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Even if one unscrewed the top and looked inside, nothing would seem amiss. Only when the base was twisted counterclockwise would the container reveal its secret.
Carefully, Yardeni inched the base around until he heard the click. Inside the double walls, tiny canisters released their contents More Page Barret Oliver of nitrogen. Immediately, the container became jihad recollections
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with a door of specially constructed, hermetically sealed Plexiglas. It always reminded Yardeni of the bulletproof barriers at the cashiers booths in the American Express office. He slipped the coded key card into the More Page Barret Oliver slot, punched in the combination, and listened to the long, slow hiss as the door swung back. Three clean water act
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a revolver. He placed one ampoule into each of the slots, then replaced the top section, making sure that it was More Page Barret Oliver tightly in place. Using his key card, he exited the Coke machine and made his way out of the lab. The procedure in the changing rooms was reversed as he deposited clean water act
of the suit into burn bags. After a second decontamination mist, he was ready to More Page Barret Oliver get dressed, except that this time he changed into casual clothes--- jeans, sweatshirt, and a baggy parka.
A few minutes later, Yardeni was outside, breathing deeply in the night air. A cigarette steadied him. Option Two, the 
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had said. That meant something had gone wrong. Instead More Page Barret Oliver of Yardeni choosing his moment to purloin the variola, he had had to take it now. And quickly, too, because for some reason Moscow had become suspicious. Yardeni knew all about the Special Forces command outside Vladimir. .
