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to check with my CO.”
    “You do that.” The MP walked back to the gate, speaking into a staticky radio. Li glared through the windshield at him, fingers drumming out an impatient rhythm on the steering wheel. Tara glanced at the chain-link fence, eying the ribbon razor wire curled over the top. Interesting. The top segment of the fence was slanted inward, a design typical for prisons: it made it more difficult to climb up the slant. Contrary to the MP’s behavior, this installation was apparently just as concerned with keeping people inside the fence as it was with keeping people out. Perhaps the people who worked inside were less than enthusiastic about being there.
    “Is this part of Los Alamos National Laboratory?” she asked, watching the snow spiral over the fence.
    “Officially? No. It’s technically farmland.”
    “Nice crop of spacemen down there.”
    “It does belong to them.” Li blew out his breath in frustration. “As such, our jurisdiction is limited. Special Projects is here as a formality, to do any civilian legwork off-site and bless the findings of the military investigators.” His mouth twisted, as if the words tasted sour.
    “This isn’t your usual area of expertise, is it?”
    Li glanced at her. “White-collar crime. Embezzlement. That sort of thing. Shady balance sheets and stock market manipulation.”
    “So what did you do to get sent here?”
    Li shrugged, glared at the MP. It seemed they would be here a long time. “Once upon a time, I caught a senator doing a very bad thing with campaign finances.”
    “Hookers and beer?” Tara guessed.
    “Hookers and cocaine.” Li gave a half smile that crinkled his face. Tara liked the expression. . . a crack in the official façade. “And clown porn.”
    “Clown porn?” Tara wrinkled her nose.
    Li shuddered. “Clown porn. That stuff’s surprisingly expensive.”
    “Didn’t end well, did it?”
    “Evidence miraculously disappeared before I could get it to the grand jury. Let’s just say I’m in purgatory until Bozo the Senator’s term runs out.”
    The MP had finished talking to his radio. A Jeep rolled up, and a familiar figure swung out of it and strode to Agent Li’s car. He was dressed as a civilian in an overcoat and tie: no military uniform, no spaceman suit. Closely cropped gray hair framed a sharp-edged face, punctuated by nearly invisible glasses with weightless frames. He bent to look in the car window, cocked his head.
    “Dr. Sheridan,” Agent Li began, “this is my case supervisor, Division Chief Corvus.”
    Corvus kept his hands in his pockets. “Tara. Nice to see you’re well.” His gray gaze seemed to disassemble her, molecule by molecule, for evidence to the contrary.
    Tara’s mouth felt dry as lint. “Richard. Congrats on the promotion.”
    “Thank you. The Division was never the same without you. We were sorry to see you go. And even sorrier to have lost track of you.” His solicitude was plastic, obligatory. “I have to admit to being rather. . . startled to learn from the powers-that-be that you’d decided to rejoin us.”
    Tara smiled, though it did not touch her eyes. He didn’t want her here. The order had come from above. She had no idea how far above, had no idea how far the Pythia’s reach extended, but it had been far enough to annoy Corvus.
    Tara gestured with her chin to the scurrying white figures in the caldera. “What’s going on down there?”
    Corvus’s eyes flickered past the fence. “Magnusson’s particle accelerator blew up, and they’re checking for residual radiation from the accident.”
    Tara’s mouth twisted. Corvus called it an accident. He’d already made up his mind. “Have you been down there?”
    Corvus smiled. “I thought I’d let you two look around.” He gestured for the MP to reel back the gate. “Get back with me when you’re done.”
    Agent Li put the car in gear and coasted past the gate. “I didn’t know that you knew Corvus.”
    Tara frowned.