With this many people this close to their charges, the guards were clearly edgy. "If you all could stay behind that red line, this will go much easier," the sergeant from the gatehouse announced. "Three at a time. Who's first on the list?"

"Agent Moran, Major Alvarez, and Captain Hu," said one of the NNSA staffers, reading from the checklist. "Step forward and present your credentials." Everything, Rich noted, was scripted as closely as the protocol surrounding an execution. With the gate cops and the regular guards and now a group of officials from Control who included the site administrator-looking distinctly unhappy about having his usual morning routine upset like this-the vault was getting crowded. "Sergeant, your turn." The to-ing and fro-ing over identity verification went on for almost half an hour as checklists were exchanged and a bulky procedures manual-one of the NNSA agents had brought along a rolling flight case crammed with files-was thumbed through.

Finally: "Open storage cell number one, please." Someone in the back row coughed; Rich nearly jumped out of his skin. The duty technician drove his truck into position, skillfully threading its forks through the rings in the top of the lid before lifting the heavy trapdoor off the storage cell. The guards were clearly tense. Rich leaned forward to get a view of the narrow crypt below, taking care to stay behind the red line on the floor.

The contents of the crypt didn't look like much: a pair of olive-drab containers, one briefcase-sized and the other more like a dwarfish oil drum, swathed in canvas straps, with a pair of grab-handles on top. "Major Alvarez, Captain Hu, please identify the items."

The two army officers placed their equipment case on the floor, knelt by the side of the crypt, and peered at the objects within. "Storage cell one appears to contain an H-912 transport container and a D-902 detonation sequencer," Alvarez reported. "Released for active inventory under special executive privilege as per Executive Order 13223, secret codicil A."

"I concur," agreed Hu.

Hang on, Rich noted, "Released for active inventory"? What the hell?…

"Please determine whether the H-912 is active."

"We'll need to enter the storage cell." Alvarez's tone was matter-of-fact, almost bored.

"You may enter when ready," said the lead NNSA inspector. One of the guards tensed.

"You may enter," repeated the inspector; the chief administrator cleared his throat.

"Sergeant Jackson? If these inspectors' authorization isn't good enough for you, then put it on my tab."

"Sir, I-" The guard subsided, clearly unhappy.

"Thank you, Mr. Ellis." The NNSA inspector raised an eyebrow at the chief administrator.

"We've all got our jobs to do," Ellis grunted. "And unauthorized access is an issue here." He fell silent as Alvarez and Hu climbed down into the crypt and bent over the cylinder, their heads nearly touching.

As with all nuclear weapons procedures, two commissioned officers were called for. There was a small inspection window on the top of the cylinder; if an actual core were installed, a colored reflector would be positioned right behind it. "I can confirm that the H-912 inspection window is showing code orange," said Alvarez. "Captain?"

Hu echoed him: "I concur with the major."

The minder of the checklists ticked off another box.

"Next, uh, if you could verify that your instrument is working using the test sample, we can proceed to step six-"

More to-ing and fro-ing as Alvarez and Hu proceeded to calibrate their portable detector. "It's working alright," Alvarez confirmed. "We're going to check the H-912 now." More to-ing and fro-ing as he fastened a stubby cylinder to the top of the olive-drab container and pushed buttons. A minute passed. "I'm not getting anything."

"Agreed. Something not right here…"

Someone swore. "Agent Moran, if you'd like to try your instrument now?"

Rich felt an unpleasant numbness creep over him, a resignation to the unfolding process of discovery and the horrors that it promised to reveal. Everything that had happened to bring them to this situation had taken place weeks, months, or even years ago; nor was he implicated in it. Other people would have to defend their actions, possibly in court-not Rich. But that didn't make things better. Nothing made things better, not when they were the kind of things that were the bread and butter of his occupation. Agent Moran was unpacking his detector as carefully as a forensic tech attending a particularly gruesome murder scene. "Nothing," he announced.

"Right." The NNSA inspector sounded as unhappy as Rich felt. "Mr. Ellis, with your permission, I think we ought to proceed to open the H-912 and see what's really in there."

"You're sure those detectors"-Ellis nudged forward-"let me see that. McDonnell, if you could check this reference sample-"

More to-ing and fro-ing as Ellis and his staff confirmed (not to anyone's relief) that the reference samples the inspectors were using were, indeed, the real deal-"Alright, on my authority, Willis? Unseal this carrier for internal visual inspection."

"Sir." The senior guard made it sound like a cough. "Opening a device on inactive inventory is a security-"

"Sergeant, I am very much afraid that this is not, in fact, a device on inactive inventory. It's something else. In which case, the regulation you're about to quote at me doesn't apply, does it?"

"Right." The guard looked unhappy. "Will you put that in writing, sir? Because if not, I'll have to…"

Ellis took a deep breath. "Yes, I'll put it in writing." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Now, are we going to keep these people waiting?"

Rich felt an elbow in his ribs. "Have to what?" whispered Chavez.

"Shoot somebody," Rich grunted. "Probably us."

"Captain Hu…"

"I'm on it."

The audience in the storage room fell silent as Captain Hu set to work, unfastening catches and then going to work with a torque wrench under Alvarez's watch. He took barely five minutes, but to Rich it felt closer to five hours. Finally, the lid of the carrier came free.

"Well?" asked Ellis.

Hu held the carrier open as Alvarez reached down and pulled. "We've got an empty quiver," he said laconically, and held up his catch: an object which, from the way he held it, had to be unusually heavy. "Unless we've taken to storing lead bricks in nuclear weapon carriers…"

The transportation of mobile phones-let alone camera phones-into the secure areas of Pantex was more than slightly discouraged. Rich stayed with the crowd scene for the next two hours, as the inspectors ripped through the other eleven storage cells in the facility with increasing desperation. Then, with the final tally-six H-912s filled with the sleeping FADM lightweight nukes, six H-912s empty but for lead bricks and a slip of red paper taped inside the inspection window-he slipped outside.

Chavez followed him. "The colonel will want to know," she said as the door closed behind them.

"Yeah," he agreed. He nodded to the guard on duty outside, then presented his badge. "We have to make a call. Where can I find a phone?"

The cop looked at him with barely concealed suspicion. "You don't get to go anywhere until I confirm you're free to leave the area, sir."

Chavez snorted. "You have no legal authority over us, soldier." She held up her warrant card. "C'mon, Rich, we're-"

The guard tensed. "You're not leaving!" he repeated, louder.

Rich spread his hands. "Whoa! We don't need an argument and we don't need to leave the area, we just need to make a phone call. Is there a voice terminal we can use nearby? Preferably secure?"

"You want an outside line?" The guard looked aghast.

"No, just one that can put me through to Operations Control. Operations Control? Come on, there must be one-"