She shook her head.
"Good." The second paragraph was more of a proprietary statement, once more invoking the name of Alb-Werk, followed by a brief introduction stating that what followed was for general presentation purposes only; further technical information would be made available upon request. As the scrolling words left the screen, a logo, stylized from the name of the parent company, flashed in the center, then again went dark. What followed looked incredibly realistic, but Kismet noted a distinctive uniformity in the texture of the images that gave it away as the product of computer-generated animation.
The visual presentation began with a sweeping aerial shot descending down toward a dense forest in the purple of twilight falling. As the perspective leveled out, Kismet saw a generic military compound looming ahead. The point of view switched suddenly to a loose cluster of soldiers standing on the ground and gazing up at the barely visible silhouette of the aircraft as a cylindrical object, presumably a bomb, fell from its undercarriage. The device deployed stubby wings, and adjusted course incrementally as momentum carried it forward in a downward curve. The delivery aircraft then kicked in its afterburners, disappearing from the sky in a blaze of blue flame.
Two seconds later the bomb detonated high above the military base in a burst of brilliance that filled the screen. The light, probably a graphic special effect designed to impress the viewing audience, quickly faded, only to be replaced by what Kismet took to be a more accurate expression of the bomb's capability. The presentation broke from real time in order to relive the bomb blast from different perspectives and at different rates of progress. It was difficult in the first few scenes to understand how the device differed from a nuclear or large conventional explosive, but in the fourth cut scene, Kismet realized what he was witnessing.
The bomb created no shock wave, no blast of kinetic force. Instead, the airburst unleashed a cascade of particles, shown in the presentation as a silvery rain, which destroyed electronic equipment and central nervous systems alike. Living tissue, whether human flesh or vegetation, was vaporized instantly, while radio equipment and missile guidance systems began to spontaneously burst into flames.
The final scene showed a fleet of helicopters moving into the affected area, deploying ground troops across the compound. The men wore traditional combat gear, rather than special protective equipment, as might be used in a nuclear or biological hot zone. It was, Kismet realized, the holy grail of warfare: a bomb that killed the enemy without destroying infrastructure or permanently contaminating the drop site.
The dramatization ended with one soldier stepping forward to proudly raise the black, yellow and red flag of Germany. Immediately, the image on the screen segued into an exploded schematic of the weapon itself. Kismet recognized the basic components of an implosion device, a ball shaped charge surrounded by titanium plates that forced the blast inward, focusing the explosive energy into the fission core. He knew that in a nuclear device, the implosion would drive neutrons through the core material — plutonium or uranium — splitting the atom apart and releasing its latent energy in a tremendous blast, but this bomb was different. The core material was not a radio-isotope. It was identified only by its designation on the periodic table of elements, modified by a minus sign: Au-. The screen continued to show this final piece of information for few more seconds, then blinked out.
On an impulse, Kismet grabbed a battered copy of the New York Library Science Desk Reference from his bookshelf and thumbed through until he found the periodic table of the elements. "Gold?" he murmured. "Negatively charged gold?"
Had German researchers figured out a way to turn one of the most precious of metals on earth, into one of the most lethal, utilizing it in the core of a proposed new electromagnetic bomb? If so, what were those plans doing hidden in a bogus statue? And how had that parcel come into the possession of his old college flame Lysette Lyon?
Slightly annoyed at being ignored, Irene frowned and cleared her throat. "If you don't mind, I'm going to grab a glass of water."
"No!" Kismet looked up suddenly. He saw her jump and instantly regretted the sharpness of his tone. "I'm sorry. The kitchen is a mess right now. Are you hungry?"
"Famished. I could eat a horse."
He snapped the laptop shut without removing the disc. "Actually, I was thinking we could go for Italian."
Despite its reputation as 'the city that never sleeps,' New York does grow quieter as the night deepens. At twelve thirty a.m. however, half an hour into a new year, the streets of Brooklyn were still wide-awake. There had been the requisite bursts of noise, fireworks and car horns at the fall of midnight, followed by the exodus of partygoers trundling home. Kismet kept a solitary vigil, watching the events from the window of Mama Rosa's Italian Ristorante. Irene, drowsy after consuming a helping of leftover eggplant parmesan and a glass of red table wine, had already succumbed to the refuge of sleep. She lay in the darkened dining room, a checkered tablecloth pulled around her shoulders and a bundle of cloth napkins beneath her head, while Kismet nursed the remaining drops of wine, struggling to stay awake until Lyse kept the rendezvous.
He had discovered the Italian eatery shortly after moving into the neighborhood, and had quickly been adopted by Sal, the head chef. Over the years, the relationship had grown close enough that Kismet had been trusted with a key and the alarm code, and was told in no uncertain terms to make himself at home whenever he felt like it, as long as he didn't leave a mess. It was an arrangement that he confidently believed to be a secret from men such as Halverson Grimes.
Lyse arrived half an hour after Irene fell asleep. She entered quietly, nodding in affirmation when Kismet raised a finger to his lips, and followed him to the bar.
"Sorry I'm so late," she whispered, easing onto a stool beside the counter. "I've been everywhere tonight."
"No problem," replied Kismet. "Are you hungry?"
"Oh, yeah. I could eat a horse right now."
He grinned. "That's a popular choice tonight. How about a meatball hero?"
"As long as you do all the work."
"Just like old times." Kismet rose and led her into the kitchen. "So, what's the story? Were you able to follow Harcourt?"
"Yeah. How about you? I see you saved the damsel in distress from the clutches of the evil villain."
"All that and more." He laid a plate in front of her. Upon it was a split loaf of bread, piled with meatballs and dripping with marinara sauce. Lyse rubbed her hands together eagerly as he took a seat at the bar beside her. Given her trim figure, he had always been amazed at her appetite. As she devoured the meal, Kismet recounted the evening's events up to the point where they escaped from Times Square. Lyse nodded often, but offered no opinions. "Now it's your turn," he finished.
She virtually inhaled the remaining bites of her sandwich before answering. "My evening wasn't quite as wild as yours, but at least you were in better company. I spent most of the time driving, by myself."
''How sad for you."
"Spare me the sarcasm. Care to guess where your pal Andy went?"
"He left the country."
Lyse nodded. "He, along with that Russian guy and a couple of the guys in suits that all look alike drove to JFK and got on a flight to Paris. I don't know if that's their last stop."
"It isn't. My guess is he'll make one more stop in Germany to rendezvous with Grimes before leaving for their final destination. Grimes is spying for the Germans."
Lyse's mouth fell open. "That's a pretty serious accusation, Nick. I know he's up to no good, but a spy? And for the Germans? They're our friends."