Rules of Vengeance

Emma laughed at her mawkish sentiment. Others had had it worse. But somewhere inside her, she heard the name Lara, and she rushed to lock away the memory.

She made a tour of the flat, stopping in each room to listen at the walls. It was a formality. She could hear the voices of her neighbors without putting an ear to the chipped and barren concrete. Noise was good. Quiet was bad. Quiet meant fear. And fear meant the police.

She returned to the kitchen and searched through her purse for something to eat. She found a stick of gum and some allsorts she’d bought in London on the way to meet Jonathan. She emptied the licorice into her hand and ate it, piece by piece. She had to admit it. She’d picked a glamorous profession.

Just then there came a knock at the door. Emma passed through the kitchen, picking up the pistol. Three knocks followed. She put her eye to the spy hole and recognized the sullen disheveled figure on the other side. She opened the door. “Nice place you’ve got here, Papi.”

“The flat isn’t ours,” he said, brushing past her. “It belongs to our friends from Tehran. Complain to them.”

“I don’t care who it belongs to. It’s a risk to place a safe house in such a squalid quartier.”

“A risk, is it?” Papi straightened up, suddenly looking a little more like the career officer he was. “Seen any police cars around? Any prying eyes? I didn’t think so. We couldn’t be in a safer place, even if you did have to teach the local welcoming committee a lesson.”

“You saw?”

“Of course I saw. You think I stay here?” He swung the large leather bag he was carrying onto the counter and rolled his neck, as if loosening his muscles. “What did you expect? A shiny ops center with analysts at their desks and a three-meter screen on the wall? You’re part of my team now. We operate under the radar. Not too different from your former employers, though I dare say we’re more ambitious.”

“And the laptops?” asked Emma. “Did you decrypt the hard drives before they hit the kill switch?”

A smile twisted Papi’s pale lips. Using both hands, he withdrew a sheaf of papers thick as a phone book from his bag. “Behold the Queen as only her intimates may see her.” The papers landed with a thud. “Final construction drawings signed by the managing engineer himself. Downloaded directly from their i

Emma ran a hand over the detailed schemas, recognizing the outlines of the nuclear power plant she’d visited earlier that same night. “You’re welcome,” she said.

“Up yours, too,” Papi mumbled.

For two hours they pored over the drawings, rehearsing the operation. They studied the security building Emma must pass through to enter the complex, her path to the reactor containment building, and, most important, the ways to get into and out of the spent-fuel building. They brought up the photographs Emma had taken earlier that night and studied them on Papi’s own laptop, a sleek MacBook Pro. Like everyone else at home, he coveted American products.

Finally he talked about the placement of the explosives.

“You’ll set two devices,” said Papi. “The first carries a charge of two kilos of RDX with a dash of nitro to add a little oomph. Put it in the right place and it will blow a hole three meters in diameter out of the wall. That’s more than enough to suit our purposes. The second is bigger. Three kilos of HMX. It’s the latest and greatest. Ten times as powerful per cubic centimeter as Semtex. A bit unstable, though, so don’t bang it about. When you set the timers, make sure that there is a differential of at least six minutes between the first and second blasts. We need that time for the water to drain.” Papi turned over the drawings of the spent-fuel building and regarded Emma. “Give yourself adequate time to leave the premises. Once the water escapes the cooling tank, those rods will be shooting off more gamma rays than the face of the sun. When the HMX goes off, you don’t want to be anywhere near the place. Any questions?”

“What about the inspector’s credentials?”

“Right here.” Reaching into the bag, he withdrew a packet and spilled its contents on the countertop. “Your name is A

Emma studied the photograph inside the passport. It was her executive look. Short hair. Rimless glasses. Plenty of makeup.

“INSC’s offices are located in La Défense. They ’ll check you at the entrance against her picture in the IAEA database. A man named Pierre Bertels will meet you at ten a.m. He runs their credentials department.”

Emma studied the piece of paper. It read, “International Nuclear Security Corporation, 14 Avenue de l’Arche, La Défense 6, Paris.”

“What about the real A

Papi’s gray eyes flashed a warning. “She won’t be a problem,” he said stonily.

“Good,” responded Emma, with equal dispassion. “And you’re sure this Bertels won’t call Vie

“As sure as I can be. His company doesn’t work for the IAEA directly. Their clients are the power companies, not the regulatory bodies. The whole procedure shouldn’t take more than an hour. I’ve brought you something to wear.”

Papi took a garment from his bag and laid it on the kitchen table. It was a svelte black two-piece wrapped in protective plastic from the dry cleaner.

Emma picked it up and held it at arm’s length. “If I cross my legs, you’ll see my privates.”

Papi stepped closer and put his hand on her waist. “I picked it out myself. Try it on.”

“Later.”

“I want to make sure it fits.”

“Is that an order, colonel?”

“It’s general now.” Papi circled her, ru

“That was over a long time ago.”

“It’s over when I say it’s over.”

Emma spun and grasped his hand, folding it into a wrist lock. But Papi was strong and, despite his size, agile. He stepped clear of the lock, grasping her wrist instead, and slapped her across the face with his left hand.

“You’ve gotten stronger,” he said, releasing her.

Emma’s wrist ached, but she refused to touch it. “Don’t do that again.”

Papi snorted. “There is one more thing. Upon arriving at the plant, you will be issued a guest pass equipped with an RFID chip.” RFID, for radio frequency identification device. “Sensors will track every step you take. The only person who can access your whereabouts without permission from the head office is the plant’s chief of security. He’ll have to be neutralized before you go in.”

“What’s his name?”

Papi frowned. “We don’t know yet. All plant perso

He left the apartment smiling.

“Bastard,” she said.