Protocol 7

NORTH OXFORD, ENGLAND

The Tunnel

Simon and Andrew had no idea what to expect when they finally pried open the door into the safe house. But they certainly hadn’t expected to find Hayden lying on the concrete directly in front of them, and half a dozen black-clad commandos creeping toward him from every direction, weapons up and at the ready.

They gaped at the terrifying scene for a full three seconds. Then the first bullets hit the doorway beside them and they moved. Acting in unconscious unison, they leaped forward, shoved their arms under Hayden’s limp body, and dragged him back—five steps, ten—into the tunnel and the darkness. The moment they were past the frame, Simon released Hayden just long enough to jump back and slam the door shut. He double-locked the dead bolts with two desperate slashes.

“My god, this guy is heavy,” Andrew said, panting under the inventor’s bulk. “You’d think a skinny man like this wouldn’t weigh so much.”

“Dead weight,” Simon said between clenched teeth. “So to speak.”

“But you’re sure he’s not?”

“Positive,” Simon said as he put his shoulder under one side of Hayden’s body, and Andrew adjusted to take the other side. They began their uneven stagger down the dark subway tunnel, back the way they had come. Every minute took them a few steps farther from the safe house and closer to their secret exit. “Did you smell the gas in the safe house?” Simon said breathlessly. “I know that stink. Not poison, immobilization gas.”

“So he’s alive—”

“—but paralyzed. Hopefully temporarily.”

“Hopefully?”

Simon shrugged under Hayden’s weight.

“Depends on how big a whiff he got.”

“My god, Simon, do you think he’ll be okay?”

“Don’t know,” Simon replied. “We have to get him to Samantha as quick as we can.”

Hayden could barely feel his body being carried through the tunnel. All he could feel was cold: cold face, cold fingers, cold curve of his eyeballs.

He concentrated as hard as he could on moving his head, but nothing happened. He tried lifting an arm, turning a hand, even crooking a finger. Nothing. His body was as limp and unresponsive as a corpse.

But he could hear—too well, in fact. He was fully aware of every sound around him, and was able to see—in a distant, blurred way—whatever happened to pass near his open, unfocused eyes. He could hear Simon’s voice and Andrew’s. He could see a faint show of bouncing lights as they carried him down the tunnel. Nothing more. Nothing.

Don’t leave me, he prayed. Don’t get tired, don’t give up, don’t think I’m dead. Please. Please.

They picked up the pace, straining to find a light in front of them or detect the sounds of pursuit from the rear. It was harder to haul Hayden’s body than Simon expected, but both of them were in good condition. They could do this, he knew. They had to.

They trudged along in silence for almost five minutes. Finally Andrew couldn’t stand it anymore. “How much farther do you think?” he said, trying to keep the strain out of his voice.

“A few more minutes, but I can carry him alone, if you’d like,” Simon insisted.

“No,” Andrew said, “I’m good.”

Simon set his jaw. “Hayden risked his life for me and my father.” He took in another lungful of air and forced his breathing to normalize. “This is my responsibility. None of this would have happened if I had kept my mouth shut.”

Andrew shook his head. “You’re wrong.” He pointed his flashlight ahead of him to see how far they needed to go. It looked like an endless shaft of blackness. “You couldn’t have known. There’s definitely something much bigger going on here.”

Hayden’s weight had started to become overwhelming, but Simon pushed on. Ignore it, he ordered himself. Get him out of here. Hayden’s survival was the only thing on his mind. He pictured Samantha waiting just outside the tunnel; he knew she would snap into ‘doctor mode’ the minute she saw a patient in need. She’d pull out of her silly, passive stupor and help. For the first time, he was almost glad she had forced her way into the team. Her presence just might save Hayden’s life.

“Can’t be much farther,” he said aloud, as much to himself as Andrew. “Can’t be.”

* * *

All Hayden could hear was soggy footsteps and rasping, heavy breathing. All he could see was a swaying, indecipherable slice of light against endless blackness as they stumbled slowly down the abandoned tunnel. It seemed to have been going on for hours. It felt as if it would go on for hours more.

Too easy, he told himself dreamily.

The ops team, they’ll get through that door. They’re not going to let a brain like mine get away without a fight.

Not my big, big brain.

Not long after, he heard the gunshots. But he never did see them.

