“Unfortunately, it can happen, Reiji. Based on what I’m being told, nothing is off the table. The problem here isn’t approvals so much as the nanotech we suspect is being housed at the facility. There’s no way to overstate how dangerous it could be if it got out. We can’t risk blowing it into the atmosphere.”

“Deliveries?” Eric said.

“What little intel we have suggests that everything going in and out is examined with some kind of particle scanner. You couldn’t smuggle in a cockroach.”

“The Cask of Amontillado,” Vanya said. Everyone just stared at him.

“Three Americans here and none of you read Poe? Your education system is as bad as I have been led to believe. My point is this: We don’t really want to get in here. We just don’t want them to get out. Why not seal it up?”

“That’s the kind of out-of-the-box thinking we need,” Randi said. “But in this case, I don’t think it’s workable. We believe that there’s a lot of mental horsepower and equipment in there…”

“She’s right,” Reiji interjected. “When the workers and scientists realize what we’re trying to do, they will panic and try to get out any way they can. If they succeed, their weapon could get out with them.”

Everyone fell silent and that silence stretched out a depressingly long time.

“I don’t read much Poe, but I like movies,” Eric said finally. “This thing reminds me of the alien in those Sigourney Weaver flicks. In the unlikely event you find a way to hurt it, it bleeds acid all over you.”

Randi ran over the map again, trying to come up with something—anything—they were missing. “Come on, people. We’re supposed to be the best at this kind of thing. Get me into that damn facility.”

50

50

Northeastern Japan

From his position on the cot, Jon Smith studied the room for what must have been the thousandth time. Clearly Takahashi hadn’t considered the necessity of housing prisoners in this facility and had been forced to repurpose what appeared to be a break room. The kitchenette was still there, including a refrigerator stocked with food. Furniture was utilitarian, and a small bathroom with a sink was on the other side of a pocket door.

More interesting was the construction. The walls were natural rock and hardened mud, while fixtures—even the fridge—were a mix of ceramic, carbon fiber, and wood. His clothes had been taken and he was now wearing the same white cotton jumpsuit as the two workers he’d glimpsed when he’d been moved to this cell. Buttons appeared to be bone and there was no belt that would necessitate a buckle. Shoes were slip-on and contained no nails that he could discern.