Map Of Bones Part 3

With the strong winds, it was not only the base at risk, but the entire town of nearby Frederick.

Gray moved. She had to be stopped. But where was she?

He edged toward the door himself now, wary of her gun, but he couldn't let that stop him. Too much was at stake. He tried flicking on his night-vision mode, but all he earned was another snap of flame by his ear. The heads-up display continued its erratic flashing, dazzling and confusing to the eye.

Screw it.

He thumbed the catch and yanked the helmet off.

The fresh wash of air smelled moldy and antiseptic at the same time. Staying low, he carried the helmet in one hand, the dagger in the other. He reached the back wall and hurried toward the door. He could see well enough to tell the swinging door hadn't moved. The a.s.sa.s.sin was still in the room.

But where?

And what could he do to stop her? He squeezed the handle of his knife. Gun against dagger. Not good odds.

With his helmet off, he spotted a shift of shadows near the door. He stopped, going dead still. She was crouched three feet from the door, shielded by a table.

Watery light filtered from the hallway, glowing through the windows of the swinging doors. Dawn neared, brightening the pa.s.sage beyond. The a.s.sa.s.sin would have to expose herself to make her escape. For the moment, she clung to the shadows of the windowless lab, unsure if her opponent was armed or not.

Gray had to stop playing this Dragon Lady's game.

With a roundhouse swing, he threw his helmet toward the opposite side of the lab. It landed with a crash and tinkle of gla.s.s, shattering one of the old tanks.

He ran toward her position. He only had seconds.

She popped from her hiding place, swiveling to lay down fire in the direction of the noise. At the same time, she leaped gracefully toward the door, seeming to use the recoil from her gun to propel her.

Gray could not help but be impressed-but not enough to slow him.

With his arm already c.o.c.ked, he whipped his dagger through the air. Weighted and balanced to perfection, the carbonized blade flew with unerring accuracy.

It struck the woman square in the hollow of her throat.

Gray continued his headlong rush.

Only then did he realize his mistake.

The dagger bounced harmlessly away and clattered to the floor.

Liquid body armor.

No wonder the Dragon Lady knew about his body suit. She was wearing the same.

The attack, though, threw off her leap. She landed in a half crash, plainly turning a knee. But ever the skilled a.s.sa.s.sin, she never lost sight of her target.

From a step away, she aimed the Sig Sauer at Gray's face.

And this time, he had no helmet.

5:09 A A.M.

WASHINGTON, D.C.

WE'VE LOST all contact again," the technician said needlessly. all contact again," the technician said needlessly.

Painter had heard the loud crash a moment before, then all went deadly silent on the satellite feed.

"I still have base security," his second said by the phone.

Painter tried to piece together the cacophony he had heard over the line. "He tossed his helmet."

The other two men stared at him.

Painter studied the open dossier in front of him. Grayson Pierce was no fool. Besides his military expertise, the man had first come to Sigma's attention because of his apt.i.tude and intelligence tests. He was certainly above the norm, well above, but there were soldiers with even higher scores. What had been the final factor in the decision to recruit him had been his odd behavior while incarcerated at Leavenworth. Despite the hard labor of the camp, Grayson had taken up a rigorous regimen of study: in both advanced chemistry and and Taoism. This disparity in his choice of study had intrigued Painter and Sigma's former director, Dr. Sean McKnight. Taoism. This disparity in his choice of study had intrigued Painter and Sigma's former director, Dr. Sean McKnight.

In many ways, he proved to be a walking contradiction: a Welshman living in Texas, a student of Taoism who still carried a rosary, a soldier who studied chemistry in prison. It was this very uniqueness of his mind that had won him membership into Sigma.

But such distinctiveness came with a price.

Grayson Pierce did not play well with others. He had a profound distaste for working with a team.

Like now. Going in alone. Against protocol.

"Sir?" his second persisted.

Painter took a deep breath. "Two more minutes."

5:10 A A.M.

FREDERICK, MARYLAND.

THE FIRST shot whistled past his ear. shot whistled past his ear.

Gray was lucky. The a.s.sa.s.sin had shot too fast, before being properly set. Gray, still in motion from his lunge, just managed to duck out of the way. A head shot was not as easy as the movies made it seem.

He tackled the woman and pinned her gun between them. Even if she fired, he would still have a good chance of surviving.

Only it would hurt like h.e.l.l.

She fired, proving this last point.

The slug slammed into his left thigh. It felt like a hammer blow, bruising to the marrow. He screamed. And why the h.e.l.l not? It stung like a motherf.u.c.ker. But he didn't let go. He used his anger to slam an elbow into her throat. But her body armor stiffened, protecting her.

d.a.m.n it.

She pulled the trigger again. He outweighed her, outmuscled her, but she didn't need the strength of fist and knee. She had the might of modern artillery at her disposal. The slug sucker-punched into his gut. Pounded all the way to his spine, his breath blew out of him. She was slowly maneuvering her gun upward.

The Sig Sauer had a fifteen-round magazine. How many shots had she fired? Surely she still had enough to pound him into a pulp.

He needed to end this.

