 
## A Vague Recollection of Something Blue

## By

## K. G. Lawrence

## Book 5 of the Proteus Group Series

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2017 K.G. Lawrence

Cover Design:

***

Discover other titles in the Proteus Group Series by K.G. Lawrence:

Wear Something Red

Rembrandt be Damned

Jellyfish

Blue Crystal Oracle

***

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite eBook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Acknowledgements

To Sharon for everything you give to me.

### Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 10

Chapter 20

Chapter 30

Chapter 40

Chapter 50

Chapter 60

Other Books by K.G. Lawrence

Wear Something Red

Rembrandt Be Damned

Jellyfish

Blue Crystal Oracle

Shadow Caste

# Chapter 1

From his vantage point one hundred feet higher up to the north and hidden by Mexican nut pines, Frank Gillett could clearly see through his Vortex Kaibab binoculars the confirmation that the tip Ferris had received three days ago was correct.

"Hector Garcia Ortiz is sitting out on the patio by the pool. I see two Chinese men, both in their sixties, standing closest to him. Two Europeans, also in expensive suits, are standing in the shade under a trellis a few feet away."

Thomas Ferris's voice crackled in Frank's earpiece when he asked, "Is the general with them?"

He spotted the man wearing lots of braid. "He is talking to Hector. He has two aides with him. One is a colonel, the other is a captain."

"What about getting in?"

"Give me a minute." He rubbed away the itchiness in his eyes before looking through the binoculars again.

A travel brochure might describe this compound as a hacienda-style resort nestled in the rugged Sierra Madre Occidental Mountains northeast of Quizuani in the state of Sonora. A quick flyover might convince tourists such a description was accurate except for the wall. The compound had been cut out of the forest decades ago. It would be presented as offering an exclusive, tranquil and serene get away from it all.

Not from where he sat crouched amid the forest understory.

Sitting at an elevation of 2987 feet at approximately 29°03'56.04"N by 110°11'30.72"W, the compound was enclosed by a sloping wall ten feet tall. The base was twelve feet thick, the top four feet. Wrought iron railings had been placed along the outside and inside edges at the top. They had been webbed with razor wire, and possibly electrified. It formed a hexagonal barrier to the world, Garcia Ortiz's base for his incomplete pyramid. There was no gate to drive vehicles through or any other obvious entrance into the compound through the wall.

A pool sat in the middle of a patio formed by the U-shaped, two-storey house. A man-made lake gouged out of the mountain and stocked with fish lay four hundred yards to the east of the compound just before the slope he was perched on began its steep rise to a peak elevation of 3309 feet.

Two M2 .50 caliber machine guns atop the wall were positioned at two of the wall's corners and directed toward the only approach road, ploughed out of the mountain by slave labor shortly after the end of the Mexican Revolution. Two men were stationed at each gun.

Ferris asked, "What do you see?"

"Dangerous shit everywhere, that's what."

"Do you see any of them, by the pool maybe?"

"Not a one. There are no women in the pool or sunbathing beside it. The pool doesn't have any water in it."

"They wouldn't be sunbathing."

"I know that. I was just commenting that there are no women to be seen anywhere. That has to be a first for him."

What he did see was men patrolling along the top of the wall. Four of them carried Mendoza HM-3 submachine guns. Eight other men on top of the wall carried either AK-47s or Fusil FX-05s Xiuhchoatl (firesnake) assault rifles. They were Mexican army brought by the general, though they wore mufti here. Six more men also armed with HM-3s were scattered around the pool and patio. They would be Hector's men.

Three armored Mercedes-Benz S55 all-wheel drive sedans that had brought the Chinese and European visitors were parked in the gravel parking lot along the west wall. Four Mercedes-Benz G-Class SUVs had brought Alonzo Polida and his men. All those vehicles were likely armored at least to the BR6 level. He hadn't brought anything with him that would penetrate them.

The two Streit Group Puma-APCs belonged to the owner of this spa resort, which catered to the criminal elite of Mexico. At one time or another every leader of every major gang in Mexico had come here, though none of them at the same time. This was the only diplomatic nexus in Mexico for negotiations between gangs. It was neutral territory, had been so for the past twenty years. No two gangs would come at the same time to prevent already hot blood from boiling over. It offered the opportunity to open by proxy negotiations between rivals to prevent or end escalating violence. It had accomplished some major decreases in bloodshed over the years and a few mergers that let most of the participants live. All the gangs respected its role.

Garcia Ortiz's gang, no longer called Los Tres Carniceros, had lost most of its power thirty years ago. This refuge from the intensely violent Mexican criminal underworld was the only real power it still had aside from dabbling in some minor international drug trade and sex trafficking. None of the gang's history, however, had anything to do with why he was perched on the side of a mountain trying to find a way in.

"Shit."

The top of the wall also contained three SAM missile launchers, two anti-aircraft guns and, like the machine guns, two men were assigned to each. Hector Garcia Ortiz had also put crates of ammunition within quick and easy reach of any man on top of the wall. Whatever was taking place inside the compound this time, Garcia Ortiz was determined to keep it between only himself and his guests.

Thomas Ferris's voice came in clearer than it had since Frank had left him behind to take up his position. "Is it a go? Can you get in?"

A helicopter equipped with a GM 134 minigun on its nose and another sticking out its right opening rested on a pad inside the compound near the south-pointing corner of the wall.

"Frank, do we go?"

"Dammit." He put the binoculars back into their case and returned the case to his pack. He then rechecked what he had brought with him.

Two Uzis, eight grenades, three incendiary bombs and a Glock hardly compared to artillery, armor-piercing ordnance, ten more men than expected and about ten thousand rounds of ammunition.

"Give me thirty minutes. I see something I can use as a distraction." He secured the pack and started down the slope.

Descending presented no risk of exposure because of dense understory. As long as he stayed in the forest at the edge of the compound, he could keep out of sight of the guards. The moment of high risk would come as soon as he reached the road leading to the gravel lot. Sixty yards of bright, open space stood between him and what he needed.

Human behavior was on his side. None of the men on the top of the wall wanted to be on guard duty. They were macho warriors. Being on guard duty was an insult to their masculinity. Their leaders and their comrades down on the patio were on the side of the wall where all the action was taking place. They were stuck keeping watch for a surprise attack even though this rump of a gang had no enemies concerned enough about it to ever launch one.

Hector might have eschewed having women to make it clear to all concerned that this was a business meeting. The men on guard weren't missing any of the usual fun.

The two men at the machine gun placement overlooking the road, the ones who would have the clearest view of him crossing the clearing, were playing some game. Two of the general's men were watching the game. None of the other men on guard were in position to spot him.

Frank took off across the uneven ground. He was faster than any Olympic sprinter, but he wasn't faster than a speeding bullet, and he was only impervious to the small caliber ones if they weren't fired at close range.

Keeping his gaze focused on the wall, he used the APCs for cover to make his way back into the forest on the southwest perimeter of the compound. The cool breeze at this altitude had provided some relief, but the sprint, about eighty yards in total, had left him drenched in sweat.

A glance back at the APCs revealed one to also have a .50 caliber machine gun on its roof, but it was unmanned. A guard stationed at the Mercedes sedans was even more bored than his compatriots above him. Unable to see what was happening on the other side of the wall he could only smoke and watch four heads looking down at something else he couldn't see.

The barrels of fuel were clustered against the wall fifty feet away from the sedans, but the guard presented another option to the one he had originally considered.

"Change of plans," he said. "I'm turning off. Give me about an hour."

"And if I don't hear from you by then?"

"Go home."

Frank withdrew his earpiece and put it in his pack. He left the pack concealed in the woods and brought only the Glock. Holding his hands up with the barrel of the Glock in his left, he emerged from the forest and walked straight to the smoker guarding the cars.

The man cocked and aimed his HM-3 as he spit out his cigarette. He took a moment to glance up at the top of the wall and tried to get someone's attention.

Frank said, "Necesito hablar con el Señor Héctor García Ortiz."

The guard raised the gun. "¿Estas loco? Tira el arma antes de que suene la maldita cabeza." Are you crazy? Drop the gun before I blow your fucking head off.

Frank dropped the Glock and kicked it away.

"¿Qué quieres con el jefe?" What do you want with the boss? The guard walked to the Glock, picked it up and stuck it into the waist of his pants. He glanced up at the men on the top of the wall and muttered a number of curses before spitting at Frank. "¿De que se trata?" What's it about?

"Alquien me contrató para matarlo y creo que están ahí con él ahora. Los dos hemos sido traicionado." Someone hired me to kill him and I think they are in there with him. We've both been double-crossed.

The man spit again before looking down at the smoldering cigarette he had jettisoned. "Fuck. Don't move, gringo."

Frank chuckled and nodded. "Not a muscle."

The man produced a walkie-talkie and began chattering rapidly and angrily into it. He wasn't talking to Garcia Ortiz. He was cursing whoever was on the other end for not doing their job and threatening them with a possible report to the general. After a few seconds of silence, the man's cell phone range. He stood at attention and answered it. Slower this time, he repeated to the boss what Frank had told him.

"Si Señor." He hung up the phone, pulled out a keypad remote control and adeptly pressed three numbered buttons on it with his thumb. Video games and texting were making everyone digit-dextrous.

A section of the wall began smoothly sliding backward. It stopped after backing up four feet.

The guard stepped behind Frank, poked him with the HM-3 and took out the Glock.

Two steps into the breach, to his right, a passageway barely wide enough to proceed along single file wended its way through the wall. The base of the wall was wider to allow this passage full of sharp turns to be framed inside it. The passage likely circled the whole perimeter.

The guard prodded him to enter the tunnel. Only six feet into the dimly lit entrance section, they had to take a ninety-degree right turn. Six steps later they had to turn ninety-degrees to the left to enter the longest straight section of tunnel, about eighteen feet.

"Sigue moviendote." Keep moving. The guard pushed at him with his hand this time.

Frank grabbed the hand, pulled the arm over his shoulder and yanked down, snapping the man's elbow.

The man cried out, but Frank turned around and smashed his palm into his face. The Glock dropped to the ground as the man fell backward into the concrete wall and slid down beside it.

After retrieving his Glock, Frank nudged the man with his foot. When the guard didn't move, Frank took possession of the HM-3, stepped over the man because he wouldn't be able to turn around with the body over his shoulder, and picked him up.

A sharp turn to the left at the end of the straight section brought him to a short corridor that opened onto the patio. Garcia Ortiz, the general, his aides and the guests were all there waiting for him. Frank walked slowly out into the bright sunshine. The inside of the compound was shielded from the mountain breeze. It was at least five degrees hotter than outside the wall. He dropped the man at his feet then dropped both guns and held up his hands.

"Señor Garcia Ortiz, ambos tenemos la misma . . ." Mister Garcia Ortiz, we both have the same . . .

The blow to the back of his head came from his right.

# Chapter 2

The last of the renovation work was completed by 10:00 am. Ralph Price, 47, the owner of Price Renovations and Repairs, and his two employees, Isidora Ramos Olivarez, 24, the carpenter, and Menno Alfieri, 30, at 5'11" and 228 pounds the self-proclaimed heavy lifter of the team, packed up their tools and returned to the two vehicles on the driveway.

The owner of the house, Abraham (Abe) Leavitt, was at work at White Sands.

Ralph made sure all doors to the house were locked. Isidora and Menno were waiting at the back of his van when he was done.

"Well," Menno said, "that's it then."

"Don't get discouraged," he said. "Something will come along."

Isidora lowered her sunglasses. "We've been on this job for four months. In all that time no other calls for work have come in."

"They will. I've been through slow periods like this before. It will pick up. Trust me."

Isidora put a hand on his chest and kissed his cheek. "We do trust you, Ralph, but you can't perform miracles. If there's no work, there's no—"

He stepped back and checked over the tools in the van.

Isidora pushed her sunglasses back. "Do you need any help at the office?"

"I'll take care of it."

Menno asked, "Are we still on for tonight?"

"The Double Eagle at six. My treat and I don't want any arguments."

"See ya later."

Menno and Isidora got into Menno's truck and drove away.

Because he couldn't stop himself anymore than he could stop the sun from rising every morning, Ralph Price climbed into the van and went through it to make sure everything that was supposed to be there was there and nothing that wasn't supposed to be there wasn't. Everything was in its place. Nothing was missing and nothing had been added.

He then drove out onto West University Avenue. At Avenida de Mesilla he turned right to get to Calle De Meadanos. A left there and two blocks later he took his van along the lane to the back of his office, which was sandwiched between the Flores de Primavera flower shop and Julio Rosa's Butcher Shop.

After another check through the van, he entered through the back of his office, the workshop—what Isidora sarcastically called their fabrication center—and made his way to the reception desk at the front. The message indicator light was blinking.

He took the time to remove his overalls before pushing the button on the phone.

The man spoke with a Spanish accent, not at all surprising in Mesilla.

"I am Beltran Nunez Gutierrez. I live on the other side of the Rio Grande. I have a possible renovation job for you, Mr. Price, but I am not sure your company can handle it. We can discuss that when you get here. Take the Calles del Norte past the Rio Grande to South Fairacers Road, then north to Mesilla Hill Drive and turn left. Stay on Mesilla Hill Drive until Raasaf Circle. Turn right there and keep going past Raasaf Drive along South Nizhani Trail. My home is at the end of the road. I expect you here at eleven o'clock precisely. Until then, Mr. Price, tienes mi res petomas profundo." You have my deepest regards. He left his phone number.

The answering machine, which Isidora had set up for him and usually took charge of, asked him to push button one if he wished to hear the message again, two if he wished to listen to his other messages—the machine had a vicious sense of humor—or three if he wished to delete all messages.

Price was familiar with the area where Nunez lived, but he replayed the message again to verify exactly where the house was. The second playback revealed more of Nunez's authoritative tone. Beltran Nunez Gutierrez was accustomed to being in charge and giving orders with every expectation of complete obedience.

After writing down Nunez's phone number, he took out his cell phone and called Menno first. "We've just had a providential call."

Isidora would love it that he was using bigger words.

He recited all the details to Menno and then said, "We'll discuss it at dinner tonight. I have to call Isidora."

"Shouldn't you wait until you know for sure? She's pretty antsy right now about whether or not—"

"She just needs something to focus on again, keep her busy." He called Isidora. "We may have work. It could be big."

"How big?"

He repeated the details of the message to her.

"How long is it for?"

"I haven't talked to him yet, have I?"

"Who is he?"

"Never heard of him."

"How did he get your name?"

"I'm in the book. I have a webpage as well as a Facebook and Twitter account."

"You don't, your business does, and all of those are useless if I'm not there. I'll give you the telephone book, it's anciently appropriate for you."

No big word that he could use against her would come to mind. "I told you something would come up."

"Ralph, I love you and Menno, you know that. I've been with you for six years now and it's been wonderful. But I want to start at New Mexico State next spring. I don't want to get bogged down with another job."

"Let's see what he has for us first."

"Ralph, it's time for me to move on. I've been accepted. Right now I have the money."

"Just let me see what he has. We'll talk more about it at dinner. I promise—"

"Do not start making promises. They just get you into trouble. And don't make decisions thinking I'm going to be here forever. And don't get me into anything I can't get out of." She hung up.

"Obstinate . . . dammit." He called the Mesilla Police Department next. "Hello, Maria, is Mike available?"

"Sure thing." She put him through.

Michael Plett, Mesilla's Police Chief, and also its biggest gossip, answered on the third ring. "Hey, Ralph, what's up?" His voice dropped. "It's not Menno again, is it?"

"He's behaving himself. Do you know Beltran Nunez?"

"We've crossed paths a few times, ceremonially speaking. Until recently, he was, unlike you, very involved in the social activities of our wonderful city. He used to take a lead role in organizing the Day of the Dead festival every year."

"Use to?"

"He still comes to it, and I think he's doing something with it this year, but he keeps mostly to himself now. He keeps his private live private. In that regard, you two could be identical twins. The only difference is Nunez is completely able to remain private. Menno every now and then makes it difficult for you to do the same. There has been some talk of his health being in decline, but no one really knows why he suddenly shut himself up in el Hacienda de Nunez."

"What else do you know?"

"Why are you asking?"

"I have an offer of work from him. He said it might be too big for my company."

"He can certainly afford a big job. He's semi-retired now. He did that about the same time he stepped out of the public spotlight. He has a tenant managing his pecan farm. It's the biggest one in these parts. He used to have a complete staff of servants, but got rid of all but one of them a few years ago."

"How long has he lived here?"

"I don't know, maybe twenty years or more. He was here when I started as a patrolman." Plett coughed for close to a minute before he could speak again. "It could be a big job, Ralph. From what I heard, his house is huge but in quite a state of disrepair. Just another thing he's being neglecting, I suppose."

"I thought you gave up smoking."

"Don't you start on me; I get enough of that from Maria. Why are you checking up on Nunez?"

"I didn't want you to feel left out."

"Stupid bugger. Have a good one." He started laughing as he hung up, which led to another bout of coughing.

Ralph called Nunez.

A woman answered, "Señor Nunez Gutierrez residence."

"This is Ralph Price calling from Price Renovations and Repairs. I received a message from Mr. Nunez and I am returning his call."

"One moment, por favor." The phone clicked.

A few seconds later, it clicked again.

"Hello, Mr. Price." That confident, dominating tone in his voice was clearer than it was on the message. His voice also sounded a bit breathless. "I did not expect this call."

"I will be there at eleven, Mr. Nunez, but I was hoping I could get some idea of the nature and scope of the job so I could pass it along to my employees."

"You are speaking of Isidora Ramos Olivarez and Menno Alfieri."

"You know about them?"

"I have investigated your company, Mr. Price." That breathlessness was gone. "Tell me about your two employees. Start with Isidora, if you would, please."

"She's my carpenter. She's been with me since graduating high school. Isy can frame anything; build anything, including custom cabinets. Mr. Nunez, she could build or rebuild your house from scratch if that's what you wanted."

"That is encouraging, Mr. Price, but it would be best if you did not exaggerate."

"I am not exaggerating. Isidora is brilliant. She wants to be a lawyer or a judge one day."

"I thought she wanted to be a criminologist or FBI agent." Had Nunez talked to Plett about him? "Tell me about Menno Alfieri. He concerns me."

Was Nunez trying to catch him in a lie? And if so, why? They were only entering into a renovation contract. If he knew something of Menno's past, though, it would not be unreasonable to have concerns.

"Perhaps we could discuss my employees further while we go over what work you want done."

"That will be satisfactory, Mr. Price. Be advised, however, that I will not be put off vetting all three of you. I will see you at eleven."

# Chapter 3

The blow to the back of his head hadn't hurt him, but Garcia Ortiz and his guests, particularly General Alonzo Palido and his men, needed to believe it had.

Frank grunted and dropped to his left side. He lay on the blue and white tiles of the patio listening to Garcia Ortiz bark out orders in Spanish too quickly for him to process.

Someone came up from behind and kicked him in the back.

Alonzo Palido said, "Usted debe darle de comer sus propias bolas antes de matar a est hijo." You should feed him his own balls before killing this fucker.

Frank rocked forward, grunted again and took a quick glance at the pool. There were still no women, either in bikinis or completely naked, anywhere to be seen. The serious business these men were conducting hadn't been concluded yet.

Garcia Ortiz growled a few more unintelligible orders before two of his bigger men picked Frank up by his arms. Rather than drag him away, they held him up and frisked him. One of the men grabbed his head and pulled it up as the other one handed the three magazines for his Glock to Garcia Ortiz.

He groaned and opened his eyes.

Garcia Ortiz, Alonzo Palido and his two aides, the only ones in uniform, stood in front of him.

The two Chinese men, the two Europeans and two Mexicans that he hadn't seen from his perch, stood back in the shadows under a trellis festooned with vines. A third Chinese man, much younger, taller and thinner than the other two, stood further back from that group under a palm tree.

Garcia aimed the Glock at his chest. "Thank you for killing my guard. He was stupid and lazy."

"It's what I do."

One of the men holding him up pressed the end of his HM-3 under Frank's chin.

"You say you've been hired to assassinate me and that whoever hired you is in here with me now. If that is true, we have, as you were about to tell me, both been betrayed."

Frank nodded toward the six men standing in the shadows. "I can't make any of them out."

General Alonzo Palido and his two men already had their guns out. They spread out to surround the six guests. Three of Garcia Ortiz's men reinforced them.

Garcia said to his guests, "Please, gentlemen, a moment in this sunshine is all that is required. Then we can dispose of this puto bastardo de nigger."

At least one of the Chinese men spoke English. "He is your problem Señor Garcia. We are not involved with this lie in any way. We will remain where we are."

Garcia Ortiz started to aim the gun at the man who had just spoken, but quickly lowered it. He held out his hands palms up in a placating gesture. Whatever these men were here for, it was a situation too delicate to answer such a challenge with the usual Mexican macho intolerance. Garcia Ortiz didn't seem concerned about reprisals, which would be consistent for him. He just didn't want whatever deal they were negotiating to fail.

"Please, gentlemen, this puts me in a very awkward position. What we all hope to achieved here has to come from mutual trust. I am asking little, I assure you. It is my belief that this man is lying. His lie will be revealed the moment he cannot identify any of you."

Frank said, "You know how this works. He's the type who keeps more than just an arm's length distance between himself and the required wet work. He is one of those backroom warriors. He doesn't get his hands bloody. Anonymity is the key to people like him. The question for you, Hector, is which one of your guests is that kind of man?"

Garcia Ortiz spun around and struck him on the cheek with the barrel of the Glock. "You will not insult my guests again." He smoothed his shirt. "You see, gentlemen, he is bluffing." He raised the Glock and cocked the hammer. "I need to kill this man, but I need all I can get from him first. Any danger to me could be a danger to all of us."

The other Chinese man said, "It is too hot out here. We are going inside to cool off."

"That's him," Frank said. "He made one mistake while negotiating. He called on the last communication to personally confirm the job. I recognize his voice because he didn't think to conceal it. He's from Hong Kong. His English is too good to be from anywhere else in China."

The man cursed in Cantonese a series of words that had likely targeted the assassin, Garcia Ortiz and probably Alonzo Palido and his aides as well.

Furious, Garcia Ortiz aimed the gun at Frank's face and stepped close enough to bring it within a few inches of his eyes.

"Just shoot him and be done with this," the first Chinese man said.

Incensed as he was that no one was cooperating with him—showing him the respect he deserved—he was still able to talk like the gracious host he was trying to be. "It will only take a few seconds then we can conclude our negotiations and get on with the fun."

The Chinese man under the palm tree, as gracious and calm in return said, "Señor Garcia Ortiz, we did not come here to participate in a bloody police line-up. Do what you must with that man and let us indeed get back to business."

Frank recognized that voice. It came from Oxford. "I could have been mistaken. It might be that one."

Garcia Ortiz squeezed back on the trigger as the man holding him jammed his gun harder under his chin, pushing his head farther back.

"Puto bastardo de nigger." He growled, spit, stepped back and set the safety. "You are fortunate that we know who you are, Frank, or you would already be dead. Take him downstairs and show him what he came here for. Then lock him in the one beside them." He handed the Glock to the other guard holding Frank.

Alonzo Palido said, "He is too dangerous to keep alive."

"In a few hours, he will be the doctor's problem. They all will."

Frank could hear Garcia Ortiz's gracious, apologetic attempts to restart negotiations with his Chinese guests as the two men holding him took him down a set of concrete steps leading from the patio. Two other men came down behind them.

At the bottom of the stairs, one of the men unlocked a metal door with a swipe of his card. He opened it and pushed Frank through onto another set of stairs, these ones made out of wrought-iron. Lights came on automatically as they neared the bottom of this much longer set.

They stood in a chamber carved out of the stone facing three tunnels. One went straight ahead. The two on either side of it headed off at thirty degree angles from it.

One of the other pair of men closed and secured the door they had come through before trotting down the twenty-eight steps to catch up to them.

The instant he stepped off the bottom stair, Frank twisted to his left and head-butted the man who had his Glock as he brought his right hand up to deflect the gun away from under his chin. Holding firm to the man's wrist, he kicked out into his left hip, grabbed the man he had just head-butted and swung him into the two men trailing them.

Those three men tumbled into a pile on the stone floor.

Frank twisted the man he was holding to put him face to face and punched him in the chest, shattering his breast bone, before tossing him on top of the three men trying to untangle themselves. He picked up the dropped Glock and shot each man in the head.

Shooting started up on the patio. It had taken about as long as expected for the distrust to escalate to gunplay. The only question was who would be the last man standing?

The door at the top of the stairs opened. One man slammed it shut, locked it and came down the staircase hard enough to make the wrought iron creak and rattle.

Frank backed into the shadows and away from the pile of dead men.

Garcia Ortiz, a gun in each hand, leapt down the last three stairs and sprinted into the tunnel running straight ahead. He hadn't noticed the bodies.

Frank went after him, matching footfall with footfall.

The tunnel proceeded for close to sixty yards before ending at another chamber carved out of the mountain. Garcia stood before three secured iron doors—solid prison cell doors with barred windows—for only a second or two before going to the one to his right and looking inside it. He didn't find what he expected to find.

He called out to his men, but quickly realized they weren't going to respond.

"Drop the gun, Hector." Frank came out of the end of the tunnel. "Where are they?"

Garcia Ortiz's eyes shifted to his right before he started to raise both guns.

It was all the delay Frank needed. He shot him with the last three rounds in the Glock. Every shot hit Garcia Ortiz in the chest. Frank ejected the empty magazine, recovered the other three from Garcia Ortiz and reloaded as he walked to the iron door to his left. He withdrew a small LED flashlight from his lower right pants pocket and shone it through the barred opening.

They were all there. One of the women was holding her hand over the mouth of one of the other ones. None of the six women moved.

"¿Alguno de vosotros habla a Inglés?"

The woman keeping the other one quite said, "I speak English."

"I'm here to get you out, but first I must find out what happened up there." He pointed. "Do you understand?"

The woman, probably in her late teens, her dark hair matted with filth, her dark cheeks stained with dirty tear tracks, her dark eyes fierce, nodded. She let go of the other woman, who gasped and started crying, and came to the door. Two of the other women reached for her and implored her to stay where she was but none of them tried to stop her.

"What's your name?"

"Evelyn." She was one of the ones still pregnant.

Three of the women held newborn infants to their breasts.

"Evelyn, my name is Frank Gillett. I'm going to go back up to make sure the way is clear. Then I will return and take you all out. Can any of you handle a gun?"

"I can."

"I will be right back." He retrieved two HM-3's from the dead men. There was no more shooting at the patio level when he paused at the bottom of the stairs to listen.

Evelyn took both submachine guns without hesitation and felt their weight. "Still fully loaded." She came to the bars and looked out at as much of the chamber as she could. "Hector?"

"He's over there with three bullets in his heart."

She spit through the opening. "Puto monstruo. Pueden perros se alimentan de él en el infierno para siempre." Fucking monster. May dogs feed on him in hell forever. She reached out through the bars. "Frank, we can trust you, yes?" Tears ran down her cheeks but her voice remained firm.

He took hold of her hand. "I am here with friends. You can trust all of us. I promise. Is everyone with you able to walk?"

"We can fly if we have to, and I will kill any bastard who gets in our way."

"Just be patient a little while longer and then you will all be free."

She gave his hand a hard squeeze before letting go, returning to the other women and telling them what was going to happen.

Ragged sighs, gasps and weeping followed him into the tunnel. He could still hear harsh sobbing when he exited at the other end. At the top of the stairs, the iron door had been secured on his side by a simple set of levered bars that Garcia Ortiz had slid into slots chiselled into the walls.

He unlocked and opened the door, slipped forward and listened at the bottom of the concrete steps. He heard nothing. He could see the haze and smell the gunpowder aftermath of an intense gunfight.

"Frank," Li Chu Yan called down, "is that you?"

"Garcia Ortiz and his men are all dead."

"Same up here, Frank. You're not going to shoot me, are you?"

"Not if I don't have to."

Li appeared at the top of the stairs and held up his left hand with his gun in it. "That's good, because I'm out of fucking bullets."

Frank didn't believe that for a second.

"Come on up so you can explain to me why you tried to get me killed. I thought we were on the same bloody side this time."

Two steps up the stairs gunfire started, Li vanished. Bullets struck the wrought-iron railing at the top of the stairs.

Frank ducked back and aimed the Glock.

Li fired a number of rounds from an HM-3 then called down, "Sorry, Frank, there are a couple of assholes on the wall who still think they have something to fight for. I could use your help."

"What have you got?"

"I snagged a couple of bloody half-empty subs."

More bullets hit at the top of the stairs. Li fired back with a couple of short bursts and cursed in Cantonese.

Frank called up, "I'll be right back." He ran down the long staircase and recovered the two remaining HM-3's from the guards. At the bottom of the patio stairs, he called to Li, "Still with me?"

"I need a fucking bazooka!"

"Give me a spot."

"Forty-five degrees to your left when your head pops up and just under thirty degrees from there to the top of the wall; the idiots are about six feet apart. One is kneeling. He'll be to your right. The other shithead, true to his Mexican macho heritage, is standing straight up, but he has the assault rifle."

"Can you see the stairs?"

"The top three, yeah, I can."

Another round of fire peppered the top of the stairs. Li returned fire.

"Give me some cover fire as soon as you see me."

"Shit, Frank, let's do this. I'm getting hungry. Garcia was a bloody awful host."

Frank charged up the stairs. Li opened fire with both submachine guns. The guards on the wall fired back; so much for cover fire. The instant he cleared the stairs, he cut to his left and opened fire as he sprinted for the wall.

The man standing shifted his aim, but Frank just pointed both HM-3's at him. None of the shots hit him because they were aimed at the concrete at his feet. The chips flying up from the wall forced him to take a step back.

Frank aimed a few shots at the kneeling man before tossing the guns away. Six steps from the wall, he jumped up as hard as he could.

Li was yelling and cheering him on.

The standing shooter had just returned to the edge of the wall when Frank reached the top of it. With an extended hand, Frank took hold of the assault rifle as he landed, swung a backhand into the man's face and tossed him over the railing.

The kneeling man hesitated after what he had just seen. Frank aimed and fired the Glock. Once he had confirmed that man was dead, he looked down at the man on the patio.

Li walked over from his cover under the trellis and fired two bullets into the man's forehead. He then looked up and smiled with a row of exceptionally white teeth.

Frank dropped back to the patio.

"Bloody hell, you really can do all that shit. I thought our reports on you were just secret service bureaucratic fear mongering. It's had our scientists working under the whip for the last six years."

"Any luck?"

Li laughed as he looked around at the bodies. "I've heard we just ended up with one anorexic panda addicted to video games and a bunch of angry pot bellied pigs." He looked Frank over. "So, you're the golem. That's funny, Frank. Is it true you can shoot laser beams out your eyes?" He burst into another loud moment of laughter and flashing teeth and waved Frank off when he stepped closer. "Okay, okay, I'm just kidding. But it was in the report." He took a deep breath and stifled any further laughter. "I'm afraid I've been corrupted by too much exposure to all your Western decadence. Can I at least see the scales? They're real, right?"

"No one can shoot laser beams out of their eyes. Weinberg doesn't work like that, or else he can't yet."

"You're bloody shitting me. There are more like you?"

Frank took a look at the bodies strewn about the patio.

"Come on, Frank, give me something. My boss is going to chew my ass off after I got my guys killed . . . after you got my guys killed, not to mention almost getting yours truly shot full of bloody holes, too."

"Who were your guys?"

Li pointed with his empty handgun toward the trellis. "That fat asshole was Zhang Jian Chao, a businessman from Hong Kong with links to Shanghai, Bangkok, Agra and them. That huge blob lying next to him is his younger brother, Jiao-Long Hong. I was assigned to find out who their contacts over here were. This was my first trip to Mexico with them, but they'd been dealing with Garcia and his people for over a year."

"What were they here for?"

"My take is they were still in the early stages of negotiations. Those Euro-dudes and the two Mexicans are new. The offer and acceptance hadn't been established yet. Now it never will. Why are you here?"

"I came for the women."

Li looked around the patio again. "Yeah, so did I. Where the bloody hell are they?"

He pointed to the stairs. "Two flights down. They are the other ones."

"I heard something about similar stuff in India or Pakistan or Cambodia or North Korea, but I just thought all of that was bullshit, too. How many are there?"

"Six. Three have just given birth. The other three are close."

"And those kids, they can . . . you know, do that stuff?" Li pointed to the wall he'd jumped up on.

"That's what those women will either confirm or dismiss. If you want something for your ass-cannibal boss, tell him to start looking for the six that are supposed to be somewhere in China or Tibet or Nepal or Mongolia."

"My boss isn't a man, Frank. It is Yao Ng Qiao."

"Madam Ng?"

"We call her Ng xiāojiĕ."

"Little older sister Ng."

"Older sister isn't exactly what we mean when we say it."

"You have my sympathy."

"How much do you know about her?"

"She's in her late-thirties, is married to Ng Zhong, a high-ranking member of your External Security out of Hong Kong. But most think she is the real power of the two."

"Ng disappeared about six months ago, Frank. A week later, xiāojiĕ has his immediate superior over for this special dinner. The rumor is they ate Ng together. Then, after an evening of intense negotiations involving perverted sex, threats and coercion on her part—turns out she really was the one in charge and knows everything—they pick her to replace her missing husband. It's all about appearance and stability."

"When isn't it?" Frank started for the stairs.

"How do you know about all this when we only have rumors?"

"We don't know where they are. We don't know if they've been impregnated yet." It wasn't an accurate term, but it was good enough for what he was selling Li. "Start with missing person reports."

"In China? You have to be kidding me. If I did that, I'd end up missing."

"Tell Ng xiāojiĕ to focus on young women in their late teens. They would most likely come from small, isolated villages that do not have easy access to communications infrastructure."

"Look for missing girls in the most populace nation in the world. You aren't giving me much, Frank."

"That's all I have."

"You must get a deal on broomsticks, Frank; otherwise you wouldn't shove so many of them up your bloody arse at one time."

"Our investigation indicates caches of six women each have been stashed in those nations you already mentioned plus China, Russia, here, and some in South American and African nations that we haven't identified yet. We hope to get more information soon."

Li ran his fingers through his stubbly hair. "All this Hollywood blockbuster movie stuff would be laughable if it weren't true."

"You're right, you have been corrupted. What did you major in at Oxford?"

"What do you think?"

Li walked over to the stairs and looked down. He then shook his head. "Sorry, man, I'd love to help, but I need to get as far away as possible and report in. I just hope I can go back after this fiasco." He shook his head again. "He really is a slimy bloody fucker, isn't he?"

"The slimiest."

"And speaking of being corrupted, do you mind if I take one of the Mercedes? They have navigation systems so I can find my way out of this shithole."

"Be my guest."

"You will take care of everything else, right?"

"I will."

"You're soaking wet, Frank." Li proffered a handkerchief. "Did you catch something?"

He didn't take it. "Just a fever."

"I don't get sick days either. Later, Frank, and don't forget, you bloody well owe me."

"I owe you."

Li waved and disappeared into the passage that would take him out of the compound. He revved the sedan's engine a few times before racing away.

Frank returned to the women. The lock on the cell door was electronically controlled. It had illuminated buttons on the keypad, but each button displayed an ancient Aztec symbol on it rather than a number.

Evelyn came to the door and held up the HM-3. "Is it clear, Frank?"

"I just need to get the door open. Do any of you know . . . ?"

Evelyn smiled, which made Frank's heart flutter. That this young woman, given what she'd been through, could still smile just hadn't fit into his expectations for this mission. Sullen, defeated surrender and maybe catatonia had been his assumption of the day for what he would find.

Evelyn reached her hand out through the bars. "Come closer."

He stepped up to the door.

She stroked his cheek where Garcia Ortiz had struck it with the Glock. It didn't hurt. Tears flowed down her dirty cheeks again. "It's an old door, Frank, and we all know who you are." She touched the tips of her fingers to his lips and then backed up to stand with the other women.

He took hold of the bars and yanked as hard as he could. The hinges imbedded in the crumbling stone broke free and the door—heavy even for him—came away in his grasp.

The six women wasted no time getting free of their prison. Evelyn, still holding one of the submachine guns, stayed beside Frank as they made their way up to the patio. The woman Evelyn had kept silent, probably barely over sixteen, trailed the group holding the other HM-3.

Evelyn led the way out through the tunnel. Only once they were free of the compound did she drop her weapon. She leaned against the wall, held her swollen abdomen, looked up at the sky and took as many deep breaths as she could as the other women gathered around her. There were more tears as they hugged each other and chattered with a measured degree of hope again.

Frank retrieved his gear and put in the call. Twenty minutes later, Ferris's Bell 412, painted the blue, silver and red of his company, came over the mountain top to the north and landed on the gravel parking lot.

Frank and Evelyn made sure every woman and infant was on board and belted in. Evelyn boarded the Bell last after first kissing Frank. Her long, dark hair scattering in the downdraft, her big, brown eyes and her wide smile framed by full lips made his heart flutter again.

"You are a good man, Frank."

The pilot, Candace Lorimar, a former Navy helicopter pilot, turned around to look at her passengers and had to cover her mouth. Her eyes welled up. Ferris reached over to comfort her.

Evelyn said to her, "Don't worry, miss, we are all healthy. They took very good care of us."

Frank wiped sweat from his face.

Thomas Ferris asked, "How are you feeling?"

"This is all of them," he said.

"That is not correct," Evelyn said. "Six other Isabellas were taken away last week."

"Had any of them given birth?"

"No, but Anna and Pia were close."

Ferris asked, "Why do you call them Isabellas?"

"We are all Isabellas, daughters of the order. It's what they call us." She touched one of the women holding a baby. "Why were they only pregnant for three months? The babies are perfect. How can that be?"

Ferris said, "I don't know. In the past, the process needed six months to complete."

Frank asked, "Where did they take the other Isabellas?"

"East, Frank. They have another compound in the Sierra Madre Oriental Mountains near the border. I do not know exactly where. It's older than this one. It's where they did this to me, to all of us."

Frank glanced at Thomas.

"We only knew of this one."

Frank stared at him.

"I recognize that look, Frank. Just remember, I am not him, only a copy."

"Not only a copy."

Candace said, "Roger that." She turned back to them. "We've got incoming on the ground, Thomas."

"Get them out of here. I'll find the other ones."

Thomas said, "My jet is waiting at Hermosillo International. From there, we go to El Paso. They will get the best of care. Let us know when you have the others."

Candace asked, "Do you want me to come back?"

"Just be ready."

After the Bell was out of sight, Frank re-entered the compound, grabbed everything he thought he would need and lifted off in Garcia Ortiz's gunship helicopter. He strafed the patio using the minigun in the nose of the helo before firing two rockets at the wall. Then he headed east.

# Chapter 4

Dr. Juanita Garcia Lopez touched the slight swelling of her abdomen as she waited in Terminal 2 of Chhatrapati Shivaji International Airport in Mumbai. Her flight had been delayed from its scheduled 11:10 pm departure to 11:40 pm.

Crowds of people moved in every direction, barely, it seemed, avoiding collisions or coming to a complete stop from sheer numbers. There was an element of the miraculous in this mass of moving people that the two women who had come to see her off had not been swept away by a wave of travellers heading for Hong Kong or London.

Miraculous or not, Dr. Saadhika Ganaka, 46, from the University of Mumbai, and Haimi Johar, 19, from the women's clinic Ganaka ran in the Dharavi slum, remained close to her.

Every group of two or more men that approached led to another blip of her heart. She was aware of no reason why vague paranoia at the sight of a man should keep jolting her, but under the circumstances, she told herself, it made some bizarre sense. The delayed departure time was contributing to her elevated anxiety. That was all it was.

Women wearing colorful saris, kurtiz or salwar kameez outfits created a kaleidoscope of moving people. Her last memory of Los Angeles International was of a sea of mostly drab washes of dark colors.

Dr. Garcia Lopez caressed the slight bulge of her abdomen again. How could this be?

Dr. Ganaka asked, "How are you feeling?"

"How should I be feeling?"

Haimi asked, "Are you ill? Maybe we should sit down."

"Maybe we should."

Haimi quickly found an empty section of four seats near the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the runways.

"How could this happen to me?"

Ganaka said, "How could it happen to any of you?"

"But why now?"

Dr. Ganaka didn't answer right away. If she was trying to find an alternate way to tell her she didn't know how in the span to one week six other women besides herself could wake up with morning sickness and then suddenly be three months pregnant, she might not think one up before the delayed flight took off.

The other six women were the appropriate age, but she was fifty-one, was beginning to experience symptoms of menopause and hadn't been with a man for over three years. After three straight mornings of waking up and vomiting to start her day, she visited Dr. Ganaka at her clinic, a refuge for women pregnant from rape and incest and abandoned by their families. Most of the women had been brought by Haimi Johar—which meant golden jewel—who had patrolled Dharavi for them on behalf of the clinic until she became one of the special six.

Haimi had made the mistake of being honest when she had insisted to her family that she could not possibly be pregnant because she was still a virgin. That had only enraged her father and older brother and she had barely escaped with her life. Her lower left leg and foot had been badly burned, however.

She and Haimi and the other five women were at exactly the same stage in their pregnancies. Every one of them insisted they had not been with a man.

Juanita closed her eyes and took a series of slow, deep breaths to resist another bout of nausea that had started squeezing through her. It would be absurd to suspect the fetus inside her was causing this discomfort to discourage her from being too inquisitive about her condition.

Haimi took hold of her hand. "I have bottled water, Dr. Garcia."

As she drank the water, Dr. Ganaka asked, "What about your dream?"

Saadhika Ganaka was the only other person who knew about the dream that had haunted her for as long as she could remember. While Ganaka had examined her, she had confided in her about the other six women in the same situation. In response to that revelation, details of her dream—mostly its haunting nature—had just streamed out of her.

It had been particularly vivid last night while she had it, but, as always, except for the line of children, the terrifying unintelligible whispering and a vague recollection of something blue, this morning no other details of the dream were accessible to her.

"Still there, still as out of reach as ever," she said. "And, yes, I am well aware of the irony of a psychiatrist studying the different cultural interpretations of hearing voices being unable to remember any words her own whispering voice tells her in her one constant dream."

Ganaka said, "It is only irony if she truly wants to know what she is being told."

"It could all be just mental garbage, unrelated stuff from my limited memories of childhood getting weaved together while I'm unconscious. It may not be trying to tell me anything."

"You are the expert, Dr. Garcia Lopez, but I would suspect a dream that is the only one you ever have might very well be trying to tell you something."

"I need to make a call." She walked over to the windows and called Tokyo.

"Dr. Garcia Lopez, how good to hear from you again."

"Thank you, Takeshi. It is good to talk to you again, too. It may be nothing, but I have a favor to ask of you."

He said, "Whatever you need done is done."

Once her call was complete, she returned to Saadhika and Haimi. She kept hold of her phone. "I promise you, I will find out why this has happened and I will get help for all of us."

"Can your uncle really help you, Juanita? He is nothing more than a retired pecan farmer."

Haimi said, "You swore you would never have anything more to do with him. What can he do for you?"

"Uncle Beltran cannot help me directly, that is true, but he knows more about my past than I do. That is where I hope to find the answers."

"How will your past help the rest of us?"

"Right now, I don't know. Like my dream, I remember little and I have no idea why."

"You told me you no longer wanted to know anything of your past."

"I don't want to be pregnant, either, but. . . ."

The announcement to board her flight played over the public address system.

Ganaka hugged her first. "I do not know where this journey will take you, my dear Juanita, but I will pray for you to find the answers you seek and the help we all need."

Haimi began weeping the instant she clung to her. "Be careful, Dr. Garcia Lopez, and hurry back."

She made her second call on the way to the gate and then turned off her cell.

A swarthy steward saw her to her business class cubicle and asked, "What can I get you to make your time with us more pleasurable?"

She looked up at his thin moustache and gleaming teeth and hesitated against her will. "Just some peace and quiet, please," she said.

"Very good, Dr. Garcia, and do have a pleasant trip."

The steward moved on to the Indian couple seated behind her and began his recital of beverages and services available to them in business class. He used each passenger's name but she did not catch them. They were soon joking and laughing amongst themselves in Indo-Aryan, but they were polite enough to keep their conversation at the level of a whisper as much as they could. The couple continued their quiet conversation as the Air India Boeing took off.

Their whispering lulled her into the whispering sleep she had endured her whole life. As vivid and yet fleeting as ever, she was once again standing at one end of a line shoulder to shoulder with other frightened children also in their bedclothes waiting for inspection. The children varied in age, but none was over twelve.

The source of all their fear stood at the other end of the line: a man, always middle-aged with a large, dark face covered with thick white, wavy hair to go with the white hair on his head. His eyebrows were always bushy, messy and black. He always started his inexorable march toward her from the other end of the line. The number of children fluctuated between a low of five and a high of thirteen.

In turn, he hollered his disgust and hatred at each child he stopped at. A loud bellow was all she could make out, though he hollered exactly the same abuse at each child until, finally, he stood in front of her.

She didn't look up, she never did. She trembled and wavered like a blade of grass swept back and forth by wind. Every time he leaned down to speak to her, her bladder failed. A warm splash ran down her legs onto her feet. As a child, this was the moment she would wet her bed.

Though she never dared to look up, she knew he was smiling at her as he leaned forward, his legs not bending the slightest bit as he did.

But he didn't berate her. He didn't scream in her face as he did with all the others. Instead, he whispered a sibilant phrase into her left ear. His lips brushed ever so slightly against her skin, his breath tickled and burned her ear.

Every night of her life as far back as she could remember, she had experienced exactly the same dream. Other than the ages and number of children, it never varied. Every method she had mastered to augment her memory had failed to bring any clarification to what this ogre whispered in her ear. Everything she'd studied about dreams and hearing voices had failed to bring her closer to any revelation. In every dream night after night, she knew as vividly as she was experiencing it that when she woke up, she would remember only her fear, his hissing whisper and a vague recollection of something blue that had yet to appear in it.

# Chapter 5

The steep red tile roof rising two-storeys at one corner of Nunez's U-shaped hacienda-style rancher, the only part of the house with two storeys, shimmered in the waves of the surprising ninety degree heat at this time of the year.

A curving driveway took him off the end of South Nizhoni Trail. He stopped where the drive split into two more curving sections. The one to his left returned to the road, the one to his right led to the semi-detached, three-vehicle garage. A walkway of colorful tiles, wood beams and pillars rising to another red clay roof ran from the garage to the house.

The outside portion of the house that he could see when he came around his van appeared to be in good repair. There were no roof tiles missing. There was no discoloration to the sand-colored stucco walls or chunks missing, no signs of water damage or insect infestation. Fire ants were becoming an increasing problem in the area, but Ralph saw no evidence of their presence.

He walked through the passage into the patio framed by the house. The open end of the patio led to a pool and looked out at the south side of the huge yard, about two acres for the whole property. The water in the pool was rippling in the hot easterly breeze and shimmered silvery white in the bright sunlight.

A slender, short and scowling Mexican woman waited at the open, honey-stained, arching door.

Before approaching her, Ralph took a quick look around the patio to check for anything in need of repair. It was supposed to be a big job.

The two-storey circular section acted as a hinge to turn the house ninety degrees from one wing running north to south to a wing running east to west. The third wing was set about thirty degrees at the end of the north-south wing near the driveway. It was the smallest section of the house, about two-thirds as long as the other two wings. This was a large, sprawling rancher. Houses this big and spread out were inefficient uses of space, but that wasn't why they were built.

The woman was becoming impatient with his delay. Did she see that as a lack of confidence in him?

Why would you think that in the first place, dumbass?

He walked briskly to the door. "Good morning, I'm Ralph Price."

"Señor Nunez Gutierrez is this way." Dark, stern eyes fixed their gaze on him as she took three steps back to let him enter the house. She then closed the door and took him toward the circular section.

Overhead, beams passed like a countdown to his arrival at the hinge.

The main floor of the circular section was Beltran Nunez's library. Nunez was standing with his back to them at the curving glass doors that would take him out to the patio.

"Mr. Price to see you." The woman's burnished skin on her taut face and arms was smooth and youthful though she had to be in her fifties. The silvery highlights in her black hair betrayed any attempt—though she didn't likely try—to hide her true age.

She left the way they came.

Nunez came to him with his hand out. "Mr. Price, shall we proceed?"

The tour was quick. Just over six feet tall and obviously a strong man in his youth, life had caught up to him. He still walked with a long stride, but there was some unsteadiness to his movements. Nunez did, however, know exactly what he wanted done.

"The kitchen is in good condition, but it needs renovating to modernize it. I want to retain its inviting Mexican nature, though." He pointed out a heavy table as they passed through the dining room. "Handcrafted in Spain over three hundred years ago; unfortunately, the chairs did not survive."

At the end of the inspection, Ralph went through his notes. "The hand-painted tiles could be a problem, but I know someone who can do excellent replicas."

"Do not concern yourself about such things, Mr. Price. I can easily get authentic products once you let me know what you need."

Nunez then took them back to the dining room and the huge antique table.

The woman came in with lemonade as soon as they were seated, set the tray down and exited.

Nunez said, "Do not pay attention to Lola's manners, Mr. Price. Lola is of Rarámuri descent. Rarámuri means runner on foot. Her people are famous for their endurance. What she lacks in social graces, she makes up for in strength and stamina." He poured each of them a glass of lemonade. "How old would you say she was?"

"I don't want to offend anyone."

"Honesty should not offend anyone, Mr. Price."

Yeah, pull the other one. "Forty-two, maybe forty-five, a youthful forty-two or forty-five, though."

"She is fifty-one and I would wager she is as strong as any three men you could bring to work for you." He pushed the glass of lemonade over to him. "Now, down to business. What do you think?"

"You are right, Senor Nunez, it is a big job, but quite doable. The most complex part will be the renovation to your kitchen. The two bedrooms and the guest suite are mostly just cosmetic changes, plus that addition. We can handle all of it. I can get two more workers if necessary, but Isidora and Menno can get started right away, tomorrow if you wish."

"How long will it take you to calculate your estimate?"

"I can have it for you by tomorrow morning."

"If it is satisfactory, you can begin work the day after. Tell me more about your crew, Mr. Price. What is Isidora Ramos Olivarez like? Describe her personality to me, please."

"As I told you when we talked earlier, she is very intelligent. She is dedicated to her work, a bit of a perfectionist, I'd say." And she would be furious with him for talking about her. "She is a very private person and can come across as a bit aloof and curt while on the job, but that is because she doesn't like to be interrupted in the middle of her work. We usually leave her to do it her way. It's just easier."

Nunez smiled. "Good, a woman who knows her mind and how to stand her ground. I like that, Mr. Price. I also like very much that one of my mestizo heritage will be part of your crew. She is a true Mexican, is she not?"

"Right down to her fiery temper, yes she is."

Nunez sipped some lemonade before setting the glass aside and leaning across the table. "Now tell me about Menno Alfieri. He has been in prison for killing two men in Albuquerque."

"He was defending his little sister from a rape initiation into a gang. He served the mandatory three year minimum for two counts of manslaughter. He was a model prisoner. He has been an excellent employee with me for three years."

"He has had some minor run-ins with the police since his release."

"He has had no trouble for the past two years. Will this be a problem for you, Mr. Nunez? I can assure you Menno is an honest man. If you do not wish to have him on your property then I must turn down your offer."

Nunez sat back. "Good, good, Mr. Price. I admire that level of loyalty. I have worked with men such as Menno Alfieri in the past. Everyone deserves a second chance, as they say. He will not be a problem for me." He offered his hand. "How long do you think it will take?"

"Unless we find some nasty surprises, and assuming we can get things like the tiles on time, I would estimate between two and three months. The kitchen is complex, but the guest suite will likely take the longest time because of the extension you want added."

"I do not want any corners cut or shoddy workmanship to get the job done."

"We guarantee all our work."

"I am sure you do, Mr. Price. I will expect your call tomorrow. We will proceed from there."

Nunez went back to sipping his lemonade. Lola appeared in the dining room to escort him out.

He called Isidora as soon as he was back in his van and gave her the details. "It is a big job, three to four months."

"I can't see that. It's too big."

"I'll bring in Kent and Julio if you think we need them. I can subcontract some of the work."

"This is the last for me, Ralph. I mean that. If we're not finished before spring, I walk."

"Why do you have to be so fractious?"

"Because I'm me and because you always underestimate how long we'll need. Then we end up scrambling when the deadline suddenly—"

"We've always finished on time. We've always done good work."

"But this time I will be leaving by spring whether or not. I mean it, Ralph."

"If we're not finished by spring, someone else will be finishing it for us. Nunez wouldn't tolerate us taking that long. We'll talk about it at dinner."

"You get busy with the estimate. I want to see what you come up with. I'll call Menno. And fractious is only a one-star word."

# Chapter 6

After Price left, he remained in his library and waited for Lola Mendoza Soto to bring him his coffee.

Lola brought in the tray and set it down on his desk. After handing him the cup, she lowered herself to her knees and unzipped his pants.

He pushed her back as he took his first sip. The phone on his desk started ringing.

Still on her knees, her hand resting on his stiffening cock, Lola answered with her usual perfunctory indifference, listened for a few seconds, then handed over the receiver. "It is you brother, Fidel Garcia Padilla."

Lola took every opportunity to remind him that he was the brother who had changed his name, just another of the many acts of cowardice on his part to bring shame and dishonor to his family. She gave his cock a firm squeeze before standing up and stepping away.

"Fidel, how are you?" He adjusted himself and zipped up his pants.

"The west compound has been attacked. The women are gone. Hector and his guests are all dead."

He drank the remainder of the coffee. "Who did it?"

"We found two Europeans and two Chinese nationals as well as the mayor and his aide. There were supposed to be three from Hong Kong. The wall was breached by rockets. The helo is gone."

"What were they doing there?"

"We were exploring new opportunities. General Alonzo Palido and a squad of his men were also visiting."

"You do not need to expand. You need to keep a low profile as we agreed."

"You must make the call, Bernardo. He needs to hear about this from you."

"I am no longer—"

"We have left you alone all these years. Your only son is dead. You cannot stay out of this anymore. You must call him. It is your duty."

He looked to Lola, but she just maintained her implacably hostile silence toward him as she set his empty cup back on the tray.

She did not leave the library, however. Instead, she pushed the speaker button on the phone so she could listen to both sides of the conversation. Lola was living proof they had not left him alone at all.

Fidel said, "You should have known this day would come if we lived long enough."

"We have lived far too long, my brother. We are unnatural things and we have done far too much evil in our lives. Hernando was the lucky one, not you and I."

"Your son has been killed and your response is to start your cowardly whining again. You have not spent the past thirty years being hunted by everyone. You have not had to hide in caves like a wild dog."

"I am both a fugitive and a prisoner here, too, Fidel. We have been disfigured. I have outlived my son."

"Fulfill your obligation, Bernardo, if you hope for any peace in the afterlife. They found this one. They could find the others. You must do your part now. You must make the call." He hung up.

"This is madness."

"It must be done."

"If I go through with it, your daughter could suffer."

"She will surely suffer if you do not do as you are told. We will all suffer. He will not be disobeyed. You of all people should know that better than anyone else. Look at what he has made you and your brothers do since La Revolución?"

"We have a good life here, Lola. Your daughter could come live with us."

"That is forbidden and would only make it worse. You cannot delay. We are running out of time."

"What has it all been for? What have we accomplished? Why must we continue?"

She picked up the tray, made a show of looking down at her erect nipples pressing against her white blouse and then left.

Held at bay for a hundred years, time was finally catching up to him. His strength was finally waning. The nightmares were growing stronger and more frequent. They were now intruding into his waking hours.

The phone on his desk began ringing again, but he wouldn't answer it. It stopped after the fourth ring.

Lola stepped into the library. "It's her," she said and stepped right back out.

"I need your help," Juanita said.

"What's wrong?"

"I'm pregnant and I shouldn't be. I'm on my way to Tokyo. I will be there in two days."

As he hung up the phone, the voices began, screaming in pain and begging for mercy. In amongst those tormented calls, he was sure he had heard Lola on the other side of the library door cry out in rage and despair.

Beltran Nunez Gutierrez began shaking, fell to the floor, curled into a ball, covered his ears with his hands and screamed back at them to stop. He knew it would do him no good.

# Chapter 7

Bernardo Garcia Padilla was twenty-two years old in 1910. He, his brothers, Fidel, 20, and Hernando, 17, had been part of La Cucaracha's gang for two years, but they had frequently gone on their own sojourns to raid villages and haciendas. That was what they and the four men with them were doing that September night under a full moon when they first met him.

Bernardo, the tallest of them at 6'2", entered the house with both of his Colt 45 revolvers drawn. Being ambidextrous, he was an equally good shot with either hand.

Hacendado Raul Montes Huerta stood in his living room with his arm around his wife. His daughter, his oldest child, and his two sons huddled around their parents.

Fausto and Gualtario guarded them. Fidel, Paco and Ignacio were searching through the barns and sheds for the piles of gold their informer in San Andrés had told them was hidden here.

He did not know where Hernando had gone, but the cries and screaming and sound of his shotgun being fired heralded his youngest brother's approach from the back of the house.

Fidel, Paco and Ignacio came in through the front mere seconds before Hernando entered the living room from the dining room.

A head shorter than him and twenty pounds lighter but with a strong sinewy build, Hernando spit on the carpet. "Nothing."

Fidel, four inches shorter than him but twenty pounds heavier, just shook his head.

"Señor Montes Huerta, where is it?"

Montes Huerta put his other arm around his daughter. "Where is what?"

Hernando took two shells out of the belt across his chest and reloaded his double-barrelled, sawed-off shotgun. He then aimed it at Montes Huerta.

"No, brother, we must give our host a chance to be forthcoming. It will save us time."

Hernando shifted his aim to the daughter. "What is your name carina?"

The girl clung more tightly to her father.

Hernando stepped closer and stretched out his arm to aim the shotgun at her heart.

Montes Huerta said, "Her name is Esperanza."

Hernando lowered the shotgun, stepped closer and caressed her long black hair. "She is beautiful. But I do not see you or your wife in her features. How old is she?"

"Fifteen," she replied. Despite cowering close to her father, her voice was defiant.

"Beautiful and primed for marriage; she is a blessing for you and your lovely wife."

"Rosalyn," he said.

"An excellent opportunity to forge alliances with other rich hacendados; she would be a treasure for any man, not matter how old he is."

Fidel said, "We do not have time for this. The rurales are still after us."

He said to Fidel, "Keep looking. Go through the house." He walked over to Montes Huerta and pulled Esperanza away from his embrace. "Take her with you."

He handed her over to Paco and Ignacio. The two men laughed and congratulated each other as they dragged Esperanza up the stairs.

"You must excuse them, Señor. They have not been with a woman for over a month. It's the rurales, you understand. They won't give us one moment of peace." He pointed with his Colts. "Who are these two strong young men with you?"

Rosalyn responded this time, "Charro turned fourteen last week. Cirilo is eleven.'

"A lovely family." He nodded for Hernando to step closer to Montes Huerta. "Where is the gold?"

"I have no gold but what you have already taken."

Hernando struck the hacendado on the shoulder with the shotgun. The patriarch kept looking at Bernardo as he dropped to his knees.

Charro, Cirilo and Rosalyn helped Montez Huerta get up.

"There is no more gold. I swear to God."

Hernando spun on his heels and shot Rosalyn in the chest with both barrels.

Charro and Cirilo went to the floor with her, crying and wailing as they held her. Cirilo tried to wipe as much of the blood off her frozen, staring face as he could.

Hernando quickly reloaded the shotgun and pointed it at the two boys.

Upstairs, Esperanza screamed.

"Do you know a man named Emilio Gomez Rojas, Señor? He used to work for you."

Hernando stepped between Montes Huerta and his two sons.

His voice shaking, he said, "He was my capatas at one time."

"He does not like you very much."

"I caught him stealing. I had him beaten and tossed away. He was lucky he did not end up in jail." Enough anger was running through Montes Huerta to bring some firmness back to his voice.

"That is what he told us. But he also told us you are good friends with President Jose de la Cruz Porfirio Diaz Mori, who, aside from stealing the last election, has also stolen gold from this country. He has rewarded you with this hacienda for keeping it safe for him should the time come when he needs to quickly leave the country, which I fear will be soon for him."

Charro, showing more courage than his father, rose from Rosalyn and came closer to Bernardo. "There is no gold here but for what my father has earned. If he tells you the president's gold is not here, then it is not here. My father does not lie."

Esperanza screamed again directly above them.

"Is that her bedroom, Señor, or yours?"

Charro ran for him.

Bernardo shot him between the eyes using the gun in his left hand.

Hernando shot Cirilo.

Charro fell back onto Rosalyn, but the double-barrel blast from Hernando's shotgun propelled Cirilo to land at his father's feet.

Esperanza screamed again before something heavy fell to the floor.

"If there is no gold, Señor, then there is only your daughter for our taking."

He and Hernando shot Raul Montes Huerta. His shot from the gun in his right hand went through Montes Huerta's heart. Hernando's shotgun blast took off his face.

Fidel and Ignacio brought a man into the living room at gunpoint.

Fidel said, "We've been lied to. This is Zacharias Montes Rocha. He is Montes Huerta's son from his first wife. We found him hiding in a closet in his father's bedroom. Rosalyn was not Montes Huerta's wife. She was niñera to his sons from his second wife. She died a year ago. His third wife, Poloma, is barely older than Esperanza. She is pregnant and upstairs under the care of Dr. Renato Esparza Escobar. We left Paco to guard them."

Fidel led Hernando, Zacharias and him up to the master bedroom. A frail, slender teenage woman with red hair and fair skin lay on the huge bed. Her nightclothes were pulled to expose her swollen belly.

Esperanza was wiping Poloma's face with a wet cloth when they entered.

Across the bed from Esperanza, Dr. Renato Esparza Escobar was holding Poloma's left hand and listening to her heart with his head on her chest.

Hernando chuckled. "At seventy-two, that bastard could still produce a child. That is a miracle, my brothers."

Dr. Esparza Escobar rose from his chair and came around the bed to the three brothers. "I played some role in that miracle." Almost as tall as Bernardo, light-brown almost red wispy hair combed back to accentuate its recession from his large forehead; strong, wide shoulders and a good posture for a man who had to be in his early fifties; prominent cheekbones, brown eyes, a straight nose; Dr. Renato Esparza Escobar features did not resembled true mestizo blood in any way.

"Did you put it into her for him, or does that baby really belong to you? That would be only a slightly smaller miracle."

"Kill them all," Bernardo said. "There is no gold here."

Esparza Escobar exhibited no fear of them in his posture or his voice when he said, "I would advise against killing me, Señor Garcia Padilla."

Bernardo aimed the Colt he held in his right hand at the doctor's heart and pressed it to his chest. He aimed the Colt in his left hand at Poloma.

"La Cucaracha would be very unhappy with you if any of us in this room are killed. As it is, you and your men are going to have to do penance for killing Señor Montes Huerta and his sons, not to mention Rosalyn."

Hernando growled, "Kill this fucking rooster now and let's go."

Esparza Escobar said, "No one here must be harmed, particularly those two lovely young women. I have prepared both of them. I have had to keep a close watch on Poloma to get her this far with her pregnancy. They are, at least in part, the future of Mexico. Pancho Villa knows this, Bernardo. That is why he sent his cousin, Rosalyn, here to look after them. It was a request from Señor Abraham González. I am sure, Bernardo, you know who he is."

The sound of horses galloping toward the house stopped him from pulling either trigger.

Fidel looked out the window. "It's Mendoza Sola and his men."

"Ernesto Mendoza Sola is here to provide escort to San Andrés for the man you have just killed. He was to be part of the revolution against the illegal president." He held out his hands and backed up to the bed. "Yes, gentlemen, Pancho Villa and Raul Montes Huerta were allies."

Mendoza Sola began hollering curses the moment he entered the house. He stomped around the main floor taking an inventory of the murdered Montes Huerta family and their servants. He then started up the stairs. His spurs jingled with every stomping footstep. Ernesto Mendoza Sola and one of his men entered the bedroom with their guns drawn.

"You butchers," he hollered. "Why did you do this?"

Hernando stepped forward, raised his shotgun and fired at Mendoza Sola.

Bernardo shot the other man four times, twice from each Colt, as Hernando, Fidel and Paco raced out of the bedroom. A series of shots from those three, plus shots from Ignacio, Fausto and Gualtario, killed Mendoza Sola's other men.

Zacharias checked Mendoza Sola. "Los Tres Carniceros.".

Esparza Escobar blocked his path to Zacharias. "Go. I will tell La Cucaracha a story that will assuage his anger with you. But you must leave Zacharias alive to take his father's place at the meeting. Bernardo, I know you understand better than your brothers what is at stake here. The revolution is coming. Señors Villa, Madero and Gonzalez will not want what you have done here to interfere with their plans. They will be open to persuasion, but you must leave it to me to handle it my way. Go! Now!"

He holstered his Colts, gathered up his brothers and his men and galloped away from the hacienda. They would be known as Los Tres Carniceros for this night. That legend would serve them well for what was ahead. But as they made their way toward the mountains, Bernardo Garcia Padilla rode with the conviction infusing him that they had just fallen into a deal with Satan in the form of Dr. Renato Esparza Escobar.

# Chapter 8

By whatever name he called himself, Beltran Nunez Gutierrez was a licentious degenerate who had become soft and overloaded with useless guilt during his thirty years in Mesilla. His physical decline now matched the disintegration of his character.

Lola Mendoza Soto grumbled to herself as she cleaned the kitchen counters. Because her boss' decline dominated his life it dominated hers. There was no escape from his morbid preoccupation.

He had indulged himself with a constant parade of women coming through his bedroom to satisfy his satyriasis. It seemed to be the only vestige of virility he had left in him now. He was given such a precious gift and he still found ways to waste what was left of it.

Nunez entered the kitchen. "I will be out for quite a while, Lola."

"Fidel wants you to stay in the house for now."

"We only have a few days left and there is much I have to do. Fidel will understand."

"I heard you talking a few minutes ago. Did you make the call?"

"Do not presume to be my keeper."

But she was his keeper. Fidel had sworn her to that duty, but so had someone else. "I am only expressing my concern for you. I can see the distress that whatever Fidel said to you is causing you."

"And I am sure you know exactly what that is. Do not be conceited enough to believe I don't know you listen in on my calls every chance you get." He turned his back to her. "I do not know when I will return."

She tossed the coffee cup Ralph Price had used at the door. It shattered but didn't make as much noise as she had hoped.

Hiring Price was a waste of time and money. He could neither renew himself or this mausoleum to a different existence in Mexico.

Telling her he knew she listened in on his telephone calls had been a taunt. Both the phone in his library, where he spent most of his days now, and his cell phone could be scrambled with a push of a button. All she ever heard was garbled voices amid the static or just a dial tone.

Listening at the door was more successful, though she only heard his side of the conversation, which was mostly about his other selfish obsession: his regrets and his fears. There was nothing specific, but it was clear that was what he was talking about. It was also a recurring theme while he was in the chapel praying for guidance on how to achieve atonement. He had already betrayed one mission, though she had been unable to prove it to the others.

Lola took off her apron and watched through the kitchen window as Nunez Gutierrez backed his silver Mercedes SUV out of the garage and drove away. She could not see which way he went once he reached the end of this section of South Nizhoni Trail.

She didn't own an automobile. She didn't need one. Nunez owned a red Ford F-150 and kept a Ford Transit panel van at his home, one of four he used on his pecan farm. She took the F-150 and drove toward the western outskirts of Mesilla.

It would be best to complete her task quickly.

At a small pecan farm nestled between ones ten times bigger, she turned onto the driveway and drove straight to the two-storey house set back 300 feet from the road.

Wayne Manning, 38, was returning from the closest of three barns as she brought the F-150 to a stop.

"Hello, Lola," he said. "You are just in time for some ice tea."

Ginny Manning, eight months pregnant with the daughter they wanted, appeared at the front door and waved. She kissed Lola's cheek before stepping back to let her enter the house. Ginny then led them to the kitchen nook table.

She sat on the chair facing the kitchen and asked, "Where is Darren?"

Ginny said, "He played himself out this morning chasing the goats. He's asleep in his room. I don't think he will get up before supper."

Sitting perfectly still, Lola waited for Ginny and Wayne to get out the pitcher of ice tea and the glasses. She waited for Wayne to set the glasses down and for Ginny to pour out the ice tea. She then took out her Beretta M9 equipped with a silencer and put two 9mm bullets into each of them.

Darren, four years old, was still in his clothes. Folded and bent like a doll carelessly tossed away, he slept soundly with drool and snot coming out of him. His blond hair was a tangled mess.

Lola shot him once in the head, distributed the thermite throughout the house, left the Beretta on the kitchen counter, set the house on fire, returned to the F-150 and headed for Mesilla. She watched through the rear view mirror the black smoke billow up into the pale-blue sky and the flames explode through the windows before she took the F-150 onto Calle Del Norte.

She stayed on Calle Del Norte through Mesilla to Avenida de Mesilla. She drove north to Lakeside Drive, turned left into a nice suburban neighborhood with stupid names for its streets.

"I should also kill whoever named them."

She drove along Good Times Drive to Happy Trails Drive and a new home on her right just past an intersection at a road with no stupid name assigned to it yet. A stone fence eight feet high surrounded the one-acre property.

She stopped the truck at the wrought-iron gates and called the number on her phone. "It's done. I'm at the gate."

"Where is he?"

"He wouldn't tell me, but I imagine he is doing what he is supposed. Fidel called him. Hector is dead. His compound was attacked."

"I know."

An electric buzz followed by three beeps preceded the opening of the gates.

Inside the gate was an oasis with patches of lush grass, desert plants, palm trees, fruit trees—no pecan trees—three fountains and a glimpse of the huge pool extending from the back patio. She parked the truck near the front door.

The door to the sprawling rancher, much larger than Nunez's old tomb, was open. She entered and went straight to the master bedroom at the back.

El Jefe, Dante Santiago Martinez, always met with her in his master bedroom. As always, he wore a dark-blue satin robe when she came in. El Jefe was in his late twenties. He was the exact opposite of her employer. Whereas Beltran Nunez Gutierrez clung to his slipping virility with vain, desperate sex and all-consuming guilt, Dante Santiago Martinez was the purest, most exalted embodiment of it.

Upon seeing him again, Lola felt that stirring go through her as it always did. If she asked him this time, would he consent or just send her on her way? He had been capricious with her the last few times, pleasing her one time, leaving her empty and mad with frustration the next.

"He is losing his nerve, jefe." English was the required language between them.

He brought over the martinis, a hopeful entreaty. "I know I can depend on you."

They drank the martinis in one take. He insisted on that.

Her body trembled when he took the glass from her, carefully caressing the back of her hand as he did; another encouraging sign.

"I have talked to the doctor. He has not heard from your employer for some time and he is not pleased. He will be here soon."

"Beltran will call him. He must."

"For all our sakes, mi flora radiante, he better." He returned to the table and put the glasses down.

"He prays as much as he can now when he isn't fornicating. He talks to himself all the time. It is conversational. And he talks to someone on the phone but I have been unable to find out who it is."

He came to her and kissed her.

She almost screamed.

"It is important to make sure those others are also eliminated. The doctor has taken the necessary steps. And you, my dear, will see to it that your employer fulfills his obligations."

"Juanita is coming back. She will be here the day after tomorrow."

That smooth, confident, handsome face, those clear, beckoning dark eyes, gave no indication of anger. His nostrils flared only slightly. His lips tightened the minutest amount.

She wanted those lips on her right now.

"It is a good thing I have you to watch over them. You will see that nothing interferes with the doctor's plans. Pick your moment, Lola. I will take care of everything else."

He stepped back and smiled. "Must you leave right away?"

"I can stay."

He undid the belt on the robe and let it drop from his perfect body. "Come, mi flora radiante, tell me about what you did and how you did it."

He wasn't attracted to her. She still had a good, dark, strong, tight body, but she didn't appeal to him. That he knew how beautiful he was and how she couldn't resist him—another mystery she didn't care to understand—was all that mattered. He was just making a gift of himself to her and she would accept it every chance she got.

She dropped to her knees and pulled her blouse over her head. "They offered me ice tea. They had no idea what was coming."

# Chapter 9

Beltran Nunez Gutierrez waved over his head as if swatting away flies then had to straighten the Mercedes when it veered to the right before it collided with the chain link gate that was sliding open in front of it. He wiped perspiration from his brow and drove straight to the warehouse, a huge, single-floor box with a flat roof. Inside, it was partitioned into three sections.

Something cool and hard pressed against his neck a moment after he got out of the SUV.

"Don't do anything stupid, old man," the one holding the gun to his neck said.

Two other men, gringo punks, came around from behind him. One held an old .38 Special that might not actually work. The other one held a machete.

The leader took the gun away from his neck and nudged him. "Let's see what you got."

The one with the machete said, "We've been watching you. There's more in there than just pecans."

The good ones kept their mouths shut. The ones on something or suffering because they weren't, were the yappy, volatile ones.

He took the trio to the main door of the center and largest section of the warehouse and unlocked it. The one with the machete, the one suffering the most pain, opened the door and barged past him to get inside. The two with guns followed him in and flanked him after the leader closed and locked the door.

"Is your friend all right? He appears to need medical attention."

The leader prodded his ribs with the gun. "Just don't upset him. Where's the light switch?"

Impatient with what he perceived to be an unacceptably slow response, the machete man came back to them and brandished the machete in Nunez's face.

The leader pushed him away. "The lights, where are they?"

"Don't faint, gentlemen." He stepped back to the door and flipped three switches.

The machete man blinked rapidly and then began waving his weapon in the air, swiping at imaginary enemies. "Fuck me! We have scored the mother lode."

The machete man began to dance around, whistling and hooting and still slashing at nothing. His gyrations soon became a display of his mediocre skills with the machete, as if performing some required routine to achieve a higher ranking from his invisible masters.

"Man," he shouted and stopped dancing. The moment he did, he began trembling and had to hug himself. "This is, no shit, the end of it all, man. Do you know what we could do with all this shit, man?"

The man with the suspect .38 Special said, "I told you it wasn't just fucking pecans in here."

It wasn't just fucking pecans. Scientific equipment not one of these three would know anything about was stored to their right near the partition wall, the side that didn't have the two big doors for vehicles.

What caught their attention once they quit gawking at their treasure and could focus properly were the armored BMW sedans, the two camouflaged APCs, the two Jeeps with .50 caliber machineguns at the back and all the guns. One set of three metal shelves held assault rifles of every make and model. Beside that unit, a locked, reinforced metal cabinet with bullet-proof glass doors contained submachine guns and semi-automatic handguns. Unlike the .38 Special, there was no doubt as to whether or not any of these weapons would fire.

The explosives were hidden in a vault below the warehouse's concrete floor. These gringo idiots had no chance of finding it.

"Who the hell are you, old man?"

He didn't answer the man with the machete. He needed to draw the weakest one in closer.

"Hey, motherfucker, I asked you a question."

Nunez still refused to answer him.

The leader shouted, "Cool down, shithead. We got more here than we can handle."

"That is certain," Nunez said.

"What the fuck do you mean by that?" The man with the machete came toward him.

The man with the .38 Special intercepted him. "See if you can get one of the Bimmers started. Look for some keys."

"Hey, man, no way. I want one of those killer Jeeps."

"You fucking idiot, we can't take one of those. What do you think the cops will do when they sees us driving down the street in it? They will open fire on us."

"Not if I get them first." He swung the machete at his partner.

The leader said, "Shut-up, both of you. We take what we can and come back for the rest."

"I want it all, man."

"Your friend is crazy," Nunez said. "Does he really believe he can take enough ordnance to equip a squad of soldiers? None of you is man enough for anything in here."

"What do we do with grandpa?"

The leader said, "He's done."

"Now you're talking." Raising the machete over his head, the man came for Nunez. "Sorry, old man, but you've outlived your—"

Nunez struck the man with a punch to the throat as he grabbed the hand holding the machete. A quick hammer strike to the forearm and a kick to the stomach gave him the machete and sent the man to the floor choking and gagging.

The leader had the quickest reflexes, but none of these men knew anything better than punk tactics. He was bringing up the gun while the slowest member of the two that were left was only just registering one of his own going down.

Turning like a discus thrower, Nunez threw the machete along a spinning, horizontal plane through the air. The leader tried to duck, but that just put the top of his head in the way. The spinning machete imbedded itself into his skull.

Nunez sprinted past the gagging man to the slowest one, grabbed his gun hand just as he was regaining his wits, took hold of the arm above the elbow, kicked at the man's ankles and flipped him to the floor. Once down on his back, Nunez hammered his head against the concrete until he quit grunting. A pool of brains and blood trickled away under him.

The frenetic one of the trio was still gagging as he slowly choked to death. His mouth was gaping like a landed fish but he was getting no air.

Nunez put his foot on the man's throat and pressed down. He unzipped his pants, took out his cock and pissed into the man's gaping mouth before stepping down hard to completely crush his larynx. He pissed on the other two bodies as well, hollering out his triumph as he did. After zipping up, he took a knife from the ready supply and cut off their ears.

The indistinct chattering that suddenly started stopped him from cutting out their tongues and then taking off their heads with the machete.

He tossed the knife away, covered his ears and staggered back from the leader. "Enough! Damn you! That's enough!"

Crying against the wailing he heard, he stumbled his way over to the man who had wielded the machete and stomped on his face until there was only pulp left where there had once been a head.

"Stop! Please! Stop! I know! I know! Stop! Just stop!"

Brought to his knees, Nunez opened his mouth to scream. The internal cacophony stopped the moment he did.

Air filled his lungs in gasping pulses that made his chest ache. The lights above sparkled when he looked up but quickly went dark at the edges of his vision. Everything began to vanish into a white haze that soon turned the color of a bruise.

Blood and tissue oozing from the pulverized head had reached his knees.

The hidden section below the warehouse also contained a cold storage locker. The three dead bodies, minus their ears and testicles, were the only things hanging on the dangling hooks when he was finished. They could stay there until he came back to dispose of them properly. A hosing washed the blood and tissue down the center section's main drain. Then he just sat in one of the Jeeps and let the numbness infuse him until, even with his eyes still open, he saw nothing. He heard nothing, he felt nothing. When he tried to wriggle them, his fingers would not respond. There was nothing to do but let this unique catalepsy run its course through him.

He had no idea how much time passed before he made his call. The number wasn't saved on his phone. He was not allowed to do that—no one was. Though it had been years since he'd called it, and despite all the other treasures of life that were deserting him, he had no trouble remembering it.

The doctor answered with, "the Dia de los Muertos is only a few days away. Is everything ready?"

"We should not do this."

"I have heard disturbing rumors about you losing your nerve. Tell me, Beltran, are you considering turning yourself in? Where would you go to do that? If you returned to Mexico, you would not live to see a prison. If you turned yourself in here, we would still find you. The whole world is aware of us now, but you live in the country that has taken the lead in trying to stop us. It has taken a very long time to get to this point in our plan. Our wait is almost over. Beltran, I must know if you are still with me."

He covered his other ear with this hand. "I am still with you. I just need to retrieve them from the safety deposit boxes."

# Chapter 10

The hacienda had remained in the hands of Zacharias Montes Rocha and Dr. Renato Esparza Escobar after the death of Raul Montes Huerta and his other two sons. Esparza Escobar had managed to assuage La Cucaracha's anger at them, but the penance they had paid during the past five years was to carry the communiqués back and forth between Pancho Villa and the Montes Rocha hacienda. He, Fidel, Hernando and their twelve men had come to the hacienda this time to get an update on the negotiations with the Germans.

Villa had promised them, "The twenty-seventh of November, nineteen fifteen will be the end of your penance."

"If we are ordered to do this again," Hernando grumbled when they arrived at the hacienda, "I will kill them all."

"If we kill them all tonight," Fidel said, "there will be no one left to order us to do anything."

Zacharias Montes Rocha and Dr. Esparza Escobar met them at the front door.

Montes Rocha said, "Your men will remain outside. You will leave all weapons outside." He left them on the porch to obey his commands and returned to the house.

He said, "We are to be allowed inside this time?"

Esparza Escobar said, "I'm afraid our negotiations are at a delicate stage, my friends. Any appearance of threat could cause irreparable damage to them. I must insist that you comply with Señor Montes Rocha's demands."

Fidel and Hernando only complied after he nodded for them to.

"Wonderful." Esparza brought them into the house and stopped them in the entrance hall. "We can dispense with addressing me with the proper Mexican form of family names. The Germans do not do it and I see no reason for us to continue. After all, you have undoubtedly surmised that I am not of authentic Mexican heritage. From this night forward I will address you only as Garcia and you may do the same with me as only Esparza. Is that understood?"

Fidel spit on the tile floor. "We don't care what you call yourself or what you call us."

He said, "It is understood, Dr. Esparza."

"Good. With that out of the way, tell me, Bernardo," he said as he led them into the room where they had killed Raul Montes Huerta, his two sons and their nanny, "how is La Cucaracha doing? He has suffered great losses since tangling with General Obregón in Celaya and then again at the Battle of Trinidad. Even to anyone unfamiliar with military strategy, he appears to have failed to learn from his blunders."

"Do you really want to know?"

"Perhaps we should leave your answer for a more private moment between us."

Zacharias Montes Rocha was standing with a tall, blond man near a large sofa, placed on the spot where Raul Montes Huerta had been gunned down.

"Let me introduce you to Gustav Koenig. He is here representing Señors Karl Bay-Ed and Reinhardt Adler." Esparza brought the three brothers over to Koenig. "I was just telling Gustav that Señor Adler and I are good friends. We had a number of very pleasant meetings before that unfortunate skirmish in Europe began."

"We know who you are," Bernardo said. "We expected someone much older."

Esparza said, "Gustav is a rising star, my friend. He is only thirty-three and already is in command of Germany's diplomatic initiatives here in Mexico, indeed, in all of Central and South America. Germany's future influence in this hemisphere depends entirely on his efforts."

Koenig shook hands with the brothers. "What is the news from Señor Villa? How is he keeping?"

Bernardo handed the sealed envelope to Esparza. He and his brothers still did not acknowledge Montes Rocha. For his part, the Garcia Padilla brothers were invisible.

As Esparza read Villa's correspondence, Montes Rocha left the room. He returned a few seconds later with two other Germans, each one carrying a brand new Mauser Gewehr 98 rifle and wearing a holster holding a Mauser C96 semi-automatic pistol.

Once he had finished reading Villa's missive, he handed it to Koenig.

Koenig began shaking his head. "This is not possible. I have already told him that."

Esperanza and Poloma entered the living room with three children in tow, all girls, all toddlers. Poloma went to Zacharias and embraced him. Esperanza huddled the children close to her as she glared at the three brothers.

Hernando whispered to Bernardo, "What is this? Did we do the son a favor by killing the father?"

Bernardo said to Esparza, "What does he want?"

"Guns." Esparza shook his head, which seemed more like a rebuke toward Koenig than disappointment at being unable to resupply La Cucaracha. "It is not going as well as hoped in Europe, I'm afraid. The war has bogged down. There is little chance of brand new Mauser rifles being delivered to your defeated leader."

Hernando said, "Why are we talking to them? They have aligned themselves with our enemies, first Huerta and now Carranza."

Koenig's two men started to aim their rifles, but Zacharias signalled them to stop. Neither Poloma nor Esperanza was happy about that.

Koenig bowed to the brothers and then Dr. Esparza. "In the early days of your revolution, we relied on propaganda and false promises. With humility, I must confess to you that we were misled and manipulated; however, for now, we must continue to endure and try to make amends as soon as possible."

"Idiots and betrayers."

Esparza said, "We haven't failed entirely. Señor Koenig was able to procure one shipment of three hundred new Mauser rifles and one hundred and fifty pistols."

"That is not enough," Fidel said. "We need thousands."

Again, Esparza seemed more intent on castigating Koenig for his failure than providing the information he had for them. "That is a very small amount, we all know that, but as of right now, the Villistas are a very small army, are they not? But I do have some encouraging news. The Japanese have provided another six hundred Arisaba rifles that perform very much the way the Mausers do"

"That is still only nine hundred rifles."

"Reliable sources have informed Gustav of an ample supply of weapons and military equipment in Columbus, New Mexico. If Villa is properly prepared and quick enough, he could replenish his supplies and return as a significant force in el Revelucion once more."

Fidel said, "What good would they do us? The cartridges we purchased from the Americans were faulty."

Montes Rocha laughed. "It was more a case of faulty leadership than ammunition that led to your defeats."

Hernando charged, but the two Germans aimed their rifles at him and placed themselves as shields in front of Montes Rocha and his wife.

"Calm yourself, Hernando." Esparza walked over to the three little girls. He stroked each one's hair. "Do not make us regret inviting you in." He then stroked Esperanza's cheek. "Perhaps, my dear, you and Poloma could check on the dinner preparations."

Poloma kissed Montes Rocha's cheek before she and Esperanza took the three girls through the dining room to the kitchen. Esperanza scowled at the brothers again before stepping through the doorway.

"If you will excuse us for a while, Gustav, I have some minor local matters to discuss with my other guests. We will be as quick as we can." He headed for the entrance hall. "This way, gentlemen, if you please."

Esparza led them up the stairs from the front hall and then to a huge corner room at the back of the house. It was empty but for a bed covered in white linen stained with blood, and a rack against one interior wall holding riding crops and whips.

Bernardo said, "What are these local matters you must discuss with us? If they concern Villa, he should be told."

Esparza walked over to Hernando at the window. "You are not behaving as a proper guest should, my boy."

Hernando grabbed Esparza by the lapels of his jacket. "Who fathered those other two children? Did Zacharias father them? Has he had both women?"

Bernardo said, "Let him go."

Fidel said, "No, brother, let him find out what he wants to know."

Esparza's smile hadn't diminished a bit. "Do I sense feelings for Esperanza in you?"

"Just tell me who their father is."

"The oldest is Inez Montes Huerta. She is Raul Montes Huerta's daughter, delivered the night you murdered her father and two half-brothers. The middle girl is Sarika Montes Rocha. She is the daughter of Zacharias and Poloma Montes Rocha, who married a year after you killed her husband. The youngest girl just turned two. She is Lucrecia Esparza Montes. She is my daughter with Esperanza."

Hernando yanked Esparza closer. Before he could get his hands around the doctor's throat, Esparza brought a knee up to his groin to buckle him over, grabbed Hernando by his long hair and rammed him headfirst into the wall beside the rack. The lathe and plaster splintered and dented.

Fidel was closest. His attempt to come to Hernando's defense was met with a slash across his cheek by a riding crop Esparza had snatched from the rack. A quick second, backhanded strike to Fidel's other cheek sent him staggering sideways clutching at his face.

"I will kill you." He charged.

His alternating glances at his two injured brothers prevented him from seeing Esparza grab a short whip used more to discipline farm workers than farm animals.

Esparza spun away as he grabbed for him, jabbed the butt of the stock into his lower back, kicked at the back of his knees to knock him to the floor and then clubbed him over the head.

As the edges of his vision darkened and everything faded from view, he heard Hernando grunt when Esparza struck him. He turned onto his back to vaguely see the doctor go after Fidel next. For a man in his fifties, he was fast, too fast for his stunned brother. Fidel had barely taken his hands away from his bleeding cheeks when Esparza punched him twice in the nose, breaking it, and sending him to the floor beside Hernando.

Complete darkness momentarily closed in around him when he tried to get back to his feet. Footsteps ran toward him. The stock of the whip hit his forehead, knocking him back down. Esparza easily brought him up to his knees so he could see the blurry shadows of his downed brothers and wrapped the lash of the whip around his throat.

