As they came to the cleft of a hill, Marina heard their pursuers. She glanced behind and saw Victor, standing at the doorway, watching as a group of men dressed in pale Skaladeska clothing tramped through the door and after them.

Marina turned back to watch her own footsteps and stumbled to a halt seconds before Gabe did.

They stood at the top of a small hill, and down below them —ten feet or so—was blue-grey water, as far as the eye could see.

-45-

July 14, 2007

Windsor, Ontario

Helen looked at her watch. Eleven-fifteen.

They had twenty-five minutes to apprehend the bomber and reconnect with Gabe and Marina Alexander, who were God knew where, and have her translate the code … .and hope that it worked.

Her underarms were soaking wet and her heart drummed so fast in her chest that she thought it was going to erupt from her body like Alien.

First things first. She had to do her part.

“Did you get him yet?” she bellowed into her cell phone. Thank God she’d had some manpower near the tunnel that went under the Detroit River to Windsor and sent them over immediately. Fortunately, the Windsor police were as dedicated to keeping the peace as she and her people were, and they didn’t start any turf wars or jurisdiction games.

There was always the chance that their target had moved; but he couldn’t have gone far if he was keeping control of the bombs.

Could he?

“He’s got a green and blue shirt on. Dark hair. He could be in a vehicle, or standing outside. Or in a nearby building.” Stay calm. Follow the plan.

At last, the Taurus her aide was driving blasted through the Tunnel onto the Canadian side of the river and turned north. Her fingertips were tingling in earnest now; she knew she was close.

Urging Colin Bergstrom, who’d somehow commandeered driving her car, she pointed in the general direction she knew they needed to go. “Along the river! Go, go, go!”

She glanced at her watch. Eleven-twenty. Jesus-peets, if she made this … ..

“Stop!” she screeched, flipping off her seatbelt so hard it smashed against the window. She was out of the vehicle before it came to a halt.

Yanking the Beretta from the holster at her waist, Helen streaked across the road, heedless of the oncoming cars. She’d seen a flash of green and blue under a streetlight, and, by God, she was going to get him.

“Stop! I have you covered!” she yelled.

Damn, it felt good to be moving; to be doing something. She ran onto the grass, half-lit by the lamps high above, and hurried after the man who was rapidly disappearing into the night.

She didn’t catch him; she couldn’t catch up to him. He was gone.

But he hadn’t been carrying anything … so the box, the box that she knew had to be at least twelve inches square, and that he had not been carrying—it had to be around somewhere.

Bellowing into her cell phone, Helen ordered her men to look for the box. “It could be under a park bench. In a car. Anywhere! Grab anything you find that looks suspicious and bring it back.” She sited and selected a landmark that was easily found, even in the dark, and even to agents not familiar with the area, and started running back to the car.

She was almost there when she saw it. A faint gleam of metal.

Helen veered to the side, shouting for Colin to follow her back to the car.

“Got it!” she screamed, recognizing the box as she ran up to it. She was already digging the phone from her pocket and stabbing at the keys to call back Marina Alexander.

Please let her answer. Please let this go through.

Green to the left. She remembered that one.

Eleven-twenty-seven. She looked at Colin, who crouched next to her. His rugged face wore the same intensity, the same worry she knew her own did.

Good God.

Please connect. Please.

She looked at the box, already trying to tear into it. Colin’s thick fingers, surprisingly nimble, pushed and shoved and poked at the box in her lap.

“Green to the left,” she repeated aloud. What did that mean? “Green to the left.”

She pulled the phone away from her ear to look at the screen. It was still trying to connect.

Come on. Come on!

Suddenly, on the bottom, a panel slid away from the box, falling into Colin’s lap.

Buttons and dials. They were all there.

A green one.

She looked at Colin—their eyes locked. Holding her breath, Helen turned it to the left.

Nothing happened. That was good. She heard him expel his breath, heard his murmur, “Good girl.” He looked at her again.

Please! Connect!

Then suddenly, it did. The phone was ringing.

“Green to the left,” came a voice over the phone. She was running; moving; Helen could hear it in her breaths. “Blue down … .Red down.” Marina was panting into the phone.

“Yes, yes, come on!” Helen said. “Blue down, red down.”

“Black and white, cross over right—”

The phone went dead.

And Helen looked down. There was no black and white.

