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taller one said,
    advancing toward them. “But not under these circumstances.”
    “I agree, Cappi. Let’s see what we’ve got. I’m going to assume this one isn’t another
    false alarm.”
    “Only you can tell us that.” He looked over her shoulder at Lane.
    “He is with me.”
    Cappi frowned. “With you?”
    She huffed impatiently. “Lane, show them your credentials.”
    He flashed his Nemesis wallet at them and she tapped her foot in irritation while
    the detective examined the document closely.
    “All right,” he said at last. “ Scusi , but you know how careful we must be.”
    “I would think his being with me would be enough, but fine. Let’s go inside.”
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    As she approached the door, Silvestri hurried up to her. “Signorina Sebastiani, you
    must help me. They are going to destroy my beautiful museum. These irreplaceable
    works of art.”
    She took a moment to place a calming hand on his arm. “I am not going to let that
    happen. Now I must go inside to do my job.” She looked at Cappi as he opened the
    door. “My equipment is here?”
    He nodded. “I brought it myself as soon as the call came in. I still had it in my car
    from this morning.”
    The bomb disposal equipment made an ugly contrast to the marble bench it was
    sitting on. She sighed, handed her purse to Lane and took off her shoes. In seconds she was encased in what she called her “alien suit”, headgear in place, hands clamping onto long rods with claws on the end.

    Lane noted that a lead shield had been rolled into place in front of the purse, but it
    had to be low enough that Bella could reach over it. Despite the fact that he was well
    aware she knew what she was doing, his stomach knotted with anxiety for her safety.
    When everyone had removed themselves to safe distance, she strode slowly
    forward until she was standing at the shield. She extended the rods over the top and
    began working the claws. Meticulously she lifted the flap of the purse until its contents were exposed.
    Lane held his breath for a long moment until she turned her head slightly.
    Through the plastic in the front of her head shield he saw her lips moving.
    “What did she say?” he asked the suit standing next to him who was talking into a
    lapel mic.
    “That she believes the bomb is TATP and she needs a lead box with dry ice in it.”
    He’d just bet she did. Triacetone triperoxide (TAPT) was stable only as long as the
    environment around it didn’t become hot. Then it could blow at any minute. He had a
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    lot of questions, such as how it had gotten past the museum security with their visitor inspection policies. How the bomb maker or makers had kept it stable until they placed
    it and left, although the museum temperature was kept low of necessity because of the
    fragile condition of many of the artworks. And if there was a timer attached to it.
    He found himself sweating while two other men suited up exactly like Bella rolled a
    sizeable lead box over next to the purse and opened the cover. The smoke rising from
    the box indicated it already had dry ice inside. He began counting the seconds to
    himself as she slowly lifted the purse with the claws and transferred it to the box. That done, she dropped the rods and closed the lid, then removed her headgear and turned
    to Lane.
    “Three small vials that look like perfume,” she told him. “The white crystalline
    powder that is TATP travels better in solution.”
    “The Mother of Satan,” he muttered.
    She nodded. “Current choice of suicide bombers. But that’s not the case here.
    Obviously.”
    “What now? And what about the purse at the Uffizi?”
    “This box goes into the bomb disposal van while you and I run like hell to the
    Uffizi. Then I’ll defuse them both at the same time.”
    He raised an eyebrow. “You can leave this one that long?”
    “The dry ice makes it stable for a short period of time. Come. We must