Epilog

"We haven't had good relations with the Pentagon since the turn of the century. Can you prove what you said?"

"Only with your help."

"Then we'll have to leave well enough alone for now. I can neither confirm nor deny your theory. Let me say, though, that it's a good one. If I were you, I'd keep it to myself. In a few minutes you will be asked to sign a paper indicating that you will do just that. I'm sorry."

Simon shrugged. It wouldn't be the first time that his own analysis was classified well beyond his security clearance. It was just one of the idiosyncrasies associated with the job.

Elsewhere in the Pentagon, Col. Marvin Pratt watched his aid, Second Lt. Paul Ross, slide the small safe into its place on the shelf. It was one of those gray fireproof safes, but this one was military grade. Nowadays that meant it was COTS but had at least twice the price you would pay for it in a good hardware or department store. Ross didn't care about such things; he just did his job. Pratt was a little more curious, but had not dared to ask, given the high security around this particular object.

All Pratt knew was that this was something that had survived ground zero in Maracaibo. That scared him enough that he really was afraid to know more, in spite of his curiosity.