“Agent Carver?” Roth brought him back to reality. “Is everything all right?”
“Fine.”
“The pilot has left the extraction point. What are you going to do?”
Then Carver saw the note. It had been taped to the vanity mirror. It was handwritten. There was no salutation, and no signature. Just a few lines scrawled on hotel notepaper:
This was fun, but I couldn’t chance a trip back to the federal pen. I’m sure you’ll understand. PS — tell yer geeks to fix the java in the admin panel. That’s where I found the vulnerability.
Carver couldn’t help but smile. Nico had freed himself the only way he knew how. He had hacked his way out of this. He had located a weakness in the mission cloud code, gotten in, and somehow deactivated the chip’s tentacles. And at the same time, he had created a ghost chip signature that fooled them all.
Maybe that part shouldn’t have surprised him. Nico was the best hacker he had ever seen. But digging it out of his arm? Even though it was tiny, and had been just below the skin, it wasn't exactly a splinter.
A voice crackled in his ear. “Agent Carver?”
“Yeah, Roth. I’m still here.”
“Agent Carver, I’ve got a fix on your location. There’s a helipad on the roof of the hotel. Should I see if the pilot can circle back and pick you guys up?”
His thoughts turned back to Nico. Carver couldn’t blame him. Even if they could count on Speers’ support, going back to the U.S. still had its risks.
He had no idea how Nico was planning on getting out of Rome. But he would find a way. That much was for sure. He was nothing if not resourceful. And a head start was the least Carver could give him. He owed him that much.
But the idea of heading home alone darkened his mood. Days of debriefings awaited him, to say nothing of the domestic intelligence committee. He shuddered at the thought of how pissed the committee chair would be if he knew that Nico had been here in Rome with him.
Roth was back in his ear. “Agent Carver? The helicopter — ”
“Cut the pilot loose,” Carver finally replied.
“What? Seriously?”
“Tell Julian I’ll be in touch.”
He hung up and popped the battery out of the phone. Then he entered the living room and sat on the white leather couch. His feet were blistered and his throat was scratchy. No telling how much dust he had inhaled in the tunnels. But he would have to ignore that. He had to stay focused. He had to save his strength.
If he could get down to the street without being spotted, he would be fine. The city was full of hideouts. Its underground was as porous as Swiss cheese. He could lay low until things cooled down. Then he would go to Geneva. He had a safe deposit box there with a fake passport and a little emergency money. He figured he had earned a little time, and he was going to spend it. Not much. Ten days, maybe. Just enough time to get off the grid and recharge. He went out to the balcony, relishing the thought as he began his descent.
Epilogue
Maternity Ward
Olympia, Washington
9 Months Later
Carver stood at the front desk, waiting for the station nurse to get off the phone. He caught sight of himself in the reflection of a glass cabinet. He was in need of a shave. His suit stank of Chinese food, and the shower he had taken this morning hadn’t helped.
He had been on the road for 17 days straight without a break. All the leads had been weak, but he was in no position to ignore them. They were all he had now. He had rarely seen anyone disappear so completely.
Somewhere down the hall, some guy was yelling. “Go hard, honey, go hard!” The woman’s rhythmic grunting reminded him of all the female tennis players on TV.
The station nurse hung up and looked up at him. The weariness in her eyes told him she’d been working a long shift. “I’ll need to see ID first.”
He handed it to her. She took it and laid it on the photocopy machine, closed the lid and pressed the SCAN button. Her fingernails were two inches long. He hoped she didn’t touch any patients with those claws.
“Now what can I do for you?” She said as she handed his identification back to him.
Carver placed both photographs on the counter.
“Looking for a fugitive,” he said. “The man’s name is Adrian Zhu, but he could be going by another name. He may be with a woman. Her name is Mary Borst. And again, probably using an alias.”
The station nurse hovered over the two photographs, putting her finger on Mary Borst’s face. “When was she due?”
“Could be anytime. If the baby was premature, she could have been here weeks ago.”
The nurse shook her head. “I’ll tell you the same thing as I told the last guy. I haven’t seen them.”
Carver felt his face flush. “Last guy?”
“You’re the second person this week to ask about these two. The last guy showed me the same pictures, except he said nothing about the one guy being a fugitive. Said some bad people were looking for them. Said they were in danger.”
And those afraid of the Rule of Light will search the Earth for me. As it was in the time of Herod, it will be again. Many innocents will die.
Carver swallowed hard. His mind was tap dancing. “I’ll need to report this. What was the guy’s name?”
“If you don’t know already, maybe you’re not supposed to know.”
“Was he a fed, like me?”
She hedged, drumming her nails on the counter. Click-click-click-click-click.
“Please.” He glanced at her name tag. “Wanda? I have to find the scheduler who made this mistake. You don’t really want two or three more people like me coming in and wasting your time, do you?”
She shrugged. “I guess it’d be all right.” She went to the file cabinet and opened it. She was back in a minute with a folder full of photocopied identification cards. She flipped through the paper, talking to herself as she tried to remember the exact date.
“Ah-hah,” she finally said. “Here is your mystery man.”
She placed the paper flat and turned it so Carver could see. He bent down. The name on the ID was Sean O’Rourke. His badge was FBI.
Only he wasn’t O’Rourke. He wasn’t FBI. And he was no longer assigned to Operation Crossbow.
The man in the photo was Father Thomas Callahan.