It was eleven-twenty-eight.

-46-

Marina jammed the phone back into her pocket. She’d given as much as she could from memory of the code before the phone cut out.

She and Gabe were stumbling down a small hillock, toward the water that lapped trustingly below them, knowing their pursuers were on their heels. Hearing them.

A nippy breeze blasted her in the face as she pushed Gabe along the shore. There had to be something … somewhere.

The Skaladeskas had reached the top of the crest behind them, and Marina’s back itched. She felt as though there should be gunfire raining down on them; but there was not.

Something else whizzed through the air and thunked into the ground an inch from where her foot had been. An arrow.

“Pick it up, Gabe!” she shouted encouragement between snagging breaths. “Toward those rocks over there. I can try to call Helen again then.”

As they ran, she tried to look again at the green sheet so she could spit out the code as soon as she had the chance.

Another arrow whizzed by, brushing the top of her hair, and Marina chanced a look back. Some of them stood on the top of the hill, firing; while another group chased them down the hill and along the shore.

Water splashed beneath her feet, cold and dark, and Marina veered away from it. Gabe was slowing down again. Bright red blood soaked his shirt, and flung from his arm as he ran.

“Try Helen again,” he said, gasping.

The rocks were only a few meters ahead; but what good would they do? A quick duck behind them and their pursuers would reach them in moments.

“Black and white cross right to green,” Marina mumbled. The air she managed to drag into her lungs seared her mouth dry, and burned in her lungs. It was thin, and she suspected too late that they were at a high elevation.

And then … she saw it.

A mirage? Good Lord, please don’t let it be a mirage!

“A fucking boat!” Gabe shouted the words before Marina could reconcile it.

They kicked up their speed; the boat, a small cruiser, was sitting just beyond the boulders they’d been aiming for. Hidden. As if waiting for such an escape.

Had Victor known about the boat? The chance for escape?

Marina shoved Gabe the last few inches onto the boat and leaped on after. He was already untying its mooring, and she dashed over to the motor.

“Out of my way. This is mine,” Gabe commanded, and before she could speak, he’d started the motor with a smooth purr. “Call Helen!”

She’d almost forgotten. Pushing buttons frantically, she placed the call.

Pulled the green sheet from her pocket again and started to reread it.

And realized she’d translated wrong.

Not black and white … .orange and yellow. Cross right to left. She read the next line to be sure.

“Helen!” Marina yelled into the phone as the boat cruised into the lake. “It’s not black and white. It’s orange and yellow! Cross right to left!”

No one was on the phone.

“Helen!”

And as she waited, listening for that connection over the roar of the boat, she heard, somehow, the faint call of her name.

She looked up, out over the water.

Victor.

How did he get there? What was he doing?

He was struggling, in the water, his arms raised as he went under. His face glowing white above the dark water.

The Skaladeskas swarmed along the shore; arrows flying. Marina felt like she was in a medieval war zone.

“Gabe!” she shouted, still holding the phone to her ear, still waiting for Helen’s voice. “Look!” She pointed. “Circle around!”

He was going to drown. Surely one of the Skaladeskas would pull him out.

“Marina!” Gabe shouted at her. “Talk to Helen. We have to get out of here!”

“Just one pass. I can’t—”

The phone connected just as Marina felt the answering swerve of the boat. She shouted into the phone, “Helen! It’s not black and white. It’s orange and yellow. Hear me? Orange and yellow cross right to left.” She looked up and saw Victor slide under the water.

None of the others appeared to notice or to care.

The boat wheeled around, and he didn’t come up.

Marina’s heart pounded. She looked at the phone, held it to her ear. Nothing. Nothing!

A shadow rose from the water again. Slower. Barely moving.

Marina’s palms grew wet with sweat. She looked down into the black water; the cold, black, churning water that was waiting to swallow her. Smother her. She couldn’t.

Please come up. Please don’t make me do this. Dad!

She pushed the button on the phone, held it to her ear, listened to nothing. How much time had elapsed?

She looked down over the water again, ignoring Gabe’s shout. It was as if everything stopped, slowed, dissolved away.

Dad or Helen?

Dad or Helen? One man, here … or many men, half a world away?

A hand moved in the water, reaching—she could barely see it—reaching from the inky liquid. Then slid back into the depths.