Read The Vesuvius Isotope (The Katrina Stone Novels) for Free Online Page B

highly powerful therapeutic with virtually negligible side effects…”
     

    I blinked to make my eyes refocus upon the ancient text. My hands were trembling as I read and re-read its message.
     
    … the wine soured and the nardos by the bedsides turned from green to red.
     
    … “The nardos have quickened!”
     
    … When I touched one of the nardos, a gentle warmth ran from my fingertips to my heart… And then, the sensation was gone.
     
    … in those four, it was as if the crabs never existed.
     
    I looked up at Alyssa Iacovani. “Do you realize the consequences for the person who brings this discovery to light?” I asked. “Whoever scientifically proves whatever happened in these nardos will never need to work again. He or she will have cured the plague of our time.”
    Alyssa’s intelligent eyes shone with the electricity of pure ambition, a vulgar neon green against the blood red backdrop of my mind. “Yes,” she said, smiling. “You are correct about all of those things. So do you want to be a part of it? Your husband certainly does.”

 
     
    [F]or some of the Egyptians the crocodiles are sacred animals… and each of these two peoples keeps one crocodile selected from the whole number, which has been trained to tameness, and they put hanging ornaments of molten stone and of gold into the ears of these and anklets round the front feet, and they give them food appointed and victims of sacrifices and treat them as well as possible while they live, and after they are dead they bury them in sacred tombs, embalming them.
     
    -The Histories
    Herodotus (ca. 484–425 BCE)
     

 
     
    [T]he Romans pitied, not so much her, as Antony himself, and more particularly those who had seen Cleopatra, whom they could report to have no way the advantage of Octavia either in youth or beauty.
     
    -Lives of the Noble Grecians and Romans
    Plutarch (ca. 46–120 CE )

Chapter Five
    A new slide appears on the projector screen, and Jeffrey Wilson aims a laser pointer at the grotesque image. From my seat at front row center of the auditorium, I hear the collective gasp of the audience behind me.
    I do not gasp; it is an image I have seen a thousand times.
    On the slide is a full-frontal photograph of a small naked boy, his eyes covered to protect his identity. The boy’s body is covered with coal-colored sores, sores that appear somewhat like black mold. The sores are the unique, distinctive signature of the bacterium B. anthracis , the trademark that gives rise to the name anthrax—derived from the Greek word for coal.
    “This little boy exemplifies the desperate need for better medicines to combat modern diseases,” Jeff is saying, “and current efforts in my lab are aimed at expanding the potential of superheavy isotope technology to address this need. As an example, we are developing a treatment for weaponized inhalational anthrax, which will combine our superheavy isotope technology with the high levels of oxygen present in the lung…”
     

    Alyssa stood and retrieved a large set of keys and a purse from her desk. “Let’s take a walk,” she said. She then led me from the private offices, and we began strolling through the museum like tourists.
    “I know that you and Jeff are a team,” she said. “He raves about you. He says you each act as the other’s sounding board, voice of reason, and muse.”
    Except for this time , I thought.
    “So I would really love your input on this,” Alyssa said.
    I could smell her perfume. I had not noticed it earlier, but now she walked so closely next to me that our shoulders were nearly touching. The scent was subtle and delicate, but the weight of her presence and her scent in my personal space made me feel sick again. I was glad to be walking through the museum rather than confined to her office.
    Her voice was nearly a whisper. “There is something I have been seeking since I entered graduate school,” Alyssa said. “As I mentioned, my dissertation project was