can’t think it was me?” she said, with a half laugh.
He pointed his free hand, never letting his weapon drop. “I recognize the handiwork of a forty-five, like the Sig Sauer you carry.”
“Zhang took it from me. Painter, you’re being paranoid. I—”
He reached to a pocket and pulled out the bug he found taped to the elevator wall. He held it toward her.
She stiffened, but refused to look at it.
“No blood, Cassandra. Not a trace. Which means you never implanted it like you were supposed to.”
A hard edge sharpened her face.
“The computer code?”
She simply stared at him, coldly dispassionate now. “You know I can’t.”
He searched this stranger’s face for the partner he knew, but she was long gone. There was no remorse, no guilt, only determination. He didn’t have the time or the stomach to break her. He nodded to Fenton. “Have your men cuff her. Keep her under constant guard.”
As she was being secured, she called over to him. Her words were plainly spoken. “Painter, you’d best watch your back. You have no idea what a shitload of pain you just stepped into.”
He picked up the computer suitcase and walked away.
“You’re swimmin’ in the deep end, Painter. And there are goddamn sharks all around you, circling and circling.”
He ignored her and crossed toward the north entrance. He had to admit something to himself: he simply didn’t understand women.
Before he could escape back inside, a tall figure in a sheriff’s hat blocked his way. It was one of the MP Tribal Police. “Commander Crowe?”
“Yes?”
“We have an urgent call dispatched through our offices holding for you.”
His brow crinkled. “Who from?”
“From an Admiral Rector, sir. You can speak to him on one of our radios.”
Painter frowned. Admiral Tony “The Tiger” Rector was the director of DARPA, his commander in chief. Painter had never spoken to him, only seen his name on memos and letters. Had word already reached Washington about the mess out here?
He allowed himself to be led to one of the parked gray cars, lights still flashing atop it. He accepted the radio. “Commander Crowe here. How may I help you, sir?”
“Commander, we need you back in Arlington immediately. There’s a helicopter on its way to collect you.”
As if on cue, the bell beat of a helicopter sounded in the distance.
Admiral Rector continued, “You’ll be relieved by Commander Giles. Debrief him on the current state of your operation, then report here as soon as you land at Dulles. There’ll be a car waiting for you.”
“Yes, sir,” he responded, but the connection was already dead.
He stepped out of the car and stared at the gray-green helicopter sailing over the surrounding woodlands, the lands of his ancestors. A sense of misgiving rang through him, what his father called “distrust of the white eyes.” Why had Admiral Rector called him so abruptly? What was the urgency? He couldn’t help but hear an echo of Cassandra’s words.
You’re swimmin’ in the deep end, Painter…and there are goddamn sharks all around you, circling and circling.
3
Matters of the Heart
NOVEMBER 14, 05:05 P.M. GMT
LONDON, ENGLAND
O VER HERE! I found something!”
Safia turned to see one of the men armed with a metal detector call to his partner. What now? The pair had been turning up bits of bronze statuary, iron incense burners, and copper coins. Safia splashed over to see what had been discovered. It might be significant.
Across the gallery, Kara appeared at the entrance to the wing, having heard the shout, too. She joined them.
“What have you found?” she asked with cold authority.
“I’m not sure,” the man said with a nod to his detector. “But I’m getting a very strong reading.”
“A piece of the meteorite?”
“Can’t tell. It’s under this block of stone.”
Safia saw that the block had once been the torso and lower limbs of a sandstone statue, toppled onto its back. Despite the fact that the
He pointed his free hand, never letting his weapon drop. “I recognize the handiwork of a forty-five, like the Sig Sauer you carry.”
“Zhang took it from me. Painter, you’re being paranoid. I—”
He reached to a pocket and pulled out the bug he found taped to the elevator wall. He held it toward her.
She stiffened, but refused to look at it.
“No blood, Cassandra. Not a trace. Which means you never implanted it like you were supposed to.”
A hard edge sharpened her face.
“The computer code?”
She simply stared at him, coldly dispassionate now. “You know I can’t.”
He searched this stranger’s face for the partner he knew, but she was long gone. There was no remorse, no guilt, only determination. He didn’t have the time or the stomach to break her. He nodded to Fenton. “Have your men cuff her. Keep her under constant guard.”
As she was being secured, she called over to him. Her words were plainly spoken. “Painter, you’d best watch your back. You have no idea what a shitload of pain you just stepped into.”
He picked up the computer suitcase and walked away.
“You’re swimmin’ in the deep end, Painter. And there are goddamn sharks all around you, circling and circling.”
He ignored her and crossed toward the north entrance. He had to admit something to himself: he simply didn’t understand women.
Before he could escape back inside, a tall figure in a sheriff’s hat blocked his way. It was one of the MP Tribal Police. “Commander Crowe?”
“Yes?”
“We have an urgent call dispatched through our offices holding for you.”
His brow crinkled. “Who from?”
“From an Admiral Rector, sir. You can speak to him on one of our radios.”
Painter frowned. Admiral Tony “The Tiger” Rector was the director of DARPA, his commander in chief. Painter had never spoken to him, only seen his name on memos and letters. Had word already reached Washington about the mess out here?
He allowed himself to be led to one of the parked gray cars, lights still flashing atop it. He accepted the radio. “Commander Crowe here. How may I help you, sir?”
“Commander, we need you back in Arlington immediately. There’s a helicopter on its way to collect you.”
As if on cue, the bell beat of a helicopter sounded in the distance.
Admiral Rector continued, “You’ll be relieved by Commander Giles. Debrief him on the current state of your operation, then report here as soon as you land at Dulles. There’ll be a car waiting for you.”
“Yes, sir,” he responded, but the connection was already dead.
He stepped out of the car and stared at the gray-green helicopter sailing over the surrounding woodlands, the lands of his ancestors. A sense of misgiving rang through him, what his father called “distrust of the white eyes.” Why had Admiral Rector called him so abruptly? What was the urgency? He couldn’t help but hear an echo of Cassandra’s words.
You’re swimmin’ in the deep end, Painter…and there are goddamn sharks all around you, circling and circling.
3
Matters of the Heart
NOVEMBER 14, 05:05 P.M. GMT
LONDON, ENGLAND
O VER HERE! I found something!”
Safia turned to see one of the men armed with a metal detector call to his partner. What now? The pair had been turning up bits of bronze statuary, iron incense burners, and copper coins. Safia splashed over to see what had been discovered. It might be significant.
Across the gallery, Kara appeared at the entrance to the wing, having heard the shout, too. She joined them.
“What have you found?” she asked with cold authority.
“I’m not sure,” the man said with a nod to his detector. “But I’m getting a very strong reading.”
“A piece of the meteorite?”
“Can’t tell. It’s under this block of stone.”
Safia saw that the block had once been the torso and lower limbs of a sandstone statue, toppled onto its back. Despite the fact that the
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