Val and Harry were watching live coverage of the fire when Val’s cell phone began playing “Ring of Fire”. Glancing at caller ID: “It’s a friend. Berne Hotchkiss.”

Harry took Val’s cell phone, per Black’s instructions. Brushing her hair over her left eye, she imitated Val. “Hello.”

“Val, I’m in trouble. I’ve got to see you. Can you come over? Now?”

The NSA signal analyst slapped her desk. “Got it!”

Her supervisor, looking over her shoulder, was impressed. “Seventy-four satellite bounces.”

“I was ready for ‘em this time, boss!”

“I’ll spread the good news. Way to go!”

The supervisor ran out of the room as the analyst’s colleagues applauded.

Black stood among other gawkers across Daniel Street, watching the flames swallow the 154-year-old dome like a Venus’ flytrap.

His cell phone vibrated. He answered purely from reflex. “What?”

“Judging by your tone, you know about the fire.”

“I’m across the street from it, Lynn.”

“Convenient.” Harry told him about Berne’s call. “DMI called, too. NSA got a fix on Hotchkiss’ cell. He was calling from Negrette’s place.”

“Clever.” Returning to the scene of the crime, so to speak. “They aren’t there now, I bet.”

“Alhazred has to suspect we’re on to them.”

“Of course he does. He set this fire.”

“Why? Payback? To distract you?”

“That, and to let me know he’s here.”

Part 41

“How many of these things do we have?”

Badir was watching an ill-tempered Latino man pack a Milan anti-tank missile into an Escalade.

“Oh, who knows,” groused Jose Luis Corona, an ex-con converted to Islamic extremism while in Leavenworth. “Along with our Soviet RPG-7s and American M72s, we have more of this stuff then we know what to do with.”

Badir knew what to do with this stuff. He only hoped Corona, a former Army grunt, did, too.

“Are you going back to Iraq now?” asked Corona.

“And miss the fireworks?” Badir smirked. Corona continued packing. “No, there is much I can learn here from the inside watching America react to a nuclear attack in their heartland. Besides, I haven’t finished my 90 days at DANPP to qualify for benefits.”

Corona closed the SUV’s rear door and sneered at Badir. “I wouldn’t be joking, if I were you, Alhazred. Neither the ETA or Castro have forgotten much less forgiven you for June 10.”

“That was not my fault.”

“Perhaps we’ll decide it was if anything goes wrong today.”

“See that it doesn’t. For your sake more than mine.”

Corona was too macho to let even a veiled threat go unchallenged. “Is that so?”

“What’s `so,’ my friend…”

Corona stopped breathing before he realized Badir had punched him under the solar plexus. He dropped to his knees. Badir laced fingers in Corona’s hair and pushed a concealed stiletto against his throat.

“…is that I’m a bad man to anger and a hard one to kill.”

PART 42

18E Dan Jurgens of ODA 527 searched Ramon Negrette’s apartment for heat signatures with an infrared TI (Thermal Imaging) camera. “Nobody’s in there,” he reported over his MBITR (Multiband, Intra-Team Radio), “and so far no sign of unfriendlies in the area.”

Black’s cell phone was patched into Jurgens’ frequency. “I knew it.”

The Kingston police also was listening along with Homeland Security. Under the aegis of a CBT (Combating Terrorism), Special Agent Curtis Strahan instructed the cops to dispatch their bomb squad and gave ODA 527 the go to surreptitiously evacuate Negrette’s apartment building, “But continue looking for MIC terrorists.” Like Black, Strahan suspected that if Val had responded to Hotchkiss’ call for help, she would have either been 1.) blown up when she knocked on Negrette’s door or 2.) popped by a sniper while approaching the building.

“The dome fire and Hotchkiss calling Val,” said Black, “have got to be distractions. Alhazred has us looking at the cups, but the ball’s in his hand.”

“Simple but elegant,” Jurgens opined.

Strahan: “And obvious. We’re covering that angle, Tyler. You just make sure you’re ready on your end.”

Black stared at his free hand. Clinched it three times. It felt fine, praise the Lord. “Ready and waiting, Curtis.”

Jose Luis Corona lay on the ground beside the Escalade, two steps away from firing. Because of the construction of his target, Corona had loaded a Milan 2 missile with a shaped charged warhead into the waterproof launch tube. Fifteen hundred feet away, lined up in Corona’s sights, was one of DANPP’s dry casks holding 12,200 spent nuclear fuel rods.

PART 43

Advanced Scout/Sniper Steve Jones peered at Corona through the scope of his Barrett M82A1A sniper rifle. “Ready,” Jones whispered into his headset.

Without delay, he received the “Fire” order.

Jones found no joy in killing, the same as any good soldier; but considering Corona’s intentions, this time he was willing to make an exception.

Corona’s last thought was that a light bulb’s filament had blazed out before his eyes.

“Target is down,” Jones reported. “Someone else can wash that Escalade.”

Agent Gil Daley’s Nextel wireless made that annoying twitter and he answered. Listened. Sighed. “Good. Thanks.” He disconnected and nodded to Balsanek, Miller, and other DANPP essential personnel, who all started breathing again.

“I can’t believe Dr. West is a terrorist,” Miller moaned. “He’s been with NRA for years.”

Balsanek believed it. “That dude was hinkey. You’re going to catch him, aren’t you, Agent Daley?”

“That’s next on our itinerary, sir.”

Badir wasn’t surprised Val de Osta never left Black’s house. Americans weren’t stupid.

“Just predictable.” Badir smiled.

Black hadn’t returned and there was no sign of police, agents, or soldiers around. They were all preoccupied elsewhere. The way was clear. He’d stake his life on it.

Badir slid a clip of hallow-points into his Glock 9mm, attached a silencer, then stealthfully approached Black’s house. The Harry woman was dangerous, so Badir would have to be quick with her, but he planned on savoring killing the helpless little TA. de Osta’s body and the explosive in his coat pocket would make lovely parting gifts for Black as the dog left this life.