’ll love that.”

She stubbed out her cigarette on the corner of his desk, leaving a bubble in the abused walnut varnish, and dropped the butt in his battered trash can.

“Crap,” she finished quietly. “It’s scientific crap. Listen, Marty, you’re right, but you’re wrong. Right about the method, wrong about the delivery system.”

“Are we back to your terrorists again?” He chuckled, stopped when he saw the quiet frightening look on her face. “Oh, Jesus, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

“You’re wrong about the delivery system. It’s not in the water, and they’re going to buy your theory because it’s something environmental, something they can appoint a blue ribbon panel and study. They’ll waste years, Marty. They’ll waste lives.” She cocked her head to one side, studying him like a bug on a pin. “I can’t let that happen. I can’t let you go in there and give them an easy out. It’s nothing personal, I want you to understand that. I like you.”

“Gee, that makes everything swell.” His sarcasm was feeble, but it was all he had. She’d left him with nothing else.

She leaned across the desk, put her face very close to his. He smelled a rich perfume, whispery-sweet. Her eyes were dark teal green, almost blue, as reflective as mirrors.

“This time tomorrow, you’re going to want to use my head for a football,” she said. “I thought I ought to give you an even shot. That’s all.”

She straightened and walked to the door. He stood up, not quite sure whether or not to follow her, and watched her close the door. She took her guest chair and jammed it up under the handle with a squeal of wood on concrete.

His heart squeezed into a hard knot. So easy to make him disappear. One more missing crewmember on the Titanic.