Nicolas had done his best to make his mother happy this morning.
And he had the bruises and scratches to prove it.
However, his mother might not have approved of him allowing Elena to tie him to the bedposts and whip his thighs with a scrub brush. But as his mother always told him when he was growing up:
The ends always justifies the means.
Ever practical, his mother.
The phone rang at his bedside table. Elena strode over, answered it, then held the receiver out for him.
“General-Major Savina Martov,” Elena said formally, gone cold again. “For the senator.”
He took the receiver with a sigh. As usual, the woman’s timing was impeccable. She must have heard about the failed assassination attempt. She would want a full debriefing and must have wondered why he hadn’t already reported in. The schedule in the next days would tighten to an unbreakable knot—at both their ends—leading up to the formal sealing of Chernobyl. Nothing could go wrong.
Nicolas shifted his weight off his bruised buttock with a wince.
The caller spoke before he could. “We have a problem, Nicolas.”
He sighed. “What is it, Mother?”
10:50 P.M.
Washington, D.C.
Gray cradled the girl in his arms and hurried across the front yard. The crisp September night contrasted with the feverish heat of the child. He felt the burn of her skin through his shirt. Her fever had spiked while laboring on her artwork. She had collapsed when Gray had pulled the charcoal from her fingers. She was conscious, but her eyes stared blankly, and her limbs were oddly stiff and wooden, as if he were carrying a life-size doll. Her waxy features heightened the comparison.
Gray touched her face, noting the fine delicacy of her tiny eyelashes.
Who could do this to a child?
They had to get her to safety.
Out in the yard, Gray searched the skies. A single black helicopter—military design—swept low down the street. Another idled higher at the other end of the block. And a third circled the park behind them.
Triangulating in on their position.
Their sedan still stood in the driveway. Luca and his men had three identical Ford SUVs parked down the street. The Gypsy clan leader had already gathered his men. He barked orders in Romani and pointed his arms out in various directions, instructing them to split up. Three men took off on foot toward the park, where they would divide again. Another two ran across the street and disappeared between two houses. A dog barked at their passage.
Ahead, Kowalski marched with Elizabeth toward the Lincoln Town Car in the driveway. She had her cell phone to her ear.
Painter headed toward a small car parked at the curb, a Toyota Yaris that belonged to one of the security guards. Gray followed him. The guard was already behind the wheel after being freed by Luca’s men.
Painter opened the backseat and turned to Gray and held out his arms. Gray passed him the child.
“She’s burning up,” Gray said.
He nodded. “Once safe, we’ll get her medical attention. I’ve already called Kat and Lisa to report to command.”
Lisa was Dr. Lisa Cummings, an experienced medical doctor with a PhD in physiology. She was also the director’s girlfriend. Captain Kat Bryant was Sigma’s expert in intelligence services and coordination. She would oversee the field operation.
“But first,” Painter said, his eyes on the skies as he ducked into the backseat with the child, “we have to break this cordon.”
Off to the side, one of the Ford SUVs shot straight down the street with its headlights off; the other swung sharply around and flew in the opposite direction, zipping past Painter’s idling Toyota.
“Let’s hope this works,” Gray said.
Before leaving, Painter had Luca bring in one of the Cobra receivers that they’d used to track the girl at the national Mall. As the director had hoped, the devices were actually transceivers—capable of both receiving and transmitting. Painter had showed Luca how to switch the radios from receiving a specific signal to broadcasting it. Luca had all his men do the same. They were now scattering in all directions, transmitting the girl’s signature signal, creating a dozen different trails to follow—and most likely broadcasting louder than the girl’s small microtransmitter. Under the cover of such confusion, Painter hoped to escape with the girl to the subterranean bunkers of Sigma’s central command. There, he could isolate her signal and protect her.
Gray stepped in the other direction, toward the waiting Town Car. Kowalski already was revving the engine, impatient. They were headed for Reagan International Airport. Gray pictured the charcoal sketch of the Taj Mahal. The famous mausoleum was located in India, the very country where Dr. Polk had last been seen. Even before the girl’s arrival, Gray had decided to extend the investigation to India, to follow Dr. Polk’s trail out there. The mysterious drawing only added to his determination.
In India, there remained one person who could cast a better light on Archibald Polk’s research and his whereabouts prior to his disappearance.
Elizabeth stood by the open door, studying the skies nervously. She clicked her cell phone closed as Gray reached her side.
“I was able to reach Dr. Masterson,” she said. “My father’s colleague at the university of Mumbai. But he wasn’t in Mumbai. He was in Agra.”
“Agra?” Gray asked.
“The city in India where the Taj Mahal is located. He was there when I called. At the site.”
Gray stared over at the Toyota as it swung from the curb and glided down the streets. What is going on?
Overhead, the helicopters wavered. The birds began to drift in opposite directions, drawn off by decoys.
Gray tried one last time. “Elizabeth, you would be safer staying here.”
“No, I’m coming with you. As you’ll find out, Dr. Masterson is not the most forthcoming. But he knows me. He’s expecting me. To get the professor’s cooperation, I’ll need to be there.”
Elizabeth’s gaze met Gray’s. He read a mix of emotions in her face: determination, fear, and a bone-deep grief.
“He was my father,” she said. “I have to go.”
“And besides,” Kowalski called over from the driver’s side of the car. “I’ll keep an eye on her.”
A shadow of a smile dimmed the raw edge of her emotion. “That’s not a good thing, is it?” she mouthed to Gray.
“Not by a long shot.”
He waved her into the car. He didn’t argue too firmly against her coming. He suspected they would need her expertise before this was all over. Her father had specifically gone to her temporary office at the Museum of Natural History. He had gotten her that position at the Greek museum. Somehow all this tied back to Delphi—but how?