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He didn t particularly enjoy being caught between two such women. It might be best for him, for the
case, and for his own sanity if he spent the next days working with Jackson and trying to steer clear of
both Trish and Paige.
Dumenco s accident, the substation explosion, Goldfarb s shooting, the saboteur in Dumenco s
apartment, and the mysterious attacker in the hospital not to men-tion the Ukrainian s connection with
Trish and the PR-Cubed gave him quite enough to worry about for the time being.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Thursday, 1:17 p.m.
Evergreen Espresso, Aurora, Illinois
Nicholas Bretti sipped on his double espresso, though he was wired enough, unsettled, edgy. He sat on
one of the metal-mesh chairs under a green-and-white sun um-brella, scanning down the sidewalk.
Where the hell was Chandrawalia? In downtown redneck Aurora, he shouldn t have trouble finding the
whip-thin Indian rep-resentative.
At least outside he could have a smoke. The whole damned country was getting to be a nonsmoking
zone. Thank goodness India hadn t gone that direction. That was one thing he could look forward to if he
went back to Bangalore& for the rest of his life.
He swallowed hard, then nervously lit another ciga-rette with his cheap butane lighter and stuck it back
into his pocket. He took a long drag, pulling the thick smoke deep into his lungs. Yes, in India he could
smoke wherever he wanted. That was an advantage. He was sure there must be other advantages, at
least one or two. There must be.
The too-cute rustic coffee shop was set off the main street, shaded by trees that had just begun to shed
their leaves. Inside, Formica-topped tables and red vinyl booths filled most of the floor space. A wooden
stage held an old Fender amplifier, two microphones, a stool, and four guitar stands for Friday night
festivities. The smell of different coffee beans wafted through the air French vanilla, Irish creme,
amaretto, mocha, all tum-bled together.
Bretti sat alone outside in the clear, cool autumn air. He had never felt so isolated in his life. What was he
going to do? He looked at his watch again and groaned. The Indian bastard better show up.
Bretti took another drag, then coughed. Inside the cof-fee shop, the only other customer some girl
who hadn t even looked his way when he d entered kept her nose buried in theChicago Sun . Good.
He didn t want to draw any attention to himself.
Chandrawalia had told Bretti to meet him there, in no uncertain terms. Bretti hadn t dared slip into
Fermilab yet. He had even cruised past his apartment three times before he finally decided no one was
watching the place but still, he refused to flick on his lights. He had stumbled in the dark to his bed,
crashed, and spent most of the night trying to sleep.
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Back at the accelerator, his crystal-lattice trap should still be installed down in the beam-shunt tunnel,
unnot-iced. It had been two days since he had left, two days since he had shot the FBI agent. No doubt
teams were crawling over the site, but they would be concentrating on the substations, where the first
explosion had oc-curred and where the shooting had happened. He doubted they would have any reason
to scour the experimental target areas.
He had no idea if the FBI was watching for him, if they even suspected. Would they come and arrest
him in the middle of the night, have a stakeout inside Fer-milab or would he get away with everything,
no one the wiser?
Bretti took another sip of espresso, tasting the burned bitter smell on his tongue as it mixed with tobacco
smoke. Then he saw Chandrawalia coming down the street, wearing a blue turban. The tall Indian stood
out, even when he was dressed in a short sleeve, open-collar shirt. Chandrawalia gave a perfunctory
bow, scraping a heavy chair across the patio concrete to take a seat next to Bretti. He didn t seem to
have any intention of or-dering coffee for himself.
You re late, Bretti said.
Traffic, Chandrawalia said. His dark eyes searched the near-deserted coffee shop. Your car is still
parked at the Consulate garage. When are you going to pick it up?
Bretti shook his head. It s too risky. I may just have to ditch it.
Chandrawalia was unimpressed. I am told that your trip to Bangalore was disappointing to Dr. Punjab.
That is very disturbing news to me. I thought we had an agreement.
Bretti tried to look Chandrawalia in the eye, but the man s gaze kept jumping from one spot to another
on the street, in the coffee shop. He leaned forward. Itold you that I had to get out of the country. And
fast. Don t you watch the news? They still might be looking for me after the explosion and after the
shooting.
And why should we help you when you have proven yourself unreliable? And a danger to us as well.
Chan-drawalia s eyes seemed to click as he swung his entire focus to Bretti. He scowled, showing
perfect white teeth against his dark skin. You did not deliver the quantity of antimatter we had agreed
upon. Our work depends on those p-bars. You have caused many difficulties for us.
Bretti fumbled for another cigarette, indignant. Hey, I brought you more than you ever had before
And now you must do much better. I had to arrange some political favors to get you and your
antimatter into India in the first place. Do you think it was easy for me to use a diplomatic pouch to
transport your device?
I did the best I could, said Bretti defensively.
No doubt you discovered that other, competing po-litical parties in my government are already highly
sus-picious of my activities. Chandrawalia leaned forward to emphasize the words. The next time you
enter my country it will not be so easy to get past customs.
Bretti took another sip of the now-cold espresso, feel-ing the acid of caffeine roil in his stomach. It was
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