Read Map of Bones for Free Online Page A

the bio-bomb from his ditty bag. The surface of the containment globe was pocked with portholes, once used by scientists to observe their biological experiments inside. In all the years of its regular use, no pathogen had ever escaped.
    Gray prayed the same held true this morning.
    He glanced to the bomb in his hand: 00:18.
    With no time to curse, he ran along the exterior catwalk, searching for an entry hatch. He found it half a hemisphere away. A steel door with a porthole. He sprinted to it, grabbed the handle, and tugged.
    It refused to budge.
    Locked.
    5:15 A . M .
WASHINGTON, D.C.
    P AINTER WATCHED Grayson tug at the hatch on the giant sphere. He noted the frantic strain, recognized and understood the urgency. Painter had seen the explosive device retrieved from the exhaust duct. He knew the mission objective of Grayson’s team: to lure out a suspected trafficker in weaponized pathogens.
    Painter had no doubt what form of death lay inside the bomb.
    Anthrax.
    Plainly, Grayson could not defuse the device and sought to safely dispose of it.
    He was having no luck.
    How much time did he have?
    5:15 A . M .
FREDERICK, MARYLAND
    00:18
    Grayson ran again. Maybe there was another hatch. He clomped around the catwalk. He felt like he was running in ski boots, his ankles still cemented in his body suit.
    He circled another half a hemisphere.
    Another hatch appeared ahead.
    “YOU! HOLD RIGHT THERE!”
    Base security.
    The fierceness and boom of the bullhorn almost made him obey.
    Almost.
    He kept running. A spotlight splayed over him.
    “STOP OR WE’LL FIRE!”
    He had no time to negotiate.
    A deafening rattle of gunfire pelted the side of the sphere, a few rounds pinging off the catwalk. None were near. Warning shots.
    He reached the second hatch, grabbed the handle, twisted, and tugged.
    It stuck for a breath, then popped open. A sob of relief escaped him.
    He pitched the device into the hollow interior of the sphere, slammed the door secure, and leaned his back against it. He slumped to his seat.
    “YOU THERE! STAY WHERE YOU ARE!”
    He had no intention of going anywhere. He was happy right where he was. He felt a small jolt on his back. The sphere rang like a struck bell. The device had blown inside, safely contained.
    But it was only the primer cord of greater things to come.
    Like the clash of titanic gods, a series of jarring explosions rocked the ground.
    Boom…boom…boom…
    Sequential, timed, engineered.
    It was the wired demolitions of Building 470.
    Even insulated on the far side of the sphere, Gray felt the slight suck of air, then a mighty whoosh of displacement as the building took its last deep breath and expelled it. A dense wall of dust and debris washed outward as the building collapsed. Gray glanced up in time to see a mighty plume of smoke and dust bloom upward, seeding high and spreading out with the wind.
    But no death rode this breeze.
    A final explosion thundered from the dying building. A rumble of brick and rock sounded, a stony avalanche. The ground bumped under him—then he heard a new sound.
    The screech of metal.
    Shoved by the explosion, its foundations shaken, two of the Eight Ball’s support legs popped and bent, as if the sphere were attempting to kneel. The whole structure tilted away from the building, toward the street.
    More legs popped.
    And once started, there was no stopping it.
    The million-liter containment sphere toppled toward the line of security trucks.
    With Gray directly under it.
    He shoved up and scrabbled along the tilting catwalk, struggling to get clear of the impact. He ran several steps, but the way quickly grew too steep as the sphere continued its plummet. Catwalk became ladder. He dug his fingers into the metal framework, kicked his legs at the support struts of the railings. He fought to get out from beneath the shadow of the crushing weight of the globe.
    He made one final desperate lunge, grabbing a handhold and digging in his toes.
    The Eight Ball struck the