They entered the laboratory. The first impression was an armory disguised as research: racks of weapons, even heavy pieces; benches crowded with components; instrument materials stacked for testing. Developing new weapons wasn't simple—every part had strict material standards. Too low and things explode; too high and you risk incompatibilities. You need a precise yardstick before any of it reaches a battlefield.
"Jason, how many years has this project been running?" Cole asked.
"At least thirty or forty," Jason Tate said. "My mentor's been here more than twenty years." He glanced up. "By the way, where is your mentor?"
There were no external cameras in the lab, which eased Cole a little, but there were plenty of alarms. A quick scan showed seven or eight call points: one press and the doors would open and guards would flood in.
"Experiments should be in there," Jason said, pointing to a small sealed cubicle. "My mentor's devoted his life to this. The 'Rabbit's Foot' is in final data analysis. When it's done, military overseers will come take delivery."
Cole and Jason stepped into the cubicle. An elderly white man with a white beard was buried in data. Hearing the door, he didn't look up. "Jason, you still owe a slice of the secondary analysis. Finish it and I'll compile the lot."
He stopped. Two sets of footsteps. Lately it had only been him and Jason—no third person should be inside. His hand slid toward the alarm under the bench.
A knife thudded into the wall beside the switch housing, pinning the casing. The old man yanked his hand back, turned, and glared. "Who are you? What are you doing here?" He cut a look to Jason. "Jason, you brought him?"
Jason started to answer, but Cole said, "Professor Smith, I'm Cole Shaw, private security. I'm here to keep you safe."
"Security?" Smith frowned at Jason, waiting for a reason that made sense.
"Professor, there's been a leak about the Rabbit's Foot," Jason said. "In the last few days mercenaries have been probing me. Someone took a job to hit the lab and kidnap us. I asked Cole to help."
"A leak?" Smith said. "From the CIA? Why would they do that?"
Cole didn't waste breath. "Professor, do you understand what the Rabbit's Foot is worth on the open market? If it goes to buyers in the Middle East or to any arms broker, the price will be astronomical — at least five billion dollars, conservative estimate. People will do anything for that."
Smith's face paled. He didn't want this thing out in the world. He hated war, yet he'd spent a lifetime building tools for it—first under threats to his family, a pressure that had lasted decades. He'd pulled Jason in later, when Jason's family needed money for his father's uraemia treatment—something he now regretted. The only person he truly cared about now was Jason, but he wasn't ready to trust a stranger with a gun.
"You've been threatened," Cole said. "You told Jason the family leverage kept you here. We know. We can move the device. We can secure it and destroy it if necessary — but we need your cooperation to move it out, and we need Dade to crack the safe electronically."
"Jason, what do you want me to do?" Smith asked at last.
"We need your help to destroy the Rabbit's Foot," Jason said.
Smith shook his head. "It's locked down. I can't open it." Once the experiment succeeded, the device was sealed in a safe inside the vault. He didn't know the full code path, and the core was sensitive; forcing it could trigger a leak.
"We can move the safe first," Cole said. "I have a way to open it once we're out."
Cracking was Dade Murphy's specialty—if they could get the safe out intact.
Smith sighed, then looked at Jason. "If we do this, there won't be a place for the two of us in the United States. This thing is too important to the people above. If we destroy it, agents will hunt us."
"I know," Jason said. "Don't worry. My friend will handle it."
Smith still trusted Jason more than the mercenary. He didn't believe anyone could really protect them—but he had no choice. For now, he would follow their lead.
"Come with me," he said.