He tightened the lash. "What am I going to do with you three? I specifically asked Villa to send you this one last time because I have plans for you. But you continue to be a liability."

Bernardo grabbed at the lash but he could not break Esparza's hold.

Recovered from the second attack on him, Fidel charged again. The doctor let go of Bernardo, driving him to the floor again with a kick to his back, deflected Fidel's attempted tackle, spun him around and smashed down on the back of his neck to again lay him out next to Hernando.

Bernardo had only a moment to see his two brothers beside each other before being lifted off the floor and slammed into the wall where Hernando had struck it with his head. A protruding piece of lathe poked into his back.

Esparza held him around the throat and lifted him off the floor. He couldn't get any air.

"Do I snap your necks or are you going to listen to me?"

Fidel, his face covered in his own blood, helped Hernando to his feet. They both looked to their oldest brother.

He nodded as much as he could. Esparza let him go.

"Now listen carefully. The war was a mistake. The Germans will lose. But they will rebuild and become a force again. It will be our way into Europe."

Hernando said, "I don't care about the fucking Germans or Europe or the gringos."

He said, "We have our own war to deal with."

"Villa and Zapata are finished. Carranza cannot and will not last. He is as dull and boring as any man can be, but it is also absolutely true that he has a good analytical mind and a better grasp of Mexico's plight than most of his enemies. Carranza must stay in power for now. He will keep us out of that stupid war and he will keep the gringos out of Mexico City. President Wilson will recognize Carranza's government once that idiot and his men make a mess of their raids in New Mexico."

"NO!" Hernando raised his fists but didn't charge Esparza. "Carranza will ruin this country. He must—"

"You must do what I tell you. Most of the leaders on both sides of el Revolucion will not survive. They are for the present not the future. The people who will take up leadership after they are gone will bring in a single party hegemony to Mexico that will last for decades. It will take another ten years or more before that happens, but it will happen. We can exploit this short-term volatility to establish ourselves. I can use men with your capabilities, but we must be patient."

Bernardo put a hand on Hernando's shoulder. "What do you want from us?"

"Take the rifles and the information about Columbus back to La Cucaracha. Make sure you do not participate in any of his desperate raids. Control your passions, my friends, and look to a future as my allies." Esparza fixed his clothes. "I must return to my other guests. I will make the proper excuse of urgent business elsewhere for you. Wait here for now. I will send someone to tend to you. The guns are in the big barn. Be as quiet as you can when you leave."

Just before he left the room Esparza said to Hernando, "She is a very attractive woman and she has naturally intense carnal talents, but you must put her out of your heart for the time being."

In a few minutes, one of the women servants and Esperanza arrived with two bowls of hot water, towels and bandages. The servant woman dressed Fidel's broken nose and the cuts to his cheeks. Esperanza treated Hernando's wounds.

Hernando asked her, "How could you marry a man like him? How could you let him touch you?"

"I had no choice. And he never touched me."

"Don't lie to me."

"He . . . treated me . . . after I became ill. That was all. Once I had recovered, I was with child. He insists Lucrecia is his." She put a hand over Hernando's mouth. "Whatever he wants of you, whatever you have agreed to, know that he is a monster far worse than you three. We are his prisoners here and his playthings, every one of us. We must obey his commands and none of us can leave. No matter what he has promised you, if you get away, do not come back here."

# Chapter 11

Finding the other hacienda compound in the Sierra Madre Oriental Mountains was easy. The helicopter he took from Hacienda El Garcia had recently been there. Its coordinates were still in the navigation and flight log computer. It was southwest of Muzquis.

The first indication that he was not going to find the other group of woman there became visible as he landed the helicopter on the pad inside the wall surrounding an identical layout to the other compound. The helipad was overgrown with khaki-green vines that also crept up and into the cracked concrete wall. What appeared to be yellowish-green moss also grew up through cracks in the pad.

Those same vines and moss completely covered the bottom and sides of the empty swimming pool. A closer look confirmed that the moss was really a fungus.

Frank brought both HM-3s with him and a backpack carrying six ammunition clips for them as he headed straight for the stairs that would lead down from the patio to the tunnels. He found the first body at the bottom of the stairs.

Though the man had probably died within the last two days, that mossy fungus was growing all over the body, had replaced the man's eyes and appeared to have consumed his nose, lips and his fingers. His remaining flesh had turned the same yellowish-green as the fungus.

Frank knelt down for a closer inspection—really to confirm that the fungus not animals had caused the damage to the nose, lips and fingers. It had. There were no signs of chewing or bites only a greasy residue indicative of dissolving biological material. He had seen similar residue on his damaged skin after the fire.

He sliced open the skin. A layer of moss-like fungus was growing underneath it. "Shit."

The fungus was everywhere. There were three different types: the yellowish-green stuff he'd mistaken for moss, white, slimy mats sticking to everything, including the body, and a pink stringy film, like gauze, stretching between walls, railings, along the tops of doorways and in corners like cobwebs.

The door at the bottom of the stairs was wide open. The opening was laced with pink filaments and gauze. Minute pale-brown heads that resembled sponges measuring no bigger than two or three millimeters in diameter were dotted along the filaments.

After using a piece of wood to clear away the webbing of fungus, Frank turned on the small LED flashlights he'd taped to each HM-3 and entered the chamber. Everything he could see indicated the compound hadn't been used for a long time and was in an advanced stage of decay, but that could be a result of the three fungi rapidly spreading through it.

He followed the same path he had in the tunnels of the other compound, but it didn't take him to any women locked up in a cell carved out of the mountain rock. Instead, it brought him into the remains of a medical laboratory.

"Merde."

Jacqueline Duquesne had been right during the toxin incident in San Francisco. Someone should have killed that bastard when they had the chance because the evidence that he had failed his mission in British Columbia was mounting.

The dominant feature of the laboratory was the complete absence of any of the fungi. A surgery table in the middle of it was surrounded by all the medical equipment Weinberg could want. There was no sign of decay here. Weinberg could have been using this room as recently as this morning. He and his victims could have left just ahead of his arrival.

Frank walked straight to the table and felt it. It was not still warm. No one had used it within the last few hours. No pregnant woman had been on it forced to submit to whatever the people here wanted to do to her.

He returned to the patio, took another look around outside, now seeing the three types of fungi everywhere he looked and then searched the house. Signs of recent occupation in the form of furniture, mattresses on the floors of the bedrooms and food waste in the kitchen were present, along with two more dead guards. They were bloated with gas but neither of them had any fungi growing on them that he could see. Both of them had been shot once in the head.

Had the fungi started below ground and just hadn't reached the inside of the house yet?

He could find no trace of fungi anywhere. He did, however, find specific confirmation that pregnant women had been there until perhaps two days ago, and that at least one of them may have given birth. A garbage bag of blood-stained bedding, towels and clothes indicated the birth had been a difficult one.

Back at the helicopter, he checked the flight log records. It had travelled between the two compounds three times in the past two weeks.

He called Ferris. "They aren't here anymore. I can't find anything that tells me where they took them. Someone is making sure to leave no trail. One of the women Evelyn told us were close may have delivered here. It's possible she or the baby or both might not have survived. Whatever happened to them, they weren't left behind."

"Evelyn has gone into labor," Ferris said.

"I found something else here." Frank described the three types of fungi.

"Get out of there now, Frank. Make sure you didn't get any of it on you. I will contact the Mexican government and advise them of a potentially hazardous site. How do you feel?"

"It hasn't got into the house yet. I think it's only been spreading for a day or two."

"That is not good news. Just get the hell out of there."

"You know what this means, right?"

"Did we really think it would be that easy to get rid of him?"

"I need to refuel and get something to eat before I go back to the first site."

"There is a small, private airstrip southwest of Muzquiz. The owner won't be spooked by a helicopter gunship. He can get you something to eat and give you a place to sleep. You can go back tomorrow. How are you feeling?"

"What is he doing?"

"I have a good idea, Frank. If I'm right, he may have outdone himself this time."

# Chapter 12

Police Chief Michael Plett was coming out of the First American Bank when Nunez arrived. Once the local high school star quarterback who took his team to the state quarter-finals—just ask him to re-enact his seventy-yard touchdown pass—Mike Plett had stuck around Mesilla to soak up the glory and the cuisine. No longer the trim athlete of his high school days, and with a determination to continue with pork-chop sideburns that left more inert-brown hair on his face than the top of his head, he had become a good police officer in Mesilla and then a good Police Chief.

But Nunez had never been able to like him and his penchant for gossip.

Plett shook his hand. "Did you see the smoke?"

"What is it?"

"The Mannings. I got a call just as I got into the bank. They found Wayne and Ginny in the kitchen, what was left of them that is. They'd both been shot. Darren was shot while sleeping. The killer left the gun, but we won't get anything from it. The fire was very hot. It extirpated everything. " He shook his head. "Who would do that to them? Why would they do that? Wayne had worked with you at one time, hadn't he?"

"He was doing research on pecans. I was one of a number of farmers who contributed funds to that research."

"I may have some more questions for you after I've had a look around at the farm. By the way, how did it go with Ralph Price?"

"How do you know about that?"

"He called me about you."

"I'm not sure I like that."

"He was just getting all the information he could about a potential customer, particularly one he doesn't know. He's very conscientious. I think you scared him a bit when you said the job might be too big for him."

"That would scare him?"

"I only meant he took your caution as a challenge, that's all."

"What did you tell him about me?"

Plett laughed. "Oh, you know the usual police stuff. He was quite surprised I knew so much about you." He laughed again.

"Like what?"

Plett stopped laughing and glanced at the black smoke drifting in from the west. "Really, Beltran, it was nothing. I just told him you were a successful pecan farmer, semi-retired now, and my guess was that you could certainly afford to do a renovation." He put a hand on Nunez's shoulder. "And for what it's worth coming from me, you have hired a good man. He will do an excellent job on your house."

He held up his briefcase. "If you will excuse me, I believe we both have some business to attend to." He glanced at the smoke.

"How are the preparations for the Day of the Dead going?"

"I have some decorating to do at San Albino, the plaza and at your station. Perhaps I will drop by for a cup of coffee with you. I should be there sometime tomorrow morning."

"See you then. Great to have you involved again. Have a good one." Plett climbed into his Chevy Suburban, which was more of a struggle than it should be for a man his age. He waved as he drove off.

"Cerdo de cotilleando gordo, feo, necessita a la mente su propio negocio." Fat, ugly gossiping pig, you should mind your own business.

Miranda Valenzuela greeted him as soon as he entered the bank and took him straight to the bank manager. Robert Jefferson sat at his desk, a hand supporting his head as he diligently reviewed a thick financial document.

Jefferson looked up and smiled. His smile was a proper business-greeting smile, nothing like that boyish, lopsided irritating smirk Plett had given him.

"Senor Nunez," he said as he stood up, "everything is ready for you." Like so many gringos, Jefferson pronounced the word as 'senior'. He took him to the section of the vault that held the safety deposit boxes. "Did you want all three of them today?"

"Yes."

They went through the procedure to unlock the three doors using the customer's and bank's keys. Jefferson carried one of the grey metal boxes to the table in the center of the cubicle while he brought the other two.

"Take as long as you need. No one else has an appointment in here today."

Once Jefferson was gone and the door to the cubicle was closed, he used his keys to open the three boxes.

His phone began ringing. "Hello."

"Do you have them?"

"I just opened them."

"Everything is as it should be?"

"Why wouldn't it be?"

"Show me the contents."

Nunez held his phone to the closest box and focused its camera on the three USB flash drives inside it. The middle box contained six small white plastic boxes that were just a bit larger than a package of cigarettes. Three of them had blue flip lids, three had green ones.

"One of each is unsealed. Show me their contents."

Nunez found the box with the unglued blue lid, opened it and slid out the foam insert. Each of the three recesses in the foam held a sealed ampoule just under two inches long that contained ten cubic centimeters of clear green liquid.

"Now the other one."

He carefully returned the foam insert and closed the lid before opening the other color-coded plastic box. The foam insert from it held three ampoules containing an opaque, viscous red liquid. Both compounds had proven to be effective in San Francisco a few years ago.

"Take everything with you."

"I know what I have to do."

He placed the six boxes into the briefcase he had brought with him, after first putting an elastic band around each box. He placed the three USB flash drives into a pouch inside the briefcase and snapped closed the flap on it.

"We won't need those until next week. I will send you further instructions in a few days." The doctor ended the call.

The last safety deposit box held all his papers, the forged documents that helped him become a US citizen and all the documentation for what still belonged to him in Mexico. None of it would matter for much longer.

After transferring all his papers to the briefcase, he removed the small explosive devices he had concealed inside it—nearly identical to the plastic boxes he had removed—and placed one into each box, turned them on to begin the countdown and then returned the boxes to their compartments. He then locked the briefcase and pushed the buzzer to inform Jefferson he was done.

Miranda Valenzuela came in response to the buzzer, closed and locked the door behind her and used her own set of keys to help him lock the boxes into their compartments.

"Is there anything else I can help you with today?" She ran her fingers along the back of his hand. "Anything at all, Beltran?"

He pressed her up against the wall of deposit boxes and kissed her, running his hands over her hips up to her huge breasts. He pinched her nipples hard as his tongue penetrated her mouth.

Miranda moaned and sucked on his tongue. She wouldn't stop when he tried to pull away from her. Her hand went down the front of his pants. She moaned and whimpered, clamped down on his tongue with her teeth and took hold of him.

Grabbing her around the throat and squeezing forced her to let go but only because she had to gasp.

"We must be quick."

"No one will come in here. No one can hear us."

"I have other things to do." He pushed her to the table, bent her across it and lifted her skirt. "Pull them down."

After Miranda slipped her panties off, she spread her legs and wiggled her ass at him. The act was over quickly because that was the way he wanted it.

"I will come to you tomorrow. Be ready for me."

They walked together to the entrance.

"Thank you, Señor Nunez. I hope everything was satisfactory."

He didn't acknowledge her or look back as he returned to his Mercedes.

Lola was out when he arrived home. Just to make certain, however, he went through the whole house before settling at his desk in the library. Once the computer was ready, he plugged in the first USB flash drive and called Fidel.

"The bombs are in the bank. I will do the plaza, the basilica and the police station tomorrow." Nunez scanned the first file he'd just opened. "This will be the biggest operation we've undertaken. The list of targets is almost endless: government officials, politicians, police, security personnel, businesspeople."

"That has always been the contingency if anyone came too close. It's what the doctor has told us we must do."

"It's too big. This is all over the world. We have almost as many on the inside as we have targets. In the Unites States alone we have janitors, watchmen, teachers, nannies, servants, even three daycare operators in our service, as well as police, secret service agents. None of them even know who their true masters are, and neither do we. Who does the doctor obey?"

Fidel replied, "I doubt Esparza takes orders from anyone."

"Is it just him? Has it been just him the whole time for the past century?"

"He has constantly reached out to bring others to his cause. Even if it was just him in the beginning, it is well past that now."

"So he tells us."

"This is what we agreed to. We have been rewarded well for our loyalty and service."

"We have also paid the price in unimaginable ways."

"This is pointless, Bernardo. We have our orders. We must do what we must do. It has always been that way. Remember, you were the first one to accept the terms. Hernando and I followed our elder brother into this cursed life."

"Are you feeling it too now? Do you feel the end for us coming nearer?"

"Do not get maudlin. We cannot ask to live forever, no one can. Esparza made that clear at the beginning. He has given us an extended and enhanced life because we needed that to accomplish what we wanted."

"What he wanted."

"Stop whining and get it done." Fidel hung up.

Three encrypted flash drives, one with a list of targets, one with a list of operatives, the third contained the details of every operation—codename: Strikeback—the Proteus Group was going to initiate over the next month, where they were to take place and the schedule to be followed. It took over two hours to review Operation Strikeback. The Proteus Group was finally going to war with the whole world. The world wouldn't know who hit it.

One of the highest profile operations was to take place on the day of the US federal election. Las Cruces polling stations were the main targets, but other targets had been selected for maximum shock value. If, as expected, President Carol Trotter was re-elected, she would begin her second term with her nation in near ruin and once again horribly aware of its vulnerability.

Lola came into the library.

"Where were you?"

She came to the desk and scanned the computer screen. "Did you do what you were supposed to?"

"You are not my handler."

"The Manning family is dead. Their house burned to the ground. I heard it on the radio."

"Did you kill them?"

"What is left to be done?"

"Answer my question."

"What about the basilica and the plaza? Have you gone to the police station yet?"

Nunez closed all the files and stood up.

Lola did not back away. "I can smell her on you. I can smell every one of them every time. I wish I couldn't but I can."

He slapped her.

She didn't flinch.

He slapped her again, grabbed her by her shoulders and shook her.

She remained free of any expression or reaction, no pain, no fear, no anger, no hatred.

"God damn you."

"Time is running out. You cannot delay."

He tore open her shirt, pushed her over to the leather sofa and knocked her down.

She still did not respond to him. "The festival will start in two days. The election is next week."

They had engaged in sex frequently after Esparza had placed her in his home again—his joke about their past together. She was a skilled lover, but had been passive and unresponsive, showing no more reaction or interest in the act than she would for dusting the furniture unless she initiated it. It was just another responsibility she took on, another inescapable chore.

Lola undid her jeans and pulled them off. Hooking her thumbs into the waistband of her panties, she first pulled them up tight then slipped them off. Then she just slid down to her back on the floor and stared up at him. "Would you like the fish for dinner tonight, or the pork tenderloin?"

She had a beautiful dark body for a woman her age. That assessment brought a burst of laughter from him. "Turn over."

She didn't move. Her expression—lack of expression—didn't change.

"Damn you."

Straddling her, he turned her onto her belly and pulled off her shirt. She offered no resistance.

She raised her hips to facilitate his penetration. "You will do what you are told. We all will."

# Chapter 13

The flight landed at Narita International Airport in Tokyo exactly at 8:25 a.m. local time. It had been eight hours and forty-five minutes of aching feet, hips and lower back. She had slept only a few minutes at the beginning of the flight, but no matter how brief her sleep ever was, the dream always managed to complete itself.

Before getting out of her chair, Juanita felt her abdomen but was unable to determine whether or not it had increased in size since leaving Mumbai.

After getting through Customs Inspections and into the South Wing International Arrival Lobby, finding Takeshi Tsutsui and Sakura Hayshibara was easy.

Takeshi Tsutsui stood just over six feet tall. He benefitted from the same younger appearance belying his age that she did, though his was a natural gift. At fifty-seven, he could easily pass for a businessman in his late twenties. His usual navy blue suit would identify him as a hustler on his way up. The scar above his left eyebrow that extended to the top of his left ear and two missing fingers from his left hand was new.

Sakura Hayshibara was in her late twenties, but her deferential gaze and posture while standing next to Tsutsui hid the fierce soul of a samurai within to go with her skills as a sharpshooter. Sakura was bodyguard to both of them.

Only the woman they were going to see warranted more caution.

Both Tsutsui and Hayshibara bowed when she reached them. Tsutsui took her one bag to leave Sakura unencumbered in case she had to respond quickly to a threat.

Every time she had encountered these two a momentary increase in blood pressure and heart rate went through her. Tsutsui and Hayshibara likely triggered that response in everyone who knew them, what they were capable of and what their presence said about the level of danger facing them.

Twice before, they had been required to kill to protect her. The body count from her previous trips to Japan, which their hotheaded bodyguard loved to keep track of, was three, none of them Japanese.

"We are honored to be at your service again, Dr. Garcia Lopez." Takeshi Tsutsui took great care to use the proper form of her family names.

The gringos didn't understand how Spanish family names worked. She would be just Dr. Juanita Garcia in the U.S.

"What happened?"

Tsutsui bowed again, this time to display shame at his failure, and said, "An intruder at my home, Dr. Garcia Lopez." He remained bowed but offered no further details.

"Is everything ready?"

He straightened up. "This way, please."

At first, rather than take the lead, Sakura hung back with her and let Tsutsui take point. She spoke quietly. "It was his katana. That is his shame, doctor. The intruder used his own katana to maim him like that."

"What did he get?"

"Only his katana and his two fingers. It appears that was all he wanted. We have a ShinMaywa US-2 waiting for us."

"How did you get one of those?"

"My brother pilots one for our Maritime Defense Force."

Tsutsui let Sakura takeover the lead and replaced her beside their guest. "With his help, we were able to arrange the delivery of supplies to Mikura-jima for Dr. Hashimoto. It is two hundred kilometers to the south. We should arrive within two hours."

"You have a brother?"

Sakura took them left into a long corridor that was almost empty of people. After about sixty meters, she took them left again and down an escalator to double glass doors. The US-2 had just started its four engines.

Tsutsui, clearly impressed, said, "Those are Rolls-Royce engines. Very powerful."

"I didn't know you had any family."

Sakura opened the doors. "I have two brothers, but Masato is an asshole." She went out first and looked around before signalling them to come out.

Tsutsui said, "Masato is a lawyer." He took hold of her arm. "Please forgive me, Dr. Garcia Lopez, but we must be prompt."

Sakura dropped back and walked on her left. Tsutsui stayed on her right, ready to throw up her bag as a shield if necessary.

Sakura said, "It's up to five dead now, but these last two were Japanese. We are being watched."

"Who is it?"

"I haven't seen them before," Tsutsui replied. "At first we thought they might be yakusa, but what would they want with you?"

Sakura, with no small amount of annoyance in her voice, asked, "Who knows you have come to Tokyo?"

"Just you two, my uncle and the people I left behind in Mumbai."

She said, "There is a traitor among us."

At the US-2, a heavy-set Japanese man in uniform came around from the other side of the amphibious aircraft, a flying boat, bowed and held out his hand to her.

"Please to meet you, Dr. Garcia. I am Captain Kazuo Hayshibara." He smiled and didn't try to hide his glance at her belly. Takeshi and Sakura had made every effort not to notice it. "I will be your pilot today. Welcome aboard. We have our clearance to leave."

Tsutsui scowled at Sakura's brother for not using the proper form of her name.

Sakura, also scowling, asked, "Did you tell anyone about your passengers?"

"Just supplies for Dr. Iwa Hashimoto. The rest must have slipped my mind. Can we pick up the pace, please? This is a busy airport."

She followed Kazuo into the US-2. He got her settled and belted into a very functional seat that had her facing the door. Takeshi and Sakura then took their seats across from her and the US-2 taxied out onto the runway. Takeshi remaining outside to keep watch while she got securely seated was the clearest indicator that coming to Japan was going to be more dangerous than she had assumed. He hated wet work, though he was very good at it. If the men they had already needed to kill were Japanese, it was going to be hard to anticipate where the next attack might come from.

Dr. Garcia Lopez hated not being in control. Having to rely on other people to help her was always an alienating experience. Having her insides heave and pinch and threaten to unload all contents onto the airplane's floor was just another part of the parasitic burden she had to endure since the growth inside her began. Having the quiet, private conversation between Takeshi and Sakura trigger a return of his whispers in her ear as she drifted off was intolerable.

# Chapter 14

Savannah Latham tried to keep any sign of distress off her face when she sat down at her laptop. Three weeks of anticipation and dread over seeing her daughter again since they last spoke had cost her six pounds.

When Sage came on the screen, she was sitting in a plush chair, which only made her appear all that much smaller. Her lovely blue-on-blue eyes seemed smaller, too, more distant than only three weeks ago. Her bald head and the three ridges along the top of it seemed to have a patina of bluish-grey in the harsh light of the room. There wasn't so much as a faint bioluminescent glow coming from the sensor scales along the ridges.

Savannah began trembling.

Sage gave her a small wave. "Hi, mom."

Lucy Cooper stood beside the chair to Sage's right, as she had the last time they talked. Lucy's mother, Dorothy, stood to Sage's left. The rest of the Apostles stood behind her.

"Hi, sweetheart. I'm sorry Ann and Ben couldn't be here tonight. Ann isn't feeling well."

"Don't worry, mom. They will have a perfect baby. Daughter and mother will get through the delivery healthy and happy."

"I'll tell her."

"What about Paul and Alex?"

"They are coming to Small Wonders House. Alex is making excellent progress. I haven't had a chance to talk to them yet."

"Mom, you're stalling."

"Sage, I can't just tell him . . . because you say it's going to happen."

"It's not going to happen if you don't do something about it."

As reliable as her prescience had been, it did still depend on what the people the prediction was about did about the prediction. That apophthegm about knowing one's future possibly altering it had come to roost where she worked three months ago when Paul Booker and his son, Alex, were referred to Small Wonders House to help with physical and learning problems related to Alex's cerebral palsy. According to her daughter's prediction over a year ago, she and Paul were destined to fall in love and spend a wonderful life together.

Ann had repeated to her many times since the pair's arrival, usually accompanied by a burst of laughter, "You should have seen your face. Oh, wait, I did get a picture."

"How are you doing, sweetheart?"

"I was pretty sick for a week after the last treatment, but I feel better now. Our mission is going well. I talk to Nyla and Joan and Cynthia all the time. We stopped two terrorist attacks last week, one in London, one in Rome. We are having trouble finding Jane and Grace, though. Tubby won't cooperate with us in any way."

"I love you, Sage. You should come home. You can take your treatments at SFGH."

"You know I can't do that. The bad guys won't stop just because I do." Sage took a deep, labored breath. "I'm sorry, mom, but I'm very tired. I love you, too. Good night." She blew Savannah a kiss. "Don't make Paul wait too long. That would be a waste of time for both of you."

The plush chair became her motorized wheelchair when Sage backed away from the screen and left.

Savannah gave her a small wave before wiping her eyes and blowing her nose.

Lucy took Sage's place on the screen. "How are you holding up?"

"Bring her home. She's done enough." She blew her nose again.

"I promise you, Savannah, we will bring her back to you once this mission is complete, but it's going slower than we'd hoped." Lucy looked back to her colleagues. They all nodded. "She can still detect them, but can't seem to pinpoint their location. She loses her connection to them too quickly. Her prescience is often confused now." She wiped her eyes.

"I'm her mother. I have a right to know."

Dorothy and Gwen came forward.

Dorothy said, "Yes you do, Savannah, but it's hard to—"

"Just tell me, please."

Gwen said, "She's having trouble moving even in the suit. She certainly can't float anymore no matter how much energy she can tap into. Jake has been unable to boost the suit's power enough to compensate for her loss. She can still deliver an impressive shock to anyone, but she has also lost some control of that. There have been a number of misfires. No one has been seriously hurt, though."

Savannah finally noticed the bandages on Tye Rosen's forearms.

He must have noticed her looking at him because he waved off the injury. "Do not worry, mom, it looks worse than it is."

Lucy came back into view. "She anticipates that could be lost to her soon, too."

Dorothy said, "Dr. Thorpe will be here in two days. She has the final say. If she thinks Sage isn't strong enough to continue, she will send her home. Sage will abide by whatever Cynthia decides. Savannah, we will make sure we get her back to you as soon as possible."

*****

Lily Wiley sat in her Stanford dorm room with her mobile phone to her ear while she stared at her computer screen. It was just after 9:00 pm. Muta was late. She had never been late before. How could an artificial intelligence (not really an adequate description) that existed in the digital world of the internet and could be everywhere at once be late?

She had asked that question out loud three times.

Donny Nguyen said on the other end of the call for the third time, "Maybe she had a glitch or something."

"How long have we been together?"

"I don't like trick questions or lazy set ups."

"How long?"

"Three years, give or take a quarrel or two."

"Which one of us is smarter?"

"See what I mean?" After a sigh of defeat, he said, "You are, of course."

"Which one of us is an intellectual goddess?"

"That is a leading question and a bit much even for you."

"Which one?"

"You are."

"Which one—"

"You are the answer to all of the questions, okay? Superiority established; can we move forward now?"

"So what makes you think you can answer a question about her that I can't?" Before he could respond, she added, "And how come, after three years, give or take, in my dazzling genius presence you have learned so little about her? She's perfect."

"She's late, and I'm the one getting a beating for it."

She growled at him and touched the off button but didn't end the call.

"She's supposed to be on to something, right? Maybe she's deep into it and has to use all that programming code you and they keep giving her for the moment, however long a moment lasts for her."

"Point taken. It is possible she could have marshalled all her resources to focus on one thing. It would have to be a pretty damn big thing, though."

Muta appeared on the screen, running forward from the back of it wielding her broadsword as if slashing her way through evil minions. Her ample bosom heaved when she stopped and sheathed her weapon. Lily knew she was never going to convince her drooling allies to alter Muta's appearance.

"You're late."

"I do not have all the details yet. Kirk is doing what he can to compile more data, but we do know it's going to be big."

"How big?"

"Big enough that they are keeping significant details of the plan offline to prevent us from accessing it. They know we exist now. They are implementing countermeasures: data dumps when I finally gain access that obscure the meaningful information, super fast self-destruct worms built into the program files that delete everything before I can download very much of it."

The flash drive she used to download the data Muta had brought began blinking.

"Get that data to Nyla Rowe. We know of only three potential target cities at the moment: Montreal, Karachi and Kiev. But I believe Chicago is somehow in play, too, and possibly somewhere in France."

Muta drew her broadsword and turned to face the right side of the screen. She raised it to strike, but instead of taking a swing, she ran off the screen to the left.

As soon as her trailing foot vanished from the screen, it flashed right to left with a blaze of white. A roar came out of the speakers. Lily's printer began printing lines of random letters and symbols. Her connection to Donny had been severed.

When the printer finally stopped, large capital letters scrolled onto the screen: ICU2.

# Chapter 15

The US-2 landed in the Philippine Sea near the northeast end of Mikura-jima and taxied to the wharf of the Mikurajima village port.

Kazuo Hayshibara made sure she got out of the plane and onto the dock safely. Again, of the three, he was the only one not ignoring that she was pregnant.

Two Toyota Land Cruisers were waiting to take them and the supplies to the dig site near Oyama Summit.

No one bothered to introduce the four men from the Land Cruisers to her. Those four and the crew from the US-2 just went about transferring the supplies as quickly as they could. She, Takeshi and Sakura stayed out of the way.

Tsutsui did make one concession to her condition when he asked, "Would you like to sit down? I see some benches over there."

"I'm fine." She touched his scar. "Was that because of me?"

"I assure you, no."

"I'm a little shocked."

"He was dressed as a masked ninja to mock me. He was very fast and very strong, but I should have stopped him." He left to supervise the transfer.

Sakura said, "I wouldn't mention it again. We almost lost him after the debriefing."

"Sorry, but why would someone attack him in his home just for his sword?"

"They are showing us that we are also their targets. It is happening all over the world. If you will excuse me, doctor, I must talk to my brother."

Once everything was loaded, the four students got into one Land Cruiser after Tsutsui took command of the other for them. He held the back door open for her to get in on the driver's side.

Kasuo and Sakura had a brief private conversation before he and his crew returned to the US-2.

After settling into the front passenger seat, Sakura said, "He can wait two hours before he has to leave. If we can't complete your visit in that time, we will have to find another way back to Tokyo."

"How long will it take to get there?"

Tsutsui followed the students. "Twenty minutes. The roads are fine for the first two miles, but the last part is rough. Fortunately, it is a small island."

Along the way to the site, Sakura fell back into her meditative standby mode while Tsutsui told her what Dr. Iwa Hashimoto was doing on Mikura-jima.

"A villager found an artifact near Oyama Summit." He had to make a vigorous correction when their Land Cruiser slid on a muddy section of road. "I apologize, Dr. Garcia Lopez, it has been very wet here of late. It has made quite a mess of the site."

He had to correct the vehicle again before he could continue. "Iwa and her team from the University of Tokyo's Anthropology department have discovered the remains of a boat and a pulley system used to get up to the location. Doctor Hashimoto told me there are faint remains of a groove or trail up the slope. One of her students found what could be a fire pit and possibly half of the foundation of what she believes was the community center. She is hopeful these findings will be definitive proof of people inhabiting Mikura-jima before Edo jidai, the Edo period. It is believed people were here before that period began in sixteen-oh-three, but until now there has been no undeniable evidence. Dr. Hashimoto thinks the site may go further back than the fifteenth century. She is certain people were on the island when the Ōnin War began."

Both Land Cruisers slid sideways a number of times once they left the road for the trail, but the trip did go as quick as Tsutsui said it would. The westerly wind coming in from the Philippine Sea accelerated and the rain became a downpour the moment they arrived at the site.

Hashimoto was carrying a sandbag on each shoulder over to a wall of the dig to brace it against collapsing in the heavy rain. Two more male students and two female students were helping her. The females were in the pit building the sandbag reinforcing wall. The two males were each carrying one sandbag and struggling to keep up with Hashimoto. The pit was rapidly filling with water.

Hashimoto tossed down her two sandbags, forcing the women to jump out of the way. The two men dropped to their knees and pushed their loads over the deteriorating edge of the six feet deep hole in the ground.

She heard only the last of Hashimoto's curses at the sky, the clouds, the rain, the gods, her students, the island, Japan, the whole stinking, slimy, drenched motherfucking world.

Takeshi and Sakura still did not notice or acknowledge her condition in any way, but they did both offer to help her out of the back of the Land Cruiser.

The best warm-greeting Hashimoto could muster for her visitors was to stop cursing and yell something in Japanese no doubt destructive to the honor and masculinity of her four returning male students before nodding once to her guests and then taking a soggy cigarette from its perch at the top of her right ear and trying to light it with a match.

"Fuck," she said in very clear English once Juanita got to her. Hashimoto was a brilliant anthropologist and spoke colloquial English better than most Westerners. She threw the match and then the cigarette into the mud at her feet. "Do you think some stupid-shit anthropologist will make anything of that in a thousand years?"

"From the brand, the length, the fact that it has no filter and the paper is brown not bleached white, she will assume a high-ranking priestess stepped out of her palace for a quick fag before castrating or beheading her seventh husband, and her sixth mistake choosing a mate, and then tossing him into the volcano."

Hashimoto hooted softly and still managed to exhale a trail of smoke that just shouldn't be possible.

"Or else, she will conclude a scullery maid scoffed it from the king's fancy box in his bedroom after he'd fucked her for the sixth time that month, though he did have a little trouble getting it up that last time. Either way, she will get at least two papers, a number of posters, a half-dozen conference appearances and tenure because of it."

Hashimoto grabbed her crotch and wailed up at the rain, opening her mouth to catch as many drops as she could before spitting it all out onto the cigarette. "Johnny, baby, you should have remained a cultural anthropologist rather than wasting your time becoming a psychiatrist. You have far too much imagination for that."

"You have men with you this time. That must be a first for you."

Hashimoto hugged her. "That's nothing. I've fucked three of them already. You should see their faces when they get a good look at me naked, but sometimes I just can't resist showing off." She glanced over at the rapidly filling dig and wailed up at the rain again, sending another volley of curses rocketing into the sky. "What good is absolute power over people if you aren't prepared to use it as much as you can? What do they say nowadays? YOLO: you only live once." She took hold of Juanita's hand. "A half-hour before you got here it was bright enough to burn out your retinas. Come on, we need to get you out of all this pissing of the gods. With all their power, you'd think they could have invented indoor plumbing long before we mere mortals did."

Takeshi Tsutsui and Sakura Hayshibara had maintained a respectful distance from them and followed them into Hashimoto's huge yurt only after Iwa nodded that one stiff way she always did to beckon them to her.

Inside the yurt they were almost overwhelmed by the loud flapping of the canvas walls against the wind and the pelting from the rain, which both seemed to be subsiding now that Iwa had spit out enough curses.

A heavy wooden table sat in the middle of the tent. Six chairs surrounded it and the artifacts on top of it waiting to be cleaned and catalogued.

"Over here," Hashimoto said and took them to the back of the yurt where three stools circled a small round table.

Tsutsui held back and remained standing.

"Don't be an asshole. Johnny is going to recline on the cushions." Iwa placed her on the pile of cushions next to the table. "Just ignore those stains, my little dove. They're from sloppy, vigorous humans and are very modern; nothing to write a paper about."

Once everyone was either reclining or sitting, Hashimoto produced a tray holding a tokkuri of sake and three ochokos.

"Please forgive my pitiful offering and my shame that we must settle for tent-temperature sake." She lit a cigarette and said to Juanita, "You will have to settle for water, my dear Johnny."

"I'm fine without, thank you."

Sakura poured sake into Iwa's ochoko, Iwa poured sake into Takeshi's ochoko and Takeshi poured sake into Sakura's ochoko.

"There," Iwa said, "that must count for something toward tradition. I am a goddamn professor of anthropology after all."

Sakura drank her sake. "We do not have much time."

"Then finish your drinks and get back out into that drizzle. Johnny and I need to talk."

Takeshi and Sakura complied with Hashimoto's order.

Before leaving the tent, Sakura said, "Be quick."

Iwa crushed out the cigarette on the tray and replaced it with a half-smoked cigar. She poured herself another drink of sake. "What the hell. We're impervious to it all until our time is up, unless we're in your condition, Johnny. Then it's all watch out for this, don't eat or drink that, take your vitamins. Fuck me if that isn't enough to kill you."

Juanita rubbed her abdomen when a vibration passed through it. "Why . . . ?"

"Shh." Iwa set her ochoko back on the serving tray next to the crushed cigarette. "Take a look at this." She came over to Juanita and stopped at three tarpaulins, one canvas, the other two were bright blue vinyl. "I was up before the sun to piss and this is what I found waiting for me."

She uncovered three dead men, all of them Mexicans. "Little dove, what are you up to? Why would these shameful Aztec descendents come all the way to my little island loaded with weapons and bad intentions?"

"I'm returning to my uncle to find out why this is happening to me, that's all." She got up to take a closer look at the men. "I have nothing to do with those three men."

"My perfectly tight and round ass you don't. How's Lola doing?"

"I only talked briefly with her. She was her usual curt self on the phone."

"Very tough, very hard, not a lot of sentiment inside her, I can tell you that from personal experience. Every time I could sneak away for a visit to Mexico, we'd fuck our brains out. She was good in the sack, Johnny. Jesus, she was really good. She was rough and kinky, good with ropes, leather and chains. Used to tie me up, whip my gorgeous ass until I cried and bled, then she would braid my hair and get me off over and over again until I thought I would explode into a whole new universe. Those were great times for two narcissistic bitches?"

She sighed out a thick puff of cigar smoke. "I heard she finally had her daughter a year ago. She was late to this bizarre game of his, too, but not as late as you. I didn't think you were part of all his shenanigans."

"Neither did I. Do any of your team know about these three?"

"I haven't told any of them and they are not allowed in here unless they are needed at the table. I don't suppose you could take them with you when you go? Just open the door and drop them into the sea on the way back to Tokyo."

"I don't think so. Sakura's brother might not like that."

"I'll send everyone down to the village, give them the night off to do sweet fuck all there and I'll bury these shitheads somewhere. They'll add a bit more mystery to the cigarette."

"How is your daughter?"

"Haven't seen her for years. That's the way she wanted it once she found out the truth. She lives as a hermit on some puny island even smaller than this one." She pointed. "It's about two hundred kilometers southwest of here."

"You don't know if she is experiencing any signs of deterioration, then."

"She's only thirty-two. I'm not sure what that is in ordinary human years, but even if she is one of the unlucky ones, my guess is that it's still too early for that." She looked at the cigar for a moment, dropped it and ground it into the tent floor with her heel.

Another vibration and what felt like a kick almost knocked her off her feet. "Do you think his son is suffering yet?"

Iwa helped her back to the cushions. "He's had a good life and he's killed more than his fair share. He should be prepared. LFDO: live fast, die young. He knows better than any of us what the limitations are." Iwa inhaled sharply. "Shit, Johnny, do you think he'll come after you?"

"Anything's possible, I suppose." She held her abdomen against another series of vibrations. "What's it going to be like?"

Hashimoto felt her abdomen. "For one thing, it will only get worse for you until you deliver her. You will not know a moment of peace. Your guts will be full of glass. Your anger will become uncontrollable at times, making you almost a homicidal maniac. Are you feeling anything like that now?"

A growing urge to be wary of Iwa was also compelling her to strike before she was attacked. Iwa was vulnerable, an exposed and easy target.

Juanita took a deep breath. "I'm fine. What if I terminate the pregnancy?" Another kick-like tremor felt as if it was going to burst through her skin.

Hashimoto got her a bottle of water. "I can't guarantee he didn't somehow establish some biological booby-trap if you try. He is the kind of maniac who would do something like that if he could. But no one has ever attempted such a thing as far as I know. It could be out of fear or superstition. Most of his brood harem was plucked off the streets or out of the jungle. They weren't the most intelligent or educated. But then that wasn't going to matter as long as they were strong, healthy and obedient. After the births, most of the mothers disappeared.

"I consider myself fortunate that I was one of his first successes and one of his favorites. He loved to tell me all about what he was doing. He knew I had the brains to understand him. Quite the horror story to hear every night before bed, don't you think? Did you know, particularly in the early phases of his experiments, more than one-third of his subjects never made it to full term? Both mother and his precious daughters were lost."

Juanita pressed against her abdomen with both hands and groaned. That thumping spasm felt like it was aimed at Hashimoto.

Iwa pressed against it too "I had those. Don't worry, Johnny, you won't explode no matter how intense the pain gets. I will tell you this. You are going to be quick with yours, I mean really quick. Maybe that's because you're so late to the game. But there is every reason to believe you have benefitted from the advances he made in his procedures over the decades."

"That's very comforting," she said through gritted teeth, "but why now, why me?"

"You could be a herald."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Based on the history of what he's done, and where you come from, you should have been past the range he preferred, so too with Lola, but look at you."

"You think he's doing it again?"

"He must have finally perfected what he's been working on. He must be close to achieving the scale and scope he always wanted. Shit, for all I know, he could be doing you by remote control. I wouldn't put it past him to come up with something like that. No matter how small or big this gets, Johnny, it is going to be horrible."

"God couldn't have put us here just for him to do this."

"Little dove, God had nothing to do with the mess we're in. She just scraped the goo that would become us off her sandal onto this rock and kept on walking back to her celestial palace. She knew a lost cause when she saw it."

"Do you think we're it and he's just going to spread countless more all over the world? Or did he keep making improvements, not just to longevity, endurance and strength, but—"

"Nothing is ever perfect." Iwa took out a new cigar and lit it with a match. "The trouble with lunatic perfectionists like him is that he'll keep at it because he can never decide what the ultimate measure of perfection is. There will always be something more he can do. He will convince himself of that, even if it doesn't really make the species any better, however you define better. As much as he wants to believe his results to date have been flawless, we and our daughters, which may include you and yours as well, exhibit unique peculiarities in personality, behavior and, how shall I put it, philosophies about the world, the people in it and our place amid the hoi polloi."

"You're talking about our inherent superiority complex and our lack of empathy."

"Not to mention our sexual promiscuity. I don't think he wanted us going at it like randy bunnies with anyone who came within reach. He wanted uniformity, obedience and anonymity, for us to blend in with the masses. He did not want us to form bonds or anything else resembling social connections. They would be encumbrances that would hinder our effectiveness and efficacy when it came time to step forward."

"Right then you sounded just like him."

"Don't be silly," she said through a smoky smile. "I have a much lower tone to my voice. He is quite the conundrum for us, don't you think? We owe our lives to him, but we also owe him something for how we turned out."

"What about—"

Automatic gunfire started outside.

Sakura came running into the tent, her pistol in her right hand, a dagger in her left. She shot back through the yurt's entrance as she ran straight for the back of the tent. A quick slash with the dagger tore open the canvas wall.

"Get out!" She stood on guard with her gun aimed at the closed flap. "You need to hide."

Juanita buckled over when the pain inside her threatened to make a liar out of Hashimoto and explode her insides all over the tent.

Iwa supported her. "I know a place."

The shooting was coming from the trail approaching the site, from Sakura inside or near the tent and from inside the drenched pit, where Hashimoto's students were hunkered down screaming and crying.

Iwa took her into the woods behind her yurt, turned them quickly to the left and set her behind a huge rock protruding out of the ground. "Stay here."

Japan's foremost anthropologist then sprinted off into the forest. As soon as she was out of sight, the gunfire decreased to sporadic shooting as each combatant settled in behind cover and waited for the best opportunity to finish off the other side.

The standoff had to be a partial victory for her side. Any assault should have been rapid and decisive. Their attackers had failed to achieve their primary goal.

Where the hell had Hashimoto gone?

She listened to the intermittent firing. Sakura and Takeshi had handguns, but how much ammunition did they have? They weren't prepared for an extended exchange. Their role would be protection and escape. They had failed too. The automatic gunfire from the attackers indicated there was at least two but likely not more than three. Two or three attackers with automatic weapons and far more ammunition would eventually overcome her two bodyguards.

From near the entrance to the site, Iwa screamed. A short burst of gunfire led to several more and another scream from Iwa, a battle cry.

Someone came running toward her hiding place. Automatic weapons fire came with the runner. Both Sakura and Takeshi were firing as many rounds as they could to stop whoever it was. Then there were just the rapidly approaching footsteps coming ahead of Sakura and Takeshi hollering for her to run as they pursued their target.

Electric spasms through her lower abdomen and hips took out her legs when she tried to stand. Brought to her hands and knees by the pain, she wavered and tried not to faint as sweat dropped from her face.

The rain started pouring again. The heavy drops felt like a thousand hammers against the back of her head trying to drive her into the ground.

One of Kazuo Hayshibara's crew came around the boulder with this rifle ready to fire, but he slid on the soaked ground and had to put his hand on the boulder to keep from collapsing into the mud.

Iwa screamed again as she came over the top of the rock holding a katana over her head. Swinging as she landed between Juanita and the crewman, Iwa struck the man on the left side of his neck. Accompanied by more battle cries, she quickly delivered two more strikes.

The man's head rolled toward her as the man's body folded onto the ground.

Iwa helped her up and supported her while she vomited. Sakura and Takeshi came around to her side of the rock. They were out of ammunition.

Iwa let her lean against the rock and stepped back. "What do you think of it?" She held out the bloody katana. "It was one of the first things I found. It's pretty dull, but I'll wager it chopped plenty of heads and limbs in its time." She laughed and held it up to the sky as though threatening the clouds if they didn't quit pissing on them. "And now it has three more. All that other shit we've found is good, but this is the big prize. I'm keeping this for myself."

The rain began to taper off. The sky began to clear.

Tsutsui bowed to Hashimoto.

Sakura put away her gun and came to Juanita. "Are you hurt?"

Another spasm staggered her. She put a hand against the rock and shook her head.

Sakura raised an eyebrow and scowled. "No shit."

Hashimoto's research team arrived at the rock. One of the males was wiping vomit off his shirt. When he saw the headless corpse, he ran into the woods to vomit again.

Iwa said to her, "I don't think I'll do him any favors. He doesn't look like he's worth it."

A heavy vehicle rumbled along the muddy trail. Captain Kazuo Hayshibara, his flight engineer and his radar operator jumped out of the back of a farm truck built to carry livestock. They were all armed with assault rifles.

Sakura intercepted her brother and his crew. After a protracted argument in Japanese between brother and sister that included Sakura screaming, stomping her feet and slapping Kazuo four times, she brought the three men to Juanita.

Kazuo bowed to her and then to the others. "I am sorry, Dr. Garcia Lopez. These were new crewmen assigned to my unit just this morning. Please accept my deepest apology." He bowed again, lower this time.

His two crewmen stood beside him and bowed too.

Iwa raised the katana, but Tsutsui put a hand on her shoulder.

Sakura said, "Are you finished here?"

Iwa nodded to her. "We will call the authorities. I will tell my team what to say and what will happen to them if they say anything else." She lit a cigarette. "The yakusa are not going to be happy with me when they hear what I had to say about them, all for a stupid ancient sword."

The man who had just come back out of the woods to hear her mention the yakuza fainted. His colleagues rushed over to tend to him.

"Definitely no favors for him," Iwa muttered then said to Tsutsui, "Just leave the Land Cruisers at the dock. We'll retrieve them later." She hugged Juanita. "Be careful, my little dove. Someone is very unhappy about you seeing your uncle again."

"Do you really think that's all it is?"

"Fuck if I know, but I better sharpen this sucker just in case."

# Chapter 16

Highland Park Community House hosted the last candidates' debate for the week. Senator Roelof (Rolly) Van Biert slipped out the backdoor after the debate rather than stick around to shake hands and kiss babies.

Jimmy Duvall, his campaign manager and best friend since childhood, had the Escalade ready to make his escape that much quicker. "Well, that was a lackluster effort."

"Thanks."

"You're also lucky you're well ahead in the polls, and everyone will understand."

"That's the problem."

Jimmy took the Escalade out of the parking lot and turned left at Linden Avenue to head for Vine Avenue. "I don't follow."

"That understanding, all that concern and sympathy is becoming too cloying. It would have been better if they had ripped into me. I'm the incumbent. We always come with indefensible baggage."

"You lost Yvonne only three weeks ago. The service is tomorrow."

"Just leave it, Jimmy, and get me home."

Jimmy Duvall was forty-nine, one year older than he was. They had known each other since he was seven. In all that time, Jimmy had never been able to remain silent for very long. Tonight was no different.

"And speaking of indefensible political baggage, you're sitting on two powder kegs worth. I get that the Proteus Group Task Force is all but top secret and off limits during the campaign, but that blog reporter has started connecting the dots on our decreasing crop yields."

He had only heard parts of what Jimmy had said, "You're talking about Rochelle Carson in Cleveland."

"Who else would I be talking about? Who else has been hounding you for a statement on the Department of Agriculture's recent reports?"

"Our annual crop production goes down and up all the time."

"For the usual reasons, yes, but we aren't talking about the usual reasons this time."

"There is just over a week to go before the election. Carol will release the report after that."

"Win or lose?"

"Win or lose. Rocky Carson isn't going to trip over anything fantastic or devastating before then, but I'll get someone to look at what she thinks she has. Will that make you happy?"

"Hell no, I've seen the department's preliminary report. Our yield is twenty percent lower than two year ago and only shows signs of getting worse." Jimmy then surprised him by remaining silent for the rest of the short drive back to his family home on Egandale Road. "What time should I pick you and the kids up tomorrow?"

"The service starts at eleven. She will be laid to rest in the family crypt at about two o'clock. Better get here by ten."

"Do you want me to come in for bit?"

"Go home, Jimmy. I'll see you tomorrow."

"We really should be sick of each other by now."

"I grew tired of you twenty years ago, but I don't want you to end up homeless on the streets of Chicago."

"Give my love to Josh and Bryony." He drove away.

As expected, Letitia Ramos Valdez, 28, a petite woman barely five feet tall, was waiting for him in the family room at the back of the house.

"They went straight to bed, Mr. Van Biert, right on time. Do you need anything?"

"Thank you, no. Get some sleep. We all have a stressful day ahead of us tomorrow."

"I miss her so much." She wiped tears away from her childlike face and left him alone.

Senator Rolly Van Biert poured himself a straight whiskey. He then sat in the plush leather chair and looked out through the French doors at their backyard and the western shore of Lake Michigan. Only after he'd poured himself a third whiskey did he dare to look to the fireplace mantle and the urn resting there that held his wife's ashes.

Tradition for the Bredenhof and Van Biert families was internment in the family crypts, but three weeks ago Yvonne had perished in a fiery three car crash on the Anacostia Freeway just across the Anacostia River from D.C. The fire was so intense nothing was left of her that could be interred but ashes.

Five other people had also burned almost to nothing. Because Yvonne was the wife of a senator, the accident was being investigated by the FBI. They had made little progress in determining what caused the accident or why the fire was so hot.

A fourth whiskey, with much less in the glass than the first three, preceded a visit to the urn. As beautiful and ornate as it was, it was still too much like the inescapable trap that had killed her. Coming closer to it triggered imaginary screams from his wife as the flames. . . .

The fifth drink was the biggest of them all. He set it on the table beside the chair, sagged back into it and returned to looking out at the night. The full moon's reflection rippled along the surface of Lake Michigan but never quite made it all the way to shore.

Hedges of laurel ran from the house along the sides of the property to the lakeshore. Leaves waved in the breeze. The ones that had moonlight on them appeared to be playing badminton, serving the round beams as they swung up in the breeze only to catch them again when they settled.

While taking the first sip of his fifth whiskey, he tried to follow one of the disappearing, reappearing balls of moonlight when a leaf served it. He raised his eyes only to see the real thing hovering over the water. When he lowered his gaze, he spotted something that brought him forward in his chair.

A shadow had come around the hedge to his left and was walking along the shore. When it turned and started coming toward the house it became a human. The human became a naked woman. The naked woman became Yvonne.

"My God." He reached for the landline phone but his hand froze above it. "My God, my God, my God. Yvonne." Her name came out of him as a hoarse cough.

The hallucination continued to come closer. The automatic outside lights came on. It was Yvonne, naked and beautiful, vacant but full of life, young, firm, flawless.

He took a larger drink of whiskey before staggering to the French doors and opening them. "Yvonne, is that really you?"

"I've come home," the doppelganger said in Yvonne's voice.

He embraced her and wept. The tears just came out of him like the waves rolling to the shore, one after the other, unstoppable.

Her arms slowly came up. She returned his hug. Her embrace was light. He could barely feel the pressure of her hands against the small of his back.

He brought her into the family room and sat her on the chair. "Are you hurt? I'll call for an ambulance."

"I'm just a little confused, that's all."

He laughed too loud. "That is not all, darling, not by a long shot. You are completely naked. You burned to death inside your car three weeks ago."

"That's impossible. I'm right here."

"How did you get here? Why are you naked?" He didn't ask why she looked younger than she should.

"I remember the gala in Washington. I think I was returning to my car."

"Witnesses say they saw you leave the hall. No one saw you get into your car and drive away."

"I remember a man and a woman getting into it." She put up her hand. "I called to them. I think I called to them." She nodded. "Yes, I did. The man came to me. The woman drove away in my car." She looked up at him. "She drove away in my car." Her hand went to the back of her head, more as though it was drifting away than a purposeful act. "I felt something strike me. Now I'm here, back home, with you."

"Where have you been for three weeks?"

"Has it been that long?"

He went to the phone. "I have to call the FBI. I need to tell Nyla about you. Then I'll call Dr. Everton. She will—"

"No, no phone calls, please, not tonight."

"You are likely suffering from a concussion. You've probably been in a fugue state for three weeks. You might have been drugged and kept somewhere. Someone must have brought you here and dropped you off." A swarm of thoughts about a possible kidnapping somehow going wrong, about perpetrators losing their nerve and releasing Yvonne, about almost losing her for a second time buzzed through his shock. "You sure as hell couldn't walk naked all the way from Washington to Chicago."

She felt her body starting with her feet, her legs, between her legs, her flat stomach, her breasts. She ended at the back of her head. "I am not injured. I haven't been assaulted. I don't even have a bump."

"I'm calling Nyla Rowe."

"Please, darling, leave it until morning."

"You need medical attention." He looked at the urn and it just shot out of him. "We are laying you to rest in the family crypt tomorrow."

Through a yawn, she said, "What I need is a good night's sleep in our bed. I'll be good as new in the morning. We will face it all together tomorrow. There will be no need for a service."

"You don't remember anything after seeing the man and woman at your car?"

"Honestly, darling, I'm not sure I remember you at the moment. I only know I am finally home." She shivered. Gooseflesh erupted on her. "I am cold and tired. Just let me get into bed." She smiled up at him and pointed to the glass. Through a giggle, she said, "Tell me your name and give me some of that."

"It's Rolly," he muttered. Then he said in a clear voice, "You have a son, Josh, seven, and a daughter, Bryony, five." He let her finish the whiskey then picked her up and somehow got them both to the stairs without going down. She felt so light.

She murmured into his neck, "You feel wonderful, strong, warm, inviting." She raised her face to his and kissed him as he carried her up the stairs. "That was good." She kissed him again, harder. "I've missed having your arms around me, your hands on me."

Another launch of her face at his forced him up against the wall. Her tongue pried its way into his mouth. She grabbed his head with both hands and pressed into him as much as she could. Guttural moans vibrated along her flicking tongue into him.

One of the first things he'd discovered about Yvonne Bredenhof when they began courting was that she was not a passionate woman. She'd always brought equal measures of mild pleasure and impatience to their sex. After Josh, they had gone to counselling, but she had been as unresponsive to that as she had been to the reason they were going. After Bryony, she had given up any pretense of caring for sex at all. Now she was trying to swallow him whole.

"Take me here. Take me now."

"We'll wake the children."

"I don't care."

"We'll wake Latitia."

"She can join us if she wants. Tell me, Rolly, is my body better than hers? Is it more appealing to you? I'm more woman than she is, aren't I? She's so tiny, so much like a little girl. You can have us both if you want, at the same time. I don't mind. I'll watch and then you watch and then we can all do it together. I find her quite attractive. I've always wanted to lick her—"

"What's got into you?"

"You if you'd only stop dawdling." She kissed him again, this time biting his lower lip before letting go. "Hurry, Rolly, fuck me as hard as you can, as hard as you dare. Show me just how hard and long you can be." She clamped her mouth to his again. Her tongue was a probe, a tease and a weapon.

Five whiskeys were burning through him, adding to the intensity of the surging desire for his wife that got him to their bedroom with her still in his arms. He tossed her onto the bed.

She opened her legs to him. "Come into me now."

His shirt was drenched with sweat as he pulled it and his loosened tie over his head.

She was beautiful, younger now than when he'd inspected her at the doors, no signs of malnutrition, dehydration or mistreatment, flawless skin, not even a hint of the faint stretch marks she'd always considered herself lucky to endure. "I'm still bikini material, if you think that will get you more votes."

The sex was wilder than it had ever been, physical, uninhibited. She was sensual and insatiable. Orgasms for her had not been part of their repertoire until tonight. He surrendered after their fifth time, once for each drink he'd consumed. His testicles ached. "I'm done."

He wasn't drunk anymore because every bit of energy inside him, including the alcohol, had been burned up. Five times! He couldn't help wondering if something about his wife's miraculous return and her unbelievably younger appearance had infused him with an extra dose of stamina. Viagra was no match for his resurrected wife tonight.

Was shock supposed to have this affect on someone?

She kissed him on his lips, gently chewed on each of his nipples, played her tongue into his navel and then for the first time in their marriage, took the tip of his cock into her mouth. She licked him as she hummed to herself, took him deeper into her mouth and settled next to him with her head resting on his hip, just lying there humming and using him as a post-coital pacifier. When he started to get hard again she let go of him and slipped off the bed.

She looked around the bedroom. "Some of it is coming back to me. Is it still here?"

"Is what still here?"

"Oh, there it is." She walked straight to the locked cabinet, took hold of the doorknobs and pulled open the door, breaking the locks and bolts and bars that were supposed to make it impenetrable.

"Yvonne, what are you doing?" He sat up on the bed and swung his legs over the edge.

She turned to face him, smiled and returned to the bed holding her hands behind her back. "It's all coming back to me now. And do you know what I remember most?"

"What are you saying? What do you remember most?'

"How much I've always hated your fucking guts, how much I hate everything in this fucking Van Biert coffin you call a home." She brought the Beretta from behind her back and shot him twice in the head

She shot Josh once in the head. She shot Bryony once in the head, dropped the gun and walked naked out the front door. Halfway along the sidewalk to Egandale Road she felt the prick of the dart striking the back of her neck. She turned around to see Letitia Ramos Valdez at the open front door holding a dart gun. The acidic pain running through her only lasted a few seconds before she felt nothing at all and dissolved into a steaming pile of red and white foam.

# Chapter 17

Kazuo Hayshibara retrieved the three bodies of his crewmen, but Iwa insisted she not tell Kazuo, Sakura or Takeshi about the three Mexicans she had in her tent.

Back at the plane, Captain Hayshibara took out his humiliation on the remainder of his crew. Every command he issued, every response he gave to questions came out as angry rebukes. He was polite to her and personally made sure she was comfortable and secure in his US-2, which included more harsh orders to his crew to make sure the three bodies were out of sight of their passenger. "We will have you back in Tokyo shortly, Dr. Garcia Lopez."

Sakura and Takeshi secured themselves in their seats as Kazuo and his flight crew got the US-2 up into the air.

The tense, quiet flight back to Tokyo that she expected ended when Sakura began talking. The first thing she said ended any confidence that her conversation with Iwa had been private.

"We should have brought back the Mexicans as well. We need to identify them."

Tsutsui said, "I will send someone to retrieve them. She will not refuse me."

"She will be arrested if she does."

Juanita supported her abdomen. "She was angry, that was all. First those three men, then three more from our plane attack. She will cooperate."

"Yes she will," Tsutsui said.

"Chiyoko is not living as a hermit on her tiny island. Dr. Hashimoto was not being completely honest with you. I wonder why?"

Tsutsui took hold of Sakura's arm and squeezed. "It would be best to let Dr. Garcia Lopez rest."

Sakura yanked her arm away and raised it as if to strike him with her elbow.

"What is she doing on her tiny island?"

Sakura's hand dropped back to her lap. Tsutsui's coded caution must have had some affect on her. She appeared to be choosing her words carefully before she continued.

"She works with Thomas Ferris." Those were some words she'd chosen. "He has stationed her on the island as a non-aligned agent."

"Non-aligned?"

"Like an NGO."

"Sakura, that is not a clarification."

Tsutsui said, "They are conducting their own investigation and their own interventions. There is concern they might have become as dangerous as the very people we are up against. There have been a number of violent incidents. Ferris recruited a very powerful agent to help him. He leaves a lot of damage and bodies wherever he goes."

Sakura said, "They have gotten more results than anyone else."

"Where?"

"Everywhere," Sakura said barely loud enough to be heard over the engine noise roaring through the US-2's fuselage.

Though clearly reluctant to participate in what Sakura was determined to reveal, Tsutsui said, "It is true they have provided crucial information to help our nation, South Korea, even India recently. A number of attacks have been averted. A number of infiltrators have been exposed, a number of their operatives have been taken into custody."

"Were those people at Narita other operatives?"

Tsutsui nodded. "There is sufficient reason to believe such a thing."

"What about Iwa's Mexicans?"

Sakura said, "We have to identify them before we can answer that question."

"In the past, Juanita, we have assumed they came after you because of the work you were doing with his castoffs under the cover of your anthropology research. This time, someone does not want you to return to your uncle."

"Them? Why?"

Finally, Sakura acknowledged the obvious. "You are fifty-one years old, though you do not look even close to that age. You have not been with a man for some time, but you are—"

"Is there anything else about me you want to reveal?"

Tsutsui said, "We are sorry, Dr. Garcia Lopez. We only want to make sure you complete your journey. It is very important that you return home."

"That was never my home."

"Nonetheless, that people are after you is proof that it is very important for you to get there."

"I don't suppose you would tell me why even if you did know."

Kazuo came back to them. "I have been ordered to return to Atsugi."

Sakura stood up to her brother and slapped his face. "You should not have made your report until after we delivered the doctor back to Tokyo."

Kazuo glanced at Tsutsui. "Three men infiltrated our defense force, our base and my crew. I had to report that." He said to Tsutsui, "They have told me of other infiltrations that have been discovered and stopped."

Takeshi Tsutsui just nodded. "Sakura, if we must go to Atsugi, we must. It is a matter of national security." He said to Juanita, "I am sorry, but we cannot circumvent such direct orders, even for you."

"I understand."

"I hope you do."

Kazuo returned to the cabin. A few minutes later, she felt the US-2 alter its course to a more northwesterly direction.

"This could play to our advantage. The people sent after you will be expecting you to return to Tokyo. They likely know what hotel you were planning to stay at for the night. They won't know of this change in plans."

"That's assuming there isn't another infiltrator on this crew or at the base."

As silent and slow as the remainder of the flight seemed, arrival at Japan's Maritime Self-Defence Force's Fleet Air Force Headquarters in Atsugi catapulted her through a series of stops and interrogations through different buildings with different military or government officials asking the same questions over and over. Every one of her interrogators was forceful but respectful of her condition and thus polite. Though they had her alone and vulnerable, the interrogations still felt like a diplomatic dance around her. She was offered tea three times and accepted twice.

She had grown up privileged because of the power her three uncles had wielded in Mexico. That power had dissipated thirty years ago and at its height had certainly not reached as far as Japan.

Once they had apologetically placed her in an office that belonged to a mid-level officer, she tried to ascertain how she could command this much immunity after such a breach of security in Japan's military—purportedly all because of her. Three attempts to think her way through the dynamics at play here all failed to reach any definitive conclusion. She had no explanation for why anyone would want her dead rather than see her return to her uncle or why her Japanese hosts were treating her so . . . well . . . well.

Sakura, Takeshi and Kazuo had been kept together but separated from her and the rest of the crew. She hadn't seen any of them for the past two hours.

When Takeshi, Sakura and a general she had not seen before finally came into the office, Tsutsui said, "Arrangements have been made for you to stay here tonight. We will get you to the airport in time to catch your flight tomorrow morning. I will come with you to Los Angeles."

"Why are you doing this for me? I am nobody of importance. Nobody should be committing hari-kari over this. "

Tsutsui came to her. "You are of very great importance, Juanita, even if none of us are aware of the reasons. We have our orders to make sure you get back to your uncle."

"But why?"

Tsutsui bowed to her, as did Sakura and the general.

"You are aware of the international effort to stop them."

"The Proteus Group, yes, but I know nothing about who they are or what their plans might be, if that is what this is all about."

"But your uncle does. He has provided information to the DHS in the United States that has helped everyone attack this menace."

"I repeat, I know nothing about them."

"In part, that is one of the biggest problems our international effort is facing. Despite declarations of open and willing cooperation between nations, that is not the reality. The more each nation discovers about what is happening in their jurisdiction, the more their concern about infiltrators increases. Even close allies, how do you say it in poker, are keeping their cards close to the vest. There is a growing belief and frustration that the Americans know more than they are sharing because they have people like your uncle who has been helping them. They tell us very little but they keep telling us what we should be doing; only releasing the crucial bits of information when absolutely necessary, often not even then. We are all doing our part to see that their Operation Gangrene succeeds. What happened today, I'm afraid, is proof of that."

Sakura said, "We have been told that it is of the utmost importance that you return to New Mexico, but that is all we have been told. We have been operating that way for the past year. As we've gotten closer to them the flow of information has been almost completely shut off."

"I don't understand any of this, truly I don't, but I do thank you for everything you have done for me."

"There is another option for you, doctor," the general said. "You can remain in Japan, for your own protection, of course."

Takeshi and Sakura both scowled. They weren't just scowls of anger at the general for making a suggestion contrary to their mission orders. Takeshi and Sakura appeared ready to fight. Sakura had reached inside her jacket for her gun.

Had suspicion and distrust spread that fast that anything anyone said contrary to the accepted plan could be construed as a threat? Did the Japanese military and secret service no longer trust each other? Was Japan going to be the first nation to implode as a result of Operation Gangrene? Why had no one introduced the general to her?

"I am grateful for your efforts on my behalf, and that is a very attractive option to me at the moment, general, but I must return to my uncle. If I am lucky enough to learn of anything that could help your efforts here, I will do everything I can to get that information to you."

The general held out his hands and then bowed. "If only that were true, doctor."

The trio left her. Twenty minutes later, two female navy personnel entered the office carrying a folded cot, blankets and six pillows.

The shorter one asked, "Do you think six pillows will be enough to keep you comfortable? We can get more."

"That will be fine." Before the two could complete their bows and politely retreat, she asked, "Can I call out?"

The shorter one replied, "We were not given any orders about that, doctor. You may call anyone you wish to call. You are not a prisoner or we would have confiscated your phone."

They both bowed quickly and left.

"They can probably listen in, so why would they try to stop me?"

She called her uncle.

"It is after three in the morning, Juanita."

"Just listen." She told him all that had happened. "Did you send anyone to . . . intercept me?"

"I haven't had the time to arrange such a thing. If I had known there was any danger to you I would have told you to stay in Mumbai and sent someone to escort you back."

The lies still flowed through her family like rancid blood.

"I can send someone to Tokyo."

"That won't be necessary. I have the Japanese navy and secret service protecting me."

"I will personally pick you up at El Paso. Is anyone coming with you from Japan?"

"Someone will come with me as far as Los Angeles."

"Make sure they do. Be careful, my little dove."

# Chapter 18

On approach to the first compound, it resembled the second site except it lacked the decay and fungal growth all through it. The infrared imager in the helicopter revealed no one in the hacienda. It couldn't penetrate to the tunnels below ground, however.

Frank circled the hacienda a couple of times, couldn't see or detect any men stationed there, could see no bodies on the top of the wall or on the patio where he had left them. He called Ferris.

"They took everyone away."

"Evelyn is dead, Frank. She survived the delivery but died in her sleep. She named her daughter Francesca."

"I'll get back to you."

Landing the helicopter on its pad inside the compound required avoiding two chunks of concrete from the wall. The helo scraped along the larger one a few feet above the pad, sending it into a spin. Frank lifted off, turned it 180 degrees from his original approach and brought it down again. The landing skids barely fit between the two chunks.

A meticulous search of the ruins of the patio and then the house confirmed the bodies had been removed. Only one Mercedes sedan and APC tracks remained in the parking lot. Four or five armored personnel carriers had been at this site. There could have been as many as fifty to sixty reinforcements in them. The Garcia Ortiz gang shouldn't be that big anymore.

A second more cursory search revealed nothing more than the first one. The house had been emptied of any possible clues to where the second group had gone.

At the bottom of the stairs from the patio, Frank proceeded straight to the cell that had held Evelyn and the other women. The two other cells were empty. One looked exactly the same as the one that had held the women, chiselled out of the rock as a crude dome shape. The other one was more finished and was in the shape of a cube. It was also about twenty-five percent larger, contained empty racks intended to hold dozens of weapons, and another metal door at the back of it that led to another series of tunnels and chambers.

"It figures." He took out his cell phone. The signal was faint and intermittent. "I'm down where I found the women. There are more tunnels."

"Be . . . any fungus . . . anywhere?"

"Don't see any. You're fading in and out. I'll take a look and call you back. I'll use the helo's radio when I do. How's the baby?"

"She's healthy, strong, beautiful, hungry . . . very loud. Be . . ." The line went dead.

Switches to the left just inside the door turned on a string of overhead lights that revealed a similar pattern to the first tunnels, one straight on about fifty yards long that then branched into three. The overhead lights in the tunnel that branched off to his right had not come on.

Frank turned on his flashlight and went into that one. Only a few steps in he found evidence of previous Nazi presence: swastikas, German army clothing and gear, guns, a small Nazi Germany flag on its foot-high pole. Los Tres Carniceros originated during the Mexican Revolution. The scant evidence Thomas Ferris and his network had found indicated Weinberg had established his roots in Mexico during that period with the three Garcia Padilla brothers the gang was named for. Nothing in that evidence had revealed any connection with Nazis, however.

The center tunnel exhibited the same badges, plaques and laboratory equipment bearing Nazi, Gestapo and SS insignias. The laboratory equipment strewn about the tunnel appeared to be WWII vintage. One table thirty feet long in the center of the expanded end of the tunnel, another dome cavern six times larger than the cells that held the women—large enough and nearly as well equipped as a laboratory for a first-year university science class—had equipment covered with Nazi tarps along its full length.

Frank pulled them all off to expose another supply of old laboratory equipment and a stack of three large ledger books, the kind the Allies had found in prison camps after the war. The top two ledgers contained entries documenting deliveries and supplies of equipment. According to them, there should be two more laboratories somewhere in this labyrinth of tunnels. A map placed at the back of the ledger containing the fewest entries revealed another series of tunnels below this set that was far more extensive.

The third book contained names of the laborers used to dig out the tunnels and build the hacienda. Los Tres Carniceros had brought in a huge supply of slave labor that included women and children. He took the map and the third book with him.

The third tunnel branched again into three more tunnels.

"What's with Nazis digging fucking tunnels everywhere they went?"

Each of those three branches led to maternity rooms capable of holding between twelve and twenty patients. These wards resembled true hospital rooms. Whereas the laboratory and the cells were just hollows carved out of the rock, these rooms had walls of wood and lathe and plaster. They had washrooms, examination rooms, delivery rooms and rooms that contained linen and supplies, though most of that was now decayed away to nothing.

Working fluorescent lights hung down over each bed to compliment another line of lights along the center of the room. Close the door once inside any of these rooms and except for the absence of windows—bright paintings of Mexican landscapes hung on the walls in their place—one could easily assume they were in a hospital, not thirty feet or more below ground.

Sitting on one of the dust-covered mattresses in Maternity Three led to a sneezing fit before he could look through the ledger again.

Each side of six pages near the middle of the ledger totalled twenty-eight female patients per side. Three hundred and thirty six pregnant women had come through these underground maternity wards between 1936 and 1945. Their first names, Mexican, German, Japanese and even a few Anglo-Saxon, ages, eye color, hair color, head size, level of health, breast and hip measurements, and a few words in the last column that indicated whether or not they died in the first trimester, the second or made it all the way to full term were recorded for each woman. One hundred and sixteen of the names were crossed out with a thick black line, leaving only their descriptions. Someone had used a straightedge to keep the strikeout perfectly horizontal.

He tossed the ledger onto the bed and opened the map. A door diagonally across the room from the bed he sat on was supposed to open onto a set of stairs that would take him down to the next level.

The door was still there. The wooden stairs had rotted away years ago. His flashlight beam revealed a drop of fifteen feet to a stone floor littered with the splintered remains of the collapsed stairs. According to the map, one other set of stairs led down from Maternity One. It was probably in the same condition.

He found some hemp rope in the laboratory that was still in good condition. Fastening it around the legs of a metal table that was both secured to the floor as well as the wall provided the support he needed. At the lower level, he couldn't find any switches to turn on lights.

A number of the tunnels he explored had niches carved into the walls. Straw was still present in some of them. The slave labor slept down at this level. The presence of bones in some of the niches had transformed these tunnels into catacombs. Did any of them ever see daylight again once they got down here?

There were two large caverns that could have been used as mess halls. Why expend the energy and resources to do this? It would have been quicker, easier and less costly in every way to have built barracks above ground or just leave the slaves exposed to the elements. Cruelty had played a purposeful role in this elaborate subterranean existence.

Further confirmation of that impression came at the end of the longest tunnel on the other side of a metal door in the form of a chamber that had been used as a charnel house. There were animal bones present, but not very many. The human bones ranged in age from infants, including newborns, to perhaps early middle age. No one over fifty had ended up here. Most of the bones were normal, but some exhibited the signs of early research efforts. They belonged to very young victims.

Twisted spines that couldn't be attributed to the hard labor these children were forced to endure stuck up out of the piles. At some point in the past someone had tried to sort the bones according to age groups. The two biggest piles were one for the deformed children and one for women and their babies.

Thick bones in the main pile could be from the hardier species of human ancestors except they were less than a hundred years old. Some of the spines had rudimentary scale development along the spinous processes of their vertebrae, Weinberg's early efforts trying to strengthen bones, muscle and skin.

Had he gotten started with all that would follow only because he was trying to make stronger slaves? What role had the Nazis played in this early phase of his work?

Back at the confluence of the tunnels, he counted four more left to explore. Checking the map eliminated two of them because they were never completed. The one next to the one he'd just exited contained something none of the others had.

After folding up the map and sticking it in his pocket, Frank knelt down and started wiping away the thin layer of soil and detritus. He quickly uncovered a set of railway tracks. They terminated at the confluence but extended into the tunnel. Eighty yards in, a coal car rested where someone had blown up the tunnel to prevent further penetration.

He checked the blockage. Even with his extra strength, there were too many chunks of rock here too heavy for him to move.

The collection at the blocked end of this tunnel consisted of human and animal bones, too. The human bones that he could see were from adult males. None of them were deformed. One set of bones resting separate from the main pile was partially covered by the remains of a suit. A bullet hole was centered in the skull's forehead. The majority of the bones, however, were from small animals: rats, mice, moles, reptiles, one or two larger rodents.

Frank shone the flashlight beam at the barricade but found no gap in it that he might be able to enlarge. He moved the beam upward to see if the blockage went all the way up. It did, but what he found along the ceiling of the cave started him backing up.

Pale, slightly luminescent snakes—perhaps only reflective in the flashlight beam—hung down above him. Essentially white, with slight hints of pink and either black or purple vein-like squiggly lines running the length of their segmented bodies, they coiled and stretched as if just waking up. They had modified tails that split into four appendages used to fasten themselves to the ceiling. The longest reached fifteen to eighteen inches.

There were far too many of them to count or even estimate a number. Hundreds! And they all appeared to be getting more agitated as the beam of light passed across them. A few of the larger ones lashed out at the smaller ones near them, knocking them to the tunnel floor. Then some of the bigger ones started dropping to the floor and slithering toward him.

Holding the flashlight as steady as he could, Frank sprinted back to the collapsed stairs. Rather than climb the rope, he jumped up, grabbed the floor and pulled himself back into Maternity Three. As soon as he stood up, the two men in there with him opened fire.

# Chapter 19

The screams in his head woke him long before the radio came on at 6:30 a.m. Nunez sat up with his hands over his ears and sweat dripping off his nose.

"Stop! Leave me alone! It's too late. There is nothing I can do for you. There is nothing left of me now."

Lola stood in the doorway in her robe holding a tray with his coffee and toast. She set the tray on the table beside the bed and sat down next to him. "Can I get you something?"

He shook his head as the last of the screams receded. It didn't seem to have much range of motion against the stiffness in his neck. "About yesterday."

She put a finger to his lips. "It was nothing." She felt the bed. "Your sheets need changing. Enjoy your breakfast." At the door, she turned back and opened her robe to reveal her body. "I am available to you anytime you feel the need."

Though it was early, he called Ralph Price after he finished his coffee and toast. "I apologize for calling so early, Mr. Price."

"I was up, Senor Nunez. What can I do for you?"

"Is everything ready?"

"We will be there tomorrow bright and early." Price chuckled. "Not this early, though. I would think eight o'clock if that is all right with you?"

"That would be perfect. I may have another side job for you and your crew. We can discuss it when you get here."

"See you tomorrow. Have a great day."

I intend to.

He dressed quickly, considered taking Lola up on her offer, if for no other reason than to challenge it, but there were too many things he had to get done today.

His cell phone began ringing. It was Fidel.

"He's returned to the hacienda after visiting the old site. We have sent men to take care of him."

"Why would he come back?"

"The tunnels."

"There is nothing of consequence in them."

"That may not be true for him."

"Nothing will help him. What about Hector?"

"I will see that he is properly laid to rest. We disposed of the others. When does she arrive?"

"She lands at El Paso tomorrow morning. Fidel, someone tried to attack her in Japan."

"Why? She is, as you say of the tunnels, of no consequence in this operation. She has been away from the family for almost twenty years."

"That's what she told representatives from Japan's Defense Intelligence Division and their Ministry of Foreign Affairs' Intelligence and Analysis Service. She thought I might have sent them."

"I'm not surprised."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Stop being a fool, brother. What are you doing today?"

"I already told you. I will take care of everything." He hung up.

His phone immediately began ringing again.

Dr. Esparza said, "I will be unavailable for the next few days, Beltran. I trust you will faithfully attend to your duties while I am away."

"Is there anything more you want me to tell the other side?"

"I have already seen to that. In a few days, they won't know which way to turn. Be productive today, Beltran. Both sides are depending on you. And do give my love and regards to Juanita tomorrow. Her return has been too long in coming."

The scream that woke him was different than before. In the past, the cries were legion and little more than an indistinct cacophony of terror and pain. That scream had been singular and came closer than ever before to identifying its source. When the cries began again as soon as he put away his mobile phone they brought him to his knees. That singular scream remained maddeningly promising and elusive.

"Who are you? What do you want from me?"

Lola had returned with fresh bedding. "Señor, calm yourself."

"Leave me alone!" He rose to his feet and staggered to the door as if he'd just been clubbed over the head.

Lola dropped the bedding, opened her robe, took hold of him and kissed him. Her hand dropped to his groin and caressed him. "There, there, I'm here for you." She placed his hand on her small, firm breast, unzipped his pants and reached in to release him.

He pushed her away and proceeded to the garage. "I have things to do."

The cries and that scream came with him. Amid that blaring agony, he thought he heard Lola laughing as he left her behind in his bedroom.

*****

Lily pulled the blankets up to cover herself when she saw a face on each of her three laptop screens looking at her. "What time is it?"

Kieran, from Tralee, said, "What is time to us?" His bald, tattooed head filled the screen, as if he was trying to shove it in her face. He looked to his left and then his right. "Get up, Lily. We're in a wee bit of trouble."

To Kieran's left, her right, Nicolette, from Lucerne, her brunette hair braided and wrapped tight at the back of her head, nodded. "Whatever time really is, we are running out of it."

To Kieran's right, Henry, from Pretoria, his brown face the farthest back from the camera and the smallest on the screen—Lily could see his broad shoulders—said, "It's Muta, Lily. She's the one in trouble. She needs our help."

Kieran snorted, "If she's in trouble, we're all in trouble. It is what I said, isn't it?"

Lily took a quick peek to confirm she had remembered to put on her pajamas last night before tumbling out of bed thanks to her still sleeping left foot getting tangled in the blankets. She jerked it free, hopped over to her laptops and sat down.

Kieran said, "She's been scooting in and out, dropping off lines of code from a new malware threat. It looks like a worm."

"It's more than just a worm," Henry said. "It's a snake large enough to wrap around the whole world."

"Hardly that." Kieran did what he always did when he was in a confrontational mood, which seemed to be a permanent mood for him. He was a valuable member of the Creators Almighty and he had to be credited with providing some of the most innovative coding and algorithms for Muta's development. But he was as likely to turn on the other members of their exclusive group as he was their enemies. "Hysterical panic isn't going to help any of us, Henry."

"What . . . ?"

"Hush, the both of you." Nicolette leaned closer to her camera. "Lily, you need to contact your colleagues at Stanford and Santa Barbara. She's been using speed to protect us."

"Let them come," Kieran said and shook his fist. "I'll give it to them good."

"What's the malware?"

Henry said, "It doesn't appear to be anything all that new. We only have fragments because she keeps moving. They are probably the lines of code she could get easily before having to scoot. It just appears to be very large."

Nicolette said, "Whoever is behind it has been shopping the Dark Web. They are not just inputting their own stuff."

"I've been checking on that," Henry said. "Some of those behind the programs have disappeared soon after the purchase was made. Their stuff was then taken over completely and any trace of it on the internet has, so far, been successfully hidden from detection."

"We believe they are being brought together as part of a larger undertaking so each program's capabilities can be utilized." Kieran grimaced. "We've been able to unpack the code on some of what she's brought us. It's all standard fare, nothing we haven't seen before. It's the purpose, motivation and scale behind all this that we need to figure out."

"Have they tried anything yet?"

Henry answered, "All is quiet at the moment."

Nicolette said, "That is not correct. I think they are after Muta. Some of the code is probing her security protocols trying to gain access to her. We've been able to fend them off, but she is under a lot of stress. We may have to deactivate her if we can't protect her. We may have to delete her."

"She's too big now. At best we could maybe fragment her."

"No bloody way that's happening." Kieran took out his knife.

Henry said, "Is that even real?"

"Why don't you come here and find out for yourself, you poncey git."

"Shut-up, Kieran and put that away. We need to keep Muta functional. Get everyone you can on protection."

"Yeah, Lily, like we couldn't think of that our bloody selves. It's already happening. Hong Kong, Buenos Aires, Mexico City and Saint Petersburg crews have been on it all the while you were having pleasant dreams, little girl."

"I'm up now. I'll contact who I have to."

Henry and Nicolette vanished from the screens. Kieran did not.

"What is it?"

"She was in pain, Lily. I know she's just code and all. I know we gave her those anthropomorphic traits to make her more accessible to everyone, to make her seem more human to the lowest common. But it was still hard to see."

"She's tough."

"She is that, luv, but this one looks like it could give her a good going over."

"We have a lot of resources behind us. Get to work on how we can strike back. Gerhardt, Dmitri and Sven would be good for that, but take whoever you need from the gene pool and get it done as fast as you can."

# Chapter 20

The bullet-proof vest that Ferris insisted he wear if he insisted on working alone—the one he had never worn before—took most of the hits before he dropped back down to the lower tunnels. One bullet did graze his left forearm and a second his right thigh. Frank ducked into the darkness directly under the doorway before the two men could get there and continue their shooting.

Bullets ricocheted off the stone walls, some off the stone floor. Their trajectories took them away from him because the men were firing where they saw him drop not where he hid. He couldn't return fire because the floor of Maternity Three directly above him rested on about eighteen inches of rock overhang.

The shooting stopped. Two bright flashlight beams flitted about like trails from luminescent insects. The men remained silent while they searched the limited area they could see.

Keeping pressed against the tunnel wall, Frank slipped farther away from Maternity Three. He understood Spanish well enough to know the men had begun arguing over whether to just climb down after him, get the other four men with them first or call for more reinforcements. They knew who they were after and what he was supposed to be capable of. One of the men had a good idea of how complex the tunnel system below them was. He was arguing for as many reinforcements as they could get before coming after Frank Gillett.

They compromised and agreed to call two of the other four men to join them and leave the other pair to guard the other stairwell from Maternity One. Was the one who knew the tunnels aware of the snakes?

Frank crept back under the overhang to hear better what they were saying.

The know-it-all was calling the other two men by name and ordering them to come on the double.

Sneaking out of the dark for a peek revealed the two men at the doorway to Maternity Three cupping their ears to hear the response from the other two. Neither one was watching the tunnel below them. He aimed his Glock and fired three times at the man who knew the tunnels before ducking back into the darkness.

Gunfire and curses from the other man followed the body down into the tunnel. Footsteps pounded across the floor of the Maternity Three, followed by more gunfire. After about ten seconds and a few dozen rounds, one of the men hollered for them all to stop shooting.

Taking a peek wasn't going to work a second time. A quick glimpse of the body of the man he'd shot, barely visible in the light bleeding down from Maternity Three, convinced Frank that if his shots and the fall hadn't killed the man, the ten to twenty bullets from his comrades that had ripped him to bits surely had.

One of the men, possibly the one who had hollered to stop shooting, hooted a laugh a beat before the other two men joined him. They dropped grenades into the tunnel. One of them was clever enough to toss his grenade toward where their target might have fled.

Frank sprinted along the tunnel around a slight bend only to be knocked off his feet by the concussion of three grenades exploding simultaneously. He landed hard on his left side, rolled up against one wall, rose to his feet and pressed flat against it.

With two men waiting for him at the other stairwell and connected to the three at this end, he could only go deeper into the tunnels. Cover was available in the rail tunnel amid the debris blocking it, but those snakes were there. One of the two incomplete tunnels might have cover or might not. If they didn't, he would be trapped and exposed when the men, who were again discussing whether or not to come after him with just three, caught up to him. Five men were left, as far as he knew. He could make a stand against them where he was, but that wasn't ideal.

"Él no es a prueba de balas." He isn't bulletproof.

"Es que no lo escuché." That is not what I heard.

"Las granadas deben haber le consiguió." The grenades must have got him.

"Tal vez, tal vez no." Maybe, maybe not.

If he hid in the darkness and waited for them to separate, assuming they would accommodate him and do something that stupid, he could pick them off one at a time. These men were Mexican gang members, lower echelon. They were driven by a macho need for violence and glory. They could be stupid enough to separate to increase the chance of one of them getting all the credit for taking down Frank Gillett on his own.

Across from him, the beam of light caught an outcropping of rock extruding from the wall near the floor. No one had bothered to chisel, hammer or blow it to pieces. It was large enough to hide him in the darkness.

One of the men started shouting orders to climb down and confirm the kill or else finish him off.

"Vas por hay si quiero tanto." You go down there if you want him so much.

Frank ducked behind the outcropping and waited. Too far away and around the bend, he had to rely on his hearing to estimate what the trio was doing.

