Lethal Exposure by Kevin J. Anderson, Doug Beason Page B

To Chandrawalia’s blank stare, Bretti growled, “You’ll make it leak faster. It’s tough enough keeping the p-bars contained in this type of trap without agitating them.”
    Did they really think he was stupid enough to bring a bomb into this place? And what on earth for? Of course, enough antimatter particles could be as deadly as a bomb—as the vaporized substation proved—but this Penning trap didn’t hold nearly enough p-bars to cause any damage. Later in the week, when he returned for the crystal-lattice trap, then he would have enough antimatter to make someone worry.
    “I see.” Chandrawalia reached into a drawer, withdrew a folder and slid it across the polished desktop. “Here are tickets for today’s flight to New Delhi. Your passport is in there as well, stamped with our visa. You leave at five P.M. We are putting your storage device in a diplomatic pouch—a container that can be hooked up to the plane’s electrical system during the trip to India. It will not be inspected by your customs officials.”
    Bretti scooped up the ticket. “You’ve got me flying out on the Concord. Cool.” The Indians really wanted those p-bars. Their stake in major new medical research and opening the process to lucrative markets supposedly depended on it.
    “The program in Bangalore is anxiously waiting for your material. One of my associates will meet you there.” Chandrawalia held up a finger and frowned for the first time in the conversation. The expression sent a chill through Bretti. “Please remember the need for discretion, Mr. Bretti. This, ah, project is hardly well publicized, or even endorsed by my government. Few people in this embassy are aware of what we are doing. If it proves to be a success,” he shrugged, “then things may change and everyone will want to take credit. But for now, the fewer people who know about this, the better.”
    “That’s the tack I’ve been taking,” said Bretti sourly. The less said the better, and the less chance any sort of investigation would finger him. He wasn’t even supposed to be in Illinois this week.
    “Good.” Chandrawalia stood, clearly ending the meeting. Placing his hands on the desk, he bowed slightly. “Please instruct my people as to the care and operation of your storage device. We will then escort you to O’Hare and past customs as my official guest to our country.”
    “What about my car?” Things were moving too fast. He didn’t even have a suitcase with him, no clothes, not even a toothbrush. But if Chandrawalia came through with the money they had promised, Bretti could buy all he wanted when he got to India.
    “It will remain in our garage until you return.”
    For the first time since things had taken a nose-dive at the substation, Bretti actually felt calm and somewhat hopeful again. He allowed a small smile on his face as he shook hands with Chandrawalia. He just might pull this off after all. . . .
    But the official’s grip was cold and his expression hard. “Do not forget that your device will be in the passenger hold. If anything goes wrong, both you and your plane will meet the same fate. Have a nice flight . . . and enjoy India.”

CHAPTER 9
    Tuesday, 3:49 PM
    Fermilab
    The dogs strained on their leashes, intent on their job—professionals, just like everything else the FBI used. But Special Agent Schultz didn’t expect them to find anything. He had already been over the various substations, searching for some hint as to the cause of the massive explosion that had vaporized one of the blockhouses.
    The handler from the county sheriff followed the two dogs to the next substation. They barked and sniffed, making a bee-line toward the heavy metal door. Schultz had a key to each of the padlocks, and this one looked just as secure as the others had. It would probably be a dud, too.
    He and his team had been on the scene for two days already, but still had found no clues. His evidence technicians and crime-scene chemists had