* * *

Simon’s legs were stiff as logs. He felt as if he’d been hauling Hayden’s inert body down the rocky track bed since the beginning of time. Conversation between the two of them had stopped. They needed every ounce of energy to just keep moving.

The exhaustion made Simon slow. He didn’t notice the green dot on Andrew’s neck until the very last second.

What the hell? He thought. Green…

“Andrew!” he bellowed. “Watch out!” He shoved them all to the side as hard as he could, tripping and falling as he heaved.

The first bullet made a harsh, metallic thwang as it hit a pipe embedded in the subway tunnel wall—approximately the same position Andrew’s head had been, seconds before.

Andrew rolled onto his back, groaning. “What…?” he said.

“Laser-guided sight,” Simon grated, scrambling to his feet. “Saw the dot on your neck.”

Andrew pulled himself up beside him. “Jesus…”

They looked back with sudden clarity and saw the glint of gunmetal and goggles in the near-darkness. They were being followed. They couldn’t tell how many, but they were gaining ground fast, but cautiously.

There was no time for Simon to be cautious.

He reached down and jerked Hayden’s body up with a strength he didn’t know he had. “Run,” he said as he tossed the man’s body over his shoulder, bowing under its weight, but still upright.

“What?” Andrew said, still swaying. “But—”

“RUN!”

They pounded down the tunnel as fast as they could. A second shot thwanged off the concrete wall, and then they were around the last curve and out of sight of their pursuers, if only for a few moments.

“There,” Simon said breathlessly. Hayden felt like a thousand pounds across his back, but he couldn’t stop—not now. “There.”

The open iron grate of the staircase up to the surface was fifty feet away.





NORTH OXFORD, ENGLAND

Range Rover

As Samantha walked toward the convenience store, she realized how refreshing the air was. She had been stuck in the Range Rover for far too long. She needed time to think, to move.

The tea shop was a tidy, little place run by a husband-and-wife team who kept it going despite the speed and efficiencies of the twenty-first century—a proud throwback to the past. Sam took her time browsing through the aisles, breathing and thinking and not saying a word. Ten minutes later she bought a bottle of water, a small packet of biscuits, and a pack of cigarettes. She even lingered over a conversation with the husband and wife, then—feeling a thousand percent better—slipped out of the store and back into the parking lot.

Clouds as dark and heavy as iron had closed in again, covering the sky over Oxford from end to end and side to side. Just what we need, she thought glumly as she stood on the curb and looked at the silent, immobile Range Rover on the far side of the street. More rain. The overcast had reduced what light existed to almost blackness. She knew the look of it; it would be pouring in minutes.

She pulled the cigarettes from her bag and looked at them for a moment. She had quit smoking at the age of twenty-two, and hadn’t felt the urge to start again, not once, until today. What the hell, she told herself. If all of this doesn’t warrant a smoke, nothing does.

The air was suddenly, unexpectedly chilly against her skin as the storm front rolled in. Still, she stood a moment longer on the sidewalk, in no particular hurry to rush back to the car. I wish Ryan would get here, she thought. Then at least I’d have someone else to talk to until Simon and Andrew get back. The thought of quietly, meekly sitting with Jonathan in the car irked her. The whole thing felt as if it was her fault that she was here and concerned about Simon’s safety—about all of them.

Part of her was very angry with Simon. How could he have gotten himself involved in all of this? How could he have kept all of this from her? It was all too unreal, too dangerous…

She absently rubbed the side of her neck as she brooded, passing her palm over and over the rough red spot where the drug-patch had been. She noticed a wall covered in graffiti illuminated by the streetlight, and trash on the far side of the street, beyond the Rover as she started to cross. Then she noticed how unevenly he had parked. She allowed herself a small, bitter smile. Expert driver, she thought as she approached. She squinted at a foggy patch on Jonathan’s side of the car.

Jonathan’s head was resting on the window. Can’t blame him, she thought grudgingly. I wouldn’t mind taking a nap myself. She walked around the back of the vehicle and opened the far passenger door, mentally preparing herself for another unpleasant conversation. Maybe he’ll keep dozing, she hoped. Then I can avoid the entire scene.

She pulled the door open as silently as she could, trying not to look at Jonathan in the front seat. The clouds had blocked most of the light; she was grateful for the dimness inside the car, and as she closed the door with the tiniest click, she made a show of sifting through the contents of the bag, trying to look busy.

Jonathan didn’t speak. His head didn’t move from the window.

