But there remained one last variable.
“Can I have a word with Monk?” she asked, sounding stern.
“Hang on.” He held out the phone to his friend. “Looks like you’re in trouble.”
Monk kept hold of the steering wheel with the stump of his wrist and took the phone. He cradled it between his shoulder and chin and regained his grip on the wheel.
“Hey, babe,” he said.
Kat’s voice whispered from the phone, but the words were too faint to make out.
“No, I didn’t lose another hand,” Monk said, tightening his fingers on the steering wheel. “I just lost my prosthesis. Big difference, hon.”
Gray imagined Kat scolding her husband in an operatic duet that has been going on between husbands and wives for ages, that eternal mix of exasperation and love.
A slow smile spread across Monk’s face. He whispered back words that were mundane and ordinary — but in fact were as loving as the lyrics of any aria. “Uh-huh… okay… yeah, I’ll do that…”
In an effort to give them privacy, Gray turned to study the dark streets, but his eyes caught on the rearview mirror. He saw Seichan staring at the back of Monk’s head, her face soft and lost, not knowing anyone was watching.
But she was still a hunter.
As she sensed his attention, her gaze flicked and trapped him in the mirror’s reflection. Her face went hard again as she turned away.
Monk’s voice suddenly grew sharper. “What? Just now?”
Gray drew his focus back up front.
Monk lifted his chin to address the car. “Kat’s just heard. Lisa’s on the phone with him now. Painter’s been found.”
Chapter 31
Less than five hours until the next explosion?
After speaking with Lisa, Painter had been fully debriefed by Kat. He checked his watch. That would put the time just at sunrise out here. But the big question remained: Where exactly would it blow?
Kat continued: “I have Gray working to narrow the search radius. Our only hope is that he truly has found the old Indian map and can pinpoint the location of that lost city.”
Ever since clawing his way to freedom, Painter had felt as if his hands were tied. He and the others had escaped the caverns below Wupatki about an hour ago. Members of a search party, bivouacked at the site of the ruins, had been surprised when Painter’s group appeared out of nowhere, asking for water and food. They’d been promptly evacuated to a ranger station, where Painter set about discovering what had been going on during his absence.
Apparently a lot.
But one question remained foremost in his mind. He asked it again: “Kat, has there been any news about Kai?”
“No.” Her next words were spoken carefully. “We’re combing all the counties in Arizona and Utah. No law enforcement agencies have reported the discovery of a dead body matching your niece’s description.”
He steeled his voice, keeping control, knowing it would serve no one to do otherwise. “Jordan Appawora said the commando team had helicopters. They could have traveled farther.”
“I’ll extend the search.”
“What about spreading the word — through clandestine channels and local media — that I survived?”
“Already done. I sent a breaking news ticker out through all the major wires. About the rescue, including photos of your group. If Rafael Saint Germaine or any of his crew turn on a television, radio, or check the news online, they’ll know.”
“Good.”
His niece’s best chance for survival — if she was still alive — was to get that Frenchman’s attention. After that, Rafael would keep her safe, if only to use her as a bargaining chip again. Now all Painter had to do was figure out what chip he had that would set her free.
Over the next ten minutes, Kat went over additional notes: about Fort Knox, the ongoing manhunt for Gray and company, and the status of the neutrino reports.
Once he was caught up, he signed off.
“Sir,” a voice said behind him. He turned to find Jordan standing in the doorway. The others had sacked out in a bunk room at the back of the ranger station. Jordan looked like he’d not slept a wink. “Any word?”
“Nothing yet.” Noting the grim look on the boy’s face, he added, “And that’s good news. Until we hear otherwise, we assume she’s alive, right?”
Jordan gave a sullen nod. “Okay, but when I was crashed back there in the dark, I got to thinking. They took everything from me when I was captured. That included my cell phone. What if they still have it? What if we tried calling my number?”
Painter felt the cords binding his wrists loosen slightly at that thought. Could they still have the kid’s phone? It was worth investigating. Besides, he hated sitting here doing nothing.
Jordan continued to argue his case, not realizing he’d already won it. “Maybe someone will answer my phone and we could threaten them, scare them enough to let Kai go.”
For that matter, we could also track the phone, Painter thought, running through various possibilities. Or turn it into a remote bug by activating its microphone.
Of course, all of this was a long shot. The Frenchman was no fool. He would’ve dumped that phone by now. Painter tapped a finger atop the table. Then again, Rafael thought they were all dead. Maybe his men hadn’t purged everything yet.
Still, Painter knew it would take time to track that phone, especially out here in the remote desert—time that Kai might not have.
Painter had to buy her an extension. “What’s your cell number?”
Jordan gave it to him.
Painter memorized it and asked a ranger for a landline and a bit of privacy. Once alone in a back office, he dialed the number. It rang and rang as he prayed for someone to pick it up.
Finally, the line clicked open. A thickly accented voice spoke slowly, unconcerned. “Ah, Monsieur Crowe, I see we’re not quite done with each other yet.”
Rafael lounged once again in the presidential suite atop the Grand America Hotel in downtown Salt Lake City. He had been woken up half an hour ago and shown footage of muddy figures standing over a grated hole.
Painter Crowe lived.
Remarquable.
Shocked, he had stood there in his bathrobe for a full minute, unable to respond. Emotions had warred in his breast at the sight: rage, awe, and yes, a trickle of fear — not for the man, but for the fickleness of fortune.
In the photo, Painter had been staring straight into the camera.
Rafe read the challenge in that steely gaze. He knew the director of Sigma had orchestrated this media blitz. This was a message sent personally to Rafael.
I am alive. I want my niece.
As Rafe held the phone to his ear, ignoring the bundle of cables and wires dangling from the gutted mobile device, he stared over at the closed door. It seemed that fortune was smiling as warmly on the niece as it had smiled on the uncle. He had wanted to interrogate Kai more fully before dispatching her. She had been inside the Utah cavern, saw the mummies and the treasure. He wanted every detail of that trespass. Potentially she also knew more about Sigma, its operatives, and other tidbits gleaned from her short time with her uncle.
But such interviews were too taxing after the long day.
Morning would be soon enough, so he let her live to see one more sunrise.