He lifted his head back and slammed his forehead into her face. But she was no novice to brawling. She turned her head, taking the blow to the side of her skull. Still, it bought him enough time to kick out at a cord trailing from the nearby table. The library lamp attached to it came crashing to the floor. Its green gla.s.s shade shattered.

Bear-hugging the woman, he rolled her over the lamp. It was too much to hope that the gla.s.s would penetrate her body suit. But that wasn't his goal.

He heard the pop of the lamp's bulb under their combined weight.

Good enough.

Frogging his legs under him, Gray leaped outward. It was a gamble. He flew toward the light switch beside the swinging door.

A cough of a pistol accompanied a slam into his lower back.

His neck whiplashed. His body struck the wall. As he bounded off, his hand palmed the electrical box and flipped the switch. Lights flickered across the lab, unsteady. Bad wiring.

He fell back toward the a.s.sa.s.sin.

He couldn't hope to electrocute his nemesis. That only happened in the movies, too. That wasn't his goal. Instead, he hoped whoever had last used the desk had left the lamp switched on on.

Keeping his feet, he pivoted around.

The Dragon Lady sat atop the broken lamp, arm outstretched toward him, gun pointing. She pulled the trigger, but her aim was off. One of the windows in the swinging door shattered.

Gray stepped around to the side, moving farther out of range. The woman could not track him. She was frozen rigidly in place, unable to move.

"Liquid body armor," he said, repeating her earlier words. "The liquid liquid does make for a flexible suit, but it also has a disadvantage." He stalked up to her side and relieved her of her gun. "Propylene glycol is an alcohol, a good conductor of electricity. Even a small charge, like from a broken lightbulb, will flow over a suit in seconds. And as with any a.s.sault, the suit reacts." does make for a flexible suit, but it also has a disadvantage." He stalked up to her side and relieved her of her gun. "Propylene glycol is an alcohol, a good conductor of electricity. Even a small charge, like from a broken lightbulb, will flow over a suit in seconds. And as with any a.s.sault, the suit reacts."

He kicked her in the shin. The suit was as hard as a rock.

"Goes rigid on you."

Her own suit had become her prison.

He searched her rapidly as she strained to move. With effort, she could make slow progress, but no more than the rusted Tin Man from The Wizard of Oz. The Wizard of Oz.

She gave up. Her face reddened from her strain. "You won't find any detonator. It's all on a timer. Set for-" Her eyes glanced down to a wrist.w.a.tch. "Two minutes from now. You'll never deactivate all the charges."

Gray noted the number on her watch drop below 02:00.

Her life was tied to that number, too. He saw the flicker of fear in her eyes-a.s.sa.s.sin or not, she was still human, afraid of her own mortality-but the rest of her face only hardened to match her rigid suit.

"Where did you stash the vials?"

He knew she wouldn't tell him. But he watched her eyes. For a moment, the pupils shifted slightly up, then centered on him.

The roof.

It made sense. He needed no other confirmation. Anthrax-Bacillus anthracis-was sensitive to heat. If she wanted the bloom of toxic spores to spread outward from the blast, the vials would have to be up high, caught in the initial concussive blast and jettisoned skyward. She couldn't risk the heat of the explosion incinerating the weaponized bacterium.

Before he could move, she spat at him, hitting him on the cheek.

He didn't bother wiping it off.

He didn't have the time.

01:48.

He straightened and ran for the door.

"You'll never make it!" she called after him. Somehow she knew he was going for the bio-bomb, not fleeing for his own life. And for some reason, that p.i.s.sed him off. Like she knew him well enough to make that a.s.sumption.

He ran down the outer corridor and skidded into the stairwell. He pounded up the two flights to reach the roof door. The exit had been modified to meet OSHA standards. A panic bar gated the door, made for quick evacuation in case of a fire.

Panic pretty much defined this moment.

He struck the bar, initiating an alarm Klaxon, and pushed out into the dark gray of early dawn. The roof was tar and paper. Sand crunched underfoot. He scanned the area. There were too many places to hide the vials: air vents, exhaust pipes, satellite dishes.

Where?

He was running out of time.

5:13 A A.M.

WASHINGTON, D.C.

HE'S ON the roof!" the technician said, jabbing a finger at the monitor from the NRO satellite. the roof!" the technician said, jabbing a finger at the monitor from the NRO satellite.

Painter leaned closer and spotted a tiny figure stepping into view. What was Grayson doing on the roof? Painter searched the immediate area. "Any sign of pursuit?"

"None that I can detect, sir."

Logan spoke from the phone. "Base security reports a fire alarm going off in Building 470."

"Must've tripped the exit alarm," the tech interjected.

"Can you get us any closer?" Painter asked.

The technician nodded and toggled a switch. The image zoomed down atop Grayson Pierce. His helmet was gone. His left ear appeared stained, b.l.o.o.d.y. He continued to stand by the doorway.

"What is he doing?" the tech asked.

"Base security is responding," Logan reported.

Painter shook his head, but a cold certainty iced through him. "Tell base security to stay away. Have them evacuate anyone near that building."

"Sir?"

"Do it."