Dark Zone

110

Lia listened as the weapons expert explained how he thought the bomb would work — a set of conventional explosives would force the nuclear material together, creating a critical mass and triggering the atomic chain reaction. It was essentially the way early nuclear bombs worked, or at least one type of them, ever since “Fat Man” had been detonated over Nagasaki.

“Depending on the design, the warhead may not be in the exact center of the assembly. From the formula I saw, they had to compensate for the lack of proximity to the plutonium by layering the explosions, probably because they couldn’t be sure of handling the material in a way—”

“Just tell me how to disarm it,” Lia told him.

“We won’t know until you can describe what the mechanism is like.”

“What am I supposed to do, run back and forth?” she snapped.

“If you could disrupt the explosive assembly around the core of the weapon,” said Johnny Bib, who was listening in on the line, “then it stands to reason that the explosion would not work as designed. The formula has a set of variables that I believe describe modules. Removing one module will alter the result exponentially.”

“In English!”

“Take one of the explosive modules away,” said Johnny Bib. “There’ll still be an explosion, a huge one, but it won’t compress the nuclear material. No boom.”

“Look, there’s someone with me. Have him talk to the British police or whoever I was talking to and describe what happened.” She turned and held the phone out for the man who’d surprised her in the tunnel. “Talk to them. I’m going back on the train.”

He grabbed at her arm. Lia jerked back out of the way. If her leg had been all right she would have tossed him over her shoulder.

“You can’t go back,” said the man, his Irish brogue thick now. “It’s suicide.”

“I have to go back. Just tell them what happened.” Lia hobbled toward the entrance. Her leg muscles loosened as she moved and she was able to walk more normally, making decent progress.

“Listen,” said the man, coming after her. “You have to get out of here. Come on.”

“Don’t worry about me.”

“Don’t worry?”

“Look, I’m a professional. Just take care of yourself,” she said finally, heading back for the Chunnel tube.

Donohue watched the woman leave. She must be some sort of undercover police officer — but she had an American accent.

CIA?

Or a British MI5 agent undercover. If that was the case, it would be dicey dealing with her.

Not with that accent. Clearly American. And an American would be an asset.

She was something. She’d nearly flattened him in the tunnel earlier.

Help her and she’d vouch for him when they got out. No one would even question him.

Donohue decided he had nothing to lose by following along and finding out. He gave her enough time to get out of the service tunnel and back into the train tube, then began following as quietly as he could.