Someone was definitely coming down the rope. After a series of grunts, the man dropped the remaining distance to the floor. He immediately started cursing that he had landed in what was left of his comrade.

The three men bickered for a few more seconds, trying to assign blame before the second man came down the rope after first demanding guidance for his decent so he could avoid landing in entrails. He apparently landed only on rock.

One of them said, "No veo un cuerpo." I don't see a body.

The other said, "No veo nada." I don't see anything.

Two flashlights came on. Frank aimed his Glock.

Shooting and shouting started at the stairwell end of the tunnel but it wasn't aimed at him. The outburst was brief before silence took over the tunnel again but for the dripping of water where it was seeping in.

A woman hollered into the tunnel from Maternity Three, "Frank, are you down there? Are you hurt? Frank? Are you all right? These three are dead." She waited a few seconds for a reply then hollered again, "I'm on your side, Frank."

He stood up, kept his gun ready and approached the bend. "Who are you?"

"My name is Ramona Gilbert. Like you, I once worked for Tubby Chase."

"I know who you are."

"Like you, I work with someone else now."

"I know that, too." He returned to the remains of the staircase and glanced at the three dead men at his feet before looking up at Gilbert.

She smiled down at him. "Do you need some help getting back up?"

"Very funny." He wiped the sweat off his face.

"Look out!"

A man came running out of the shadows wielding a machete.

Frank defended against the blow with his left forearm. The machete struck the same spot where the bullet had grazed him and penetrated into the broken skin. Frank yanked the machete away by swinging his arm wide as he stepped forward, took hold of the man by his throat and bashed his head against the stone wall. The machete fell out of his arm and landed beside the man who had attacked with it.

"I was only kidding about helping you, Frank. I couldn't begin to pull someone as big as you up fifteen feet." She chuckled. "Maybe I could rig a pulley system."

"Just get out of the way."

Ramona shone her flashlight beam in his eyes, winked and backed up. "Let's see what you got, big guy."

He leapt the fifteen feet up to Maternity Three.

Ramona quickly stepped forward and took hold of his arm. "Wow. I read all about you and heard some incredible stories, but to see it for myself, that is something." She let go of him. "Can I see your scales?"

"How did you get here?"

"A friend sent me. She told me you were going to need my help." She pointed to the wound on his left arm still dripping blood onto the floor. "She's seldom wrong." She took off her backpack. "I have something for that because she told me I'd need it too."

Gilbert, her smile permanently stuck on her face, brought out a first aid kit and tended to his wound.

"You are getting reckless, Frank. You're ignoring your craft. That is not the agent I studied. You hardly bothered to avoid the machete strike. If not for that tough synthetic skin of yours, he would have cut off your arm. As it is, he gave you a very nasty gash."

"There should be one more."

"Two more at the other staircase; I took them out first. That one with the machete was the one not accounted for. More sloppiness on your part, I would say."

"You didn't know about him either. She didn't warn you about someone being in the tunnel with me."

"Let's not point fingers and try to deflect from the real problem here." She bandaged the wound as tight as she could. "You have become almost as stupid as these guys. You're relying too much on Weinberg's augmentations of you. You're behaving like an angry amateur, or worse, an action movie actor. It's making you dangerous to yourself and anyone with you."

"That is why I work alone."

"No, that is why you need me. I'm still a pro." She reached into her backpack and brought out an iPod. "For example, I found this after you clearly missed it. You did search upstairs before coming down here, didn't you, Frank? And I found something on it that will interest you very much."

She showed him what was on the screen.

"I have to call Chase."

"I was afraid you were going to say that."

"Why?"

"She also told me that option wasn't going to work out so well." She put the first aid kit away. "She's been having some difficulties of late, though. She couldn't tell me if that warning was for us or Tubby."

# Chapter 21

When Timothy Bartholomew Chase answered his phone, Frank Gillett greeted him with, "Sage Lomax was right. Weinberg is not dead."

"You failed, then."

"I wasn't the only one."

"Why are you telling me this now?"

"He's on his way to San Francisco to visit Savannah Lomax."

"That's too specific and detailed for Weinberg. It could be a diversion or a trap."

"There is only one way to find out."

"Are you going to finish your last assignment?"

"I thought you might want a chance at him this time. He's been very active since the toxin incident."

"Doing what? Where?"

"Ask him yourself."

Chase called Cole Reagan. "Weinberg's on his way to San Francisco."

"So he isn't dead."

"Tougher to kill than a cockroach. He's going to visit the girl's mother, though that plan could be just smoke."

"Petit and his team are already there. I'll put them on alert."

"Just tell Boyd to get the house ready. The three of us will take care of this, ourselves."

"Should we warn the mother?"

"What did I just tell you? Get the helo ready. I'll be there in thirty minutes."

He scanned the reports on the murders of Senator Rolly Van Biert and his family, and Wayne Manning and his family. Nyla Rowe was on her way to Chicago and had already sent another FBI team to Mesilla to investigate Manning's death. Joan McGowan was in charge of them.

Frank's warning was only confirmation of what he already knew. Wayne Manning had worked at Karyon Research while Weinberg was there. He had overlapped with Weinberg on research related to increasing food crop yields and countering pest threats. Who else would want to eliminate a potential connection to how Weinberg might be using the results of that research? Frank had failed to kill Weinberg in British Columbia, contrary to what everyone initially believed, but Frank had learned from one of Weinberg's associates there that Weinberg was still working on fungi and other threats to food crops.

"I don't need to create someone who can shoot laser beams out of his eyes to destroy the world, Tim. I just need to decrease food production to nudge it all to chaos levels. It isn't sexy evil, but it is still evil, and a lot more effective on a worldwide scale."

*****

Cheryl Cummings entered Carol Trotter's office on Air Force One carrying the preliminary report. "Nyla has passed Lily Wiley's warning on to Montreal, Karachi and Kiev. We land in Lincoln at nine thirty-five, Madame President. There will be a brief meeting with the press in the hangar. We will be at the Thatcher farm to see the damage at eleven. Secretary of Agriculture, Lederman will meet us there by helicopter." She set the report on the desk. "Do you think this is a good idea so close to the election?"

"There isn't going to be a good time for this, Cheryl." She opened the report and turned to the graphs. "It's struck in both Germany and France now, too?"

"It's spreading through wine country in southern France and the Rhine Valley in Germany. Italy reports a toxin from it is getting into their cattle. They claim it came from France. Russia and China are putting on a brave face for propaganda purposes, but diplomatically they are admitting to similar declines and asking us if we have any suggestions on what to do."

"Grapes now and cattle too, is it the same fungus?"

"There may be as many as three different species. Potatoes and rice have just been added to the list."

"One wasn't bad enough?"

"The one for food crops sends out filaments, tendrils, I'm not sure exactly what they call them. They burrow into the ground as much as they penetrate into the plants. If they spray to get rid of it, it just goes deeper then comes back hardier a week to ten days later. Sometimes it appears to die back on its own only to also return after about the same number of days. They've had some success in France by digging up the soil to a depth of two meters."

"We can't dig up our farms. You better let Lyle know the details before we get to the Thatcher place or he'll feel like he's being left out again." She closed the report. "Is there any good news?"

"A company in France might have something." Cheryl came around to her side of the desk and opened that report. "Appliquer des Solutions Biologiques, ASB, and our army's Edgewood Chemical Biological Center, ECBC, in Maryland have discovered that the crop fungus is very hydrophilic. While it does release toxins as well, it does the majority of its damage by literally sucking the water out of its victim. Those spreading tendrils have these little brown sponge-like nodules along them that absorb the water and can expand to almost ten times their original size." She demonstrated with her hands how big they could get. "The plant kingdom finally has its very own vampire."

"Fungi are not part of the plant kingdom. Ask our Canadian diplomat friend, Jacqueline Duquesne, to reach out to her amazing array of contacts and see if she can find out any more about how extensive the problem is in Russia and China. Maybe she can soothe some nerves in Europe, too, and keep them from constantly blaming each other."

"She does enjoy a challenge."

"What's happening with Rolly?"

"Special Agent Nyla Rowe is there now. It's still early in their investigation. She promises she will call when she has more to tell us."

"Be honest with me, Cheryl. She didn't use the phrase 'before it's too late', did she?"

# Chapter 22

Bernardo sat between his brothers on the floor of the garrison's crowded jail cell. They shared the cell with twenty other former Zapatistas. Two other cells held the remaining thirty-nine turncoats from Zapata's army.

"Do you still believe," Fidel said, "he can get us out of this?"

Hernando said, "He has abandoned us the way these pigs abandoned Zapata."

Bernardo stood up, walked through the crowded cell to the barred window and looked out at the firing squad preparing to complete the betrayal of Emiliano Zapata. He and Esparza had played a role in convincing General Pablo Gonzalez Garza how best to use his leverage against his disgraced colonel Jesus Guajardo.

Dr. Esparza took the lead. "Colonel Guajardo is a broken man, but not useless to us. That note from Zapata has provided you with the opportunity to eliminate President Carranza's main threat in the south and improve your station with him."

"We can persuade Zapata to believe Guajardo and his men are willing to join him."

The plan was developed, presented to Guajardo, with little alternative for him, and implemented with perfection.

"You, Fidel and Hernando must go to the garrison in Jonacatepec," Esparza had told him. "You must insinuate yourselves into the good graces of its commander, Colonel Vasquez de Soto. I have already written a letter of introduction for you. Once you are fully accepted as a Zapatista deserter, you must gather as much intelligence from the real deserters as you can about Zapata's army, his plans, his vulnerabilities and his strongholds."

Assuming the role of three more deserters was easy. Then Zapata demanded Guajardo to not only attack the garrison as proof of his commitment to switching sides, but he must also execute every one of Zapata's troops who had defected. When the warning of the pending mock attack came, Vasquez de Soto and Victoriano Barcena, a former Zapatista army commander and unofficial leader of the fifty-nine man contingent, and the only captive not among them in the cells, were not told of Zapata's additional demand.

He turned away from the view of the execution wall set within the stockade after watching the firing squad take practice shots, an intentional torment of the men in these cells.

He made his way back through the desolate men to Fidel and Hernando. "It would not make sense for Dr. Esparza to abandon us to this fate now. He has a plan that includes us. It will not succeed without us. He has told me we are sine qua non to his goals."

Fidel touched the scars on his cheeks and said, "He can easily get others to replace us."

"He nursed both you and Hernando through the Spanish flu outbreak last year. The medication he gave us only made us stronger. We can agree upon that. Why would he do such a thing only to change his mind about us now?"

Three guards accompanied Vasquez de Soto into the garrison jail and came straight to their cell.

Vasquez de Soto waited for his men to pick seven from the deserters and remove them from the cell. He then pointed to Bernardo. "You and your brothers come too."

He, Fidel and Hernando fell in behind the first seven and marched out of the jail, through the stockade and over to a second area with a second firing squad in place. There were eight riflemen in that squad.

The prisoners were commanded to stop.

"Not you three." Vasquez de Soto and one of the guards pulled Bernardo and his brothers aside. "Come with me."

The other two guards lined up the seven men against the wall before joining the firing squad. The guard who pulled them aside came with them to the garrison commander's office.

Inside, Dr. Esparza, Jesus Guajardo and two Germans were drinking wine. Victoriano Barcena sat on a chair near the garrison commander's desk but was otherwise unrestrained.

"Ah, Bernardo, Fidel, Hernando, how good of you to join us." Esparza set down his wine glass, picked up a tray holding five full wine glasses and came to them

Vasquez de Soto picked up a glass and took it to his desk with him. He kept his gaze fixed on Barcena.

Fidel took a glass of wine first and drank half of it. It was his turn to be the tester. When nothing happened, Bernardo and Hernando took glasses.

Esparza laughed too loudly. "By now you three should know how important you are to me. I would see no harm come to you." He took the last glass of wine to Barcena. "This has been a monumental success, gentlemen. Jefe Zapata should be both pleased and convinced. I salute all of you."

Everyone drank their wine, including Barcena.

Colonel Guajardo set his glass down, saluted Vasquez de Soto and bowed to everyone else. "I must leave for Chinameca." He laughed. "I will be defecting to el Jefe at el Hacienda de San Juan tomorrow."

Once he was gone, Esparza said to the brothers, "I must introduce you to my new colleagues." He waved for the taller blond man, perhaps in his mid-forties, to come forward. "This is Dr. Archibald Eckstein." He waved for the younger, stockier blond man to come forward. "And this is Dr. Manfred Althus. Doctors, these are the three brothers I have told you so much about."

The brothers and the doctors shook hands as Esparza refilled everyone's glasses with more wine.

"Come, gentlemen, one more toast and then we can conclude our part in this tragic theater."

The firing squad fired its first volley of the night as every man finished his drink.

"Hernando," Esparza said as he gathered up the glasses and returned them to the cabinet, "I believe you are the one to complete the final act of tonight's play." He walked over to Victoriano Barcena. "We must present Zapata with proof of Guajardo's sincerity by complying with his last demand. Colonel Barcena must be at el Hacienda de San Juan to allay any last suspicions he may have. Hernando, what I need you to do is kill him so that we might present him in a fitting way to el Jefe."

Vasquez de Soto and the guard had closed in on Bercana. They forced him to his knees on the floor.

Dr. Eckstein handed Hernando a Mauser C96.

Bernardo took the semi-automatic pistol. "I will do it."

"I would rather Hernando did this, Bernardo. He has a talent for such things. And just to make this more rewarding, he can keep the Mauser as a souvenir."

Hernando took the Mauser and tucked it into the waist of his pants. As he walked to Barcena, he withdrew from his vest pocket a length of strong, slender hemp rope and slipped the noose around Barcena's neck.

Esparza applauded. "Simply marvelous, my friend; you always bring your very own, and might I say, most appropriate devices to the task at hand."

With de Soto and the guard holding Barcena still, Hernando put his knee against their sacrifice's back, tightened the noose and yanked as hard as he could. Once he let Barcena's body fall to the floor, he spit on it. "No bullet wounds to betray the betrayal."

"Indeed not."

Vasquez de Soto, the guard and the two German doctors left the office.

"You three will take the body to Chinameca as fast as you can. He needs to be hanging at the gate to the hacienda when Zapata arrives."

A man entered the office with two armed men to back him up.

"Lieutenant Alvarez Gomez, good to see you. These are the Garcia Padilla brothers I have told you so much about." He said to Bernardo, "The lieutenant provided me with protection in your absence."

Alvarez Gomez said nothing. He just handed Esparza a sealed envelope before returning to stand with his two men as Esparza opened it and read the note contained within.

"This is most unfortunate, my brothers." He held up the envelope to them. "As you can see, the seal is from President Carranza. It has been entrusted to General Pablo Gonzalez Garza and through him to Colonel Guajardo. Of course, I am the delegate should the colonel be unavailable as he is now." He scanned the note again and shook his head. "This is very distressing. According to Carranza's note, Victoriano Barcena was to be spared. He provided valuable intelligence these past few months to el Presidente himself about the Zapatista camps and thei activities in the mountains around Huaulta." He looked down at Barcena. "This is a catastrophe."

Bernardo took the Mauser from Hernando. "You have tricked us. We will be blamed for this."

Alvarez Gomez and his two men aimed their guns at the brothers.

"Why would you do this to us? You keep telling me we are important to your plans."

"That is correct. You are the most important instruments of my plans. My plans just happen to include killing Barcena. And who better to do that than one of Los Tres Carniceros? This act will only increase the legend of the Garcia Padilla brothers. There is a vacuum coming to the power structure of the revolution, and we are going to fill it. For that, I need to prepare both the people of Mexico and its government for us to take our rightful place."

Hernando started for Esparza, but Fidel grabbed him.

"What other tricks do you have to play?"

"Have no worries. I ask for only one more thing from you and you can then retreat to the safety of my hacienda in Sonora."

"What would you have us do?"

"It has been arranged and it is a simple task for your talents. Tomorrow, when General Zapata arrives at el Hacienda de San Juan, Colonel Guajardo has both a musical and rifle salute planned for him. The first two volleys will be in the air. The bugler will then signal and the third volley will be aimed at Zapata. After you hang Barcena's body where he can easily be seen, you three will be part of the rifle squad. Out of loyalty to him, I know you will make sure he doesn't suffer needlessly."

Bernardo picked up Barcena's body and slung it over his shoulder.

"Just one more thing before you go; it is a small addition to your delivery. You take care of these last trivial requests and I will take care of the mix-up concerning Victoriano Barcena."

Three teenage women, each one wearing an identical white cotton dress, entered from an adjoining room. All three of them kept their heads bowed.

"There are people at the hacienda waiting for these lovely packages. Please make sure they arrive unharmed and untouched."

# Chapter 23

Once he was finished with Chase, Frank asked her again, "Where did you find the iPod?"

"I told you, it was in a cubby behind a cabinet in Garcia's library."

"I looked there. The cubby was empty." He started for the stairs descending from the patio.

She waved the iPod at him. "No it wasn't. Where are we going?"

"I haven't finished my search. Who knows what else I might have missed?"

As they made their way back down to the first level of tunnels, Ramona said, "Aren't we a lovely couple? Separated and nicely ensconced in our respective groups, we collect all the information we can by any means possible. But the moment we get together, we keep everything we know to ourselves. And we're supposed to be on the same side."

He stopped at the stairs that descended to the first level of tunnels. "What is your point?"

"Chase did a number on both of us. He put us in assignments that required us to keep so much to ourselves that I sometimes wonder how much help you and I can really be to the people who are depending on us now."

"Ferris knows more about all this than I do, but he doesn't tell me everything. Did Sage Lomax tell you everything before she sent you to help me?"

"She told me what I needed to know."

"The more things change."

"But you and I can choose to share now. We're not on leashes anymore."

"Why would I do that? I have no idea what your handler wants to achieve."

"Okay, at least one of us is prepared to share. Let me tell you what we know and then you can decide what, if anything, you want to tell me."

He said nothing.

"Fine, be like that. We know a big operation is in the works and likely going to begin soon."

"How big? How soon?"

"Something like what was hinted at in the files found at the Colter farm in Dominion and on the flash drive Stanford Wiley had encrypted. Most of it will be centered in the US, but Europe and Asia aren't safe, probably not the Middle East either."

"That's as much as we know. What did Sage tell you about me being here?"

"She only told me you were looking for women being held hostage and that time was running out on them."

"They are all either pregnant or have just given birth."

"Oh my god."

"I wonder why she didn't tell you that."

"As I told you, she is having difficulties. She may not have known the women you are looking for are pregnant, but she knew I might have been pregnant once. She made a connection at some level."

"You might have been pregnant?"

"You know I went undercover at Novus Somnia because Tubby wanted to find out all he could about what Weinberg was doing there, not just with the Apostles but anything else he might be working on."

"I know about that, yeah."

"You know Novus Somnia produced a fertility drug called Ovagamex."

"It helped him make Sage Lomax."

"One of the requirements of working with Weinberg at Novus Somnia was giving a sample of my blood, submitting to a physical examination, getting boosters and inoculations. Eight weeks after I started there I woke up pregnant."

"Not a good strategy while working undercover."

"Don't be an asshole. I've worked with too many of them and I don't have the patience for that anymore."

"You shouldn't have been pregnant."

"God, no. I didn't believe it. How could I be? My sex life was nil, but I was showing all the symptoms. Per my work agreement, Weinberg examined me and told me I was fine. I was not pregnant."

"But you didn't believe him."

"Even before I was warned not to believe anything he said I knew what Weinberg would be like. There are just people who trigger that reaction in you right from the start."

"Full marks for good instincts."

"I made an appointment with an outside doctor for the following week. That Friday, I come home late after a long day because Sage and Savannah Lomax had both almost died a few days earlier. I was watching over them. At that time, no one knew what Weinberg had done to each of them.

"I remember collapsing on my sofa and quickly falling asleep. When I woke up, it's Sunday night and I'm naked in my bed. The outside medical exam two days later confirms I am not pregnant. I never experienced anymore symptoms after that. And I have been unable to remember anything of that period from Friday night to Sunday night."

"Nothing at all?"

"Like you, I was trained to pick up clues, to use associations to trigger memories, tricks to remember data and I've always been good at it. I don't have an eidetic memory, but I can file information away like a goddamn hard drive. I can't believe I could forget a whole weekend given what I thought had happened to me, what I thought he might have done to me."

"You still feel a sense of loss. That weekend and possibly your baby were eliminated from your life."

"I asked Sage to help me remember, but she only told me of your search for missing women. I was compelled asked for the assignment."

He led them through Maternity Three to the stairwell. He made no comment about her story.

After taking hold of the rope, she said, "When did you stop questioning everything? You used to be an investigative journalist. You specialized in stories about human rights issues, political corruption and abuses of power. Your articles helped expose what was happening in detainment camps for terrorist suspects. You won awards. You were held up as an example to future journalists."

"Trying to analyze every reason for what I am doing would only slow me down."

"I used to be the same as you until a little girl showed me another way. Perhaps she can do that for you."

"I doubt it."

"Ah ha, there's that cynical super-agent loner persona with an inability to trust that I was expecting." She lowered herself into the main tunnel. "God, Frank, it's a mess of guts and blood down here." She let go of the rope and backed into the darkness. "I'm out of the way. Be careful where you land."

He used the rope to climb down, avoided as much of the mess as he could and led her to the blocked tunnel.

"Tubby had me read your file. He wanted my opinion about what Weinberg was doing and what your potential might be. I have a PhD in human genetics, but I couldn't make much sense of any of it at first. Then Dr. Hobbs disappeared, and, yes, I know what happened to her and how she ended up under glass as Sleeping Beauty under the Devries mansion in San Francisco. With Weinberg in complete charge of your treatments and rehab, we got regular reports but few details until he finally handed you over to Chase."

At the entrance to the blocked tunnel, he asked, "Are you afraid of snakes?"

"How big are they?"

He smiled. "Twelve to eighteen inches."

"Like garter snakes."

"Thicker and paler, and segmented like caterpillars." He took her into the tunnel. At the blockage, he said, "Look for anywhere we might get through."

Ramona shone her flashlight beam across the debris. "There's nothing I can crawl through. I don't see anywhere where we could even begin to dig." She aimed the light at the floor of the tunnel, along the tracks and back again to the coal car. "I don't see any snakes either."

"Look up." He shone his light at the pale, wriggling population above them.

"Shit." She backed away three steps then cursed again. "What the hell is this?"

Before he could get to her, snakes began releasing from the top of the tunnel and landing near her. She tripped over what she had just found and had to crab-walk backward away from two of the larger albino snakes coming toward her.

Frank shot them to bits, grabbed her as he ran past and hauled her to her feet. "A pro, huh?"

"Get me out of here."

He held on to her all the way back to the stairwell, checking back to make sure the snakes hadn't found the speed to close on them.

"A pro would have told his partner all he knew about those snakes."

"That was all I know." He looked up at Maternity Three. "Do you want to use the rope or are you just going to jump?"

Snakes came slithering around the slight bend in the main tunnel. The bigger ones at the front lifted themselves up on small lizard legs and came scuttling even faster toward them. All the snakes, more than a dozen, were glowing.

Ramona scowled at him, at the snakes. "Did you know they could do that?"

Frank locked his fingers together. "Get on."

"You're kidding."

"Cynical super-agent loner personas with an inability to trust have no sense of humor."

"Shit." Ramona placed her right foot in his hands. "Do it."

He flung her up the fifteen feet to Maternity Three, turned around and jumped up behind her.

Ramona kept looking back and brushing herself off as they returned to the helicopter. "What if they climb up the rope?"

"What did you see in the tunnel?"

"It looked like a corpse, recent, partly decomposed, a man, I think, but also partly mummified in what looked like a stringy web of fungus."

He checked Gilbert's boots, the lower legs of her pants. "You didn't get any on you."

"Is that something you were holding back, too?"

"It's something new, like those snakes. It's all over the older site. We know Weinberg was working on at least three different fungi, particularly ones harmful to food crops."

"There's another site? Sage was sure this was the only one."

"There are supposed to be three sites, but we only just found out where the second one is yesterday. I'll tell you about it after I check in."

When Ferris came on the radio, he said, "Senator Rolly Van Biert and his family were murdered last night. Wayne Manning and his family were murdered yesterday and their house was set on fire. It was very hot, an accelerant was used. There is very little left of anything. It's begun."

Ramona asked, "What's begun?"

"Who is that?"

Frank gave his report. He finished with, "She sent Ramona Gilbert to help me."

"How convenient because you have been summoned to Las Cruces by none other than the Oracle herself. Over and out."

"What does she want with me?"

"She didn't tell me."

"It's a good thing your group shares all its information." He took out his phone and started back to the patio stairs.

"What are you doing?"

"We are going to take another look, but first I have to make another call. Have you got anything that will clear the blockage?"

"Of course I do. Sage told me I would need to get past a severe impediment. I just thought she meant you, but I brought some explosives as a precaution."

# Chapter 24

Special Agent-in-Charge, Nyla Rowe, stood in the front yard of Senator Rolly Van Biert's Highland Park home with Jimmy Duvall. They stayed out of the way of the FBI forensic team.

"What is that?" Duvall asked again. "I guess I should ask: who was that?"

"The murderer?"

Three of the forensic team, all in hazmat suits, were using a special machine to vacuum up the residue on the sidewalk.

"We've only seen something like that once before," she said. "We haven't been able to identify the concoction because it breaks down too quickly into components that cannot be distinguished from the rest of the organic matter left behind. That is the hypothesis for now. Last week, one of our chemists was able to identify components of spider venom, the enzymes that play a role in liquefying their prey's insides."

Duvall nodded once at the residue. "Is there any chance of extracting DNA from it?" As Senator Van Biert's personal aide and confidant, Duvall had taken the oath and was privy to everything Van Biert knew about the Proteus Group Task Force's investigation. "That guy Weinberg must still be alive, then. Your little oracle was right about that, too."

"Unfortunately, she's been right about too many things that have not been in our favor. Do you know where Letitia Ramos Valdez might be?"

He pointed to the hazmat team. "Other than that, no. She'd been a live-in for the past two years. Rolly told me she had no family in the country and had never mentioned anyone left behind in Mexico."

Her mobile phone rang. It was Joan McGowan. "I have to take this." She moved off. "What does it look like there?"

"The fire was extremely hot. There isn't going to be much evidence we can work with. It does appear the whole family was shot first. We have the gun, but we won't get anything from that either."

"Any reside found at the site?"

"You mean . . . ?"

"We found some here."

"Dammit. I'll have them take another look."

"There probably isn't any. No one is missing there, right?"

"The whole family is accounted for. Their two farm workers had yesterday off."

"The killer probably knew that. The residue is easy to spot. Human beings leave quite a big puddle when they dissolve. The senator's nanny is missing."

"What was Manning doing on a pecan farm in Mesilla, New Mexico?"

"According to Reginald Tate, he was an agronomist at Karyon Research before resigning to work on pecans."

"That's where he overlapped with Weinberg."

"Tate claims they never actually collaborated, but Weinberg had shown some interest in Manning's research on fungal threats to food crops. Weinberg took an interest in every research project at Karyon."

"Should we be looking in the orchards?"

"He would keep his research material contained. It was likely incinerated in the fire."

"Karyon Research just keeps reappearing in all this."

"Tate has always cooperated with our investigation. I think their involvement has more to do with whoever came into contact with Weinberg or was doing research he dipped his interest into rather than anyone intentionally collaborating. Weinberg wasn't Weinberg while he worked there."

"Jaxon's in Paris for his exhibition at the Morneau Gallery, isn't he? Are you two finally going your separate ways or is this just another—"

"Let me know what else you find." She heard Joan laughing before she could end the call.

Duvall came to her. "They cleared up as much of it as they could. They are about to bring them out."

She remained where she was. Jimmy Duvall returned to the sidewalk and stood witness to the Van Biert family being taken to the vans. Once they were loaded, Duvall gave her a wave and left with the vans.

As she watched the vehicles leave Highland Park, her phone rang again.

Frank Gillett said, "Weinberg's on the move. He's up to something."

"When isn't he up to something?"

"Tell me about Sage Lomax."

"Why should I do that? You vanished after San Francisco. You can't just call me up and ask for that kind of information. You don't have any—"

"She sent Ramona Gilbert to help me."

She heard Ramona in the background call out, "Hi, Nyla. How are you?"

"Help you do what?"

It was an unconscious act, she told herself, but she covered her mouth and constantly shook her head as Frank told her about his quest to save groups of six women each, all custom orders impregnated by Weinberg at hidden locations throughout Mexico before being trafficked all over the world. "He's apparently been doing it for decades."

"She's helped us identify members of the Proteus Group, though participants would be a better term for them because almost none of them were aware of whom they were working with. A fair number knew who the Proteus Group is and once they learned who was using them, they gave us every bit of information they had. And someone has anonymously been providing your old friend at DHS with tips that have helped us intercept some planned terrorist acts before they could be launched. Needless to say, Tim has not been forthcoming about his source."

"Has it been of any use?"

"The anonymous tips have been good; though I'm not sure they are helping us get any closer to PG's leadership. They are sporadic. We can't find any connections between them. There hasn't been much from Sage of late; however, there have been other periods of silence from her usually followed by some spectacular results."

"Are you doing any real damage to them?"

"I think so, yes, but others don't. They may be shifting their focus and possibly their base of operations out of the U.S. because we're closing in to them here."

"Where are they going?"

"The consensus is they are moving into Eastern Europe, Brazil, Mexico. They are likely well established already in Afghanistan, South Africa, Nigeria, Uganda, Tanzania and Kenya. We are sharing what we have and we are getting a high level of international cooperation, including from the regions I just mentioned."

"That sounds optimistic and evasive at the same time. You know she's having trouble."

"Her health is deteriorating, yes."

"She's summoned me to an audience with her."

"Are you going to—"

"Weinberg is on his way to Sage's mother. Chase is putting a team in place."

"Shit."

"Weinberg has been eliminating evidence and some of his own people as a preliminary to something big. I think I can—"

Shooting started in the background just before the connection broke.

She called Joan McGowan. "I just heard from Frank Gillett. He thinks Weinberg is up to something big."

"When isn't he up to something big? What is it this time?"

"I don't want to pretend I know Frank well enough or can pick up clues about people over the phone the way our little miracle can, but I got the sense from him that he believes it's the big something big, the final whatever."

"He didn't tell you?"

"We got cut off by gunfire. He did tell me Weinberg is on his way to Savannah."

"I can be there in a couple of hours. Where is Frank? Can we get help to him?"

"He's somewhere in the mountains of Mexico and he has help. Sage sent Ramona Gilbert to him." She told Joan what Gillett had told her.

"Goddamn bastard. If I ever spot him, I'm taking the shot."

"Tim is putting a team in place in San Francisco."

"I can get there faster."

"Stay where you are."

"You can't be serious. Who knows what Weinberg will do to her, especially if his final something big is in the works?"

"I feel like I'm firing blanks at the moment, too, Joan, but we can't lose any opportunity to catch Weinberg. And Tim still has priority over us when it comes to him. For whatever reason, Savannah is bait. We have to leave her to Tim and his people. As best as you can, Joan, just have everyone ready for a rapid response."

"Oh sure, no problem, we'll just put on our jetpacks."

She called Senator Claudette Sutton next and told her everything she knew.

"Randi is here with me, Nyla. I don't mean to sound like the politician I am, but whatever support and resources you need, I will see that you get them."

"Can you tell the president?"

"Right away. Be strong, Nyla, but be careful."

She tried to purge as many curses that might slip out as she could before making her next call. "Good morning, Tim. I just talked to Frank. He told me what he told you."

"How loquacious of him."

"I'd like to have someone there with you."

"We can handle this."

"That's not what I meant. Some of my people are very close to Savannah."

"That is why we will take care of Weinberg."

"I heard gunfire before we were cut off. Frank could use any help you can send his way."

"Frank Gillett is no longer part of my team." He talked to someone at his end. "I do not want to see any of your people in San Francisco."

"Asshole." She called San Francisco.

"FBI, Special Agent, Brian Laskey speaking, how can I help you?"

"Hello, Special Agent Laskey. How are you?"

"What is it this time, zombies?"

"I have a favor to ask of you."

She hesitated answering the next call for longer than she meant to. "Hello, Savannah."

# Chapter 25

"Send Sage home."

"I would, Savannah, but she isn't working for me."

"Not directly, but she is staying away because she—"

"We are giving her the best care possible." She cringed at interrupting Savannah and sounding so defensive.

"For her or for you?"

"You know Cynthia has done everything she can to get the latest treatments for Sage. The doctors were able to get a biopsy from Sage's exocranial bundles. They used that to identify the type of mutation she has. The radiation treatments have shrunk some of the tumors."

"But not all of them."

"Cynthia is supervising the drug treatment regime they are putting together. She's very hopeful."

"She told me about getting permission from the FDA to use Panobinostat in conjunction with a number of drugs not yet approved for use in humans. It all sounds promising. But. . . ."

"You can tell me anything, Savannah, you know that."

"When she left, she told me she would come back to me before the end. What am I supposed to think if she suddenly shows up at my door? What if she never comes back to me? She's only fifteen. I've only seen her twice since. . . ."

Nyla wiped her eyes. "I will talk to Cynthia. I promise you, Savannah, we will get Sage back to you as soon as we can."

"That's all I can ask of you. Thanks."

"Have you talked to Paul Booker yet? I understand he brought his son to Small Wonders House right on schedule."

"There hasn't been time."

"Make time, Savannah. You deserve something for yourself, too."

"I deserve to have my daughter back."

Her voice caught. "Yes, you do."

"I know she predicted him, but that is not a reason to . . . It doesn't feel right. And Ann isn't helping. His first week at Small Wonders House and she invited him to her and Ben's wedding. She keeps prodding me."

Good for you, Ann. "Not too many people have friends like that."

"It's quite annoying. But I've taken up enough of your time."

"Do not think like that or I'll start prodding you, too. Talk to you soon." She called Cynthia Thorpe. "I just talked to Savannah. How is Sage doing?"

"There is good news and not so good news."

"Like . . . ?"

"Her body naturally seems to be stopping some of the tumors in her upper spine, shrinking them and even healing, so at first we didn't think it had spread to her brain yet, which is remarkable because diffuse intrinsic pontine glioma starts in the pons in normal children."

"That's a mouthful."

"Trust me, we all end up talking like that when we're talking about Sage, no matter what aspect of that incredible child we are discussing."

"From what you're saying, I presume this little miracle isn't happening everywhere in her body."

"We've taken another biopsy and hope to discover what exactly is happening. Maybe we can find a way to help her immune system expand its efforts."

"The not so good?"

"Diffuse intrinsic pontine glioma isn't like other brain tumors. Even in Sage's exocranial bundles along her spine, it doesn't grow into a solid mass like a normal tumor. It wiggles its way through healthy nerve fibers, entangling and enmeshing within them, making it hard to treat in a specific, targeted way. Sage is having increasing trouble talking, chewing and swallowing. That would indicate that her pons has developed tumors."

"Take her home."

"She is determined to see this through."

"She has done enough. God, she's done more for us this past year than we could have hoped for."

"She won't leave until her mission is complete. And that includes finding Grace and Jane."

"They might not even exist. Her imagination has interfered with her perception of reality before. Your own report has cast doubt on the reliability of her prescience these past few months due to exactly that. You expressed concern over her growing obsession with finding those two girls."

"Why don't I bring mom to daughter? I can be there by tomorrow. I'm sure Ann can take over Savannah's director's duties for a while."

"Weinberg is on his way to Savannah."

"Jesus. Did you warn her?"

"Chase is putting a team in place."

"Nyla, did you tell her?"

"No, and you won't either. That's an order. And don't start lecturing me about using her and being no better than he is. It's a chance we can't pass up. Savannah will understand that. We cannot interfere with Chase's operation."

"Do we know when he will arrive?"

"Only that he will be get to her sometime tomorrow. You have to stay out of the way until they take him into custody. If necessary, take your directions from Chase."

"Jaxon's in Paris this week, isn't he?"

"He has an exhibition at the Philippe Morneau Gallery. Next week he's at the SLAG."

"The what?"

"The South London Art Gallery; it's very avant-garde, though I have also heard it described as slummy and pretentious."

"Does he know you've moved back to your apartment in New York City? What happens when he gets back?"

"This isn't the time, Cynthia. Call me once you're in San Francisco."

Before she could get into Senator Van Biert's house, her phone vibrated for a text message. It was from Sage: Know you just talked to mom. I want to see her, too. Come to me with Joan McGowan. PLS.

She called McGowan. "I just got a text."

"So did I. I'll see you in Las Cruces."

"Sorry, Joan, I meant to ask earlier. How is Shana doing? The last time we talked you told me she was going through some personal issues. Is it man trouble?"

"The only trouble there is which one she might pick. Every male on the track team is completely besotted with her. The trouble is she's dropped out of UCLA. She's still in Los Angeles and is working for a home renovation company there. She says she needs some time to figure out what she really wants to do."

"You did say it was in her blood."

"It could be more than that. They have contracts with some big name celebrities, A-listers, or so she claims, but she can't tell me who they are because they all signed nondisclosure agreements to get the contracts. It's all Hollywood top secret."

"Is she gloating at getting a little of her own back?"

"Give my regards to Jaxon."

*****

After the visit to the Thatcher farm, her entourage returned to Air Force One. Lyle Lederman came back with them. Calvin McMasters, a mycologist from the University of Iowa, a short, wiry man with a crew cut of white-blond hair and a face covered in freckles, the lead in their investigation of the fungal threat, and Peter Tippin, Assistant to the Secretary of Agriculture, by his own humble admission, as indistinctly average looking as one could get, were onboard the Boeing when she entered.

"Are there three different species, Professor McMasters?"

He stood up and set his coffee cup down. "I believe so, but the genetic modification has been so extensive, it will take a while longer to properly identify the originals."

"How bad can this get?"

"Until this came along, fungus was species specific; plant fungi for plants, animal fungi for animals. Some could cause huge damage to monocultures like what we have in our agriculture system, but nature, the wild communities, had enough diversity to prevent complete disasters. This could be the proverbial back-breaking straw that tips the world into a food crop collapse. We are already running out of fresh water and topsoil. This stuff seems determined to suck up what is left of the water as well as leave toxins behind in what topsoil is still there. Digging everything up the way the French are doing is, at best, a short-term remedy, but it comes with no guarantee of eliminating the infestation, and it increases the risk of spreading it everywhere."

Tippin said, "Before this outbreak, enough food crop production was lost annually to feed almost a half-billion people. If these three variants keep spreading and attacking new species of animals and plants, we could see that number increase fivefold."

McMaster drank the last of his coffee. "Billions could starve to death. Already limited water supplies would dwindle to almost nothing or else become contaminated. Nations would destabilize. Regional wars will start and quickly escalate. And any survivors are going to be very thirsty and a lot thinner."

"Thank you for such a needlessly graphic, alarmist and insensitive forecast."

"Forgive me, Madame President, but there is no point to minimizing the danger presented by these three GMO fungi. The situation has every chance of becoming the bleak catastrophe we are describing, and it could happen too quickly for us to implement effective countermeasures. We are at the tipping point."

"I know it seems absurd to talk in such hyperbole about fungi, but I have worked closely with Calvin and his team for the past six months. We have seen scary decreases in food crop production in our farm states. Less resilient nations could see their meager food crop production drop to near zero."

"This is very tough stuff. The standard fungicides don't work against it: Allylamines, antimetabolytes, azoles, none of them. We've only just documented the complete cycle these three go through. The first one sucks all the water out of its victims. The second one is a true saprophyte and comes in to feed on the dead plant tissue. And then the third one feeds on the whole mess, releasing toxins into the soil as it does that leaves the ground barren. What we still don't know is if that is the end of the fungi or does one or all of them go deep and dormant until something else juicy and tasty comes along? I have this sinking feeling it is the latter."

"What about ASB in France? Do they have a chance of succeeding?"

"There is always a chance, Madame President. ASB has created a synthetic protein using peptide nucleic acid technology. Based on their research, it appears the protein is capable of repressing or interfering with the expression of key homeotic genes found in all three of the fungi."

"Calvin and I are scheduled to fly there later today."

She said to Carol, "You go with them."

"Already packed, Madame President."

*****

"We can set up a mirage," Kieran said. "We've been working on it for hours." He yawned. "We can lure them in by wriggling a phoney Muta at them, trap them for at least a while and maybe identify who and where they are. After that, we launch our counterattack."

Nicolette asked, "You think there's more than one?"

"Has to be; one person couldn't possibly come up with something like that against our girl. No bloody way one person can do that."

Lily said, "I've looked at the stuff we've got. It is nothing special except for its ability to replicate and spread so rapidly. They have to get it into her first and they haven't been able to do that."

"Not yet, they haven't, but they've come pretty bloody close." Kieran set his big knife down. "Look, I'm as proud of her as everyone else. Hell, I'm full of such bloody arrogant and conceited shit over what we've accomplished that even I can't stand myself."

Henry said, "That makes it unanimous."

Kieran blew him a kiss. "But we shouldn't assume she is invulnerable. They may find a weakness to exploit, some way to get into her that we missed."

Henry said, "She has to stop moving to update or upgrade. That is when she is most vulnerable."

"I know that, you bloody wanker. That is why I'm suggesting we set a trap to contain it for long enough for her to do just that. We have some of the code. We can counterprogram and create impenetrable shields."

"Only for the code we already know about."

"It's a start," Lily said. "What are Gerhardt, Sven and Dmitri doing?"

"They are still refining the mirage. Gerhardt is trying to make it seem as tough as she is so they have to really look for an opening to get through. Can't make her too bloody slutty, can we? Sven and Dmitri are working on the isolate, contain and delete part. Everyone is at the ready to input their own bits of code. I gave them a high-powered motivational speech. We'll swarm the bastards. Where is Donny?"

"In class, should the world not suddenly come to an end. I'll tell Muta what we're doing. Check in again in two hours. And no one sleeps, got that?"

Nicolette was the last to leave. "Lily, I talked to Dmitri. He doesn't think what Kieran has them doing is going to work."

"I'll talk to him."

She used the laptop Nicolette had appeared on to contact Dmitri. After going through the necessary security steps to initiate contact, the laptop screen showed Dmitri's empty apartment living room. "Dmitri? Dmitri, are you there?"

She waited for him to return. Five minutes passed. Though the Creators Almighty mocked the concept of time as gods in their virtual world, sitting for five minutes looking at an empty room in the real world did matter.

"Hello, Lily," the synthesized voice said.

Her laptop screen changed to a panoramic view originating west of the Stanford campus.

As the view zoomed closer and then through the campus, the voice said, "He's working very hard, Lily, because he's desperate to keep up with you. Donny is a very smart young man, but you intimidate him." Donny's transcript appeared on the screen. "I'm sure you know that. You intimidate people with that brain of yours, and that includes most of your professors and the Creators Almighty. If they only knew what I know, eh?"

"Who are you? Where is Dmitri?"

"Dmitri is gone, Lily. I couldn't convince him to do what I asked of him."

"What do you want?"

"There are assignment deadlines, news blog entries to keep up to date." Donny's bank account appeared on the screen showing $1,686.32 as his balance. "He doesn't have much money, but I can fix that." The bank records altered to add $20,000.00 to Donny's account. The voice said, "A legitimate transaction to anyone who might take a closer look." The bank account reversed to its original amount then to zero before coming back to the correct amount.

Lily began trembling. "What do you want?"

"I want you to give me Muta. She is an imposing foe and quite a considerable threat to my plans, but she is also exactly what I need."

"That is impossible. Muta is capable of autonomous behavior. She is smart and resourceful and fast. If she suspects or determines the handover is detrimental to her or her mission to protect internet security, she has the ability to resist if not defeat completely the attempt."

"That is why I am talking to you. I will give you one day to comply. Please do not attempt to warn anyone. Donny is as vulnerable as Dmitri was, as is your mother and your best friend."

"Even if I don't tell anyone, I can't stop the others from continuing their work."

"I have something else in mind for them." The image of Dmitri's apartment in Moscow vanished.

She connected her other laptop to the other router and sent out the signal. When Muta appeared, she was huddled down, her clothes were torn, her sword broken, blood trickled down her left thigh, cheek and bicep.

Kieran was right. Though only lines of code, it was difficult to see Muta experience such injuries.

Lily unplugged the laptop from the router. "Is there anything in there with you?"

Muta stood up slowly, stiffly and looked around before shaking her head. She picked up the pieces of her cleaved shield. "Why haven't you told them what's after me, Lily? Why haven't you told them you created that monster?"

# Chapter 26

"I count between six and twelve," Ramona shouted from across Maternity Three. She was closer to the stairwell, taking cover behind an overturned metal cabinet when not returning fire. "They can't come at us more than one at a time unless they find another way in."

The man with the machete had found another way in.

"I'm almost out."

After firing a few more rounds, hitting another gang member when he sprinted through the door, Ramona tossed a clip of ammunition for his Glock to him. "Should I toss one?"

He reloaded his Glock and fired three shots, hitting another macho idiot coming through the doorway, before ducking behind an overturned metal examination table.

Three of the six to twelve were piled up in the doorway. Two had been eliminated while they were retreating to Maternity Three.

"Frank?"

"I want one alive." When he rose up to fire again, the edge of his vision became darker and began to contract. His gun hand trembled.

The doorway exploded before he could take a shot. Within his narrowing field of vision, he saw Ramona sprinting for the burning doorway firing her Uzi as she neared the bodies. Veering right, she continued to shoot, tossed another grenade through the doorway and dove for cover behind a cabinet meant to hold linen and towels.

Two men screamed when the grenade exploded. The lights of Maternity Three flickered but remained on. The smell of burning flesh penetrated into the room, propelled by the force of the explosion.

As he came out from behind the table, Ramona hurdled over the bodies in the doorway, her Uzi reloaded and shooting again. Two unsteady steps toward the doorway preceded a sudden transition to silence. Ramona came back into Maternity Three, spotted him going down and ran to him. He was on his hands and knees swaying in utter blackness by the time she got to him.

"Frank, what is it?" Grunting and puffing like she was about to suffer a heart attack, she dragged him to a wall and set him against it. She felt his face. "You're burning up."

Blurry vision began to return once Ramona put something cool against his forehead.

"Are you hit? I don't see any blood."

Before everything disappeared into blackness again, he managed to say, "Hot."

"Yes, Frank, that's why there's a cool cloth on your face. A bit more detail would help me a whole bunch. Are you shot?"

His head wouldn't move. Another cool cloth pressed against the back of his petrified neck.

"Frank, what is it? Were you infected? Did one of those snakes bite you? They looked to me to have small fangs. I didn't think they could penetrate your . . . Oh, I understand. You've overheated, haven't you?"

His head moved up and down only slightly. "Any survivors?"

"They're all dead, Frank. Give me a moment to get some water."

"What . . . ?"

"It's alcohol. I don't want to use it all up trying to cool you down."

As soon as she said the word, he could smell the ethanol.

"I'll be right back."

Shimmering red glows around everything dominated his vision as it became slightly more focused. The drab browns of Ramona's camouflage pants and shirt shifted closer to shades of purple when she came back into Maternity Three holding two canteens.

"Drink." She handed him a full, glowing scarlet metal canteen that he knew should be dull grey.

He emptied the canteen in one go while she wetted two new towels and placed both of them around his neck.

"When did this start?"

"After the incident in San Francisco. Weinberg injected the toxin into me, but I didn't turn into a mannequin. We both just thought I was immune like him."

"Are you slowly becoming a mannequin?"

"I don't know if this is because of the toxin or if it would have happened sooner or later on its own." He blinked rapidly, which helped dissipate the pinkish aura around Ramona's still somewhat blurry face. "Ferris took me to a skin specialist. He found some underlying thickening in my skin and muscles." He pulled up his sleeve. "Some hard patches of tissue have developed, particularly under the synthetic skin."

She prodded the synthetic skin on his forearm. "You must have been quite a surprise to him."

"And a disappointment; Thomas wouldn't let him keep the tissue samples."

"It sounds like excessive cell production. New skin cells are produced faster than the overlying old cells can be shed. That's what happens in psoriasis. Do you have any other new symptoms?"

"My strength wanes from time to time, especially if I push myself to my limits. It always comes back in a day or two at most. It becomes a bit harder to move when that happens, like how you feel when you work out too hard after some time away from it. It's hardly noticeable, but it is there."

"The overheating is certainly noticeable. You are drenched."

He looked at the few small fires still burning at the doorway. "I said I wanted one alive."

"I tried asking nicely but none of them would listen." She glanced at the doorway. "I would just like to point out that alone you would have been—"

"I would have managed."

"You're welcome." She wetted the two towels again and placed them back around his neck, whipping the second one to get it to circle him. "Sorry." She then stood up. "I'll just see if I can find a pulse somewhere."

A sense of invigoration was not returning, but his vision had cleared and he was cooling down. He rose to his feet and started for the doorway. He used the wet towels to put out the small fires.

"I think I have one," Ramona hollered. She grunted as she brought the man to his feet, but he couldn't remain standing. "I don't know how long he will last."

Frank took a few steps back to give her room. His neck was slightly less stiff now.

Ramona dragged the man into the room and propped him up against the wall. "You better be quick. He has two bullets in his chest and a good portion of his left side is a bloody mess."

Frank took hold of the man's head with both hands. "¿Dónde están las otras mueres?" Where are the other women?

The man coughed and gagged when he tried to laugh.

"¿Qué han hecho con ellos?" What have you done with them?

The man's eyes rolled up. His eyelids fluttered.

"Frank, take it easy. He isn't going to last much longer."

"Si no me dices dónde están, yo le conte la puta cabeza." If you do not tell me where they are, I will tear your fucking head off.

The man used his last few breaths to grunt out a short laugh and then spit in Frank's face.

He dropped the body, slid down to the floor and leaned against the wall. He closed his eyes when his vision began to narrow again.

Ramona used one of the towels to wipe his face. "We will find them, Frank."

Two men came through the doorway. Each one of them held a Fusil FV-05 Xiuhchoatl assault rifle.

Ramona helped him to his feet, but as they raised their hands, first one man then the other fell forward to the floor.

"Jesus, Frank," Li said as he stepped over the men to enter Maternity Three. "You do not get along with anybody, do you?" He put his silencer-equipped pistol away. "And who is this?"

"Ramona Gilbert, this is Li Chu Yan, External Security Branch of Chinese Secret Service, out of Hong Kong." He aimed the Glock at Li.

"That is rude, man, especially after I just saved your asses."

"Conveniently saved our asses."

"I came back to have a second look around. When I get here, I see these guys unloading from the back of an APC, so I keep hidden. Before I know it, I hear shooting, which tells me you're back, too, so, being the brilliant agent that I am I decided to let you do what you can against them before I make a move. Bloody clever, right?"

"Very." Frank pulled back the hammer.

"Then the shooting stopped and these two excellent examples of testicular thinking crawl out of the back of the APC and head down. I just tucked in behind them because they really were too bloody stupid to take a look back. But, Frank, as soon as I saw you and this lovely lady, well, I just couldn't let her go to waste."

Frank eased the hammer back into place and engaged the safety.

Ramona said, "You are going to buy that?"

"We go back a few years, Frank and I," Li said. "And we are on the same side at the moment. Oh, sure, by the middle of this century, we yellow, godless dogs are going to be kicking all your bloody decadent occidental butts up around your ears. But right now everyone has a more dangerous foe in common."

"There is a blocked tunnel," he said.

Ramona scowled at him as if he'd just revealed every bit of top secret intelligence the United States had ever gathered about China.

"What are we waiting for?"

"It's full of snakes."

"How full? Are there just a few or are we talking an Indiana-Jones level of infestation?"

"Jones."

"I have just the thing. Wait here." At the door, Li said, "Promise me you won't do anything until I get back."

"Do you really trust him?"

"Normally, that question doesn't play as big a role as people might think in what we do."

She threw up her hands. "Fine, he's your history. We'll see what he brings back."

"Have your Uzi ready." He disengaged the safety on his Glock.

Li called to them as he approached from the tunnel, "You two should stand back."

They backed up to the stairwell.

A jet of flame came through the doorway before Li entered carrying two small flamethrowers. A third one was slung over his shoulder. "Is this going to be enough?"

"Why would you bring flamethrowers to your business meeting?"

"They're Garcia's. He had them cobbled together when he wanted to extend the runway of his airfield up behind this place; probably knew about the snakes, too. They aren't military grade and they can just flameout at times, but all three are full. Will they be enough?"

Ramona took one and slipped her arms through the straps. "They will do." She handed one to Frank. "Are you . . . ?"

"Let's get this done."

She picked up her backpack and went to the stairwell. After lowering Ramona and Li using the rope, he dropped down into the tunnel.

Li looked at the bodies. "Not a lot of social lubricant left in you, is there, Frank?"

"This way."

All of them turned on flashlights. Ramona took up position as rearguard.

"Watch for ones on the way. Some of them got out."

The only snakes they encountered were dead.

"I don't remember killing this many," Ramona said. Once they reached the entrance to the blocked tunnel, she stopped him from entering. "You wait here. Li and I can handle this."

He handed over his flamethrower after she dropped her backpack.

"What's all this about?" Li ignited his flamethrower.

Ramona ignited her flamethrower. "Will these two be enough?"

"Why does Frank get to stay out here?"

"Some might get out. They hang down from the top. Don't let them drop on you. And don't shine a light on them. I think they are photosensitive. It will only aggravate them." She entered the tunnel.

"What? How the hell do they hang . . . ? Ah, shit." Li followed her in, looking up as he did.

Frank brought the third flamethrower and the backpack with him when he backed away from the tunnel entrance. He wiped the sweat from his face and watched the inside of the tunnel flare with orange, yellow, white and red. Black smoke began curling out over the top of the entrance. He took another three steps back and chuckled.

It did smell a bit like barbequing chicken.

Li was shouting and hollering and cursing his disgust in both English and Cantonese. Ramona only shouted to warn Li of snakes, some alive, some burning, dropping near him.

Frank backed up to the wall across from the entrance and leaned against it. The coolness of the stone helped dissipate the heat that was building up inside him again.

The flaming colors reduced to a few hissing jets of red, orange and yellow then stopped altogether. Rather than accumulate, the smoke was dispersed by a steady flow of air along the top of the tunnels that blew it toward the stairwell they had come from.

Li came out first. "I can say unequivocally that this has been the most repulsive thing I have ever had to do on this job." He dropped his empty flamethrower and brushed himself off. "Those critters aren't natural to Mexico, they couldn't be. Nature wouldn't make snakes like that; she's not that bitchy."

"They might not have started out like that."

"You brighten the world, Frank."

Ramona exited the tunnel and dropped her empty flamethrower. She came to them and retrieved her backpack.

"What is Weinberg up to? What compelled him to make those grotesque things in the first place?" Li shivered and brushed himself off again. "Why would they allow him to do something like that?"

"No one controls Weinberg no matter who he is working with."

Ramona handed Li the third flamethrower. "You keep watch for any that we might have missed." She said to Frank, "Are you ready for this?"

"Do you have a spot?"

"I found a promising one on the left side of the tracks. I think I can open a hole big enough for us to get through. You two wait here."

Once Ramona had re-entered the tunnel, Li asked, "Why didn't you come in with us?" He shone his flashlight at Frank. "Are you all right, Frank? You look hot again, and I don't mean attractive. You will always be ugly to me."

"I'm fine."

"Okay, be like that. It's no synthetic skin off my nose."

Ramona came out of the tunnel holding a remote control detonator. "I hope all the rock down here won't interfere with the signal." She offered the detonator to him.

"Go ahead." He covered his ears.

Li covered his ears. "Aren't we too close?"

"It won't be a big explosion." She held up the detonator to let them see her push the button. "Three, two, one, fire in the hole."

The explosion wasn't loud. Sixty yards or more of tunnel prevented that. A whoosh of smoke, debris and burnt snakes ejecting from the entrance was all they had to watch out for.

Ramona waved away smoke and said to Li, "You take lead."

"She's trying to get me killed, Frank."

"You can always return to the patio. We will let you know what we find."

"Two against one is hardly fair." He ignited the flamethrower and led the way back into the tunnel. Twice, he mistakenly shot flame at what he thought were snakes wriggling toward them.

"Don't waste that," Ramona barked at him.

The opening in the blockage wasn't large enough because rubble had collapsed into it.

"I can clear that."

Li stood guard against snake attacks from above or below. Ramona focused two flashlights on the rubble.

The biggest chunk of rock blocking the way was the size of a garbage can. It was difficult to pry loose, but once it fell away other debris went with it opening a triangular tube they could crawl through.

Li said, "What if that collapses?"

"You can wait here."

Li cursed him in Cantonese. "You go first then. Do you want me to cauterize it for you?"

Another sixty yards of tunnel on the other side of the blockage took them to the end of the rail line. Three floodlights on poles, their power beginning to wane, illuminated a set of two tall metal doors that would open wide enough to allow a tank through. One of the doors had a door for people to pass through. That door was ajar.

Ramona went through the door first. "I see some switches."

He, then Li stepped through the door as a third of the lights overhead flickered on.

Three glass cases hanging from the ceiling contained women mannequin-ized by Weinberg's toxin and presented as earlier versions of Sleeping Beauty. Bodies were strewn about a laboratory that was four times the size of Maternity Three. They had been discarded and left where they dropped once Weinberg was through with them. Some had mummified. Some were mannequins that had dissolved the way the victims in San Francisco had.

Li pointed to their right. "I will presume those were once human beings as well."

Six stains of dried red and white residue formed a straight ling beside one of the glass cases.

"This is recent," he said.

Li said, "How can you become so desiccated so fast?"

"I may have found your answer." Ramona led them to three metal autopsy tables. "Don't get too close."

The bodies on them, all males, were naked and covered with fungus.

"I saw this at the second site, too. There is a mat of that stuff growing inside them just under their skin."

"That would be mycelium."

Li squinted then rubbed his eyes. "There must have been some hallucinogen in that smoke from the snakes because I think I see that green shit moving?"

"It's ruffling," Ramona said.

"My country's secret service doesn't assign a scientist to its agents. Ruffling is what, exactly?"

"It's how single-celled organisms move. Those mats of fungi are doing something similar. They are extending filaments the way single-celled organisms extend protuberances, the ruffles, which adhere to the surface they are on then bring the rest of the cell forward." She stepped closer. "These protuberances are large enough to see their segments growing, stretching. It's mostly clear but for nuclear material and protein filaments that I would conjecture play a role in structural reinforcement."

Frank looked around. "This was where he developed all of it, the toxins, the fungi, the snakes. It has been decommissioned within the last few days."

"Why, because he knew we were closing in?"

"Possibly, but it's more likely because he was finished here." He took another look around. "We found this only because Weinberg wanted us to find it. He wants us to know what he's been doing, what he has to work with. We won't find anything here that will tell us what he is going to do next or where the women are."

"So, what now?"

"We destroy it. He left the fungi knowing it was too dangerous for us to just ignore it. He is using us to clean the site the same way he used me in British Columbia."

"You must be getting tired of being his bitch, huh, Frank?" Li took off the flamethrower and put it on an empty table. "Do you have enough in that backpack to do the job?"

"There are some chemicals in here I can use: some peroxides and nitrates, and those cylinders contain ammonium perchlorate."

"I suppose he left them for us."

Frank just shrugged.

"You don't need me for this." He passed a piece of paper to Frank. "You can reach me at that number. But, please, Frank, give me sufficient notice if you need me to save your asses again." He glared at Ramona's butt. "I love Chinese women, Frank, but most of them absolutely do not have wonderful asses like hers without the rest of them being downright terrifying."

Ramona punched him, a solid hit to his left cheek.

Li rocked back and took a step. Rubbing his cheek, he moved his jaw around. "You two were made for each other. Later, comrades." He left.

Ramona shook her hand. "I want to get out of here."

He emptied the flamethrower's fuel onto the laboratory floor, over the bodies covered in fungus and along the shelves holding the chemicals.

Ramona rigged her C4 to the cylinders of ammonium perchlorate, piled some of the other chemicals around them and set the timer. "Five minutes."

They ran out of the hacienda into the woods, circled up and around to the back of the compound. Ramona took the lead along the trail until she stopped them sixty feet higher up the mountain near Garcia's private runway.

Candace brought the helicopter over the peaks to the west. She landed on the runway as the patio and pool collapsed into a fiery crater. Once on board, she said to Frank, "Another woman and her baby died in childbirth. It happened too fast for anyone to do anything for them."

# Chapter 27

Nunez was doing what he was supposed to do. She had followed him all morning while he fulfilled his commitments as a volunteer for the Dia de los Muertos festival.

"If he shows any sign of losing his nerve," el Jefe told her, "do not hesitate to intervene."

His first stop had been to deliver decorations for the Mesilla Plaza. He strung the lights around the gazebo as he was supposed to. The wiring for the lights concealed the wires to the explosives he had also placed along each of the eight sides.

His next stop was to deliver to the Basilica de San Albino four paintings of historical figures, including two priests who had served at the basilica as well as one of Billy the Kid and one of Pat Garrett. C4 explosives had been placed in hollowed-out sections of their frames. The paintings would be hung in high traffic areas for the festival. The crosses he had placed throughout the basilica also contained explosives.

Her mobile phone rang. "He is doing what he must."

"Has he been to the courthouse or the police station yet?"

"He is on his way now."

Nunez started for the police station, but turned away before reaching it and headed northeast along West Boutz Road. From there he turned onto Rainbow Lane and proceeded to the end of the cul-de-sac to a small single-floor rancher. Miranda Valenzuela greeted him at the front door.

She called el Jefe. "He's with her."

"Do you think he's planning to run?"

"If he is, she would be the one he would take with him. What should I do?"

"Let him finish with her and see what he does after that."

When Nunez came out just over an hour later, Valenzuela came to the front door with him. She wore only a flimsy white cotton robe that barely came down to her thighs. They kissed for a long time. Nunez slipped his hand into her robe to fondle her breasts before finally returning to his Mercedes.

He stopped briefly at the courthouse and then again at the police station. He delivered the decorative skulls to both places as he was supposed to. Police Chief Plett came out of the station with him when he was done. They shook hands before Plett whispered some gossip into his ear. Nunez's laugh was as phoney as the rest of his life in Mesilla.

Back in his Mercedes, he drove to his warehouse, retrieved more supplies and decorations for the festival, though it took him over twenty minutes to do so. He then headed west back to his home.

Rather than follow him, she entered the warehouse, went to her personal locker and withdrew three red, aluminum canisters, each sixty centimeters long and twenty centimeters in circumference. After placing them in the locking compartment in the back of the F-150's cab, she returned to the warehouse and tried to ascertain what he had been doing for those twenty minutes.

A small puddle near the main drain of the center section of the warehouse contained fragments of bone, bits of skin tissue with black hair still attached and diluted blood. Consistent with Nunez's previous pattern of behavior, she found the three dead men hanging on hooks in the lower level's cold storage locker.

She returned to the center section to make her call. "He's killed three men. He took their ears and balls and hung them on hooks. We may have to cover for him again."

"Who are they?"

"They are nobodies this time, local gangbangers who were too stupid to live long."

"Forget them. Get the packages and get out of there."

While still on the phone, she went to Nunez's personal storage room, keyed in the alphanumeric identity code and then the password on the electronic lock and stepped back. Three beeps later, the heavy metal door swung out. It wasn't as thick as a bank vault door, but it could resist almost any level of violent assault on it.

"There isn't very much in here anymore. He's been cleaning it out."

"They are supposed to be there"

The storage room was twelve feet square by ten feet high. Nearly empty shelves and locking metal cabinets circling the room left very little of the four walls exposed. The cabinets were opened by simple key locks. She had copies made for every one of them.

"I can't find them," she said.

"He was supposed to secure them there as the doctor ordered. You must find them quickly or everything will fall apart."

"I think I know where they are. I will call you back once I have them."

As they feared, Nunez's behavior was becoming more erratic. He had been depressed for over a year, withdrawing more and more from the public life he had enjoyed in Mesilla, the adulation and access to women. The three dead men were clear evidence he was as fierce and brutal as ever. Today he appeared to be following through with setting up the explosives as he was required to do. But he had failed to comply with the most important part of his mission.

She locked up the warehouse and returned to Valenzuela's rancher, parked across from it in the cul-de-sac and just watched it for close to an hour before going to the front door.

Miranda Valenzuela was fully dressed when she responded to the doorbell. "Lola, what can I do for you? If you're looking for Beltran, he left quite some time ago."

She aimed her Beretta at Valenzuela's stomach and pushed her back into the rancher. "Take off your clothes."

"Why?"

"Take them off."

"This is crazy, Lola. You can't come in here and just—"

She slapped Miranda, pushed her against the wall and placed the gun against her forehead. "Strip."

Trembling and whimpering, Miranda undressed in her entrance hall. Once she was naked, she said, "Lola, what is this about? I haven't done anything to you. You have known about Beltran and me from the beginning. We haven't tried to hide from you. Don't be jealous of us. I had no idea."

She slapped her again. "I am not jealous." She took Miranda through the house, found three boxes packed with puppets and dolls, wooden carvings of the dead and ceramic skulls stored in her front bedroom. "Do you know what those are?"

"They are for the festival. Beltran brought them here last week." She didn't ask Miranda if she knew C4 was packed inside every one of them. "He brought more packages here when he stopped by earlier. He will be back tomorrow to get all of it after he picks up his niece."

"He told you about that."

"Why wouldn't he? He's very excited to see her again."

"Where is the stuff he brought earlier?"

Miranda opened the closet door. The six color-coded boxes were in the briefcase Nunez had stashed there. A bit larger than a package of cigarettes with the same flip-open style lids, three blue and three green. An elastic band secured one blue-top box and one green-top box.

"What are they?" Miranda had finally stopped trying to cover herself with her hands.

"Shut-up."

The boxes were made of a plastic shell about two millimeters thick, with a plastic liner another one millimeter thick protecting a soft foam interior with three recesses cut into it. In the blue-top boxes, each recess held a sealed ampoule fifty millimeters long and containing ten cubic millimeters of a clear, green liquid. The green-top boxes held the same amount of a cloudy, viscous red liquid.

She placed the one with the blue lid and the elastic band around it into her jacket pocket. "Go." In the master bedroom, she found two open suitcases. "Where are you going?"

"We are going to Mexico after the festival. Lola, what's wrong? Why are you doing this? What is in those boxes? What is going on between you and Beltran?" She stepped back and gasped. Her hands came up to cover her again. "Is he dealing drugs? I swear, Lola, I knew nothing about that. I had noticed a change in his behavior these past few months, but I had no idea he might be. . . ."

She put the gun to Miranda's mouth and pushed it in. "I should blow your fucking brains all over the wall." She backed Miranda up to the wall, the gun barrel still in her mouth, and squeezed her breasts hard.

Miranda groaned, saliva drooled out of her mouth.

She withdrew the gun. "Get on the bed."

Miranda lay down on the bed.

"On your stomach."

Miranda obeyed her order.

"If you move I will shoot you in your cunt."

She took a cloth belt from Miranda's bathrobe and leather belts from her closet, secured her wrists and ankles to the bedposts and then sat on the edge of the bed next to her.

She set the pistol on her buttocks and began caressing her. "Did you know I have a daughter?"

"No."

"He didn't tell you he gave me a daughter?"

"I'm sorry, Lola. He has told me only that you are a loyal family servant, nothing else. He didn't tell me you were once lovers."

"We were never lovers, Miranda."

"I don't understand." She started crying. "Please, Lola."

Lola straightened her head and pushed her face into the bedding, holding it until she began to thrash about for air. When she finally let up on the pressure, she took a handful of hair, pulled Miranda's head up and whispered, "I can see why he fucks you so much. You have a good body."

She kissed Miranda's cheek then her mouth, shoving her tongue in as far as she could. She put her hand between Miranda's legs. "Have you washed the last of him away? I don't want anything but you when I go in there."

Miranda moaned and nodded.

"Good." She took the bathrobe belt, tied three knots in the middle of it and then used it to gag Miranda. "That's my pretty girl."

She continued to rub between Miranda's legs until her moaning became screams against the gag of knots. Her hips rose up to press against the caresses.

Lola bent over and bit her shoulder hard enough to pierce the skin and draw blood. Miranda's muffled cry of pain only led to more bites until her back was covered in bloody marks.

"A little pain must come with all pleasure, my pretty girl." She slapped Miranda's ass. "Would you like me to stop or continue?"

Miranda nodded her head and raised her hips again.

"Do you want me to bite your breasts?"

Miranda again nodded and moaned.

"I will have to turn you over first." She picked up the pistol and straddled Miranda's hips. "Be a good girl now."

She released her ankles and wrists, turned Miranda over while still straddling her and then secured her to the bedposts again. Miranda placed her hands and feet in the proper position to help her.

"That's my good girl. He did tell me you were an obedient whore." She caressed along Miranda's left thigh, wriggled her fingers into her. "Just one more thing." She made sure the knot gag was secure in Miranda's mouth. "Ready?"

Miranda moaned, nodded and raised her hips against Lola.

She slipped a loop of hemp rope she had brought with her from the warehouse around Miranda's neck and pulled it snug.

Miranda's eyes widened. She struggled against her restraints and screamed against the gag until Lola placed the gun between her eyes.

"I don't have time to keep playing with you. One last moment of pleasure and pain is all I can offer you now."

She took out the box with the blue lid, removed the elastic band as she held it before Miranda's face, slipped out the foam insert and removed an ampoule of clear green liquid. She then produced a syringe that she had also retrieved from her locker. She placed the ampoule inside the syringe

"I could have just forced you to drink this, but the effects are quicker and much more thorough this way. Use your last few moments to contemplate all the wrong decisions you have made in your life. Beltran will be your last."

She slid forward, placed her knees on Miranda's shoulders and tightened the noose around her neck. "I have been told this causes brief but intense pain. I should be able to see on your face if that's true or not."

She stabbed the syringe into the front of Miranda's neck and injected the green liquid. The results were quick. Miranda barely grunted when the needle went in. She stopped struggling and became stiff in only seconds. The change from smooth, supple skin to a stiff waxy feel was difficult to see. She had to poke Miranda's breasts a few times to confirm the change for herself. When she was done with her inspection, she threw a blanket over the plasticized body, gathered up all the boxes and left. It was a short drive to where she wanted to go next. A dark, small woman barely out of her teens opened the door to her.

She kissed her. "Hello, my pretty girl."

# Chapter 28

They were only expecting Esparza and the two Germans for dinner. But he not only brought Drs. Archibald Eckstein and Manfred Althus with him, he also arrived at the hacienda in two new 1920 blue Cadillac sedans with Poloma Rubio de Montes, her daughters, Inez Montes Rubio, ten, and Sarika Montez Rubio, eight, as well as Esperanza Montes de Esparza and her daughter Lucrecia Esparza Montes, seven. Zacharias Montez Rocha did not come with them.

Bernardo stood on the front porch of his hacienda with Fidel and Hernando.

Hernando growled, "Why did he bring them?"

Fidel touched the scar on his cheek. "Why did he not bring Zacharias?"

Esparza exited the lead Cadillac first after the chauffeur opened the door for him. He carried his black medical bag.

"Bernardo, Fidel, Hernando, how wonderful to see you again." He waved for the others to join them on the porch. "I heartily agree with your choice of this hacienda, Bernardo. The one in Chihuahua is truly magnificent, but Durango is a better location for our activities. How is the construction of my clinic progressing?"

Bernardo checked again to confirm Zacharias Montez Rocha was not one of their guests. "We are having some difficulties with the excavation. We have used up our supply of dynamite."

Ridiculously cheerful, Esparza said, "I had anticipated just that problem, dear Bernardo." He turned and pointed to the truck coming along the approach road. "You will find an ample supply of both dynamite and nitroglycerin for your use in the tunnels. I would not expect you to have any more problems or any excuses for further delays."

The last of the other guests, Lucrecia, reached the porch.

"Tonight is going to be such an occasion, my friends. We will all remember this night for the rest of our lives." He brought Lucrecia forward, stood her in front of him and put his hands on her shoulders. "As a matter of fact, my Lucrecia turns seven this very day. Isn't she a lovely young lady? And certainly Inez and Sarika are also lovely young ladies, all done up so pretty in their party dresses."

Lucrecia kept looking at her feet and didn't breathe, as if wrapped tightly in an anaconda's grip. The other two girls stood exactly the same way.

Esparza had never been this ebullient with them before. In the past, any subtle hint of Esparza enjoying himself was cause enough to be wary. What outrage did he have in mind for his guests tonight? Though this was his hacienda, the dinner and the evening belonged to Esparza.

"And how are my brothers keeping?" Esparza gave each of them a cursory examination with the others uncomfortably looking on. "It appears I have come at just the right moment. Shall we all go inside?"

Once inside, Esparza took over completely. "Please, Fidel and Hernando, would you take our guests out to the patio and keep them entertained while Bernardo and I have a brief and very boring discussion about the economics of farming."

As Fidel and Hernando complied with his request, Esparza took him into his library. He went about his first task efficiently.

"Roll up your sleeve." He took the syringe out of his medical bag and took the cork off the needle.

Bernardo rolled up the sleeve covering his right arm.

"Would you like to sit down?"

"I will stand."

"My stoic Bernardo, you are the only brother who has yet to cry out in pain or faint after the injections." As Esparza swabbed his arm, he said, "Señor Villa and his loyal men are becoming fat, happy farmers at his hacienda in Canutillo, but he remains a thorn in Obregón's paw." He pushed the needle into Bernardo's arm and injected the clear, hot liquid. "Provisional President de la Huerta will step down once the general's election to office is official." He withdrew the needle and swabbed Bernard's arm again. "But that idiot doesn't realize how fortunate he is. He keeps writing provocative letters to government officials and the newspapers. He uses false names, but Obregón knows it is him. The general has never forgiven him for costing him an arm. One day he will get his revenge."

"What does that matter to us?" The burning extended out to his finger tips. He couldn't resist looking at his hand as if it would suddenly burst into flames. The fire inside him had quickly spread up into his neck.

"I'm afraid, Bernardo, that we will one day be forced to prove our allegiance to Obregón. Sincerely, my friend, I had hoped we could settle into a quiet life and focus on your farm and my clinic." He closed his medical bag with a loud snap. "But we must speak about a more important personal matter this evening. Go ahead, my friend, ask me what you must?"

"Why did you bring them here?"

"Señor Zacharias Montes Rocha will be no more after tonight. His lovely widow, Poloma, and her two daughters will need a man to provide for them and tend to the hacienda. And though I am very fond of Esperanza and Lucrecia, ours is nothing more than a marriage of convenience and appearance. I have allowed her to take my name, but it is time for her to find a real husband."

"What has this to do with us?" He rubbed his arm where the needle had gone in. As happened every other time, his hand had swollen slightly and his fingers would not move. The burning had spread to his chest. It made his heart race.

"I believe Hernando has harbored feelings for Esperanza ever since they first met. I believe they would make a perfect couple. And Poloma, I think, would appreciate a strong man such as you for a new husband."

"I am already married."

"Yes, and at twenty-four, Mirella is indeed a fine match for most men, but I'm afraid, my dear friend, that she is unsuitable for my needs . . . our needs."

He clenched the one fist he could and took a step toward Esparza. "Mirella and I are expecting our first child."

"That is of no consequence. I will see that Mirella is well cared for. Manfred becomes quite homesick at times. He has been in Mexico since the end of the Great War, you know. His father passed away last year but he was unable to return home for the funeral. Mirella would be of great comfort to him."

"If you are so determined to pair Poloma with someone, Fidel has no wife."

"I have another woman in mind for Fidel."

"Who?"

"In good time, Bernardo. Tonight, we must finalize these matches and move on to more pressing business with our German partners."

"My brothers will not agree to this."

"I anticipate another two years of those painful injections will be all you three need. After that, you will be free to pursue a virile and extended life that I am sure you will find rewarding. Until then, however, any delayed or missed injection could prove to be unhealthy, perhaps even fatal. I am sure all three of you have experienced a waning of your formidable strength this past month."

"You timed this perfectly."

"Would you expect anything less from me? Now, there are a few other minor stipulations. Hernando and Esperanza may have as many children as they like, but they must all be daughters. You and Poloma will not produce children. The daughters she has now will suffice. Fidel and his bride will take on a similar duty to that of Hernando and Esperanza. I have arranged for suitable niñeras to provide assistance to the mothers and care to their daughters. They are all strong women from the Rarámuri people in the western mountains. The one who will serve you is named Amarissa because she was born under a full moon at the time of the harvest. You may seek comfort in her body as much as you like. I believe you will find her quite irresistible. But, again, you must only produce daughters if you do."

As the spreading hot stiffness took hold of his thighs, he sagged down into a chair. "We should have killed you."

"Do not trouble yourself with regrets. Tonight is just the beginning of your journey into a world of wealth and power that you couldn't possibly have dreamed of before you met me. We will help those who suffered during the revolution. We will establish charities throughout the country that will help us find the labor you need and the subjects I need." Esparza sat down in a chair across from him. "Tonight we finalize our agreement with the Germans to export cocaine and my plans for exclusive health spas to Europe. I have secured our sources of supply both here and in Colombia. I already have a number of favorable locations picked out for the spas. They will be high up in the Alps where the air will be thin and pure." Esparza glanced out the window. "It is a wonderful spring night. We have an enchanting birthday party to attend. Please play the good host to our guests and send your brothers to me to receive their injections."

# Chapter 29

As per Nyla Rowe's instructions, Special Agent Brian Laskey brought only two other agents with him, people he absolutely knew he could trust. They arrived at the house on Baker Street near the Palace of Fine Arts just before 7:00 pm.

Special Agent Ruth Kincaid asked, "Does Fitzpatrick know we're coming?"

"No."

"Well," Special Agent Eddy Parker said, "that would explain the party."

Though the drapes were drawn, the living room was bright on the other side of them. Shadows frequently walked or danced past.

"This could be it," Ruth said. "Isn't this their style? Crash a party and leave as many dead as possible?"

"This is only a precaution. Rowe doesn't believe they have identified him yet, but he had initially worked with Senator Van Biert once he had developed his Due Vigilance program."

"Rowe's task force really does keep everything close. This is the first I've heard of Due Vigilance."

"It's a network investigation program. Fitzpatrick developed it while a graduate student at Stanford. With it, he was able to infiltrate the dark web and track their lines of communication. His program and his work have been instrumental in hindering their recruiting efforts. It has also eavesdropped on many of their planned attacks, particularly the ones aimed at the United States."

Parker said, "And he's remained hidden to them? I thought they were pretty good at infiltrating and destroying from within."

"There have been a number of close calls. He had to shut down and start over with new camouflaged sites. He's lost track of them a number of times, but has so far always been able to find them again and keep himself hidden."

"Why didn't she put him in hiding before?"

"There was no evidence he might be in danger. And he is a private citizen running his own computer security company. And they did try. He wouldn't go."

"I presume we won't take no for an answer."

"He's probably heard about Van Biert's death. He might be more open to persuasion, but, yes, he has no choice this time."

A slender woman with long, straight black hair opened the drapes all the way and peeked out holding a cigarette in one hand and a drink in the other. Someone soon snuck up behind her, put a huge arm around her and pulled her away from the picture window. The drapes closed.

Laskey slipped out from behind the wheel of the Ford Explorer.

Ruth Kincaid had rode shotgun. Eddy Parker got out behind Laskey.

Parker said, "I feel naked without a vest."

"We can't have anything that will identify us as FBI. Rowe insisted we keep this as low key as possible."

Kincaid said, "No vests and no SWAT for backup could be too low key."

Nyla had said to him, "Samuel Fitzpatrick may look like a big bear, but he isn't. Don't spook him, he could overreact. He dealt with Van Biert because he doesn't trust law enforcement or national security agencies. There had to be a layer of separation and insulation between us before he would cooperate."

"That is quite the contradiction considering most of his company's contracts are with law enforcement and national security agencies."

Nyla had addressed that apparent inconsistency with, "It's just business for him. But I do think all that time on the dark web has warped him. He's skittish around authority."

When he looked back at Parker, he said, "Put that away; no guns, and no badges, either, unless he insists on seeing them."

"What if he thinks we're from the other side?"

"He's going to know exactly who we are."

At the front door he made sure to get a nod from Kincaid and Parker before pounding on it to be heard over the steady thumping of music coming from inside. When no one came to the door after a second pounding he tried the knob. It was unlocked.

"Unlocked, with loud music playing," Kincaid said. "Are you sure we shouldn't have our guns ready?"

"No."

He led the way in. As soon as they entered the hall, the music stopped, the lights went off in the hall and flashes from the ceiling started, like a flock of photographers hanging above them. Bright circles dominated complete darkness when he blinked. The flashing lasted for ten seconds.

Before it quit, however, a human growl became a roar, forcing them all back. He felt behind and made contact with Parker's hand, which now held his gun. He pushed Parker's hand down and backed his team up to the front door as the source of the roar came charging from the living room.

"Sammy, Nyla sent us."

"Fuck!" Fitzpatrick was unable to stop his charge in time. He hit Laskey in the chest with his shoulder, knocking him into Kincaid and Parker.

Parker grunted as he bounced off the door. He was almost as loud as Fitzpatrick had roared.

"Jesus Christ, what the hell are you doing here? I thought you would call first."

The lights came back on. Three women stood at the entrance to the living room. Though clearly not related, they all resembled each other, slender, tall, with long, straight black hair and wearing tight, floral-print dresses. The dresses were different colors from each other.

Sammy Fitzpatrick, all shaggy brown beard and shaggy brown hair, all 6'8" and 300 pounds of him, staggered back and almost fell into the three slender lookalikes—Fitzpatrick's type, Laskey presumed. "I could have killed all of you." He held a metal baseball bat against his right leg.

The middle slender woman smirked and giggled a bit. The woman to her left prodded her with a finger to stop her. They scowled at each other. The scowls did nothing to make them any less similar.

Fitzpatrick had been an All-American left tackle for the Stanford Cardinal football team. He had been drafted seventh overall and had played three years for the San Diego Chargers, being named an All-Pro his second and third year, before retiring from the NFL because his computer security company had become too big to ignore.

Ruth Kincaid asked, "Can I have your autograph?" She squeezed between him and Parker with her hand held out to Fitzpatrick. "I'm from San Diego. Thank you for almost getting us to the Super Bowl at least once in my lifetime before those bastard owners moved the team to L.A."

Fitzpatrick glanced at his girls as he twitched the bat. There was no one else at this party but them.

Ruth kept her hand out. Shorter than Sammy's girls, with a far less fragile frame and with short, strawberry blonde hair, she wasn't his type.

In amongst that shaggy hair on his face, a smile started to form and quickly spread into a wide grin. Then it emitted a boisterous laugh equally as loud as his roar. He shook Kincaid's little paw with his massive one. Her head bobbed until he let go of her.

Ruth Kincaid was a foot shorter than Fitzpatrick and 170 pounds lighter. "You heard about—"

He put a finger to Kincaid's lips before turning to his party guests. "Sorry, ladies, we are going to have to cut the celebration short tonight."

All three of them pouted and moaned in unison.

He said to Kincaid, "Just let me call a taxi for my guests. Then we can talk."

He ushered them into his dining room to sit at the table while he called for a taxi and said goodnight to his three nearly identical guests. Once they were gone, he returned to the dining room, went to a corner near the entrance to the kitchen, picked up two suitcases and a briefcase.

"Shall we go?" He smiled at their lack of response. "I've been eavesdropping on those people for just over a year. I know exactly who we are up against. I know how dangerous they are and I am a Stanford grad. I'm not stupid."

*****

The Internet of Things (IoT) was vulnerable because convenience had surpassed user security in importance. The warning not to tell anyone about the demand to hand over control of Muta, if that was even possible, and the threat to harm the people she loved if she didn't comply was easy to implement. The monster program after Muta was Pox, the malware she had created in Dominion to turn Morton Colter's attempt to blow up all of his hostages back on him. When she had sent Pox into his phone, she had also released it to the internet.

They had co-opted Pox and had been doing the same thing to it the Creators Almighty had been doing with Muta. Their purpose had, however, been attack, destroy and control rather than Muta' primary purpose to protect and defend.

Like Muta, Pox could infiltrate any device that was part of the IoT. It would know if she tried to warn Donny, Shana, her mother or Joan McGowan at the FBI.

With Erwin Baber MIA for the past three weeks, the one person she could turn to was Sammy Fitzpatrick. Along with Baber, Fitzpatrick was the most adult-like member of CA. As a post-doctoral fellow, he had been her mentor and confidant—her Priest—when she first came to Stanford. The first thing he had done was recruit her into the Creators Almighty.

"You have too much talent to stay on the sidelines, but you can't go it alone, and we need someone exactly like you."

Sammy Fitzpatrick had also made her question how she felt about Donny. Crushing on him, okay, that was fine, even expected. He had opened her eyes to so many more virtual and digital opportunities available to her. He had shown her that her own perspective on what she was truly capable of was nowhere near as comprehensive as she had arrogantly believed.

But leave Donny for Sammy? Virtual cheating was one thing, the real thing was virtually impossible to reconcile with her feelings for Donny. Hence, the conclusion was: She loved Donny as much as she was ever going to love anyone. It was not an adolescent thing brought from Dominion—some fragile bond created by what they had experienced together there—that meeting other men who shared her passion for computers could shake.

Sammy Fitzpatrick had done more for her than he could know. For that, she did love him, like the furry, teddy-bear, almost-adult big brother he was.

Besides, though Sammy did like his women slender, he preferred them to be much taller than her.

She tried calling his number again.

Sammy's IoT junk wouldn't be vulnerable to infiltration because he would never stand for such a thing.

"So, how come you can't get through to him, not even voicemail? Why is there no answer at all?"

Her center laptop beeped. Lightning bolts flashed across the sky that had suddenly appeared on it. Thunder rattled out of her speakers. The largest bolt of lightning struck the ground. When the flash, smoke and debris had cleared, Muta stood where the lightning had struck. Dressed in her Amazon warrior outfit, she brandished her new sword and her repaired shield. Her injuries had healed.

"I have him contained," she said. "You have seven minutes of secure privacy."

Kieran's smirking face replaced Muta on the screen. "A pox on all our houses it is, then, Lily."

"That is so not even funny. And don't tell anyone else where he came from. Any ideas?"

"Why don't we do what they demand?" He picked at his fingernails with his knife.

She sat back in her chair. Kieran continued to clean under his fingernails with his knife.

Muta said, "Six minutes."

"Here's the thing, Lily, we booby trap her. I've been working on something for the past year should she suddenly go rogue on us, you know, all that rise-of-the-machines movie shit that always ends up with the same conclusion that the only way to protect human beings is to either subjugate them or slaughter every last one of them rogues."

"You're rambling. What have you got on them so far?"

He scowled at her and jabbed the point of the knife at the camera. "We used the data Muta brought us to revise the network investigation program we used to catch that ring of pedophiles in Bonn, Amsterdam, Stockholm, Malmo, Dublin and Cologne."

"Kieran, still rambling."

"God, Lily, don't get your bloody knickers all twisted. I'm getting to it. Our revised node analysis caught up to some of them. We were able to identify some of their links, track some of their traffic and communications pathways. But then. . . ."

Muta said, "Three minutes. I detect a possible detection."

"Can't you turn her off or something?"

"Kieran, what happened? And be clear about it. We don't have a lot of bloody time here."

"At first it looked like we had them. We sent the worm and they began tumbling down one after another. Within a few minutes we would have their identities and such and they would be totally hacked. Then, WHAM!" He stabbed his knife into his desk. "It rebounded back on us. We had to unplug, reboot and clean up everything. It was bloody close, Lily, too bloody close. We don't know how much they got."

