Chapel closed his eyes. “What does Admiral Hollingshead say about this?”
Angel sounded sincerely apologetic. “He suggested to me — without actually saying anything directly, of course — that your next stop would be Denver.”
“He suggested that, huh? Which suggests to me,” Chapel told her, “that he knows exactly where the chimeras are going.”
“I’m not sure I like what you’re implying,” Angel said, caution thickening her voice.
“Angel. I’m going to tell you something plainly now. No suggestions, no implications. Somebody knew we were going to Stone Mountain. Somebody told Malcolm where to find us.”
“I’m not sure I follow,” Angel said.
He was damned sure she did. She just wanted him to say it out loud. Maybe so when things went bad she could cover her posterior. Maybe she just wanted a record of him defying official orders.
Chapel didn’t really care anymore.
“Someone told Malcolm where Funt would be. They wanted Funt killed. Malcolm told me he was getting orders over the phone from someone he called the Voice. I don’t know who this Voice is, but it had to be somebody who can access your line, Angel. Because the only people who knew about Stone Mountain were Funt, me… and you.”
Angel sounded panicky as she responded to that. Chapel wondered how good an actress she was. “You think my system’s been compromised again?” she asked. “Oh my God — should I move to different servers again?”
“I don’t think there’s any point. I think the Voice can get to you anytime he wants to. Which means the Voice might be Director Banks. Or it might be Admiral Hollingshead.”
“You can’t mean that,” Angel said.
“Someone’s been setting me up for a while now, Angel. They tried to get me to run out to Denver while I was still en route to Atlanta. That’s why Hayes was able to break into your line. They must have known Malcolm was on his way to kill Funt, but they tried to keep me from saving him. They wanted him dead. Now the same mysterious person wants me to rush out to Denver rather than check up on Eleanor Pechowski.”
“I promise you she’s safe,” Angel said. “I checked in with her just an hour ago and—”
“I’m sure she’s safe. I’m not worried about her health. But I’m very interested in what she might be able to tell me — and why this Voice wants to make sure I don’t hear it. I’m going to Chicago, Angel. If Hollingshead won’t let me take his private plane there, I’ll walk over to the terminal and buy a ticket on a Delta flight with my own credit card.”
It was a bluff, and one that could cost him. He knew perfectly well that if Hollingshead or Angel truly wanted him in Denver, he’d have no choice. With one phone call they could cut off his credit card — or put him on a no-fly list. They could make it impossible for him to go anywhere but Denver.
There was only silence on the line for a long while. “Angel?” Chapel called, but she didn’t respond.
By his watch, three minutes passed before she came back. “I’ve changed your flight plan,” she said. “You’re cleared to go to Chicago. But Chapel—”
“What is it, Angel?”
“You don’t have a lot of friends. It’s probably best if you don’t start making any new enemies, now.”
It was a cryptic threat but he got it. He understood exactly what he was being told. He was on a leash, a short leash, and he would be choked if he strayed too far.
PART THREE
IN TRANSIT: APRIL 13, T+37:21
Chapel knew he should take a nap on the flight from Atlanta to Chicago, but Julia was still wired, still a little freaked out that she’d killed Malcolm, and she kept getting up from her seat and walking up and down the aisle between them. Chief Petty Officer Andrews turned the cabin lights back up so Julia wouldn’t trip over anything.
“Come help me with something,” he told her, just to get her mind off things. She walked over and gasped when she saw what he was doing.
He had rolled up his sleeve and had used a steak knife to cut into the silicone flesh around his artificial wrist.
“What on earth are you doing?” she demanded.
“Look at the fingers,” he told her. They were half melted, some of them fused together by the electrical shock he’d gotten back on Stone Mountain. “The motors and actuators underneath are fine, but the artificial skin has to go.”
She stared at him in horror but when he kept cutting at the fake flesh, she eventually shook her head and grabbed the knife away from him. “I do this for a living. Kind of,” she said. She neatly cut away the synthetic hand and then stripped it back like she was peeling off a glove. He lifted the artificial hand and flexed its various joints, listening to the soft whine of the motors.
He spent the rest of the flight putting the hand through various exercises, getting used to how different it felt. If anything, the fingers were stronger now — they didn’t have to work against the silicone. Julia seemed fascinated by the robotic hand, which cheered him up a little. He’d expected her to be repulsed by this reminder that he wasn’t like everyone else. He should have known she was tougher than that.
The plane set down in Midway airport in Chicago a little after nine thirty. When they’d taxied up to the terminal, Chief Petty Officer Andrews went to open the main cabin door. “Brace yourselves,” she said. “Chicago in springtime can be a shocking thing.” The door popped open and a blast of frigid air rushed inside the plane. Julia immediately reached for her pink hoodie.
“It must be forty degrees out there,” Chapel said, rubbing at his good arm with his robotic hand.
“The local temperature is closer to thirty-seven Fahrenheit,” Andrews told him with a perky smile. “Don’t say you weren’t warned.”
“We’ll freeze to death out there,” Julia said. She shook her head. “Chapel, I’m not dressed for this. Maybe I should stay in the plane.”
Angel had thought of everything though, as usual. A pile of cardboard boxes were waiting on the tarmac, having been delivered even while they were taxiing in from the runway.
Julia got the boxes open and started pulling winter coats out of their wrapping paper. “This one’s yours, I think,” she said, holding up a black coat with a lot of pockets and zippers. “Plenty of room for all your spy gadgets.” The next box held a woman’s coat in a shade of grayish blue. “Oh, there’s a note with this one,” she said, and picked it up. “ ‘I thought this color might suit you more than hot pink,’ ” she read. She pulled on the coat and zipped it to her neck. Almost instantly she looked happier. “Wow. The coat I have at home isn’t this nice.”
Chapel took a second to appreciate the way the color worked with her hair and the way the coat’s lines suited Julia’s slender frame. He’d never cared a fig for fashion, and definitely not for women’s coats, but he had to admit that Angel had picked the perfect one for Julia. He smiled. His life might be in danger and there might be homicidal lunatics on the loose, but at least he had attractive company. “What’s in the other two boxes?” he asked.
The remaining boxes were much smaller. One held a hands-free unit identical to the one he’d lost in Atlanta. He wasted no time putting it in his ear. “Angel,” he said, “nice work here. Julia loves the coat you got her.”
“You’re welcome, sugar. I know what it’s like to be a woman in a cold climate,” the operator responded, as if she’d been sitting on his shoulder the whole time. “What do you think of the gloves?”
The final box held three different pairs of black leather gloves. “I wasn’t sure what size you would need now that your hand is thinner,” Angel told him. “I hope one of them will work.”