The guard met me at ground level, his face flushed with irritation. I launched into an elaborate explanation about being French, not understanding the signs, just trying to get photos for my wife back home.
He escorted me to the exit, issuing a stern warning about respecting restricted areas.
I found Percival and Brooke waiting by my rental SUV in the parking lot. “Got what we needed.”
“Let us see?” asked Brooke.
I leaned against the SUV’s hood and pulled out my phone, angling the screen for them. The images clearly showed the mounting fixtures along the upper rim.
“Permanent mounts,” I noted, zooming in on the metal fittings. “They’re on top of the raised blocks that dot the rim.”
“They were used to hold the original velarium, apparently.” Percival must have learned that from the brochure as well. “The canvas roof.”
Brooke pulled the phone closer. “From that height, with properly positioned release points for the fireworks, they could blanket the entire amphitheater with aerosolized particles.”
Percival gave a low whistle.
“Catastrophic thermal injuries,” Brooke said grimly. “Napalm, but worse.”
I switched to a different image, showing the drainage openings. “Why pump in the liquid?”
Brooke clasped her hands behind her neck and muttered something like a chemical formula I didn’t recognize.
Percival leaned back against his car, unfazed by Brooke’s words. “Eight thousand people.”
The number hit me again. Eight thousand innocent people. Including children. “This can’t be about healing. The devastation would be?—”
“I’m not convinced that’s Fenix’s actual plan,” Brooke interrupted. “Noah specifically mentioned the phoenix statue. If they truly believe in its ritualistic significance?—”
“Maybe something inside the statue is supposed to control the effect somehow?” Percival suggested.
She shook her head. “There’s no scientific basis for that.”
“Fanatics rarely operate on scientific principles,” I said, thinking of every extremist group I’d encountered in my military career. Logic and fanaticism were mutually exclusive.
“Wait.” Brooke froze, and I recognized her look—the moment when disparate pieces clicked into place in her brilliant mind. “What if that’s exactly their plan? Burn from above with the powder form, then attempt to heal with the liquid from below?”
The horrific logic of it made my stomach turn. “You think they believe that combination would work?”
“The powder causes thermal damage, and the liquid triggers cell growth.” She grew more animated the longer she spoke. “From their warped perspective, they could be attemptingto demonstrate both destruction and rebirth—literally burning away the old to make way for the new.”
“Jesus,” Percival muttered. “Would they actually believe that?”
“That’s literally what happens in the phoenix mythology.” The certainty in her voice was chilling. “The interaction would be catastrophic. But a group calling themselves Fenix and obsessed with a phoenix statue?” She shook her head. “They might genuinely believe they’re going to orchestrate some kind of miraculous mass regeneration.”
And if there was too much wind, the ash from the fireworks, laced with Greek Fire, could spread far beyond the amphitheater. “We need to intercept both the statue components and the Greek Fire before they reach the venue.”
“The underground cameras will help,” Percival said. “But we need eyes on the pyrotechnic preparations too.”
“We could set up cameras,” Percival replied, “but with legitimate fireworks being set up, we’ll have a hard time distinguishing between normal event prep and Fenix activity.”
Brooke’s frown deepened. “That’s the problem. Anyone up top would blend right in with the authorized crew. And if we call in the police, we have no evidence. What would they do? Open the fireworks and find all sorts of powder inside, exactly like they’d expect?”
“For fuck’s sake.” Percival checked his watch. “I should get back and brief the team. We’ll need to coordinate our surveillance approach.”
“Reynolds needs to see these findings, too,” Brooke said. “I’ll head back to the villa with Rav.”
“I’ll check in tonight.” Percival touched her arm, smacked mine, and left. As he drove away, Brooke and I stood by the SUV in momentary silence. The comfortable rhythm we’d fallen intoduring our reconnaissance disappeared without Percival’s buffer between us.
