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polished these shoes.”
    Gray glanced over a shoulder to the muscled mountain behind him. Joe Kowalski, a former seaman with the navy, was dressed in a sportcoat and slacks. Both fit him poorly. With hair razored to a black stubble and a nose knotted by an old break, he looked more like a shaved gorilla forced into a wrinkled suit.
    Kowalski bent down and used the cuff of his sportcoat to polish up his shoe. “I paid three hundred bucks for these. They’re chain stitch Chukkas imported from England. I had to special order them in my size.”
    Cocking an eyebrow, Gray glanced up from his Gamma-Scout reader.
    Kowalski seemed to realize he might have said too much. His expression turned sheepish. “Okay. I like shoes. So what? I had a date, but…well…she canceled.”
    Smart lady.
    “Sorry about that,” Gray offered aloud.
    “Well…at least they’re not scratched,” Kowalski said.
    “I meant sorry about being stood up.”
    “Oh. Yeah.” He shrugged. “Her loss.”
    Gray didn’t bother arguing. He returned his attention to his handheld reader and turned in a slow circle. A step to the right, he caught the radioactive scent again. It angled away from the sidewalk and trailed across the grassy Mall. “This way.”
    The professor’s route took them through the Mall’s Sculpture Garden across from the Hirshhorn Museum. Gray followed Polk’s steps into the shady, sunken oasis, and out again. Beyond the garden, Polk’s path continued across the Mall, edging alongside the tents of a Labor Day media event that was still being dismantled.

    Gray glanced back to the sunken garden, studying the professor’s path. “He was trying to keep out of sight.”
    “Or maybe the guy was just hot,” Kowalski countered, wiping his sweaty brow.
    Gray searched around. To the west, the Washington Monument pointed toward the blistering sun; to the east rose the dome of the U.S. Capitol Building.
    Needing answers, Gray continued. The digital readout on the Gamma-Scout slowly faded as he crossed the Mall. With each step, he watched the millirems of radiation ticking downward.
    Reaching the far side of the Mall, Gray hurried across Madison Drive. He picked up the trail again as it entered another park. The signal grew stronger as Gray neared a shadowy copse of red-twig dogwood and Natchez crape myrtles. A bench stood next to a knee-high bed of hydrangeas.
    Gray stepped to the bench.
    In the secluded spot, the millirems ticked up higher again.
    Had Polk waited here? Was that why the residual radiation trace was stronger?
    Gray shifted a flowering branch of a crape myrtle and found a wide view of the Mall stretching ahead, including a straight-on view of the Smithsonian Castle. Had the professor waited here until he thought it was safe? Gray squinted against the glare of the sun. He remembered Malcolm’s diagnosis, the debilitation, the wasting. Polk had been on his last legs. Desperation must have finally drawn him out.
    Why?
    Gray began to step away when Kowalski cleared his throat. He was on one knee, dusting a shoe, but his other arm reached under the bench. “Look at this,” he said and stood. Turning, he held a tiny pair of binoculars.
    Gray shifted the detector closer to the scopes. The readings spiked higher. “They’re hot.”
    Kowalski grimaced and thrust out the binoculars by their neck strap. “Take ’em, take ’em.”
    Gray retrieved the binoculars. His partner’s fears were baseless. Whilethere was radiation, it was only moderately worse than the usual background radiation.
    Turning, Gray lifted the binoculars and peered through them toward the Castle. The view of the building swelled. He watched a figure pass along the front. Through the scopes, he made out the pedestrian’s features. Gray recalled Polk’s urgency when they’d neared each other. He’d dismissed it as a panhandler’s desperation for a bit of charity. He now suspected Polk had recognized him. Maybe it wasn’t solely desperation that had drawn