Busted Flush Page 0,18

are. And while John might prefer for us to gallop off like white knights, I prefer that we go smart. We need information about this explosion."

"It was big, and we sure as shit know it wasn't a grain elevator." He rubs at his scalp, and gives me his signature sneer.

"Yes. And I don't think you'd look good bald, toothless, and bleeding from your eyes, ass, and nose."

He blanches and takes his hand out of his brown hair. "Nuclear?"

"I'm going to find out."

"How? If the government is trying to cover it up - "

"They're idiots to try. There are seismic monitors all over the world. We work for the UN. One of our affiliated organizations is the International Atomic Energy Agency."

"Will they tell us?"

I lie. "I have a boyfriend who works for them."

There's a central area in the room delineated by art deco - style metal columns. It holds the bar, some comfortable sofas, and a baby grand piano. I take Bugsy's hand, lead him over, and push him down onto a couch. "And while I talk to him you're going to have a drink and relax. Try the green apple martini. It's really good."

I retreat into the observation area on the left, and sink down at one of the small tables. I use the Silver Helix phone. The signal is heavily scrambled and it will put me directly through to Flint. I also keep a close watch, and sure enough a small green wasp lands on a small serving table.

"Yes."

"Gruss Gott, Liebling." I give it a throaty purr.

"Ja," comes Flint's reply. I love that I work for someone smart. It helps me continue to suffer the Committee.

"I need to know about the explosion in Pyote, Texas," I continue in German. If a bug could look disappointed this one would. The wasp gives a sharp buzz and flies back into the main bar.

Over the phone I can hear papers rustling, and I reflect on generational differences. I only carry a pen because they can make quite a decent weapon. My notes are on my Palm, my BlackBerry, my phone, and most often in my head.

"They're still crunching the data from the monitoring stations. I can't give you the exact magnitude yet."

"Just tell me if it could have been conventional explosives."

"No." Flint anticipates my need. "Do you need a suit?"

"I'll need two."

"How will you explain that?"

"You're my boyfriend in the IAEA."

"Right. One more thing. Could it be Siraj?"

"If we . . . they have a nuke and Bahir doesn't know about it, then Bahir's usefulness is definitely at an end. Ciao."

The natural flora of Texas burns well. Our boots are soon streaked with black soot. In the distance a single tree stands naked and twisted, ghostly in the light of a nearly full moon. In places there are black hummocks of varying sizes. Closer examination reveals dead jackrabbits, coyotes, cattle, and a few horses. Lilith's long hair is plastered to my sweat-damp cheeks. Because of the helmet I can't pull it loose. I purse my lips and try to direct a puff of air, but I can't get the right angle.

It's not just the heat of a Texas night or the bulky lead-lined suit that creates my discomfort. I feel like my skin is crawling, prickling, burning. Even though I know the various radioactive particles aren't actually penetrating my suit, I decide we're not going to stay long.

We can't get close to the former town of Pyote. We know it's crawling with federal agents and scientists from the NRC because at my suggestion Bugsy had unlimbered a few hundred wasps before donning the suit. They have been scouting for us. What they've seen is a large crater, a handful of blackened buildings, and dozens of burning oil wells. Ironically, the grain elevator is still standing. Occasionally a National Guard helicopter goes thrumming by overhead, the wash from the rotors stirring the ash, searchlights sweeping across the devastation. So far none of them have spotted us, but it's only a matter of time.

I become aware of a new sound over my helmet's radio. It's Bugsy's teeth chattering. "Shit, this is what it looked like. In Hiroshima and Nagasaki." A handful of his wasps crawl across the back of his gloved hand. They don't look well.

"Exactly like it." I pause for an instant, then add, "Only there were a lot more people and buildings in Japan."

He turns so he's facing me and we can see each other through the faceplates. He looks hurt and