Norris pulled his glasses down and examined the material with genuine interest, his earlier dismissiveness replaced by professional curiosity. “Sophisticated engineering. Better than what we had in Afghanistan.”
One of the younger members of the team glanced our way, and I heard another whisper, “Afghanistan?”
Did they not know he’d worked with the OPCW?
“The coating protocol is highly specific,” Percival said, handing him a tablet with the treatment details.
I continued, “Three layers: an intumescent spray that swells and chars under heat, an oleophobic topcoat that reduces wetting so the liquid compounds bead and run off, and disposable sorbent hem guards that can be peeled off if contaminated.”
He scrolled through the specifications, nodding slowly. “This is impressive work. Your design?”
“Yes.”
He looked up, with something like grudging respect in his eyes. But he ruined it with, “Must be nice to have the US government funding you.”
Asshat.
“How quickly can you apply the treatment?” Percival asked, steering us back to the mission.
“The specs indicate the first two coatings require curing time—twelve hours for the intumescent layer, then six for the oleophobic coat.” Norris checked his watch. “If we start immediately, it will still be two to three days.”
I knew that, but part of me had hoped they’d be ready sooner. “Can you start immediately?”
“It means putting our other work on pause.”
Which meant he needed more money. Either for his lab or his ego. “Pendragon will pay for expedited handling.”
He gave a curt nod and waved for me to hand over the remaining suits.
While the lab technicians began prepping their workspace, I walked Norris through the specific handling requirements for the suits. The material needed to maintain flexibility despite the added protective layers, and the electronic components had to remain functional.
“We’ll conduct contact angle tests on the oleophobic layer,” he assured me. “Anything less than one hundred degrees, and we’ll reapply.”
“Perfect.” I handed him a small vial from my bag. “This is a sample of the compound. Use it for compatibility testing only, under strict containment protocols.”
He took a half-step backward, as though I’d produced a venomous snake. “You’re carrying Lewisite with you?”
“It’s an inert precursor to the chemical we’re protecting against.” A tiny part of my brain—a bitter, vengeful part—considered using a condescending tone back at him. But this was about something bigger than my need to prove myself. “It’s harmless until catalyzed. But it will give you the chemical profile you need for testing.”
Norris held the vial up to the light. “You know, I heard you worked with Owen Kensington after Afghanistan.”
My stomach dropped. How did he know about Owen?
“I did,” I said carefully.
“I met him at a symposium last year. Brilliant mind.” Norris placed the vial on the worktable in front of him. “He mentioned you worked together on polymer barriers for chemical containment. Said you were exceptionally talented.”
What else had Owen said about me? Had he told Norris about our relationship? About how quickly I’d left the lab?
“I saw your joint paper on neutralization protocols for vesicant agents. Very thorough. Very… personal.” His gaze traveled to my neck again. He wanted to see the damage.
A memory tore through my brain. My screams. The kiss of the dry air on my chest after the scissors cut my clothes away. The agony of the RSDL pads dragging across my body, neutralizing the chemical.
A voice invaded the memory.‘He’s crashing.’
I pushed it all down before it could overwhelm me. “It seemed important to contribute something positive from the experience.”
Norris’s eyes found Percival, who had been silently observing our exchange. “I heard he was with a private pharmaceutical company now. Very secretive. Paying extremely well.”
