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compartments with varied chemical mixtures, some of which we haven’t identified
     yet. Mostly, though, a sack of gunpowder caused the big bang. Everything else was a chain reaction. Whoever did this was not
     interested in a full-scale demolition.”
    “That could rule out terrorism,” remarked Slayton.
    Glancing at the words on the stone, Winship said, “It reads like a warning.”
    Llewellyn took another drag. “What’s so amazing about this bomb is the level of mechanical engineering. Each fuse was timed
     to dispatch a certain premeasured amount of the acids and reagents. Its designer must be a genius.”
    “Well, he’s not working for our side,” said Winship.
    Continuing, Llewellyn gestured dramatically, as though reconstructing the bomb’s activation in abstract terms, “Thermite and
     phosphorous, timed by six variable fuses, all controlled electronically right down to the split second.”
    “Have you found the electronic receiver?” asked Slayton.
    “No, it was destroyed in the blast,” said Llewellyn, “but we did find a small radio transceiver behind the building, hidden
     under some brush. Its only apparent function was to send a signal to the explosive from an undesignated location.”
    “And if it’s inactive now,” said Winship, “there’s no telling who pressed the button.”
    Slayton detected a mild concussion or shock wave floating through the Memorial floor. It felt like the prelude to an earthquake.
     Winship lifted one leg and said, raising his voice, “What was that?” A second ripple passed through the stone floor, followed
     by a stronger impact that swayed the building.
    “An underground explosion?” pondered Dr. Llewellyn.
    Outside, Wilma was knocked clear off her feet by the first temblor. As she regained balance, other people were either yelling
     incoherently or lying injured on the pavement. Lt. Clarke had been hit in the face with a television cameraman’s boom microphone,
     and was cursing obscenely.
    One woman screamed, “The Washington Monument!”
    Across the Reflecting Pool, directly behind the Lincoln Memorial and running some distance to the 16th Street parking lot,
     people were dropping to the ground, getting up, falling over again, as three earthquakelike tremors rippled beneath them.
     The Monument was pitched to and fro—the explosion momentarily raised its foundation a couple of inches. Tourists standing
     in line to enter the Monument were showered by large chunks of dislodged stone. The obelisk did not appear damaged enough
     to topple, but it seesawed precariously, crumbling near its mid-section. Yet after the violence subsided, it remained upright,
     resembling a pillar of swiss cheese.
    Pedestrians not hit by the hail of rock fled the area. Television cameras, hitherto focused on the comparatively mild defilement
     of Lincoln’s memorial, pivoted a hundred and eighty degrees to record the devastation across the pool.
    Winship regained his composure and began screaming orders to the men in lab coats. Llewellyn knelt down to the floor, placing
     his ear to its surface.
    “Incredible pyrotechnics,” he said.
    Winship grabbed him. “Get your men to assist the wounded!”
    The doctor obliged; a dozen men jumped into their vans and sped away. A squeal of ambulance sirens filled the silence after
     all the rubble had settled.
    Slayton commented, “It was timed perfectly, Ham.”
    “I think we should try to make sense of that message before any more public structures are blown up.” Winship descended the
     Memorial stairs. “There’ll be a meeting in my office in thirty minutes. Hopefully you’ll develop some theories by then.”
    “Yes, sir.” Slayton could see a long day ahead.

5
    Karl Baal applied a generous amount of cleanser to wash the shoe polish from his hair. Eyelashes and the false nose came next.
     Looking in the mirror, he was reminded of a scene in an Ingmar Bergman film of a woman plucking a nose, eyes, and hair off
     her head,