Chapter 41

I found myself walking along Delaware Avenue away from the station. It struck me as appropriately named for the second smallest state in the country, being barely three blocks long; perhaps it continued on beyond the Capitol, though I had no idea. I had to traverse all three blocks; perhaps in sunnier days of history the various entries to the building that were visible had all been open, but in these terrorist-conscious times you could only go in by the main entrance at the corner of Delaware and the famous Constitution Avenue.

There was the usual queue to pass through security. Dutifully I emptied my pockets of all metal, a little change and my key ring which I couldn't bring myself to toss casually; I placed it in the little basket, and lifted up my briefcase to go through the X-ray. The envelope with the flash drive, however, I handed to the guard, telling him it was electronic media sensitive to radiation. He opened it and glanced in, and passed it back to his counterpart behind the barrier, who also gave it no more than a cursory look.

The whole thing was a complete anticlimax. Even the nail embedded in my shoe went undetected; apparently the metal sniffers weren't sufficiently sensitive to register it. The other 14 Liberator components, extruded polymer all, went through likewise without notice, as did the small bottle of acetone I'd packed in one of my other pockets. My key ring, the drive and the iPod and its microphone attachment were handed back to me on the other side without comment.

Now I needed a little privacy. As I reloaded my pockets I casually asked the guard where I might find the nearest men's room, and was pointed down a corridor. But first I had to pass through the entry rotunda, as high as the building itself—well, it was only three stories above ground level—and culminating in a paneled circular skylight. Nervous though I was, it was impossible not to gawk.

"Impressive, huh?" said Susan. "I had the same reaction the night that Bobby brought me here."

"Yeah," I agreed. "But I need to get moving." I headed down the corridor the guard had pointed out to me. A short distance down the public restrooms proclaimed themselves.

Once I'd locked myself and my briefcase into a stall I immediately went to work. The first step was to detach the bullet casing from my key fob. Acetone was supposed to release superglue, and it did so readily. I carefully cleaned off the casing with acetone-soaked toilet paper to make sure all residue was gone, rubbed it carefully dry with another piece of tissue, and put it in my side pocket.

Now the assembly of the Liberator. I'd practiced several times in the privacy of my ski lodge room, and it went quickly. I used the side of my briefcase as a platform, and soon had the thing ready to go but for the nail.

That damn nail almost proved my undoing. I'd figured to loosen it with pocket change—a dime to get it started, a quarter to wedge it our further, then just pull. But the stubborn thing wouldn't budge; the rubber heel of my shoe had gripped it thoroughly. I'd completely forgot about the elastic qualities of rubber; my shoe had accommodated the intruder so thoroughly that it damn well wasn't going to let go without a fight. And I had to be careful not to bend it pulling it out; that nail had to be straight enough to hit the mark if I actually needed to shoot.

Patience was the answer, as it mostly is. My dime got a very long workout, but after I finally won a little space between the shoe and the nailhead it started to go more quickly. The quarter levered it up further until I could get a good grip, and finally the thing broke loose. I grinned to myself in triumph.

"Larry!" Susan suddenly broke in urgently.