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“Do you happen to have a gas chromatograph?”

“Sure do.”

“I’m going to need to use it. And do you have any chemical weapons detection kits in here?”

That got a slower response. “Yesss. Why?”

“I’m going to need whatever you’ve got. Then, I’m going to need a sealed room to work in.”

“Umm, who are you?”

His guy-doing-a-job line clearly wasn’t going to work on this fellow. He opened up the bag. “I’m the guy who gets to test all these samples to see if they’re chemical warfare agents. It’s going to take all damned night, too. You wanna stay and help and maybe get exposed to some nasty shit?”

The tech answered hastily, “No, that’s okay. We’ve got a reverse air-flow room back there. I’ll need your help moving the chromatograph back there, though. Sucker’s heavy.”

It took the two of them nearly a half-hour to horse the equipment Alex would need into the smaller lab. But he finally donned a disposable plastic chemical suit and went to work.

He was deeply conflicted about what he hoped the tests would show. On the one hand, he would love his diagnosis of the sick Cubans to be right, out of professional pride. But on the other hand, he would give anything to be wrong.

His life and Katie’s were going to get so complicated he didn’t even want to think about it if the results came back positive for Sarin or some other lethal chemical agent.

He set up the first sample and put it in the machine. In a few seconds, the machine beeped completion of the test. He took a deep breath and looked at the read out.

11

“Am I under arrest?” Katie demanded.

“No, ma’am.”

“Then can I go, now?”

“Where are you going to go?”

“I need to see my partner.”

“The doctor? Umm, your paperwork will need to be all in order. I’ll have to go check on that…” Her captor’s voice trailed off vaguely. No matter how polite this Marine was being, he was detaining her. And as far as she could tell, the guy was doing it illegally.

“What’s the hold up? I’m an American citizen, here.”

“This is Guantanamo. We do things differently down here?—“

She cut him off. “Is this American soil?”

“Yes.”

“Then I have certain rights. Look. I grew up on military bases. I know the deal. I’m going, now.”

“Ma’am, you can’t just barge out the door and bomb around the base.”

“Why not?”

“It’s the middle of the night.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

The poor guy had no answer for that and merely sputtered. She took pity on him and asked more temperately, “Who gave you the order to keep me here? Maybe I can have a little talk with him or her.”

He answered reluctantly, “Base intel officer.”