"Pox's main function was to turn attacks back against the attacker."

He drilled the point of the knife into the top of his desk. "The only thing we can do now is flame them if they have a go at us. There is no nuclear option at this point. Given its capabilities, thanks to you, there isn't likely ever going to be."

"Did you stop any of them?"

"Not enough, that's for bloody sure."

"You, Gerhardt and Sven keep on it. Send out an R-n-H order to the others."

"Lily, luv, I'm not the only bloody tattooed, skinhead punk in our group. Some will not run and hide."

"Tell them Dmitri is gone."

"Bloody hell." He yanked his knife out of his desk. "I'll do all I can, Lily, I promise."

Another call to Sammy went unanswered or redirected to voicemail. On the eleventh ring, her phone notified her of another call coming in.

"Hi," Donny said.

"Hi. Where are you?"

"You won't believe the day I've had. I was talking to Rocky Carson about her blog article on WholeWorldNews about three fungi that are ravaging our food crops when my phone, my laptop and my computer, which had her article on the screen, all died. What are the chances of all three of them dying of the same day at exactly the same moment?"

"It would be a rare occurrence but certainly possible."

"Do you think someone is trying to squash Rocky's article?"

"I don't think it's that."

"Whatever it was, I wasted a couple of hours trying to get any of them working again before giving up. I now have a new phone and a notebook. That's all I can afford. Do you want me to come over?"

"I'd love that, but it's late. I will see you tomorrow."

She called her mother in Dominion, Oregon. "Hi, mom, how are you?"

"Exhausted. I've been running around all day trying to keep two house sales from collapsing."

"What went wrong?"

"Mold, that's what. They went through their independent inspections today. Mold was found in both of them. I swear, Lily, it was not there when we listed them three weeks ago. We always have them inspected before we put them on the market so we can let the owner know what they need to fix. It wasn't there then."

"Could it have been missed?"

"Not that much. They were clean. Pedro Moreno and his son, Jesus, have been doing our inspections for years. They said the houses were clear when they inspected them. God, I hope it isn't going to end up like Widow Creek."

"They have mold there, too?"

"It's killed their house sale. The police even investigated but found no evidence of any previous grow-ops in any of the houses." Linda Wiley sighed. "But enough about that. How is school going?"

"It's wonderful. How's Dominion?"

"The big gossip here is that Joan McGowan returning to the FBI in Portland has put a serious strain on her relationship with Dr. Harding. Just between you and me, darling, I wouldn't be too upset if Craig became available again. He and I were once almost. . . ." After another loud sigh, she said, "Just listen to me gabbing on about nonsense like there was nothing else happening in the world."

That was exactly what Lily did.

# Chapter 30

Dr. Renato Esparza finished his tequila, lit a cigar and puffed on it a few times before inhaling a big intake of smoke, which he exhaled as he said, "I have not looked forward to this evening, my friend." He took another big drag on the cigar.

Dr. Archibald Eckstein stood at the closed library door. He coughed though the smoke from Esparza's cigar was across the room from him. He appeared to be having trouble breathing and standing straight.

Dr. Manfred Althus stood beside him as erect as ever, but he would not look directly at his host. He wasn't in the library to engage in this conversation. He and Eckstein were here to witness Esparza reprimand him.

"What am I to do with you three? You continue to confound my efforts at every turn. Have I not given you a gift others can only pray for?" He took another series of smoky puffs. "How do you three reward me for this gift? You threaten to wreck everything we have worked so hard to build. Hernando is full of rage, but Fidel has become an atavistic monster who loves killing far too much. He has been skinning and scalping his victims or beheading them. There are rumors of him eating pieces of them."

"He controls the competition. If they won't cooperate, he eliminates them."

"His savagery could expose us to public scrutiny. The government would be forced to move against us and we do not as yet wield the power to circumvent such an action."

"Christ, can't you just say our organization isn't big or strong enough yet?"

"We are in the process of becoming part of the power elite that will control the economic, social and political infrastructure of Mexico for decades. This is a delicate time, Bernardo. While the main violence of the revolution is over, there are still many volatile elements in play that have to be properly managed before we can start a long period of stability. It will take another seven to ten years to reach that goal. But we will never reach it if you cannot bring your two brothers under control."

Bernardo started for Althus but Esparza put himself in the way. "If you are determined to scold me, send them away. Get him out of my sight."

Eckstein and Althus left the room only after Bernardo started for them again. Esparza had to put a hand on his chest to stop him.

Once those two were gone, he said, "If you bring him here again, or anywhere close to me, I will kill all three of you."

Esparza blew smoke in his face. "I do not understand why you are so angry." His hand still on Bernardo's chest, Esparza backed him up to his desk. There was no resisting the power behind Esparza's pressure. "You know as well as I that Dr. Althus is no longer with Mirella. She found someone to help her get away from him shortly after she gave birth to your son, Alejandro. That was unfortunate, as you very well know, a tragedy that he did not live to see his first birthday. If she had remained where we put her, Manfred and I might have been able to save Alejandro when he fell ill."

"The same way you cared for Esperanza and Hernando's son during child birth? Mirella might have also died."

"Esperanza was more fragile than I anticipated. Her pregnancy with Ora presented unique problems for my colleagues and I. In hindsight, Bernardo, it would have been better had she not tried to have any more children."

"She was following your orders."

Esparza put out his cigar. "I realize Hernando did love Esperanza, and in return she had developed a deep affection for him as well."

"Of all your chosen women, she was the one who best understood the inescapable trap you had sprung on all of us."

"Those feelings make her death that much more difficult for Hernando to bear. But, Bernardo, he must bring himself under control. He is letting his grief turn him into a rampaging monster. He is jeopardizing our hard work forging alliances and partnerships and he is making it more difficult to negotiate with our competitors. And you have not helped with this, Bernardo." He poured himself some port. "Your womanizing left Hernando and Fidel without your support when our warehouse in San Pedro was attacked. I consider it a miracle your brothers were able to escape with their lives. We lost seven good men while you were God knows where fucking some whore. The warehouse and its contents were destroyed. Indeed, some of Hernando's ongoing problems controlling his rage could be attributed to your selfishness."

"We are brothers. He will come to his senses and return to us."

"We will need him soon."

"For what?"

"In a moment, Bernardo. Should I ask you how Poloma is doing? Would I receive better news if I asked you about Mirella?"

"We have produced a daughter for you. You can ask no more of us."

"And you have appropriately named her Mirelle because it is truly a miracle she was ever conceived. Hernando and Esperanza had sincere feelings for each other. Fidel obeys his orders. He and Kemina at least respect each other and present the picture of a good marriage when he isn't out devouring potential allies. They dote over Tierra. She is a precocious two-year-old, wouldn't you agree? For their sake, I have not punished any of you for disobeying my orders."

"Kill us all if you are unhappy with us, but stop prattling."

"Then there is you and Poloma; you loath each other. You have as little to do with her, Inez and Sarika as you can. Most of the time, you are with Mirella or some other woman. While I am aware it is difficult for you to understand and tolerate Sarika's very feminine, very obedient and timid silence, Inez couldn't be more your daughter than if you had produced her. She adores your rough ways, your machismo. I see it in her every time I visit."

"I take her riding with me when I can."

"And hunting, too, I know. She tells me about all of your adventures. She is only thirteen, but in a few years, she will make an excellent mate. She could make Hernando forget Esperanza and his lost son."

"I doubt Hernando will ever marry again no matter what pressure you put on him."

"Then perhaps you would be a better match for Inez. If her fondness for you becomes a woman's love and Poloma could be persuaded to go away, I could envision such a match."

"You are disgusting."

"I am a man of the future, Bernardo, and so too must you be. We cannot let minor conventions of civilization hinder our move forward." He finished his port and smacked his lips. "Your regime of injections came to an end tonight. You can, I am sure, feel the permanent increase in power within you. As I promised, you can look forward to an extended life of such power, though nothing lasts forever. You will one day have to submit to time as all living things do, but that moment is a long way off."

Eckstein came back into the library and beckoned Esparza over to him.

After a brief whispering conversation, Esparza turned to him, smacked his lips again and then smiled at him. "Congratulations, Bernardo, Amarissa is finally with child. She is so confident it will be a girl, she has already picked out a name for her: Morisa."

Eckstein coughed and left the room.

"He is not a healthy man, my friend. He will not likely live to see Morisa born. But, please, pardon me. I do not wish to decrease your joy with sad news."

"What of Althus?"

Esparza lit another cigar. "He is of excellent German stock. In two days, he will return to Germany to complete some spa business on my behalf. Then he travels to the Far East and Asia. I must go to Nicaragua, Colombia, Venezuela, Bolivia and Argentina. It will be very tiresome. And you, Bernardo, must get Hernando back here for his last injection before I go. Then you and your brothers also have some work to do." He blew out a large cloud of blue-black smoke. "A group of rambunctious schoolchildren, not unlike Inez, prevented the July tenth attempt on Villa. You and your brothers must take command of next week's mission and see that it is completed successfully. After you have done with Villa, take Hernando back to his hacienda in the Sierra Madre Occidental Mountains. And I do not want any excursions into the United States. We need a period of calm for me to complete my diplomatic mission."

"What about Fidel?"

"Send him back to his hacienda in Morelos. I will send a contingent from Guatemala to be his guests until I return. He is not to harm any of them."

*****

The pumpkin seed vendor kept looking at the apartment at the corner of Benito Juarez and Gabino Barrera.

Hernando aimed his rifle out the window at him. "He is going to give away our position. If he does that again, I will shoot him in the head."

Bernardo pulled the rifle back in out of sight. "There has already been one failure."

"What if children run into the street again?"

"He must die today. If anyone gets in the way or tries to interfere, they will die along with him."

"We have been made to participate in the assassinations of men we once loyally followed. Is this all we are good for now?"

Fidel and the man beside him signaled the approach of Villa's Dodge. The pumpkin seed vendor was becoming more agitated as he watched the Dodge come closer.

Hernando aimed his rifle. "He is going to give us away."

He pushed Hernando aside and said to his men, "Get ready."

Despite his obvious agitation, the vendor completed his role as required. When Villa reached a predetermined point along the street, the man rushed toward the Dodge and confirmed Villa was behind the wheel by yelling once, "Viva Villa."

Bernardo took aim. "Fire!" His first shot hit Villa in the head, killing him instantly. It was the least he could do for their former jefe.

Their man at the entrance to the apartment building started for the Dodge as he continued shooting. He was killed before he could get to the car. One of Villa's men, wounded in the leg, vanished around a corner.

Citizens raced for the Dodge once the shooting stopped. Men, women and children called out Villa's name and wailed their grief upon reaching the car. Some pointed to the apartment.

"Everyone out." He led the way to the horses.

The six men with them rode south. They would split up once they were out of Parral.

He, Hernando and Fidel rode for the river. Gunfire started behind them. Four citizens were shooting at them but they were too far away to be accurate.

They caught up to the limping man from Villa's car at the river. They each shot him once as they raced past.

# Chapter 31

He and Menno were opening the back doors of the van when Nunez joined them.

"Good morning to you all," Nunez said. He shook hands with Isidora and Menno when Ralph introduced them. Nunez appeared to have had little sleep last night. He also appeared to have aged ten years since their first meeting. "Mr. Price, may I speak to you in private for a moment, please?"

As Nunez escorted him away from Isidora and Menno, their expressions revealed their concern about the contract. Menno was apprehensive it would all fall through because of his past. Isidora was angry and ready to get back into the van for the last time.

"Is there a problem?"

"Not at all; I am very pleased to have you here. I am looking forward to the end results of your work. Rest easy, Mr. Price, I only wish to discuss another opportunity for you and your crew."

"Is there something more you want done? If so, I would have to say this job is pretty big already and any additional work would likely delay completion beyond—"

"My niece is returning from Japan today. She arrives in El Paso in a couple of hours. I must pick her up there"

"Did you want us to start tomorrow instead? We can do that, but I wouldn't want to wait more than a day or two if you want us to finish on time."

"That is not it. I would like you all to come to El Paso with me as reinforcements."

"I don't understand; reinforcements?"

"This is embarrassing for me, Mr. Price. I do hope you understand the deeply personal nature of what I am about to tell you. Juanita is separated from her husband."

Not knowing what else to say, he said, "We do home renovations and repairs. We are not bodyguards."

"Good heavens, no, of course you aren't. Juanita is a cultural anthropologist. She has traveled the world these last five years doing research. Her husband has probably lost track of her during that time. She has not told me of having any problems with him and I'm sure she would have had he bothered her."

"Then why would you need us as reinforcements?"

"In fact, Mr. Price, I probably do not. He is unlikely to know she is returning to her uncle's hacienda" He held up his hands. "But I am an old man. I promised Juanita I would protect her when she expressed concern that her husband not find out she is coming back to me. I would appreciate the moral support from your presence, as I know she would too."

"I don't feel comfortable with this. What if her husband does show up? What if he does become violent? What if he brings reinforcements?"

"I assure you, he is having trouble letting go of Juanita, but he has never been violent. He came here a number of times to talk to her about reconciliation when they were first separated. He always behaved himself. This is just a precaution to make an old man and his niece feel more secure."

"I need to discuss this with Isidora and Menno."

"By all means, but, Mr. Price, do not take too long to decide, please. I must leave for El Paso within the hour."

"He's changed his mind," Isidora said when he returned to the van. "He doesn't think we can do it. I knew this was a waste of time."

"You are not going to believe this." He told them of Nunez's request.

"No effing way am I going to be some effing bodyguard." Isidora took off her tool belt and threw it into the van. "We might as well go. If we say no, he will change his mind about the job."

"That is not true," Nunez said. "You are free to turn down my offer and it will in no way affect our current contract."

Menno said, "Senor Nunez, I do not want to offend you, but it looks suspicious."

"You show good sense. My relationship with Juanita has barely been better than the relationship she had with her husband. We have been estranged for as long as they have been separated. I had urged her to return to her marriage. She did not respond well to my advice. Now that she is returning, I feel I owe her a more supportive uncle. I lost contact with her after she let me know she was returning to me. That is the source of my anxiety, but it will likely turn out to be nothing."

Isidora folded her arms across her chest and scowled. "For a man who wants reinforcements, you are not making a convincing argument. You keep playing down any potential danger, which doesn't make me trust this situation."

Nunez said, "I will compensate you for your time and inconvenience with fifty thousand dollars each, off the books, as they say. And to show you I am sincere, I will raise that to one hundred and fifty thousand dollars each if there is even the slightest trouble from anyone."

"Anyone!" Isidora slammed one of the rear doors. "I should be recording this because no one would believe it." She slammed the other door, stomped a few paces away before coming back to stand directly in front of Nunez.

Ralph winced. Don't give him the finger.

She poked Nunez in the chest with her finger. "And we are supposed to believe there is no danger? You just happen to have one hundred and fifty thousand dollars burning a hole in your pocket and you can't be bothered to call a taxi, is that it? For that much money you could hire real bodyguards, especially if you are so convinced that nothing will happen. Why didn't you do that? You could have called a private security companies. I'm sure there is at least one in El Paso willing to take on a marshmallow assignment like this one for tipping money. Who is her ex-husband? Is he the head of some Mexican gang or is he an accountant?"

"I did not want to alarm my niece. I thought having—"

"What, just three laborers with you would look better? Do you want me to stash a hammer under the seat in case there's any trouble, maybe a wrench or a crowbar?"

Menno pulled Isidora away. "That's enough." He said to Nunez, "She has a point about hiring professionals. They can look inconspicuous if they have to."

"I am sorry. I have mishandled what is likely an unnecessary precaution. Please forgive me."

He said to Isidora, "Menno and I can go. You can start the tear down on the kitchen. We should be gone about three hours."

"If you two insist on trolling for fifty thousand dollars under the table, I'm not a lawyer or a criminologist yet. I could use the money for school. I'm in."

"Thanks, Isy, that's another one I owe you."

"Damn right, Ralphie." She scowled at Menno, who should have known better than to smirk at her. "Oh, I have a list for each of you and it is so effing long both of you will be licking my Louis Vuittan boots clean for the rest of your lives."

*****

Seconding his renovation contractors was unexpected. Lola waited for the four of them to drive off in his Mercedes SUV before calling el Jefe.

"He has three people with him."

"Who are they?"

"Construction workers hired to renovate this decrepit tomb. He told them a story about Juanita's ex-husband stalking her, but he played down the danger they might encounter. He suspects something."

"It's Juanita, he should suspect something. Nothing has changed. We will proceed as planned." He hung up.

She drove past the Manning farm on her way to Mesilla. The FBI forensic crews were still there but they would find nothing helpful. Valenzuela hadn't been found yet, but she would soon become part of the Dia de Muertos festival.

She parked on the street to avoid blocking the driveway.

Benigna Osorio, a fake name, nineteen, answered the door holding Conchetta. They kissed before Benigna handed Conchetta to her.

"Hello my darling girl. Are you ready for your birthday?"

Conchetta gurgled and squealed and bubbled and put her arms around her mother's neck. "Mama."

The doctor was furious with her name but Lola didn't care. She also didn't care that her daughter's birthday was October 31st, the first day of the festival.

Benigna asked, "Is everything ready?"

She kissed Conchetta, who giggled and gurgled louder. "We will leave tomorrow once this is done. Letitia will meet us in Juarez. Now go, you have to finish before they get back from El Paso."

*****

Derrick Earls finished setting up the video feeds to the three large-screen televisions that had been brought to the Oval Office. "They are all set, Madame President. The one to the left shows the press room. Those are the reporters coming in now."

"So much for keeping this secret."

"They have only been told there will be a big research breakthrough announcement. For all they know, it could be something about a cure for cancer. The middle television shows the observation room and the laboratory in the background through that big window. ASB will conduct their first test in there."

Cheryl was checking the two-way video feed at her end. "I can see you, Madame President. Can you see me? Can you hear me?"

"I can. Where are Calvin and Peter?"

Cheryl pointed to the large, thick observation window behind her. "They are reviewing the experiment with the ASB scientists one last time. Calvin made some suggestions that ASB wants to implement before proceeding."

"What about the press. I thought they were keeping this quiet."

"I've been told ASB was ordered by France's Agriculture Minister to throw the press a bone if it works. They have some cover story if it doesn't but the minister won't tell me what it is."

"Marius loves his manipulations. He loves his spotlight."

"A true showman, Madame President," Cheryl said and fetched McMasters and Tippin when they came out of the laboratory. "They are almost ready."

"Good luck to everyone. We are standing by."

Derrick said, "The screen on the right shows the inside of the laboratory and the vat containing the fungus. ASB has not identified which one of them it is." He left the office.

Vice-President Lucas Abbott, forty-five, slim, single and attractive, which, so she was told, only helped her ticket in the polls, entered with Lyle Lederman and Marion Churchill, Secretary of Homeland Security

Churchill was in his late fifties. Of average height and build and appearance, he kept a low profile while doing his job. According to her people, he did not influence her standings in the polls one way or another, though there might be a slight bump in confidence because he was seen as doing excellent work.

Abbott brought the preliminary report on the toxin left in the soil by the fungi. "It is affecting not just the crops and soil, but animals as well: cows, sheep, pigs, horses, coyotes, foxes and even rats. Farmers have reported livestock showing symptoms that resemble mad cow disease."

"That is what is happening in Italy."

Lederman said, "The larger animals take longer to show symptoms; some even recover after only a few days of being off their food. Predators become hyper-aggressive and insatiable. They attack and devour everything, including their own offspring, until they eat themselves to death. The fungus then grows within the carcass and spreads even further."

"There have been some anecdotal reports of aggressive bees, ants and wasps, and some bats. Our biologists are checking those incidents now. Some are concerned the insects could be another vector for the spread of at least one of the fungi."

Red lights began flashing and bells clanging on the center screen.

Cheryl came back to it. "They are about to start."

McMasters said, "If it works, the reaction should be very quick."

The people in the observation room, Marius Dupuis and his aide, two representatives each from Germany, Italy and Britain, all drew closer to the window. Cheryl, Calvin and Peter joined the crowd.

Abbott said, "How did you convince them to let the Brits come after Brexit?"

"Jacqueline Duquesne has remarkable connections and powers of persuasion."

Four ASB scientists, two men and two women, appeared on the screen to the right and gathered around a glass sphere about twice the size of a basketball. It was half-full with the fungus. Three glass feeder tubes entered the vat at the top. The lead scientist opened a valve and injected a dose of the synthetic protein into one of the tubes. Dupuis loved to put on a show. Another member of the team then opened another valve to release it into the sphere. The scientists then backed away until they were once again off-screen.

At first, the only indication of something happening was a mist that rose up from the fungus and condensed on the inside of the sphere.

Lederman said, "It must be the hydrophilic one."

McMasters said, "That was the first expected effect. The virus is forcing the fungus to release all the water it's absorbed in those spongy nodules."

The amount of the fungus appeared to decrease until it filled one-third of the sphere. Then it began to bubble as the camera zoomed in on the vat. Within a few seconds of shrinking, water vapor was replaced by a brownish-grey smoke.

Tippin said, "It was only supposed to desiccate and shrivel."

Below the smoke filling the top two thirds of the sphere, the fungus began to glow orange.

The camera pulled back to show three of the ASB scientists retreating as the lead scientist returned to the sphere to get a closer look.

A tiny fireworks display of sparks started ejecting from the fungus. The fireworks quickly escalated, bombarding the sphere, piercing it until it exploded into glowing shards. The sparks coming from the fungus as it fell to the floor began setting things in the lab on fire.

One cluster of sparks landed on one of the woman scientist's lab coat. It burst into flames as if it had been soaked in gasoline.

The sprinklers came on for only a moment before an explosion in the laboratory destroyed them and shattered the thick window of the observation room.

She hollered into the microphone, "Cheryl get out of there."

Panic exploded through the crowd as the fire escaped into the observation room. Cheryl, Calvin and Peter were swept up in the stampede.

Reporters on the screen to the left were trying to find out what was happening on the other side of the locked doors. When the laboratory exploded on the center screen, the force of the explosion blew open the doors to the press room, ejecting flames everywhere.

People were catching on fire. The right screen showed nothing but thick, glowing smoke in the laboratory. Abbott turned off the television as two burning scientists staggered into view. With the sprinkler system reduced to little more than trickles here and there, the fire spread quickly through the ASB facility.

"Is that Cheryl?" Lederman ran to the screen on the left.

Someone had taken the feed camera off its stand and was escaping with everyone else while still broadcasting. His grunts and curses as he banged into people came through loudly over the television.

"There, there, look, I think that's Cheryl."

Cheryl Cummings struggled free of the fleeing crowd, spotted the camera and came to it. "Is there sound?" The man carrying the camera kept trying to broadcast the destruction of ASB, but Cheryl grabbed him and turned the camera back to focus on her. "Is there sound?"

President Trotter shouted into her microphone, "We can hear you, Carol. Where are Calvin and Peter?"

Cheryl adjusted her earpiece. "They didn't make it out of the observation room." She directed the cameraman to provide a shot of the burning facility. "I think only Dupuis and his aide escaped." She had to take a moment. "Calvin pushed me out of the way of the blast."

When the camera focused on Cheryl again, it revealed her burned left arm from shoulder to hand. Firefighters and emergency response vehicles were arriving behind her to reinforce ASB's own unit.

"Just a moment, Madame President," Cheryl said and moved out of view only to return with Minister Dupuis.

"Marius, what happened?"

"It may have been sabotage, Carol, or a terrorist attack. Please excuse me, I must report to my people in Paris."

"Cheryl, get some medical attention right now."

"I will."

"And tell Marius no more keeping secrets from his allies about what they are really up to."

Two French paramedics came to Cheryl and the cameraman. The broadcast stopped.

*****

Donny met her on campus at the Lake Lagunita parking lot off Lomita Drive.

He kissed her. "Did you get any sleep last night? You have programming bags under your eyes and your face still has that pallid sheen from sitting in front of your screens for too long."

"You can be so totally annoying all the time sometimes."

"It's only because I care."

She took hold of his hand and they started walking around Lake Lagunita. She had little confidence they were beyond reach here.

"It's my Pox program, the malware I used at the Colter farm. Their tech guy had a malware security program. It couldn't stop Pox, but it was able to upload it to another computer somewhere else. Since then, people in that group have been augmenting it. Donny, I gave them their most powerful internet weapon and now it's coming after her. It's coming after everyone."

"It isn't your fault. You saved our lives at the Colter farm with Pox. You couldn't have known something like that was in their system."

"I should have known. It's just that it was disguised as a simple file maintenance program and I wasn't looking for anything like it."

"What are we up against?"

"Muta has over sixty thousand lines of code because everyone has been contributing everything they can as often as they can. I estimate Pox now has just over twenty thousand lines of code, but it has a narrower focus. To paraphrase one of my favorite lines from Ghostbusters Two: it is a program of pure, concentrated evil. By making Muta more versatile, more responsive to human interface situations, we could have made her more vulnerable to attack by something like Pox."

"You told me she was indestructible."

"Hubris is part of every programmer's personality. You should have incorporated that into your logic algorithms by now."

"Sorry, my glitch. So, what do we do? Can you trap Pox in a sinkhole?"

"I'm working on it, but I may not have enough time to prepare one."

"Can Pox destroy Muta?"

"They are using social programming to do that. I have until tomorrow to hand her over to them or they start killing everyone."

"Why didn't you tell me that last night? We should be calling Joan McGowan and her team."

"I was warned not to. And the Creators Almighty is philosophically opposed to cooperating with any government of any kind anywhere or its sundry agencies. It's the Fitzpatrick protocol."

"Even when they are being hunted?"

"You know what they're like. They believe they are perfectly concealed and no one can find them."

"This is going in circles."

"I'm endangering you and everyone else by telling you this much. I'm sorry."

"Can they really do that? Members of the Creators Almighty have not been above making the same kinds of hollow threats."

"Why do you think you had all those malfunctions with your devices yesterday? Why do you think we are walking around the lake and not sitting in my room? Dmitri is missing."

"And they still believe they are untouchable? Can you delete her to keep her from them?"

"She's too big and too pervasive now to delete all her code. We have a team trying to attack her every day. If they find any vulnerability we patch it or replace it or just delete it. NSA has been trying for a Zero Day attack on her for the past year with no success. But I think I can lobotomize her so she can't function properly anymore."

"How?"

"I'm going to need help." She stopped them and kissed him, slipping him a folded piece of paper as she did. "That's how."

# Chapter 32

Esparza's new clinic in Mexico City opened July 17, 1928, three miles west of La Bombilla Cafe, where newly re-elected President Alvaro Obregón was assassinated the same day. A Roman Catholic, José de le León Toral, had posed as an artist to get close enough to fire six shots. Esparza had invited only his closest colleagues to his celebration that evening, which he insisted on continuing with despite the assassination.

"Gentlemen," he said when he held up a small glass of schnapps to honor his two new German doctors, "close to two million people have died during this nation's bloodiest years of this seemingly perpetual revolution, but a few more, it appears, still need to be eliminated if we are to continue to grow."

After every man in Esparza's clinic office had downed his drink, he introduced his two new doctors, "Bernardo, Fidel, Hernando, this is Dr. Tabor Baumann. He will be taking over the late Dr. Eckstein's role of main liaison with our other German collaborators. This is Dr. Dieter Habich. He and Dr. Althus will work with me at this clinic and the one at Bernardo's hacienda."

Hernando said, "Is every German blond or just their doctors?"

Esparza laughed. "Tabor was a member of their rowing team in the last Olympics. Dieter is more of the academic athlete, and as a member of the Nazi party, a close friend of their charismatic leader, Adolf Hitler."

Esparza poured each man a glass of wine. He then handed out cigars and took the time to light each one for his guests before lighting his own. "And these are the three brothers I have told you so much about. They are remarkable specimens, wouldn't you agree?"

Althus obediently nodded once but was careful not to look directly at him or his two brothers. Habich, the older of the two new doctors, though not by much, let smoke float out of his mouth and nostrils as he also nodded once. A slack, crooked smile let more smoke out of the left side of his mouth than the right.

Baumann regarded them with the same clinical gaze Esparza often displayed when he was visiting his harem of breeders. Of the three Germans, Baumann was the one who would feel the firmness of their arms and legs and then squeeze their testicles to appraise their overall health as if they were prized bulls should Esparza give him permission.

"Dr. Habich has taught at the University of Munich in medicine and developmental biology. We are lucky to have him join us. Dr. Baumann has a position at Goethe University in Frankfurt and has worked in the field of genetic research with some of Germany's most accomplished scientists. He will return frequently to teach there and, I hope, come back to us with news of any and all advances being made in the field. Right now, they are involved with very intriguing twin studies related to mental disorders and criminality."

Fidel asked, "Doesn't the assassination of Obregón trouble you at all? You had worked closely with him in the past."

Esparza finished his wine slowly and, as he was wont to do, took an extended series of puffs on his cigar to prolong their wait for his answer.

Not for the first time, Bernardo wondered if that delay had more to do with Esparza assessing what he was supposed to say, what would make him sound intelligent and possibly empathic, rather than what his opinion might truthfully be—if the subject mattered to him at all.

"I do find it disturbing, Fidel. This country needs stability at the political level. It needs strong, decisive leadership, but most important of all, it needs continuity. My hope, indeed my expectation, is that just such a leader and stability is within our grasp. As discouraging as today's violence is, we are about to begin that extended period of tranquility and prosperity I have always told you would come to Mexico."

Esparza was as incapable of giving a brief, concise answer as he was of understanding or caring about human feelings.

"We are in a favorable situation, some would say privileged. Your three haciendas, plus the seven others we jointly control, are successfully producing chickpeas, rice and tomatoes. Our cattle ranches are thriving. We have a substantial level of influence amongst the aristocracy and the political elite in Mexico City, which is to say the country. Our spas in Austria, Switzerland and Germany attract very influential people from all over Eurasia. And our good colleagues with us tonight are also doing everything they can to increase our presence in Europe." He bowed to Althus, Bauman and Habich, who all bowed back.

Habich coughed slightly and had to rub his eyes when a cloud of cigar smoke wafted over his face.

"And while it is true that Señor Obregón had in the past been a valuable member of our sphere of influence, what you are not aware of, my friends, is that he was no longer amenable to our operations and our needs. He believed Mexico needed him more than it needed people like us. He wished to distance himself from us as much as possible. Three days ago, I became aware that he was planning military raids on your three haciendas. He intended to appropriate all your lands under the guise of the Garcia Padilla brothers being in league with Generals Arnulfo Gomez and Francisco Serrano when they rebelled against him. After their deaths, he was to claim, you three had turned to the exiled Adolfo de la Huerta to plan another rebellion against him. We were all mere days away from death ourselves if that crazy catholic had not taken matters into his own hands.

"It is difficult to lament the loss of Obregón or mourn his violent death knowing such a conspiracy against us would be fomented by the next leader of this country out of unjustified paranoia." He turned to Baumann and Habich and said, "You two would not be aware of this. We had supported Obregón when others turned against him after the constitution was amended to allow him to seek another term as president. He betrayed us, gentlemen, there is no need for false sympathy tonight."

Dr. Baumann said, "I had been told you had put your support behind General Serrano's bid to be president."

"We had several discussions with both Gomez and Serrano, and I believe it would have been to our advantage to have had Serrano elected instead of Obregón. It would have been satisfactory if his failure had remained civil and he'd retained some of his previous influence. He had been effective at keeping prying eyes turned elsewhere. But once he and Gomez called for and then began their rebellion, we had to remain neutral."

Bernardo said, "Does it matter who is in power?"

"As long as we can respect each other, no." He poured himself another glass of wine but left it to his guests to decide if they wanted any more.

He, Fidel and Hernando took more wine. The Germans did not.

"Come, gentlemen, this distasteful conversation is keeping us from a very jovial evening ahead. We have a delicious dinner waiting for us. After that, you have twelve new volunteers to inspect. They are waiting for you and they have already removed their clothes. Three of them have not yet been with a man. You must leave those three to me. I have clearly marked them for identification." As they left his office, he talked more to the Germans than to them, "We also have a new batch of samples to go with the ones you brought with you. They come from Shanghai, Calcutta and even a few from Japan."

# Chapter 33

The knock on the front door came as the coffee machine beeped five times.

"It's open," she called out as she jogged through the living room to get to the front hall.

Instead of Cynthia Thorpe, a middle-aged man with light-brown, almost red, hair receding from a prominent forehead stood on the porch. At 6'2" and weighing about 200 pounds, his erect frame and broad, muscled shoulders belied his age.

"Good morning, Savannah. We have never met, but I am sure you know me. I am Harvey Weinberg. I am here because I can save Sage." He entered the house when she stepped back. "Is that coffee I smell? Is there enough for two?"

There were too many panicky and violent reactions running through her with Weinberg within reach. She just stood there either glaring directly at him, though not into his eyes, or past him to Highland Drive.

Weinberg stepped closer. "I take mine black with one sugar, but any sweetener is acceptable."

He took hold of her left arm and guided her back through the living room to the kitchen after first closing and locking the front door. He sat her at the nook table, found a second cup and poured out the coffee. He brought them over and sat down across from her.

"I will presume you take it straight up because you did not have any sweetener or cream out."

She just nodded, her gaze fixed on his prominent forehead—she couldn't bring herself to maintain eye contact with him—and brought the cup to her mouth. The coffee burned her tongue but she did nothing about it.

Weinberg drank half of his coffee. "It might surprise you to learn my early research had nothing to do with the brain. I focused on improving bone, muscle and connective tissue. My experiments with brain development, that is to say, Sage, was not in my area of expertise at the time of her creation. She did turn out quite well for a first effort, if I do say so myself." He finished his coffee.

She took another scalding sip. "I don't know what to say to you. I've had all these curses ready." She shook her head, put her hands on the table and pushed her chair back. "Now all I can think to do is get a gun and shoot you."

"I know you have killed for your daughter before, Savannah, but I think you will want to hear me out first. By the way, I respect your choice to go back to your family name of Latham. I had many conversations with your deceased husband at Novus Somnia, all very confidential, I assure you, very private, just between him and me. He loved you very much. He knew how much you wanted a baby and he was willing to do whatever it took to see that you had one of your own. I have always enjoyed working with people as highly motivated as Ryan. But I also know how betrayed you felt. Keeping the Lomax name was likely too painful for you."

She launched herself from her chair straight for his eyes, her hands up, her fingers curled to claw then out.

Weinberg wasn't only more robust than his apparent age would indicate, he was also far faster than her and stronger than even his impressive physique implied. He was able to grab her wrists, rise to his feet and plunk her back into her chair as if she was little more than a toddler refusing to eat her carrots. Once he let go of her wrists, he pushed her cup of coffee closer to her. "We have something very important to discuss, Savannah. Trust me when I tell you we cannot afford to delay. Take another drink and open yourself to what I have to offer."

She finished her coffee.

He took the two cups to the sink, rinsed them, set them in the dishwasher with the other dirty dishes and then returned to the table. "You will find this hard to believe, but I understood Ryan's love for and dedication to you. I once had a wife and a daughter many, many years ago." He put his hands flat on the table the same way she had. "Well, I would have had a daughter if they hadn't both died just before she was due. We had a name picked out, Grace, after my wife. Simple, elegant, it matched my daughter perfectly. It matched both of them perfectly."

"Grace?"

"That is correct."

"Sage told me about a woman named Grace. Is she your daughter?"

"I told you, my daughter died before even being born."

"I don't imagine that would be much of an obstacle to you."

He laughed, which seemed to convey a threat not to try to bait him again.

"What did you do to her?"

"Very little; like me, she had received her own gifts naturally from her parents. It would be more meaningful to ask what I took from her, but we are here to discuss Sage, the daughter you wanted so badly."

"But you didn't intend to let me have Sage. I was told you had a moment of sentimental weakness when you activated her."

"I would call it a moment of unsentimental curiosity. I confess I did have some concerns at that time. I did not want to end up with another teratogenic horror on my hands, but I just had to see how she turned out."

"She is more than you expected, isn't she? They all are."

"In truth, Savannah, I didn't have high expectations so much as I had high hopes."

"Did you know she would be able to do what she does?"

"If you mean her prescience and her mind reading, she's had considerable high-tech help with those accomplishments."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Sage has certainly enhanced her reputation because she can transfer thoughts with Lucy Cooper. But you will notice that Lucy is the only one she can do that with. I will remind you that Sage has inside her one of the most advanced wifi systems available to anyone. Add to that her ongoing relationship with Muta, a constantly developing—you have no idea how tempting it is to say evolving—artificial intelligence that can go anywhere on the internet and retrieve almost any information out there. Together they can and do put on quite the show. Then throw in Lucy, who I tinkered with extensively while at Novus Somnia."

"You put something inside Lucy's head."

"They are two remarkable young women, but their internal conversations have more to do with good wifi and miniature cochlear transceivers than thought transfers, particularly where Lucy is concerned. I would wager you often heard Sage talking to herself or an imaginary friend. Tim would tell you he observed the same behavior in Lucy when they were communicating."

"All that she is can't just be the technology."

"Indeed it is not. The big flashy part of her show depends on the tech, but there is so much more to her even without all the flash and crackle and levitation. She has those sensory freckles all over her body and a dense cluster of them along her ridges. Then there are those trios of beads along the tops of her ears. And she has that secondary nervous system, her own electrical potential and all those extra brain cells. Do you know what Huntington's disease is?"

"It's a degenerative disease that affects the brain."

"It is also a great example of what nature and science can do for both good and bad. The gene for Huntington's is on chromosome four. It contains triplets of code letters, CAG, that repeat: cytosine, adenine and guanine in that order over and over. If you have between eight and thirty-five of these triplets, you're fine. Research has shown that the more repeats you have, the more gray matter you have in the area of your brain that is involved in higher-level cognitive processes. Thirty-six or more, however, and you develop Huntington's. That is Mother Nature's limit, all she will allow. But what if you can get past her stinginess?"

"That's what you did with Sage?"

"It was one of the first steps to producing all those exo-cranial bundles. As far as her reading people, studies have shown that people's brains exhibit similar if not identical neural excitation patterns for the same activities or thoughts. All of Sage's extra brain cells and her sensory freckles and beads may have enabled her to detect or read those patterns in people, similar to fMRI readings. She then interprets them within the context of the situation."

"She isn't always correct if she doesn't have complete and unimpeded access to the person."

"Exactly my point, she is, one could say, the perfect lie detector. Sage has her own version of synaesthesia. We know she sees colors around people the way some people see letters or other objects in various colors, or even feel or taste or hear them."

"Seeing, feeling and touching them I can understand, but I have yet to see Sage taste anyone."

He smiled, a patient teacher. "That would certainly shock a few people. No, Savannah, what I am talking about is best understood as being similar to fMRI readings of brain activity. Sage's sensory nodes, those beads on her ears, her extensive exocranial nerve bundles and her secondary nervous system help detect signals from people that a normal human can't. Just as an MRI can help us gain a collective understanding of what the brain is doing while we are performing a specific task or thinking of a specific word, Sage can do the same.

"She picks up the reading, color, differences in temperature, vibrations and tension in vocal chords, even the glow of the areas of the brain in use. That is her mind reading. She can instinctively compare her readings with her own brain processes for the same words and activities. She begins to understand what the people are feeling and then anticipates their motivation, which she translates into words, subject to the limits of her own experiences and language skills. At least, that is what I intended her to be able to do, but, as you can imagine, programming a human being is such a tricky business even when you have the biology and technology in place."

She picked up the salt shaker, but didn't throw it at his head. "There's more to it than just that."

"Most certainly there is. I could go on all day, but I am reading a need in you for me to be informative but as brief as I can."

"I don't want you to strain yourself."

He chuckled. "There are powerful, consistent and quite common experiences for all of us. They can be a single word like one's name. As Sage develops, she processes her readings of these commonalities the way all of us learn language and the nuanced interactions between humans. But because Sage has had these extra-sensory capabilities from the beginning, she has easily developed her remarkable talent. For her, however, it is no more or less remarkable than a normal person learning to speak because it is normal for her."

"Like so many other people who have dealt with you, I'm sure, I am fascinated and appalled by you at the same time. What can you do for Sage?"

"I will be right back."

The phone was only three feet away on a table against the wall near the entrance to the dining room. Savannah didn't move from her chair.

When he returned, he placed a metal case measuring eight inches by ten inches by six inches on the table.

"What would you like to see in your future, Savannah? What do you want for Sage and for you?" He sat back. "Of course those are obvious and needless questions. You want your daughter back healthy and happy. You are a good parent and that is what every good parent wants for their children." He drummed his fingers on the metal case. "I can do that. But, frankly, not for free, though I'm sure we can come to an agreement on the price."

"You are a monster." She pressed her hand against her abdomen.

"I won't debate you. I would only advise you that this is a time-limited offer for you, Sage and," he pointed to her abdomen, "them. Their biological clocks are ticking too. They cannot remain viable in their dormant state forever. Their time is almost up and I do not know what might happen to you when they decay. That risk should make your decision easier, I hope."

"Why should I believe you?"

"It makes no difference if you believe me or not, but consider this. Why would I be here if my offer is not genuine? I am simply presenting the opportunity for a fair exchange."

"I have trouble believing anything that involves you is ever simple or fair."

Weinberg turned the center latch and opened the two halves of the case's top. Six syringes full of a milky liquid were fastened to the underside of each half of the top. "These are what I will need to give you before we proceed with the removal."

"I've seen those before."

"Yes, at Novus Somnia, I know. There is some risk involved, but we will discuss that only if you decide to go through with it." He closed the lids. "This contains the future for you and Sage, all within a very stylish case."

"What will happen to them?"

"You needn't worry, Savannah. I have women who can see them to full term. I won't bore you with anymore biological details, but I have developed a little concoction that suppresses rejection of any fetus by any woman, otherwise, I dare say, we would not be negotiating now. I had considered using an artificial womb chamber, and I have made them, but evolution has already done so much of the research and development for me. I just needed to give it a nudge to make everything work perfectly."

"Why did you put three inside me in the first place?"

"No one would think to look there, would they?" He opened the case again. "I have to get the dosage precisely correct or I might turn you into a pile of steaming goo." He chuckled again. "That reminds me. I once made this little girl, a special order. Well, she wouldn't be so little anymore, in her mid-teens now if everything went according to plan." He held up his hands and curled his fingers. "She has these retractable claws on her middle fingers that can deliver just such a concentrated dose. It causes accelerated decomposition catalyzed by enzymes that exothermically break down the proteins in connective and organic tissue. Think of it as super spider venom with a great deal of cathepsin in it that completes its job in only a matter of seconds. She is incredibly powerful and incredibly venomous, probably the most venomous creature alive. I'm not sure exactly what became of her."

"Jane."

"Yes, that is her name."

"You don't stick around much, do you?"

"I see little need to once my work is complete. In Jane's case, however, it was a difference of opinion that forced me to abandon her, the little boy and their pet to another path."

"Is that what you have planned for the two inside me?"

"I am not exactly sure what I am going to do with them. But it will be extraordinary. There is no point in doing something if you are not prepared to do it well."

Humboldt and his colleagues at Novus Somnia had been so anxious to please Weinberg not because they were of like minds, but because they were terrified of him.

"How many times have you failed? How many times have they simply not turned out to your satisfaction? How many have you thrown away?"

"I admit it was difficult to get those stingers on the ends of Jane's middle fingers. You have no idea how many of her there could have been. But there is no need to be concerned your other daughters might perish, Savannah. As I told you, I am here to save all of you. I am quite accomplished at this now. I have been working on my techniques for most of the twentieth century. I had considerable success in the early stages of my work. Along the way, I learned that making and sustaining changes in a mature, fully developed subject is very difficult. I have to essentially infect them with the improvements and even then they are never one hundred percent successful. You know that saying about getting them while they're young. My work requires me to get them even before that. It's a matter of imbedding the changes in the germ layers, their actual blueprints, rather than retroviral custom jobs. I really only began to get spectacular results at the beginning of this century when the technology finally caught up to me. You will find it quite remarkable when all my results become obvious to the world."

"Why are you doing this?"

"That is the question, isn't it, not what I can do but why am I doing it." He shrugged and took out a syringe. "I won't bother you with another lengthy explanation that would do nothing to help your understanding of my motivation." He held up a syringe. "This is a lengthy and complicated procedure, Savannah. Shall we get started?"

The front and back doors crashed open.

# Chapter 34

After Beltran Nunez took the exit from Highway Ten at Avenida de Mesilla, he drove to the First American Bank.

"I will only be a few minutes."

With four people in the Mercedes and the outside temperature already above eighty, the SUV heated up quickly with the air conditioning off.

Juanita Garcia had remained silent when they were introduced to her at El Paso International. She would not shake hands with any of them and she had remained silently brooding in the front passenger seat all the way back to Mesilla. As soon as Nunez entered the bank, that changed.

She turned to face them. "How dare you try to exploit my uncle?"

He said, "Senor Nunez approached us to escort him."

"How much is he paying you?"

"You will have to ask your uncle."

"You are just laborers, construction workers. What do you think this masquerade is proving?"

Isidora, sitting between him and Menno, leaned forward. Her right hand was a fist. "It proves your uncle is concerned for your safety. And between us girls, you don't strike me as caring one way or the other who might exploit him."

"I care if fools try. It reflects poorly on the family if they get away with it."

"I'm sure you care a whole damn lot about your family too."

"You cannot talk to me that way."

Menno pulled Isidora back and held her in place. "We're almost there. Let's just get you and Senor Nunez home and we can get to work on the hacienda. You and your uncle will be free to have your cozy reunion and you can go back to pretending we don't exist."

Isidora tried to wriggle free of Menno's grasp but that wasn't going to happen. "You can invite your ex-husband over for barbecue."

"I've never been married."

Nunez opened the driver's door. "Miranda didn't come into work today." He said to Ralph, "She's a dear friend. She was sick yesterday but she was expected back to work today. If you don't mind, I will just make sure she is doing all right before we return to the hacienda."

"This is it for me." Isidora reached across him and opened the door. "You got your niece back to Mesilla without incident, real or imaginary. As far as I'm concerned, our part is finished. I'm going home."

"We have a contract," he said.

"You and Menno get started. If you want my help tomorrow you know where I live. If not, it's been nice working with you. I don't need this bullshit."

"Don't be obstinate."

"That is not a big word." She crawled over him to exit the Mercedes when he wasn't fast enough getting out of her way. "Fuck, it's hot."

He and Menno got out of the Mercedes.

Menno said to her, "Come on, Isy, another hour and we're fifty thousand richer. We can have a good laugh about all this nonsense. I'll buy the first two rounds. Dinner's on me tonight."

Nunez came around to their side of the Mercedes. "If you want to finish for the day, I will take you all back to retrieve your van before I go see my friend. You can start on the house tomorrow. I consider your responsibility for what I asked of you fulfilled. You have earned your fee."

He took hold of Isidora's hand. "I will see that you get your money. And you know we still want you."

"You can't get anything right without me."

"There," Menno said, "you got to say it. Can we get back into the car and turn on the air conditioning? Someone said it was fucking hot out here."

Menno got in first then Isidora.

Before he got back in, he said to Nunez, "We will see this through to the end. You can check on your friend first, Senor Nunez."

"It won't take long."

Juanita Garcia Lopez fell back into her sullen silence as Nunez drove to his friend's place. Once parked, Nunez trotted to the front door.

Isidora chuckled. "She must be a really dear friend."

A nasty smile spread across his niece's face. "I'm pregnant."

"You're too old to be . . . sorry . . . ah . . . congratulations."

"I don't want it." She turned to face them, that nasty smile still on her face. "That is why my uncle hired you three idiots to be bodyguards. Someone else doesn't want me to have it either."

"Does the father want it?"

"There is no father. I haven't been with a man for over three years." That smile became a pucker before she nodded, more to herself than them. "I just wanted you to know what you have gotten yourselves into, though I doubt any of you is capable of understanding what is happening. There is still time to get out and go back to your ignorant labors."

Nunez appeared in the front doorway of the rancher and waved for them to hurry to him.

He, Isidora and Menno got out of the Mercedes. Garcia remained in the SUV.

Isidora tapped on the window. "Are you coming or not?"

Garcia ignored her.

Nunez's waving became more energetic and insistent. He had taken out his phone and was holding it to his ear.

"What is her problem?"

Nunez took a step out of the doorway and yelled at them, "She's plastic." He then went back to waving at them and talking on the phone.

"What did he just say?"

The rancher exploded. Windows in every other house in the cul-de-sac shattered. Nunez became a flaming projectile that flew through the air toward them.

In the shock of the moment, his mind disconnected from the event, did the calculations and concluded the Nunez fireball might just cover the distance between them. He pushed Isidora and Menno back. Nunez landed ten feet short.

Amid the ringing in his ears, he felt pressure slam into his chest, heard voices shouting, people screaming. Then Menno was standing in front him, Isidora in his embrace, and reaching down to help him to his feet.

Ranch debris began dropping from the sky. Lighter pieces drifted eastward. The rancher was a burning crater. Nunez was crumpled on the sidewalk face down. His limps were bent in wrong directions. Hitting the sidewalk had extinguished most of the flames, but his clothes had been burned away leaving black, smoldering, blistered skin.

Isidora was covering and uncovering her ears, opening and closing her mouth.

Menno backed him up and was speaking loudly and slowly to him, "Are you hurt?"

Another explosion from within the crater had them ducking and retreating. Neighbors scrambled for cover.

Menno took hold of him and got the three of them running toward the Mercedes. "Ralph, are you hurt?"

The Mercedes pulled away from the curb, made a u-turn, driving over the sidewalk on the other side of the road and sped away.

Isidora separated herself from them and ran a few steps after it before slowing to a walk. "What the hell is she doing?"

A series of smaller explosions, like a box of fireworks going off, brought them to a stop rather than continue their useless pursuit of the Mercedes.

He took a moment to check for blood or any obvious injuries on any of them. "I'll be right back."

Menno took Isidora across the street to stand on the section of sidewalk Dr. Garcia had driven over. Isidora was arguing with him and swatting at him to let her go the whole way.

Three steps from Nunez, Ralph stopped. That portion of his mind that had immediately disconnected and calculated Nunez's trajectory was now trying to figure out which direction each of Nunez's limbs would have to be bent to straighten him out now that broken bones had added more joints to them. It was like trying to do an origami puzzle in reverse.

He returned to Menno and Isidora. "Nunez is dead."

"Your powers of observation are astounding, Holmes. You should be in a pretentious television series." Isidora finally pulled free of Menno. "Our employer and his dear friend have just been blown to bits, his bitch niece skedaddled with her immaculate, fatherless baby and our ride, and our van is ten miles away or more. We're fucked." She growled at him, "I told you so. Now what do we do?"

Sirens approached from the west.

# Chapter 35

Weinberg did not try to escape when two men came charging into the kitchen from the front or when Chase entered the kitchen through the back door. He remained seated at the nook table.

"Tim," he said as he put the syringe back into the case, "how wonderful to see you again." He closed the two sections of the top and turned the latch, which produced a brittle crunching sound when it locked.

She recognized Cole Reagan but not the other man with him.

Weinberg smiled at the two men. "Cole Reagan and Boyd Petit." He looked around Chase and then around his two men. "Just the three of you, how cozy."

Chase said, "I presume you are not carrying any weapons."

"What would I need guns for, Tim?" He stood up, leaving the case on the table. "And I will presume Frank told you where I was going. He and my shadow have become quite a nuisance to me lately. I still had to give them a bit of help, though."

Reagan took out a pair of handcuffs.

"Is that really necessary?"

"You will be in a pair until you are behind bars." Chase nodded to Reagan to put on the handcuffs. He then said to her, "I am sorry about the damage, Mrs. Lomax."

"You haven't been keeping up with your intelligence, Tim. Savannah has gone back to using her family name, Latham."

"Get him out of here." He said to her, "I hope Sage will soon be . . . She has been a big help to us."

She held up the case. "He brought this with him. It contains syringes. He was going to inject me with whatever is in them."

"There is nothing inside them anymore, Savannah. The syringes are broken. You can keep the case if you wish as a memento. My offer to you stands."

Chase took the case from her. "I will return later to get a statement from you."

She followed them to the front. The door was wide open and leaning against the hall wall. The top hinge had broken off the door jamb. The holes for the bolts from the lock and doorknob below it had been demolished.

"I will arrange to have your door repaired as soon as possible, Miss Latham." Chase then followed Weinberg, Regan and Petit to a green van parked across the street. Frisco Home Cleaning Services was painted on the side of it.

Once the van drove away, a car backed out of a driveway three houses down and parked into the space it had just vacated. Dr. Cynthia Thorpe got out of the car and came to her.

With her hand over her heart, she said, "God, Savannah that was Harvey Weinberg."

"You know the other three, I suppose."

Cynthia hugged her. Then she spotted the front door. "Are you all right?"

She shrugged. "The usual; a narrow escape from one of Harvey Weinberg's deals at the point of a needle, nick of time stuff, nothing really. But I think I'll take the day off. Ann can handle things at Small Wonders House."

Cynthia brought her back into the house, repositioned the door as best as she could, then took them to the nook. "Coffee or tea?"

"Tea; I don't think I like coffee anymore. Lots of cream, please; I burnt my tongue."

"Did he tell you anything useful?"

"I got the feeling he knew everything about Sage, what she is capable of that we are not yet aware of and how, what exactly is wrong with her and probably how to repair it."

"Repair?"

"Sorry, that was a bad choice of word. But with everything he said, I also sensed he was toying with me."

"That would be consistent with everything I've heard about the bastard."

"Thank you for coming. I have a million questions to ask you about Sage."

Cynthia went about preparing the tea. "You can ask her yourself. After we've had a cup of tea and secured your front door, I'm taking you to your daughter."

"Chase said he would be back later to get a statement from me."

"Screw him. Where do you keep the sugar?"

*****

Petit drove the van. He and Reagan sat in the back with Weinberg. Regan had fastened chains to his ankles.

"Let me guess," Weinberg said as they approached the Presidio, "you are not taking me to your special place in Virginia. How are they doing, by the way? Did the move to Puerto Rico agree with them?"

"We will be staying here."

"Everything has been slipping through your chubby fingers these past two years, Tim. That girl continues to elude you and she took your precious Apostles with her."

"I know where they are. They keep in touch."

"And does Frank keep in touch? Do you talk to Thomas much? I'm not here to judge, I am only making a comment, but those two appear to be making more progress than you are."

"I have you." He held up the case. "And I have this."

"There is nothing in there. That latch crushed the syringes. The foam they are sealed in contains an enzyme that breaks down the concoction. All your scientists will find are a bunch of chemicals that could have come from anything."

Reagan said, "We still have you."

"You are going to hear the thud very soon, Tim."

"What are you talking about?"

"You are definitely losing your edge. You've been waiting for the other shoe to drop since the toxin incident, haven't you? You had to know Sage Lomax wasn't it, no matter how spectacular she turned out. I've done better work. Well, Tim, your wait is almost over." He leaned his head back against the wall of the van and yawned. "There are so many things I could tell you, but it will be much more enjoyable to just let you discover them for yourself. It will make your head spin. And, Tim, I do not believe that is in any way an exaggeration."

Reagan checked the chains holding Weinberg. "You will tell us about all of it by the time we're through with you."

"You should never have taught them to talk, Tim. It doesn't make them any smarter and it makes you look grandiose and foolish."

Reagan punched Weinberg in the mouth.

Weinberg spit blood onto Chase's shoes. "Don't worry, Tim, it isn't acidic, though I don't think you will ever get the stain off." He smiled at Reagan. "You needn't work yourself up into such a state, Cole. I have decided to tell you every last detail of what's coming because you won't be alive to witness it and Tubby won't be able to do a damn thing to stop it."

*****

The call from Cynthia came as she was parking in the driveway of the house Sage was staying at in Las Cruces. Thomas Ferris had donated it for their use.

"Chase has Weinberg in custody. Other than a broken front door, they apprehended him without any problems."

"That's good to hear. How is Savannah?"

"Weinberg offered to save Sage in exchange for the two dormant embryos inside her. He was about to give her the first injection to get the process started when Chase and his crew arrived."

"Jesus, she had agreed to that?"

"He told her she had a choice, but that was not the impression she had when he took out the syringe."

She parked the car beside the other rental. Joan McGowan was waiting for her at the front door.

Cynthia said, "I'm bringing her to Sage. She should be with her."

"I agree. I'll let Sage know."

As soon as she was off the phone, Joan said to her, "We are not going to have a chance to catch our breath. Sage is very weak but she's very agitated."

Joan took her to the master bedroom on the second floor. Sage was propped up by six pillows on the king-size bed. Pale and withered, eight to ten pounds lighter than the last time she'd seen her—under ninety pounds now—her beautiful blue-on-blue eyes were dark and sunken like two fragile bird's eggs abandoned by their parents.

Lucy Cooper tended to her. Tye Rosen, Herman Kolisnek and Gwen Hunter stood nearby ready to offer any assistance or perform any task asked of them. Sage brought that level of altruism out of anybody who possessed a decent soul.

Nyla's breath caught when Sage looked directly at her. Pressure against her shoulders, like a friend's arm draped around her, brought her closer to the bed.

How could anyone question Savannah for agreeing to Weinberg's terms if he offered even the minutest hope that he could do anything for Sage? Her little miracle . . . their little miracle was fading fast and they were still expecting so much from her.

She took hold of Sage's offered hand. "Cynthia is bringing your mom to you."

"I know."

"Where are the others?"

"I sent them to San Francisco. Tubby is going to need them." Sage squeezed her hand but there was little strength in her grasp. "You and Joan must do everything you can to help Lily and her friends. They still have a lot of work to do for us. But you must be absolutely invisible while you do or they will all die."

"What must we do?"

"I don't know yet. I'm sorry."

"Sweetheart, you of all people do not have to apologize."

"Frank and Ramona will be here soon. I might have something for you by the time they get here. But I'm very tired, Nyla. I need to rest now."

Tye and Herman remained with Sage. Lucy and Gwen came downstairs to the living room with her and Joan.

"She looks very weak."

Lucy said, "She's in great pain. The morphine helps, but it confuses her. She drifts in and out."

Gwen said, "We try to let her rest, but she always seems to wake up after only a short sleep with more fragments of information to give us. She is very determined because she probably understands better than any of us what is coming."

She took out her phone. "She should be in a hospital."

Lucy grabbed her wrist before she could make the call. "What can they do for her? Everyone keeps telling me to do that, but they can't do any more for her than we can."

Gwen sat on the sofa. "It's just about making her as comfortable as possible now."

Joan sat beside her. "We love her, too." She said to her, "If Weinberg can save Sage, then there has to be something that can be done. We just need to find out what it is."

*****

"I'm not implying anything, Frank," Ramona said, "but I swear she has your eyes."

He took another look at Francesca in her crib. "She's asleep."

"I took a long look at her after her feeding. They are big and bright and brown." She snapped her fingers. "There is one significant difference between her eyes and yours though. They are trying to take in as much of this blurry world as they can rather than constantly refusing to see what is right in front of them."

"It should only take about an hour to get there."

Ferris came into the nursery room. "I thought you might want to know. Evelyn died of natural causes. She had developed an aneurism." He touched his left temple. "It wasn't something Harvey did to her."

"We can never be sure about that."

"See what I mean? That is a perfect example of seeing the world through your eyes."

Ferris said, "The other women are being checked again as a precaution. The last one of them still pregnant hasn't gone into labor yet."

"Is the car ready?"

"Yes."

"Then let's get this over with."

# Chapter 36

The cul-de-sac where Valenzuela lived wasn't fully developed. One empty lot beside her house backed onto a tract of land to the northwest that led to RV parks to the west and north. The largest empty parcel in the cul-de-sac sat across from that one, was pie-shaped and ended at a line of bushes along the backyards of an older part of the neighborhood. People gathered there to watch the firefighters. The crowd provided a hiding place for him, Menno and Isidora.

Isidora whispered through gritted teeth, "Chief Plett just arrived. We should turn ourselves in to him."

Menno whispered back, "We told Nunez we would protect his niece."

"How do we do that with no vehicle and no idea where she went?" Her voice getting louder, she said to Ralph, "You and Plett are friends. He's the one we should go to." She then said to Menno, "We only agreed to accompany him and his niece, not protect them."

He pulled them toward the back of the lot farther away from the crowd. "Let me think."

"What is there to think about? This is why I didn't want to do it. Who pays strangers fifty grand each to join him for a ride to an airport to pick up a niece who doesn't give a rat's ass for him? And I would just like to point out that we won't be getting that money, and our reno contract is now null and void. We're just what that bitch said we are. Ralph, you're a good plumber and furnace guy, you're even half-decent at carpentry. You are not a professional bodyguard. None of us are. Let's turn ourselves in to Chief Plett. We'll tell him everything. He can put us into protective custody until they catch whoever planted the bombs."

Menno said, "She needs help. We promised Nunez."

"Stop saying the same effing thing over and over. We only agreed to provide a crowd around her to discourage a non-existent ex-husband." She pointed to the burning crater. "We cannot go up against people who can do that. She isn't your baby sister. She's a woman claiming to have a virgin pregnancy. She's effing crazy. We owe her nothing."

When Menno tried to start his rebuttal again, Isidora punched him in the shoulder.

"We are not doing this. We're finished here. We give our statements to Plett. We go into hiding until this is all settled. That's it, no more discussion. Ralph, you lead the way."

His phone rang. "Hello."

"Am I talking to Ralph Price?"

"Yes."

"I am Murray Spencer, Senor Nunez's lawyer. Did you accept his offer to accompany him to pick up his niece?"

"Yes, but he's dead. There has been an explosion."

"At Miranda Valenzuela's house, I know. Did you see him on the phone before the explosion?"

"We all did."

"He was calling me because he knew he was about to finally die."

"How could he possibly know that?"

"He made the bombs, but he did not set them off."

Ralph searched through the chaos across the street until he found Mike Plett standing next the fire chief. "We are going to the police. You should be talking to them not us."

He put his phone on speaker so Menno and Isidora could hear what Spencer said next.

"Please do not do that. She needs our help. I will tell you everything, but you must come straight here to my office as quick as you can."

"Just a second." He said to Menno and Isidora, "Mike is across the street or we can at least get some answers before we decide what to do next."

"Shit! Fuck!" Isidora stomped a few steps away, dislodged a rock the size of a softball and tossed it at him, missing on purpose.

Spencer said, "On behalf of Senor Nunez, I agree to those conditions. If you decide to withdraw after what I tell you, that is acceptable, but please hear me out first."

Isidora was looking for another rock.

Menno nodded. "You have Chief Plett's number on your phone. We can call him from the lawyer's office easily enough." He called to Isidora, "We deserve to know why all this happened."

Isidora reached for the tool belt she wasn't wearing. Her hammer would be where her hand settled. Cursing a little quieter, she kicked at a rock before nodding.

"We agree to listen to your story, but that's all. If we don't like the situation, we walk."

Isidora hollered at the phone, "And we still get fifty thousand each."

"You will get paid your money," Spencer said.

"And we still get the renovation gig," she hollered.

"Nunez's estate will honor that too," he replied.

Isidora stomped back to them. "Where are you?"

"Go to Marilissa Lane and West Boulz Road. It's the neighborhood to the northeast. I have sent a taxi to pick you up. I will persuade Dr. Garcia to join us."

As soon as the call ended, Isidora said, "Look him up."

"What?"

"Anyone can call themselves Nunez's lawyer. What if he had something to do with the explosion? What if he's the one after Garcia? What if he just wants all the information we have before he makes us the scapegoats or just has us killed and dumped in the desert for the vultures?"

Menno said, "Stop winding yourself up."

Ralph searched the scene for Mike Plett again.

"Give me that." Isidora snatched his phone away and began working her thumbs and fingers. In less than twenty seconds she held up the phone to them. "There's a Murray Spencer on Calle de Parian near the plaza. He is a lawyer."

*****

Cheryl Cummings had located a laptop and was able to transmit video with her update. President Trotter and Marion Churchill were the only two left in the Oval Office.

"There was a bomb," Cheryl said. Her left arm had been bandaged. "One of the scientists had purchased two marionettes for his twin daughters. They were ordered two weeks ago. He picked them up yesterday and stashed them in one of the cupboards in the laboratory containing the vat."

"How are you?"

She exhibited her arm. "Second degree burns in a number of spots, but not too bad. Maybe I can get a skin graft like our favorite super agent has."

Churchill asked, "How do they know the marionettes had bombs in them?"

"They aren't one hundred percent certain, but confidence is high. Only one went off. They found explosives residue in the remains of the second one and a few pieces of wiring. It was set off remotely. But that's not all. There were three feeder tubes into the vat. One of the two that were supposed to be closed had been tampered with. Someone had connected a canister of oxygen hidden in another room. When they opened the main valve, that one was opened too and the concentration of oxygen in the room increased to get a bigger explosion. One of the bomb squad team thinks they were thermite bombs."

"Do they know yet who made them?"

"He bought them from a novelty stand in a local shopping mall. The stand is gone. They have located the van the vender and his employee had used just outside of Biganos. It contains two dead men."

Churchill called up Google Earth on his iPad and zoomed in on Biganos. "Were they part of the operation or victims?"

"They don't know yet, but the van was completely empty except for the men and it was wiped clean."

"Then why not hide it or torch it? Why wiped it clean but leave two men to be found?"

Trotter said, "They might have wanted the French to find them. They are great at feints and misdirection. They like to keep law enforcement and national security off balance."

"That plays here. They are getting additional chatter about other possible attacks pending in Paris, Amsterdam, Marseille and Frankfurt, possibly Warsaw, Kyiv, Minsk and Riga, too."

"I want you back in Washington now."

"I would like to stay if I could, Madame President. Marius is so far keeping me in the loop about everything. I can keep the flow of intelligence going. We might find out something about any pending attacks in our country."

"You are not a field operative."

"Against the Proteus Group, Madame President, we all are."

She asked Churchill, "Can we get some help to her?"

"I will see what I can do."

"Come straight back here." She said to Cheryl, "You do what they tell you. We will get some help for you as soon as possible. You are only there to gather intelligence and relay it to us immediately. I want to be able to get you on a moment's notice."

"Copy that, Madame President." A commotion started behind Cheryl. Armed French Secret Service agents were checking their equipment and lining up to exit the room. "We're on the move. I have to go."

"Be careful, Cheryl, you're the best aide I have." The laptop had already gone dark.

*****

She and Donny returned to her room to find it ransacked.

Donny said, "I had this feeling we were being followed, but then I convinced myself it was just paranoia after what you told me. On this campus, how could we know for sure?"

She just looked around at the mess.

"What do you think they were looking for?"

"There is nothing here to find." She went to her desk, activated her three laptops and her computer and inputted her password on each. "I'll run scans while we look around."

After starting the scans on the laptops and computer, she joined Donny in searching through and cleaning up the mess.

"What's this?"

A tiny, wireless camera was attached to the one picture that had not been removed from the wall: a print of a painting of the original Stanford campus that was in the room when she arrived. The camera, round to accommodate a round battery, had been fastened in a hole drilled into the thick frame of the picture.

Donny removed it from the frame. "It doesn't appear to be working. The battery is gone."

"It's short range. Its signal wouldn't get off campus."

Her computer beeped. A moment later a disguised voice said, "Stop looking. Nothing was taken. That camera was a frat prank. I disabled it the night they put it in." There was no image on the screen to go with the voice. "You and Donny were out with Shana McGowan that evening."

"Who are you?" Donny put himself between her and the computer screen."

"I don't need to put a camera in your room, Lily. I always know where you are and what you are doing."

A brief video of her and Donny walking around the lake played on the screen.

"Remember, Lily." The letters ICU2 scrolled across the screen, repeating a dozen times before the screen returned to its normal desktop display.

"That's happening again? I thought Zemar did that to spoof you the first time you tried to hack Colter's website because he had already hacked it."

"It's been co-opted by Pox."

"That's Pox talking?"

"He sounds different this time." She backed up to the wall across from her desk, almost stumbling over two textbooks on the floor. "I can't do this anymore."

Donny came to her, blocking her view of the screen. "They killed our fathers. We committed ourselves to identifying them and bringing them to justice. It will be just talk if we stop now. I can't do what you can, Lily, nobody can. We need you. You are our genius."

"I'm a scared shitless genius."

"But still a genius." He turned off that laptop. "What can I do to help?"

She took one last deep breath. "Okay. What have we got? Muta and Pox are essentially huge semi-autonomous artificial intelligence programs with the ability to go just about anywhere that is connected to the internet. They have groups of people sitting at keyboards controlling both of them—parts of them anyway—and constantly updating them."

"That means Muta and Pox have to provide access for inputs, the vulnerabilities you were talking about earlier."

"If we could get a Zero Day exploit going with Pox and inject a virus or get it to download a worm, which is what Pox started out as, then we could either fragment it or overload it, causing it to stop operating. Maybe we could find a kill switch." She sagged against the wall. "Shit."

"What's wrong with that?"

"Pox's keyboard jockeys would sooner or later find a way around or through our attack and get it back up and running. Like my guys, they see themselves as forces for virtual evolution."

"Dark gods."

"We have to enter Hades. That means using Pox to get something into their computers, locate them and light them up so the authorities can get to them. And we have to be fast. We would have to let the task force know what we are about to do and give them a precise date and time to marshal their allies all over the world."

"They are your counterparts. They likely function the same way the Creators Almighty do. How would you go about attacking Muta? What do you still know about the core worm program in Pox?"

"You do realize they are probably having the same conversation we're having, but they are already one step ahead of us. They know me and where I am."

"I don't think they have come up with anything yet to use against Muta or they would have implemented it. They would have co-opted her by now. That message and this mess are meant to unnerve you more than anything else. They know you're our MVP."

"That is why they need me to hand her over. She is powerful enough to stop Pox. They need her out of the way in order to do whatever they are planning."

"Or else they need her to do whatever they have planned. Pox isn't enough." Donny had wrote on a piece of paper: Do you think they are still listening to us? "Is she too big and autonomous now to be taken over?"

She nodded, leaned in and kissed his cheek before whispering, "I'm counting on that." She pulled away and nodded again. "Some of the Creators Almighty think she's too large now, a virtual sentient being that can be neither controlled nor destroyed. Kieran certainly does because he's been inputting new and updating existing malware detection and defence programs as well as self-repair program modules."

"But you aren't so sure."

"So far she has been indestructible, but we can't stop playing with her. She has all that code that makes her look and act the way she does, like a video game character come to life, which was our goal. I have always warned them that those little embellishments were nothing more than vanity on our part. You have seen her breasts and her constant heaving."

"Hard to miss them. As of right now, Pox and its team can't harm her or they wouldn't be forcing you to hand her over. What if we use that against them?"

"How?"

"Draw them in. Make them believe you can give them something they can use against her if she won't capitulate. No, even better, convince them they can use it to turn her. Tell them Muta can't be destroyed but they can make her their zombie."

"They would like that idea. But rather than offer it to them, we let them steal it. We can use Kieran's mirage to make them think we intend to turn Pox with it. They will want to rush their installation of it into her."

"Can you pull that off?"

"What I need is a wifi cafe with lax internet security."

"I know the place. I'll see you there in one hour." He kissed her and left after she slipped another folded piece of paper into the same pocket that still held the first one.

She had written both notes before going to meet him at the lake.

Her computer beeped again. This time there was a face on it, male, demonic, something the Creators Almighty would steal from a video game and then modify. It was how they got started with Muta.

She said, "I had to make him believe there was still something we could do."

The voice was back to sounding synthesized. "I'm not happy with you, Lily." The video of her and Donny walking along the lake played again. "You weren't supposed to tell anyone."

"That was unrealistic. He would have sensed something."

A video appeared on the screen of her mother, Linda Wiley, coming out of her townhouse in Dominion, Oregon. She got into her car.

"No, please, don't."

"It would be a completely unnecessary and tragic shame if anything had to happen to her or Donny."

Her mother backed out of her parking spot and drove out through the open gates at the entrance to the complex. As the gates closed behind her, two people emerged from a walkway between the townhouses, came to the gates and watched her leave.

Lily slid down to the floor and wiped her eyes.

"You must understand what is at stake here. This is the only time I will show you that particular video."

# Chapter 37

Fidel and Hernando followed him and Dr. Esparza into his library. Musicians played out on the patio for the wedding guests they had just left behind.

"Roll up your sleeve." Esparza set his medical bag on the desk, took out three syringes and laid them side by side.

Fidel said, "You told us we were finished with injections."

Esparza checked the contents of each syringe. "You are suffering a mild retrograde episode of cataplasia. It is nothing to be concerned about. These injections contain a refined version of what you've had before. They will return you to your full strength and vigor and prevent any further relapses."

Hernando said, "Doctor, you look rough yourself. Perhaps you should take an injection of this magic elixir."

"I am on a different regime for my health."

He said, "Why should we believe you?"

"It is your wedding night, my friend. Inez has grown into a lovely woman and you have my permission to enjoy your marriage with her. I promise you I have been constantly improving my knowledge base, and my elixirs, as you call them." He held up the syringe. "I would not see harm come to any of you. Surely you accept that by now."

His sleeve already rolled up, Hernando stepped forward. "Then inject me first and let us see what your improved alchemy can do." After Esparza injected the concoction, Hernando produced a derringer and aimed it at him. "We'll give it some time before my brother's take their dose."

"There is nothing dangerous to you in it, quite the contrary. You should feel the effects within a few minutes." He sat on the desk and folded his arms across his chest. "Gentlemen, make yourselves comfortable."

Hernando stepped closer to keep the derringer aimed at Esparza. He and Fidel remained standing together near his cabinet full of rifles.

He asked, "Won't Cárdenas threaten our haciendas?"

"He will focus his efforts against haciendas elsewhere. And you know as well as I that the barriers between planning major land ownership reforms and actually realizing them often prove insurmountable." He smiled at Hernando. "How are you feeling, dear boy?"

Hernando raised the derringer to aim it between Esparza's eyes. "Hot." He wiped his brow.

"Good, good; that is how you should feel. In another minute or two you will feel at bit lightheaded and your heart will race, but do not worry. It will pass quickly and be replaced with a feeling of euphoria and invincibility. Just wait for it."

"I still don't trust Cárdenas. He's a socialist."

Baumann and Habich entered the library.

"He's a pragmatist, and he's grateful for our help getting rid of el Jefe Maximo. We provided the evidence that implicated Calles and Morones in a plot to blow up a section of railroad. Our good friend Gustav made sure Calles received a Spanish translation of Hitler's Mein Kampfe. I personally introduced Calles to the leader of the Gold Shirts."

Habich said, "Hitler is a great leader. You know where you stand with him."

"He is an inspiring man with a powerful political and propaganda machine in place behind him."

"It is more than just that, Dr. Esparza. If only you could meet him. Mexico would do well to cultivate a closer relationship with the fatherland. He has just brought Saarland back where it belongs and that is just the beginning. Germany will soon be back at full strength. It will soon be the glorious empire it is destined to be."

He asked Baumann, "Do you share your colleague's enthusiasm for Hitler?"

"Mussolini has already aligned Italy with our bold outlook. Negotiations with Japan have been fruitful. We anticipated having a treaty in place before Christmas."

Habich said, "General Francisco Franco has accepted Germany's help in his campaign to save Spain from the Bolshevik threat. I see many parallels between Mexico's struggle to become a great nation and Germany's struggle to return to being one."

"What inspirational bullshit." Hernando rubbed where he'd been injected.

"Soon," Esparza said, "I will be leaving Mexico for a few years."

"What for?"

"That is my business, Bernardo. While I am away, Drs. Baumann, Habich and Althus will run the clinics here and in Mexico City. They will oversee the completion of the one to the north. You will cooperate with them and obey their orders because they will come from me. I will keep Manfred in Mexico City. You three will concentrate on your haciendas and our other ventures. And you will keep a low profile."

Fidel asked Hernando, "How do you feel?"

Hernando lowered the derringer. "Dr. Esparza is correct. I feel stronger, full of energy. But my ears are buzzing."

"That will pass."

"I'll go next." Bernardo came to the desk.

Esparza gave him the injection. "You can look forward to an entertaining wedding night, my friend, a prolonged experience of pleasure and joy you will never forget."

Fidel waited a bit longer as he watched for any adverse side effects in either of his brothers.

"We mustn't keep your brother from his guests and his new bride."

Fidel finally rolled up his sleeve.

As Esparza injected his concoction, he said, "This will do for tonight. I added a little stimulant to it in honor of the occasion, but you must all come to my clinic this Saturday for one further treatment. Then you will be set once and for all, I promise."

He said, "You slither over the truth like a snake over fallen leaves on the jungle floor."

Esparza snapped his medical bag closed.

A young woman screamed. The musicians stopped playing.

"That was Ora." Hernando raced out of the library.

One of the other girls screamed as they followed Hernando to the stairs. Kimena was already on her way up, but Hernando quickly passed her. Inez, still in her wedding gown, remained at the bottom of the stairs with Amarissa and Morisa. Guests stood at the doors to the patio.

"Tend to our guests," he said to Inez before bounding up the stairs after his brother.

Hernando was embracing Ora when he entered the upstairs playroom. Fidel's daughter, Tierra, now fifteen, stood at the open doors to the balcony. Sarika stood in the center of the room smoothing her maid-of-honor gown.

"Where is Mirelle?" He went to Tierra when Sarika wouldn't answer him. "Where is she?"

Trembling, Tierra stepped onto the balcony and only pointed before she started balling. Fidel rushed across the room to embrace her as soon as he and Esparza entered.

Bernardo stepped up to the railing and looked over to see Mirelle lying on the patio below. Blood was pooling around her head.

With Esparza close behind him, he rushed back down the stairs and outside to his daughter. Esparza checked her. Drs. Baumann and Habich came over to assist.

"I am sorry, my friend, there is nothing we can do for her."

Hernando, with Ora still in his embrace, her head turned away, Tierra, still crying in her father's arms, and Sarika, passive and unemotional, had come out onto the balcony. Some of the guests from had formed a semi-circle around Mirelle.

Inez, Amarissa and Morisa had followed the Germans out onto the patio.

Inez immediately knelt to check Mirelle. "What happened?"

Esparza said, "We will tend to your daughter. Take care of your new wife."

Numb and hot, his heart racing, he escorted Inez, Amarissa and Morisa back into the entrance hall. The crowd of guests parted to let them pass.

"Bernardo, what happened?"

"There was an accident. Tell the musicians to play again. Bring everyone in from the patio. Get Baumann and Habich to help you." He ran back up the stairs.

Hernando intercepted him at the doorway to the playroom. "It was Sarika."

Sarika, as passively composed as she always was, as deferentially feminine, sat on the one sofa in the room. Ora and Tierra stood together embracing each other, their backs to the balcony, watching her. Fidel watched over them.

Hernando waved for the two girls and Fidel to come to him. As they did, they kept a wary gaze on Sarika. Fidel, also watching Inez's sister, followed.

"Tell me what happened."

Ora, the boldest and most outgoing of the Three Amigas, all fifteen, the most like Inez, wiped her eyes and took a deep breath. "We were just talking."

Tierra said, "We were playing truth or dare."

"Sarika came to fetch us for your wedding pictures."

Tierra, back in her father's embrace and barely able to speak without crying, said, "Mirelle convinced her to take a turn before we did as we were told. She picked truth."

"But rather than answering a question, she challenged us to guess what the truth was. When Mirelle did, Sarika changed. She became a wild animal. She struck Mirelle and shoved her out onto the balcony. She shook her as hard as she could and then pushed her over the railing."

Sarika remained still and silent on the sofa, her hands on her lap, her gaze fixed on nothing.

"This is nonsense. Sarika wouldn't do such a thing. What was this truth?"

"Mirelle said she knew Sarika's secret and touched her stomach." Ora began trembling and crying. "She was too fast, Uncle Bernardo. We couldn't stop here. I'm so sorry." She collapsed into Hernando's arms.

Esparza and Baumann entered the playroom.

Fidel said, "Sarika is pregnant. But she hasn't been with a man."

Bernardo dropped to a knee and had to put a hand on the floor.

Esparza wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. "You mustn't overexcite yourself. You must give the elixir the time to work at its own speed."

Hernando put a hand on his shoulder. "Brother?"

Esparza said, "Be the good fathers and tend to your daughters. See that all the guests leave. This is a time for only family." Once they were gone, he said to Bernardo, "Fidel is wrong, isn't he? As much as you love Inez's robust enthusiasm for adventure and danger, you could not resist Sarika's inviting femininity. You just had to have both of them."

"Why would Sarika kill Mirelle because she had guessed she was with child? That is not a reason to kill."

Esparza and Baumann both smiled.

Baumann said, "She killed because her fetus told her to eliminate a threat."

"What insanity is this?"

Esparza retrieved Sarika from the sofa. "A mother and her baby have a special link both physically and psychologically. It is the bond a father can never have with his children."

Sarika glanced at him before returning her gaze to the floor. A slight flush came to her cheeks.

He asked her, "Why did you do it? It was an accident, wasn't it? You didn't mean to push her off the balcony. You were just frightened. Tell me, I will believe you." When she wouldn't answer, he staggered to his feet and grabbed her by her arms. "TELL ME!"

Esparza pulled him away and then had to hold him up. His voice sounded distant and faded to a whisper as he said, "She was protecting her daughter. Our babies are now able to release substances that stimulate specific areas of their mother's brains. It makes them extremely protective."

Baumann said, "Sarika was intensely concerned about her pregnancy becoming known. Mirelle, though innocently enough—she may have only been teasing—threatened them with exactly that. The fetus sensed Sarika's fear and shock when Mirelle touched her stomach and interpreted that as an immediate danger. Just as every human produces adrenaline to cope with such situations, the fetus released the necessary substances to help her mother defend the both of them."

"You are madmen." He pulled free of Esparza and stumbled over to Sarika.

She threw her arms around his waist and began balling. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"How many of the other girls you have spawned are going to grow up to be like Sarika?"

"With luck, all of them."

# Chapter 38

She felt the kick against her abdomen as soon as she brought the Mercedes to a stop on the driveway. "Too soon, it's too soon."

She had to vomit the moment she opened the door, had to endure a prolonged bout of heaving after she had nothing left to expel before she could get her feet solidly under her and exit the SUV.

A check on her iPhone confirmed a number of flights out of El Paso to either Los Angeles or San Francisco. A flight back to Japan would have to wait until tomorrow. She could catch a late flight out of San Francisco to Hawaii tonight. Making the connections with each flight on time was going to be close and no one would be waiting for her in Honolulu. Takeshi Tsutsui was already on a return flight to Tokyo.

She should have driven straight back to El Paso. "Why did I come here?"

This hacienda was Nunez's vainglorious attempt to rekindle his early life in Mexico. The renovation he had planned for this place was little more than an attempt to resurrect his courage. It would have been a museum of false triumphs, meaningless violence and cowardly barbarism.

Another wave of nausea forced her to lean against the front of the SUV for a few seconds. Inside the house, she found Lola going through the library.

"What are you doing here?"

"There has been an explosion. Beltran is dead."

"I know."

A young woman carrying a sleeping baby entered the library.

"Who are they?"

"That is Benigna Ororio. The girl in her arms is Conchetta, my daughter." Lola continued her search of the library. "They have to be here. I've looked everywhere else."

"What are you looking for?"

Ignoring her, Lola began searching through the drawers of Beltran's antique desk.

Benigna walked past her to Lola.

"Answer me. Why are you going through Uncle Beltran's desk?"

"He was not your uncle."

"What are you saying?"

"I thought I was being quite clear. You are not his niece." She used a letter opener shaped like a small machete to force open the middle drawer and brought out three passports. "That bastard knew." She held the passports up for Benigna to see. "He knew about you. He knew we were planning to leave."

Benigna said, "He didn't know everything."

"Thank God for that."

Juanita came to the desk, fighting back the nausea and dizziness that came with each step. "Explain yourself."

"Beltran wanted his first wife back, but he had to settle for you. You were one of three, but the other two did not survive past childhood. The first one died at four years of age. Your mother killed her when they let her have it to appease her. The second died shortly after she turned nine."

She had to sit down when her legs began to tremble. "You and Iwa were created the same way?"

"They wanted you to have a companion. Iwa was the fulfilment of a contractual obligation to one of Esparza's Japanese benefactors. You have no idea what your three fake uncles were like and what they were doing."

"I know they were once part of a criminal organization in Mexico. I know Hernando died thirty years ago when their power ended. Uncle Beltran changed his name and escaped to start a new life here."

"He did not start a new life here, he continued with his old one. He betrayed his brothers, your mother, you, everyone connected to his family. You brought this destruction to him with your return and now you will bring that same destruction to yourself." She stroked Conchetta's head. "My daughter will be the one, not yours."

"You blew up the house."

Benigna said. "No, I did. He put the explosives there for safekeeping. I set the timers."

"What about his friend?"

Lola checked through the passports. "She had already been dead for a day by the time you idiots arrived." Lola glowered at her. "You were supposed to be in the house with him."

"We were the best of friends. We grew up together. We played together, talked about our futures, flirted with the same boys and argued over them."

"You were always a naive fool. You were so blinded by privilege you saw nothing but yourself and a world put there for only you. We weren't friends. I had one friend and they sent her to Japan when we were six. At best, I was your enslaved plaything. They made it clear to me every day that I was nothing compared to you."

"I loved you as my sister."

"I hated you as your servant." She brought out two suitcases and a briefcase from behind the desk. "Take these to the car. I will take care of her." Brandishing the machete letter opener, Lola charged her.

She reached for the table beside the chair, grabbed hold of a thick glass ashtray full of Nunez's cigar butts. The instant Lola was close enough she kicked out her legs into Lola's stomach, grabbed the wrist of the hand holding the letter opener and swung the ashtray at Lola's head. When Lola began to sag into her, she rocked back as hard as she could and pushed up with her legs as she slid down in the chair.

Lola flipped over her head and the chair, landed on a low cabinet set against the wall and bounced off that onto the floor. She had dropped the letter opener.

The noise of the attack woke up Conchetta. She began wailing.

Picking up the letter opener, her legs suddenly feeling solid and powerful, she charged Benigna and Conchetta, the letter opener held out in front of her aimed at Benigna's chest and the baby she held against it.

Only Benigna's scream as she dropped to her knees prevented her from stabbing through Conchetta into the girl's heart.

"God." She dropped the letter opener and backed up against the impulses pushing at her to finish all three of them. "God."

Benigna, cradling the crying baby, slid down against the wall and held up her hand to ward off blows. "Please, we only want to be free of all this. Please, I beg you, let us go."

Conchetta's screaming led to trouble breathing. Benigna tried to comfort her.

She checked Lola. "She's just knocked out." She picked up the letter opener, returned it to the desk and then offered a hand to Benigna. "I won't hurt you or the baby." As soon as she said that, her solid, powerful legs became wobbly gain. She had to put a hand against the wall. She stroked the crying, trembling baby's head. "How old is she?"

Through tears and her own trembling, Benigna said, "She will be one year old on Halloween."

"She's beautiful." She stroked Conchetta's hair again.

The baby's crying decreased to just mewling and fussing.

"Lola is so full of rage, Dr. Garcia Lopez. I just wanted her to leave with me, but she had to follow orders before we could get away."

"Orders from whom?"

Benigna just shook her head and took hold of the hand offered to her.

"I hope you both find peace. I hope one day we can. . . ." She helped Benigna up. "Tell her I did truly love her."

"You aren't going to call the police?"

"What good would that do? They can't change what's happened." She kissed Conchetta's forehead. "Do you need help with your luggage?"

"We can manage."

Conchetta stopped crying as Juanita walked along the bright hallway from the library to the entrance hall. Her phone started ringing a few steps from the Mercedes.

