I frowned. “I wasn’t aware.”
“Academic circles talk.” He shrugged. “He disappeared from conferences about two years ago and stopped publishing. When I asked, he said he’d found a more lucrative application for his polymer research.”
Something cold settled in my stomach. Owen’s specialty had been barrier technologies—polymer membranes designed to prevent chemical permeation. The precise knowledge that might be useful for handling Greek Fire safely.
But there was no way I’d call him in for a consult or for help. I’d rather deal with a million Norrises than that.
“Might be something you look into if you feel like parting with the government.” Norris pushed his glasses onto his forehead. “Your combined expertise could have produced remarkable work.”
Percival stepped closer, as though he realized Norris was pushing me in a direction I didn’t want to go. “We should take off if we’re going to make our next appointment.”
I nodded gratefully. “You have my contact information, Trevor. Please call if you encounter any issues with the treatment process.”
He frowned at the use of his first name, and the little voice in my head gave me a fist bump. Score one for me.
Outside the lab, we walked for at least five minutes before I finally found a bench and sagged onto it.
“You okay?” Percival asked as he sat next to me.
“Fine,” I said automatically. Then, because he deserved better: “The Owen Kensington he mentioned and I were more than colleagues for a while. It ended badly.”
“Figured.” Percival nodded, not pushing for details. “Norris was always an ass, you know.”
“Understatement.” I straightened, compartmentalizing the emotions threatening to spill over. “He’d better have those fucking suits ready on time.”
He stood and frowned at me. The stance said,‘Get up, soldier,’but it just made me laugh. “Mario’s meeting us at the eastern service entrance at 2:00. We should head there directly.”
I let out a long breath and stood. “Is it too late to rewind everything and go back to the Bahamas?”
Percival let out a sudden, sharp laugh. “Riding a small boat through a hurricane? Yeah, that was fun.”
“Let’s go to Pompeii,” I said, starting down the hallway again. “We have a team of fanatics to stop.”
Chapter 16
Brooke
Afghanistan,2019
The up-armored Toyota Land Cruiser’s tires kicked up dust as we bounced along a rutted road in Kandahar Province. One month into our deployment, and I’d learned to brace myself against the vehicle’s jolting rhythm—thighs tensed, hands gripping the edge of my seat, the weight of my plate carrier and helmet a constant reminder of the dangers beyond our armored shell.
From my position in the rear left seat, directly behind Percival, I had a clear view of both him and Rav, who sat in the front passenger seat. Beside me, Dr. Norris and Dr. Wilkins—the two American scientists on our team—quietly discussed sampling protocols for our target site, while the back cargo area held our equipment in secured Pelican cases.
Rav’s posture was relaxed but vigilant, one hand resting near the door while the other remained close to his M4 carbine. My eyes traced the sharp angles of his profile as he scanned the landscape through the bulletproof window. At least, the angles that weren’t hidden by his sunglasses or short black beard. With his tanned skin and hair long enough to curl at the nape of hisneck, he could almost pass for a local—until he spoke, and his distinctly French-Canadian accent emerged.
Our three-vehicle convoy moved steadily through the barren landscape—the RG-31 Nyala leading the way ahead of us, with another MRAP bringing up the rear. Our Land Cruiser, nestled in the middle, carried the small scientific team that was the whole point of this mission.
“You’re quiet,” Rav said, his voice low and resonant in a way that seemed to travel directly into my brain. He didn’t look at me. Didn’t turn or break his focus, but I knew he was talking to me.
I glanced down at the small notebook on my lap, which I’d brought to review site intelligence. “Just preparing.”
“You’ve been preparing since 0400. Your equipment checks had equipment checks.”
A smile tugged at my lips, despite all the other men in the vehicle. “Says the man who field-stripped his rifle three times before breakfast.”
“Twice.” His mouth curved in that subtle way I’d begun to notice soon after we started working together. Not quite a smile, but a softening around the edges. “The third time was after breakfast.”
That earned a genuine laugh from me, drawing curious glances from my fellow scientists.
