“Do you think there’s a chance Yuri didn’t work in the Soviet bioweapons industry?” Curt asked.

“I think he did,” Steve said. “He knows too much about it to be making it up, especially the personal stories like about his mother’s death. But what I’ve been asking myself is why the CIA wasn’t more interested in him when he got to the U.S. Maybe all he did was mop the floor instead of working on the production line like he’s told us.”

“It was because he got to the U.S. too late,” Curt said. “Remember he told us about those two bioweapons big shots who’d defected a couple of years before he got here. Apparently they told the CIA all they wanted to know, including how much the Soviet Union had violated the 1972 bioweapons treaty.”

“All I’m saying is I’d like to see some proof of what Yuri’s doing,” Steve said. “Anything.”

“Last week he said he was close to testing the anthrax,” Curt said.

“I’d settle for that,” Steve said. “Provided the test works.”

“You’ve got a good point,” Curt admitted. “But I still think we should go ahead with this site visit. We’re not risking anything, especially with the captain out.”

“I guess you’re right,” Steve said. “Especially with that violation notice you found.”

“So, you’re game?”

“I’m game,” Steve said.

The two men entered by way of the revolving door. They had to wait in line to go through the metal detector. Once through, they were directed to the maintenance office by the head of the security detail.

“So far so good,” Steve whispered.

“Relax,” Curt said. “This is going to be a breeze.”

The maintenance door was ajar. Curt preceded Steve and presented himself in front of a secretary’s desk. The office was busy with people answering phones and typing into word processors.

“Can I help you?” the secretary asked. She was a heavyset woman who was perspiring despite the air-conditioning.

Curt opened his wallet and showed his lieutenant’s fire department badge. The only time he wore the badge was with a black ribbon at funerals when he dressed in his class A uniform.

“Fire inspection,” Curt said.

“Of course,” the secretary said. “Let me get the chief engineer.”

She disappeared into an inner office.

Curt looked at Steve. “Piece of cake.”

“Can you feel the amount of air movement in here?” Steve asked.

“I do,” Curt said.

Steve gave him the thumbs-up. Curt nodded. He knew what Steve was thinking. The more the air moved around inside the building, the more efficiently the agent would be spread.

The chief engineer appeared a few moments later. He was a middle-aged African-American, dressed in a dark suit, white shirt, and tie. Curt was taken aback. He expected coveralls and grease stains. Curt glanced briefly at Steve to see if he was equally surprised. If he was, he didn’t show it.

“My name is David Wilson. What can I do for you gentlemen? I’m surprised you are here. There was no fire inspection scheduled for today.” David’s tone was not confrontational, just questioning.