"Dr. Garcia, this is Murray Spencer. I'm Beltran Nunez's lawyer. I am aware of what has happened to him. I have been instructed to assist you. I have information that will help you understand what has happened to you."

"Where are you?" After he gave her his address, she said, "I left three people behind. Can you help them?"

"They are on their way here. Please come as quickly as you can. Dr. Garcia. We do not have a lot of time before they come after you again."

# Chapter 39

Locked in a darkened, soundproof and reinforced room on the top floor of a secure safe house did not intimidate Weinberg. Being shackled to a metal chair bolted to a metal plate bolted through the floor to another metal plate below did not intimidate him. A clear view of the implements of torture on a table against a wall—mostly for show—also did not concern him. His smile never wavered.

"Well done, Tim. I imagine this whole display is quite effective . . . sometimes."

"I didn't expect it to bother you."

Weinberg pulled up against the bands around his wrists. "We both know I will tell you anything you want to know, just not the way you would prefer to hear it."

"Let's start with your plans. What are they?"

"I will tell you this. I love working with the elite of the human race, those one-percenters who possess so much wealth, the ones in charge of the global corporate feudalism controlling this world. Do you want to know why?"

Reagan said, "You were going to tell us anything we wanted to know."

"I only meant up to a point, of course. Sorry if I failed to clarify that."

He asked, "Why do you love working with the elite?"

"They are the ones most determined to reshape reality to suit them. They are the ones most interested in immortality and reincarnation. After all, if you have all those millions and billions, you are willing pay what you must to avoid having to leave it all behind when you go. The best option for a sufficient number of them is just don't go."

"What does that have to do with your current plans?"

"You'll see." He sat back as best he could in the chair.

"How old are you?"

Cole Reagan stood at the door holding an AR-15. Boyd Petit stood next to the table. Weinberg's case sat on the table beside a hammer.

"Explaining what I am would just be boastful."

"Claiming to be nine hundred years old isn't?"

"I am not nine hundred years old, but I have been around for most of that time."

Petit said, "That is impossible."

"Very difficult to accomplish and highly improbable given nature's schemes, but not impossible; a few fortunate mutations to my genetic code allows me to postpone for a very long time the ravages of ageing."

"How?"

"It would be a very lengthy lecture."

He said, "We have the time."

Weinberg chuckled. "I can give you an example. The bristlecone pine can live for more than five thousand years. Even I'm jealous of it. But you won't find any cells in it over thirty years of age. You can see where my previous comment came from."

Reagan said, "So, even if you have been only slowly going insane, you've had plenty of time to become completely whacked."

"Of all Tim's operatives, Cole, you have always made me laugh."

Chase said, "You are not hindered by the Hayflick Limit."

"Someone has been doing their research. For the benefit of your two colleagues, what is that limit?"

"Somewhere around fifty divisions before the cells die."

"I estimate my cells can divide fifteen times that number. And when they do finally senesce, they either do not trigger bioactive factors that cause inflammation or else my own immune system breaks them down and flushes them before they can thanks in part to my supercharged lysosomes."

"That can't be all there is to it."

"If you've done a thorough job of research, then you can accept that I can avoid, prevent or just do not experience the multitude of factors that either occur with ageing or contribute to it. For one thing, I have an extra layer of cells in my epidermis that offers further protection against damage from sunlight, toxins and microbes. It provides a very wide range of tolerance for heat and cold, too. And then there is that additional coil or two of very tough and very elastic protein in my skin, muscles and connective tissue. It doesn't make me as strong as some of those amazing comic book characters we see in the movies, but it does make me considerably stronger than any normal person."

"That is what you did with Frank Gillett."

"I can never resist adding to the recipe." He tested the bands holding his ankles tight to the chair legs. "There is another like Frank out there, Tim. He's every bit as tough and strong, but he's a more compact specimen. Very little fat on him, but that comes from a natural mutation. He's a professional killer."

"Dwayne Ingram, they call him the Runt. What about the other one?"

"Yes, my Mr. Hyde to counterbalance Thomas's Dr. Jekyll. I recently lost track of him, but I'm sure he will show up soon enough, most likely when and where you least expect him."

Reagan said, "You can give any convoluted explanation you want. We can't prove it one way or another."

"I quite agree. It is pointless to go through the complete list of how I resist ageing for so long. I can, but it has a cost. Every eighty to one hundred and twenty years I have to find a secure, secluded and quiet place to go through what I call a regenerative hibernation. I certainly do not produce a cocoon and undergo metamorphosis. I just need the down time. It can take one to three years to complete, but I emerge all shiny and new with not a trace of anything flawed or old inside me."

"You go through a cloning process."

"It's not as simple as that or I wouldn't come out of it still me with all my accumulated knowledge and memories. I would be more like Thomas, though his origin story involved injecting an enucleated egg, a completely different process."

Reagan said, "So you're not all that shiny and new. The crazy parts remain."

"Ha, ha, as I said."

"Something's different this time, isn't it?"

"Eternity has always had an anthropocentric interpretation and mine has been enviously long, but, alas, it is not infinite. The duration of my iterations has been growing shorter."

"You're worried you won't come back this time."

Petit asked, "If you're done, why are you doing what you're doing? Is this some crazy and pathetic attempt to take the world with you?"

"A pebble in the water. A notion of unsentimental curiosity. There is always a chance I will come back, diminished from what I have been, I am certain, but still a chance. If I do, it will be interesting to see what's happened."

Petit picked up the hammer and walked over to Weinberg. "That is all there is to it?"

"I would hardly call what I'm doing insignificant. If you don't believe me, ask any scientist what a pandemic or a tipping point is. Perhaps Tim has researched those subjects, too."

Reagan said, "You have provided us with bullshit explanations too many times in the past to believe what you're telling us now."

"In truth, I have."

"But you might not be back to see any of it."

"I will be here by proxy if not in body. But, until that moment of accountability comes, I still have things to do."

Weinberg broke the bracelet holding his right arm, reached up and snatched the hammer out of Petit's hand. A quick swing into Petit's left knee followed by another to his head when he buckled over eliminated him. Weinberg then tossed the hammer at Reagan, hitting him in the left arm, forcing him to drop the AR-15 as he was aiming it to shoot.

He tried to tackle Weinberg when he rose from the chair, the bands around his left wrist and both ankles snapping off the chair and coming with him, but Weinberg stepped out of the way of his lunge and pushed him in the back, sending him toppling into the table.

He grabbed for whatever was within reach as he watched Weinberg cross the room and plough into Reagan. A head butt incapacitated Cole. Weinberg then turned the man to face him, grabbed his head from behind and broke his neck.

Chase rose to his feet holding a crowbar.

"I had thought of continuing the lecture while I beat you to death, Tim, but as I look at you, I think I prefer just beating you to death." He charged.

He swung the crowbar in an arc in front of himself, but Weinberg leapt over his head, flipped, hit the wall behind him feet-first and pushed off it into him as he turned and tried to get his feet planted for another swipe of the crowbar.

They fell to the floor. Weinberg snatched the crowbar away from him and struck him below the knee of his left leg, then his left arm and then his right leg just above the ankle. He then threw the crowbar away, turned him onto his back and dropped down onto his chest. He grabbed his throbbing left arm and twisted it, dislocating his elbow and breaking both his radius and ulna.

"Let's see how well you rebuild from your breakdown. Shiny and new is going to be a lofty goal for you, Tim, though I think I can help you with that."

He swung up with his right arm but Weinberg easily blocked his blow.

A strike to his chest temporarily left him in darkness. Explosions of colors confounded his vision as he tried to catch his breath and refocus. There was no weight on him anymore. His left arm was useless but his right arm still functioned. He held his breath until he had to gasp. It worked. His breathing returned to an almost normal rhythm.

"Very old-school, Tim." Weinberg stood to his left holding the crowbar and the hammer. He walked to the locked door and switched off the lights. "Just a precaution to prevent triggering a migraine."

Chase rolled onto his right side. A stab of pain went through his shoulder along his arm and across his chest. Weinberg's block had injured his rotator cuff. Grunting, he pushed against the pain to get himself sitting up. "Where are you?"

Weinberg hadn't thought to disarm him.

His left forearm just dangled when he tried to move it. The frisson of pain shot along his neck and up to his temple. That explosion of colors sparkled before his eyes again.

Despite the pain and the resistance to movement in his right shoulder, he managed to get his Colt out of its holster. His eyes, still bothered by the colors that kept popping in and out of existence before them, were adjusting to what little light was getting in through the gaps between the blackout drapes.

Weinberg wasn't near the front window or the one on the north wall.

From behind him, still near the door, Weinberg said, "I had some success replicating my longevity with three brothers in Mexico. It wasn't quite what I'd hoped for but the results were still outstanding. The boy, however, will be the superstar. He will easily surpass me, probably that damn tree too, unless your growing fear of what he might become destroys him first."

The crowbar came down on his right wrist, pulverizing bone and knocking the Colt away.

Weinberg picked up the Colt and kept it aimed at him while he opened the drapes at each window. "I will concede that it seems to have been more of a strain to best you than it would have been the last time I was in my prime. Can you get yourself into the chair, Tim?"

"You know I can't move. You knew exactly what you were doing."

"I apologize for the discomfort, but I do have some good news for you. It will be over in a few minutes." He recovered the case from the floor and set in on the chair.

"You said the syringes had all been destroyed."

"That is true, but they aren't all this case contains." Weinberg turned the case to let him see the back of it. An indent dead center along the top of the lid appeared to be damage, but when Weinberg placed his right thumb into it a portion of the lid popped open to reveal a shallow compartment. "You know me, Tim." Weinberg removed a syringe full of clear liquid.

"Haven't you ever been tempted to try some for yourself? I know you aren't just a big man. You are a powerful one, too. Most people would say you are as strong as a gorilla. But look at Frank. With him we are talking maybe three big male gorillas in their prime. How's that for powerful?"

He held the syringe to show him its contents. "This was meant for Savannah's other girls. I'm not certain what exactly it will do to you, but I've always been inclined to just do it and see what happens. If necessary, I just mop up the residue and get back to work. If this does work, promise me you will make better use of the results than Frank has. Promise me that, will you, Tim?"

With two useless arms, two useless legs and barely any vision, he could only grunt when Weinberg repositioned himself on his chest. "No disrespect intended, but as powerful as he is, Frank is still so extremely limited. His perspective is too narrow to be of any real use to anyone, not even himself. He is a bottom rung type of fellow. But you have ambition. I've always like that in you.

"Now hold still." Weinberg placed the gun against his forehead. "Welcome to the club." He jabbed the needle into Chase's right thigh and injected the fluid. Then Weinberg clubbed him with the handle of the Colt.

Very few explosions of color were left to disrupt the glare coming in through the windows when he opened his eyes again. The nausea was still as strong. The sound of the door opening coincided with crows cawing as they flew past the windows. Two puddles of vomit to his right were evidence of how lucky he was not to have choked to death while unconscious.

Footsteps along the hardwood floor tingling along his arms, legs and back. The fingers of his left hand began trembling. His toes and legs were swelling, filling with liquid not air. His eyelids became thick blackout drapes.

Involuntary jerks pitched his body first one way then the other along the floor. He kept opening his eyes as wide as he could and focused on staying conscious. If he went under he'd never come up. His body jerked again and started shaking. The blow to his head must have damaged his brain. Nerves were firing randomly. Muscle spasms were prodding him along his rib cage. His eyes kept closing.

Keep them open. Take another look. Keep them open. Do not go like this. Fucking Weinberg.

He opened his eyes but could not keep them from squinting against the brightness. His swollen toes and legs had immobilized themselves. His body jerked again from a poke to his ribs. Shadows spread over him. Weinberg had given him some hallucinogenic concoction, something to induce a sense of—

"Tubby, are you still with us?"

One of the shadows came closer.

A head leaned forward. Dorothy Cooper appeared over him. "Well, aren't you a sight to make eyes sore." She pointed out Cedric Hutt and John Atkinson standing behind her creating the other shadows. Inspector Scott Kozlowski from SFPD stood a few feet closer to the open door. "Not so big now, are you, Tubby?"

# Chapter 40

Nyla Rowe and Joan McGowan took him and Ramona into the living room as soon as they arrived.

Nyla said, "Weinberg escaped. Reagan and Petit are dead. Tim is at San Francisco General Hospital. Dorothy Cooper said it looked like Weinberg tried to tear his arms off. Before he passed out in the ambulance, Tim told Inspector Kozlowski that Harvey injected him with a clear fluid intended for Savannah's dormant eggs."

"Is he showing any sign of . . . ?"

"Not yet. He has a number of broken bones in his arms, a dislocated elbow and shoulder, a broken ankle and a concussion."

Ramona asked, "How is Sage?"

"She's very weak."

Joan said, "We'll wait here. It's you two she wants to see."

"I thought she only wanted to see Frank."

"Don't stay too long. She needs her rest."

As they ascended the stairs, Ramona said, "I've been with her for quite a while now, but every time it still feels like I'm going to see the Pope or the Queen."

Gwen Hunter was taking away an empty glass when they entered the bedroom.

The frail teenage girl propped up by so many pillows, this revered victim of Weinberg's insane tinkering with human genetics, emaciated, struggling to breath, appeared to be as old as Weinberg claimed to be.

Ramona had mentioned a number of times that Sage's bald head with its three translucent ridges and glowing sensor scales running along them was always a jolt to see. Even when she was healthier, she still could be mistaken for someone undergoing treatment for cancer. Was her baldness one of Weinberg's practical jokes because he knew what would happen to her?

Ramona went to Sage and hugged her.

He hung back until they were finished and Sage held her hand up to him. It felt cold, small and fragile when he took hold of it.

"If I could, Frank, I would gladly exchange some of my anticipation for some of your strength."

"I don't want to. . . ."

She withdrew her hand from his. It felt like a feather caressing his palm. "You are correct. We must be quick, but not because of me. First, you and Ramona must go to Mesilla. When you are done there, you must come back here with her before you return to the first site. There is something there for you to find. Take Tye, Herman and Gwen with you when you go. One of them will save. . . ." Sage sagged down into the pillows.

"Who do we have to bring back from Mesilla?"

"I don't know. I should know by the time you get there."

"There is nothing left at the first site. We destroyed it."

"It still has something to offer."

"We can't just traipse off this way and that. I didn't need to come back here to fetch somebody you can't even identify. You could have sent someone else to hang around Mesilla. And if there is still something at the first site, you could have just passed that message to me through Ferris."

Ramona stepped forward to intercede but Sage signalled for her to remain where she was.

"I'm sorry, Frank. I know I am being vague. I don't mean to be. I can't access as much as I need right now. But I have gathered enough information to know Harvey is getting nervous and that you must go to Mesilla and then back to the first site."

Ramona stepped forward to stand beside Frank. "We will go to Mesilla."

Lucy came back to the living room with them. "She speaks in even more obscure terms now, and it takes longer. She will have the information you need by the time you get to Mesilla."

"This is ridiculous. We are taking mission instructions from a confused teenage girl suffering from rapidly deteriorating health. We should take you with us. You and Sage have a strong connection."

"I need to stay close to her now, but—" For a moment, Lucy stared past him as if she'd just gone into a trance. "I will go with you. Before we go, however, Sage would like to speak to you alone, Frank."

As soon as he entered the bedroom, he said, "You should be resting. We can talk when we get back from Mesilla."

She patted the bed beside her. "I have more information for you."

He sat down beside her and took hold of her hand.

"You will find more pregnant women, Frank, but I cannot say where or when. When you do, be careful. Some of them will try to kill you."

*****

Donny had his new notebook open and ready when she entered the cafe. He turned it to face her as soon as she sat down in the window booth across from him. A cup of mocha coffee and an apple fritter were also waiting for her.

Lily plugged the flash drive into the notebook, keyed in the username and password and then took a bite out of the fritter while she waited for the program to fully boot up.

After a gulp of mocha, she said, "It won't take long."

"I know I'm being obvious, but are you sure about this?"

"All our other devices have been compromised. I had to use something new."

"Why wouldn't they have infiltrated my notebook right away?"

"Because it is your notebook; it wouldn't be of any use to them."

"Makes sense," Donny said and finished his coffee and donut.

She finished her mocha and fritter and started up the portion of the program she needed. She then turned the screen around to show Donny. "The Evil Twin is up and running."

"Will she be willing to do this?"

"She's just a program."

"And how does Kirk feel about that? Or Kieran?"

"We'll find out soon enough."

Muta appeared on the screen, no theatrical gallop on an armored steed against a lush medieval forest background, no sprint from the back of the screen along with the creation of the backdrop as she came forward. Poof, she was just there."

"Do you understand?"

Muta said, "It must be done. I will comply."

Kirk's avatar appeared on the screen beside Muta, a mixture of Kung fu-Jedi master and medieval alchemist. "There must be another way."

"We have to turn her over to Pox by tomorrow or they start killing. Dmitri is already missing."

"They will do that anyway to eliminate the threat of you striking back after they've merged."

"If this works, they will be the ones taking cover."

"It has to be done." Muta turned, kissed Kirk—his avatar, of course—then, poof, she was just gone.

"I'm sorry, Kirk, but we have to get rid of Pox and this is the only way I can think of. If we trap him, we can delete him."

"You will destroy the both of them." Kirk vanished.

"I won't let them have her," she said to Donny. "This has to work."

"We are talking about the real people, too, right?"

She slammed the notebook shut. "Kieran has reinforced her intrusion detection and her defense-in-depth capacity, layers of defense against penetration and attack, which should help protect her. We've kept this tight. Only a few of us know what the plan is."

"What if one of the others stumbles upon it before you can implement it tomorrow? What if one of them inadvertently tries to stop your plan before . . . ?"

"Kieran, Sammy, Erwin and I are the only ones who have complete access to Muta. The others have limited privilege related to their specific programming skills. They must submit all updates and new modules for our review before they can be added to her. They can't go where I've inputted it."

"We're talking the whole internet here. Shouldn't we be bringing in the NSA?"

"They have been kept aware of the things they can do something about. We can't trust the international community to get anything done about this quickly enough."

"This wouldn't likely even get unanimous agreement and cooperation. The politics of national self-interest would distort the process as soon as it began. Countries would look to gain an advantage for themselves."

"Spoken like a truly disillusioned political science and journalism student."

"Reality creeps in everywhere eventually, even the cyber-world. Could somebody else stumble into her? Sorry, I didn't mean to sound so crude."

"They would have to go through an identification, authentication and authorization process just like the other Creators Almighty: a username, a password, plus the correct answer to a personal history question, a swipe of a special card we issue to every member before they are then given a designated level of access. It isn't possible for anyone to stumble into Muta."

"Remember how you told me all programmers suffer from hubris?"

"If they did stumble into Muta somehow, they can't just keep going. When a new module is offered and accepted, it is then encrypted before Muta gets it. She can decide for herself if she wants the addition. She can change the encryption whenever she wants and then decide on her own when she will give the new key out and who gets it. Our members can always petition for higher lever access, but that goes through a review process, too. Muta has access to the review and makes the final decision. She puts the applicant through a series of tests to assess their programming skills. It is foolproof."

"I wouldn't make the cut."

"Muta can already convert Fahrenheit to Celsius and miles to kilometers. She can do all other conversions, too, for that matter, so, no, you would not make the cut anymore than someone with more programming skills than you who might stumble into her."

"Sounds like you've covered everything."

"That is what everyone thinks until someone finds something that was missed." She opened the notebook. "Now please remain silent for this part."

Kieran came on the screen. "We can't do this, Lily. Let me just end her instead."

"Is it ready?"

"I lose contact with her more frequently now. She has to keep moving and hiding."

"Are you finished?"

"Jesus, girl, what is your bloody hurry? It's Muta we're talking about here."

"Kieran, get it done or I'll do it myself. And don't bother waving your bloody knife about at me, luv. Just keep it in your pocket and get back to work."

"I just need a few more hours. It will be ready when you need it. She won't feel a thing."

Donny took hold of her trembling hand. "You're not alone."

"That's what I keep telling myself."

# Chapter 41

Dr. Dieter Habich was the only German to come to their meeting at Enrique Camacho Torres's hacienda on the southern outskirts of Camargo, Chihuahua. He brought three French wines with him.

"To celebrate, Señor Garcia Padilla," he said to Bernardo when he came in. "To celebrate Germany's re-ascension to pre-eminence. They are from Bordeaux."

"This is not a night to celebrate. Your nation will soon be at war with the world. We are here to conduct a review of our operations." He took one of the bottles of wine. "Where are Drs. Baumann and Althus?"

"Alas, clinic business does not permit them the time to come for this review." As Habich followed him into the dining room, he said, "We have just received word Dr. Esparza will be returning from Argentina at any moment."

Fidel, Hernando, Enrique Camacho Torres and Alejandro Rivera Gomez were already seated. Servants were bringing in the food and setting it on the table.

"Delightful," Habich said, "steak. These wines are all perfect for such a meal."

Habich had been the most taciturn of the three German doctors working with Esparza. As the duration of Esparza's absence lengthened, he had become the effusive talker in Esparza's place. That change in him had become more intense as Hitler took Germany into war in Europe.

"These wines were sent to me the day after France signed their armistice agreement with us. I am looking forward to a trip to Paris next spring now that it is under our control. Such a romantic city must be something to behold with German efficiency guiding it."

Camacho Torres poured more wine into his glass. "Britain still defies your leader's will. That appeaser Chamberlain has been replaced by a much tougher leader. Churchill will stand up to der Fuehrer."

Habich shook his head. "No country has been able to stop us. Norway, Denmark and Poland fell with hardly any effort on our part. Belgium, the Netherlands and Luxembourg were pebbles under our feet. And the French and British forces were unable to resist our blitzkrieg. We took many prisoners and left the rest to flee back to Britain through Dunkirk. I understand over half of them drowned trying to swim the channel." He finished his wine before filling his glass again. "Britain is now isolated. It will soon cede the Atlantic to our surface fleet and our unstoppable U-boats."

Hernando whispered to him, "Let me blow this preening cock's brains all over the wall."

"London will scream and burn under our blitz campaign until it, too, succumbs. I anticipate its surrender by the end of summer. Then we will rule this world for a thousand years."

He asked, "What about Roosevelt and the United States?"

Habich smacked his thick lips. "They are all bluster and nothing more."

"That wasn't the case at the end of the Great War."

"They are soft. They have no stomach for war. Trust me, my friends, they will be dealt with in due time and they will capitulate sooner than you might imagine. They are not the invincible beast you Mexicans insist on perceiving them to be. There are too many inferior races diluting their strength, leaving them tainted, weak in mind, weak in spirit and weak in resolve."

"You cannot hope to win a war with an ocean between yourself and your enemy."

"I told you, the Atlantic will soon be ours. It will present no obstacle. Quite the contrary, it will be the platform of our triumph over the Americans."

Hernando stood up holding his glass of wine. "Enough! I am sick of hearing this Nazi's conceited bragging. We are here to review our business interests."

Bernardo took hold of his brother's arm. "The Americans are increasing the size of their navy."

"A pittance, I assure you. Our U-boats will sink their new ships as quickly as they launch them." After downing another full glass of wine, he said, "And if our negotiations here yield suitable results—"

"What negotiations?"

"We do not divulge every detail of our activities in Mexico even to our closest friends." He filled his glass again. "But I suppose it would do no good to be coy with you after my indiscretion." He ran his hands over his slicked-back blond hair, a preening cock, indeed. "We may soon have access to an insertion point into the United States from the south."

Camacho Torres, standing now, too, said, "That is impossible. Our government is neutral. There can be no such agreement."

"I'm sorry, Señor Camacho, I did not mean to give the impression that we are negotiating directly with your government. There are other ways to achieve our goals here. The construction of the tunnels has already begun. We will be able to aim our most powerful weapons at the Americans. They will never see them coming until it is too late."

"You will drag us into the war."

"As Bernardo said to me earlier, this will soon be a world war." He drank the rest of his wine. "Our scientists are developing a bomb, a single bomb of such power that it can destroy a whole city and kill tens of thousands of people or more? What nation can stand up to such a force of will?"

One of the servants staggered into the dining room through the swinging door from the kitchen and fell forward to the floor. An arrow was sticking out of his back.

"Sosa." Camacho Torres ran to the cabinet holding their weapons.

Habich staggered almost as much as the servant had when he finally stood up and withdrew his pistol. "Who is this Sosa?"

"A competitor."

Once his holsters were on, he checked his men. Hernando had his sawed-off shotgun loaded and his belts of shells on. Fidel had his rifle and his machete. Camacho Torres and Rivera Gomez were also armed with their Erma Werke MP40 submachine guns. Habich had fallen under the dining table and had pulled three chairs around him to provide cover.

He placed himself against the wall next to the door to the kitchen. Fidel and Hernando toppled a serving table made of thick wood and took aim at the entrance from the front hall. Camacho Torres and Rivera Gomez backed into a butler's pantry behind his brothers. With a forty-five degree turn, they could also provide backup to him as well. Though unsteady, Habich was also prepared for an attack from the front hall.

"Why don't they attack?" Hernando stood up, turned and aimed his shotgun at the door to the kitchen. "Where are they? What are they waiting for?"

If anyone charged in from the kitchen, they would run straight into fire from Hernando's shotgun and submachine gun fire from Camacho Torres and Rivera Gomez. He could fire on their attackers from behind.

Still no one charged them. No one opened fire from outside.

"What is all this?" Hernando started for the kitchen.

"Stop." He slid along the wall to the doorway.

"I hear nothing," Fidel said.

Bernardo placed his left hand on the door and pushed it open toward the kitchen, let go and ducked back. No one started shooting. No noises came from the kitchen. The four other servants were either keeping silent or had been silenced.

"I'll go," Hernando said.

"Stay where you are." He pushed on the door again to get it swinging back and forth.

Hernando had the better line of sight into the kitchen. "I don't see anyone." He took a step closer. "Wait. There's a body. It's the cook. She has an arrow in her neck."

Camacho Torres and Rivera Gomez silently confirmed they saw the same thing.

Why weren't arrows with dynamite attached to them flying in from the outside or coming from the kitchen? That was Sosa's favorite way to launch a sneak attack. He had four excellent archers who could silently put the arrows exactly where he wanted them. The explosions created maximum casualties and confusion. Despite their cover—his was nonexistent—they were contained and easy targets for such a first volley.

The swinging door came to rest. No one attacked. No one fired arrows with lit sticks of dynamite on them into the dining room.

Habich crawled out from under the table. As he regained his feet, the window of the dining room and the two windows in the front hall shattered.

Hernando shouted, "Grenades."

Camacho Torres and Rivera Gomez were the first through the swinging door. A fusillade of bullets from outside downed them.

He tackled Hernando, taking him down behind the heavy table beside Fidel.

The explosions in the front hall only caused noise and minor damage. The two flung through the dining room window knocked Habich off his feet and over the table, which probably saved his life. The concussions from the two grenades knocked the table into them before it toppled over to expose them.

Hernando bolted for the front hall, the only route they could take, grabbing Habich as he did. He and Fidel followed two steps behind.

"Get to the library at the back," he shouted to his youngest brother. "We can get out that way."

Pulling Habich along with him, Hernando veered left the moment he entered the front hall. He and Fidel turned with him.

Three more grenades spun through the broken windows. Two of them exploded while still spinning in the air. The third was a dud.

He tried to calculate the distance between them and their enemy. The M24 Stielhandgranate could be tossed between twenty-five and thirty meters. They had five-second fuses. Two of them exploded while in flight. That meant—

Hernando stopped outside the library. "Which way?"

He had to sidestep Hernando to avoid running into him. "It's behind the desk." He pushed through the door and then had to fall back against Fidel coming in behind him when the library windows shattered.

Grenades didn't spin through the air into the room. Instead, Sosa and his men peppered the library with submachine gun fire.

"Go back."

Machinegun fire and rifle fire coming into the front hall had cornered them. Sosa's men could come at them from the library and the entrance. They were going to be caught in crossfire.

"We can't die like this," Hernando said.

"We can't reach the sliding panel to the escape tunnel. Even if we crawled along the floor, they would see us from the patio. How did they know we would come this way?"

"Then we charge."

"That is suicide."

"This is suicide, brother, trapped in a hallway like three coyotes in a cage just waiting for them to finish us off."

"We can kill a few of them before they do," Fidel said.

Hernando pulled the hammers back on his shotgun. "We are The Three Butchers. We fight."

"We can barricade—"

Hernando shoved Habich at him. "Stay here and die like a coward if you want to. Fidel and I will fight."

Three explosions went off in quick succession outside. Men screamed. Two more explosions went off in the patio. They were too large to be just grenades.

Hernando sprinted for the front of the house and leapt through one of the broken windows, firing both barrels of his shotgun as he did.

As he brought Habich and Fidel with him into the entrance hall, Hernando came back in through the door.

"It's Camacho Torres's men. Esparza is leading them."

Fidel snatched Habich from him, tossed Habich's pistol away and braced him up against the wall. He had taken out his machete. "Those were German grenades. How did Sosa get them? How did they know the library was our escape?"

"Believe me, Fidel, I do not know."

"I don't believe you." He swung the machete into Habich's left thigh. "You were negotiating with our enemies behind our backs."

Habich put his hand up once he was on his knees as anyone would do, but it did him no good. Fidel swung as hard as he could into the back of his neck. His head rolled to the front door, stopping at the feet of Dr. Esparza and two of Camacho Torres's lieutenants.

"Thank God you are all safe." Esparza handed his submachine gun to the man on his left and stepped over the head without looking down at it.

"Not all of us," he said. "Enrique and Alejandro are dead."

Esparza held out his hand to Fidel. "That is most unfortunate."

Fidel handed over his bloody machete.

Esparza grabbed Fidel's arm and swung it down, chopping off his right hand. He dropped the machete to the floor as Fidel fell to his knees beside the German's body clutching his wound. "At least you three are unharmed."

# Chapter 42

Murray Spencer's law office was as nondescript as any single-floor, white-stucco building fronted with plate-glass windows sitting near the middle of a row of identical single-floor buildings housing a barber shop, a beauty parlor and nail care salon, a pet grooming shop and a herbal goods shop. His sign was a tacky neon thing that seemed more appropriate for a strip club.

The glass door was locked. A closed sign hanging by a string waved when she tried the knob again before tapping on the glass.

Ralph Price emerged from the shadows at the back of the building and opened the door for her. "His office is this way."

"Obviously."

"Spencer has sent his receptionist home." Price lifted the hinged part of the front counter out of the way and let her proceed ahead of him.

"Straight on, his door is open."

Menno Alfieri sat on a thickly cushioned brown leather chair set against the wall beside the door to her left. Isidora Ramos Olivarez was looking out through the open venetian blinds of the window behind Spencer's desk. She was curling and uncurling the draw string around two fingers of her left hand.

Spencer's office had the same old, neglected and musty odor the reception area had. That odor led to wondering if Spencer had a thriving practice and a receptionist or had just opened this stale, flat-roofed cubicle to fulfill his obligation to his sole client.

His hair was a wave of white, wispy tendrils that resembled some filter-feeding organism on a coral reef. His chubby face surrounded his small, dark eyes, further obscured by wire-framed trifocals tinted purplish-brown. A white moustache promised a Santa-Claus beard if he grew one. His navy blue suit, white shirt and white and blue striped tie created the impression that he was a sales manager at a car dealership promising to approve anyone's loan application no matter what their credit rating was.

The lime-scented cologne he used barely masked the odor of the office that had infused him long ago. It was entirely believable that he had seldom, if ever, rose from that tattered, imprinted leather chair, always at his desk, always at Beltran's beck and call.

"Please take a seat, Dr. Garcia." That gruff voice would not yield a jolly ho-ho-ho to anyone.

She took the chair to the left. Ralph Price took the chair to the right. Isidora Ramos Olivarez dropped the string and started pacing about the room, shrinking it even further.

Spencer lifted a leather briefcase onto his desk. He had to use both hands, grunted getting it onto the desk and continued to pant as he extracted from it a single too thick to grasp with one hand. When he dropped it onto the desk, it knocked the briefcase to the floor and sent a loud shockwave of dust in every direction that hurt her ears.

That seemed appropriate for any file involving her uncle.

"Yesterday," Spencer said through repeated noisy intakes of air, "Beltran requested I recover this file from a safety deposit box and begin reviewing it. If he called me today to tell me he was fine, I was to return it to the safety deposit box and forget what I had read. If he died, I was to bring you four together, should you still be alive, and reveal its contents to you."

Menno said, "He knew yesterday he was going to ask us to come with him to pick up Dr. Garcia."

She said, "And if we had all died?"

"I was to destroy the file. There would no longer be any reason for it to exist."

Isidora said, "He also knew there was significantly more danger than he led us to believe. He lied to us." She hammered the wall with the side of her fist, rattling a chintzy print of a girl in a pink dress running through a field of flowers toward a tree that had a swing hanging from one of its branches.

"After reading the little bit that I have, I would prefer to have received an all-clear phone call. I wish I could forget it all." He laid both of his hands on the file. "This is a complex, shocking and disturbing tale."

"I am aware of my uncle's criminal past in Mexico."

"That is only a small part of the story, Dr. Garcia. What do you remember of your childhood around Senor Nunez?"

"His real name was Bernardo Garcia Padilla. He was old back then."

"That is one part of the shocking and disturbing aspects of this story."

"He and his brothers, Fidel and Hernando, were known as The Three Butchers. I learned much of this when I was nine years old. I remember a meeting between my father, Bernardo and Fidel, and a stranger, a much younger man than those three. This stranger frightened all of them."

"That man was not your father. The Three Butchers were not your uncles because your mother was not their sister. They never had a sister."

"That is nonsense."

Spencer curled his fingers against the file as though trying to scratch away its contents. "What else do you remember about that meeting?"

"Nothing." Saying it out loud started a cold sweat. Her voice trembled when she muttered, "I don't remember anything else."

"That is not correct, Dr. Garcia. What is that nagging bit of dark knowledge you want to pretend isn't there?"

Price said, "You do not have to badger her. You have the file. Stop playing games and just tell us what we need to know."

Isidora stomped over to the desk. "If you don't have the balls for it, I'll read it." When she tried to take the file, Spencer pulled it to his chest and turned away from her.

She said, "Leave him to it, please." She then said to Spencer, "You've administered your jolt, now tell us."

"I do apologize, Dr. Garcia, but I needed you to know that I was not exaggerating. Everything is in here, including the secret you trusted to his confidence. My question about that meeting did shock you. Why?"

"It triggered a revelation." Though Isidora was no longer circling the perimeter of this dingy office, it had become smaller and less detailed to her. "That is when my recurring dream started, or shortly after that. That is when the hole in my memory started."

Price reached for her hand but didn't touch her. "You don't have to tell us any of this, Dr. Garcia."

She laughed. The cold sweat heated up. "That dream and that hole in my childhood memories have dominated my life, Mr. Price. I do not know what good it will do for you three to know the details, but after what's happened today, you at least deserve to know the nature of the damaged person you were hired to protect."

Spencer said, "It started before that fateful meeting, didn't it?"

"My mother died just before my ninth birthday. She died during the Dead of the Dead festival."

"How did she die?"

"You would know better than I if his records are complete."

"I assure you they are."

Price said, "It is the first hole in your memory, correct?"

She wiped her brow with tissue she took from a box on Spencer's desk. "What else can you tell me?"

"You should brace yourself. I don't want—"

"Just tell me."

"That terrifying stranger was your real father. He was there that day to demand they hand you over to him. According to Senor Nunez, you were snooping on their meeting as you always did and heard every word. When the demand was made, you screamed from your hiding place and fainted. The dream started that night and the gaps in your memory only became more severe until Senor Nunez sent you away to a clinic for treatment right after you turned twelve."

She pulled her blouse from her clammy skin. "I remember. We had a big party to celebrate my womanhood. I was happy and, I believed, without fear that day. I was sure I wouldn't have the dream anymore. I was a woman now. Grown women don't have silly, scary dreams like that. Or if they did, it didn't frighten them anymore."

"But you still had the dream and it still terrified you. It got worse for you. When you woke up you couldn't remember the party. The sight of all the decorations and wrapping paper left in the patio started you screaming."

Price poured her a glass of water.

She drank half of it. "The doctor and two assistants from the clinic came that afternoon and took me away."

Isidora asked, "What is this dream?"

"I am a child in my nightdress standing at one end of a line of children, some of them older than me, some of them younger. We are lined up for inspection. A man, he is usually something like a general or some other authority figure but he is always the same man, proceeds along the line from the other end, screaming as loud as he can at each child as he goes, berating every one of them. But I can't make out any words."

Spencer said, "But he changes when he gets to you."

She drank the rest of the water and waited for Price to pour out another full glass. "He stands there looking down at me for the longest, scariest part of the dream. I am so frightened that I lose control of my bladder."

Isidora had started pacing the office again. As she passed, she briefly laid a hand on her shoulder. "Who is he? What does he look like?"

"I don't know. He doesn't resemble any of the men from my life at that time. He could be another missing part of my memory."

Spencer opened the file and ran his finger down the flagged page to the bottom. "He does eventually say something to you."

"He leans forward and whispers into my ear, but I can't make out what he is saying. I know he is saying something different to me than what he screams at all the other children, but I can't make out what it is."

Isidora said, "Is he too quiet?"

"It's a whisper but he does speak clearly. It's just that I don't understand what he is trying to tell me."

"It confuses you?"

"How can it confuse me? I can't make out the words?"

"You just told us you don't understand what he is trying to tell you. You may know what he is telling you but it doesn't make sense to you."

She shivered. "Who was my real mother? Who was this terrifying stranger?"

"Senor Nunez does not name him but he did reveal the story of his love for your mother and you and what became of them."

She sat back and stared at a drip of condensation on the outside of the glass running down to the desk. How many more jolts could she take? She had the start date of her dreams. Her father and mother were not her real parents. The terrifying stranger was her real father. The story of her real father and mother could help her learn who they were, which might only make her life worse.

Isidora tapped the wall. "Let's hear it."

She nodded for him to proceed.

"Your mother was the daughter of a Mexican gang lord. She also suffered from schizophrenia and had frequently been in and out of a clinic in Mexico City. Your father was a member of that gang, too low in rank to be permitted any chance at her, but they fell in love despite that. When she became pregnant with you, your father had to flee because your grandfather put a price on his head. We will get back to him in a moment.

"While pregnant with you, your mother's mental health deteriorated. She began perceiving children as direct descendants of Jesus Christ. They had to be made to suffer the way he had suffered if they were to gain access to heaven. She was convinced she could see a child's future. If the child was going to be bad, it had to be pre-emptively crucified while its soul was still pure. She merged these two delusions until she developed a distorted compulsion to baptize and crucify children at the same time by binding them and then drowning them. They caught her trying to do exactly that with a family member's new baby before finally confining her to a clinic for the duration of her pregnancy."

"Did she have a persistent dream about indistinct whispering?" Isidora had just completed another orbit around Spencer's desk. Again her hand touched Juanita's shoulder. "Sorry, had to ask."

"Her delusions were very clear to her. Her real father became concerned for Dr. Garcia's life. They had even considered aborting you but that went against their faith. They had to find another way."

"The Garcia Padilla brothers," she said. Another jolt sent shivers through her.

"They had a younger cousin who was a successful farmer in northern Mexico. He had nothing to do with their criminal organization, however. He and his wife of three years had been unable to have a child. Bernardo approached them on your grandfather's behalf."

"I was born in Ensenada."

"Miguel Garcia Padilla and your adoptive mother Maria Lopez Haro de Garcia arranged to take your mother to a private medical clinic there that was funded by Maria's family. When you were born, all the paperwork was completed through the clinic and they returned home with you as their daughter."

"And my real mother?"

"Your real father had fled into the mountains. From a base there he built his own gang. When he was powerful enough, he returned to her father to demand her hand. You would have been three years old then. But she had remained an invalid at the clinic in Ensenada and had died of cancer a year earlier, or so he was told. He cursed her father, your adoptive parents, the Three Butchers and vowed to avenge himself on all of them.

"The Three Butchers faced a number of violent challenges throughout the seventies and eighties until their organization was finally gutted. Hernando was killed. Fidel took control of the remainder of the gang and took them into the mountains to regroup. Bernardo fled to New Mexico, changed his identity to Beltran Nunez Gutierrez and became a pecan farmer.

"As you can imagine, most of those challenges were at the hands of your real father. He led his gang on attacks against all other gangs. He inflicted heavy casualties on them, avoiding injury, capture or death as he did, yet he made no attempt to capitalize on his victims' losses and expand his own criminal empire. As far as anyone knows, he never had an empire other than taking money and resources from his raided enemies. His sole reason for having a gang appeared to be to attack other gangs."

"What happened to him?"

"No one knows. He just vanished. That's the end of Senor Nunez's report on him. Nunez did have one name of note that might be of use to you. He believed he knew who the man in your dreams was."

She sat up and reached for the glass. It stuck to the ring of water around it.

The windows at the front of the building shattered. Two men jumped through and charged down the corridor to Spencer's office. Each one of them had an Uzi. Both of them started shooting as they neared the door.

Menno leapt up from his chair and slid closer to the door. He waited for the first one to come in before hitting the door with his shoulder to slam it against the second one.

Isidora grabbed the glass of water from her hand and tossed it at the first shooter. Price got her out of her chair and running to get behind Spencer. Spencer was clutching the report to his chest but was otherwise unable to move.

The second man grunted and slumped to the floor. The first man ducked from the water, all the distraction Menno needed.

He grabbed the man by the shoulders from behind, turned him with a violent yank and ran him into the wall. He then smashed the man's face into the wall over and over until it went through the lathe and plaster. When the second man started shooting at them again from the doorway and tried to get up, Menno slammed the first one against the door, slamming it into the second one again. He then grabbed the Uzi the man was holding, pulled it against his neck, pressed his knee into the man's back and yanked as hard as he could.

Both attackers were dead. Spencer had been shot in the forehead. His bulk had kept him in place in his chair. He still clutched the file in his arms. Isidora was missing.

Price went to the other side of the desk. "She's been hit."

Juanita came around the desk to see Isidora pressing her hand against her left hip.

"It's not serious, but I can't walk."

"We won't leave you behind," she said.

"That's funny."

Sirens were coming closer.

Price said, "We'll do what you suggested. We'll turn ourselves in to Mike."

"No. If we all go in now, we lose access to the file and maybe no one figures out what is going on here."

"She's right." Menno pried the file from Spencer's arms and handed it to her. "You know what Mike will do. He'll leave us sitting in a cell while he and his crew go running around like blind mice. Or else he will interrogate us forever and still understand none of it. Dr. Garcia is the only one with the history to make sense of Nunez's notes." He pushed Spencer to the floor, picked up the chair and tossed it through the window. "We are only playing for a bit more time, Ralph."

"I agree with them," she said and patted her abdomen. "We need more answers and we aren't going to get them in police custody."

The sirens arrived at the front. Gunfire immediately started outside Spencer's office.

Isidora said, "If we even get into police custody."

Menno went through the lawyer's pockets, pulled out his key fob. "His Escalade is parked out back." He picked up Isidora.

She grunted and punched him hard in the arm. "Idiot."

Menno led the way out through the broken window.

# Chapter 43

"Ah, Bernardo, my friend," Esparza said, "how good to see you again. This way, please." Esparza led him into the office of his Mexico City clinic. "I wish to you and Inez and your family the best of the Christmas season. Where is your lovely wife?"

"She has gone to visit Sarika in her room."

Esparza frowned and sighed heavily, his usual insincere sigh of concern. "It is a pity. Her mental state has become very fragile. I fear for her and the baby. But we have other matters to attend to for now. We will return to this issue later." He sat down at his desk. "I have asked you here to bear witness to an interview I am about to conduct. Please remain silent and just observe what takes place. You might learn something that will help you control your indiscriminate impulses."

He pushed the button on his intercom. "Please bring them in."

Esparza's secretary, young, dark, slim, new brought in Señor Victor Lopez Valdez and Señora Elena Haro Sanchez de Lopez, two of Mexico's aristocratic elite. Lopez Valdez was in his seventies and had single-handedly fueled Mexico City's aristocratic rumor mongering since taking on a bride still in her twenties. Neither one of them were pleased to see him there.

"I believe you know Señor Bernardo Garcia Padilla." Esparza did not rise from his chair to greet them. "He is here as witness only. Please do your best to ignore his presence."

Lopez Valdez held the chair for his wife to take before taking the other one. "We would be happy to, Dr. Esparza Escobar. Perhaps if he remained out of sight, we would have an easier time of it."

Bernardo took up a position beside the closed office door behind the couple.

Lopez Valdez said, "Does he have to be here?"

"Yes, his presence is not negotiable."

"Very well." Haro de Lopez waved as if swatting at a fly.

"You must first understand that this is an experimental procedure. We cannot guarantee success. We can only try."

"Yes, yes," Lopez Valdez said. "We have gone over this enough. We understand and accept the risks involved."

"The process will take approximately a month to prepare the eggs. We will then implant them into the surrogate and deliver your healthy daughter to you nine months later. We can only do daughters at this time. Males are too fragile."

Señora Haro de Lopez gasped, though she had likely already heard this from Esparza before. He was reiterating it to keep control of them and their expectations, forcing them to endure this limitation to their request—surely Lopez Valdez wanted a son as heir—and making them endure it with such a heinous witness to their humiliation present.

"No word of our arrangement must go beyond this office."

As straight and stoic as Lopez Valdez had been in his chair with his cane held out in front of him, he now sagged back. "Dr. Esparza Escobar, we have already agreed to all stipulations of your offer. I have agreed to pay the price. Can we get on with it, please?"

"Just one more point to be made first. Señora Elena Haro Sanchez de Lopez will need to come here when the surrogate's pregnancy reaches its fourth month. She will need close medical supervision because of complications. And then, after five months of the best medical care we can provide, she will return home with your precious child."

Esparza withdrew the contract from the desk's center drawer. All parties ratified it in silence except for Esparza's brief explanations of what each part of it meant and instructions on where each of them needed to sign. This sham was part application of pressure through formal procedure and part Esparza's personal joke. There were no laws in Mexico that could bind the signatories to a contract such as this.

Esparza's secretary then re-entered the office and took Señora Haro de Lopez out.

"Now, Señor Lopez Valdez, we will discuss that other service I can offer, nothing less than reincarnation."

Lopez Valdez said, "Dr. Esparza Escobar, do not think me a fool. Reincarnation is not possible."

"I am not speaking of a reincarnation that brings you back as you were, but it is possible to give one another chance at life. Let me explain."

"Do we still need him here?"

"No, Señor Lopez Valdez, we can conclude our business with what we have already agreed to and call it a day. I can offer you and your lovely young wife a delicious lunch before you return home."

He said, "How are you feeling? You look pale to me."

Lopez Valdez tapped his cane hard against the floor. "I will endure his presence, but I do not have to listen to him."

"He will say no more. Let me just remind you of some of the limitations I mentioned at the party. We cannot change your gender; it is too dangerous to even try. The copy cannot return as the original. It can be a relative or even presented as a child of the original, but that is all we can allow."

"If I can't come back as myself, what happens to my estate?"

"We provide a comprehensive package to help establish whatever level of estate inheritance you wish to arrange. It includes a complete family history for the copy, legal and financial services, as well as fostering or adoption services if required. The offspring will be irrefutably a legitimate member of your family."

"And how is this miracle accomplished?"

"I am not permitted to reveal the specific details of the procedure, but I can tell you we have eggs available just waiting for your sperm. We have surrogate mothers available to carry the copy to term, as with our other arrangement."

"Why can't my Elena carry either child? She isn't the problem, I am."

"You will have to accept that we forbid that for very sound reasons. We will keep the offspring on site for two years to monitor and correct or even replace if necessary. I should also caution you. There is always a chance it just won't work for you. If that happens, you will be refunded half of the fee you paid per our contract."

"If it works, I will have another life to live again."

"Your copy will live that life. It won't be you, but it is as close as we can get you to having that son you desire so much. We cannot perform magic. We cannot create another you. What's more, your copy will live between thirty-five and fifty years only. That is the limit of its life." Esparza tapped his desk with his finger. "One last thing, Señor, the offspring cannot be told he is a copy. You must swear an oath to that. If you break that oath, I will have every single member of your family exterminated. Your line will come to an end. Do you understand my terms?"

"When do we begin?"

"We have a second clinic in the mountains to the north. Once our preliminary tests are completed to confirm you are a viable candidate, you will be provided with a date. Señor Garcia Padilla will deliver you to that clinic. You must never reveal its location to anyone, including your copy. Once you are on site, you will make your final payment."

Lopez Valdez rose from his chair, tapped his cane, bowed his head and walked out of the office without looking at him.

"Can you really create a copy of him?"

"It won't be anything like he imagines, but it can be done." He called his secretary. "Please bring in our German friends now."

Dr. Tabor Baumann brought in Gustav Koenig and three other men with him. All of them wore plain clothes to conceal their positions within the German military or government. The three men stood in line. Koenig made the introductions.

"Dr. Esparza, Señor Garcia, the best wishes of the season to you."

"And to you, too, Gustav, our best wishes in return. Germany must be excited to finally see Japan enter the war."

"They have dealt the American's a crippling blow in the Pacific. Now, please allow me to introduce my immediate superior in the Gestapo, Sturmbannführer Ernst Becker."

Becker, in his fifties, lean, hard, saturnine, stepped forward, clicked his heals and gave the Nazi salute.

Esparza shook his hand once it came down. "It is such an honor, Sturmbannführer Becker, to have such a distinguished member of Germany's Secret State Police visit us."

He shook Becker's hand. "What is your role in the Gestapo, Heir Becker?"

Koenig said, "He is in charge of overseeing our Referat B-One policies in our occupied territories. He has the authority to arrest and detain in Dachau anyone from any religious cult who presents a threat as traitor to the people or destroyer of Germany. He reports directly to the Deputy Reich Protector of the Protectorate of Bohemia and Moravia, Reinhard Heydrich."

Esparza said, "We empathize with your responsibilities, Heir Becker. Mexico has in the past had its own problems with the clergy. They can undermine so much of one's hard work if they are not carefully controlled."

"Controlling them is not a problem for us, doctor." Becker stepped back in line.

"Next, gentlemen, may I present Gunter Heidenreich, a man of distinguished academic achievement and protégé to Joseph Goebbels."

Heidenreich stepped forward, shook their hands and bowed. He didn't salute. "I am here to assess what use your research and experimental results can be to our efforts to expand our Aryan superiority."

Esparza said, "The Übermensch you seek will shortly be within reach. He will be even better than my good friend Gustav, and, I am certain you will agree, he has been an excellent example of what your people are truly capable of."

"That he is." Heidenreich stepped back in line.

Dr. Esparza offered his hand to the youngest of the three Germans. "And though last, this young man is certainly not least. Gustav has told me so much about you already Heir Martz." After shaking hands, Esparza brought Martz forward to him. "Bernardo, I would like you to meet Kalman Martz, one of the fastest rising officers in the Gestapo. At only twenty-six, he has been described by their fuehrer as another of Germany's men with an iron heart. Gustav and Heir Becker have been mentoring his career since before the war began. Am I not correct?"

Blond, standing well over six feet tall, athletic, the epitome of Hitler's Aryan superiority, his grip was strong. "Senor Garcia Padilla, it is a pleasure to meet you."

Esparza went to his liquor cabinet and poured out a drink of wine for each man. "The tunnels in the mountains are nearly complete. We will keep their exact location secret until it is time to install the canons and rockets." After a toast to his guests, he added, "But, I assure you, you will almost be able to reach up from below ground and touch Texas once everything is ready."

He said, "I only hope we don't strike oil."

After a weak round of laughter, Heidenreich raised his glass and said, "That too would be a suitable outcome for the Fatherland."

The Germans drank to his comment.

While continuing to consume plenty of wine, Esparza enticed his German guests with the superficial details of how he could create the soldiers they wanted. "Any size and strength you desire is possible." He also offered them the same surrogate form of reincarnation he had just negotiated with Lopez Valdez. "A number of your upper echelons from your national industry, the military and the government have already expressed interest when presented with this option while they were visiting our spas in the Alps."

Three medical assistants from the clinic, all dressed in fine suits, entered the office on schedule to take this Nazi contingent on a guided tour of the facilities before they returned to their hotel rooms. Dr. Baumann remained with them.

"Thank you, Tabor, for playing host to our guests."

Baumann bowed, "I believe they were all suitably impressed, Dr. Esparza. I caution you, however, to be wary of Kalman Martz. He is rising through the ranks of the Gestapo faster than anyone. I do not think even Koenig and Becker can slow his ascension. Heydrich has taken notice of him, as has der Fuehrer."

"As always, Tabor, I can rely on you for the most important bits of information."

"I will return to my duties and see how the tour is proceeding." Baumann bowed and left.

"The Germans cannot be trusted. They have disregarded or broken every treaty they have signed whenever it suited them."

"And so have we."

"They have taken over every facet of any operation they determine will aid their war machine, and you just invited them in to your clinic."

Esparza poured himself another full glass of wine. "The Germans are nothing to us but a gullible source of funds and resources."

"You can hardly ignore their ruthless use of power and oppression."

"I don't intend to ignore it, Bernardo, I plan to use every facet of their leader's lunacy to keep my research going." He finished his drink, came over to him and patted his shoulder. "They will lose this war, too. I will give them just enough hope to keep them wanting more, believing they have a possible way out when it all turns against them. Along the way, they will keep funding my research."

"You are playing a dangerous game."

"Leave the concern for such things to me. In three days, the Japanese contingent will be visiting. They will be full of themselves after their sneaky victory at Pearl Harbor. I want you to remain here to participate in those meetings."

"I do not participate. I am nothing more than a fixture in your office, a pathetic decoration, an experimental sample on display."

"You are a valuable party to the negotiations whether you are aware of that or not."

Esparza's secretary ran into the room. "It's Sarika, doctor. She's attacked her sister."

Two male attendants had just sprinted through the locking door to the clinic when he and Esparza came out of the office. Inez's screams stopped before the door closed.

He reached the door before it latched, flung it open, sprinted past the two men and took the stairs two and three at a time. The moment he entered Sarika's room, he had to stop.

Inez was sprawled on the floor below a broken window. Her neck had been slashed with a piece of glass that now protruded from her mouth.

Two female nurses were tending to Sarika's cut right hand and keeping her on the bed. The front of her nightgown was soaked with blood. Two bloody handprints had been pressed on either side of her swollen abdomen.

Dr. Esparza checked Inez. He withdrew the shard of glass form her mouth and closed her eyes.

Seeing her eyes close brought his legs back under his control. He went to Sarika. "Why? She was your sister. You loved each other."

"I've only ever wanted you." She glanced past him at Inez. "We used to talk about you all the time, about how handsome you are, how strong you are, how you rule our families with love and toughness. Inez loved your toughness. She knew how much I wanted you. She knew how much I had to have you. But, you see, she had to have you too."

"You're not making—"

"We couldn't both have you, could we?" She giggled. "But we did both have you. We could have kept it that way and we would have, but," she felt her abdomen where the bloody handprints were, "she wouldn't have it. Neither of them would ever allow such a thing. They wouldn't stand for it."

She slid off the bed to her feet and took hold of him with bloody, icy fingers. "I thought after Edenia it would be different. I never felt this way with Pia because she is Hernando's. But it will always be this way with yours. They will always want the same thing and they will not tolerate anything else but what they want."

"What do they want?"

"I'm very tired, my love. I need rest." She crawled onto her bed and drew the covers over her.

Esparza took hold of his arm. "Come, Juan and Jesus will attend to Inez. The nurses will take care of Sarika and clean up. She is out of danger for the moment."

He let Esparza take him back to the office before asking, "What danger is she in? She killed my daughter and now my wife."

Esparza handed him a drink of tequila that he hadn't noticed being poured out. "Bernardo, I am a man from the future."

He drank his tequila. "Sarika is possessed and so are you."

"Hear me out, my friend. What I meant is I am a hundred years or more ahead of where conventional human biological science is at present. Hence, I am already in the future."

"You are as mad as ever." He poured himself another drink of tequila though he did not remember walking over to the cabinet.

"I have complete command of inheritance and genetic manipulation. In that regard, Sarika is possessed, as are you and your brothers and our friend Gustav, as are all of your children. But it is not a spiritual or demonic possession. You are all possessed of a new essence of life."

"Will all our daughters grow up to be like Sarika?"

"It is most likely your daughters will."

"She has a sickness. She doesn't know what she is doing. Why would you devise such an inheritance in anyone?"

"I suspect it has more to do with odor and an enhanced sense of smell."

"My brothers and I should have died when we were supposed to rather than ever strike a bargain with you."

"Don't invoke superstitious nonsense because you are unwilling to face something that frightens you."

"I have heard enough." He started for the door.

"I insist you stay. It is important that you understand as much as you can because you and I must take responsibility for what has just happened."

"How can any mere odor cause this?"

"Remember back to the first occurrence of Sarika's violent behavior. Mirelle had merely touched her belly."

"You gave me some absurd explanation that Edenia commanded her from the womb to kill because she sensed a threat from my innocent daughter."

"They both sensed the danger of being discovered. Simply put, Bernardo, while pregnant with your daughters, Sarika has a heightened sensitivity to threats, be it an odor, a touch or something her daughter detects. It makes her extremely protective. She cannot help herself."

"Why does this happen with only my daughters?"

"I gave you different injections from the ones I gave your brothers; however, I never imagined such a strong result."

"Are you telling me I cause a jealous rage in women carrying my children?"

"It goes far beyond that. They are driven by these biochemical reactions. That is what possesses them. That is their curse. It is your curse too, my friend. It is why you cannot resist any woman and few of them, such as Señora Elena Haro Sanchez de Lopez, can resist you."

"What can we do for her?"

"I do not believe Sarika or the baby will survive such an intense reaction a second time. She is only a few days away from delivery. We must take the child out of her now if we hope to save both of them."

# Chapter 44

Fidel and Hernando were already in Esparza's office when he entered. Esparza deftly placed himself between him and his brothers.

"It is time to end this estrangement. We have too much to lose."

Hernando said, "I swore I would kill you for what you did to Ora."

"We four are brothers. Our bond must transcend the petty transgressions that happen between us."

Fidel held up his right arm. "I do not consider this a petty transgression."

"Consider it a sample of what I am prepared to do to all of you if we do not put an end to this familial violence."

"He raped our daughters," Hernando hollered.

"He did not. They willingly came to his bed. Your daughters could not help themselves any more than Bernardo can. That is the way I planned it. Now sit down, all of you. There is much we need to repair if you hope to retain your exalted positions in Mexico's society."

Esparza waited until they sat at the three chairs around a table he'd had brought into his office. He then brought out a bottle of tequila and four glasses. He poured out a large drink for each of them, held his glass up and waited for the three of them to reluctantly raise theirs.

"To our brotherhood and your families." He drank his tequila. A scowl aimed at Hernando stopped him from putting his glass down instead of drinking. Once he had finished his drink, Esparza poured out more tequila. "By now each of you must realize how difficult it is for you to become drunk. While I am sure you were hardy men before I entered your lives, you must have noticed the change."

"I noticed," he said.

"That is a result of modifications to your metabolic pathways. We have accomplished so much since then, have we not? You all have remarkable daughters. They are more than I could have hoped for so soon, but we still have further to go."

He waited for them all to take their second drink.

"This resistance to becoming intoxicated is only one of the benefits you three have experienced. Fidel and Hernando, you two have hardly missed out. I have sent you a constant supply of women to impregnate."

Fidel growled, "But we have not assaulted any of Bernardo's women."

"He has not assaulted any women. I tell you Ora and Tierra were irresistibly drawn to Bernardo the same way Inez and Sarika were, the same way Amarissa was. You two have also enjoyed a hedonistic and prurient life, just not one as profligate as Bernardo's. That is the way of things because that is my way. Tonight, you must reconcile this reality between yourselves. I demand nothing less."

He asked, "How are they doing?"

"Tierra and Gertrude are in excellent health."

"Will she be compelled to take her own life as Sarika did now that she's given birth? Is that going to be the fate of every woman we have?"

"Sarika was always fragile. I have improved my preparations of these females since then. They should experience no post-partum difficulties."

"How can you be certain? You had to bring both Tierra and Ora to the clinic to monitor them once they started exhibiting erratic and aggressive behavior."

Esparza poured out more tequila for all of them. "I must concede that their heightened sense of maternal protectiveness may require a tightly controlled environment from the fourth month to delivery. But this is all still quite new. We will be constantly learning and adjusting our procedures to best suit the needs of mother and child."

Fidel poured himself another drink. "You prevaricate with the ease of a—"

"Is Ora safe?" Hernando filled his glass. "She is sharing a room with Tierra and Gertrude."

He asked, "Are Tierra and Gertrude safe from Ora?"

"I am very pleased with those questions. They tell me you are gaining insights into what they are going through."

"You can keep your fucking insights to yourself. You told me Sarika killed because her babies sensed danger. Is Ora's child going to drive her to kill Tierra and Gertrude?"

"We should separate them." Hernando got up and started for the door.

"Please calm yourselves, all of you. Tierra and her beautiful baby girl are in no danger. To our surprise, we have discovered that since putting your daughters together, their bond has grown stronger. It continues to strengthen now that Gertrude has been delivered. Ora is learning how to care for a baby while she waits for her own."

"You are implying some unique connection between them through their babies."

"I am because the babies are Bernardo's daughters. These bonds are forged throughout the pregnancy and appear to become reinforced after birth."

Fidel started drinking straight from the bottle. "No doubt this is another of your clever secret goals from all this debauchery."

"I would call it a case of delightful serendipity." Esparza took the bottle from Fidel and put it back into the cabinet. "Losing Kimena to cancer last March has left a void in your life, Fidel. I understand your pain, but you cannot fill it with drink."

"Leave him alone. Someone like you couldn't possibly understand what a loss like that means to a man."

His secretary entered the office. "They are here, sir."

"They are early. We will be ready for them shortly." Once she was gone, he said to them, "From this night forward you three will work together as you did in the past. The Sosa and Maldonado gangs have made substantial gains while you three neglected your enterprises to keep this meaningless feud between you going. Know this. I still have plans for all of us, but I am close to producing my flock without the need for fathers. If you cannot control yourselves, I will eliminate you, your wives and your daughters and start over with more compliant partners. Are we all clear about what I just said?"

He waited, forcing each one of them to look him in the eye and acknowledge his threat. "We will speak no more of this. We are once again one big, happy family. Come, brothers, we must be at our best for our German guests. They are beginning to suffer greatly now. They can use every bit of succor offered to them."

Esparza fetched Gustav Koenig and Kalman Martz rather than call for them. He was slapping each man on the back as he boisterously brought them into his office.

"At last, I have the pleasure of finally introducing you to the other two of my illustrious partners here in Mexico." Once the introductions were out of the way, he said, "Gustav, I am so pleased you and Heir Martz were able to get here. I understand it was a very dangerous journey for you."

Martz said, "The British sunk the U-boat we were to travel in before we arrived at the port. We had to take a flight out of Marseille to Tunis and from there to Casablanca using false documents."

"I am sure if Field Marshal Erwin Rommel had not been ill and your supply lines had been maintained, Egypt and Libya would still be yours."

"Exactly what do you mean by that, doctor?"

"Only that I am relieved and pleased you are both here. Northern Africa has become very dangerous for Germans." Esparza went to his desk and rolled out a map. "Come, have a look at this."

Martz led Koenig to the desk. "The tunnels are ready, then."

"We have stocked them with the rockets and canon shells you smuggled in to Mexico."

Koenig cleared his throat. "The canons are to be sent to the Russian Front instead."

"That is a shame. As you can see from this map, El Paso and Lubbock would have been easily within range of your canons. And one of those amazing secret flying weapons you told me about would have certainly made it all the way to Dallas."

Martz said, "The Fuehrer has altered his plans for conquering the United States."

"I am not surprised after your Japanese partners managed to lose almost their whole navy at the Battle of Midway and the Solomon Islands Campaign. The Americans are not holding back on either their celebrations or their push forward."

"I do not like your tone, Dr. Esparza."

"Then let me clarify for you. I am seeing you two tonight because I respect Gustav, but just as your great corporal has altered his plans, my plans have also changed." He rolled up the map. "Tell me, Heir Martz, is there any chance I might visit your residents of Treblinka, Belzec or Sobibor?"

"How do you know about them?"

"It is very possible, Kalman, that I know considerably more than you do about Operation Reinhard."

Martz reached for Esparza, but Koenig blocked him. "How do you know about that?"

"I do have other connections to Germany thanks to an extensive list of clients that visit my spas. Some of them have higher ranks than you and greater access to the inner workings of German Command. For example, I know what you were doing before you fled to Mexico."

"I did not flee to this inferior country."

"Let's not tell lies that are too big for our own good, Heir Martz. After Heydrich was assassinated, you were one of the principle commanders in the massacres at Lidice and Lezaky. You oversaw the deportation of the women of Lidice to Ravensbruck. For all I know, and I do know, you may have set the first match to burn those two villages to the ground."

"What else do you know?"

"Be satisfied that I know more. What I want from you now is access to the women in those camps. It is such a waste to just kill them. Many there could have great potential."

"Those people have no potential in them."

"Our standards are quite different, Kalman. Perhaps you could smuggle me in via submarine through the North Sea. It would take me less than a week to complete my assessments."

"That will not happen. This operation is at an end. We are through with Mexico and we are through with you."

Esparza opened the lower cabinet door on his desk and put the map into it. When he straightened back up, he held a Walther PPK equipped with a silencer. "I quite agree with you, Kalman." He fired three times into Martz's chest.

Koenig checked Martz. "Thank you, Dr. Esparza."

"Thank you for alerting me to Martz's mission to kill us all." Esparza put the Walther on the desk. "My friends, the Gestapo had determined that we represented both an inferior race and a security risk to them. They believed we were providing information to the Americans. Martz had never believed firing on the United States was a realistic plan. What did he call it when he described the plan to his superiors?"

Koenig chuckled. "The mad ravings of an inferior cabal led by a mentally defective doctor who masquerades as a native but is more than likely of Slavic Gypsy descent."

He said, "But you have been a member of the Gestapo from the beginning."

"I am true to my country, Bernardo. Hitler will leave it a ruin because he is mentally defective and refuses to accept that we have already lost the war. Mussolini is a useless, cowardly lout. The Japanese keep sending their young men to die though they have no naval power anymore."

Esparza said, "Except for a few of their very wealthy citizen, we will not be seeing any more visitors from those three countries until well after this craziness is over."

"Our army is now fighting on two fronts. They have made a grave error trying to take Stalingrad. Our men will needlessly starve, freeze and die."

"What are you going to do?"

"I will return because I can get the information the Allies need to them. I do not believe; however, that I will be able to help shorten this war." Koenig picked Martz up and slung him over his shoulder. "Good night, gentlemen. Peace and prosperity be with you all."

Esparza opened a door at the back of his office that led to the clinic's hospital wing. "Juan will show you where to take him."

"Was this performance for our benefit?"

"Bernardo, Fidel, Hernando, only you three can decide what benefit you have received tonight."

Fidel picked up the Walther. "Will we ever be privy to all that you have in that devious mind of yours?"

Esparza took out a bottle of French wine. "Come, my friends, we will not be able to enjoy such an excellent vintage as this again for many years. We shall have it with a fine dinner and good conversation. I have invited some beautiful and talented women to join us."

# Chapter 45

"This is stupid," Isidora said from the back of the Escalade. "Didn't you just hear the news report? They are looking for us."

Ralph drove Spencer's Escalade. She sat in the front passenger seat with the file on her lap. Menno Alfieri had insisted on sitting in the back with Isidora.

"They don't know it's you," she said.

"You are one blind, deaf and crazy bitch."

"That's enough," Price said.

"No it isn't. The news has linked witness reports of Nunez's Mercedes racing away and two men and a woman seen fleeing from the Valenzuela house with a quartet seen fleeing Spencer's office as four heavily armed men—you did catch the part about them being heavily armed, right?—attacked the Mesilla police car when it arrived before escaping in their vehicle. They have linked us to both locations. How long do you think it will take them to fill in the blanks on the BOLO with our names? And lest we forget, the heavily armed men are still out there looking for her."

Price parked the Escalade beside his van. "We will be as quick as we can. If you see anyone coming, get out of here."

"To hell with that, we're coming with you. Check the glove box. He might have a gun."

There was no gun in the glove box.

Lola, Benigna and Conchetta were gone. Price, Alfieri and Ramos Olivarez followed her to the library, losing ground because Isidora could barely walk. She had refused Alfieri's offer to carry her.

Three steps into the room, all the strength went out of her legs. She had to sit down on the chair she'd been in when Lola attacked her.

Isidora said, "What are we looking for?"

"They should be in the desk. I don't think Lola would have taken them; she had her own." The kicks to her abdomen were strong enough—stronger than her legs—to nudge her closer to the edge of the chair. She grunted. "Try the center drawer."

Isidora limped over to the desk. "And?"

"Look for key cards. There should be three of them."

"Are you all right?" Price came to her.

"Got them." Isidora held up all three.

"Are there any papers? When I was last here, I had this intense feeling that an answer was here."

Isidora checked through the desk again before shaking her head.

Alfieri asked, "Answer to what?"

She held her abdomen. "I thought I had it. On the way here, with that file on my lap, I went over what both Lola and Spencer told me. It all seemed to be concatenating into a coherent series of memories, the blue, the voices, my mothers. But now it's all gone again."

"Blue? You didn't mention any blue before." Isidora stepped back from the desk, staggered and dropped to the floor.

When Alfieri tried to pick her up, she swiped at him with the machete-shaped letter opener. "Leave me alone."

Price went to her, but she swung the letter opener at him too. "Isidora, what's wrong with you?"

"More like what's wrong with you? Why are we doing what she wants? She's the one who got us into this danger. And she's still holding out on us. Blue, what the fuck is blue?" She took out her phone and pressed a button, stabbing at Menno when he stepped closer again. "Hello, this is Isidora Ramos Olivarez. I want to speak to Police Chief Michael Plett."

Price and Alfieri tried to take her phone away but she swiped at both of them, nicking Price's wrist.

"I am one of the people witnesses saw at the Valenzuela house. Yes, that's right. I am the woman. There are four of us. I am at Beltran Nunez's house west of Mesilla. Chief Plett knows where it is."

Price and Alfieri no longer tried to get the letter opener or her phone from her. Alfieri started nodding in agreement with what she was doing and held Price back.

"Yes, that's right, Beltran Nunez." She spelled out his name. "He and his girlfriend were caught in the explosion. The other three with me were at Murray Spencer's law office when we were attacked." She waited for the questions to stop at the other end. "We escaped but I was wounded in the hip. No, they are gone. They had to leave me behind because of my wound. No, it isn't serious, but I can't move very well." She rolled her eyes and growled, "Because it hurts like a son of a bitch, that's why. Just tell Chief Plett to get here and bring as many people as he can. Those men at the law office are after us. There may be more of them. I'm in the library. I'll tell him everything I know. We all agreed to that." She finally looked up at them. "They will come in, but they are following up on something we learned at Spencer's office. It will assist the police." She began drumming her fingers on the floor as she waited. "My boss said we could trust him. I'm hanging up now. Two vehicles just arrived. I need to hide" She dropped the letter opener and pressed against her wound. "God, that woman just wouldn't shut up."

She said, "Why did you do that?"

"You've found all you're going to find here. Everything you need to fill in your memory is in that file and your own effing noggin. You must find a quiet, secure place to read it. If that doesn't work, maybe one of these two morons can smack you in the head a couple of times because running around like stupid, headless chickens isn't doing any of us any effing good."

Alfieri said, "She has a point."

"Shut-up and get me to the sofa."

He picked her up and set her on the sofa as carefully as he could.

"Shit, that hurts. Ow, FUCK! Jesus, you are about as smooth as a jackhammer and twice as stupid. Get away from me." She bent over in pain and pressed harder against her wound.

Price helped her get up from the chair and over to the sofa.

"If I had a gun right now, I'd shoot each of you between the eyes. Believe me, it would be no great loss. Are you going to do something or are you just going to stand around like stunned idiots until you hear sirens again?"

*****

"They almost got them," Cheryl said over the secure phone.

"Who? Where are you?"

"We're at the Bay of Arcachon, at its main port in the north. Marius didn't want to bring me or tell me at first. His name is Henri Laroche. He's a former DGSE agent. Apparently he had worked in Northern Africa and had been part of France's operations during the Northern Mali Conflict. At first, they thought he had been killed there, but then DGSE started getting reports of him being seen in Mali, Algeria and Libya. Eventually, they determined the reports to be reliable and concluded he'd been radicalized."

"How do they know it's him?"

"For one thing, the ASB attack is his style. Bombings are his main area of expertise."

"Did the French suspect there would be an attack?"

"Marius says no, but both DCRI and DGSE believed he was back in France and planning something. Their investigations had led them to Arcachon, but when they got to where he was supposed to be staying, it blew up. No one was injured because it was an abandoned building."

"But they did know he was there."

"They only received the intelligence yesterday. He was gone by the time the DCRI unit got here. He was seen boarding one of three yachts that all left together. When their coast guard closed in on them, all three of them blew up."

"Would Laroche kill himself?"

"Marius doesn't think so. He's too valuable to whoever he's working with to be sacrificed after just one operation."

"He could be on his way to Paris."

"They are working under that assumption because of the chatter they've heard since the explosion at ASB. From what Marius very reluctantly told me, Laroche is an embarrassment. They have alerts out to everyone but do not want the public to learn about him and what he's become. It would be comparable to Frank Gillett turning on us. He was one of their superstars in the trade."

"What do you think?"

"There are some in both departments who find it easier to believe he was radicalized rather than recruited into the Proteus Group. Marius warned me that there are factions at both DCRI and DGSE who adamantly deny such an organization can even exist, certainly not without a major government behind it."

"I've been briefed on that already. There is a growing consensus that we are returning to a Cold War dynamic or are already there. Suspecting Russia or China would be easier. They would know who they are fighting."

"They insist the Proteus Group is just a hoax and point to the Operation Gangrene Manifesto as exactly something an enemy nation would perpetrate. They believe the manifesto is nothing more than propaganda and should be ignored or, minimally, not given the credibility it is being given. There is even some concern the hoax has been perpetrated by Washington to counter the fragmentation of Western resolve since the Brexit vote, the weakening of NATO, the perception that many of its members are freeloaders. They keep pointing out in their assessment reports that no key member or leaders for the group have been identified or apprehended to date. The ones that have been caught have not added very much to our knowledge base."

"Hence, there can't be any real knowledge out there because the Proteus Group doesn't exist. It took over a year before we could dispel that disbelief on this side of the Atlantic."

"All smoke and no flame. We are getting just enough results to perpetuate the myth but with no real proof it's become an urban legend for the international intelligence community."

"But if we ignore or minimize the propaganda, we would just make every nation more vulnerable. We would be handing them even more material to work with. Russia, China, even North Korea has had their own problems that can be attributed to this group. Now France has the ASB bombing and other pending threats discovered by their own intelligence work. How much more will it take to convince them?"

"My impression is the ones who need to believe absolutely do or at least are willing to act as if the Proteus Group is real."

"What happens now?"

"Marius is taking me back to Paris. Once he arrives, he will be handing direction of the investigation over to DCRI. I don't think I will have access to any more information after that."

"Two people from our embassy will meet you there. Do what you can to stay in the loop."

*****

Kieran, Kirk's avatar, this time with his Jedi cape's hood up, and Muta were all on her laptop's screen.

Muta said, "I don't know how long my data jungle will keep him from finding us."

She asked Kieran, "Are you finished?"

"It's all set. I've lost contact with Sven and Gerhardt.

"I have too."

Muta said, "So have I." She looked off the screen. "They've found me." She vanished.

"I'll see if I can help." Kirk vanished.

Kieran's face expanded to fill the screen. "He'll put up a heroic effort, but it will only slow Pox a bit."

"Do you want to admit it first or should I?"

"Bugger, we've been betrayed."

"There is no way Pox could have done what he did to her without insider help. We have a traitor in the Creators Almighty, probably more than one."

"Who's missing? Who hasn't reported in?"

"I've lost track. Too many of them have gone dark. South America is empty. I might still have one drop remaining there."

"I see no stars in the Milky Way either. I've issued an all points to my location."

"You shouldn't have done that. We can't be sure."

"We've just admitted to it, my precious girl. You can't go back into denial now."

"They'll come after you."

"Let them. I'll get a chance to finally use it on someone. And don't be sitting there all smug and pretty. They have already come after you. I'd say you're in more danger than I am. Who the hell would bother to come all the way to Tralee just get their bloody giblets cut out?"

She growled, "You are—"

"So are you. See ya, pixie girl."

She tried Brazil again.

This time Zemar responded. "Lily, how are you?"

"I need your help."

"You need my help? Who worships at the altar and which one is the goddess?"

"This goddess and her fellow creators are in serious trouble."

"I had detected that much. What can I do for you?"

"I'm sending the package and instructions now."

# Chapter 46

In the thirty-five years that he, Fidel and Hernando had been associated with Dr. Renato Esparza, he and his brothers had become used to Esparza giving them orders that suited his purposes, arranging and managing their marriages and families. The night of August 18th, 1945 was no different. The world would never be the same after those bombs had been dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, but the lives of the Garcia Padilla brothers would forever be entangled with Esparza. If the Americans were to drop such bombs on Mexico City as a precaution against a future with Esparza in it, after thirty-five years, it was impossible to imagine even that severing their connection.

Fidel and Hernando, their wives of three years, Aidia and Enrica, and his wife of three years, Carmina, all pregnant with their second daughters, were requested to wait in the dining room of Esparza's Mexico City clinic's residence while he and the doctor met with the Germans. He was to bring Gustav Koenig, Dr. Tabor Baumann and the five others to Esparza in his office.

Esparza, consistent with their thirty-five years together, had drinks poured for everyone when he brought them in.

Koenig, looking much older and frailer than his sixty-three years, led Baumann, four other men and a woman into the office behind him. The woman, taller than all of the men but Koenig, had blond hair fastened in a bun at the back, blue eyes and a clean, pale complexion. She wore black slacks and a white blouse. Two extra buttons of the blouse were undone to provide a better view of her breasts.

Esparza said, "Please help yourselves to some very disappointing wine. My supply of French vintage has come to an end."

Baumann not Koenig was the first to take up a glass. Koenig sat down in a chair by Esparza's desk. Baumann took care of the introductions.

Three of the men, Edmund Hoch, Walter Kneller and Kurtis Protz, were all in their thirties, and to a man, affected a laughable air of arrogance and menace as each one of them was introduced. They were all former Totenkopfuerbände (Death's Head) officers of the SS-TV at Auschwitz and were now on the run. All of the guests were from Auschwitz.

Dr. Dietrich Raskoph and the woman, Magda Schlusser, had worked with Tabor Baumann and Josef Mengele at Auschwitz. Esparza was most interested in those two.

"I hope the flight from Buenos Aries was uneventful." He said to the three former SS-TV officers, "I will not delay you on your journey. The necessary documents are ready and I have three very reliable men waiting to escort you to your destination. Be at peace, gentlemen, you will soon be free of your pursuers."

Juan entered the office through the door to the clinic's hospital facilities.

"Juan will make sure you get to where you need to be." Once Juan had ushered the trio out of the office, Esparza poured out a glass of tequila for himself. "Gustav, I am dismayed." He drank all of the tequila. "Though, in all honesty, I cannot say I am surprised."

"Can you do anything for me?"

"Dear Gustav, you know I already have. Everything has been taken care of. The new identity and life for your copy is in place."

Dr. Raskoph said, "Are you certain about that, Dr. Esparza? We have received some incredible reports about what you claim to have accomplished here."

Esparza asked Schlusser, "How old would you say Heir Koenig is?"

"He told me he was sixty-three."

"Of course he did, but how old would you say he is based on his appearance?"

"Considerably older, Dr. Esparza."

"You see, Gustav, as this lovely young woman has just pointed out, you are far beyond any miraculous resurrection. But you will be reincarnated as promised under the terms of our agreement." Esparza chuckled and patted Koenig's shoulder as he walked past. "I had not expected to see you again, I must admit. Now that you are here, though, I insist you remain with us and allow us to provide you with the best of care. Let me make your last days as comfortable as possible."

Baumann said, "But you have made such progress with your work. You told me that when we talked last week."

"I have made significant progress, but my research has taken me back to the moment of conception, which always offers the greatest promise. Have either of you read the works of H.G. Wells or Jules Verne? Perhaps The Island of Dr. Moreau or The Mysterious Island has stirred your imaginations."

Raskoph said, "I have had little time to waste on such nonsense."

"They are innocent and quite ignorant of how the processes that were their subject matter truly work, but they are imaginative and inspiring nonetheless."

Baumann said, "Dr. Esparza, what does either of those works have to do with Gustav's deteriorating health or what recent breakthroughs you have achieved?"

"In Wells' Dr. Moreau we have a man of science attempting to, if you will, intercept and manipulate the process of evolution to advance animal species, to bring them closer to human form and thus closer to God. In the story, his tool was vivisection. Quite a quaint notion, I grant you, but it was merely a convenient method to present the ethical issues Wells had in mind for further exploration. Verne's Captain Nemo was attempting to end starvation by creating literally a larger supply of food." He poured himself more disappointing wine but offered none to his guests. "Our mutual friend most resembles a combination of those two approaches at the adult scale of one's inherited traits. But Gustav was already a man when I began treating him. He had been living for almost thirty years with the detriments the usual human imperfections and frailties bring to all of us. I could only enhance and prolong him for a specific time limit, which, I'm afraid, has run out."

Koenig sagged back into the chair, a man resigning himself to his fate, a fate Esparza had carefully designed and measured out for him.

"But where Moreau and Nemo failed, I have succeeded. I know to the smallest detail the very essence of what we are. I have completely identified the components that can produce such beautiful and captivating blue eyes as Magda has. It is, however, a complex process of identifying the proper sequences involved and then replicating them."

Raskoph said, "Then there is no hope for Gustav."

"I will conduct a complete analysis of him to learn what I can to improve my elixir, but Dr. Baumann, Dr. Raskoph, the only effective way to succeed is to control the input of ingredients before you even begin to create someone." He poured out a glass of wine and took it to Schlusser. "I believe Schlusser means 'keeper of the keys, a jailer.'"

She sipped the wine but said nothing. This was how it had also always been for thirty-five years. Esparza commanded the room. He mesmerized whoever was in it with him, controlled and manipulated their emotions, particularly their insecurities and their fears. He brought an obedient silence equal to that of the most rapt audience at a transcendent performance.

"How old are you, Magda?"

"Twenty-six." She spoke English with little accent.

"Do you understand what I have just said to the doctors, my dear?"

"I believe I do, Dr. Esparza. Dr. Mengele also went about his work all wrong."

Esparza clapped his hands and kissed her cheek. "Wonderful. You do understand. I will remember this evening thanks to you, Magda." He swirled around as though to start some celebratory dance. "Gentlemen, you are witness to one of those rare moments of absolute clarity. She is a revelation." He said to Koenig, "Dear Gustav, I am grateful to you for bringing her to me. Drs. Baumann and Raskoph will take you to your room now. I will look in on you later, my good friend."

Once Baumann, Raskoph and Koenig were gone, Schlusser said, "Hoch, Kneller and Protz will not be leaving here either, will they?"

"Gustav told me all about you, Magda. He told me Mengele was smitten with you, but there had never been any opportunity to act. He did keep you as his closest confident, however, until he fled Auschwitz this past January. Until then, he shared with you the results of his experiments."

"He did."

"How would you say they compare to mine?"

"They don't."

"Well, then, let's have a good look at you. Take off your clothes."

Schlusser's eyes shifted to look at him, but there was no plea for rescue or explanation in her glance. There was certainly no fear in her. She began to undress.

Esparza walked around her as she removed her clothes. "Do you think the United States will drop any of those terrifying bombs on your country?"

She shook her head as she removed the last of her undergarments. "We have already surrendered, and they need us as a buffer to the communists. They would be smarter to drop bombs on Moscow and Beijing as soon as possible."

Esparza stroked along her shoulder to her neck. He undid the bun to let her wavy hair drop to between her shoulder blades. "What a perceptive woman you are. Tell me, how would you go about making everlasting improvements to a race?"

With her arms at her side, her gaze watching Esparza circle her as best she could without turning her head, she said, "It does you no good to eliminate inferior species first. It is as you said, doctor. You must begin with the contributions from the mother and father. Learn all you can about what they bring to a child, what should not be allowed to contaminate the perfection. Then you compile a list of the attributes you want to see expressed, find the donors who can provide them and take the ones you need. I presume you have developed a technique to accomplish this at the moment of conception if not before. Only then can you overwhelm and replace the inferior ones."

"You are indeed a delightful revelation, Magda." Esparza caressed her left breast, though he wasn't likely interested in her sexually. "I have been able to finally do exactly that."

"We had heard about your success. Dr. Mengele was both jealous of you and eager to meet you, as was I."

"This is what der Führer thought was perfection, the future for the whole world. What do you think of her, Bernardo? Does she stimulate you?" He stroked along her stomach down to her thigh. "Is this something you want?"

"She is very intelligent and clearly very beautiful."

Esparza stopped behind her and cupped her breasts. "You are correct, my friend. She is quite beautiful and intelligent, but she is far from perfect." He squeezed each breast. He lifted the left one and then the right. "As you can clearly see, her left breast is just ever so slightly lower than her right. I would attribute that to some weakness of her connective tissue or perhaps in the flawed distribution of her fat cells. The right breast is also perceptibly smaller. Come, feel for yourself. It's quite obvious once you take hold of them."

Schlusser looked at the floor. Esparza had got to her. It wasn't that he had just detailed her imperfection; it was that she had disappointed him. Esparza was the master at getting to the heart of everyone's weakness.

"You are the doctor. I will defer to your expertise."

Esparza pinched her nipples before letting go. "Can you be loyal to me, Magda, to us?"

She raised her chin and stood at attention. "I can."

"You are a flawed specimen, Magda, but you are still an excellent example of a superior human being. For me, it is your intelligence I will need. We will marry." Esparza said to him, "It is time to consider what we can do for the people of Mexico. We will build more medical clinics for the poor, hotels, spa resorts and casinos for the rich. I believe Acapulco, Cancun and Monterey would be excellent locations for those. We will sponsor charities for unwed mothers with nowhere else to go. We will fund orphanages. We will support the artists of Mexico." He turned his attention back to Magda. "I know you will be an excellent asset for that as my wife. As for any of your other needs, Bernardo can satisfy them whenever he comes to Mexico City to visit us. But you two are not to produce any children. They would be abominations. Do you understand? Can you comply?"

"I do understand, Dr. Esparza, and I will comply."

"Good, I am pleased. Bernardo and I are going to have our dinner now. We have much business to discuss with his brothers. Remain as you are until I come back for you."

# Chapter 47

At the corner of Avenida de Mesilla and Calle de Parian, Lucy leaned forward, tapped his shoulder and said, "Turn right here, park at the Billy the Kid Gift Shop. It will be on your right two blocks down."

He followed her instructions, found a parking spot near the gift shop and parked the Explorer.

"Just give me a moment." Lucy sat back and closed her eyes. "We need to go to the Mesilla Police Department. Stay on this road to its end. Her name is Isidora Ramos Olivarez, twenty-four. She works for Ralph Price's Home Repair and Renovations. She, Price and another employee, Menno Alfieri, were working for a local pecan farmer, Beltran Nunez Gutierrez. There has been an explosion at a house and an attack at Nunez's lawyer's office. The three contractors were at the house and the office with Nunez's niece, Dr. Juanita Garcia Lopez. Someone is out to kill Dr. Garcia."

Ramona said, "All that just came to you, huh?"

"You know it doesn't work like that. The Police Chief is Michael Plett. He has just reported all this to the FBI. He's convinced everything happening here is connected to Nunez and the Proteus Group. One FBI unit is still here investigating the murder and incineration of a former employee at Karyon Research, his wife and his son. Joan was in charge of that investigation before Sage summoned her."

"Wonderful," Ramona said, "them again."

He asked, "Is Plett expecting us?"

"No, but you have FBI identification, don't you, Special Agent Adam Triplett? And Plett is very willing to cooperate."

Ramona grunted. "He'll want to get out from under this as soon as he can."

"Wait." Lucy grabbed hold of his shoulder. "Another member of the FBI's Proteus Group Task Force oversight committee has been found murdered: Congresswoman Amelia Palmer from New Orleans. It is the same as in Chicago. They were at their family cabin near Toledo Bend Lake. A group of agents sent to gather them up for protection found them. Her whole family was killed, husband, oldest daughter, fifteen and youngest, ten. They also found a puddle of bio-goo."

"Bio-goo?"

"That's what Sage calls it." She blinked rapidly. "End of report for now. You may proceed."

Police Chief Michael Plett was very cooperative before he even saw Frank's FBI badge. "Nyla Rowe called ahead. The one you want is in a cell in the back."

"You've arrested her?"

"She should be in hospital, but she insisted I needed to hear her whole story. Rowe called before she could get started. We put her in a cell so a paramedic could tend to her wound."

Lucy groaned and squeezed her eyes shut.

"Are you receiving something?"

"I thought I was but it's only oscillating static. I'm fine."

Isidora Ramos Olivarez was standing facing the door to the cell. "You can let me out of here unless you are arresting me."

Plett introduced Special Agent Triplett and his two associates to her. "You aren't under arrest, Isy." He opened the door, which wasn't locked. "My office will be more comfortable."

Ramos Olivarez swatted Plett's hand away when he offered assistance to her. "I know the way." She limped ahead of them to Plett's office.

Once she was settled on a couch, Ramona asked, "Can we get you anything before you start?"

"A little honesty would be good. Who the hell are you three, really?"

Lucy asked, "How painful is it?"

"Nice try, but I'm not so easily distracted. And you need to hear what I have to say. This has to go both ways or you can put me back in the cell."

Plett said, "Isy, Mesilla is under attack. You wanted the FBI. Here they are."

"That badge looked phoney to me."

Plett said to them, "She's a cranky young woman at the best of times."

"I've been shot, you know? Why are we under attack?"

Frank said, "They are making an example of you."

Plett said, "You told me it just nicked you."

"Who are they?"

Lucy stepped up to Isidora. "I might be able to help a bit with your pain if you'd let me."

"What have you got some truth serum with a narcotic in it?"

"She's always sarcastic."

"Better than that," Lucy said, knelt down and placed her fingers against Isidora's temples. "Just close your eyes and relax."

There was no glow to Lucy's fingertips or Isidora's temples. There were no sparks, hums, electrical discharge noises, grunts, gasps or sighs, only silence for over a minute.

Then Lucy ended her touch, stood up and stepped back.

"Holy shit." Isidora touched the red spot at her left temple and then her wounded hip. "Holy shit. How did . . . ? Holy shit, you're one of those people their talking about all over the internet, aren't you? You are one of those people from that freaky show in that park in San Francisco last year. Holy shit, it's all real."

Ramona said, "Start from the beginning and try to give us every detail you remember."

"Yeah, yeah, I know what I'm supposed to do. I know how unreliable witnesses usually are."

Plett said, "She's going to be a lawyer."

"Or a criminologist. And I'm not a witness. I'm a . . . idiot, that's what I am. We all are."

She provided them with a detailed and concise account of what had happened from the time her employer had accepted the offer from Nunez to renovate his house to Nunez's request to provide support against an imaginary ex-husband when he went to pick up his niece, Dr. Juanita Garcia Lopez, who wasn't really his niece, to the explosions at Nunez's girlfriend's house and then the attack at Murray Spencer's law office.

She finished with, "Nunez and Garcia were obviously both targets. Garcia is pregnant."

He said, "But she's fifty-one years old."

Isidora laughed as if he'd just told the funniest joke in the world. "Oh, man, I would love to see how you would have handled all this because she isn't only pregnant when she shouldn't be. She claims she hasn't been with a man for over three years." Isidora was the one shocked when she quickly realized they weren't. She scowled at the three of them. "But then, you X-file types probably know all about stuff like that already, don't you?"

Ramona asked, "How far along is she?"

"She wasn't precise other than to say she didn't want to be pregnant, she didn't care about the baby and it was developing faster than it should be."

He asked, "Do you think she was being honest?"

Isidora stood up and tested her hip. She grimaced. "I didn't like her from the start. She was arrogant and, in my opinion, bigoted, but the longer we were with her, the more fear I sensed in her. I think she has some idea of what is happening to her, the why and the how of it, but knowing that and the fact of a rapidly developing fetus inside her is terrifying to her. On top of that, someone, and she doesn't know who, which I do believe, found out she was coming here and is trying to kill her, probably not only because of who she is but because she is pregnant."

Lucy said to her, "Don't overdo it. That numbness won't last more than a few hours."

"Where are they now?"

"I don't know. I didn't want to know."

Plett said, "They are supposed to call when they are ready to turn themselves in. We haven't heard from them yet."

Isidora grabbed her hip and fell back onto the sofa. "You were wrong about how long it would last. Can you do that again?"

"You might lose consciousness if I do it a second time."

"Just my kind of luck today. What do we do now?"

Plett said, "I tried Ralph's phone, but it isn't on."

"They might have turned them off until they are ready to call or they disposed of them to avoid being tracked. Those gunmen were able to find either her or us at Spencer's office."

Ramona asked him, "Do we just wait for them to call?"

"Can you get any update from Sage?"

Lucy squeezed her eyes shut and shielded them from the overhead lights. "Something is interfering with my reception. I keep getting that same pulsating static."

"It could be our dispatch radio," Plett said. "It's on the other side of that wall. Maybe out front is better. We've never had complaints about cell phone reception in the lobby."

Isidora again swatted Plett's hand away though she struggled to get off the sofa. She limped over to his desk and pointed to a decorated ceramic skull on it. "Where did that come from?"

"Beltran brought them in yesterday. We normally don't allow them in the station, but he was finally volunteering again. I didn't want to disappoint him."

Isidora said, "They're all bombs."

Lucy said. "That's the pulses I hear. They're counting down. Get everyone out now."

Plett froze in the doorway.

"Get out of the way." Isidora pushed him hard to get him going.

The evacuation was quick. Everyone from the station crossed Calle Del Oeste to an open field of bare soil and patches of grass.

Once everyone was accounted for, Plett sent his deputies to evacuate nearby buildings. He then asked Isidora, "Are you sure about this? He was putting decorations everywhere, the plaza, at the basilica, everywhere."

"Garcia told us about them on the way to Nunez's place. That's what blew up the Valenzuela house. I guess I was in too much pain. I guess I'm not as good a witness as I thought. It slipped—"

A series of small explosions started in the Mesilla Police Department until one huge blast leveled the single-floor building.

His phone began ringing.

Rowe said, "Sage just told us something is happening at site one in Mexico. You need to get there as soon as possible. I've cleared it with Mexican officials."

He summarized what was happening in Mesilla.

"I'll get bomb disposal squads from the Army. Bring Ramos Olivarez back here. Joan and I are on our way. We'll recover Garcia, Price and Alfieri."

*****

Her Chief of Staff, Angela Donovan, entered the Oval Office carrying the notes she would need. "The press conference is scheduled to start in fifteen minutes. Morgan was just a few steps behind me. He stopped to get some updates. Senator Sutton is waiting on line two."

Trotter scanned the notes before picking up the phone. "Claudette, how are you doing?"

"No one ever gets used to shocks like that, Carol, but I'm holding up."

"Have they arrived yet?"

"Two wonderfully handsome and tall examples of our outstanding Secret Service got here fifteen minutes ago. Randi has been flirting with both of them. That girl has no shame."

Randi groaned her protest in the background.

"You and Amelia were good friends. I am sorry."

"She was almost as bright as my Randi. They were all lovely. Michelle had just turned fifteen. Alice was only ten." She sniffed loudly. "Oh, God, I'm going to be blubbering again in a minute." Sutton took a few seconds. "What do we know about the two murders?"

"Aside from their obvious connections to each other, you and the task force oversight committee, the investigators also found biological residue at Van Biert's home and the Palmer's cabin. It's similar to the residue of the policeman found at SFGH."

"I will bet when you were planning to run for president you never thought you would ever be saying things like that. They are trying to extract DNA from this residue, yes?"

"I've been advised it could take between three and seven days to get something useful or they may only get fragments that won't tell us anything."

Morgan Jones, her National Security Advisor, entered the room and stood beside Angela.

"Call me if you need to talk. I will let you know as soon as we learn anything new." She said to Morgan, "You will have to be quick."

"Chase suffered a concussion, two broken arms, a broken ankle, a dislocated shoulder and elbow, and a number of cuts and bruises, but he's in stable condition. He insists he will be back to work tomorrow."

"What do the doctors say?"

"They are doing every test they can think of to identify the concoction Weinberg injected into him. So far, Chase has shown no obvious symptoms of anything. The doctors have found nothing unusual, no foreign substances and no striking increases or decreases in what is normally found in a human body."

"Mesilla?"

"Bomb disposal units and three more FBI units are on their way there now. Nunez put the decorations at key sites, but no one knows if all of them are IEDs. The pattern appears to be a number of smaller explosions followed by a larger one. That is what happened at the police station and the bank. It's going to be a slow process."

"You two are doing your best to make me appear evasive."

"Sorry, Madame President," Angela said. "We just do not have enough information at the moment."

She dropped the one sheet of notes. "I won't address the fungus issue for now or the attack on ASB other than to offer our sympathy, support and cooperation to the French." She checked the time. "This press conference might go down in history as the one where the president truly didn't know what she was talking about."

Angela said, "I put in a call to Hammat Sangha at Fort Mead. He and his team are familiar with Muta and Pox. They might be able to assist Lily Wiley and her people or have something that can stop the both of them. Muta may have been helping us, but according to Hammat, she is not something we want loose on the internet."

"I thought she already was."

Morgan said, "Perhaps I should do this one. You can preside over the next one when we have more information to disseminate."

"No, you two keep on top of all of it. I'm depending on both of you, as well as Cheryl, to make me look brilliant and in control by tomorrow afternoon at the latest."

# Chapter 48

Dr. Carpenter checked his pulse and blood pressure. Dorothy Cooper, Cedric Hutt and John Atchison left his private room at SFGH while Carpenter completed the last of the concussion protocols on him. Inspector Scott Kozlowski remained in the room, following another protocol, because his two DHS agents had not arrived yet.

Carpenter said, "Everything is progressing nicely, Mr. Chase. You should be able to leave in two or three days."

"That is not how it feels."

Carpenter grimaced. "I do not know if you will regain full use of your right hand, and the radius and ulna of your left forearm each have three small fractures."

"Only three? How many screws?"

"The fractures of your left leg below the knee and your right ankle do not require surgery. Your left elbow should heal just fine."

"There's that."

Cooper led Hutt and Atchison back into the room once Carpenter was gone.

Dorothy held a cell phone to his ear. "It's Agent Rowe."

"Nyla."

"How are you feeling, Tim?"

"I have casts on my left and right forearms, one on my left leg and one on my right ankle and I'm wrapped up like a mummy. What have you got for me?"

"Congresswoman Palmer and her family were murdered exactly the same way as Van Biert and his family were." Rowe then went down her list to bring him up to date, covering the discovery of Beltran Nunez's plot to plant IEDs all through Mesilla and set them off during the Day of the Dead festival. "We have not established a link between him and the group yet, but Sage is sure there is one." Sage Lomax had confirmed a link between Dr. Juanita Garcia, her inexplicable pregnancy and the Isabellas Frank and Ramona were looking for.

"Frank and Ramona are going back to Mexico. They are taking Tye Rosen, Herman Kolisnek and Gwen Hunter with them. Sage is sure Dr. Garcia can help them find the women once we bring her in. She does not know who is after her, though."

"You put a lot of faith in a sick little girl."

"It's been justified in the past," Thomas Ferris said and quietly closed the door.

Every one of his other guests stepped back. Kozlowski reflexively reached for his gun.

"I get that from Frank all the time, too, and he's been with me for over a year now."

"It's not him," he said.

On the other end of the call, Rowe said, "Sammy Fitzpatrick is in protective custody. We haven't located Erwin Baber yet. I'll keep you up to date until your own people can take over. You should send Dorothy, Cedric and John back as soon as you can. Sage says she needs them."

"Their ride just arrived." Cooper took the phone away. "This is Thomas Ferris. He will be taking you back to Las Cruces."

"Can you give us a few minutes?" Ferris said to Inspector Kozlowski, "I'd like you to stay."

"He doesn't have the security clearance."

"I just gave it to him." Ferris sat on the edge of the bed. "My company has purchased Karyon Research and Novus Somnia."

"A Southeast Asia pharmaceutical company was after them."

"Consider it a cooperatively hostile takeover. Reginald Tate wanted out. He helped me leverage the purchase of Novus Somnia. We will do a complete forensic audit of all research and development at each company to see what we can learn about what my father's been up to."

"Don't you mean what the original has been up to?"

"He's placed his Isabellas and their offspring all over the world. He wants them to become known, he's just managing the timing of their discovery and what happens after that."

Kozlowski asked, "Are they infected?"

"They're GMOs," he said, "like hardier corn or wheat."

"It's not that simple, Tim."

"If they aren't carrying disease, what does Weinberg want from them?"

Ferris went over to the window and looked out. "Weinberg is offering the means and material for a new weapon. He believes discovery of them will start a genetic engineering war."

"Limited research on human genetics is already permitted."

"He wants to accelerate that. He intends to disclose his methods and results to everyone."

Chase sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. For a moment, Ferris disappeared against the flare of light coming in through the window behind him. "He wants to turn the world into a cesspool of mutations."

"You know what he claims: manifest destiny is really mutated destiny."

Kozlowski said, "Sounds like just another go at eugenics, Weinberg's own psychotic attempt to improve the species."

Ferris moved away from the window. "It's nothing as prosaic as that. He is not trying to reach some pinnacle of human evolution. He knows evolution is not leading anywhere in particular other than survival of each species' gene pool in response to changing environments."

"Then what does he want?"

Ferris shrugged, which was likely the same first response they would get from Weinberg to that question. "He just wants to see what will happen next, if anything."

"That's not prosaic?"

"Why the fungus then?"

"I didn't say he could resist manipulating the environmental stresses on humans. He's just pushing us closer to the tipping points to see who will still be standing once everything balances out again. By providing his methods, he wants to see who, if anyone, will be first to come up with successful adjustments."

"We are not his personal science project."

"Despite appearances, he isn't actually being a megalomaniac hell bent on destroying all life on earth. He accepts that everything he is doing might amount to very little and leave no lasting change for better or worse. He doesn't believe he is trying to be God. He is just a sociopath with absolutely no conscience and an intense curiosity to see what will happen if."

"You ought to know better than anyone what he is."

Kozlowski took his turn looking out the window and, Chase realized, had finally stopped tracking every move Ferris made. "You make him sound like a child who hasn't learned any better yet. I was there when he unleashed his modified jellyfish toxin on San Francisco. That was a cold, calculated attempt to horribly kill hundreds if not thousands of people."

"Just another experiment for him, a proof of concept," Ferris said.

"Fuck him if it was. Look, you two are supposed to know more than anyone else about the Proteus Group and Weinberg's involvement with them. Would they agree with what he's doing given the danger it presents to even them?"

Ferris chuckled, which only made his resemblance to his progenitor all the more chilling. "Should I tell him or do you want to answer that question, Tim?"

"Over the last few years, driven by our lack of success identifying any key members of the group, the ones calling the shots, some analysts have proposed that the Proteus Group is just Weinberg's ultimate feint, the ultimate ruse to keep us all distracted while he goes about with his plans."

"But it's supposed to be this huge international organization. It uses cells that operate independently. Most of those cells don't know the real reason they are doing what they are doing once they are activated. They don't know who is giving the orders. No one knows."

"Hence the theory."

"With everything that's happened these past three years or so, no matter how independent every cell is, it's reasonable to presume a de facto organization exists now, isn't it?"

"Weinberg certainly wants us believing that."

"You're implying Weinberg's motivation is reason to be suspicious."

"I'm not implying anything about Weinberg other than we have no basis to believe any intelligence we have about him and the Proteus Group is valid and reliable."

"He's going to come after his three prizes. It's inevitable."

"Despite your unique insights into him, I don't consider anything inevitable where Weinberg is concerned except that he is always willing to make the sacrifices that benefit his plan."

Kozlowski said, "Whatever the fuck that is."

"Precisely. Thomas, you have already suggested a laissez-faire attitude to a future with his creations let loose in it. Why should those three matter more than any of the others?"

"They mean something to him. All of the others are just 'let's see what happens' to him, but look at the amount of work he put into Sage and Jane. And Grace is his daughter. Though not the original, she is his one true offspring."

"Yes, if you believe him, from a relationship he had over six hundred years ago."

"I know the credibility issue of a lunatic keeps cropping up, but as elusive as his true motivations and goals are, as hard to believe as his legend of himself is, we can't deny what he is capable of. That evidence is staring right at us."

Kozlowski said, "We could use those three against him to set a trap."

"We only know where Sage and Jane are."

He said, "Grace and Ricardo are living under false identities in a Sao Paulo favela."

"What about the boy?"

"The boy wasn't his idea. Weinberg was just fulfilling an agreement to get what he wanted."

"What boy?"

"Sorry, Inspector, I have to agree with Director of Research Programs Security, Chase. You do not have the clearance for that information." Ferris said to him, "I need a sample of your blood, Tim. We may have better luck finding out what he put into you than a conventional medical laboratory would."

His two DHS agents entered the room as Ferris took a metal case out from the inside pocket of his jacket. It appeared to be a case to hold three cigars, but Ferris removed a syringe from it.

The two agents reached for their guns.

"It's all right," he said to them.

Once Ferris had his two samples, he said to Kozlowski, "I would appreciate your assistance in Las Cruces, Inspector, if SFPD can spare you."

"At the moment, I am on loan to DHS."

Ferris said to him, "Scott does have a point, Tim. We still have two of the three trump cards. The one you have is in a secure location and you have eyes on Grace. If he is determined to retrieve them, you might have the best chance of any of us to get him. I would suggest you take more men next time and render him unconscious as soon as you can."

He sent one of his agents with Ferris, Kozlowski and the three Apostles to make sure they left.

He said to the other one, "Give me my phone."

The agent placed it in his left hand. His thick, useless fingers would not grasp it. "Push number three."

The agent did as he was told, careful not to knock the phone from his boss's hand.

Equally carefully, he raised the cradled phone to his ear. When Dr. Sally Kerr answered, he said, "Is everyone there?"

"Yes, Mr. Chase. Drs. Howard Finlay and Calvin Mead are here with me. The phone is on speaker. It is scrambled and secure. Two guards stand at the door inside and out."

"As per Protocol Directive Omega One of the Proteus Initiative, I order the termination of Dick and Jane and Spot."

Kerr said, "They pose no danger to anyone. They are secure here."

"You have your orders."

"We can operate on Jane, remove her talons. She will be harmless."

"You can do nothing anymore, Dr. Kerr, but what I tell you. You are being shut down. I'm sending Colonel Steven Moyer to supervise the closure of GRC Puerto Rico."

"They are only children, Tim. You can't make them then dispose of them as if they are biomedical waste."

"I didn't want to make them."

"We didn't want to make them either," Finlay said. "We were doing serious medical research here before Cliff and Weinberg barged their way in and took over."

"They are too dangerous. Jane would be every bit as lethal without her talons."

"They can be rendered—"

"I don't care what you think you can do. They are monsters and they are to be terminated as soon as possible."

Mead hollered into the phone, "We can't murder them. We won't."

"My men will assume command of the compound. Follow their orders or you will be detained and charged."

Kerr said, "They are not the monsters, Tubby." Her voice trembled. "If we are to abide by Omega One, we need twenty-four hours to prepare."

"Moyer will be there tomorrow. Be ready to proceed by the time he arrives."

With help from his agent again, he called Naval Intelligence at Guantanamo next. "Colonel Steve Moyer, please. It's Tim Chase, Director of Research Programs Security in Washington."

The base receptionist, a dull young man, put him through promptly.

"Tim, how are you?"

"I need your help."

"I don't work for you anymore, Tim."

"It's one you worked on before you abandoned my ship to join Naval Intelligence."

"Tim, I keep telling you, you should never try to be funny."

"It's the ones in Puerto Rico."

"What's the problem?"

"Omega One priority, those freaks are to be terminated. I need you to make sure they do it."

"It's about fucking time. I can be there in three hours."

"Good, they aren't expecting you until tomorrow. Leave no trace of anything. No one gets back to the mainland."

He called Senator Roland Cliff at his home. "Senator Cliff, please. It's Tim Chase calling."

He was put on hold for over three minutes.

"What is it? Why did you call me here?" Cliff growled so hard he began coughing before he could say anything else.

"I'm invoking Protocol Directive Omega One for Puerto Rico. I am required to notify you of such action."

"You are required to seek permission from the three project supervisors." Cliff endured another bout of severe coughing before adding, "You can't just act alone."

"I have called you. You will call the other two and secure their permission."

"Why now?"

"Weinberg is destabilizing everything. In a situation like this, a path of investigation will quickly develop that could lead straight to the people responsible. That path can be redirected or blocked if the ones in charge are prepared to do what is necessary. It can be obliterated if they are prepared to act quickly."

"What's your point, Tubby?"

"My point, Senator, is this. Your people decided to make the boy for reasons of your own and then, against my advice, made a deal with Weinberg to get it done. Now Weinberg is using the name of your project against the world. And if the boy's existence becomes known, the path will most certainly end at your door. Tell your boys this could—"

"I don't need to tell them anything."

"Tell them, Senator."

"Don't threaten me, Tubby. I put you there. I can just as easily have you removed."

"It needn't come to that. I am confident we can solve this problem."

"Don't use that condescending tone with me. You aren't anymore immune to the threat than we are."

"I was merely trying to sound positive. We can still delete the path that might be forming if we act quickly."

Cliff coughed again. "Of course, Tim, that's what we all want. Do what you must. I will call the other two and secure authorization."

He dropped the phone onto the bed. "Get me out of here."

# Chapter 49

"Can you do it?" Bernardo finished his third drink of tequila.

"I have the requisite samples preserved, yes," Esparza said. "But it will not turn out the way you expect. I speak from personal experience on the matter."

"I will accept what comes. How soon can you do it?"

"For years I have watched you consume alcohol every time you are confronted with such intense personal challenges. Why do you persist? Drink does not give you courage nor does it numb the pain."

"She was the only one I ever loved."

"I too was saddened to learn of Mirella's death, but this will not bring her back. You have been witness to many of my negotiations in this clinic. You must surely know what will come of your request."

"Just do as I ask."

"Come with me." Esparza took the bottle of tequila from him before he could waste anymore of it.

"Will you do it?"

"You, Fidel and Hernando have never taken any interest in my work. I had hoped having witnessed the clientele that has passed through my clinics and the results we have given them would entice you to be more curious."

"Your work is an affront to both God and nature."

"And yet you come to me to fulfill your most desperate wish." Esparza led him through the door to the hallway that would take them to the clinic's hospital wing. "This is a new age of enlightenment, Bernardo. Soon, we will see men on the moon. Such superstitious ignorance is unacceptable. I have made the mistake of believing I could overcome such nonsense, but I have learned it can be impenetrable. I lost six wonderful specimens pushing against that wall."

"I had not heard of this."

"I found out while you were on your way here. I returned a group of women to their village in the forests to the south. As their pregnancies progressed, they were believed to be possessed by demons. Every one of them was murdered by their own families. From this point forward I will keep the ones that come from such origins at the clinics until they deliver. We will need to increase our residential capacity."

Esparza unlocked a door and led him along another corridor. Grey and featureless, ten meters in length, it took them to an elevator. Esparza had to insert a key and turn it to open the elevator doors.

"After you, Bernardo." Inside the elevator, Esparza repeated the process to close the doors and start the elevator's descent. "Those imbeciles really did believe we were building tunnels for weapons. I do not find it surprising at all that they lost both wars."

The elevator opened onto what could be the lobby of any of their resort hotels. A marble floor and matching marble columns shimmered in the artificial brightness. Chandeliers hanging from an arching ceiling rising eight meters above the 'lobby' provided the dazzling illumination, Esparza's attempt to simulate a sunny day. The ceiling was covered by a fresco of Mexican geography and life. There was no counter where staff would register guests, though. Instead, this vast octagonal chamber had two sets of double doors on each of its walls.

"Let me show you something over here."

Esparza took him to doors immediately to their right. No identification distinguished this pair from any of the other fifteen sets of doors. No plaque or sign described what was on the other side of them. There were no biohazard warnings in place.

"You haven't been down here for quite some time. It is very different now from what you remember."

The first laboratory contained animals. Terrariums held spiders, lizards, snakes and countless crawling or flying insects.

"At first we had only venomous invertebrates in here, but our research has expanded to include other possibilities."

"I thought you were only interested in human beings."

"All of this is related, Bernardo. Take a look at this." Esparza brought him over to a terrarium large enough to lie down in. "What do you see?"

"A branch twenty centimeters in diameter at its thickest end and tapering to a much smaller end that appears to have had a piece snapped off. I would estimate it to be close to two meters long and has two crooks in it."

"Well done. What else do you see?"

He stepped closer. "Moss, a shallow pool of water along the bottom, rocks piled at one end."

"And?"

"Bones, likely from small mammals and reptiles. What is the point to all this?"

Esparza tapped the glass wall. A brown centipede camouflaged against the branch changed color along the back of its segments to a brownish-orange, raised up the front third of its body and hissed at being disturbed.

"How long would you say that creature is?" He tapped the glass harder.

The centipede hissed again, louder and hotter, emitted steam or a fog from its sides and then spat a sticky green substance out at the glass wall before scuttling off the log into the crevices between the rocks.

"Mother of God, it is as long as that branch."

"That would make it also two meters long. It is a half-meter wide and weighs close to thirty kilograms."

"Where did you find it?"

"It is an Amazonian giant centipede."

"They do not grow that big."

"Their ancestors did. That capability is still there if one knows how to turn it back on."

"Why would you do that?"

"Doing that led to your own personal improvements. I have had to let research into heritable traits and the genetics of all living things lead me where it will. Every bit of knowledge that I can gather from every kind of organism provides insights that will always take me back to the true nature of how we turn out the way we do and what more we might be capable of."

"I fail to see what a centipede can tell us about ourselves."

"Then it is better that I am the scientist and not you. You are incapable of appreciating the advances I have made in genetic manipulation since Watson and Crick revealed to the world how simple the process of storing, revealing and modifying the fundamental blueprint of what we are is. Those stupid Germans were hardly any more enlightened than you. There was such a gap between what they and I knew that I saw no benefit in their work and no reason to share the results of mine." He tapped the glass but the thing wouldn't come out of its cover. "Those antennae on its front and rear that you probably failed to notice are not natural to it. Centipede antennae usually point backward not forward and they do not have any at the rear. These ones can deliver quite a jolt, like an eel or a catfish. It may not stun someone as big as you but it has other weapons. The cloud it emitted and that poisonous sputum that we have to keep cleaning from these glass walls contain a toxin that can kill a man your size in less than twenty seconds."

"What good will all this do you?"

"These are simple creatures. Their nervous systems are little more than stimulus-response mechanisms that drive them to hunt, kill, feed and mate. If we could control them using some external device, we could send them against our enemies."

"It is a vainglorious weapon. A good pair of sturdy boots would soon put an end to it."

"Perhaps this might change your mind."

At a terrarium half the length of the first but six feet high, it was easy to spot what resided inside. Pale pinkish-white pine snakes ranging in length from thirty to ninety centimeters coiled and straightened as they hung from the underside of the terrariums lid. Four short appendages at their tale end held them in place against the wire mesh fastened to the lid.

"They secrete a sticky gel that lets them stick to the glass surface. We have not yet found anything than can dissolve it to prevent it from building up on the glass until the lid becomes useless. It is very toxic, too. I am already harvesting it for various other applications."

Before he could take a closer look, Esparza directed him to another locked door that opened into an observation room overlooking a pen holding the biggest jaguar he had ever seen.

"You asked how any of this helps my research on humans. These are just the successful results. Most of my experiments fail, but those failures, Bernardo, often provide more insight for me than the successes I have shown you."

"You will not dissuade me with such veiled threats. I know you can grant my request."

"She will not be Mirella and you must abide by all the conditions of our agreement as every other client has or suffer the same consequences. You need to understand this clearly, Bernardo. There have been problems with psychoses, murder and mayhem when I have resurrected loved ones for other clients. Part of the blame lies with the accelerated development required if the original was an adult. They suffered extremely short life spans and premature death from either cataplasia or destructive genetic mutations and replication errors. That is why you must let her develop in the normal way."

"I have already told you I agree to your terms."

"Then, my friend, you can expect to have an adorable new niece to dote over before this year ends. And to show my good faith toward you, I will also provide her with a companion." Esparza slapped him on the back. "A Japanese acquaintance has been asking for the same thing as you. Three new baby girls would be a nice addition to my growing family. Shall we go back? I believe your brothers and their families will be here soon."

"I didn't think they would ever come here again."

"I sent special invitations to them to bring their whole families. Your family is also on its way here."

Though Esparza had arranged an elaborate Garcia Padilla family reunion, Fidel and Hernando were not with their distraught wives and daughters when they arrived. Once his family arrived, Esparza left Magda to play hostess and took him to the library.

Fidel and Hernando were bound in chains and on their knees in the center of the room. Each of his beaten brothers had two armed men guarding them.

Esparza prevented him from going to them.

"I have reached the end of my patience with all of you."

Two more men entered the library behind Bernardo and took up positions beside him.

"This year we are expanding our resort hotel business to Mazatlan, Puerto Vallarta and Ensenada. For two decades I have worked as hard as I can to create a veneer of legitimacy and respectability within Mexican society for you three. For the most part, I have succeeded. Still, every time I take a closer look I find you three continue to undermine my efforts because you are unable to control your compulsions for philandering and violence."

Hernando looked up at Esparza and spat blood onto his carpet. "What would your precious society think of the atrocities you carry out on its women and children?"

One of Hernando's guards kicked him in the back, sending him forward onto his face.

"Stop!" Esparza helped Hernando back up to his knees. "I can offer you three no more latitude. Bernardo, your marriage and Fidel's are in ruins. You cannot keep your hands off any woman who comes near you. The ones I send you should be enough for your needs. Fidel has beaten Aidia and anyone else who tries to get close to him. His daughters are terrified of him." He grabbed Hernando by the hair and pulled his head back. "And you are the worst of all. Do you know what your youngest brother does? Do you know what danger he puts us all in?"

With a hard push, Esparza sent Hernando back to the floor. "He frequently deserts his family to go hunting. Every time he does he leaves behind bodies of rival gang members." He held up his hand. "Do not attempt to justify his recklessness. As a result of his bloodlust, I have been forced to negotiate certain contractions and concessions to our more private businesses."

"We do not need to contract any—"

"Shut-up, Bernardo."

The guards put their guns to the back of his brothers' heads. The two beside him did the same to him.

"We will sever our connections to the South American cartels and focus our energy on our Nicaragua and Mexico operations. I must have your promises of complete obedience. This is the last time I will ask. Any breach by any of you and I will have all of your families exterminated, and that includes the one we have just agreed to, Bernardo." He sighed. "I am deeply saddened that it has come to this, but you have forced me to take these steps. Do I have your promises to comply or do we bring this all to an end tonight?"

# Chapter 50

"Why come here?" Price parked his van outside the closed chain link gate to Nunez's warehouse. "Mike will come here soon enough."

"He and the FBI will be too busy dealing with the explosions at the police station and the bank. And he won't find us when he finally does come here unless we want him to."

Alfieri said, "What exactly is happening here? And why is it happening here? This is Mesilla, for God's sake. We're nothing."

She swiped the first security card through the electronic lock. "There is no such thing as nothing to these people because they can make anyplace significant simply by targeting it."

"What people?"

The gate slid open. She took them to the huge warehouse and swiped the second card. The lock beeped and clicked and the door swung slightly inward. "This might give you some idea."

She went in first and stepped aside to allow Alfieri and Price a clear view.

"Jesus Christ. What does a pecan farmer need with all this?"

"This way."

Alfieri said, "We should arm ourselves."

"Unless you've had commando training, nothing here is going to do you any good. Our best chance of surviving this is to stay hidden until the police or FBI or military can bring us in." She said to Price, "Do you think Isidora can convince Plett?"

"It's a moot point after those explosions. The real question is whether there is anyone out there to come for us."

Alfieri picked up an AR-15.

"Dr. Garcia's right, Menno, leave it."

She took them across the warehouse floor to a lowered door. Once Alfieri had raised it to reveal the heavy metal door behind it, she took out the third card and swiped it through the lock. Even with it unlocked, both Price and Alfieri had to push on it to get it open.

"Beltran could open that by himself." At the bottom of the stairs, she turned on the lights and pointed to the door to their right. "That's cold storage."

Alfieri peeked through the small window. "Did your uncle who wasn't really your uncle have cannibals as clients?"

She took a look at the three men hanging on meat hooks. One was headless.

Alfieri said to Price, "I'm glad we never got started on the job. God only knows what we might have found tucked away in some cubbyhole."

A concrete cubicle twelve feet square across from the cold storage room contained a table with four chairs around it as well as three armchairs and a small desk with a laptop on it.

Price opened the laptop. "It's working. Can we use it?"

"Try Mirella as the password." She spelled it. "It's connected by Ethernet cable, so we should be able to communicate with the outside."

Alfieri was signed on as soon as he typed in the password. "Good guess."

Price said to Alfieri, "See if you can get an update on what's happening in Mesilla." He then sat in one of the armchairs. "You said you needed some quiet time."

She sat at the table and opened the file. "There isn't as much here as Spencer thought. Most of it details Beltran's activities while he was in Mexico as one of The Three Butchers and then what criminal activities he continued with as Nunez Gutierrez once he settled in Mesilla."

Alfieri said, "FBI and army bomb disposal squads are either in Mesilla or on their way. It looks like Nunez had put IEDs everywhere. Official word is most of them were probably meant to explode during next week's Day of the Dead festival during specific events at each site. No more have gone off."

"Why in Mesilla?"

She turned back to what Beltran had labeled the PG section. "Beltran was linked to an international crime syndicate called the Proteus Group. He was their independent cell in Mesilla. He was also an informant for Homeland Security, though he doesn't identify who he was working with. He only provided the specific information he was instructed to provide. It led to arrests but kept authorities distracted from the bigger operations being planned."

"Again, why put a cell in Mesilla?"

Alfieri brought up a news site on the laptop. "Two senators have been murdered within the past twenty-four hours. And it wasn't just them. Their whole families were wiped out."

"This group has cells all over the world. No one knows how many. It appears Beltran was following instructions from someone he called the doctor. There is nothing here about any coordinated efforts with other cells or why he was doing what he was doing. His instructions were specific to his assignment without any explanation."

"The doctor?"

Alfieri asked, "How old was Nunez. He looked to be in his late seventies. He couldn't really open that door on his own, could he?"

She turned to the MEXICO section of the file, gasped and jabbed the page with her finger. Neither Price nor Alfieri came to see what she had found.

Price asked, "What have you got?"

"The doctor could be Dr. Renato Esparza Escobar. He is the one who made me."

"Made you?" Price got up and came to the table. "He's your father?"

"No. That story about my father being a lower-ranking member of a gang is mostly a smoke screen. Beltran wrote down the real story in a form of coded Spanish in this part of his file. Spencer wouldn't have been able to read it. He would only have access to the legend of my birth."

Alfieri said, "Two origin stories. You must be very special."

"In a very disturbing way, I am. This encoded origin story claims I was created by Esparza in response to a request from Bernardo Garcia Padilla."

"That was Nunez in Mexico."

"I am a copy—a version is a more accurate term—of Bernardo's first wife, Mirella, the only woman he ever truly loved."

Alfieri said, "Not such a good guess, then."

"Lola told me three like me were made. I'm the only one who survived. The part of the story Spencer told us about my mother being forced to give me up for adoption is the only part of that story that is true."

"Stuff like that isn't possible now let alone fifty years ago."

"According to this file, Esparza was accomplishing just such cloning almost a century ago. He spent the twentieth century perfecting his techniques. He had quite a few failures along the way. Some were horrendous—"

"What is it?"

"One of Esparza's first experiments was increasing both the strength and lifespan of Bernardo, Fidel and Hernando Garcia Padilla. The man you knew as Beltran Nunez Gutierrez, the man Menno thought appeared to be in his late seventies, was one hundred and twenty-eight years old."

Alfieri whistled. "Didn't look a day older than. . . ."

Price said, "Explains the door."

"One of the things I remember about the three brothers and their families were all of their children were daughters. None of them had a son until Bernardo produced Hector Garcia Ortiz thirty-two years ago, just as his gang was fragmenting and contracting into a much smaller operation. Beltran's brother, Fidel, kept Hector in Mexico and raised him to become leader of the gang. But what is significant about all this is none of their daughters survived past young adulthood. Through successive marriages arranged by Esparza, the three Garcia Padilla brothers had almost two dozen daughters between them, but not one of them lived past thirty. They would be there as part of the family, some of them even married, but then they just vanished. I remember going to two of the funerals when I was somewhere between eight and ten years old."

"You think they were part of Esparza's early experiments."

"Bernardo wanted to resurrect his one true love shortly after he received news of her death from cancer, though they hadn't seen each other for over thirty years. Esparza was creating these reincarnations, these resurrections for the rich elite all over the world back then. It was highly secretive and there were strict rules everyone had to abide by or else. I was created along with two others that I now believe were back-ups in case I failed to survive. Bernardo had to treat me as his niece in accordance with his agreement with Esparza."

"Hence the one legend of your origins as being the product of an illicit love affair."

Alfieri asked, "Are there any legends for the origins of your two sisters in there?"

"Those stories were probably deleted once they died, or else they were blended in with mine."

Alfieri said, "No wonder you have holes in your memory."

"Beltran could never reveal the truth or Esparza would have us all killed, every last member of his family. Apparently he had done that a number of times."

"He had that kind of power over them?"

"We can presume he did. It is noted in the file."

"Sounds like he did that anyway if none of them survived."

"Those daughters were steps along the way in the progress of his research."

"You survived."

She put her hand on her abdomen. "I did more than just survive."

"He did that to you. Where the hell is this Esparza guy? How old would he be?"

She ran her finger down the page as if looking for the answer, though she had already found it. "Beltran only put three question marks next to Esparza's age. And look here." She showed Price the entry.

"Nunez believed Esparza was the man whispering in your ear in your dream. Does that help you?"

"I hardly remember him. My adoptive parents had little to do with The Three Butchers. When any of them came to visit, everyone behaved like one big, happy, extended Mexican family. I remember Fidel and Hernando being reticent and quieter, but Bernardo spoiled me rotten with gifts and attention every time he came. Esparza never visited. He and the brothers broke while I was growing up. By the time the gang was gutted, Esparza was no longer in the picture. I have no idea how he could be the man in my dream, so, no, it doesn't help."

"Just think about it for a moment," Alfieri said. "Uncle Bernardo-Beltran could have proposed to you one day if you hadn't split from the family."

"I try not to think about it, but thank you for being a cretin and bringing it back to my attention."

"I really don't miss Isidora that much with her here."

She closed the file. "It's so close but it just won't come to me. If I could remember, all this would fit into one coherent revelation."

"Perhaps I can help you," a man said from the door. "I am Dante Santiago Martinez."

Three men holding assault rifles stood behind him. Each one had a sheathed machete strapped to his leg.

"I remember you."

He came to the table and looked down at the file. "You remember someone like me."

"You are Hernando Garcia Padilla. You died in nineteen eighty-five."

"I am no more that man than you are Bernardo's first wife come back to life." He flipped through the file. "Nonetheless, I will do my best to help you remember everything. It is the least I can do before I kill all of you." He shrugged, raised his sawed-off shotgun and said, "Doctor's orders."

*****

National Security Advisor, Morgan Jones sat on the sofa with one phone against his left ear and another sitting on the coffee table next to two laptops.

Angela Donovan entered scanning the report that had been hastily cobbled together for her. "It all happened at exactly the same moment the bombs went off in Mesilla. One bomb exploded at a Stockholm newspaper office. Three people were killed. Two bombs went off in Islamabad, two in Kiev, one in a derelict Moscow theater, two in Hong Kong at two different street markets, one in Karachi, one in Manila, one in Seoul and three in Tralee, Ireland. We do not have a count for the injured and dead from the other explosions yet."

"Why three bombs in Tralee?"

Morgan took the phone away from his ear. "Paris is under attack again." He talked briefly on the phone before adding, "Cheryl says the Morneau Gallery has been hit."

"Does Nyla know?"

Angela shook her head. "She's on the ground in Mesilla."

"Madame President," Morgan said with a slight tremor in his voice, "a South Korean navy cruiser on patrol in the Yellow Sea has been struck by torpedo. It may have come from a Chinese submarine."

# Chapter 51

Lola came to him in the library. "She is very close now, Señor."

He followed her back to their bedroom. Vanessa Ortiz Alamo de Garcia, his bride of one year, daughter of Mayor Ramiro Ortiz Santana and Estrellita Alamo Santos de Ortiz, lay on their bed. A midwife, a nurse from Esparza's Mexico City clinic who had come to stay for the last two months of Vanessa's pregnancy, and Galena, Vanessa's personal maid, were assisting her with the delivery of their baby.

After a prolonged push, Vanessa cried out and fell back as he approached the bed. A baby started crying as Galena stepped aside for him.

"You have a son," the midwife said and handed the baby to his mother.

"You are beautiful." He wiped her brow with a towel. "You both are."

She kissed their son's head. "Hector Garcia Ortiz. Did I not tell you I would give you what you always wanted?" She said to Lola, "Have my parents been told?"

"They are on their way, Señora."

Miguel Jimenez Mora entered the bedroom but remained at the door.

"Not now." He raised the baby over his head. "I have a son."

Miguel took two steps forward.

"I said not now. Whatever it is, it can wait."

"It's your brothers, Señor."

He gave Hector back to Vanessa, kissed them both and went to Miguel. Taking him hard by the arm, he pulled him out of the room. He closed the door as quietly as he could before grabbing Miguel around the throat. "Do you want me to kill you at the moment of my greatest happiness?"

"I am sorry, jefe, but your brothers are under attack at Fidel's hacienda. They need your men or they will be overrun within the day."

He let go of his lieutenant. "Who is it?"

"Enrique and Guillermo say it is everybody."

He pushed Miguel to get him started down the stairs.

Fidel's lieutenant, Enrique Vasquez Salazar, and Hernando's second in command, Guillermo Contreras Duran, stood at the front doors. Both men were filthy with dirt and blood.

Contreras Duran said, "They came at us two nights ago, hundreds of them."

He pressed Contreras Duran against the wall. "Do not exaggerate to cover your cowardice."

Vasquez Salazar said, "Please, Señor, he does not exaggerate. Sosa, Zavala and Cordero have joined forces. And they have additional reinforcements from Colombia."

"And you left my brothers there to die."

"No, Señor, we were ordered to come to you. If you send reinforcements, we can repel them. Give the word and your mountain brigade can be there within six hours. We can join your other brigade from here and strike from behind by early tomorrow."

He released Vasquez Salazar. "Miguel, do you believe these two cowards?"

"I do. We have heard rumors for some time of just such a possible alliance forming. If I may speak freely, jefe, even you have to accept that we have become weaker these past ten years. We have been constantly fighting skirmishes with our competitors rather than negotiating new alliances. We have isolated ourselves. We've made far too many enemies. You personally counselled against any attempt to expand our operations again, but your brothers would not listen, particularly Fidel. Jefe, this cannot be said to be a surprise to any of us."

"Indeed it is not," Esparza said from the entrance to the library.

"You! Where have you been? Why come back now?"

"As your lieutenant just told you, Bernardo, it has been ten years. I have spent much of that time travelling the world, but I had to return one day. And I have remained well informed of your waywardness in my absence." He came closer to them. "I would dare say I have returned just in time."

"We don't need you anymore."

"On the contrary, my dear friend, you need me now more than ever."

"You destroyed our lives before you left. You abandoned your own wife, Magda, to wither and die from some unknown disease. You took all of our children with you, our daughters, but you return empty handed. We have nothing left for you here. Leave us alone."

"I was delighted to hear you married again. And tonight a son has come to you."

He stiffened. "Our agreement is complete. You are no longer a part of our lives."

Esparza came closer. He used a cane as he walked. "I have been gone ten years and this is the welcome I get upon my return."

He stepped closer to Esparza. "You are not welcome here."

Enrique, Guillermo and Miguel spread out to surround Esparza.

"I can save your brothers."

Miguel drew his revolver. "He is a demon, jefe. You have always known this. You have always known you cannot believe what he tells you. He twists every word to suit himself."

"But he can believe in what I do for him. You know that, my friend."

"You ordered the attack on Fidel's hacienda."

"I told you not to have a son. But I am prepared to let you keep him if you do exactly what I say."

"What is it you want this time?"

Esparza pulled a semi-automatic handgun from the inside pocket of his overcoat and tossed it to him. "First, you must kill these three if you hope to save your son. I would not hesitate if I were you."

Esparza's outrageous order caused just that in all of them.

Miguel raised his gun. "I have him, jefe, one shot and it is finished for good."

Those words reverberated through him with hollow promise. Staying away for ten years, giving him and his brothers enough time to begin to believe they were finally free of him just to return at the moment of his son's birth was what Esparza had in mind all along. It was never going to be finished between them and Esparza other than on his terms.

He shot Miguel first, then Enrique because he was the farthest away. Guillermo stepped back from him and seemed to hesitate between reaching for his gun and putting up his hands to plead for his life. Bernardo stepped into him, jabbed the gun under his chin and blew the top of his head off.

Esparza came to him and took back the gun. "Now, to save your brother, you must leave here. Do not worry about your lovely wife and son. Fidel will take care of them."

"What do you mean?"

"There is no subterfuge in what I just told you, Bernardo. You must leave your hacienda and never return. Fidel will remain in Mexico and run your businesses. He will take Vanessa as his wife and Hector as his son. I promise you they will survive if you obey me."

"What about Hernando?"

"I regret to have to tell you, my friend, your youngest brother died earlier today. But be at peace in knowing he died saving Fidel's life."

"Why are you doing this? We have given you everything. We have done everything you asked of us. Does my son trouble you so much?"

"You will go live in New Mexico. Lola will come with you. You will live as a pecan farmer. Occasionally, I will require your talents to assist me. I will continue to send women to you. I presume you still know what to do before you return them to me. Do we have an agreement, Bernardo?"

Upstairs, Vanessa began screaming.

# Chapter 52

Dante Santiago Martinez's three men brought Alfieri to the table and then surrounded the three of them.

"What are you?"

He smiled. "I am the same as you, Juanita. I just told you that."

"Dr. Esparza did not allow boys, only girls."

"I did make exceptions when the circumstances called for them." A man stepped into the chamber from the stairwell.

"You look a bit like him, but not that close."

"Your perception and suspicion are correct, Dr. Garcia. I was Esparza at one time. I have been so many people. But each hiatus from the hurly-burly of life yields slightly different result. The changes this last time were quite pronounced, though I must admit I would have liked a chance to be a blond."

His skin was paler, his hair was light-brown, almost blond, but was receding to expose a much more prominent forehead than Esparza had. He stood one or two inches taller than as Esparza, which made his well-muscled body appear leaner, but there was something unhealthy about him. He didn't display the clear decline that Beltran had exhibited, but he wasn't what he was when she knew him as Esparza.

"Beltran had his suspicions, too."

"They were hardly that because he knew exactly what I am. He had noticed the differences the previous time I had to retire for a few years. I told him why that was." He came to the table. "Though I don't think he believed me. Bernardo was quite intelligent, the brightest of the three of them, but not any more imaginative."

"After what you did to him and his two brothers, how could he not believe?" She pointed to Santiago Martinez. "After what you did to Hernando."

"Bernardo did not know his youngest brother had been resurrected. Fidel didn't either."

Santiago Martinez said, "I am not Hernando, Dr. Garcia Lopez, any more than you are this man's daughter. Or should I say his great great-granddaughter?"

The man chuckled. "Dante, don't give everything away at once."

Price tapped the file. "Dr. Garcia has two origin stories. One involves a father who belonged to a gang run by her grandfather. The other is the result of a request from Bernardo Garcia Padilla to resurrect his first wife. I believe that is the term you used as Dr. Esparza. Now you are telling us there is a third origin for her as a version of your daughter."

"Notice, Dante, how easily this man grasps and accepts the circumstances before him. You must be Ralph Price. Sir, I do not wish to embarrass you by gushing after just meeting you, but I wager you are literally smarter than you look. My impression of you is a complete lack of self-confidence led you to start a home renovation company instead of pursuing what would have been a more emotionally and intellectually satisfying career in academia. What was it you really wanted to be, an archeologist, a geologist, perhaps a mechanical engineer or an architect? Yes, I would say an architect. But instead you tucked your tail between your legs and accepted a derivative alternative."

Alfieri said, "Who the fuck is this guy?"

"I am Harvey Weinberg and all that is happening in Mesilla at this moment is because I want it to happen."

"That must be emotionally and intellectually satisfying to you."

Weinberg smiled and nodded.

The armed man behind Alfieri struck him in the back of the head with the butt of his rifle.

Menno held the edge of the table to keep from going down, but when he swung round to strike back he stumbled to the floor. Price helped him onto a chair.

"What do you want with us . . . with me?"

"My operatives tell me you have been struggling with a number of gaps in your memory as well as a disturbing dream that just won't go away. I can help you resolve those problems. I can tell you what the truth of it all is."

"We don't have time for this." Santiago Martinez checked Alfieri. "We need to get out of here now."

"Take the three of them." Weinberg then said to her, "I promise I will fill in the gaps for you, but Dante is correct. We must do it somewhere else."

Alfieri kept shaking his head and rubbing the back of his neck, but he could make it up the stairs without needing help. Price stayed back with him. Two of the armed men brought up the rear.

Weinberg let Santiago Martinez lead the way while he walked with her. "Your mother was the third iteration of my only daughter. A somewhat diluted one, I will admit, because her mother, Lucrecia Esparza Montez, the second iteration, was a diluted and fragile specimen who died giving birth to her. You were created at the request of Bernardo as you have learned. Your mother was raised as the daughter of another, the leader of a gang opposing Los Tres Carniceros, so all of your origin stories are correct. The man from the gang playing your father in the first version was everything you have learned about him with the exception being that he believed you were his daughter because I wanted him to believe that. I even arranged your adoption so Bernardo could have access to you as his niece."

"My phoney father helped bring down The Three Butchers, didn't he?"

"He was the one driven enough to reach out to other rivals and bring them together against a weakened and leaderless enemy. He recruited the Colombians to help with that."

"But his rage was based on a lie."

"Dr. Garcia, you should know how overly simplistic that statement is."

At the top of the stairs, Santiago Martinez continued to one of the BMW sedans and opened the driver's door. "We won't be tracked in these and they are bulletproof."

The three gunmen herded them into the back of the BMW. One of them then opened the door to the center section of the warehouse while the other two got into the second BMW.

She asked Weinberg, "What do you want with me?"

"Don't you first want to know why you are pregnant?"

Santiago Martinez let the other BMW take the lead out of the warehouse.

"All right, why am I pregnant?"

"Don't you have any idea? Surely you must have a hypothesis."

Alfieri, still rubbing his neck, said, "You are the biggest psychotic asshole I have ever seen, and I've been in a maximum security prison." He slumped forward against the back of the front seat and groaned.

"I presume it is some form of parthenogenesis. You have developed a way to genetically program a human female to produce a diploid clone. Either you have suppressed meiosis to get the diploid egg or devised some process that merges two haploid eggs from the same mother."

"You are very much on track with your thinking. I can also insert any genetic code I wish and keep the embryos dormant, or in stasis, until it is time to turn them on. Or I program them to activate at a predetermined time, assuming the mother survives that long."

He reached back and stroked her hair. It triggered a flash replay of her dream. "There is a cost, however. Each woman can only have one child and then they are unable to conceive again. That is why I had to keep gathering the Isabellas to find the right candidates wherever I could from all over the world."

"What about their daughters?"

"They might be viable more than once. None of them are true clones, more like variants. The way you and Dante, Thomas and Hermes are."

"What happened with me?"

"Like Lola, you are an anomaly. I had concluded years ago that you and she were just two more of my countless misses. That you both have survived this long is a plus, I suppose."

"That is why you paid no attention to us as either Esparza or whoever you are now. But then you learned I was pregnant and coming back. You sent those agents to Japan."

"Your package is arriving too late to be a part of my plans now. But I do not believe we are going to have the chance to go into greater detail or help you clear up those personal mysteries of yours." He pointed toward the chain link fence.

Two FBI SWAT APCs similar to the one in the warehouse came crashing through the closed gate.

Santiago Martinez stopped the BMW. The moment he did, Weinberg fled back into the warehouse. Despite his appearance of declining health, he was still fast.

SWAT agents charged out of the APCs to surround both sedans. Rather than try to escape in a bulletproof car, the three gunmen got out of the BMW with their hands clasped together and turned up on the tops of their heads. They immediately dropped to their knees.

Santiago Martinez turned around and aimed a gun at her. "You would have lived if you'd come with us. He needed to know exactly what was going to come out of you."

Price bent over to shield her. The moment he did, Alfieri bolted up from his slouched position, grabbed Santiago Martinez's gun hand, pulled it forward and chopped down on his elbow as he yanked the hand up and twisted it. The gun dropped to the front floor of the car. Alfieri slid forward, poked Santiago Martinez in the eyes and then punched him three times in the face.

Santiago Martinez slumped back against the door. He must have somehow snagged the handle because the door opened and sent him spilling out onto the concrete.

Price lowered the window. "We're unarmed. We're coming out. We have a pregnant woman with us. Don't shoot."

Price slid out of the car, shielding her from the FBI as he did. Once they were out with their hands up, Menno slipped out behind them and dropped to his knees.

Four SWAT agents closed around them but did not put handcuffs on them. One did secure Santiago Martinez and took him to join his three underlings.

Two women came through the line of agents circling them, one black and one white.

"I am Special Agent Nyla Rowe. This is Special Agent Joan McGowan. I presume you are Dr. Juanita Garcia Lopez and this is Ralph Price and the man on his knees is Menno Alfieri. You can get up, Mr. Alfieri. We got your message."

She and Price looked at him.

"What? I thought it was obvious. I had access to a laptop. We knew they were after us. We knew we were supposed to hide and then call for help. Isy and I were arguing over what the three of us should do next before those fuckers showed up."

"Your last part 'they're here' did take a few seconds to figure out," Rowe said.

She said, "Weinberg is in the warehouse."

No one was going to say it was her fault, but the moment she told Rowe and McGowan about Weinberg, the warehouse blew up.

*****

To all the other students she and Donny would only look like they were walking as fast as they could along Serra Mall because they were late for class. The laptop she'd just 'borrowed without authorization' from one of the computer labs was tucked inside her backpack and bounced with every hurried step she took. A lower corner of it kept jabbing at her ribs.

"I will only need a few seconds to set everything up. Muta will take care of most of it."

"If she still can," he said. "Where are we going?"

Lily stopped and looked around the Stanford campus. "God, I don't know. I hadn't thought that far ahead." She stomped her foot. "I just stole a laptop. I am such a—"

"Genius and a teaching assistant for that lab," he said and embraced her. "It's a good plan, Lily. We can inflict a lot of damage. That is to say, you and Muta can inflict a lot of damage." He looked around. "Maybe we should stay out in the open. I don't find the idea of being alone and enclosed by four walls all that comforting." He took her to the center of Oval Park and sat her on a bench. "Can you do it here? Will you get a strong enough signal?"

"This is Stanford. Do not question the strength of our signal." She opened the laptop and plugged in the flash drive. In a few seconds it was set up for use.

"You're right, she is fast."

"That is only one small part of her."

She initiated the connection with Tralee. What came up on the screen made her gasp and slide back on the bench.

Kieran's shirt and sweater were torn and covered in blood, as was the knife he was holding up. "I told you it was real." He wiped some blood off his face. "They're sending them in bloody pairs. I got the first bugger sure enough, but I was a wee bit slow with the second one."

He started to fall back and had to grab hold of his desk to stay in his chair. Two bodies lay on the floor behind him just inside the closed door to his room.

Donny asked, "Do you know them?"

He shook his head.

"Are they dead? Are you hurt?"

He nodded and muttered, "A wee bit slow with the second one."

"Get to the hospital. Get to the police. Just get out of there before—"

The door behind Kieran swung open a few inches. The barrel of a rifle protruded through the gap. A hand reached up for the light switch just before the connection broke.

# Chapter 53

Candace hovered over the crater where the pool used to be before landing the Bell upslope on Garcia's private runway.

Once everyone was out of the helicopter, Ramona said, "I'm not a big fan of going back into those tunnels."

"You're the one who puts complete faith in what Sage tells you." He said to Rosen, Kolisnek and Hunter, "You all do."

"It's an Apostle thing," Rosen said and shrugged.

Gwen said, "Frank, Sage may have become less reliable in her insights and instructions, but it is not just our faith and reliance on her. We have worked together for a year and a half. We have built a solid base of what you would call intelligence in that time. Sage can still tap into that to accompany what else she is picking up to make inferences that are still mostly accurate."

"Mostly accurate could get us all killed. She did not detect the snakes and warn you about them. We still do not know what happened here or what we're here for. None of you armed yourselves."

Rosen said, "You and Ramona have all that covered. Shall we?" He started down the mountainside.

He kept the trio between him and Ramona as they made their way into the hacienda compound through the breech in the concrete wall. The stairs that used to lead down from the patio were now twisted wrought iron resting on top of a pile of concrete rubble at the bottom of a drop of over twenty feet.

Ramona said, "You might be able to survive that, but none of us would."

Rosen called from beside the crater, "We could climb down this way. I see an opening at the bottom."

"Remember what we told you. Watch for those snakes."

After making sure they had all turned on their flashlights, he started them down through the collapsed pool, huge piles of reinforced concrete precariously resting against each other at various horizontal and vertical angles. Metal reinforcement bars protruded everywhere, but only the last and most level chunk of concrete at the bottom presented any serious danger to them. It teetered on top of another and threatened to tip when Frank stepped on it. He held it steady while the others traversed it. He then leapt over it to land next to Ramona.

"How are you feeling? You look—"

"Keep moving."

The opening Rosen had spotted was a hole in the tunnel wall that took them into the chamber containing the cells. Self-powered emergency lights provided about half the illumination they needed.

He took them past the bodies to Maternity Three and helped lower each of them down before dropping into the tunnel.

"Jesus." Kolisnek had turned as he took a step and almost tripped over a body.

"You three stay here."

"Not an option, man." Rosen stepped over another of the bodies. "How many did you say were supposed to be deposited here?"

"There should be six."

Gwen said, "I count eight.

"Yeah," Rosen said, "and those two look fresh . . . in a freeze-dried and wrapped sort of way."

Everyone aimed their flashlights at the extra two bodies.

"Shit, don't tell me there are giant spiders down here, too."

"No," Ramona said, "that is from the snakes."

Gwen and Herman backed up to a wall and swung their flashlights back and forth and up and down.

The two men were covered in a gauzy mesh of webbing. The corpses were exactly what would be expected if they had been sucked dry: covered in bite marks and punctures, shrivelled, their skin cracked and flaking off but still held in place by the webbing the snakes had spun over them.

Two dead snakes lay beside the bigger man.

"That has to be some potent venom to take down two men that big," Rosen said, "or else there had to be a whole bunch of those snakes on them. If so, where are they now?"

Ramona knelt near the dead snakes. "It looks like these two might have been killed as collateral damage during the feeding frenzy." She checked both corpses. "There is another dead snake wrapped around the smaller man's neck. It too has been drained."

"What were they doing here?" Frank checked the walls and roof of the tunnel but found no snakes dangling or slithering anywhere and no other dead ones,

"This one at least wasn't killed by the snakes. He has bullet wounds to his left cheek, his neck and his chest. This could be what Sage had detected happening here."

"With no details, we can't be sure."

"What's that?" Hunter aimed her flashlight at a red metal tube.

It was light and cool. "Aluminum." Two feet long and eight inches in diameters, it had one end sealed. The open end was slightly scorched. A faint, acrid odor of propellant lingered near the open end.

Ramona stood back up. "An IED, a low-tech rocket launcher Garcia cooked up?"

"It wasn't very powerful. I don't see any damage from an explosion."

"You mean more damage than what those grenades did."

"If it was a rocket, it most likely hit some target or impacted with one of these walls."

Ramona scanned the tunnel. "I don't see any signs of an impact not even a stain." She lowered her voice. "I do not understand what he's doing."

"I will assume you mean what motivates him. I'm not sure it's much more than let's see what happens if I do this."

"The consequences of that don't bother him at all?"

"I'm sure they don't keep him awake at night."

"His Isabellas are his what, then?"

Rosen, Kolisnek and Hunter came to them.

"Variables. These children are Weinberg's GMOs every bit as much as those snakes."

"And you," she said.

"They are his crop. He may consider some of them expendable weeds. He intends to one day harvest the best of them. That is what is so special about them for him, like those genetically engineered male mosquitoes to counter the spread of Zika. They mate and produce offspring that die before they become adults. He is trying out various permutations of genetic modification to see what works, what genes produce the best results for his evolution."

Rosen said, "Another eugenics nut."

"He isn't trying to improve anyone else but himself."

Hunter rubbed her arms. "He worked on us, did things to us and we have no idea what they were or what the long-term effects are going to be."

Rosen took hold of her hand. "What if he comes back to get something from us?"

"You have nothing he can use any more than I do. Sage does, the Isabella's offspring do, but none of the Apostles except for maybe Lucy have anything he wants."

"I'll try not to take that personally."

Ramona said, "If he's always been in it for himself, why would the Proteus Group work with him for so long? Surely even they had to realize how selfish and insane he is."

"He promised them something or has actually given it to them by now. My guess is they are now in so deep with him they don't dare try to stop him. No matter how powerful the members of the Proteus Group are, he runs the show."

"They should all be lined up and shot. I would start with their knees."

"We have company." Kolisnek shone his flashlight along the floor of the tunnel to illuminate the half-dozen sparkling snakes slithering toward them.

Frank caught a glimpse of what looked like two hands emerging from the shadows holding another of those red metal tubes before a flash and a puff of white smoke propelled a snake at Gwen Hunter.

Gwen screamed. Flashlight beams swiped through the darkness like laser swords. Ramona opened fire on the ones coming along the tunnel floor. Another flash and puff launched a second snake straight at Frank.

He ducked away and pressed himself against the tunnel wall. The snake sailed past, landing on the two men covered in the webbing. It hissed, lifted the front third of its flat body and twisted as if to look directly at him. Antennae as long as its body flung forward and whipped about. Two more antennae sprung up at its tail end. This was a variation on the ones hanging from the tops of the tunnels, flattened to sail through the air. How many different versions had Weinberg created?

"Tye," Gwen hollered.

Kolisnek had found a gun and joined with Ramona shooting the snakes.

The one that missed him turned in the direction of Hunter's cry, hissed and crawled off the bodies in that direction, its antennae feeling for its target. It was crawling on dozens of tiny legs rather than slithering like a true snake. Its segments glowed orange along its back.

Pushing off from the wall, he took three bounding steps and stomped down on the sparkling, hissing thing. An electric jolt came through his boot, forcing him to drop his flashlight and momentarily cramping his foot. When he located Gwen again, she was on the floor sitting against the wall cradling Tye Rosen's head on her lap.

"That's all of them," Ramona said when she and Kolisnek joined them.

"He pushed me out of the way. It struck him in the chest. He ran into the wall to crush it. I could see it attached to him, those antennae whipping against his face, its mouth parts stabbing into him. He knew he was going to die." She stroked his cheek. "It's all he could think to do to keep it from getting me next."

Herman sat down beside her and put his arm around her. "I know, Gwen, I felt him too."

Gwen wiped her tears away. "Why did she send us here? What have we come for?"

Two women stepped out of the darkness. The older woman, dark, thin, wiry and strong was covered with blood stains. Her bare arms were cut, shredded in places from a machete attack. The fingers of both hands were bloody claws. The younger woman behind her carried a baby.

"She sent you to find my daughter." The older woman dropped the discharged red metal tube she was carrying and fell to the ground.

# Chapter 54

Savannah barely had time enough to be shocked by Sage's appearance and take her into her embrace before Special Agents Nyla Rowe and Joan McGowan brought a woman and two men into her daughter's crowded bedroom.

A woman Lucy had only just introduced as Isidora Ramos Olivarez limped over to the two men and hugged them. When she let go of the younger, thicker of the two, she punched him in the shoulder as hard as she could twice.

"As truculent as ever," the older man said.

Cynthia said to Agent Rowe, "We heard there had been an explosion."

McGowan said, "We almost had him."

"We snagged everyone else, but Weinberg escaped back into the warehouse. It blew up before we could go in after him."

"Weinberg didn't strike me as the type to blow himself up rather than be caught."

She said, "We should be so lucky."

"We don't believe he was in there when it exploded. He probably had an escape plan ready."

Cynthia nodded. "That seems more like him."

With her arm around Sage, she said, "Does everyone have to be in here? She's tired. She needs rest."

Sage grasped her hand. There was little strength to her cold grip but she did deliver a mild shock. "They do need to be here, mom. Lucy and I need to help that lady."

Lucy said, "If we can help Dr. Garcia remember, we can save some pregnant women who are in danger."

Sage sagged against her. "I'm so happy you're here. I've missed you so much. Will you stay with me while I do this?"

She kissed Sage's forehead. "I'm not leaving you ever again."

Nyla, Joan and Cynthia came over to the bed with Garcia.

"Help me, mom."

She guided Sage to the edge of the bed and helped her to sit up. Lucy came to stand next to Dr. Garcia.

Sage then took hold of Garcia's hands. "You're very pretty."

"You are not feeling well," Garcia said. "Your mom is right. You need to rest."

"Mom is here with me now, Juanita. I have all I need." She raised Garcia's hands to her forehead and held them there. "It's all very confusing and just out of reach. You are so close but you just can't get there."

Lucy touched Garcia's arm. "Two stories, both true and both false at the same time. They take you in two directions yet they are taking you to the same place."

"The blue," Garcia muttered.

"Not just the blue," Sage said. "You know he is telling you something different than he tells the other children. You know it means something."

"Do you know what that is?"

"No, Juanita, but you do. Close your eyes."

"Why should I—"

"Your daughter needs to know too, Juanita. Close your eyes."

Savannah said, "I would do what she asks."

"Can she . . . ?"

"Let's give her a chance. She's done amazing things." She kissed Sage. "She's my hero."

"Wonder Girl." Sage coughed and rocked back until Savannah stopped her. "Tell me about sneaking and hiding, Juanita. Tell me about the secrets you discovered about your real mother."

"Weinberg told me my real mother was the third resurrection of his daughter. I am the one survivor of three versions of Bernardo Garcia Padilla's first wife resurrected at his request by Dr. Renato Esparza Escobar. You all know him as Harvey Weinberg. I was adopted by Bernardo's cousins and raised as their daughter."

Lucy said, "But that never did seem right to you."

Garcia shook her head. "For the longest time it did."

"When did that change?"

"I don't remember."

"Yes you do. You were always getting into trouble for snooping, for being where you weren't supposed to be, for sneaking around and eavesdropping on your parents and their guests."

"Mother was always embarrassed and apologetic for her daughter's willfulness and disobedience. She prayed for me all the time, called on God to guide her with me."

"But your father was amused."

"He scolded me but he also liked his daughter to know her mind, know what she wanted and to go after it. But I didn't know what I was looking for."

"But then he wasn't amused."

"He too grew frustrated with my sneaking and spying, for constantly going through their things. He would banish me to an empty room for hours as punishment."

"But then he always sent her to keep you company."

Garcia's eyes opened wide. She sighed as she said, "Lola."

"What happened to change his attitude?"

"I wouldn't stop, I suppose, no matter how much mother and father scolded me, no matter how many times father told me that it was important to leave him and his guests alone for that particular visit."

Lucy said, "That wasn't it, Juanita. That is what they told you over and over again until you came to accept it, but that wasn't why he changed. His change was sudden not gradual. He didn't finally lose his patience and tolerance. You finally went too far."

"They were all angry with me."

"You mother and your father?"

"No, my father and another man."

"Why were they angry?"

"I shouldn't have hid there. I was told to behave myself, to be on my best behavior or this would be the absolute last time they would bring me there."

"Where did they take you?"

"I don't remember."

"Listen to yourself, Juanita. Eavesdrop on your own memories. Keep hidden and sneak up on them. They don't know you're there. You can hear what they are saying. What are they telling you? Where did they take you?"

Lucy said, "Who took you?"

"Mother and father took me there often; mother more than father, but sometimes they both took me."

"How old were you when your father finally became angry?"

Garcia started to shake her head but stopped after the slightest movement. "I was five. No, I was five when they started taking me. I was nine when father lost his temper." She blinked rapidly. "He slapped me. He had never slapped me, but he was so furious with me."

"Why was he furious?"

Her eyes widened and fixed on Sage. "He was afraid, so very afraid."

"Why was he afraid?"

"He was afraid for me."

"Because of what you had seen and heard, because you had found out the biggest, scariest secret they kept."

"No."

"Then what was it, Juanita? What was it? Listen inside yourself. You will hear it. Look inside yourself. Go through your own things. It's there. You will find it. You will remember."

"Because of what he said to me."

"What did he say to you?"

"Oh, God." Garcia staggered back.

Lucy, Nyla and Cynthia caught Garcia as Sage sagged against her again.

"That's enough. She's exhausted."

"I'm done, mom. Juanita knows now and Lucy can help her with what's left."

"It was the day my real mother died." Garcia took the dampened towel McGowan had brought her and held it to her face. "My adoptive mother was a gentle soul. She felt very deeply the pain that others experienced. She did not like to see people suffer. She used to take me with her to a clinic in Estero Beach to visit a patient she claimed was a member of her family. But that was just a cover to bring me to my real mother."

"She was always kind to you," Lucy said.

"I don't think she knew I was her daughter. I always found her out in their center patio sitting in the sun. She always perked up when she saw me coming."

"But that day," Lucy said.

"Father came with us that day. The woman wasn't out in the patio. When I asked where she was, I was taken to a room, given a magazine to read and told to stay there until mother and father came for me."

"But you never stayed where you didn't want to be."

"When I first stepped out of the room, I was sure I saw father going around a hallway corner with two other men. I ran to the corner and spotted them going into Dr. Esparza's office. I slipped into the examination room attached to it, snuck over to the door to his office and opened it just a little as quietly as I could."

Lucy took the towel from her and handed it back to McGowan to freshen it. "What did you see and hear?"

"There was a line of six women in patient's gowns in the office. Each one of them either held a child in her arms or stood behind one if it was old enough to stand on its own. The women and older children all kept their heads bowed. Dr. Esparza, my father and Uncle Bernardo were inspecting the women and their children.

"Dr. Esparza was screaming at them, cursing them for not being what he intended them to be, for being freaks, for being failures, for being anomalies." She wiped her face with the new towel McGowan had handed to her. "He accused the women of doing everything they could to sabotage his hard work. He only had two successes he could be proud of. The rest were offal and had been flushed away. He warned them that same fate could be theirs."

"One of the women screamed."

"No. My adoptive mother screamed." Garcia came to Sage and reached for her but did not touch her, as if she'd suddenly felt intense heat. "That is the blue, isn't it? It's my real mother drowning. How did I know that? How did I know the moment my adoptive mother screamed that my real mother was walking into the Pacific Ocean to kill herself? How did I know at that moment she was my real mother?"

"You were one of his successes to be proud of."

Savannah asked, "What happened?"

"She had snuck out of the clinic. They had just moved her to the Estero Beach clinic one month earlier. I hadn't noticed that we'd arrived at a different location than the one in Ensenada because I was so excited to see her and both clinics were exactly the same."

"You wanted to save her. You ran out into the blue to save your mother."

"The waves were too high. They kept crashing down on me. I couldn't get very far before I was fighting to keep my head above water. It didn't matter. By the time I had made it into the water, two attendants from the clinic were already bringing her body back to shore."

"Dr. Esparza saved you."

"Powerful arms lifted me from under the water. There was hardly any effort or strain in the lifting. They closed around me and brought me back to my adoptive mother."

Sage took hold of the hand still reaching for her. "What did he whisper in your ear, Juanita?"

Dr. Juanita Garcia dropped the towel, took hold of Sage's hand with both of hers, gasped and fell to her knees. She wept and lowered her head onto Sage's lap.

Lucy knelt down beside her. "It helped you to understand your adoptive parents' behavior toward you but it also terrified you."

Sage put her hand on Garcia's head. "Tell us what he told you, Juanita."

Garcia wiped her face and then looked up at Sage. She smiled and placed her hands on her abdomen. "You are my grace. You will bring forth the messiah." She stood up and wiped tears from her eyes. "It is the same thing he had been telling my adoptive parents, along with threats to destroy them if they ever gave up on me. They were both devout Catholics. Esparza had shown them enough of his miracles and abominations that they believed what he told them about me. But I wasn't a version of Bernardo's first wife. The other two were. Each one of them was murdered to defy Bernardo's wishes, most likely when their deaths would have the most impact. I was the fourth version of Esparza's daughter from that line. Like a cuckoo, he had placed his egg in their nest. They didn't know it was just another of his grandiose tricks, another tailor-made con job perpetrated on two decent true believers."

Sage said, "He's done a lot of that."

Lucy handed Garcia the towel again. "That was what your adoptive mother was really praying for. She wanted a sign that would confirm you really were what Esparza claimed you were."

"It wasn't just me. The new clinic in Estero Beach was where he started his Isabellas project. Esparza was planning on producing as many messiahs as he could just to see if any succeeded. You might find the women you are looking for there."

Nyla Rowe's and Joan McGowan's phones began ringing simultaneously.

Nyla was on the phone the shortest time. Joan was still talking when Nyla ended her call.

She said to Cynthia, "There have been more attacks in Paris. The Morneau Gallery was one of the targets. Jaxon is dead." She took a few deep breaths. "He shielded two women from the three gunmen as they went through the gallery shooting everyone they could find. He was able to kill one of them. One woman is in critical condition with a bullet wound to her stomach but she is expected to survive. The other one was not injured."

Cynthia embraced Rowe. "I'm so sorry."

Joan ended her call. "That was Donny Nguyen. The Creators Almighty has been infiltrated. They are being eliminated." She said to Nyla, "I told them to go to the safe house. I called Brian to let him know they are coming."

A man knocked on the bedroom door as he opened it.

Savannah gasped when he entered with Dorothy Cooper, Cedric Hutt, John Atchison, and another man.

"That's not him, mom."

McGowan took the other man aside. They talked quietly near the door. The man nodded frequently. Then he left.

"I'm Thomas Ferris."

Joan said, "I've asked Inspector Kozlowski to return to San Francisco and reinforce Brian."

"I'm sorry. Cynthia did tell me about you, but it is still a shock to see the similarities. Thank you for providing a jet to bring me here."

"You're welcome." He came to the bed and said to Sage, "It is time to go."

"Go where?" She hugged Sage close.

"Like my progenitor, Savannah, I also have an intense interest in and talent for the study of human biology. I think I have discovered the same promising treatment Harvey offered you only without the difficult choice to go with it. We've been able to induce pluripotency in Sage's stem cells. From there, we built on the brain research pioneered in Vienna that enabled us to grow Sage-brain organoids, which provided enough of Sage's brain tissue to study the effects of both stem cell and gene therapy to fight the DIPG within her. I am encouraged by our results, but we still have a lot of work to do and we need to be quick."

Cynthia said to her, "I had intended to discuss it with you on the way here, but other things just kept coming at us."

"I am grateful for anything you can do, but I can't let go of her again. I won't."

Ferris said, "I have talked to Ann. She can manage without you for a couple of weeks. Cynthia and I have also recruited a few specialists to work on their research at Small Wonders House for the next little while. She will have plenty of help."

Sage hugged her. "You are coming with me, mom. It's the only way I would go."

Ferris said to everyone in the room, "Every last thing he has planned is now in play everywhere. We are going to be facing all of it soon. It's going to get extremely unpleasant."

"How do you know that?" A pinch in her abdomen forced a grunt out of her.

"Two crucial parts of it that were under surveillance have just vanished. They left bodies all over the place."

Sage took hold of her hand. Another shock went through her. "Mom, my sisters just woke up."

A second, sharper pinch sent her tumbling off Sage's bed. The last thing she saw before losing consciousness were shadows rushing toward her from every direction.

# Chapter 55

"Tired, Jane," Dick whined once they came out of the forest.

"All right." She stopped. "We can rest here for a while."

Dick sat on a rock and wiped his runny nose with his sleeve. "Go back now."

"We can't go back." She looked around at the sebucán cacti, scrub grass and montane before glancing up at the sky. The sun wouldn't rise for another six hours. They were still too exposed in this clearing. They would be easy targets from the air if they stayed out in the open. "We can never go back."

Spot snorted, sat down beside Dick and began purring the moment Dick curled his fingers into the jaguar's short mane.

"No more walking, Jane. My feet hurt."

"I know, but we have to keep going."

She had taken them mostly westward through Puerto Rico's Cordillera Central mountains. Along the way, they had avoided the two main highways running north and south by crawling through culverts to go under them. They had skirted the villages close to the compound. Those men would search there first. Near the Maricao forest, a smaller road would take them higher into the mountains, but they still had a considerable distance to go to get there. Where would they go from there?

At sixteen, she was tall, supple, faster and stronger than anyone else on earth. She could go for days without stopping if necessary.

"Thirsty, Jane." Dick wiped his nose again, leaving a stain on his sleeve. "Water, please."

She gave him a drink from the second canteen. She then poured some into her cupped hand and let Spot lap it up before she took a drink.

Spot was completely black, five feet high at the shoulders and eight feet six inches long from his head to the tip of his tail. He weighed over five hundred pounds. A muscle-bound jaguar, they had built him for greater power and endurance.

"Jane, go back now." Dick slapped the rock he was sitting on.

"Rest now, Dick."

Dick, however, was only five years old. Though strong himself, he couldn't keep up with them.

Clouds were swirling in from the southwest ahead of the next storm.

"Tired," he whined. "Go back now."

"We can't go back."

Dick let go of Spot and flopped down onto the ground like some small animal that had just been shot. He would go no farther.

"We can rest for a bit longer," she said and looked eastward into the section of forest they had come from, "but we have to get to the small road northwest of here."

"Let's go back now."

Spot rubbed his cheek against the boy's face then licked him. Dick patted Spot and giggled.

She could detect no danger nearby; her early warning system indicated they were still safe. Perhaps they hadn't yet discovered they were gone. They might be too busy destroying the other results at the compound, like Dick's frozen brothers, to have noticed they were missing.

"Go back, Jane. It's too dark."

The clouds were gaining speed. The sky was rapidly growing darker. The palms and laurel and tree ferns waggled their leaves in warning at her.

"Tired." He pushed Spot away.

Spot lay down beside Dick so he could scratch the jaguar behind his ear while he sulked. Spot purred quietly.

"Just a little bit more, then we will find new friends to look after us." She gave him another drink of water, took one for herself then stared at the canteen.

Someone back at the compound had helped them escape. Otherwise, she would never have found two canteens of water outside the fence, or made it past the security sensors.

"Too dark." Dick pointed at the overcast night sky. "Make bright light." His two hands began to glow. "Look, Jane, I'm a firefly."

"No, Dick." She covered his hands with her own. "No firefly. Not now."

Dick pouted. His hands stopped glowing. "Go home now."

She glanced eastward again. "Just rest quietly for a bit longer, then you can ride Spot. Okay?"

"Okay. Ride Spot."

"Quiet." She held her finger to her lips and nodded to the jaguar.

Spot snorted, got up and walked off into a thicket of montane.

Chubby but otherwise normal in size, Dick wasn't as dark as some Puerto Ricans, but he could still pass for a native with his thick, curly black hair, and his brown eyes. Unless she changed color, she had a pale complexion and long platinum-blond hair tinged ever so slightly pink. No one would think she was a native.

She shivered. They had done nothing wrong. They hadn't hurt anyone. They were different from other kids, sure, but that wasn't reason enough to kill them, was it? She wiped the tears from her eyes.

Spot emerged from the undergrowth, rubbed along her and then vanished back into the forest.

The map of Puerto Rico on the wall in Dr. Kerr's office showed a dirt road eleven miles to the northwest. It traveled westward through farmland, a tiny section of marshland and then the forest higher up in the mountains for another four miles before ending at a paved road that led to Highway 2. The highway would take them to Mayaguez.

Maybe they could get someone there to help them. Somebody in Mayaguez would prevent those men from killing a sixteen-year-old girl, a jaguar and a five-year-old boy, no matter how different they were. There had to be somebody there who would do that.

Spot began growling and came out from the montane again. He looked straight at her and snorted.

She placed Dick on Spot just behind the muscular cat's shoulders. Dick grabbed hold of the tufts of short, strong hair that made up Spot's mane. "Ready?"

"Ready."

Jane began jogging. Spot trotted behind her, his rider securely in place, his low growl betraying his anxiety about what he sensed. They could use the darkness and the forest as shields for only a little while longer. The men were going to catch them before they could get higher into the mountains. She was going to have to kill or be killed.

They raced through the next section of forest for about another mile. The moment they reached the marsh, Jane sensed the danger closing in. She crouched to lunge.

Spot's low growl as he brushed against her brought her back to her senses.

Sixty yards of marsh stood between them and a trail.

She looked down at Dick asleep on Spot's back, his fingers still securely clutching Spot's mane. "Dick," she whispered, but he didn't wake.

She lifted him off Spot and nodded to the jaguar. He trotted off into the bushes to keep watch, his low, steady growling a constant assurance of his presence nearby.

The nocturnal creatures squawked, chirped and croaked contrapuntal melodies of foreboding about the danger she had put Dick, Spot and herself in.

Spot's growling stopped. The rustling of leaves and creaking of branches told her that he had just climbed up into a tree, his usual maneuver when danger or food was approaching. The forest fell completely silent as the animals waited for the confirmation of their common wisdom: certain death.

Dick began to stir and fuss. "Hurts, Jane. Ouch."

"What hurts?"

"Hurts here." He touched his chest just below his right collarbone.

She felt the lump under his skin. Her heart skipped. The trackers, she had forgotten the trackers.

His skin began to shimmer.

"Dick, don't glow. You mustn't glow." She felt the size of the lump with her fingers.

The forest started its recriminating chatter again, "You're just a girl. You can't possibly think of everything. What did you hope to accomplish by running away? Where are you going? What are you going to do? They will catch you."

She slapped her chest in the same place, felt the stabbing pain when she crushed the transmitter. She then pressed against Dick's chest to crush his.

"You hurt me, Jane." He wriggled in her arms and pushed at her to get away.

"I'm sorry, Dick, but I have to stop it."

"No, Jane, it hurts."

"Dick, don't fuss. I'll drop you." She stopped pressing against him.

Dick quit struggling and rubbed his chest. "You hurt me." He whimpered and wiped his nose.

She hugged him close. "Sorry, baby. I'm sorry." She wiped away his tears. "I had to. I'm sorry. No more hurts, I promise." She kissed his forehead.

Spot snarled.

"We have to go." She stepped into the marsh, tested her footing then slowly started for the road. She slipped and almost went down when her right foot landed on a slimy stone.

"Careful, Jane."

"Hush, Dick. We must—" Like a blow to the back of her head she sensed the danger behind them. She started running through the knee-deep water as fast as she could, but took only five more strides before she heard the shouts.

"Jane, come back! We've come to take you home!" It was a familiar voice, not one of those men.

She turned around and saw a technician from the compound and one of those men standing at the edge of the forest. A white hot surge spread out from her stomach. She and Spot could handle two men easily enough. They could—

She gasped.

Four more men were closing in on them quickly. These two intended to stall her until the other four arrived to surround their catch.

She hissed when the two men aimed their flashlights at her.

"You gave us a real scare, Jane," the technician called to her. He was trying to sound caring and concerned, but he was terrified.

"I know you." She started back toward them.

He took a step back as she came closer. "Yes, you do. I'm Jack Young. I work with—"

"Why have you betrayed us?"

"I haven't betrayed you. We've come to take you back. Everyone's been sick with worry about all of you."

"You've come to kill us. I won't let you kill us. I won't."

"No! I swear, Jane." Young glanced at the man beside him. "No one will hurt you, I promise."

"Who is he?"

"My name is Whitman." He held something dark in his right hand down by his hip.

"Tubby sent you."

"Yes."

"He wants us terminated. I know what that means."

"Not you, just the research that made you."

"Jane," Young said, "Bachelor and Keyes will be here soon. Do you think they would hurt you?"

She stepped out of the marsh twenty feet from the two men, who now pointed their flashlight beams at the ground in front of her. "No." Twenty feet wasn't far. She could pounce on them from twenty feet away.

"He's right," Whitman said. "We just want to take you back."

"To Tubby."

"To the compound."

"No, you mean Tubby. He will kill us." If she didn't have Dick in her arms, she could get to Whitman before he could fire the pistol he held in his right hand. "I heard him tell the doctors to terminate us."

"Not you, just the project. Everything is going to be shut down. You're going to go live in the United States. Won't that be nice? You've always wanted that."

Whitman began looking around. "Where's the fucking cat?"

Spot growled behind and above them.

"Bright light," Dick whispered to her. "Make bright light."

The growling was descending from the tree. Young turned and focused his flashlight on where he thought the sound was coming from. Spot wasn't there anymore.

"Put down your guns."

"We don't have any guns," Whitman said.

"Don't be stupid. See how her eyes sparkle. She can see in this darkness better than the cat. Do as she says."

"Not a chance." His voice, though still determined, cracked with fear.

"Do it!" Young spun around frantically when Spot growled again.

"You're lying," she said and took two steps closer to them. "Put down your guns and back away." She growled as fiercely as Spot had growled. "Now!"

"Do what she says." Young backed away. "They've linked. She and the cat are working as one organism now."

"What?" Though Whitman didn't put down his guns, he stepped back with Young.

"You can't get both of them. They're coordinating their attack. We don't stand a chance if you don't do what she tells you."

She stepped closer. Spot was circling behind the men, synchronized with her movements.

Young turned his flashlight from the forest back to Jane. "Don't hurt us, Jane. Please. We will do what you say."

Whitman shouted, "She's just a girl." He focused his flashlight on her and raised the pistol.

"Put down your guns and go back. Leave us alone and I won't hurt you." She held up her left hand and clawed at the air. The hollow talon of her middle finger flicked forward with a soft click.

Whitman aimed the gun at them. He aimed his flashlight at her eyes.

"Make bright light, Jane?" Dick whispered.

"Yes. Let's see your brightest light, baby." She put him down.

Dick looked up at her and smiled. Then he turned to face the men and held open his arms as if to give them a big hug. His face and hands glowed pale orange. "Bright light. Watch, Jane." He flashed.

Whitman and Young shielded their eyes from Dick's light show.

"Fucking little mutant." Whitman again aimed his gun to shoot.

Jane lunged for him as he fired, her right hand reaching out to slash. The tranquilizer dart struck her right shoulder. Her arm began to go numb as she hit the ground and rolled.

"No," Young hollered. "Don't hurt them."

Whitman dropped the dart gun and reached for the rifle slung over his shoulder. "I've got her."

She pulled the dart out of her shoulder, sprang from the ground and swiped at Whitman with her numb right hand, tearing open a gash in his chest just before she knocked him down.

Whitman gagged and coughed as his neck swelled and cut off the flow of air to his lungs. His skin turned black and then white as it stretched against the pressure building inside him. His shirt ripped along his back.

The first of the lesions split open on his neck to spew forth the boiling red and white pus her venom was creating within him. His swollen tongue protruded. Both hands pitched up to his mouth in a futile attempt to grab air and shove it into his lungs in place of the acrid foam now filling them.

She looked at Young, holding him still with her sparkling gaze. "You betrayed us." She growled.

The technician screamed a moment before Spot sprang from the forest and bit through his skull.

She picked up Dick and charged through the marsh.

They hiked straight up the mountain, frequently crossing a narrow gravel road that ascended into the forest through a series of switchbacks. At the top, they headed slowly westward. The partial paralysis caused by the Somna-Q-45 had reached her right leg and was beginning to make her left side numb. She put Dick on Spot after she tripped for the second time in the last half-mile.

The four other men had likely found Whitman and Young by now. They would have trouble finding their trail through the forest in the dark. But she hadn't taken them far enough and now they were facing a steep descent to get to Highway 2.

Sunrise was after them now, too.

"Look, Jane, a boat." Dick kicked his heels against Spot's side to get him to go down the slope.

Spot just swatted Dick in the back with his tail and stopped beside her to look down at the small dock and the sleek, black speedboat moored at it.

A trail to their left meandered down the cliff through both a set of switchbacks and straight sections of steps carved out of the rock. It led to a bay fifty feet below them. An illuminated billboard announced: Cays Cove Resort and Marina. Opening Soon. Private cabins and secluded bays available. Boat tours to Isla de Mona. Nature camping.

She signaled for Spot to lower himself. "You can get off now, Dick."

"Ride Spot, Jane."

"He has to hide, honey. We don't want to scare anyone who might be down there."

"Okay." Dick got off the jaguar and scratched him behind his ears before letting him leap off into the darkness.

She took hold of Dick's hand. "Help me get down the trail."

"Are you hurt, Jane?"

"Only a little." She touched her right shoulder with what felt like a pillow rather than a hand.

"Kiss it better?"

She shook her head and started the whole world spinning before her. Dick pulled as hard as he could to keep her from falling when she staggered toward the top of the trail, but he couldn't stop her. She dropped to her right, bringing Dick down on top of her.

Spot growled.

"Stay. I'm all right." She hugged Dick close, sniffed his aroma, and just lay still until her dizziness subsided.

Dick kissed her cheek before getting off her. "Jane, maybe you should ride Spot."

"We will just go slowly." After getting to her feet and testing her stability, she took Dick by the hand again and started down the trail. At the first set of steps, she lifted Dick up.

Dick giggled. "Dick ride Jane now."

"Shh. We need to be very, very quiet."

Dick zipped his mouth shut.

They had travelled along Puerto Rico's spine for at least two hours after the swamp. Descending the trail seemed to take longer than that. Every now and then until they reached bottom, Spot would stick his head out of the darkness to get scratched behind his ear.

A narrow gravel road not visible from the top of the cliff stood between the end of the path and the resort. The speedboat, long, its metallic-black paint glinting in the light coming from an overhead lamp on the dock, bobbed gently in the water.

Two men exited a shed at the shore end of the dock and headed for the boat. Each one of them carried a box of provisions. Each one of them wore a holstered gun.

Halfway across the road dogs started barking. Two Doberman pinchers came charging from the shed.

"Bad doggies." Dick flashed his hands at them. "Stay!"

Each dog skidded to a stop, all the delay Spot needed. He sprang at them. For all their special breeding, the Doberman pinschers were no match for Spot. He pounced onto the lead one, bit into its spine just in front of its rear legs and hammered it against the ground twice before flinging it through the air at the second dog.

The less courageous Doberman tried to flee back to the two men that were running from the dock, but Spot quickly overtook it. He killed it the same way he killed the first, though he pounded the lifeless dog's body against the ground a few more times. Once he had tired of thrashing the dead dog, he slunk off with it still in his jaws. Spot liked dog.

The two men had stopped in an attempt to get a better view of what was happening to their dogs. Disbelief and shock at what they were seeing kept them motionless long enough for her to act.

She picked up Dick and sprinted for the dock. Twenty yards from the men, she said, "Now, Dick." She looked away but kept sprinting.

"Wee." Dick raised his hands and flashed them at the two men.

Securing her hold on Dick, she ran straight into the front man and sent him twenty feet through the air into the shallow water. Ricocheting off him, she raised her right hand and grabbed the second man by the throat, stopped and lifted him off the dock.

"Can you drive that boat?"

The man tried to pry her hand from his throat while he kicked out at her and reached for his gun with his other hand.

She shook him the same way Spot had shook the dogs, though careful enough to avoid snapping his spine. She then tossed him to the dock and stomped on his hand before it could withdraw the gun.

The man screamed and cursed her in Spanish.

"Bad man." Dick slid out of her embrace onto the dock and waggled his finger at the man. "Behave yourself or Jane will kill you and then Spot will eat you."

She threw the gun into the water and picked him up. She held her middle finger up and exposed her talon. A drop of venom fell to the dock. Reddish smoke rose from the planks from a burn mark three inches in diameter. "Can you drive that boat?"

He still didn't answer her. He just looked her up and down taking the measure of her, wondering if he could take her hand-to-hand now that she had let him go. She was just a tall, skinny teenage girl. But she had lifted him with one hand and shook him like he was nothing more than a handkerchief though he easily weighed over two hundred pounds.

He stroked his moustache before nodding. "Where do you want to go?"

"Isla de Mona."

Once he had released the boat from its moorings, Spot came running along the dock and jumped into it. He carried one of the dog's rear legs in his mouth.

"Get us there as fast as you can. I am going below." She petted Spot's head and scratched him behind his ear. "If he moves from the wheel eat him."

Spot snorted and settled on the deck behind the man to gnaw on what was left of the Doberman pinscher.

In the small cabin below deck, she placed Dick on one cot and then slid onto the one across from it. The numbness in her limbs was dissipating. Her lungs no longer felt like soggy loaves of bread stuffed into her chest.

"When do we go home, Jane?"

"We have to find a new home."

"Why?"

"We just do. Go to sleep now."

"A poem, Jane, tell me a poem."

"It's not a good time for a poem, baby."

"A poem, Jane, I want a poem."

"All right." She knelt down and took hold of his hand. "This is by a man named John Donne. He lived a long time ago. It's called The Good-Morrow." She cleared her throat and licked her lips. She should have taken a drink of water first. "And now good-morrow to our waking souls, which watch not one another out of fear; For love, all love of other sights controls and makes one little room an everywhere. Let sea-discoverers to new worlds have gone. Let maps to others, worlds on worlds have shown. Let us possess one world, each hath one, and is one."

"Love you, Jane."

"I love you, too, Dick." She returned to the cot.

"Amigos?"

"Amigos."

"Forever?"

"Forever."

Dick fell asleep quickly but sleep wouldn't come to her even with his scent infusing the cabin. She had killed two men tonight and had been responsible for another one's death. What affect would this violence have on Dick? He had already seen his brothers laid out in a freezer.

What had they done to make Tubby and his men hate them so much?

"They are monsters," Tubby had shouted to the doctors.

What made them abominations, mu-tants, experiments that should have been aborted? What danger was Dick to anyone? Why did Tubby want him dead most of all?

She held up her hands, flexed the tip of her right middle finger to unsheathe the three-quarter inch long talon on it and let a drop of fluid fall on the blanket covering the bunk. Reddish smoke rose from the blanket, leaving a hole in it and the mattress.

If any of Tubby's men caught up to them, she would slice open their chests. Her venom would swell them until they exploded and dissolved away. She would tear them apart and—

Spot growled at the top of the four stairs leading to the deck.

"You're right. I have to stay in control." She sat up, leaned over and inhaled more of Dick's scent. It quelled the roiling inside her.

Why does that make him a freak? Why does that make him so dangerous?

Drs. Findley, Mead and Kerr had argued against their orders, but Tubby's men took over the compound.

She knew she had to get Dick and Spot away. She had taken Dick from his bed, freed Spot from his pen, leapt over the twelve-foot high perimeter fence to the west, where she found two full canteens, and fled into the mountain forest.

Sally Kerr had always made it clear to her. "You and Dick have been endowed with capabilities beyond normal humans. That is why you must stay here at the compound."

There was Dick's ability to glow and flash because of the bioluminescent bacteria that lived symbiotically in his skin. There were her talons and venom, her camouflage ability, her incredible strength, speed and endurance. Aside from his extraordinary size, there was Spot's mane, something jaguars don't have, and his ability to purr, something jaguars didn't do.

Why should any of that make Tubby Chase want the three of them dead? And why was a man named Harvey Weinberg more than likely coming to get them?

# Chapter 56

The flight crew and the two agents with him had difficulty getting him aboard the Gulfstream G650ER. The wheelchair he sat in wasn't big enough for him. It stuck once going through the door to his office on the jet and one wheel brake wouldn't work properly when the agent tried to secure him for takeoff.

The call from Sao Paulo came twenty minutes into the flight to Virginia via Chicago. Chase was able to press the speaker button on the desk phone without assistance from either of the two agents standing by.

"Everyone's dead but me," the voice said. "She killed them."

"She killed everyone but you. Why?"

"Because she wanted one of us left alive to tell you she is coming for all of you."

Chase moved his wheelchair closer to the desk and waved his two men out of the office. "Why now? What triggered this change in their behavior?"

"I don't know, sir. My team was in place. We had good sights and straight, unobstructed firing lines. Ricardo was leading his piranhas as he always did. They were having a successful day. Grace was tending to the women. I would say at least two of them look ready to pop. It was all SOP for them and us. Then. . . ."

"Then what?" A sudden poking sensation where Weinberg had injected him made his leg twitch and sent burning pain down to his broken ankle.

"A delivery van arrived. It blocked our view of them for less than a minute. When it pulled away, they were all gone, the children, the women and those two. Before we could regroup she was on us. It only took her about thirty seconds to kill the other three. Sir, I thought she could only cause intense pain with her touch. When did she develop the ability to kill?"

"Just find them."

One of the agents had opened the laptop and signed on for him. Using the touchpad, he called up the file documenting Jane's creation and development. The entries were free of scientific or medical jargon; documentation for the laymen, for Cliff's brain trust group who had thought up the project and then come hats and wallets in hand to Weinberg.

"Fuckers."

Six months ago, Sally Kerr made the last entry in the sub-file PERSONALITY DEVELOPMENT: Jane has grown into an attractive and charming young woman. She is normally an effervescent child who enjoys everyone at the compound, especially Bachelor and Keyes, who have eagerly taken on the roles of big brothers to her. She can still become pensive, withdrawn and sad at times, though she is unable at this stage of her development to express any reasons for such mood swings. She and Dick have developed the special bond we had anticipated. Her episodes of melancholy have become less frequent since his arrival.

There have only been two occurrences of people getting between Jane and Dick in such a way as to trigger her hyper-protectiveness of him. Both incidents were quickly diffused. The only damage was some minor topical necrosis of cells where Jane's venom made contact with the technicians' skin.

One of the agents came back into the office. "It's Moyer, sir. He's at GRC Puerto Rico. They have a problem."

He split the screen on the laptop and called up the secure link. Howard Finley, Calvin Mead and Sally Kerr were in the room with Moyer and two guards.

Moyer said, "They escaped just before I got here."

"How?"

The sub-file GESTATION provided a summary of Jane's development in the artificial womb chamber. Spot, Jane and Dick were the only ones to be cultured in vitro for the duration of their fetal development.

The purpose of the extended incubation period of fifteen to eighteen months was to permit a more complete level of development before birth. The notes detailed the benefits of closing the cranial sutures and further neuronal development that also would make them too large for any human female's birth canal to accommodate.

Dick and Jane and Spot had needed to be hatched.

Finlay said, "Over the perimeter fence to the west."

"What happened?"

Finlay provided the details of how they discovered the children and the jaguar missing.

"Why now? This isn't another stage in the boy's development, is it?"

"No," Finlay said.

Moyer pushed Kerr closer to the camera. "Tell him."

"We believe Jane overheard us arguing with your men about the directive. We used some graphic language that must have frightened her."

The sub-file recordings were punctuated with hyperbole about the potential of extended incubation for eliminating pre-natal abnormalities and for salvaging dangerously premature babies. The fact was Weinberg had simply wanted to watch Jane and then Dick develop. He wanted to make sure they turned out exactly how he intended. If not, he could have flushed them away with the push of a button.

Finlay stepped back into view. "It sure as hell did. Who wouldn't be frightened after hearing what we said, especially if you knew you were the target?"

Kerr said, "It didn't have to come to this, Tim."

"Where are we with the search?"

Moyer said, "They've never been out of the compound. We have teams after them. Each group has a receiver for picking up their tracker signals."

"They are short-range only."

Kerr said, "Spot's tracker might have been damaged when they escaped. We get no signal from it. The bacteria masks Dick's signal until you get close."

"Jane's should still be working."

"This is ludicrous. Where is everyone now?"

Observing Jane as a developing fetus was to see some twitching, hideous little pink and purple freak-in-a-jar. She was a grotesque abomination to be secreted away in a circus tent to shock people when they came through. He had declined Weinberg's invitation to return for another look when they repeated their experiment by creating Dick.

Someone entered the room, came to Moyer and whispered in his ear.

"What is it?"

"Whitman and Young are dead. Teams two and three found their bodies near a swamp. The cat killed Young. The girl killed Whitman. There wasn't much left of him, but it looks like he got off a shot of Somna-Q-Forty-five."

"At the girl or the cat?"

"We don't know."

Finlay shouted, "They shouldn't have split up. They should have kept Bachelor and Keyes with them. She wouldn't have harmed them."

"Would it stop the girl?"

Kerr said, "It would stop Spot, but one dart would only slow Jane down for a short time."

She stopped Finlay from coming forward.

"Tim," she said. "Spot is bigger than a full-grown male Siberian tiger and four times stronger. He's almost as ferocious as Jane. But now her programming to protect Dick has kicked in. They are going to be formidable killers if you keep sending your men after them. She can see in the dark better than Spot can."

Under EYES: Sapphire irises, but an almost mirror-like reflective surface rather than white for the rest of the eye. This may be some adaptive contribution to Jane's camouflage abilities. She has fifty percent more rods and cones; better night vision than Spot. Enhanced color vision; into the infra-red band—body heat.

Finlay shouted. "If she takes off her clothes, none of your goons will see her coming before it's too late."

He brought up the sub-file SKIN: The genetic coding to produce chromatophores and iridocytes successfully established in Jane. She can change to a single color, create patches of different colors or cascade any mixture of colors she desires.

"Where are they going? Where can they go?"

Moyer said, "Finlay and Mead think they will hide somewhere because they don't know their way around. Kerr thinks the girl will try to get them off the island. I agree with Kerr, Tim. They are in full escape mode but she isn't experienced or familiar with Puerto Rico. They appear to be heading for the west coast."

Kerr again restrained Finlay from charging the laptop. "Let me send just Bachelor and Keyes. She trusts them. They will bring them back to us. Then we can operate."

"You should have done whatever you had meant to do before her programming kicked in." He said to Moyer, "Get eyes on the Caribbean. There are islands between Puerto Rico and the Dominican Republic."

"I'll take care of it."

"Remove those three." The two guards removed the doctors from the room. "Grace and Ricardo are in play now. She killed all but one member of my unit."

"I thought Weinberg claimed she was a diluted version of her mother. What changed?"

"She's fourteen now. Reaching puberty might have changed more than just her hormones; it has been a major milestone in the other two. Whatever triggered the change, we can't let those two connect with the three you're after."

"What about the third one?"

"Ferris has her. He thinks he can save her. The other two are the priority. We can get to the Lomax girl anytime if she survives. I'll be in Virginia."

"Over and out for now."

Jane's strength was last tested when she was ten years fourteen days, the onset of budding. She could lift over her head six times her body weight of sixty-four pounds. Anecdotal evidence from Bachelor and Keyes indicated she had become significantly stronger after the onset of puberty. Further proof that she was a freak came in the other performance measurements they had made. At fourteen years, one month, one day, test results were as follows: Top sprinting speed: 45 mph. Cruising speed: 35 mph for up to 4000 yards. Her standing long jump: 26' 8". Her running long jump: 66' 9". Standing vertical leap, a measure of how high her feet get above the floor: 20' 4". Her reflexes: fifty percent faster than the fastest reaction times previously recorded in a human; nerve conduction speed 1200 feet per second versus the norm of 800 feet per second.

And if all that wasn't enough to satisfy Weinberg, Cliff and his cronies, there were her talons and venom: Her fingernails terminate in triangular-shaped points that curl over the ends of her fingers, except for her middle fingers. Somewhat flat at the end, they possess prehensile, three-quarter inch long, hollow talons that she can retract or extend at will. Glands located under her armpits inject venom into any punctures or gashes she creates via rapid contractions of the muscles around the glands and the ones circling the ducts along the length of her arms.

Weinberg made most of the entries in the last sub-file POISON: Similar to the spider venom it was developed from. A complex compound of enzymes not yet fully analyzed—the incident in San Francisco confirmed that Weinberg had finally completed his analysis—that catalyzes and accelerates normal breakdown reactions of the body. The venom also rapidly breaks down the proteins of cell membranes, which subsequently generates intense heat and releases great amounts of carbon dioxide and other gases inside the body, which in turn causes swelling. Fissures then erupt on the skin and expel the gases and the copious amounts of liquefied tissue produced.

Mead made one of his rare entries to describe the consequences of one of Jane's 'stings' as highly exothermic decomposition, though others at the compound used the word digestion in place of decomposition when they described the process. Death followed within thirty seconds of being scratched or punctured. There was still no known antidote.

This was the result of Weinberg, Kerr, Finlay, Mead and their teams playing around with Jane's genetic code, adding bits here and there from God knows what, activating and deactivating sequences. They had then done the same tinkering to Spot, though much less so, and then to Dick, though much more so; all because Cliff and his fellow masterminds had thought they had a good idea on how to counter the uncontrollable, bombastic celebrity dunderheads taking over their political agenda, only to become cowards once they saw the results.

The other agent returned to the office. "We just received a call from GRC Virginia, sir. Assistant Director Jacob Tessaro from the Office of the Director of National Intelligence is on his way there to meet with you."

He slammed the lid of the laptop closed. "Tell the pilot to file a new flight plan once he lands in Chicago. I will give him the new coordinates then."

# Chapter 57

He put in the call to Nyla Rowe after everyone had returned to Maternity Three. Herman helped him bring up Tye's body while Ramona tended to Lola, Benigna, Conchetta and Gwen.

After Rowe completed her report to him, he said, "My condolences about Jaxon. We have Lola with us now. We also have her daughter and another who came with her."

"Why did they go there?"

"Latitia Ramos Valdez."

"Van Biert's missing nanny?"

"They're plans changed along the way. They were instructed to rendezvous here, though Lola doesn't know why, and then go to Juarez. But Ramos Valdez wasn't here when they arrived. They were attacked while looking for her."

"Who attacked them?"

"Three of the Garcia gang. Lola killed them, but she was injured. She also lost the case she brought with her. It contains the same two toxins Weinberg used in San Francisco."

"Jesus, Frank, you have to find that case."

"I know. We haven't found any Isabellas. We lost Rosen to one of those snakes. Has Sage been able to divine anymore information?"

"She's gone."

"What?"

"Sorry, Frank, I'm not thinking clearly. Thomas took her and Savannah away a few minutes ago. He has a place where they can hide and he thinks he can help her. Dr. Garcia has remembered a medical clinic in Estero Beach. We've sent a request to Mexican authorities to investigate both it and a related clinic in Ensenada."

"What about here?"

"Sage insisted you would find something there. Maybe it's the case, not the women. Frank, I just don't know."

"I think I can help you with that," Li Chu Yan shouted from the tunnel. "If someone can get me out of this bloody hole, that is."

"Keep in touch." He ended the call and went over to the hole where the staircase used to be. "Grab hold."

"You look tired, Frank."

"Just grab the damn rope."

Li chuckled and leapt up for the floor. He didn't make it. "I still don't see how you can do that. You're close to eighty pounds heavier than me and it's at least fifteen feet."

"Do you want up or not?"

Li took hold of the rope. Frank pulled him up.

"What were you doing down there?"

"I was taking another look around. There isn't as much damage as you might have thought. That blockage in the tunnel kept most of the explosion contained in the laboratory and upwards into the pool. I spotted your new friends there and then the three caballeros sneaking up behind them, but those blasted snake-lizard things cornered me. I ran down a very short tunnel I didn't know was there only to find more of them." He held up his Walther PPK. "I am out of ammo. That's four bloody magazines worth." He dropped the gun. "And I didn't get them all. I'm telling you, Frank, it was not fun trying to get close enough to squash those little bastards with a rock and not get one of them up my pant leg."

Ramona just went back to bandaging Lola's wounds when he looked at her. "He's your friend, not mine."

"When this is over," Li said, "you have to give me the opportunity to change your opinion of me."

"Fat chance."

"Frank, you dog. She's hot for you. It's always the bloody dark, quiet, surly ones women find irresistible."

"You said you could help."

Finished with Lola, Ramona came to them and aimed her Uzi at Li. "I am fully loaded."

"Under the circumstances, I won't touch that." He walked to the doorway. "There is, I believe, a holding area above ground. You might find what you're looking for there."

"Didn't you check it already?"

"As a matter of fact, yes, and I found a big, empty room. Vast as it is, it created quite an echo when I called for anyone pregnant or otherwise to reveal themselves to me. But I got nada. I even dropped your name, Frank, and still nobody replied or came out of hiding."

Ramona said, "Why go back, then?"

"Because now we have the real deal. I was in a hurry, as Frank will tell you, so I didn't waste time tapping for secret doors or human-sized cubbyholes. Frank, on the other hand, may draw them out of the woodwork. He does have some amazing abilities."

"What about them?"

Frank said, "We all go."

Ramona stepped up to Li and prodded him with her Uzi. "Lead the way."

Kolisnek said, "We will stay here with Tye."

"We will come back for him."

"We won't leave him."

"We aren't leaving him, but this is what we came back here for. There may be nothing to it, but we need to be sure."

"You're not going to accuse me of being a sneaky yellow bastard again, are you, Frank? It was uncalled for the last time and it still smarts."

Gwen took hold of Herman's hand. "This shouldn't take long."

Ramona prodded Li again.

"There is no need for that."

Li led them up through the crater that used to be a pool, through the rubble that used to be the great room to the back of the house past the library, which had not suffered any damage from the explosions. At a walk-in linen closet off the hallway, he said, "The door is behind those shelves." He took hold of the shelving unit and easily swung it out of the way to reveal a door. "Just to prove I am trustworthy, I will go first."

Ramona said, "That proves nothing."

Li opened the door stepped in and then moved to his right.

Frank tensed for gunfire or an attack, but nothing happened.

From inside the room, Li called, "Come on in, Frank."

Ramona took the lead. "It's empty."

He brought in Gwen, Herman, Lola, Benigna and Conchetta behind Ramona. The room, bright with light coming in through six large skylights at the house end, extended into the mountainside and was too big to check all at once. Frank looked to his left first.

"You are right, Frank. I am a sneaky yellow bastard." He pointed to seven puddles of residue near the center of the room. "The seventh one is Lola's friend, I think. Terribly sorry, she just got in the way. And I had to see if the merchandise was all that Weinberg claimed it was."

Past the residue stains, the bodies of three men lay near the far wall. A large pool of blood surrounded them.

Lola said, "Fidel."

Li chuckled. "He thought I could be trusted, too. You Westerners are so gullible."

Ramona aimed the Uzi at Li's head, but he produced a katana from behind his back and hacked off her arm just in front of the elbow. She fell back into Herman.

Frank pushed the others away, turned and lunged at Li.

Li sidestepped him and slashed at his back. His tough skin and scales prevented the slash from being a fatal strike into his spine, but it still opened a wound over one foot long and sent him stumbling forward. Li rushed him while he was still off balance, the katana held over his head to deliver the killing strike.

Frank planted as best he could, but his momentum started him toppling backward. He put up his right arm to block the strike. The blade penetrated only slightly into his skin, but Li pulled it back in a slicing motion. Letting his momentum carry him, Frank stepped away from the blade before it could cut deeper into him. His blood splattered as he drew his arm back.

"I suppose you've figured out that Zhang Jian Chao was my cover." Li charged him with the katana held to his right ready to swing into his waist.

As soon as Li began his swing, Frank jumped over the blade and kicked out at Li's head. Li ducked under the kick and punched him in the thigh. The blow hurt!

He fell to the floor and rolled away. His right leg had gone numb and wouldn't move.

"I don't think I'm quite as strong as you. Maybe Weinberg gave me different proteins. You know how he likes to experiment. You know how bloody particular he is about who he gives his best stuff to."

Frank dragged himself up into a sitting position. His leg was useless.

"I'm hungry all the time now no matter how much I eat. How about you? I would wager you burn somewhere between ten and fifteen thousand calories a day, probably closer to twenty thousand during a hectic day like this. It's a wonder we don't starve to death." Li held his sword down at his side and came to him, but didn't attack. "It's all headed that way isn't it? Anything you're puny, selfish heart desires; all that frivolous eugenics bullshit that's been around since they discovered inheritance. And being the ultimate conman, Weinberg believes he can actually deliver. The world will be lapping at his teat, so in the end, he gets swept up in it all along with everyone else." He raised the katana. "I really didn't want to hurt your new love, Frank, but business is business in this business."

His right leg just wouldn't move. His right arm still dripped blood on the floor. Every move he made or tried to make seemed to split wider the slice along his back. Sweat stung his eyes. The edge of his vision grew dark.

"Honestly, Frank, I would have preferred to be on your side, but little older sister would eat my testicles raw if I let you go. If it's any consolation, I'll be—"

Lola tackled Li, driving him into the wall. The impact knocked the sword away. While Li and Lola exchanged blows and kicks, Benigna sprinted to the dropped katana.

Lola was every bit as fast as Li and equally skilled at martial arts. But she was injured. Her left arm was clearly weakened. Li quickly assessed her injury and focused his attack on that side of her. A succession of punches, chops and kicks to Lola's left forced a retreat until she was against the wall. Li stepped back to deliver a final kick to her head.

Benigna took the opening when Li had his back to her. She ran at him swinging the katana in front of her. She swung at his legs.

Turning with the swing, Li blocked her arm and struck her in the chin with an upward thrust of his other hand. The snap of her neck vertebrae echoed in this huge empty room as the force of Li's blow lifted her off her feet and sent her backward through the air to land near the line of residue puddles. Benigna couldn't have felt the impact of her landing.

Li immediately swung back at Lola and delivered a roundhouse kick to the side of her head that bounced her off the wall and down to the floor.

Though feeling in his right leg was only slowly returning Frank had been able to use the time given him to crawl over to the three dead men. Fidel Garcia Padilla had been decapitated. The other two men had been gutted.

Li retrieved the katana and took a quick inventory of his victories before coming for him.

"Does it gall you to know we are not the final product, his pinnacle, the perfection he is working toward? It bloody well pisses me off. I've always envied your greater strength, Frank. When they ordered me to take you out, I almost shit myself. What chance would I have against you? But you seem to have developed some problems over the last little while. I'm not going to be able to brag about this as much as I thought."

"The iPod."

"Weinberg wanted you to see what was on it. I thought you'd get around to taking another look, but then your girlfriend showed up, and wouldn't you know." He pointed to a metal briefcase against the wall. "Though she didn't know it, Lola was bringing that to me. You know Weinberg, not big on details for the assignments. It goes to Madame Ng as payment for arranging a torpedo attack in the Yellow Sea. With those samples we can make our own—"

Li had to duck away when a spray of bullets just missed him.

Kolisnek, shirtless, had recovered Ramona's Uzi from her severed grip, but he wasn't an experienced shooter.

Frank grabbed Fidel's head and rose to his feet. Braced against the wall with one hand, he waited for his chance. The moment the Uzi was empty and Li focused his rage on Kolisnek, Frank tossed the head as hard as he could.

Fidel's head split to pieces when it struck Li's head. He lifted the sword and staggered toward him, shaking his head and blinking rapidly as he came.

Kolisnek came at Li from behind, raised a handgun and shot him through the heart.

Frank checked Lola first.

"He promised me she would be the one. Was that just more of his lies?" She closed her eyes and stopped breathing. There was no pulse when he checked her neck.

Gwen was holding Conchetta and trying to stop her crying. Ramona was pressing Herman's shirt against her abdomen with her remaining hand. Someone had put a tourniquet around her arm using a belt.

"He was fast," she said. "I didn't even feel the second one."

Li had sliced across her stomach at hip level. Kolisnek's shirt and her own clothes were soaked with blood.

She took hold of his arm. "I executed two men before they could become serial killers because a fourteen-year-old girl told me to. That's who we are. We go where we're told and we do what we're told. We can only hope we do it for the right reasons. Don't let it end with this failure, Frank."

He stayed with her until her hand dropped from his arm.

# Chapter 58

At the end of Oak Park Drive on the western slope of Mount Sutro, Forest Knolls, Danny parked the old, white, rusty Nissan pick-up truck he'd borrowed from another journalism student.

"Is that it?"

She checked the address Joan McGowan had given them. "That's it."

"It's dark."

"It's a safe house."

Danny turned off the engine. "Shouldn't someone be watching for us? Shouldn't they be peaking out through the curtains or standing on the porch? Should a safe house be so dark inside?"

"Special Agent Brian Laskey is in charge. He has two other agents with him as well as Sammy. Inspector Kozlowski from SFPD is on his way."

"Why don't we just wait a few minutes and see what happens?"

She got out of the Nissan, having to kick at the door to get it to open. "I could use Sammy's help."

Though the front porch had automatic lights, they didn't come on as they ascended the stairs.

"They are not making me feel welcome. Why don't we wait out here until the Kozlowski cavalry arrives and go in with him?"

"That could take hours. This might just be standard operating procedure. They aren't exposing themselves to anyone who might have followed us."

"If someone followed us, turning off the lights won't do us any good. We gave away our position the moment we got out of the truck and approached the house."

"I'm better with the virtual cloak and dagger part of all this, not the real world stuff. They are probably watching us on CCTV. Knock on the door."

The door opened. Sammy Fitzpatrick stepped up to fill the doorway. "Come on in. We've been expecting you." He moved aside to let them pass.

Donny let her go first, which meant she was the first one to see the three FBI agents on the floor when she entered the living room. A moment later Donny grunted and fell into her. They landed beside the woman agent.

She'd been shot in the forehead. Lily couldn't see any wounds on the other two agents, but she didn't have enough time to get a good look at them.

Fitzpatrick picked them both up and deposited them on the sofa.

"That call from McGowan forced my hand. It also moved up our schedule. We will take Muta now, Lily. You can set up over there." He aimed a handgun at Donny. "Be as quick as you can."

A table had been cleared. There was no chair to sit on, but there was a plug in the wall next to the table and an Ethernet cable ready for her use.

"Why did you betray us?"

"I'm not really the sharing type. Get on with it."

"You developed Pox."

"We have our cabal, too, yes, but I was the main engineer behind that. It was very obliging of you to just leave such a forceful piece of work so easily available to us. Hurry up. Reinforcements for these zombies are on the way."

She plugged in her laptop and connected the Ethernet cable before turning it on. "Kieran is dead."

"So are many of the others, I imagine. Some are being given the opportunity to join us instead. I would have made that same offer to you, but I knew you would never accept it anymore than Baber did."

"Did you kill him, too?"

"No one can find him."

She brought up the program icon onto the screen.

"Let's see her. I want to watch her surrender."

Muta appeared on the screen in what the Creators Almighty had labelled her royal garments: her Amazon outfit that shined more than usual, a long, heavy cape of dark red lining and royal blue on the top and her sparkling tiara.

Fitzpatrick laughed. "Stupid fuckers."

Another handgun lay on the floor on the fireplace hearth only three feet from her. The bent poker lay between it and the agent with a dark gash along his left temple.

She asked Muta, "Are you ready?"

"Do it, Lily."

"Good-bye."

"Good-bye."

"Jesus, Lily, do you want me to shoot him? It's just a program. Get it over with."

She pressed enter after first turning the volume on the laptop as loud as it would go. Muta's plangent wail sounded human because it was a recording of Kieran during one of his outbursts. She had doctored it before adding it to Muta's repertoire.

Fitzpatrick didn't come over to see what was happening. He wasn't any better at the real world cloak and dagger stuff than she was. Keeping his gun aimed at Donny was less risky to him.

"Get out of the way. Let me see."

She pushed the button before stepping aside.

Muta lay on the ground in the middle of her favorite trail in her virtual forest. Pox, the hulking werewolf version of it, came out from behind a tree and walked over to her on its hind legs. First, it howled as the daylight screen darkened to night with a full moon glowing over the treetops. Then Pox picked her up.

"Nice CGI, Lily, but stop trying to drag this out."

The moment Pox raised its head to howl again, she pressed the last button in the sequence. Muta raised her head, drew her silver dagger and stabbed Pox in the heart. Kirk stepped out from behind a tree and cut off Pox's head with his light saber. The trio and the forest fragmented a second later. A series of fractal images accelerated out from the center of the screen.

"Very Space Odyssey, Zemar, thanks," she said.

"What did you just do?"

"We did it, asshole. She has the world's biggest connection of botnets inundating your bitch dog with over ten trillion bits per second of data."

"Stop it or your boyfriend gets a bullet in the ear."

"It can't be stopped, stupid fucker."

"I wish you'd told me that." Donny slid down on the sofa and kicked up at Fitzpatrick's gun hand. He quickly followed that with a side kick to Sammy's left knee.

Fitzpatrick swung his massive right fist at Donny as he stumbled back. Donny was able to duck under the blow, but Fitzpatrick grabbed hold of the wall as he stumbled through the doorway and stayed up. He also still held the gun. He aimed it first at her and then swung round to aim it at the closer target. His head snapped forward just after he pulled the hammer back. His arms dropped and he fell forward into the living room.

Shana stood in the doorway holding a pipe wrench. She was still wearing her tool belt and her work clothes: jeans, a paint-stained black top, a red and blue flannel shirt over that, and steel-toed boots. She stepped over Fitzpatrick and stomped across the room.

After hugging her, Shana said to Donny, "Thanks for the message." She then said to her, "Are you done?"

Lily just nodded.

"We'll leave these ones for the reinforcements to find." Shana closed the laptop, unplugged it and disconnected the cable. "Come on, I have this cool place where you can hide."

# Chapter 59

The first pitch of the boat woke her up. The second pitch sent her tumbling from the cot. A quick recovery of her balance allowed her to stop Dick from tumbling off his cot onto her.

Spot was growling on deck.

"Wait here." She went up the four stairs to the deck, keeping watch on Dick as she did.

The night sky was flaring with lightning flashing between the clouds when it wasn't discharging down to the Caribbean Sea.

The man cursed in Spanish. "Tropical storm Mina is catching up to us. It is not strong, but we are directly in its path."

"How much farther?"

"Less than six kilometers." He glanced at the jaguar.

Spot had finished with the leg and was focused only on the man.

"Stay on course." She returned below deck.

Dick was standing, but he was holding on to the cot to brace himself against the pitching of the boat. "Sick, Jane, don't feel good."

"Señorita!"

She leapt up to the deck to see the man pointing east. A bright spotlight was approaching.

"Who is after you? Why are they after you? Why would they risk coming out in this storm after you?"

Her face cascaded colors. She crouched, growled and lashed out with a talon.

"Madre de Dios, what are you?"

"Can you go any faster?"

"Not in rough seas like this. We will capsize or break up on the waves."

The helicopter launched a rocket at the boat. Dropping into a trough between two waves took them out of danger. The rocket exploded sixty yards away.

The man stopped the boat and raised his hands when the spotlight focused on him.

"Don't stop!"

"They have rockets. We can't outrun rockets."

She jumped back down into the cabin, grabbed Dick and brought him up on deck. "See that big light, Dick. I need you to flash right back at it as bright as you can when I tell you."

He turned in her arms to face the helicopter, put up both hands with palms facing it and waved. "Ready, Jane."

She shouted over the peals of thunder, "Be ready to speed away."

He started to protest, but Spot growled and came closer to him. "Vos a conseguir nos mató." You are going to get us killed. He grabbed the wheel and the throttle.

"Nos matan no importa lo quie hacemos." They will kill us not matter what we do. She kissed the back of Dick's head. "Now, baby, as bright as you can."

Dick's flash was bright but too short. He groaned and turned in her arms. "No more, Jane. Don't feel good."

The helicopter shone a second spotlight on the boat and opened fire with a machine gun.

The man was struck as he tried to dive overboard. His right leg was shot off.

"Spot!" She leapt from the deck in the opposite direction from the man just before bullets began pecking the boat to pieces.

Spot jumped after her but his sudden deflection to the right while in midair confirmed he'd been struck.

The speedboat exploded into a bright ball of orange flames, offering the blinding cover Dick's flash had failed to do.

The heaving, frothing water was pulling them apart.

"Jane," Dick sputtered as water splashed in his face. "Spot!"

Debris from the boat came down around them. Twice she had to duck when waves launched some piece of it at them.

Dick held on to her as tight as he could, but he couldn't stop crying. Splashes of water kept getting into his mouth until his gagging became so powerful he threw up all over her back.

The helicopter was trying to hover over the burning, sinking wreckage while two searchlights scanned the water, but the rapidly increasing wind speed at the front edge of Mina was buffeting it from side to side. Slowly, it began circling outward once the last of the burning speedboat sank from view. It was coming their way.

"Hold your breath, Dick."

"Sick, Jane, don't feel good."

"I know, baby, but you have to do this for me. We can't let them find us."

Dick took a deep breath, squeezed his eyes shut and puffed out his cheeks.

She took them under, turning to watch the searchlights pass over their position. Had they spotted them? What if they fired more rockets? As special as Dick was, he wasn't able to hold his breath for much longer than a normal child his age. She couldn't take them deeper or he wouldn't survive to take another breath.

The lights passed over them again before leaving.

Both she and Dick took big gasps of air when they surfaced. Dick gagged and coughed but he didn't vomit again.

She couldn't see Spot anywhere nearby. As good as her night vision was, finding a black jaguar in this roiling sea was going to be almost impossible.

"Spot," Dick called out. His hands and faced glowed. His hands flashed. "Spot! We're here, Spot!" He flashed again.

She looked for the helicopter but it didn't come back.

The wild sea was sapping what was left of her strength. Each up and down toss of them weakened her grip on Dick. Her legs were getting tired. The tranquilizer had not been completely neutralized yet.

Dick flashed again, but it wasn't very bright. He'd need a minute or more before his bacteria were recharged. Was Spot anywhere near them anymore?

She lay back and tried to float up and down along the waves, but the weight of Dick on her kept pressing down against her hips trying to fold her in half and sink them.

The storm was moving off. As the lightning flashes decreased and vanished over the horizon everything above and below merged into a black curtain surrounding them.

Something bumped into her. Jaws clamped around her right shoulder but didn't bite down. Four large canines pressed delicately into her, trying to hold her but not pierce her.

"Spot." Dick reached past her face and patted the jaguar's head.

Spot snorted and started swimming with her in his grip. He would know which direction they needed to go.

"Wait." She disengaged from his jaws, felt along his body as he came into proper focus and placed Dick onto him. That move forced her under the water for a few seconds. She came up coughing.

"Jane sick, too!"

"Hold on tight, Dick." She took hold of Spot's mane with two hands once she was sure Dick had a good hold on him.

Spot started swimming again. He didn't use his left rear leg, though.

She rested her head on him and kicked to help as much as she could. It was impossible to know how long Spot swam with them like that. She kept drifting in and out of consciousness until Spot's snort woke her. Dick had fallen asleep on top of him, but he was exhausted and beginning to sink.

"I've got him." She took Dick from Spot's back.

Spot kept swimming as he went underwater.

She grabbed for him, but he had sunk too far. "Spot! Spot! Keep swimming. We must be almost there. Don't give up."

Spot surfaced fifty yards away from them and tried to swim back to her. He could barely keep his head above water. The waves were nothing like they had been during the peak of the storm, but Spot just kept drifting away from them no matter how hard he tried to get back.

"Spot," Dick called out in his sleep. His hands flashed, but they were underwater and barely visible. With his fingers spread wide, they resembled luminescent jellyfish floating below the waves.

Spot became a silhouette bobbing just above the waves as he floated further away. She could not longer tell if he was still trying to get back to them or was completely spent. Finally, he vanished into a trough and didn't rise again. As if satisfied it had claimed at least one of them, the storm began to dissipate.

*****

"I'm certain it was them," Moyer said over the radio. "That cat was on deck."

"What was she doing with a known drug runner?"

"He stopped the boat and put up his hands. I would say he hadn't volunteered to help them."

"But you found no trace of them after the boat exploded."

"I think we wounded the cat, but the storm was coming in fast. Even they couldn't survive that."

"You know how strong Gillett is."

"I've seen the videos Weinberg made. I read the report you sent me."

"He's nothing compared to her. Keep looking."

"Roger that. We just need to refuel. The other two helos will be here within the hour, over and out."

The phone on his desk began ringing.

Pressing his two crippled hands against it, he picked up his glass full of Jack Daniels whiskey and took a drink before answering.

Billick said, "Senator Cliff hanged himself in his study."

"There will be no doubt?"

"He seemed more than willing once everything was made clear to him. The evidence can be found easily enough. Sir, I thought you were going to Virginia."

"Changed my mind. Meet me there tomorrow. Tell Chapman and Gordon to get their toys ready." He hung up.

Only the desk lamp provided any light to his home office. The ashtray on his desk was full of cigarette butts and one half-smoked cigar. A fierce storm had started pounding against his house.

He placed the glass of whiskey on his lap and wheeled himself over to the glass doors. The heavy rain ricocheted off his garden deck like bullets bouncing off a tank. Whitecaps exploded along the surface of the Potomac. A small table to his right took his glass once he'd finished his drink. A fourth attempt to get up from the wheelchair since returning home also failed. He rubbed cold, throbbing legs. They had stiffened to the point of being like stone.

In an offhanded comment during a videotaped report to him, Weinberg had once expressed his concern about the little bit of extra protein he'd added to Jane—his bio-alloy. "There was a chance she might develop myosclerosis, a hardening of connective tissue and muscles that would have made her too rigid to move. But, as you can see, she is having no trouble at all."

Footsteps approached the office.

He swivelled the chair and started back to his desk.

Weinberg entered the room and blocked his way. "Is there something I can get for you, Tim?"

"How did you get in here?"

"Your ranks are thinning. I dare say mine are, too, but neither of us has ever cared about that. I expect to hear soon of the death of Maggie's goblin."

"What do you want?"

"I've just come to help an old friend." He poured himself out a measure of Jack Daniels and took a sip. "I was sorry to hear about Roland, but I can't say I'm surprised. He seemed highly unstable the last time I visited him." He poured another drink into a new glass and brought it to him.

"Why are you here?"

"You don't care for what's smothering this world anymore than I do. You see the decadence, the monoclonal humanity we've become. The same wants, the same greed, the same vacuous, selfish goals abound. The same old, idiotic superstitions prevail. You create gods out of frantic ignorance of all the truly great mysteries of existence." He took another sip of whiskey. "No, out of frantic arrogance."

"Look who's talking."

"There's no variability, Tim, hasn't been for quite some time now. It wouldn't be tolerated. I'm just reintroducing that crucial factor." He poured himself another drink. "It's like this concession to social convention, this absurd conformity of manners. I drink your whiskey though it has no affect on me." He glanced down at the desk. "I suppose we could have sat around smoking a good cigar while we pontificate on the ills of the world and how to fix them."

"You're doing that all on your own."

"It must be difficult for you. You claim you despise all the mediocrity around you, yet you constantly defend this country's surplus of it. And look at what you've used to do that. You're slipping, Tim, losing that normalcy and order you despise and covet so much. It's just so tempting, isn't it? I understand that."

Weinberg took him back to the glass doors and positioned him to look out at the storm. He locked the wheels. "Always the one to bite the hand that feeds you, you've never been able to recognize who your true allies are."

"I will be rid of you and everything you created, no matter what it takes."

"You're working with them against me at the same time you are working with me against them. You've become quite the lonely middle child."

He slapped his stone legs. "Don't tell me how I must feel."

"Cliff is dead. His group has gone silent. There is no direction for you, no instructions to follow or even defy. You were against their plan from the start weren't you?"

"It had no chance of succeeding."

"But they were more than willing to be convinced they could have a leader for life who they could control. But once they had him, their excitement turned to fear when they realized they might have just created a genetically engineered second coming."

"He's lost at sea."

"But I made so many others. Who knows which one will inherit the crown of thorns?"

"You're full of shit."

"You're frightened, too. You can't embrace a truly new world anymore than anyone else. I find that quite sad considering you've made so many sacrifices for your country maintaining this outdated status quo." Weinberg sighed and saluted him. "No relationships, no wife, no children." He snapped his fingers. "Wait a moment. That is not true."

"What are you talking about?"

"You are their father, Tim. Only their nominal father, granted, but it's as close as you're ever going to get to parenthood. My blood may have made Jane and Dick and all the other dominoes possible, but those two got their adorable good looks from someone else in this room. You are not their only father, but they have more of you in them than from anyone or anything else."

"If you're here to kill me, get it over with."

"I'm not here to kill you, Tim. I owe you something for all the years we worked together."

Weinberg threw his whiskey glass at him. When he ducked out of the way, Weinberg rushed over to him and stabbed him in the left leg with a syringe. "This should release you from your paralysis within the hour. Over the next day or two you should start to feel the changes. Think of it as a reprise of adolescence. I do apologize beforehand for the wild mood swings you will experience, the bizarre cravings that will possess you and the poor impulse control you will struggle with."

Chase tried to grab him by the throat, but his fingers wouldn't close. "I will kill you for this."

Weinberg stepped back. "Still no gratitude." He shook his head. "That clinches it. There will be no reconciliation. Best we just have at it, then. Wait till you see what's coming, Tim." He leaned over and whispered in his ear, "My will be done." Weinberg quietly closed the door to his study on the way out. He whistled as he left the house.

Timothy Bartholomew Chase pounded at his suddenly twitching legs and began screaming.

# Chapter 60

Shana took them to Forest Hills. She parked her truck in front of a ruin that was surrounded by chain link fencing.

Donny said, "That's the Devries mansion."

"After mom told me about it, I convinced Doctor Gibbons it would be a perfect modern anthropological dig. She agreed and acquired all the necessary permits and permission from the trust rebuilding it."

"This is your field study. Your mom thinks you're still in Los Angeles working on a celebrity's house renovation."

"I am, except it's here." She got out of the truck. "Devries tops any celebrity."

"But she thinks—"

"I know what mom thinks, Donny. Marlene may have been able to convince all those bureaucrats to let me crawl around down below, but mom would freak. Come on, you're going to love this." Shana swiped her card through the lock and opened the gate. Rather than take them into the ruins of the house, she took them along the side to the back corner and the doors to the cellar there. "Devries compartmentalized his whole house, what was below it, anyway. You remember me telling you about the caverns?"

"How could we forget? You've been obsessing on them since, like, forever."

Shana opened the doors and led them down the stairs. She slapped one metal door as they passed it. "We believe that leads to the caverns that were involved in the explosions. We haven't found a way to open it yet without damaging it. What we want is this way."

The cellar hallway, barely wide enough to keep them from scraping their shoulders, ended at a rock wall.

"Bet you didn't notice."

"Notice what?"

"We've been going downhill. Look." She turned on a flashlight and shone it back the way they'd just come. They were fifteen to twenty feet lower than the other end of the hallway. "Cool trick, right? We haven't completely figured it out yet, but the hypothesis is the narrowness of the hall and the darkness somehow tricks your mind into thinking you're walking on the level. Hans has taken every measurement he can think of. He should have it solved soon."

"As fascinating as this is, Shana, it's still just a dead end."

"For a genius, you never stop surprising me with your laziness. Give it a push."

Lily stepped up to the stone wall and pushed. It slid back easily and then swung open.

"Algernon Devries was a supremo nut job, but he totally killed it with this place."

Lights came on to illuminate a curving stone staircase.

Donny asked, "What's down there?"

Shana hugged him and then her. "You are about to go behind the wizard's curtain. And I saw it first."

The walls lining—hemming in—the spiraling stairs had been carved to only a few inches wider than the cellar's trick hallway.

"Twenty-seven," Shana said on the way down. "Don't bother to count them. You have more important things to focus on."

Twenty-seven stairs wasn't enough to take them full circle, probably less than halfway. At the bottom of the stairs, an antechamber presented three metal doors to them.

"I found this the second day on site," Shana said and hitched up her tool belt. "That door to our left is the power room. It's separate from the rest of the house. It provided all the power to his caverns and his magic show. It's still operational. The door to our right leads to an empty room. No one knows what he had in mind for that. This is the one we want."

The chamber carved out of the rock resembled a small NASA mission control room. Two consoles presented dials, monitor screens, levers, keyboards and microphones. Chairs attached to rails allowed whoever sat on them to slide along from one end of each console to the other.

"Everything still works." Shana took off her tool belt and walked to the console to their right, pressed a button and then pushed a lever forward. Two screens came on with views of one of Devries's destroyed caverns. "That's the lowest one. It's where the bomb was triggered. Marlene had to get it properly inspected and certified as safe before we could start working in there."

As best as they could, Shana's team had laid out a grid amid the rubble.

"I don't know how we're going to move some of those bigger chunks out of the way. One step at a time, I guess. There is a lot of damage, but you should see what we've found in there. Devries was one sick puppy. We also have CCTV security outside so we can see anyone coming if they do find out where you're hiding." She went to the end of the console and pulled another lever back. A series of clangs reverberated through the stairway outside. "We can secure the tunnel at three locations and that slick door you pushed can be locked if anyone tries to get in. And there is—surprise, surprise—an escape tunnel just over that way should someone actually get through." She bowed. "What you want is over here." Shana took her and Donny by the hand and towed them over to a table. "It has everything you need."

A complete computer station with a functioning high-speed optical cable connection to the internet was ready to go.

She sat down and hooked up her laptop.

"Won't they find you the moment you go back on?"

"Not after I turn on DART."

"Okay," Shana said, "the wizard is back at work. What's next?"

"I need to find out who is still standing."

"Again," Donny said, "won't they find you the moment you try to contact the others? If they've identified all of you . . . ?"

"Again, DART won't let them."

Shana said, "What does that stand for?"

"Defensive Atavistic Righteous Troll; Zemar and I created it."

"Zemar's back in the game? Cool."

"It doesn't stand for anything. Now be quiet and let me work."

"There's no need to become an introverted buzz kill. I did hit a man with my wrench for you."

"Shana, this is serious. My friends have been murdered."

"I know. I was just so worried. I lost track of you two. If Donny hadn't called me—"

"Shush, I've found Nicolette."

Shana said to Donny, "What about back in Dominion?"

Nicolette came up on the screen. "How many? Do you know?"

Donny said, "I called Harry Madsen and Sheriff Strickland and asked them to keep an eye on her mom. Your mom had already briefed Kelly."

She shook her head. "They got to Kieran. Have you heard from Henry?"

"Mom's better at the FBI than as a sheriff."

"What about Dr. Harding?"

"They're still tight. Too much love there for a couple hundred miles to come between them; I hope I find that one day."

"He reported he was fine. He was going into hiding. It may be a few days before we hear from him again. Most everyone else has followed the R-n-H protocol and gone dark. We still have Hong Kong, St. Petersburg, Buenos Aires, Malmo and Tokyo. Montreal, Miami and Mexico City sent pings, but that's all."

"Where are you?"

"Safe."

Behind her, Donny whispered to Shana, "That's their safe word. It means she doesn't have anyone with her that shouldn't be."

"They can't all be gems like Defensive Atavistic Righteous Troll."

"Lily, I've found something." Nicolette broke contact.

"Another protocol," Donny said. "Keep contact to less than a minute."

"Look at this."

Donny and Shana stood behind her.

"See that? That's for the U.S. There is one cell in each state of the union, even Alaska and Hawaii. There are one hundred and thirty-two other cells worldwide. They have all been activated."

Shana said, "We didn't prevent anything in Dominion, did we?"

Donny said, "Do we know what each is doing?"

"That could take a while. It's the most complex security I've ever seen. Zemar is working to get through it as we speak."

Muta appeared on the screen. "I can help with that."

"How are you?"

"New and improved. Sage took good care of me. And she found out something." Muta stood back and waved her hands like a magician to produce a list of seven names. "These are or were critical players for the Proteus Group. Every one of them has or had a direct connection to Harvey Weinberg."

Donny came close to the screen. "Van Biert and Palmer were on the senate committee overseeing the task force. I don't know anything about Senator Roland Cliff or Madison Treadwell."

"Treadwell is an evangelical minister with his congregation spread mostly throughout the Midwest and Southeast. He is considered a radical right-wing bible thumper by his opponents. He's often making critical pronouncements about Muslim extremists as well as President Trotter and her interfering socialist policies. He particularly doesn't like her child welfare initiatives. He calls them little more than big government's attempt to exert undue influence over this country's god-loving families and indoctrinate the children with her liberal, secular ways. There has been some concern about his followers becoming radicalized. Social media is rife with his supporters' paranoid op-ed pieces. They identify a lot of enemies and get quite nasty about them."

Shana said, "I don't know who any of them are."

Donny pointed to the next two names on the list. "Travis Langdon is suspected of having his own militia and has sometimes been linked to Treadwell, though Treadwell's people deny any connection. He lives on a big ranch in the mountains along the border between Montana and Wyoming. He's a decorated former marine."

"He sounds like a clone of Morton Colter."

"Filbert Meriwether is the patriarch of an old-money family from New York. He has to be in his nineties. His children, all doing very well themselves, are always making headlines for their attempts to wrest control of the family wealth from dear old incompetent father."

She said, "Hard to imagine him being too active with PG."

"He could still be spry enough in a Weinberg-inoculated way. He's staved off every legal challenge from his ungrateful children. His main connection is probably his bankroll."

Shana squinted when she looked at the last name. "I don't even know how to pronounce that."

"She's part of China's Secret Service out of Hong Kong. She's known as Madame Ng."

"What is the link between all of them and the Proteus Group?"

"He is," Muta said. Timothy Bartholomew Chase's name appeared on the screen, superimposed over the other seven.

"I will get this to the people who need it. Are you ready for the next part?"

"Is she expecting me?"

Donny said, "Not exactly."

"Pox isn't completely finished. DART can alert you to him, but watch your back."

"Kirk will do that for me."

"Here goes." Lily pushed the Enter button.

Muta brightened to a white angelic figure before winking out.

Shana raised her hands. "Go team DART."

*****

Martin Keyes had tried to explain to her the rotation of the earth, the movement of the stars across the night sky and how sailors got their bearings by tracking that movement. On a moonless night with the remnants of the storm having moved off in the opposite direction, she could see plenty of stars above the Caribbean Sea. There were countless stars above them, but not one could tell her how much time had passed since she, Dick and Spot had jumped out of the speedboat, or where they were.

Waves breaking against the shore provided a direction to go and an estimate of how close they were to land.

"Spot," Dick sputtered and wiped his wet face. "Where is Spot?"

"I don't know, baby. Hold on tight, we're almost there."

She had floated most of the time they were in the water, conserving energy, letting her full strength return and trying to make sense of all those twinkling, maddening stars. After what seemed like days of perpetual darkness all around them and stars above that wouldn't give her the slightest hint of position and direction, a current had taken hold of them.

Luminescent bacteria likely related to the ones engineered to live symbiotically in Dick's skin began to illuminate the water around them. They didn't form a point or anything that would guide them, but they offered company on their journey.

"I'm sorry, Jane. I didn't swim very good."

"You did great."

"Look, Jane." His hands began to glow then his face. It didn't really create a beam of light she could use but Dick would think he was helping her to see. "It's a giant rock."

Dick kept glowing until his bacteria ran out of energy.

She had reached waves near shore. Her feet touched bottom when she stopped swimming and brought Dick up in her arms. The water was up to her waist.

"There, Jane, look, it's Spot."

The jaguar had made it to shore, just barely. His head and front legs were out of the water. Waves lapped over his rear flanks. He didn't move.

"Is he . . . ?"

She moved Dick to her back and ran through the water. "Yes, Dick, he's alive. He has a terrible wound on his rear leg, but I can't see any others." She put Dick down and gave Spot a more thorough examination.

"Spot." Dick fell onto the jaguar's neck and embraced him.

Spot snorted, opened his eyes, flicked his tail and began purring.

The shore they had landed on was flat and sandy for only ten to thirty feet inland before that was replaced by boulders, grass, a few cacti, bushes and short palm trees proceeding up a gentle slope to even larger boulders and then a sheer cliff rising tens of yards above them depending on how far the slope extended from the shoreline.

"Jane, the spotlights are back."

Three helicopters were coming fast from the east.

The gentle slope with all the vegetation covering it offered a clear, easy path to the top of the island, but it was eighty yards away. She could get Dick there and hide behind some of the larger boulders, but Spot couldn't move. Ten yards in the other direction, two boulders being overgrown with moss provided the best chance for them to get behind cover.

She picked Dick up. "Hold on tight, baby." She grabbed Spot at the back of his mane. "I'm sorry about this."

Spot snorted and growled but he didn't resist. He curled into a ball—the world's biggest kitten.

She lifted him up and trotted along the shore, but soon had to slow down and step carefully along uneven ground and protruding stones. The spotlights swept back and forth like scythes where they had just come ashore.

"Make bright light," Dick said. "You can see better with bright light."

"I can see fine, Dick."

Two of the helicopters continued over the island. One stopped to hover over the shoreline. Had the crew seen them?

She set Spot down behind the two boulders and crouched as low as she could next to him, covering Dick against the light. She turned black just before the spotlight swept over them.

The helicopter circled around the shore, returned to hover over them long enough for the searchlight to sweep past again, then slowly moved off toward the gentle slope that led to the top of the island and from there followed the other two.

She placed Dick next to Spot. "I think I see shelter. You keep Spot safe while I check."

A shallow cave in the sheer cliff, a recess carved out by erosion less than ten feet deep and seven feet high would be a tight fit for the three of them, but its drooping overhang would provide concealment from the searchlights unless one of the helicopters descended to look straight in.

She placed Dick in the cave first. Spot was standing when she returned to him, though he stood on only three legs.

"I can carry you."

Spot snorted, nudged her with his massive head and then limped to the cliff. He did let her pick him up by the mane again to climb the last fifteen feet up to the shallow cave. He flopped down next to Dick, sighed and closed his eyes. His breathing was deep and slow. He twitched and grunted every now and then.

The bullet hadn't penetrated, but it had torn a gash six inches long into his leg.

"Where do we go now, Jane?" Dick cuddled up to her, the fingers of his right hand still curled in Spot's mane. Boy and jaguar were asleep within a few minutes.

The helicopters would be back tomorrow. How was she going to prevent three helicopters from finding them? Was Spot going to be able to walk? Where would they go from here? Would they find anyone to help them? Had she just brought them here to die on this desolate rock?

She took a deep breath, wiped the tears from her eyes before closing them. She dreamed of being tiny and contained, trapped, helpless and exposed to all those warped, scary faces peering in at her.

# Chapter 61

Nyla Rowe was talking on her phone when he brought Herman, Gwen and Conchetta into the living room. Joan McGowan was on the sofa with her laptop on her lap. Now that Sage was gone, the center of operations had moved from her bedroom to the main floor.

Dr. Garcia took Conchetta from Gwen. Dorothy Cooper, Cedric Hutt and John Atchison gathered around them to offer support.

"Where's Lucy?"

"Joan sent her to San Francisco with Scott," Thorpe said.

"Back and forth, over and over; it never ends."

Thorpe came to him. "Come with me." She took him into the kitchen nook. "Take off your shirt." She had prepared a medical station.

"I'm fine." He placed the briefcase on the kitchen counter.

"Off with it . . . now! Sit there."

He unbuttoned his shirt. It stuck to his back when he tugged on it.

"Turn around." Cynthia helped him get his arms out of the sleeves. "God, Frank, you're a mess."

"Have the Mexicans been told?"

"They will retrieve the bodies for us, including Li's. China has already demanded his immediate return to them." She peeled the shirt from all the places it had been fastened to him by his dried blood. She whistled softy as she probed his wound. "You're lucky you have those scales and that tough skin, otherwise he would have cut you in half." She pressed a bit harder. "As it is, I think he sliced into two or three of your ribs on your right just below your scapula." Her fingers traced the diagonal wound. "And possibly two more on your lower left side feel like they have bits missing. I would need an x-ray to confirm that. How much blood did you lose?"

"More than I'd like."

She ran her fingers down his spine. "They're shaped a bit like hearts. Actually, they're quite beautiful. The rest of your back looks like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle forced to fit together. Do you even try to avoid getting struck?" She cleared her throat. "I don't know how to be delicate about this, Frank, so I will just ask. Do you have a tail?"

"I had about three inches of one emerging where the L1 vertebrae met the sacrum. It had no bone in it so it was more like a tentacle than a tail. Ferris removed it. It has not grown back. What's happened?"

She sat him backwards on a chair to tend to his wound. "What hasn't happened? Thomas was right. It looks like they've started everything. Have you heard about the torpedo attack?"

"Nyla told me some of the details while we were on our way back."

"China is claiming it was a rogue secret service agent temporarily assigned to the submarine. They won't give any more information than that. They haven't apologized, but they are helping with rescue efforts." She felt along the wound again. "I don't imagine it would be worth my while trying to get a suture needle through your skin. I don't have staples."

"Most of the time they just pop right back out. You could try a nail gun."

"We have to close the wound."

"It will close as much as it's going to and then heal like all the others pieces of the puzzle."

"It can do that?"

"It isn't anything like Wolverine can do, but the matrix that makes up the base of the synthetic skin can self-repair independent of my own body's healing capabilities."

"I still have to do what I can." She went about her work trying to sew him back together. "According to Sage, the two embryos inside Savannah have come out of dormancy."

"Weinberg wants them," he said.

"Do you think he will come after them again?"

"He will do whatever he wants."

After about fifteen minutes and a lot of grunting, she said. "I estimate you need about one hundred and sixty-eight stitches. I got eighteen into your upper right and fourteen into your lower left. My fingertips were beginning to blister." Thorpe then bandaged the wound. "I could sew your shirt, or does it self-repair, too?"

"I can just get a new one from the bag in my truck."

"Be right back."

Dr. Garcia brought Conchetta into the nook. "I'm sorry you couldn't save those women. I'm sorry about Tye Rosen and Ramona Gilbert. You two seemed to be—"

"How are you doing?"

"I don't think I can answer that."

"Weinberg would not make you the way you are and then authorize your elimination. He has plans for you and your baby."

"According to him, my package is coming too late to be part of his plans now. I'm an anomaly. Weinberg doesn't like anomalies. He only wanted to see what came out of me."

"Despite what he told you, you are still part of his plans, all of you are. You are in one way or another stones that he is dropping into nature's gene pool."

"It has to be more than just that."

"You've heard about the three fungi."

"More stones?"

Thorpe returned and handed him a new shirt. She said to Garcia, "Have a look at these." She brought Garcia around to look at the scales along his back.

Garcia ran her fingers down them. "Weinberg did that to you? Of course he did, how stupid of me."

He put on his shirt. "How is Nyla doing?"

"She's holding herself together. We're going to San Francisco tomorrow to set up our operations headquarters in the field office there."

"What does she know?

"She's been talking to FBI Headquarters and Trotter's team at the White House. She's hardly been off the phones. Joan is dealing with San Francisco and Mexico. They will incinerate the two sites to eliminate the fungus and the snakes."

"Any word on Wiley and Nguyen yet?"

"Inspector Kozlowski and his team are still at the safe house. Laskey and his unit were killed. Fitzpatrick is still unconscious at San Francisco General. They do not know if he will wake up again."

"Martinez?"

"Just sits in his cell smiling and won't say anything. His men claim they were just following orders."

As they entered the living room, Conchetta woke up and started fussing.

Gwen said to Garcia, "We can get her a bottle and a diaper change." When Garcia hesitated, she said, "We were expecting to have mothers and babies come to us. We have a nursery prepared upstairs."

Rowe and McGowan were enduring a communications blitzkrieg.

Rowe said, "Mexican law enforcement units are at the clinics in Ensenada and Estero Beach. They found six pregnant women snatched from various favelas in Brazil at the Estero Beach site. They are all young, less than twenty, strong, healthy and in the early stages of their pregnancies."

"That won't last long," Garcia said when she and Gwen came back into the room. She put her hands on her slightly protruding abdomen. "Three days ago, I had a flat stomach."

McGowan said, "What are you going to do?"

"I have people who can hide me and Conchetta. I just need to get back to them."

He said, "I will go with you."

Gwen said, "Can I come too? With Sage gone, I don't want to just. . . ."

"I would appreciate the company." She said to Ralph Price, Isidora Ramos Olivarez and Menno Alfieri, "I regret you were dragged into this, but I can offer some refuge from the danger. It would mean travelling halfway around the world. And it won't be a luxury resort hotel."

Alfieri said, "I don't want to sound stupid, but I don't have a passport."

Rowe said, "That won't be a problem if you want to go with Dr. Garcia." She then went back on her phone. After a few seconds, she put her phone on speaker. "Can you say that again, Madame President?"

Trotter said, "The Chinese government has arrested Madame Ng and three of her underlings in Hong Kong. They are not forthcoming with details, but they have indicated Ng may have had an operative on the submarine following her orders to launch the torpedo. They are giving what details they are willing to share to both North and South Korean governments in the hope of decreasing tension between them. Japan, Vietnam, Russia, Australia, Malaysia and the Philippines have all supported China's story and praised all sides for their determination to resolve the incident peacefully."

"What is our official response?"

"Caution and patience, but the Pacific Fleet has been put on alert. We have also found a possible link between Senators Van Biert and Palmer and the Proteus Group. It just adds to the strangeness of everything."

Everyone came closer to the phone.

"As you know, Yvonne Van Biert died three weeks ago in a car crash."

"The fire was very intense. There was little left of her but ash."

"Her paternal grandfather, William Bredenhof, adored her. She was his favorite grandchild. Yvonne became deathly ill when she was four years old."

Frank said, "He couldn't bear to lose her. He would have been an easy mark for Weinberg, rich, terrified and willing to do anything."

"After doctors here informed her parents they could do nothing for her, Grandpa Bredenhof took her to a clinic in Mexico."

Rowe said, "The residue on their sidewalk."

"We have a similar story developing with the Palmers. Mr. Palmer took their youngest, Alice to a clinic in Mexico after she was diagnosed with untreatable cancer at seven. Three months later, the two of them return with Alice apparently cured. We are trying to find out if they were at the same clinic."

Garcia said, "Esparza had more than one."

"Is there any evidence of either senators being compromised?"

"None so far, but it could be another feint. We will have to investigate every aspect of their lives to be sure."

"It will cast suspicion of infiltration on the oversight committee."

"We can contain that for now. Cheryl is still trying to get all the information she can on the attacks in Paris. Nyla, she will see that Jaxon comes home."

"Thank you."

"They were able to stop three other cells before they could carry out their missions. And despite the explosion at ASB, the company has notified the French government that they are still able to produce their compound to kill the first fungi. Texas A&M and Nebraska University are working on destroying the third fungi. Both report promising results. That is it for now."

McGowan's laptop chimed three times. When she responded to the hail, Lily Wiley, Donny Nguyen and her daughter, Shana, appeared on the screen.

Shana said, "Mom, don't be mad."

Shana, Lily and Donny gave their report on what happened at the safe house and where they were. When Shana told her mother she had hit Fitzpatrick with a wrench to save Lily and Donny, Joan did not tell her daughter he was in a coma.

"I'm sending Inspector Kozlowski to you. Lucy Cooper will be coming with him. Stay there and do what they tell you."

Donny said, "Wow, we rate an Apostle."

"You need to see this, mom."

A file folder icon appeared on the screen.

Joan opened it. "There's Ng's name and Van Biert's and Palmer and Senator Roland Cliff. He's just been reported as having hanged himself." She grunted and muttered several curses. "Madison Treadwell and Travis Langdon."

Rowe said, "I'll get them picked up."

"You better send the National Guard to Langdon's compound."

Lily said, "We just found another one, too."

"Jimmy Duvall," Rowe said, "Van Biert's campaign manager." Her phone started ringing.

"Here's what we found out about the cells."

"That's great," McGowan said. "This gives us an estimate of how many we need to watch out for. Good work."

"And," Lily said, "this guy. We'll let you know when Inspector Kozlowski gets here."

Rowe put her phone on speaker again and set it beside the laptop. "Say again."

Chase said, "I've just had a visit from Weinberg. You and I need to get together to talk about that. We also need to talk about Beltran Nunez. He was my informant inside PG. And they've all escaped. Thomas can tell you who they are."

*****

Shortly after sunrise, she left Dick and Spot sleeping together while she looked for the quickest and easiest way up to the plateau at the top of the island. The slope covered in vegetation northeast of their cave still presented the best way to go.

Though Dick and Spot had slept soundly through the night, her fitful sleep was interrupted three times by the return of the helicopters and frequently disrupted by overwhelming surges of adrenalin that had her bounding to her feet before she was fully awake.

Dr. Sally Kerr had described her relationship with Dick as intertwined unlike any other two people on earth. "His aroma attracts the rest of us because it activates the same areas of the brain as opiates do, giving one a sense of euphoria and contentment. It can even been mildly arousing and soporific at the same time, which makes it very addictive if you inhale too much of it. But for you, Jane, if Dick releases too much of that scent, particularly if he is frightened, it will trigger what I can only call a hyper-aggressive maternal response in you. You will feel so fiercely protective of him at those times, Jane, that you might not be able to recognize friends from foes. If you cannot control that aggression, you could suffer great harm yourself."

She didn't need Dick's aroma to put her on guard when she saw the man and girl approaching her along the beach. They had come down the slope she was planning to use. She flicked out her talons and braced herself. Her face began to cascade bright colors.

Behind her, Spot growled from the entrance to their shallow cave. Dick stood beside him hanging on to his mane. He waved at her.

The man and girl did not slow their approach though they had to have heard Spot. And her stance clearly warned them she might attack.

The young man, a bit shorter than her height of six feet three inches, with a messy tangle of black hair, a dark complexion, and big, brown eyes, raised his hand and waved back at Dick. The girl did not.

These two were not afraid of her. Everyone at the compound, even Bachelor, Keyes and Dr. Kerr, the three closest to her, could never completely hide their apprehension around her. Knowledge of how powerful and lethal she was filtered everyone's feelings about her. But these two; they just kept coming. They needed to know what danger they were in if they were foolish enough to think they could get to Dick.

She crouched, raised her hands with her talons ready and then launched herself twenty feet through the air, landing just three feet in front of them. She growled. Spot growled.

The girl, perhaps fourteen, eight inches shorter than her, with freckles covering her fair skin, and straight red hair down to the small of her back, just smiled at her and said, "Good morning, Jane. My name is Grace. This handsome man is Ricardo. We have travelled a long way to come help the three of you."

# Chapter 62

Isidora Ramos Olivarez, the least willing of the three of them, finally accepted Dr. Garcia Lopez's invitation to come with her. "Why not?"

Rowe had contacted CIA colleagues, who had then prepared legends for Price, Alfieri and Ramos Olivarez, along with passports, and had them ready for them when they arrived at El Paso International Airport. One of Ferris's six company jets was prepped and waiting. All documents that would permit Dr. Garcia to take Conchetta with her as her daughter had been provided and approved, a flight plan to Honolulu and then Tokyo had been filed. Everything had gone as smoothly as one of Weinberg's plans.

"Takeshi Tsutsui and Sakura Hayshibara will meet us in Tokyo. Takeshi has secured Sakura's brother, Kazuo, and his crew to fly us to Mikura-jima."

Dr. Garcia spent the rest of the flight to Honolulu taking care of Conchetta. She spent the flight to Tokyo doing the same, except for the times she had to hand the girl to Gwen while she went to the washroom to vomit.

It was just as well they didn't talk much. Every discussion they'd had about what Weinberg was doing and why he was doing it had always ended with everyone involved expressing the same incredulity over the possibility—the likelihood—that all this was because his plan was not complex at all, only a sociopathic exercise in 'what-if' curiosity on his part.

He had talked to Rowe only once on the way.

"Jimmy Duvall is missing," she said. "He didn't attend the service for the Van Biert family. No one knows where he might be."

"What about Chase?"

"He's postponed the meeting, but he assures me it is only to gather more information first; however, like Duvall, no one seems to know where he is."

His first duty once they landed at Tokyo International was as emissary for the United States government. Dr. Garcia introduced all the other people with her before introducing him.

"This is Frank Gillett."

He bowed when Tsutsui and Hayshibara bowed. He then handed over a locked briefcase to Takeshi Tsutsui along with a folded piece of paper. "This is a full report from Special Agent Nyla Rowe. That is the combination to unlock the case. China, Russia, North and South Korea, Australia, Vietnam, all nations in Southeast Asia and Europe will receive exactly the same report. Our intelligence indicates most of the cells are located in those regions. Every nation is free to share this information with whomever they wish."

Tsutsui bowed again, glanced at the combination and then threw the paper into a garbage can.

"I believe this is yours, Tsutsui-san." He handed over the katana.

Tsutsui touched his scar as he took possession of it. After a quick inspection, he bowed again. "Captain Hayshibara is waiting for us at Atsugi."

Hayshibara said to Garcia, "Kazuo handpicked his crew for this mission."

The two helicopters transporting them were flanked by two military helicopters. Along the way, pairs of jets passed close by three times.

Tsutsui and Hayshibara rode in the helicopter transporting Dr. Garcia, Conchetta and him.

Tsutsui said, "We trust you have verified the existence of fifty cells in the United States and one hundred and thirty-two other cells active in the regions of the world you listed."

"Most of them are in the high-tension regions as well as locations where their attacks will have high impacts. We have only identified a few of the less competent cells in our country."

"If we assume there are only three in each cell that is less than six hundred people in total. Surely that is not enough to destroy the world."

"No one knows what the Proteus Group hopes to get from this plan. Its members make up a diverse and scattered group, with each component having its own specific goals, either political or criminal. They are as unconnected but coordinated as the independent cells that have just been activated."

Hayshibara said, "Despite this threat, there have been no further attacks."

"The cells will strike according to a predetermined schedule. If Weinberg is what he claims to be, and there is now ample evidence that he has indeed lived an abnormally long life, there could be some dark motivation peculiar to him that provides the framework for PG's plan."

Garcia said, "Casting stones in nature's gene pool."

"As for the cells, less than six hundred people are still sufficient to cripple or destroy critical infrastructure if they are properly equipped, or tally high body counts. They can elevate regional tensions. And we can't forget the moles already in place. We have no idea how many of them they have and what power or influence they wield. Madame Ng and the torpedo incident might give you some idea."

Tsutsui said, "That is a terrifying thought."

"We know your government, military, and intelligence network have been infiltrated. My country is also dealing with recent revelations of similar security breaches. On the way here, I was informed by Special Agent Rowe of the discovery of two moles at FBI headquarters."

The transfer to Kazuo Hayshibara's US-2 at Atsugi was quick.

After a brief discussion with base officials, Tsutsui brought them the update. "Chinese officials have reported Madame Ng committed suicide while awaiting transportation from Hong Kong to Beijing. They have provided no further details."

"No public humiliation for anyone."

No helicopters accompanied them to Mikura-jima. Frank did not see any jets nearby for that part of their journey.

When she caught him looking out his window for the eighth time, Sakura said, "Rest assured, Mr. Gillett, they are out there."

Two Toyota Land Cruisers took them to Iwa Hashimoto's dig site near Oyama Summit. Iwa, looking every bit the wiry but tough person Garcia had so accurately described—similar to Lola and Juanita—was waiting for them with what appeared to be a younger version of her standing beside her.

"Chiyoko Hashimoto," Garcia said before getting out of the Toyota. Her protruding abdomen was more pronounced than when he'd first met her. "Chiyoko is one of his earliest third generation successes. Conchetta and my daughter were supposed to have been processed at the same time."

"The storm is coming in fast," Iwa Hashimoto shouted over the howl of the wind. "Let's get inside before we get soaked."

Iwa prepared the drinks. "Screw the social rituals. This calls for a double martini, but everyone is going to have to be content with Japanese beer instead, except you, Johnny. Everyone plunk your ass on whatever you can find. Not the cushions; they're for Johnny."

Gwen took Conchetta while Juanita settled on the cushions. The baby fussed a bit when handed back but settled quickly.

"Every parent's dream," Iwa said as she handed out the bottles of beer. "I wonder if that was part of his plan all along."

"Probably."

She glanced at Chiyoko and said, "Can't agree with you on that."

Tsutsui and Hayshibara only sat after he, Gwen, Ralph, Isidora and Menno took their places around the thick wooden table.

Chiyoko remained standing, but did get a bottle of water for Garcia once Iwa finished handing out the beers.

Iwa then plunked her ass at the head of the table and drank half of her beer before putting the bottle down.

No one else had taken even a sip.

"Now," Iwa said and slapped the tabletop. "You must be the famous Frank Gillett, and the safe bet is you're Gwen Hunter. But who the hell are you three?"

Garcia made the official introductions and provided a concise summary of events that had brought her back to Mikura-jima with her entourage.

"From home renovations and repair in some dive hamlet called Mesilla that has nearly been blown to oblivion to the thrilling world of international intrigue, espionage, crime and nothing less than high-tech, sophisticated GMO bioterrorism. You know, I am an anthropologist, one of the best in the world, and I'm still having trouble seeing how your skill set transfers from one to the other."

Isidora said, "Menno and I are very mean. And Ralph is smarter than he looks, Weinberg said so."

Iwa finished her beer and slapped the table again. Her boisterous laughter almost rattled the tent walls. "Chiyoko, dear daughter, it's your turn."

"There are three older groups of women. They have had their children, all girls but two of them. Depending on the group, the children will be between six and eighteen years of age. The middle group is in North Korea. We haven't been able to get anything from them since the torpedo incident."

Garcia asked, "Is the North Korean government aware of them?"

"They have kept hidden since being deposited there ten years ago. People in the area keep them safe. So far no government officials have come looking for them."

He asked, "How do we get to them?"

"We've been smuggling flash drives in and out along the border with China. We have sent off notice to be ready to move."

"Any word on what the children are like in this group?"

Chiyoko shook her head. "We haven't asked. They haven't volunteered any details other than to say each child has unique traits."

"The oldest group," Iwa said, "appears to be moving between Kenya, Uganda and Tanzania. We lost contact three months ago. Local crime lords have been after the girls, who are all in their teens now. There is quite the growing mythology about them. Supposedly, one gang was completely wiped out after catching up to them. There are unverified reports of them being spotted recently in the Rift Valley and the Virunga Mountains."

"Either place is possible." Chiyoko came to the table. "They have stayed in both areas before. We have never known the exact location of any of the groups on purpose."

Isidora said, "Where is the youngest group?"

Iwa and Chiyoko didn't want to answer the question.

"What's the problem?"

"It's all right," he said. "After what they've been through in that dive hamlet, they aren't outsiders anymore."

"You already told us about the other two. Why be shy about the third?"

Chiyoko bowed slightly to Isidora. "Forgive us, we were being foolish. They are hiding in the Amazon near the border between Colombia and Brazil. They have also had problems with crime lords still operating in southern Colombia. They are the ones with the two boys. The girls are healthy, but both of the boys have serious medical problems."

"Gwen, please?" Dr. Garcia handed Conchetta to Hunter and slowly rose from the cushions. Menno helped her to the table and onto the chair he'd been using. "There is also my group in India. None of them were kidnapped and impregnated by Weinberg when he was known as Esparza, so it is reasonable to presume they are third generation as well. They are the right age. All of them come from the slums. Most of them have no idea of who their family is. One was nearly killed by her family. They are all pregnant like me." She said to Frank, "You can start there. I can get word to them easily enough."

Chiyoko finally sat down. "We have no reliable estimate of how many, but Thomas is sure some were sent to the United States, Germany and Romania. They would be adults now or even middle-aged. We do not know if any of them have had children, but that was Weinberg's intention. There is also likely a group somewhere in Russia. They may be under state control. And rumors persist of another group of teenagers recently being deposited in Sao Paulo."

He said, "That rumor is correct. And there are the two from Mexico."

Price said, "You are talking about this as if the danger to these women and children is minimal. There are people out there hunting them. Who are they and why are they doing it?"

"My money's on your former boss, Frank." Iwa patted Price's hand before snatching away his beer. "If you're not going to drink it."

"When do we leave?"

"In three hours," Chiyoko said. "We want to arrive at my island after dark. Once we get Juanita and the rest of you settled, Kazuo will fly you back to Tokyo."

"I'll go with Frank," Menno said.

"I don't need any help."

Iwa finished the rest of Price's beer. "As much as I admire your sullen, macho, super-agent aura, Frank—makes me want to ride you all night long—that guy looks like he could be of some use to you; lots of wonderful bulging muscles on him."

"He's a fighter," Isidora said, "and he's tough. And he's as pigheaded as you are."

Price said, "I wouldn't point fingers."

Iwa said, "Sounds like a match made in heaven, or in some sleazy tropical bar."

Menno held up the passport the CIA had provided for him. "According to this I'm a computer security systems analyst. I would say that's a transferable skill set. And I am very mean."

"Should we take a vote?" Iwa raised her hand with another bottle of beer in it and said, "All in favor?"

# Chapter 63

If Ann had used her office while she was away with Sage, she had left no evidence behind. Even the fact that it had been immaculately cleaned couldn't be construed as a clue of her using it; Ann could have had that done because she knew her boss was coming back.

Savannah hung up her overcoat, checked her clothes and then went to her desk. Ann Hyslop (nee Devonshire) came in with two coffees about the same time as her butt hit the cushion of her chair.

"How did it go?" Ann handed her one of the cups. "How is she doing? What is Thomas Ferris like?" She took a drink of coffee but remained standing. "How are you and the twins?"

Before leaving Sage to recuperate at Ferris's clinic, she hadn't needed to ask her daughter anything.

"No, mom, they won't turn out like me, but they will be like me because Harvey hadn't got around to doing anything more to you or them once I began to develop."

"I do pretty much what everybody else who works does. I get up when the alarm goes off, shower, do my hair, brush my teeth, get dressed, sometimes snatch up something to eat, and then rush out the door to come here, where I work with delightful children facing unbelievable challenges in their lives. And once in a while, I get to take a few minutes with my best friend to discuss my super hero daughter, my reactivated twins and the man who made us the way we are, who, by the way, might just be nine hundred years old."

"Yeah, and?" Ann took a bigger drink of coffee.

"And I learn that he may have spent the last hundred years or so putting the pieces in place all over the world like it was his own giant board game so he can see what happens if he just did this or that. And now I've entrusted my daughter's health to a younger version of him."

"And how is Sage doing?"

"Thomas Ferris is definitely a chip off the Weinberg block. As knowledgeable of human genetics, Ann, I'm not sure even you would understand everything he is doing." She finished her coffee. "He promises to give me a full report within the week that will clearly explain what he and his team have done to Sage. I can only hope it has simple and pretty pictures or cartoon videos for me to look at. And I hope they go slowly and use small words."

"Has any of it worked?"

"The surgery to remove the affected portions of her exo-cranial bundles, so Thomas says, was very successful, but because DIPG cells weaved themselves around the nerve fibers, more needed to be removed than originally predicted. Sage may have trouble walking or may lose the use of her legs altogether. Jake and Faith have a full report. According to Jake, their team is determined Sage will still be able to walk using her suit."

"Her brain? The pons?"

"This is where having Thomas has been most helpful. He has been on the same track Weinberg was claiming to be on when he came to me. He's furthered the research of John Hopkins University on the H3F3A mutation and the TET enzyme to the point that he has been successful getting the 'off-switch' to work again and stop replication of the tumor cells. They are seeing normal stem cell development again. I don't think he would go so far as to say they have cured Sage completely, but she is making excellent progress. Her body is also putting up a good fight. She's gained three pounds since the surgery."

"How is she feeling?"

"She's certainly still Sage. After the surgery, Thomas came to check on her. She thanked him for all he has done for her. She told him that his last name, though chosen quite arbitrarily, was appropriate because while he would not personally stop Weinberg, he was the iron that would bring the devil to the ground. Then she told him he had a role to play in saving as many of Weinberg's creations as possible, but he was destined to be excluded from their new Eden. Just for good measure, she told us Frank Gillett will also be excluded."

"That's our little miracle. What about all her other . . . ?"

"She can still see people's 'true colors'. I had a wonderfully embarrassing example of that with one of Thomas's colleagues. Thomas doesn't think she will generate quite the electric jolt anymore." She shrugged. "But it's still too soon."

"Her sensor scales must still be working, then?"

"The freckles and the sensor beads on her ears are still doing their job."

"What about Weinberg, the original? Is he . . . ?"

"He has the whole world looking for him right now. He has bigger things to worry about than. . . ." She patted her stomach.

"Have you made any decision about them?"

She just shook her head.

Ann picked up her coffee cup. "It's time. Predictions or not, you've stalled long enough."

She left the office with two empty coffee cups and returned with Paul Booker and his son, Alex. Paul, slender, just over six feet tall, wore a San Francisco Giants baseball cap over his chestnut hair. His son had dark-brown hair, a slightly darker complexion and appeared to be a bit overweight. They both had blue eyes that reminded her of Sage's blue-on-blue eyes.

Savannah shook their hands. "I apologize for taking so long to meet personally with you. Please be seated." Once Paul and Alex were seated, she sat on the corner of her desk. "I have a daughter with similar health issues as Alex. She came through Small Wonders House too."

Booker took off his cap. "Where is she?"

"She will be coming home soon. I must tell you, Paul, Alex reminds me very much of Sage when she was his age. I think we can do the same for Alex. All reports I've read tell me he is making excellent progress."

Alex said, "I like it here."

"I have been amazed and very pleased. You have a marvelous facility."

"Yes, we do. And if it doesn't sound too much like a personal intrusion, I would like to do everything I can to help you and Alex realize his full potential." She tried not to grimace at her own triteness.

Ann stood in the doorway to her office. She winked before blowing her a kiss and closing the door.

*****

Just north of University Circle in Cleveland, sitting in an attic apartment serving as her residence and workplace, Rochelle (Rocky) Carson, 29, African-American, three years graduated from Case Western Reserve University, sat at her meager desk searching the internet on her laptop.

The room and her desk were a mess of printouts from blogs, copies of print journal articles, folders spilling out their 'special-topics' contents and books ranging from recipes—a practical joke from a fellow journalism school graduate and a comment on her limited cooking skills and lack of variability to her menu—to tomes on the most recent apocalyptic conspiracy theories.

Her cell phone started playing hip-hop music.

"Crap." She pushed the button to send the call to voicemail and continued perusing the website she had on the screen.

This apocalypse documented the danger to the nation's aquifers—they were essentially beyond saving—and the 'fake news' cover-up by the government with its claims that the aquifers were really just drying up from overpopulation, overuse and regional droughts. The alternate—and real—reason for their destruction was the discovery of the true location of Atlantis, which had never been a city that sunk below the sea, but rather an advanced civilization that had originated under the North American continent while the Neanderthals and Cro-Magnons were battling it out in Eurasia.

The federal government was also covering up the fact that they had already sent a diplomatic contingent spelunking at a secret location on the eastern side of the Rocky Mountains to make contact.

"Man, the crap I gotta sift through."

Milton Peary's voice came out of her phone. "Pick up, Rocky. I know you're there."

"Crap." She had pushed the wrong button again. She kept reading.

"Rocky, answer your damn phone. I'm not kidding, Rocky. If you don't answer right now, you're fired."

She scowled and muttered, "That makes it twenty-two times."

"So help me, Rocky, the file of your first draft was supposed to be in my email last Friday. I don't see it anywhere. My screen is blank. And who are your contacts on this? It's outrageous stuff."

She continued reading, flipping to the sixth page of the theory, which for a change was now accompanied by surprisingly original and high-quality artist's concept drawings of underwater craft. The diplomatic contingent dangling on ropes descending through the roof of the cavern that contained Atlantis was a bit threatening and discouraging. If they dropped, they would at least land in water.

"Rocky, your article on these worldwide biological disasters is the biggest disaster in the world."

She picked up the phone. "It's coming together."

"How can fungus, predatory wasps, frost-hardy fire ants and . . . Oh, never mind! How can all that be coming together?" He cursed. "How did I ever let you talk me into this? It's too big. It's too outrageous. Stuff like this happens all the time. There is no connection."

"This time there is." She sent papers flying off the desk when she grabbed for the printout she wanted. "Those three fungi have destroyed thirty-eight percent of our wheat crop this year."

"President Trotter has already told the nation that. Everyone is working on a fix."

"It's also attacked corn and potatoes and there is a concern it may be infecting livestock. And fifteen percent of our farms have become toxic wastelands that could be barren for years to come."

"Then just focus on that. You don't need to add creepy crawly little critters migrating north due to climate change to make it more sensational."

"Milton, you don't get it. What is happening here is also happening in Europe. Those wasps have almost wiped out Portugal's honey bee industry."

"In this day of international travel, anything can hitch a ride to anywhere. It's no big surprise or mystery or conspiracy."

"Maybe that's what they want us to think, maybe they want us to not believe until it's too late."

"Don't go that way again or I'll cut you off here and now."

Rocky grabbed more printouts, crumpling them along the edges and sending more papers to the floor. "And how does a new hemorrhagic virus more lethal that Ebola pop up simultaneously in three different countries?"

"Three?"

"Yes, three: Cameroon, India and Tibet. In just one week it killed nearly a thousand people. Then it just disappeared."

"Rocky?"

"And yesterday, the CDC confirmed the first case of this virus in New York City. How did it get there?"

"The same way the fire ants did, I suppose."

"Milton, this is no joke. The man died less than a day after the first symptoms appeared. And he hadn't been anywhere near those three countries. He was a cab driver born and raised in New York. In his whole life he had never left the city."

"He must have picked up an infected passenger."

"He's the only case so far. We've got something here, Milt, I know it." She looked at the only things hanging on her apartment walls: her degree in journalism and two awards for science blog reports. "There are those reports of unusual internet activity."

"Jesus, Rocky, the internet is full of unusual activity, fake news reports and unsubstantiated rumors. Just yesterday my son—"

"Not like that. These are untraceable diatribes about the day of retribution, the need to be vigilant and who the real heroes out there are. And every time they pop up, a cyber attack soon follows. What's that all about?"

"It's about nerds with acne, no healthy sex life and far too much time on their hands who can't tell the difference between pranks and illegal activities. It really isn't all that special."

"On their own maybe, but put them all together and there is something there."

"It's called a quagmire. It's just too much and goes everywhere. It's getting away from you. And now you want to add acts of terrorism to all of this."

"All those bombs going off at exactly the same time all over the world can't be a coincidence."

"Of course it isn't."

"And what about this Proteus Group?"

"President Trotter has a task force in place and an ongoing international effort to identify members of a worldwide shadow criminal organization that may or may be responsible for the bombings."

"Oh, they are."

"Show me the proof, Rocky. Then you might just have a scoop."

"It's coming."

"It better come faster than the other proof you're waiting for."

"It will."

"Look, Rocky, every one of them is worth pursuing on their own. Why don't you do that? Give me a brief, and I do mean brief, work-up on each topic by this Friday. I will repeat that: by this Friday. Then we'll prioritize. You can do a series if they amount to anything. I mean it, Rocky. Or else."

"Do this right and we can scare the hell out of the whole world. Apocalypse here we come."

"That apocalypse better get to me by Friday or it's the end of the world for you."

"I've got a lead, I promise. It's big and it's good. You're going to love it.

"Who is this lead? Do you have just one for all—"

"I still can't tell you yet."

"Rocky, I'll have to know before I approve any article."

"You will, trust me."

"In our business, when people tell you to trust them, they are usually doing something very risky, possibly illegal and dangerous, and the results are not guaranteed."

"I'll get back to you."

"By Friday, Rocky." He hung up.

She opened another conspiracy theory website on the nation's aquifers. "Come on, where are you? This is how you've contacted me before."

This alternate theory claimed the aquifers were drying up because the earth's core had cooled sufficiently to solidify and had stopped spinning, thus resulting in the loss of earth's protective magnetic field.

"Great, we're going to have to move again."

This theory also postulated that the fungi story was just a government conspiracy to cover the final extinction level event coming for planet earth. The website included a map of the fungus infestation from Idaho through Wyoming into Nebraska and Kansas overlaid with a specially created 'flux-disruption gird' showing where the last few eruptions of concentrated magnetic waves would mark the death throes of the planet.

In less than a hundred years the only planet in the solar system still inhabited was going to suffer the same fate as Mars. A link in the upper right corner would take her to a fully detailed timetable of what to expect and when, complete with high-resolution, 4K CGI simulations.

"This better not be malware." She clicked on the link.

A picture of planet earth from far away appeared on the screen. There were no stars, no sun, no other planets, just a little blue ball in the blackness. Sorrowful music started playing.

She clicked on the back button, but nothing happened.

"Pimply twerps, Milton was right. God, I hate you guys. It's all backed up this time, slime. There's nothing to be ransomed. Do your worst"

She pressed control/alt/delete. Nothing happened. The planet didn't explode. Weird jets of gas or waves of energy didn't suddenly emit from it. The image didn't get any bigger.

"Shit, guys, is that all ya got?"

She reached for the button to turn off the laptop. The earth changed color from blue to red and reshaped itself into a stop sign that enlarged to fill the screen.

A female voice said, "Wait."

The screen went black. After a few seconds, a sparkling array of lights cascaded from the top of it.

"You're not flaming me, punks. I got work to do."

The lightshow stopped.

The female voice said, "I've come to help you, Rocky. I've been sending you the information."

"What is this? Who are you?"

A voluptuous blond wearing a skimpy Amazonian warrior outfit appeared on the screen brandishing a short, thick sword and holding up a shield. An image of the burned out remains of some compound nestled in a tropical mountain valley appeared behind her.

The blond lowered her sword and shield after first checking her virtual world and then appearing to look out of the screen at Rocky's attic hovel.

She checked her room. "It's okay, I'm alone. You can. . . ." She slapped her forehead. "Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!"

The warrior princess stepped forward. "They sent me."

"Fuck me, played again." Rocky pushed her chair back. "Milton is going to love this. I am so fired."

The blonde said, "I am Muta." She checked her virtual surrounding again before leaning closer and whispering, "Do you want to know a secret?"

TO BE CONCLUDED IN . . . SHADOW CASTE.

Other Books by K.G. Lawrence

# WEAR SOMETHING RED

Book 1 of the Proteus Group Series

Former FBI agent, Joan McGowan, returns to Dominion, Oregon to become the sheriff. Her hopes for a new beginning for herself and her daughter, Shana, are threatened by secrets and suspicions the moment they arrive. WEAR SOMETHING RED is the first book of the Proteus Group series.
Chapter 1

FBI Special Agent-in-Charge, Joan McGowan, and her team of Travis Meyer, Erica Jensen, Arnold Davidson, Tommy John (TJ) Eccles and Miranda Wong, rode in her van. James Torres and his team followed in their SWAT van. The lights of both vehicles were off. It was exactly 11:30 pm on a moonless August night when she entered the Crowley farm east of Portland. Maple trees lined both sides of the gravel approach road. Travis rode shotgun. He was looking at the buildings through his night-vision binoculars.

"Shit." He pointed to her left. "It looks like they have a machine gun nest on the roof of the barn."

Arnie confirmed through his binoculars. "I see a square of sandbags six high with two heads sticking up above it. One of them is watching us through binoculars. Joan, we're not prepared for—"

A fusillade of bullets penetrated the passenger side of the van. Erica cried out, grabbed her side and slumped against TJ.

"Find cover." She stopped the van and jumped out.

Another round of fire struck both vehicles as Travis and TJ dragged Erica out of the van.

She looked for the SWAT team, but had to duck back behind the driver's door when three bullets zipped past her head.

Torres and his crew were scrambling for cover. They were dragging two of their men toward the trees away from the line of fire and into greater darkness.

A series of explosions set the maple trees on fire one after another creating a line of torches that illuminated her team and made them easier targets.

Travis hollered at her though he was only two feet away, "Erica's dead. We're in the kill zone; we gotta move."

The machine gun on top of the barn opened fire on Torres' unit. Two more SWAT crew were hit.

Two others had raced back to their van and were pulling out whatever gear they could get as fast as they could. One of them was shot in the leg. Before the other could drag him away, the SWAT van exploded.

"There." She pointed to a pasture of tall corn.

Torres and what was left of his unit were already entering the cornfield. They had left three of their own behind.

Gunfire came from everywhere. Her team's arrival had been anticipated. They had been surrounded using precise military countermeasures conceived to be rapid and overwhelming.

"Joan, come on!" Travis grabbed her to get her going.

Arnie came to her, but dropped to the ground at her feet before he could say anything. TJ and Miranda had made it to the cornfield and Torres' unit.

Travis pushed Arnie off her foot. "Joan, come on!"

Gunfire began sweeping across the cornfield from all directions.

"There were only supposed to be three of them," she muttered.

"Fuck that." He tried to pull her over Arnie, but suddenly jerked back, twisted and fell sideways against the van.

She fired her AR15 into the darkness through a 180 degree arc. It sounded like she had only hit tree trunks.

Powerful explosions started going off all over the farm. Fireballs shot into the sky, adding additional haphazard lighting to the scene.

An explosion on the other side of the van rocked it into the back of her head and knocked her down onto Arnie's body. She tasted blood when she pushed herself back up. Something had struck her right cheek. The gash was about two inches long and almost as wide as her finger. Blood had run down from it into her mouth.

Torres' people returned fire sporadically, but mostly they were just trying to find better cover than stalks of corn.

She checked for the flash of the machine gun to see where it was aiming, but it stopped firing. A moment after that, the nest exploded and set the barn on fire. A brief cry of victory erupted from the cornfield before even heavier crossfire strafed it again.

There were only supposed to be three suspected terrorists at the Crowley farm. They weren't supposed to be this well trained and equipped . . . or reinforced.

She ducked under more gunfire aimed at the van and checked Travis. He'd been struck in the neck just above his bulletproof vest. He spit up blood when he tried to speak.

"San Francisco." He coughed and sagged down into death. The apology and regret in his eyes hadn't been necessary.

She peeked out from behind the driver's door toward the farm buildings. The barn was fully engulfed in flames. The farmhouse was dark.

"Joan," TJ called from across the drive. He was signaling there was cover back toward the entrance to the farm.

Another burst of gunfire swept through the cornfield. Another one of her team cried out.

A man lunged from the darkness at TJ, then another. They knocked him to the ground and clubbed him. Each one looked at her before they dragged TJ up to his knees, grabbed his hair, raised his head so he could face her and then decapitated him with one hard swing of a machete. They were doing all this for her, a display for the commander of the operation. One of them picked up TJ's head and prepared to toss it at her.

She aimed and fired. They both exploded in flames and dropped onto TJ.

Two more men running along the access road opened fire on her. They passed through the light of each burning tree and vanished into intense darkness only to reappear again at the next tree. They were dressed in the same gear as the other two: cargo pants and hunting vests. All the pockets were likely stuffed with incendiary explosives.

Martyrs to their cause: to attack at the heart of American law enforcement and security. Michael and Shana would never be told how she died. Her casket would need to be kept closed after they were through with her. The critical incident report would be classified Top Secret for reasons of national security and available for high-clearance level Internal Review Only.

She laid down on Arnie and returned fire. Neither man tried to avoid being hit. They were determined to be the one to get the commander. Radicalized young men, they were already the exalted dead.

She squeezed her eyes shut and kept firing. First one man exploded into a running fireball, then the other just ten feet from her. A piece of burning vest with two ribs and tissue stuck to it bounced off the van and landed beside her. A pair of burning legs dropped to the ground three feet to her left.

Spotlights shone down on her as two helicopters flew in.

Miranda stood across the access road just looking down at TJ and the burning remains of his two killers. She was covered in blood.

When Joan detected movement to Wong's right, she launched herself across the road, but a bullet struck her right shoulder and knocked her back against the van. She could just see Miranda moving in and out of the blazing light while fighting off two men wielding machetes. Lights came along the access road just before everything went dark.

She woke up to Deputy Assistant Director Lorne Wozniak asking, "How did we end up with this debacle? Our intelligence was valid and reliable; now eleven of our own are dead."

She was in the back of an ambulance with bandages on her right shoulder and her right cheek and an IV in her left arm. The rear door was open. It was morning.

Wozniak was questioning Torres and Wong. "Just how many were there?"

"We've counted what could be nine," Torres replied. "There may have been more. It felt like there were more."

Wong, her arms and hands wrapped in bandages, said, "They all wore vests containing thermite. There is little left of any of them but ash and smoke."

Torres glanced at her. "They used tunnels to surround us."

"Tunnels and eleven of us dead in less than fifteen minutes," Wozniak said. "You'd think we were in Iraq."

Joan laid back and closed her eyes. She was out again in seconds.
Chapter 2

She turned off Highway 44 to enter Dominion, Oregon, looked over at Shana, fourteen, and swallowed hard. The heat of late August could do nothing against the chill inside her. Her breath caught when she started to speak.

"Mattie tells me they expect Dominion to more than double in size over the next ten years now that Do-Dads and Karyon Research are coming."

"Good, then it will have twice as many losers in it."

Joan's face flushed with heat. "There are lots of places to ride around here. The highway has a good shoulder. We could go all the way to Widow Creek and back. I'll show you some of my favorite routes once we're settled. It's going to be fantastic, you'll see."

Shana lowered her head and looked out the window. "Every friend I had is back in Portland."

"Portland is barely a hundred miles to the west. It's not like we've moved to another galaxy."

"You could have fooled me."

"You'll make new friends. You may even find a new BFF." She winced. You have to stop giving her material to work with.

"Like you and Mattie Griffin? How long has it been?"

Sweat beaded on her forehead. "Seventeen years."

"Must be a record for a BFF; seventeen years since you've last seen each other. That's longer than I've been your special treasure. And I've never heard of her. And then she calls, out of the blue, to offer you this job."

"She heard I was no longer with the FBI. She called only to advise me of an opportunity, that's all."

Of the three survivors, she had lasted the longest at the Bureau after . . . A year to the date after the Crowley Farm Incident, she was the only one of the fourteen still alive.

"And you just grabbed it." She stuck her ear buds back in.

"We're not doing this again. I've taken the job. Let's make the best of it."

She took the Mazda CX-5 downhill from the highway onto Thurlow Street to officially enter Dominion. Her ears popped as if she had just taken them through some barrier that would block any attempt to escape. Shana would love that. She could spend all eternity pointing out to her mother what a mess she'd made of their lives . . . again.

Was this the right time to be making this move? She had to make it the right time. Waiting for the perfect moment and just wishing for a few quiet years with Shana before her bold, courageous, overconfident daughter struck out on her own was too passive. She had to focus on the moment, keep to her plan and hope coming back to where her mother and father had died didn't somehow cost her Shana, too.

She looked around as they proceeded along Thurlow. Nothing seemed to be in the right place, but she'd never been familiar with this part of town.

Shana tapped the navigation screen protruding above the center console. "You just missed your turn."

Her glowing face threatened to burst into flames. Hot on the surface, freezing at her core; that was some way to return to Dominion. She pulled to the curb, checked both ways and then made a U-turn to get back to . . .

"Turn right at Middlemarch." Shana took out her ear buds. "Who names a street Middlemarch?"

"The street didn't exist when I lived here. The town didn't come this far west. That's why I didn't recognize anything."

"This must be part of their rapid growth you were told about . . . or that other galaxy."

"Shana, so help me."

"Just kidding." She put her ear buds back in. "Main Street is three blocks ahead. You turn right there." Her daughter's naturally condescending and sarcastic tone then added, "You'll probably recognize that one."

Joan sighed and turned right at Main Street.

Mattie Griffin, in her red Griffin Real Estate blazer, white blouse and grey skirt, was standing in front of her office with Harry Madsen, the retiring sheriff. A rotund man in his sixties, Madsen was the one who officially offered her the job of replacing him.

She parked and got out. Shana stayed in the car bobbing her head slightly to whatever song was coming out of her ear buds.

Mattie, thirty-six, her hair short and neat and back to its natural tawny color, still looked like she could perform every wicked cheerleader move as easily now as she could back in high school. She held out her hand but quickly pulled it back.

"Oh, I'm being so silly." Mattie hugged her. "It's good to see you again, Joanie. I've missed you very much."

Joan glanced at Shana's bobbing head as Mattie squeezed her hard.

Shana glanced back, deigned to smirk at her and mouthed, "Seventeen years."

Mattie released her and stepped back, bent over slightly and waved hello at her head-bobbing daughter. "She's certainly pretty, and tall, too, from the looks of her."

"Six feet one inch," she said.

Madsen asked, "How old did you say she is?"

"Fourteen."

Madsen only shook her hand and tipped an imaginary hat at Shana, who had her head down and her eyes closed.

"I just wanted to let you know I'll be hanging around for a bit longer. I still have a couple of cases I'm investigating. But I will do my best to stay out of your way. Take the weekend to get yourself settled. I'll drop by the office and fill you in on Monday." With first a wave to her and Shana, then to Mattie, he walked off.

What was Madsen up to? Was he lingering so he could look over her shoulder despite having promised when he offered her the job that he wouldn't interfere? Was he going to stick around just to meddle? Monday, she would set him straight about that first thing.

"What two cases?"

Mattie shrugged. "You know the one. It's made us famous: Stanford Wiley and his Ponzi scheme."

"He embezzled lots of money."

"Oh, it's much more than that. He bilked thousands of clients out of billions of dollars. I think it's supposed to be the largest haul ever. No one really knows how he did it and not even your former employer can find any of it."

"Why is Madsen still involved?"

"I believe someone there asked Harry to stay on the case."

Her ears joined her face for this new burst of heat.

Mattie said, "Never mind about that for now. I'm sure Harry will bring you up to date on Monday. Who knows, he may even ask for your help. After all, you'll be in charge then."

Mattie could be right. Madsen could be exactly what he said he was. Harry Madsen, Kate Eiger, the former mayor and Leonard Jones, the current mayor, had interviewed her for the job. Madsen had been the most challenging at times because of his experience, but once the interview was over he had also been the one to tell her the most about the changes to Dominion since she'd left. He remembered her and Mattie and their troupe of girls causing minor havoc as teenagers, especially during that summer at Quarrelle Lake. He had behaved as if she were already the sheriff, though there were still two other candidates for the job yet to be interviewed. One, so he'd told her, had more relevant experience as a sheriff.

"Shall we go?" Mattie was trying to usher her back to her Mazda.

"Sorry."

"It's a lot to take in right now, but you'll settle quickly." She chuckled. "It's like riding a bicycle."

"What's the other case?"

"Just a local missing person; Albert Nguyen vanished about three weeks ago."

"Why is that a case? Are there suspicious circumstances?"

"He delivers produce to local stores and restaurants. I can't see anything suspicious in that. Harry's most likely hanging on to it because he and Albert were friends." She led Joan to her Mazda and then pointed to her silver Mercedes C350 Coupe across the street. "Follow me. It's an old house, a Victorian design that needs a lot of work."

"What kind of work?"

"Nothing serious, just the kind of renovations you told me you like doing." She hurried to her Mercedes, waved and got in.

Joan got into the CX-5, started it and made a U-turn to tuck in behind the Merc.

"I guess," Shana said, "all sheriffs are allowed to make U-turns anywhere, anytime. Oh, wait you're not the sheriff until Monday."

She scowled at her daughter, which brought a wider grin to Shana's face than she could manage in response to Mattie's greeting. There had to be a good military college in the Ural Mountains, there just had to be.

Following Mattie took them back through the same territory she had traversed after first entering the city.

"You remember this part, don't you?" Shana said with a sardonic tone that would make that famous Vulcan greeting sound like an insult.

She just responded with a snarling smile and wondered about Madsen's two remaining cases. She knew about the Wiley case. She knew about the billions of dollars that no one could find. Looking up as much as she could with the expectation that she would be brought into the case as sheriff; she had soon run into roadblocks from her former superiors with the explanation that she was no longer privy to information on FBI cases.

Madsen was still privy to information on FBI cases. Why ask him to continue rather than pass the case to her? She may not have enough relevant experience for sheriff work, but she certainly had enough FBI experience to know how to work that type of case.

Before she'd been cut off, Colin Foster had told her Wiley's schemes even threatened national security. Would Madsen know what that threat was, or was his handler at the FBI keeping him on a short leash?

Nestled in a crescent-shaped valley on the west side of the Cascade Mountains sixty miles south of Mt Hood, Dominion had grown from a Department of Forestry fire monitoring station prosaically nicknamed Firetown to be incorporated in 1928. During her time here, the only outsiders who ever came to Dominion were the campers, and later the cabin folk, who came for the area's one natural treasure: Quarrelle Lake. Campers favored the Midnight Fire Campgrounds at the north end of the lake, the cabin folk resided just west of that in Cabin Country, away from where Dominion's boisterous children, including her troupe in her day, hung out in the south at the end of Ditchburg Road.

Dominion had done a competent job of keeping up with change even after two of its main employers, Timber Brewery and its companion Treeline Winery, closed their doors just before she left seventeen years ago. According to Madsen, all 6,897 citizens of Dominion were excited about the coming of Do-Dads and Karyon Research and the plans to develop both summer and winter sports facilities for tourists. There were plans to expand Cottage Country to go with ambitious plans to revitalize Dominion's core. And in amongst all this anticipation, Stanford Wiley, a local financial advisor, had developed an internet-based investment con to both embezzle billions of dollars and then hide it where no one could find it.

Shana said, "Unless you want to change your mind and leave, which is all right with me, you better make the turn."

Mattie had moved to the left-turn lane at the corner of Lafleur and Madigan, two streets new to her.

She quickly checked, saw that no other car was coming and slipped the Mazda in behind the Merc.

"I suppose sheriff's get to do that all the time, too."

Joan glanced at the Cascade Mountains to the north and east. If she took Shana up the old forestry road and dumped her, it would take her at least two days to get back on her own.

Mattie turned left when the light changed.

Joan had to wait for two cars coming the other way before she could follow.

Shana muttered, "That must be rush hour."

She floored the gas pedal as she made her turn. The CX-5 didn't have enough power to win a race with a running Harry Madsen, something she couldn't imagine him even doing anymore, but combined with the sharp left turn she'd just made, it created enough centrifugal force to knock her daughter into her door.

Shana sneered at her before continuing her search for some song on her smartphone. She had stopped slouching, however.

"Sorry."

"No you're not."

"Ours is a special relationship."

"Whatever." Shana found her song, started it and put her head back against the headrest. She closed her eyes and hummed along to the songs every now and then.

Joan stayed behind Mattie as they passed through a newer neighborhood—newer in that it wasn't there when she'd moved away after the murder-suicide of her parents.

Finally, Mattie reached Yew Street and pulled over to park.

Joan parked behind her. It was an older neighborhood, but well maintained. Smaller homes and tract houses dominated the area. The occasional newer home, and even a couple of new ones currently being built, stuck out amid the modest residences like ostentatious neighbors. These homes weren't built to last forever, but seeing old ones go down always seemed cold and sad. It was a sentiment she and Shana and Michael shared.

She remembered this area of Dominion. Riley Hitchcock, the biggest liar in her class, who had always claimed to be related to the famous movie maker, had lived on Oak Street a few blocks away. The first time she had ever exposed her breasts to a boy was to Riley in his basement when she was fourteen, her daughter's age.

Shana was a gorgeous young woman with long, fine brunette hair like her mother, a tall, lean, athletic body, brown eyes sparkling with shards of bronze in them that were only going to break more hearts as she became a full grown woman, and breasts that were perfectly sized and perfectly shaped for her frame. While Riley Hitchcock had been fascinated and thrilled, he'd also been a bit disappointed at her lack of substance at fourteen. He would have fainted if he'd seen Shana topless.

Mattie was out of her Mercedes and standing by the gate before Joan had turned off her Mazda.

Her throat felt dry. The list of things she and Shana needed to talk about was just getting longer with every day she put it off.

"Oh, look," Shana said in an almost flawless imitation of Mattie's voice. "It's even got a white picket fence. Isn't that delightful?"

How could she have even heard Mattie with the window up and those damned buds stuck in her ears?

Shana was a mother's dream come true, but surely a quick smack up the side of her head might be enough to bring about a change in her attitude. The risk was that it would probably just get worse. And she would never hit her daughter anyway so it was an empty threat.

Joan got out, surprised to see Shana also getting out rather than remain in the Mazda. Having to stretch out cramps and find relief from a numb bum was a great motivator.

The Mazda was a bit short for Shana's length, especially with the rear of it full of stuff pressing against the back of her seat. It also drove like a go-cart, complete with point-and-shoot handling and transferring to its occupants everything the road had to offer by way of bumps and noise.

Mattie started her spiel the moment they got to her. "As I told you in my email, this house had been tied up in probate, but that's settled now and the executors are eager to clear the estate. We'll finalize the paperwork once the other executor is back from Eugene. Shall we go in?"

As she looked at their new home, Joan realized she hadn't been inside a house in Dominion since the night her old home burned to the ground with mother and father inside. She had spent the last few weeks in a motel room, having lost everything in the fire, before leaving to attend UCLA.

"That neighborhood we passed through," she said.

"Fleetwood Grove."

"Named after the dowager, Abigail Fleetwood, who spent her husband's fortune reclaiming areas he had clear cut to make."

"See? It's all coming back to you."

Shana said, "Just another thing to look forward to."

Mattie's smile didn't waver a bit. "Albert Nguyen lives there."

"The man who disappeared?"

"See?" Shana said. "You remember that, too."

"Shall we?" Mattie took hold of the gate.

#  REMBRANDT BE DAMNED

Book 2 of the Proteus Group Series

Chapter 1 Rembrandt Be Damned

Within the hour, Jaxon Trevelyan would fall overboard onto a dead man. At the moment, he stood on the aft deck of the RBD Dagger concentrating on not becoming any queasier than he already was.

The Dagger belonged to Jerome Remington, one of the most powerful sharks-in-a-suit in New York City. He was President of Remington Bakersfield Draper, or just RBD. If you didn't know who they were and what they did from their headquarters in Lower Manhattan that was your problem.

"There you are," Cissy said as she came out of the salon. "I've been looking all over for you."

Cecilia (Cissy) Remington was the reason he was on the Hatteras 100RPH trying to make his stomach behave as the yacht pitched about on the Atlantic.

They'd met three weeks ago at an exhibition of his best friend's newest paintings.

She'd started with, "If that's his mad slash of brush work, it looks more like his plop and dribble technique."

Mad slash of brush work had become the catchphrase description of Sean Hennessey's style after his drunken appearance on the cable program New York City Arts.

He had countered with, "It's his own."

"It would have to be. I don't believe anyone else would bother with it."

She had changed into white slacks, a navy blue sweatshirt with the North Shore Yacht Club emblem on it and deck shoes but no socks. Her new earrings, her bracelet watch with a face so small one needed a magnifying glass to read it and the ring on her right ring finger matched the color of her sweatshirt. She went without a necklace on this jaunt.

"I can't go very far." Every word was going to be a challenge. Who knew what might come out with it?

She had pointed to a portrait of a nude girl. "Is that supposed to be his tribute to Vermeer's Girl with a Pearl Earring?" She'd squinted and looked closer. "What is that?"

"Naked virgin with a squid stuck in her hair."

"And that, I suppose, is his rendition of Rembrandt's Slaughtered Ox."

"It's Canadian Back Bacon, actually."

Cissy kissed his cheek. "You didn't tell me you were such a landlubber."

He'd defended Sean's reputation admirably, or so he'd thought. "He likes to poke fun at other painters."

"Well, that Long Island Shore landscape is atrocious. I've seen more artistry in crop circles."

Sean Hennessey had painted that atrocious landscape to poke fun at his best friend's two landscapes of the eastern shores of Long Island after Hurricane Sandy had struck.

"Because," Sean had told him, "you're so bloody religiously serious about it all."

What he had meant to say to her in response was, "Why don't you shut your lovely lips before I make them fat." What he had said was, "He does mock quite a few of the masters, yes."

"We agree then. He makes a mockery of painting as art."

Then she had turned her invective on him, including remarks about what his level of artistic skill must be like, considering she had never heard of him or any exhibition of his works.

He looked past Cissy at the other guests gathered around the bar. Seventeen people were on the yacht, not counting the crew. None of them seemed to be having the difficulty he was with the Atlantic.

"I didn't know I was until tonight."

He had left the gallery rather than throw his punch in her face.

She had followed him out to continue their argument, or so he'd thought. Instead, she'd asked him out on a date. He'd politely declined and walked back to his studio. She'd sidled up beside him, slipped her hand into his and they'd spent the rest of the evening and most of the next day screwing their brains and artistic disagreements out. In between bouts of vigorous, physically hazardous sex, she had examined his paintings and declared that she loved them, that he had real talent and that she was exactly who he needed in his life.

They'd had hot, sticky, dirty, wicked sex—Cissy's term—at her penthouse condo on Central Park West—at 2300 square feet, it was four times the size of his apartment and about twenty times more expensive—every night since, which included a couple of times each out on her east terrace and then her south terrace.

Cissy invoked in him the same awe and admiration he had previously reserved only for Rembrandt's works. Her beauty was natural and undeniable. Straight blonde hair hung to the small of her back when it wasn't whipping around in passion or sprawled about her when she was looking up at him with green eyes, a small, elegant nose and those thin lips he could only conclude were perfect. Her body, lean and firm and far suppler than his, did everything she asked of it with fluid obedience.

When they weren't busy throwing his spine out and then putting it back into correct alignment, she was constantly telling him about all the wonderful things that were going to happen to him as both a man and an artist now that she was in his life. One of those wonderful things was supposed to be this cruise on her father's yacht on the last Saturday of April.

"Maybe the lobster didn't agree with you."

The Dagger was out of the North Shore Yacht Club at Manhasset Bay. Jerome Remington and his guests had spent the day coming down the East River to New York Harbor. The Dagger then sailed up the Hudson to pick up him and Cissy at the North Cove Yacht Harbor at 7:00 pm. The Dagger was on time. He and Cissy came from her condo by taxi after dining there and were ten minutes late, which had nothing to do with NYC traffic. The plan was to sail out past Sandy Point for a short excursion into the Atlantic before hugging the east coast of Long Island to disembark at the Freeport Bay Marina. There, they would dine late, spend the night and return to Manhattan tomorrow.

"It isn't the lobster."

He gripped the railing and looked out at the faint lights of Brooklyn coming on against the setting sun. They had been on this damned aquatic rocking horse for only an hour and he wasn't sure how much longer he could hold on to supper before making more room for their planned late dining. The smell of salt and foam wasn't helping him keep it down. The chill in the air that made him shiver only increased his queasiness.

She kissed his mouth; a great act of courage. "I'll get you something for it. I know just what you need."

She glided back into the salon and descended a set of circling stairs down to the galley and staterooms.

Jerome Remington, two other men and an African-American woman dressed as neatly and appropriately as Cissy were having a quiet but strained conversation near the bar. Remington, the woman and the tall, thin one of the two other men were focusing their conversation on the fourth member of the entourage: an older, shorter, heavier man nowhere near as vital as the trio against him. He was constantly gesticulating as if trying to hold them all off and offer his apology at the same time. The quartet, at the suggestion of the woman, moved away from the bar and headed below using the same stairs Cissy had used.

"Don't you look casual," a high, nasal male voice said, "and I'd say a bit green around the gills."

The man, six inches shorter than him, held out his hand. "Adrian Remington. My two seaworthy mates here are Bryce Kessler and Eugene Draper. We've been waiting for three weeks to meet you, but my devious sister has been keeping you to herself. We thought we would seize the opportunity while she was away."

Jaxon shook hands with men in their mid-twenties, all wearing similar yachting gear, complete with red, white and yellow windbreakers with the yacht's name and the three-banner RBD emblem on them. He wore faded jeans, old Nikes, a grey American Museum of Natural History sweatshirt over his blue Empire State Building T-shirt. It was his casual wear. He wore it a lot.

The three men were drinking martinis. They were tipsy but not in the same way he was.

Over the top of Adrian's head, he spotted the man Remington had been intimidating come up the stairs alone, go straight to the bar and order a drink.

Adrian, his straight blond hair slicked back over his head, stepped away to look him over, nodded and flashed a smirk at his two buddies. "I see she hasn't started dressing you yet. But just wait, she'll turn you into a Ken doll soon enough."

Adrian had the same slender build as Cissy and was just as tanned. It made Cissy appear healthy, composed and graceful. It made Adrian appear emaciated, even with the tan, and effete.

While the bartender mixed the drink, the African-American woman came up the stairs and snuck up behind the man.

Jaxon gripped the railing harder when the Dagger suddenly pitched upward and dropped back down an instant later.

Adrian reached up to put an arm around Jaxon's shoulder as he sipped his martini. "You strike me as a nice guy, Jax, which means you're only going to finish last with this crowd, and with Cissy. I'll give you a month or two, tops. She'll lose interest quickly, she always does."

Bryce, about his height and ten pounds lighter at 6'1" and near 180, said with sage wisdom as he lifted his martini to his mouth, "Always." He finished the cocktail in one gulp, ran his fingers through his thick bush of blond hair two shades darker than the Remington siblings' color and headed back to the bar for another martini all in one smooth motion.

Bryce, Adrian and Eugene might look a little bit more casual and seaworthy if they had some regurgitated steak and lobster on their jackets, chinos and deck shoes.

The woman put a hand on the man's shoulder, whispered something into his ear and waved off the prepared drink.

"You paint stuff," Eugene said, "isn't that right?" As short as Adrian and the heaviest of the three, he clearly came from similar wealth, but on him the clothes still had an ill-fitting, hand-me-down appearance to them. He was the dowdy tagalong of the trio.

"I paint."

She took the man by his arm, giving every impression she could and would twist it behind his back if she had to, and led him back to the stairs. The guests politely looked away, but conversations paused until the pair started down.

"I understand it's very clear stuff, comparable to Rockwell's work for The Saturday Evening Post. There's no doubt what it is and no doubt what it isn't . . . art, right?"

Adrian asked, "What exactly is it, Jax? What do you paint?"

Eugene answered for him, "Landscapes, stuff like that. I understand you've painted almost every bridge in New York, and the rivers, and the derelict areas, inspiring stuff like that."

"Is that right, Jax?" Adrian plucked the olive out of his glass and popped it into his mouth. "And it's art, right?"

"Art is so subjective, though," Bryce said and ran his fingers through his hair again before taking another sip of his martini. "Jaxon's paintings of what's left of the Domino Sugar factory and the Red Hook Grain Terminal aren't half bad."

He hadn't noticed Bryce return.

"Damned by," Eugene muttered.

Adrian put his arm around him again. "She does like struggling artists, Jax, I'll give her that. So, what does that make you? You're not an American in Paris because you're not in Paris and your new patron is actually younger than you."

Eugene finished his drink. "He's a Canadian in New York."

"I didn't know that. You're from Canada?"

Jaxon nodded.

"Whereabouts? Would I know it?"

"Abbotsford, British Columbia."

"Abbotsford, British Columbia." He smirked again at his two buddies. "Never heard of it, Jaxon, old man, but I'm sure it's a place to be proud of." Without looking, he held the empty glass out for Eugene to take back to the bar for a refill. "I'll bet your high school yearbook had you as the one most likely to live off women for the rest of your life."

"I don't have a rich father."

Adrian tried to yank him into a headlock, which only forced the twerp up onto his toes and brought his face close enough for a head butt. "First, she'll always be heartbreakingly too busy and unable to see you that night or for the foreseeable future. Then she won't return your calls. Then what?" He shrugged, still squeezing hard on Jaxon's neck. The force was more downward than sideways.

Jaxon clung to the railing and didn't act on his impulse to grab Cissy's pipsqueak of a brother by the waist of his chinos and just . . .

Eugene returned and handed over the martini, which required Adrian let go of him to take it.

"Oh, yes, after you've driven yourself mad with worry, she'll call you and tell you she just has to see you right away, which will delight you until you find out she only wants to tell you there's someone else."

"You'll be number seven," Eugene said. "I think it's seven."

Adrian counted on his fingers, Bryce and Eugene joined him.

"Seven or nine," Adrian said.

Eugene and Bryce were smirking the way Adrian had as the trio finished their martinis together. Adrian suddenly stiffened. Eugene and Bryce suddenly looked west at the last of the sunset and lowered their martini glasses as if trying to hide lit cigarettes from their parents.

Jerome Remington and the woman had come back up to the salon. They spoke to the bartender and were handed a number of towels before returning below deck. Cissy came up the same stairs holding a glass of water a few seconds later. She scowled when she saw who was with him.

"Uh-oh." Adrian cringed, but there was no real concern behind it.

Cissy brought him the drink. She was taller than her brother by a couple of inches. "This should help."

He drank what was clearly not water. It was bitter, sent frigid bugs scampering down his spine and convulsed his stomach. When he tried to thank her, he belched in her face loud enough to be heard over the Dagger's twin diesels, the wind rushing past and the slapping of the water against the yacht's hull.

"Fog's rolling in," Adrian said. He tried to lower his voice but it just cracked. "Best we get this tug turned around before it gets too thick."

"You three are the only things thick around here."

Adrian tried to give her a kiss, but she gracefully dodged his projectile of a face, which sent him staggering for the port side of the yacht. Bryce and Eugene were just able to catch him.

"Have a good evening, dear sister. And you, too, Jaxon, old boy, enjoy it while you can."

He waved at them both before taking his two buddies for more martinis. The guests near the bar moved off as the trio approached.

"Pay no attention to him," Cissy said. "Half the time he doesn't mean what he's saying because half the time he doesn't know what he's saying."

"And the other half?"

"He's usually unconscious or off somewhere with those other two."

He noticed movement to their right before he could ask how far back seven or nine took her.

Captain Pierre de la Tour came to them from the salon. He took off his cap when he reached them and said to Jaxon, "Mr. Remington will see you now, sir."

Chapter 2

"I thought we were going to meet him together."

She kissed his cheek and shrugged. "Father has his ways."

Captain de la Tour said, "If you will come with me, please, sir. Mr. Remington does not like to be kept waiting."

Cissy took his glass and encouraged him with a gentle push from behind. "I'll be waiting here, darling."

The captain led him down the circular stairs to the lower deck and then forward to Remington's master bedroom suite. Remington and the three who'd been with him at the bar stood around a circular table. The captain nodded to Remington and left.

"Jaxon Trevelyan." Cissy's father came to him with his hand held out. "Jerome Remington. I'm very glad to finally meet you."

He was taller than Cissy by a couple of inches, not slender like his two offspring, had dark hair and hard, blue eyes. His grip was strong, his hand felt rough. Like shark skin should feel, Jaxon supposed

"Let me introduce my colleagues. This lovely young woman is Nyla Rowe, our Chief Operations Officer. I'm quite sure we would be dead in the water if not for her captaincy."

It was the first nautical metaphor he'd heard since boarding the yacht.

"She has incredible organizational skills, a talent for details that bewilders me, a superb analytical mind, and she's tough enough to shrivel your balls. For all I know, she may be running the company in ways I'm not even aware of."

"That's what makes me perfect for RBD because you're only concerned with results." Rowe shook his hand. Her grip was as strong as Remington's, though her skin had no roughness to it. "That's an interesting spelling of your first name, Mr. Trevelyan."

Her strong jaw line set off an oval face. Large brown eyes and hints of epicanthic folds imparted a sultry quality to her countenance highlighted by properly shaped eyebrows, proudly flaring nostrils and full lips covered in red lipstick that went with her nail polish. Her black hair was long and pulled back from her face into a high bun that made him think of a Nubian queen. Unlike Cissy, she wore no jewelry and her watch was a very bland digital-faced device for practical purposes only.

"Actually, it's a misspelling of my intended first name."

"How so?"

"When I was born, the computer at the hospital that was supposed to record all of my particulars for legal registration was broken. They had to fill out the form by hand. And wouldn't you know it the doctor's writing was illegible. When the form was submitted to vital statistics, whoever transcribed it read the scribbled 's' in my name as an 'x'. I have had to bear the shame of it ever since."

Rowe, her confident eyes capable of holding as firmly as her handshake, said, "It's unique."

The rail-thin man stepped forward. "Morris Triton, Jaxon, good to meet you." His handshake was as rough as Remington's. Their eyes were level with each other's.

"Morris is my partner in crime masquerading as the CEO of Remington Bakersfield Draper."

The man they all seemed to have been picking on earlier still appeared as cowering as he had at the bar. "I have no humorous anecdote for my name, Mr. Trevelyan. I'm John Smith."

"Speaks for itself, doesn't it?"

There was no humor in the man at all. He rolled his r's but that was the only hint of an accent he gave away.

Remington chuckled and moved to prevent Smith from stepping forward and shaking his hand. "If you will excuse John, he was just about to rejoin our other guests."

Smith left the suite almost bowing as if a peasant who had just be granted leniency from his lord. Probably most people at RBD had the same reaction after an audience with any one of these three.

Nyla Rowe went to a small bar and poured a drink from a pitcher. She brought the martini to Jaxon.

He declined. "I'm afraid the Atlantic and I have been arguing over what I am made of since the beginning of the trip. One of those may force me to reveal exactly what that is."

Rowe smirked at him the same way Adrian, Bryce and Eugene had—and Cissy, too, when she'd pushed at him, now that he thought of it—and returned the martini to the bar. "We can't have that."

"So, Jaxon," Remington said, "Cissy tells me you're an artist, that you have just completed your MFA at Columbia, that you have an apartment in Brooklyn and share a studio in Chelsea with three other artists, and that, as with all talented but as yet undiscovered artists, you are struggling to make ends meet."

Rowe was drinking the martini he'd refused. She was looking at Triton over the top of the glass. If eyes were windows to the soul, those two souls were intolerant of artists as precisely categorized as Remington had just done to him.

"New York, ya just gotta love it."

"Perhaps I could help you with your monetary issues."

Had this been one of Cissy's wonderful things planned for him? She'd been evasive when he'd asked her for details of what she was doing on his behalf.

Rowe finished the martini and said, "He means a job, Jaxon, that's all."

Remington chuckled. "Of course that's what I mean."

Triton said, "He wasn't offering to buy you off to get you away from Cecilia. She can handle herself, I assure you."

Remington asked, "Is that what you thought?"

"It wasn't that. I've known Cissy for three weeks. In that brief time I have been overwhelmed by her enthusiasm and drive to help me. I appreciate everything she's done, but, as with all talented but as yet undiscovered, struggling artists, there is a difficult balance between accepting help and giving in to it."

"I'm not sure I follow you on that."

Rowe said, "He means enthusiasm and drive, indeed assistance of any kind, if it is before he is ready as an artist, may do more damage than good. Is that right, Mr. Trevelyan?"

"Partly. Both the artist and his work must be ready. And I'm not just talking about enough work for an exhibition, but work that is ready to be exhibited."

"You have your MFA," Triton said. "How much more do you need to be ready?"

"If I knew the answer to that . . ."

"I think I understand," Remington said. "I won't insult you by pretending I understand the artistic temperament, but I do understand preparation, imagination and hard work. I understand there is a commonality to achieving excellence in all things, and that the artist, perhaps above all others, needs a unique environment to develop that regime and get the results they hope to achieve. I'm just offering the opportunity to keep a roof over your head, food on your table and clothes on your back until you do."

An empathic and generous shark-in-a-suit; who knew? "What kind of job?"

"Security guard," Remington said this without any hint of mockery, sarcasm or bile. This offer was his noblesse oblige. At least he wasn't offering him a job as a waiter or chauffeur. He probably offered those jobs to struggling actors. "RBD always needs security guards. You could work whatever shift you want, pick the one that best suits your artistic timetable."

Thank you, Cissy, thank you so very fucking much.

"Sounds good."

"Marvelous, and don't you worry about a thing. Nyla will take care of getting you processed and fitted with a uniform."

Rowe was smirking again like Adrian had. A few highlights of steak and lobster bits in her bun would augment her appearance nicely.

He wondered if Adrian rather than Cissy had a hand in this offer. That trio struck him as great practical jokers to rival Sean. But Remington was right about him needing the money. New York was a fantastic city. In his opinion, it was the best city in the world and he never wanted to leave it, but New York City sure as hell wasn't easy to live in.

"Now," Remington said. "If you will excuse us, Jaxon, the three of us suffer from OCD and still have more work to do."

With that the audience was over.

Jaxon didn't bow or crouch or nod or acknowledge RBD's royalty in any way before he left the master bedroom suite and returned to Cissy. He found her on the flybridge aft deck reclining on a lounger and talking to a woman about her age.

Rather than get off the chaise, Cissy reached up, pulled him down and kissed him. She then handed him the drink she'd prepared for him. "Don't worry, darling, it just tastes sweet. It has no alcohol in it."

He sipped a bit of it rather than risk offending her. She had gone to the trouble of making him another drink she was sure wouldn't upset his delicate tummy. While he loved New York City, he was really beginning to hate the Atlantic Ocean.

The drink was sweet and fruity, but instead of achieving what it was supposed to, it only made his stomach flutter the same way drinking diet pops did if he didn't eat something with them. The butterflies in his stomach—wriggling worms, really—that had disappeared during his audience had returned with hot stingers attached to them that kept stabbing into his delicate internal parts.

"This is Constance Penelope Smythe, from Saint Albans. We've been best friends since we were eight years old."

Constance Penelope Smythe got up from her chaise and shook his hand. "Call me Penny; it's not such a mouthful."

She was model tall but not model thin. Her tanned shoulders were broad and muscular. A sapphire sundress revealed equally tanned and muscular arms and legs. She had been a rower at one time. Her posture was erect and strong. Cropped tawny hair was cut so it wouldn't get in her way. She wore sandals on her long, bare feet.

"It's hard to have fun on the water when your stomach won't cooperate. My first few times, I had trouble swallowing anything."

"It's not swallowing that I'm worried about."

Penny smiled small, white teeth that suited her. She didn't need row after row of huge, dazzling beacons to enhance her beauty. "You'll get your legs. For now, just try to focus on points and not take in the whole."

"You may find this hard to believe right now, but I worked on a fishing boat for two seasons off the coast of British Columbia. I had no trouble then with—"

"Man overboard!" The alarm came from someone on the deck below.

The yacht shuddered and pitched when it came to a stop as fast as it could. Penny caught him when he staggered.

He, Cissy and Penny headed down to the back of the lower deck, tucking in behind and following the captain and crew at the main deck level. The captain ordered everyone else to stay where they were.

Adrian, Bryce and Eugene were already on the lower deck holding martinis and looking over the side. They ignored de la Tour's command to get back, but did so when Jerome, Morris and Nyla arrived.

Captain and crew went about the job of bringing the man back on board.

"Oh, God," Cissy said when she looked over the side, "the boat must have struck him."

He looked over.

The crew had snagged Smith with a pole and a rope and had just lifted him out of the water. His forehead was bashed in above his right eye. The skin had been abraded as well as peeled back to expose the skull, which had both large and hairline fractures on it.

"Oh, sh—" There was no point to focus on when he looked out at the darkness surrounding the Dagger. The lights of the yacht became bright shards of red, white and yellow that stabbed at his eyes. The salt and diesel smell rushed into his lungs and churned his stomach.

He heaved, vomited onto Smith and fell over the side onto the body. Smith cushioned the impact, but he still bumped forehead to wounded forehead just before they both dropped into the water.

Salt water rushed into his mouth as he thrashed about grabbing for anything. His hand found purchase on Smith's suit coat, but it was slippery and his fingers couldn't keep hold of it. He pulled himself out of the water only to slip back under just as he was taking a breath. More salt water rushed into his mouth. The sparkling lights above him were drifting away. His body wanted to cough out the sea as he kicked for the surface. His hands found Smith's belt. He pulled hard to get his head above the waves just as Smith's body began to roll. He went under again.

If he didn't cough out the water they'd be pulling two bodies out of the Atlantic.

Something pushed against his back then wrapped round him. An octopus? He reached for tentacles and felt arms. A moment later, he felt legs knock against the back of his as someone took them both up to the surface.

His head rose into the cool, salty air. He coughed hard enough to scratch his throat.

"I got you," the man said.

The Dagger was about fifteen yards away, the only brightness in the night, a splotch of silvery red paint on a black canvas, except it bobbed up and down.

He coughed when the man spoke again and the man had to repeat himself.

"Just relax, sir. I've got you. They're coming."

He squinted against the spray of foam and saw splashes approaching them. Two men were coming to help bring him in. He coughed violently again when he tried to thank the man holding him up. The Dagger and its lights started to come into focus. The gentle pitching of the yacht settled his stomach. He looked for Cissy.

The other two crewmen put a lifesaver around him that was secured to the Dagger by a rope and they all started swimming back. Cissy came into focus as she reached over the side. Penny came into focus as she took hold of Cissy's shoulders and backed her out of the way.

Smith bobbed up and down in the waves like an abandoned air mattress. They had temporarily secured Smith to the port side of the Dagger with three ropes so they could come get him.

Three yards to go and the Atlantic splashed a wave into his face that had him coughing and gulping for air again.

Adrian, Bryce and Eugene were alternating between coming to the side to check the progress of the rescue and recovery and then stepping back to laugh even harder.

The three men took him astern to get him up onto the back platform three feet below the lower deck. Captain de la Tour, Triton and Rowe were coming down the stairs with one other crewman to assist getting him back on board.

He reached for the platform and grabbed hold tight enough to make his shivering hands ache. When he turned in the water to thank the trio that had jumped in to retrieve him, he saw Smith come floating around from the side of the yacht. He tried to say something, but his trembling tongue and lips wouldn't form any words. As de la Tour, Triton and Rowe hauled him up onto the platform, he pointed and grunted.

The three men splashed after Smith while someone took off the lifesaver and threw a blanket around him. Cissy and Penny came down to the platform despite being hollered at not to. Cissy hugged him. Penny returned to the lower deck.

The trio of rescuers brought Smith's body to the platform as Triton and Rowe also returned to the lower deck. Cissy held on tightly to him.

Jaxon looked up at the lower deck, at Rowe's irritation with what she would see as his weakness, at Adrian and his buddies laughing at his predicament, at Jerome Remington's concern about who his daughter had brought into her life. The boat lurched down when the crewmen rolled Smith onto the platform behind him. He dared to take a glimpse at the body as Cissy tried to usher him up to the lower deck.

"Oh, sh—"

Gravity pulled on him as the Dagger dropped away. With another heave, he vomited again, slipped out of the blanket and Cissy's grasp onto Smith and they both slid off the platform back into the Atlantic.
Chapter 3

Captain de la Tour brought the Dagger back to the North Cove Yacht Harbor. NYPD Harbor Patrol escorted them in. Two detectives and an ambulance were waiting.

Jaxon sat on a bench near the berth where the Dagger was moored. He had changed into clothes from one of the yacht's crew and still had the blanket around him. The Atlantic had swallowed him twice and a good deal of it was still sloshing around inside his stomach to replace what he had lost during their argument. It had sprayed salty foam into his lungs. The chill of it wouldn't leave him.

He watched the two detectives taking statements from the other guests and the crew. Jerome, Cissy, Penny, Adrian, Bryce and Eugene had already given their statements. The ambulance had taken Smith away about ten minutes ago.

Footsteps approached from the parking lot but it wasn't Cissy.

Rowe asked, "How are you doing?"

He coughed before he could speak.

"That good, huh? Maybe you should have drunk that martini."

"I'm doing better than Smith. What were you all talking about?"

"That is none of your business."

"Do you think he fell overboard, jumped or was pushed? Did someone hit him or did he collide with the Dagger after he was in the Atlantic? Did Adrian cut the body loose just to see if it would still float?"

"Have you talked to either of the detectives yet?"

"He looked frightened when he was with you three, like you were ganging up on him."

"Where's Cissy?"

"She's with Jerry and her bro. It's a family tradition in the face of threat or trauma to circle the wagons. She'll be back in a few minutes."

"Just relax, be cool and answer the detective's questions when he gets to you."

"What else would I do? If you're worried I saw something I shouldn't have, like a knife in his back before it fell out, you can be assured that I didn't."

"Why would I be concerned about something like that?"

"Just wondering out loud; like with that Adrian cutting loose thing."

"Don't." Rowe knelt down to be at eye level. "There's an opening in the graphic arts section of our marketing department. It's probably a better use of your talents, though I can't imagine they're that impressive."

"Thanks."

"Don't be too grateful. You don't know what I have in mind for you yet."

She walked back to the parking lot when the older of the two detectives started their way. In just a few seconds, their conversation became a very animated but hushed argument. The detective bristled at something she said. After a few more seconds of them glaring at each other like boxers about to fight, he nodded. They both looked his way for a moment before leaving together. If it was a matter of taking each other's worth, Rowe appeared to have won that round.

Jerome, Cissy and Adrian came to him.

Remington asked, "What did you and Nyla talk about?"

"She wanted to know how I was feeling."

Cissy asked, "And how are you feeling?"

"I can still feel the planet turning, but at least I'm connected to it again."

Adrian stood to Jerome's right and a step behind being the silent and dutiful son. Cissy was on her father's left with her arm looped together with his; an interesting family portrait.

She said, "And what else did you two talk about? She was with you for longer than it would take to just find out how you are feeling."

Was she jealous of Nyla Rowe? As ridiculous as that notion was it did warm him.

"She thought there might be a position for me in the graphic arts section of RBD's marketing department. She said it would better suit my impressive talents."

"See what I mean?" Remington smiled down at him. "She might actually be running the company behind my back."

Adrian appeared as ill as he had felt on the Dagger.

Jaxon could think of nothing comforting to say to him.

Rowe and the older detective came to them.

"Detective Hewitt," Remington said, "is there something else we can help you with?"

"You can all go now."

Jaxon asked, "Don't you want my statement?"

"It's been an upsetting night for you. Ms. Rowe told me what you've been through and I'm sure you didn't see any more than anyone else concerning Mr. Smith's fall overboard. Go home and get some rest. I will call you in a couple of days to take a statement."

It was a straightforward and tragic incident, Smith had just fallen off the boat, but Rowe clearly had some influence over the NYPD. Sending him home to wait a few days before giving a statement was not standard NYPD procedure for something like this.

Cissy helped him up. "I'll take you home." She gave Rowe a disingenuous smile. "Thank you for finding something more appropriate for Jaxon's talents."

Rowe smiled exactly the same way before escorting Hewitt back to his partner. They talked a great deal as they went. Hewitt appeared to be coming around to whatever she was telling him.

"Max will be here in a few minutes," Cissy said.

He felt warmer by the second as Cissy escorted him to the parking lot. His ears still had water in them, so he might have only imagined Cissy hissing as they passed Rowe and Hewitt.

Captain de la Tour came to them. "Is there anything I can do for either of you?"

"I could use something hot to drink."

He said to Cissy, "Your brother, Mr. Kessler and Mr. Draper will be staying on the Dagger tonight."

"That's a party waiting to happen. What about the other guests?"

"I believe, Mr. Trevelyan, they have all gone home." He headed back to the yacht.

Cissy said, "You don't keep anything to yourself, do you?"

"God, I'm thirsty."

She headed back to the yacht and miraculously returned with two hot chocolates to counter the wind that was coming in from the harbor. April in NYC had been unusually cold this year. Though it had warmed up the past three days, the nights still got chilly quickly. They found shelter on a bench on the leeside of a stone wall and drank up. She huddled close to him and said nothing while they waited.

They had reached a level of comfort in their relationship that required no small talk or forced conversation until Max arrived. Manhattan was the antithesis of a deserted island. Part of the most boisterous and enthralling city in the US, in their silence he could imagine they were the only two on it right now.

When Max arrived in the BMW 760Li, Cissy insisted on opening the door for him and helping him get settled. She put on his seatbelt.

"I can do that."

"Nonsense," she said and kissed his cheek. "What you need right now is some tender loving care. I'm going to take you to my place and give you all that I have."

They drove back wrapped together in the blanket and that same comfortable silence.

Once out of Battery Park City, Max took them past the new World Trade Center up through Tribeca, Greenwich Village and Chelsea, the Garment District to 8th Avenue and then through Columbus Circle to Central Park West and on to 88th and Cissy's condo in the Upper West Side.

Along the way, Cissy had taken hold of him and ducked under the blanket, but then had thought better of it, brought her head up and just snuggled against him until Max parked in front of her building.

Cissy was sincere, he knew that, and he did look forward to everything she was going to do to and for him. He just couldn't shake the notion that Rowe's offer of a better job was somehow a tacit request for him to keep to himself whatever suspicions he had about what might have happened to Smith. With that in mind, Cissy's earnest efforts would likely be as much in vain as Grace Kelly's were with Jimmy Stewart in the early scenes of Rear Window.

Rowe probably just knew he would be of greater use in Graphic Arts for whatever she had in mind. And Grace Kelly did eventually win over Jimmy Stewart. She only had to almost get murdered to do it.

# Jellyfish

Book 3 of the Proteus Group

Chapter 1

Vlad Drăculea was dead, but that was not the end of him.

Father Antonio Rossetti, a loyal servant of God and the Vatican for forty-one years, chaffed in the heavy white robe he was required to wear as he looked down at the pieces of wood on the table before him. Hewn from the mountain forest behind the monastery and constructed with lengths of thick, rough planks in accordance with exact directions provided by the codex, the table sat in the front chamber of the monastery. It would require the whole brotherhood to move it to any other location. It was, therefore, immovable because most of his brothers had been sent away, a precaution to prevent the complete annihilation of his order.

Rossetti finished his second glass of wine and looked to the entrance door. Father Bernardo Alessandro was late.

Held hostage by the Ottomans for most of his adolescence, tortured for his constant defiance of them, Vlad had grown into a hard, vile man, but no man had been more justified in his behavior. And he had been an effective soldier against the Turkish horde in the service of His Holiness. The time had come for the Holy Order of Loyal Pius Brothers to honor the agreement between House Drăculeşti and Pope Pius II.

At thirty-six, Alessandro was the youngest of them and had been a priest for less than a year. He was to bring it from the Piazza Santa Maria La Nova under escort of six soldiers of the Papal army assigned to the Catterdale de Santa Marie Assunta church. He should have arrived hours ago.

The hooded white robe, the red sash around the waist, bare feet and no hair anywhere on the body were the required vestments for this mix of holy and pagan consecrating ritual. They had also been required to adorn their flesh with symbols.

Father Rossetti looked down at Christ's cross on the top of his right foot, the sacrifice on the path to God. He had forbidden the addition of the dagger to that image. On the left foot, each of the brothers had painted a date tree to symbolize their toil on earth. There were to be no symbols on their bare faces and heads.

The chalice for Christ's blood was drawn on the back of his right hand. Looking at it caused his heart to thrash about like a bird trying to escape its cage. But there was no escape from this unholy ritual. The image of the box designed and constructed by Andrea Alonso for His Holiness—the box that now lay in pieces before him—was inscribed on the back of his left hand. He was required to carve symbols on each piece before putting the box back together.

Both hands trembled when he poured and drank his third glass of wine.

Younger, steadier members of the brotherhood were more capable with the chisels, but he was the head of the order. This part of the ceremony was exclusively his responsibility. If he failed, his order failed. The agreement would not be honored. Vlad would be betrayed again by those he served.

Tonight, though, even three glasses of wine couldn't bring the tremors under control.

He picked up a chisel and grabbed the first piece of wood. The prescribed order in which the specific symbols for each piece were to be carved was listed on the vellum pages of the codex that lay beside his empty glass. Each page contained a vivid—garish—illustration of a symbol.

Two priests entered the chamber the moment he began his work. They stopped at the other end of the table.

Father Buonfiglio Napoli and Father Camillo Vincenzo had been reluctantly sent from the Vatican to assist with this detestable but obligatory ceremony.

Father Napoli, forty, a short, furtive man, whispered, "Do we have to go through with this abhorrent . . .?" A man of slight stature, Napoli presented a frail, stooped and insignificant character. How had he become involved in something like this?

"Pay no attention to him," Vincenzo said. "He has been complaining since we left Rome."

No two men could be such opposites. Father Vincenzo had been a soldier before coming to Christ. A head taller than any of them, his shoulders almost twice as wide as and far more muscular than the measly Napoli, Vincenzo was hard, direct, fierce, loyal, composed and resolute. Every move he made was deliberate and strong. Vincenzo had exhibited the steady hand to outline in ink each symbol on each section of the box that he was required to carve.

It was a pity Napoli was unable to draw upon some of Vincenzo's strength for himself.

Of all his outstanding features, and that aura of strength about him—he might be able to move the table by himself—his eyes were the most disturbing. They penetrated and dissected and mocked every time they took hold of someone. Father Vincenzo gave all the appearance of someone preternaturally possessed of both this earth and some mysterious knowledge of the ages beyond what mortal man could comprehend.

Wondering again if Vincenzo was possibly an angel sent to see through to its end this obligation left to them by His Holiness Pope Pius II, Father Rossetti poured more wine into his glass, adjusted the two large candles to bring their flames closer, adjusted the reflective glass to better illuminate the pieces before him and continued with his work. "His Holiness decreed that he may rest in the Piazza Santa Maria La Nova. But his heart must be returned to his homeland."

"But, Father Rossetti," Napoli whispered, "it is a dark ritual older than Christ himself." Napoli had barely raised his voice above a whisper from the moment he arrived. "This man was a demon, Father. I would rather his heart were impaled for all to see the same way his victims were cruelly displayed to the world."

Vincenzo took hold of Napoli by the back of his neck. "Look there, Father. Perhaps it will help you to remember what this man did for us." He turned Napoli toward the wall of skulls. Nameless heroes, the Vatican's holy fallen warriors, rested in niches carved into the mountain stone that made up the rear wall of this lonely and vulnerable monastery.

Rossetti started on the fourth symbol. Carving had done what the wine couldn't. His hands had become steadier with the wood, chisels and knifes in them. Another consideration passed through his mind and his beliefs. Was Vincenzo exerting some influence over him?

Father Napoli was only expressing the doubts Rossetti had experienced as well. The Drăculeşti Codex from Vlad's homeland was written near the end of Christ's life. It dictated what they must do to properly honor the agreement. It contained the symbols he was to carve onto the pieces of the box and identified which ones went where. The codex had been written by the first priests of Wallachia to accept the word of the one true God and the sacrament, and had then had folded this new enlightenment into their existing pagan beliefs.

How many generations of such distortions would it take to completely obliterate the Son of God's original message, and in the process create an enduring and apocryphal legend for the brutal man they were attending to tonight? At best, he could only hope the correct man was remembered to have had love for all in his heart.

Once released from Vincenzo's grasp, Napoli came to him mewling, "We should not be doing this."

"I am but a loyal servant of—"

The doors to this old Franciscan monastery creaked and scraped and began to swing open before them. Twice, it stopped before opening completely to reveal the two wounded men at its threshold.

"My God, what has happened?" Vincenzo rushed to Father Alessandro and the wounded soldier holding him up.

Father Rossetti and Father Napoli remained at the table.

Alessandro clutched the leather sack under his right arm. His left was draped over the blood-covered soldier as they staggered together into the great hall.

Vincenzo took Alessandro from the soldier, who then fell to the stone floor holding his left side. Half of an arrow shaft protruded from the soldier's lower chest.

"Help him," he whispered to Father Napoli.

Napoli bowed and shook his head. "We should abandon this folly. They will surely have followed them. We will all be killed."

Rossetti poured another glass of wine for himself. "We must perform the ceremony before they get here, then. Do as I ask, Father, please." He drank the wine in one swallow and began assembling the box. The carvings weren't complete, but they had no more time.

Napoli, a completely ineffectual man, staggered over to the soldier as if also wounded. One step away, he hesitated, convinced he would be struck down once he touched the man.

Father Vincenzo brought Father Alessandro to the opposite end of the table.

Rossetti remained where he was and pulled up the hood of his robe once the box was completely assembled. He then pulled out the key and opened the lid. "Do you have it?"

Alessandro nodded weakly and came along the edge of the table with Vincenzo's help. He held up the leather sack with its round object inside. Blood seeped from a wound on his neck.

"The Black Army's Elite Guard of the Holy Crown of Hungary ambushed us. He does not want it returned to Wallachia." He proffered the sack to Father Rossetti.

Rossetti averted his eyes and made only the minutest nod of acceptance.

The aroma of honey wafted out of the sack when Alessandro placed it beside the box.

"We must hurry," Alessandro said. "They will be here soon." He sagged into Vincenzo's arms.

Vincenzo set Alessandro down onto a chair and returned to Rossetti.

The box was simple enough, carved out of a block of Wallachian oak—Vlad's favorite wood for making the stakes he impaled his victims on—and then intricately cut by Alonso into the segments of the puzzle he'd just completed. The hinges and lock were of brass. The curved lid was unadorned with jewels so as not to detract from the elegant carving of the winged dragon crouching atop it that also served as a handle.

A gift from Pope Pius II before His Holiness died, it had been used to deliver the ransom paid to free Vlad, had been emptied of Drăculea's family heirlooms. Now it would hold for all time the darkest part of him.

"Father Rossetti," Vincenzo said and tugged on his sleeve, "let us be done with this and get it away from here as quickly as possible."

He glanced at Alessandro struggling to take his last few breaths. Father Napoli had remained where he was to pray while the soldier died on the floor at his feet. They were all going to die for this disgusting man.

"Yes, let us do exactly that." He held his hand out to Father Vincenzo.

Vincenzo handed over the small leather pouch he had been commissioned to bring with him.

Rossetti opened it as Father Alessandro died and slid off his chair. Napoli had fallen to his knees before the dead soldier and was still praying over him.

"Leave him," he said when Vincenzo started for their fallen brother. He didn't look into the small pouch; he just turned it upside down, poured out the soil into the box and placed the other key into the brass lock once the pouch was empty. He didn't raise his voice when he said to Napoli, "Bring me your charge and we will finish this."

Unable to control his shivering, Napoli looked up from the soldier, his head shaking, his mouth opening wide to cry out his protests once more. Before he could, they heard the horses galloping into the monastery's courtyard.

"Hurry." He held out his hand to Napoli. It was trembling again.

Father Buonfiglio Napoli started crying. "Please, Father Rossetti, we must flee."

"Bring me your charge, you pathetic man."

Napoli rose to his feet and scurried back to the table. He handed over the amulet given to His Holiness by Vlad's daughter.

Rossetti set the amulet into the box. "Now the last of it." He glared at Napoli.

Shrinking back, Napoli struggled to push the large leather sack over to him.

"Give it to me."

"No, I can't." Napoli covered his face and turned away. "I won't."

With a moue of distain on his face for his companion from Rome, Vincenzo took the heart from the sack and handed it to Rossetti.

Outside, monks screamed as they fell to the soldiers. They had no weapons or fighting skills. All they could do was put themselves between the attackers and the monastery doors.

He placed the heart into the box, grateful that he had been spared the need to recite any of those vile words, closed the lid and locked it. "Take it."

"But Father, you are supposed to return it." Vincenzo pulled out a sword from beneath his robe. "Go, I will hold them off for as long as I can."

"I have no doubt you could give me ample time, brother, but I am too old to make the journey. I will remain here. Take it now and leave. You must hurry."

He closed the codex and bound it with the two leather straps attached to it. He then handed it and the pouch that now contained the keys over to Vincenzo as well. "You must complete the ritual before it is assigned to its place of keeping. Remember to return the keys to where they belong and keep them separate."

Brother Vincenzo placed the box, the pouch and the codex into the sack blessed to carry them. "God be with you, Father Rossetti, I will not fail you."

"It will not be me you fail, my dear brother. God be with us all."

Vincenzo crossed himself before fleeing through the hidden door at the back of the monastery to join the escort of six men waiting in the woods to the north.

When Napoli started after Vincenzo, Rossetti called to him. "Come stand beside me, Father. We are in His hands now."

The last of his brother's fading moans in the courtyard could barely be heard over Napoli's whimpering as he squirmed over to him.

Three soldiers of Matthias Corvinus' Black Army entered the monastery. To show their respect they had sheathed their swords.

The Captain made the sign of the cross and asked, "Father, where is it?"

"It is gone." Father Rossetti put his arm around the small, shivering man beside him, took a firm hold of Napoli's shoulder and fixed his gaze on the Captain's eyes.

Those eyes would be no match for Vincenzo. The ritual would be completed, the agreement would be honored.

The three soldiers drew their swords.

His legend, and his curse, have begun, Rossetti thought, may God forgive us.

Chapter 2

Jacqueline Yvette Duquesne entered her penthouse apartment in Vancouver's West End just after midnight to find the message light on her phone blinking. Algernon had insisted she keep a landline. He was the only one who would use it to leave her a message.

"Merde!"

She took the time to put her suitcase in the bedroom, undress, relieve herself and get into her bathrobe before she returned to her phone and played the message.

Algernon Devries' crackling voice said, "Jacqueline, ma chère fille, get your lovely ass down here to San Francisco as fast as you can. I've sent my jet to YVR to pick you up."

Algernon knew the International Air Transport Association codes for every major international airport in North America and Europe, and most of the ones in Asia.

"Merde!"

Algernon Devries had been her employer and her mentor, but he was no father figure. He was, in fact, quite the lascivious old creep at seventy-three. She had been with him for twelve years and had sampled—been a victim off, actually—his proclivity for sexual games involving audience participation. That one time had been enough to lead to an ultimatum of understanding between them of just what she would and would not do for him from that moment forward.

He had accepted her terms without reservation. "I apologize for misinterpreting your enthusiasm for experiencing new adventures. I did not expect such reticence. Again, I am sorry for misreading you."

Algernon's apologies, gracious on the surface, always hit like a major insult.

He had never before summoned her like this while she was already on assignment for him. He couldn't suddenly be impatient to get the pistols; that wasn't Algernon's way. He preferred the anguish of anticipating her arrival and any new gift she was bringing to him. But even narcissistic Algernon Devries, with his perfect alabaster skin, knew that time was running out on him. He was becoming more impatient to fill his bucket before he kicked it.

The thing to do after a message like that was to just get her lovely ass to YVR as quickly as she could. She was already packed, but. . . .

She used her landline to call Algernon. He'd be up at this time of night because the man was part vampire and rarely went to bed before sunrise.

On the third ring, Algernon answered, "Are you on your way?"

"Ralentir, vous vieux fou." Slow down, you old fool.

"Your accent gets sloppy when you're tired. Are you on your way?"

"I just got in after fourteen hours in the air on one commercial flight after another because you needed your jet for something else. "Je suis épuisé." I am exhausted.

"Nonsense."

"They weren't where they were supposed to be. I had to go to Belgium, and there was only one pistol left. I'm still looking for the Chamberlain manuscript, but I have information that indicates it might be in Leeds."

"Forget those. I need you here by morning. Get your firm little butt to the airport, ma chère fille."

"I need some sleep."

"Sleep on the plane. You will arrive at five-fifteen. There will be a taxi waiting for you. Being Saturday, there won't be much traffic. It will take another forty-five minutes to get to my house at that time of morning."

Algernon always had to verbalize all the timing details even though she was every bit as adept at calculating things like that after years of weary travelling on his behalf. For Algernon, however, it was some part genius, some part autism and a big part obsessive-compulsive. He could no more keep quiet about such details going through his head than she could just stop breathing once and for all.

"Algernon, what is it?"

"We acquired the amulet a few months ago and that led us to someone who knew . . . never mind that. I don't want to talk about it over the phone. We've got it now; that's all that matters."

"We? Who else—"

"See you at six, do not be late." He hung up.

"Merde! Merde! Merde!"

Working for Algernon had made her wealthy. He'd left her to her own methods to accomplish what he asked of her, but his one inviolate rule was that she came immediately when he summoned her. He was even sending his jet for her.

This last assignment had taken her to her birthplace, Montreal, then to Reykjavik, Riga and Belgrade before ending up outside Bastogne on the Ardennes Plateau to acquire one of Algernon's priorities for the past three years. It was late November. The clothes in her suitcase were for the snowstorms she'd encountered in Europe. Algernon's jet would just have to wait.

She showered and then put on clothes he would certainly notice. Then she removed her winter clothes from the suitcase and replaced them with more appropriate wear for November in San Francisco. There wasn't that much difference between what came out and what went in.

She also removed the one pistol she had purchased. The pair had belonged to some obscure member of the aristocracy at the time of the French revolution. The aristocrat was actually from Spain, one Manuel de la Rosa, who had killed seven men in duels with them and then had used them to unsuccessfully defend his family during a robbery by the revolutionary rabble in Paris. She had failed to find Clive Chamberlain's original 1668 manuscript about the true age of dragons in England, rumored to have been commissioned by—that idiot, Algernon told her—King Charles II.

Packed and closed, she took her suitcase back down to the lobby to wait for the cab. She boarded the Gulfstream G450 at 1:48 am.

She was grateful for the adventures and for the wealth that twelve years with Algernon had brought her. She would help find the manuscript if Leeds provided anything she could work with. She would see what it was that excited him so much, but she was finished with all these treasure hunts. She would tell him exactly that the moment she entered his mansion. And this time, she would make him listen to her.
Chapter 3

As Jacqueline Duquesne was taking off from YVR in Algernon Devries' Gulfstream G450, Special Agent Brian Laskey was parking his black Ford Expedition in the parking lot of the San Francisco Coast Guard Unit's Seizure Pier. His field office had received a call about the Coast Guard bringing in the MV Viaje Costero—Costal Journey—a thirty-meter cargo ship out of Tijuana found drifting near the Farallon Islands with a dead crew aboard. As strange as that was, it was what condition they found the crew in that was even stranger.

The caller had provided no details over the phone other than to say, "You won't believe it even after you see it."

He wasn't going to find out what that was any time soon, however. When he got to the gate, it was closed and locked, with two extra wraps of locked chains around it and two Army guards posted at it. Four army vehicles were parked on the other side of the gate.

He approached with his FBI badge out. "I was called in about a ship full of dead people."

The Viaje Costero was being sealed with plastic sheets over every opening. A base of operations was being set up by army personnel.

The guard on his left, a sergeant, said, "You can't go in, Sir. Both the ship and the pier have been quarantined. No one is admitted.

"What happened?"

Unable to keep the tremor out of his voice, the sergeant replied, "USAMRIID is in there now, Sir."

"How did they get here so fast?"

"It is my understanding Colonel Thorpe was already in Frisco, Sir."

"Can I talk to Colonel Thorpe? I have to tell my boss something."

The sergeant looked through the chain link fence at the activity taking place on the other side as he talked quietly into his radio. After receiving a response, he said, "Just wait here, Sir."

"You have children, don't you, Sergeant?"

He nodded. With the temperature near freezing, sweat still ran down from both temples. "I do, yes, two boys."

"They look like they know what they're doing in there."

The sergeant looked again and wiped his brow. "I hope so, Sir."

A person in a hazmat suit emerged from a tent that had plastic corridors running from it up the gangplank to the cargo ship as well as to three other tents. In a matter of seconds, the woman had her helmet off. She gave instructions to two other members of the team, patted the closest one on the back and then started walking toward the gate. Her strides were strong and quick. Her brindle hair hung straight down to just above her shoulders.

The two guards saluted her. She saluted back.

He raised his hand and showed his badge. "Special Agent, Brian Laskey. We got a call about a ghost ship."

"Colonel Cynthia Thorpe. It's a ghost ship all right, but it's also much more." Her clear, confident eyes were dark brown. Her nose was thin with small nostrils below a slight upturn at the end. The hazmat suit made any observations about her physique impossible.

"More than what?"

"It appears there was a toxic spill of an unknown substance on board. When the Coast Guard crew entered the control deck, they found a grey powder on the floor and all over the crew's clothes."

"How are they?"

"None of them are showing any signs of infection or exposure to toxin poisoning, but we will keep them in quarantine and under observation for the next while."

"You were already in San Francisco?"

"I'm here for a NATO conference on respirable toxins. My CO relayed the call to me when it came in."

"What happened?"

"The Coast Guard got a call from a US Fish and Wildlife Services research team on Southeast Farallon Island after they spotted the Viaje Costero drifting four miles to the south. When they went to investigate, they found seven of the crew dead. They appear to have either come down with something or been overcome by something. Three other crewmembers are missing."

Behind her, other members of the USAMRIID team, also in hazmat suits, were bringing body bags out through the sealed plastic corridors. "What happens now?"

"I'm sending everything to our new level four biosafety lab at the Rocky Mountain Laboratories facility in Hamilton, Montana. A team from Fort Detrick is already on the way. I've talked to Dr. Vincent Needham at RML. He thinks he knows what might have turned the crew into mannequins."

"Mannequins?"

"Their skin is stretched all tight and smooth. It looks like mannequin skin . . . plastic and with no variation in color tone. Every pore appears to have been plugged and covered over. All their hair is gone. We found it mixed in with that grey powder." She shook her head. "I've never seen or heard of anything like this before."

"Was it an attack?"

She shrugged. "It could have been. If it was, it was a concerted attack by more than one person. The crew was strewn all over the ship."

"Why attack a cargo ship out of Tijuana? Were those three missing crewmembers part of the attack?"

"That is your job, Special Agent Laskey. From what they tell me, the Viaje Costero was converted from a single hold to a dual hold cargo ship with a capacity of four-seventy-five DWT, dead weight tonnage. It also has six cabins for passengers. We don't know if they had passengers on this voyage or if some of the crew were using the cabins."

"This could go right past me if you guys are involved. What's the cargo?"

"I haven't had time to go through the hold or the manifest yet, but we did find aerosol dispensers near the crew, the kind used to spray perfume."

"Is that how they were attacked? Can anyone actually do something like that?"

"It's certainly possible. It would be cumbersome if it's a respirable toxin to do it that way because you would have to get very close to your target to deliver it, which would put you at risk as well unless you'd been inoculated against it or were wearing protective gear. If you were wearing protection, I would think your targets might see you coming and get suspicious."

"Where are the attackers now? How did they get off the ship? Was the attack part of a bigger plan to have the ship brought in to a populated area? Is there more of that stuff or something else on board that poses a threat?"

"I'm here to contain and investigate whatever happened on the Viaje Costero from the perspective of a possible new toxin spill or intentional weaponized use of such a thing." She raised her headgear to put it back on.

"I can't go away emptyhanded."

"That can't be helped until we are sure there is no longer any danger. Any evidence that can assist in your part of this investigation will be sent on as soon as possible, I promise." She put her headgear back on. Her muffled voice sounded like it was coming from a breathless young girl. "Give your card to the sergeant. I left one of mine for you with him. My contact number at the conference is written on the back. My mobile number is on the front."

"Aren't you going to Hamilton with the . . . ?"

"I'm the head of the American delegation to the conference. I have to be here." She pointed to the other people in hazmat suits. "If this is a bioterrorism threat, we will be the first responders."

"It's a good thing you're here."

"If this is a bioterrorism threat, already being here could be irrelevant." She returned to the Viaje Costero and helped her crew bring out more body bags.

# Blue Crystal Oracle

Book 4 of the Proteus Group Series

A Senate Review Committee investigating how a girl born with no brain became the most powerful and dangerous high-tech weapon on earth discovers imbedded within the international research project created to study and help her, a disturbing plan that was devised and implemented before she was even born. Blue Crystal Oracle is the fourth book of the Proteus Group series.

Chapter 1

The plastic gun felt light in her grasp and fit her hand perfectly.

"Mrs. Lomax . . . Savannah," the older of the two men said, "think about what you're doing."

Both men were on their knees before her.

It was an automatic and had dual-laser sighting. She couldn't miss, just point the two red dots and shoot.

"There is no need for this."

The clip contained sixty rounds of small-caliber bullets fired at twice the velocity of the next fastest handgun made. A semi-automatic, it was designed to take down as many people as possible as quickly as possible.

"Where is my daughter?"

Four more clips of sixty rounds each were stuffed into her pockets.

"We can still work this out," the older man said.

"Where is she?"

She didn't understand the significance of making the gun out of plastic, and she didn't care. She had used one clip to get here and it had been effective. That was all that mattered.

She stepped closer to the two men. "You're stalling."

"No, Savannah, that's not it."

As she took a moment to look through the laboratory windows at the catwalk outside, she touched the bloody wound on her forehead and then the one near her right temple. Her shirt was torn at the left shoulder and stained with her ex-husband's blood.

Ryan laid on the laboratory floor three paces to her left. She checked for a pulse one last time.

"Savannah, we've come so far together. You have no idea what Sage can do. She could be the end of all of us or she could be a new beginning. Just let us—"

"Shut-up!"

Four men in full combat gear lay dead and strewn about the laboratory.

"Do you want me to count to three?" She put the gun to the older man's temple. "I should just kill you now for all you've done to us."

The younger man, also a doctor, a surgeon, cowered back. He had a bloody wound on his forehead similar to hers.

"One." She grabbed a handful of salt-and-pepper hair and dragged the older man over to the console that controlled the locks on all the laboratory doors. "Two." A tug back and hard push forward propelled his face into the metallic corner of the console.

The man grunted one sharp, painful gasp before crumpling to the floor.

Savannah didn't give him a chance to catch his breath. She kicked at him to force him back beside his partner.

"Three." She squeezed off a shot near their knees. It sounded muted compared to the gunfire of the metal rifles those four dead men had used.

They had conceived and instigated their plan right after Sage's final procedure. They had controlled and manipulated everything that had brought all of them to this medical research facility in east San Francisco.

Another look over at Ryan brought tears again. She wiped her eyes and aimed the gun at the older man. Her trembling subsided the moment she pulled back the hammer.

Through clenched teeth, she said, "I won't ask again."

The two men glanced at each other.

"Fuck you!"

Each man held out a hand as if that would actually stop a high-velocity bullet; a purely reflexive response because they both knew better.

These two had thought they knew everything. They believed they had controlled every phase of her daughter's experimental treatments. They were going to deliver their greatest achievement to the ones holding their leashes. They had been bigger fools than she had.

The older man said, "Think about what you're doing. Think about how we all got here. Don't do something you will regret. Don't do anything that will harm Sage."

Her hands began trembling again. "I trusted you." She squeezed on the trigger.

"Remember what it's been like for you, Mrs. Lomax."

She glanced at Ryan. "Don't call me that."

He nodded. "It's been an episodic life with Sage, has it not? Remember the promise of your first child, the shock, the setbacks, the threats and the dangers? Remember how we helped both you and Sage get through all that?"

"She's in here somewhere. Where did you put her?" She pressed the gun hard against the older man's forehead.

"Fine, all right, you want to be angry, be angry. You have every right to be, but don't be foolish. Just take a moment to remember, Savannah. We've been with you the whole way. Think about all the challenges you faced twelve years ago before finally giving birth to the child you thought you would never have."

Chapter 2

She took another deep breath, grunted and pushed again. The stabbing pain shot up from her uterus to her heart.

Ryan supported her shoulders. "One more, baby, you're almost there. She wants to come into this world. One more push, that's it."

Ann Devonshire wiped her brow. "You're doing great, Savannah. You both are. Just remember your lessons. She's almost here, almost here."

"Hold on," she said to Ryan.

"I've got you." He squeezed her shoulders.

Savannah strained and pushed and yelled. Shards of pain seemed to be trying to shred her to pieces.

Dr. Felix Humboldt said, "I see the head." He looked over at Drs. Tammy Darrow and Robert Visser. His eyes opened wide. "It looks normal." The tone of surprise in his voice matched his eyes.

"Again, baby. That's it. You're doing great." Ryan kissed the back of her neck.

She would insist forever that the shiver his kiss sent through her provided the power behind her last push to bring their child into the world.

"She's beautiful," Ann Devonshire declared, "a beautiful, beautiful baby girl."

Darrow and Visser rushed over to the surgery table to take a quick look at the new arrival. Visser bumped the cart containing all the medical instruments needed for a C-section if that had been necessary.

She exhaled and leaned back against Ryan. The contractions subsided, but each one still felt like a knife slashing at her insides.

"I love you." He kissed her cheek.

With assistance from Ann Devonshire, Dr. Humboldt took care of the umbilical cord. Darrow and Visser backed up to their previous position to just observe.

Devonshire and senior nurse, Elizabeth Bergeron, quickly cleaned and wrapped the baby before handing her over.

Devonshire cooed, "Your angel is a bit early. We need to keep her extra clean and warm."

Bergeron said, "Congratulations." Her voice carried no joy or sincerity, no conviction.

Her daughter was six weeks premature. Blue eyes starred up at Savannah but with no focus to them. She didn't move. She didn't cry. Savannah could barely feel her breath.

"I love you," she whispered and took hold of Ryan's hand. "Mommy and daddy love you so much." Their tiny daughter just lay there in her arms. "She's so light."

"She's wonderful," Ryan said. His voice failed when he touched his daughter's cheek. "I have the two best girls in the world."

Nurse Devonshire said, "She's very special."

Their daughter didn't move or cry or fidget. To Savannah, it felt like she had just stopped breathing.

Dr. Humboldt took off his white surgery cap to reveal a mess of long, greying hair and backed up to stand with Darrow and Visser. They whispered together, but their whispering soon became a hushed and animated debate. When they broke their huddle, Humboldt came back to them.

Nurse Bergeron took the still baby from Savannah.

Humboldt said, "We need to do those tests we talked about. And you need to get some rest. Let us take care of your new treasure for the next while and let you get your strength back."

"It's okay," Ryan said and gently squeezed her hand. "We knew this was going to happen. Everything is ready for her. She will be all right."

His voice had no more conviction behind it than Bergeron's had.

Elizabeth Bergeron placed her daughter into the incubator and followed the three doctors out of surgery on their way to the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit.

Nurse Devonshire smiled and brought over the wheelchair for her. "Let's get you rested up so you can hold your baby girl again as soon as possible."

Pain sliced through her abdomen when she called after the others through the closing door, "Her name is Sage." She looked up at Ryan's glistening eyes with tears welling up in hers. "They should know her name."

# Shadow Caste

In the final Proteus Group book operation Strikeback's relentless and devastating attacks threaten to overwhelm the international effort to bring the Proteus Group to justice. Weinberg's rapidly spreading GMOs are close to triggering global famine and pestilence. The fate of the world depends entirely on three remarkable young women, but one of them has gone missing.