Good, she told herself. Let him sleep. She had to admit he must’ve gone through a very difficult flight; the travel had to have been exhausting. She tried not to wake him as she placed the bag next to her on the seat and looked at her watch, wondering what was taking Simon and Andrew so long. The entrance of the tube was in front of them and off to one side; she knew that soon—very soon, she hoped—they would appear, followed by an as-usual unhappy Hayden behind them. At least when they were all here, she thought, they could sort out this bloody mess, and everyone could go home.

She cranked her own seat back with a muted ratcheting sound; she was glad to see that Jonathan still didn’t stir. She relaxed against the cushions herself and thought again about how nice it would be to have a few minutes of rest. She hadn’t stopped moving since she’d bolted awake terrified, hours earlier. And after everything that had happened…

Seconds later, she dozed off.





NORTH OXFORD, ENGLAND

The Hidden Entrance

When Simon and Andrew burst out of the tunnel entrance, the first thing they noticed was how dark it had become. My god, Simon thought, have we been down there all day? Then he registered the low, dark clouds and the chilling breeze of the storm. It’s just the weather, he realized. A storm is about to break.

The street lamps all along the road flickered, weak but illuminating. The orange sodium glare spiked off the Range Rover as Simon hauled Hayden’s body up the last few steps and stumbled onto the pavement. He could barely muster the strength to speak.

Andrew, close behind him, reached for the body still slung unevenly over Simon’s shoulders. “Let me help—”

Simon cut him off. “I’ve got it.” With tremendous difficulty, Simon went down on one knee and carefully, if awkwardly, rolled Hayden’s body onto the median strip of stunted grass next to the curb. Hayden turned boneless to face upward, looking sightlessly at the storm clouds overhead. There was no sign that the scientist was alive at all.

Simon pushed himself to his feet, every inch of his body aching. “I’ll run over and get the car.”

“But—”

He shook his head tightly and ran his fingers through his hair, gathering himself.

“No. Watch him. Make sure…”

Make sure he’s not dead yet, he wanted to say, but he couldn’t bring himself to say it. Instead he just turned away and started running unevenly toward the Range Rover.

Andrew looked at Hayden’s body on the cold sidewalk next to him. “This is just a bad dream,” he said under his breath. Mere hours ago they’d been talking about embarking on a grand adventure, like some intrepid band of explorers in a Jules Verne novel. And now … now he was exhausted and terrified after carrying an unconscious body along what felt like miles of train track, two hundred feet below the street, while being shot at by…someone. Soldiers, spies, mercenaries, someone. Now he was too tired to even think about the danger that they were really in. All he could do was kneel on the ground next to Hayden and watch Simon approach the car and open the passenger door.

Andrew’s adrenaline was pumping so hard that he felt like the world around him had slowed down. The street was mostly quiet, save for the distant sound of cars approaching or long passed. The only thing that broke the silence was the sound of the opening door on the Range Rover.

Hayden could hear footsteps as well, but he had no idea where the noise was coming from. He was still locked in his body, staring blindly at the blurry image of the lowering clouds and wondering if the coming rain would blind him, since he couldn’t even close his eyes. Not at the moment, he told himself. Maybe not ever again.

The next thing either of them heard clearly was Samantha screaming.

* * *

Moments before, Simon had pulled open the passenger door, thrown himself in, and slammed the door behind him. As the interior lights dimmed, he saw Jonathan beside him, dozing against the glass, and almost laughed. “Let’s go, Jonathan,” he said, noticing how dark it was becoming. Even though it was early evening, it was almost black in the car…though he could clearly see Samantha sitting behind Jonathan, beaming at him, delighted to have him back.

“Thank god,” she said. “I’ve been—”

Simon ignored her for the moment. “Come on, Jonathan,” he said. “Wake up. Let’s get out of here!”

Jonathan still didn’t stir. I understand jet lag, Simon thought, but this is ridiculous. He put his hand on his friend’s shoulder and shook him. “Come on, we don’t have time for this, turn the damn car—”

Jonathan’s slumped forward and twisted as he fell. His head turned and skidded down the window glass.

It left a thick streak of blood on the glass as it slid across it.

Samantha was sitting right behind him. She saw the window. Saw the blood streak. And for the first time in the dying light, saw the ruin of flesh and bone at the base of Jonathan Weiss’ neck, where he had been shot at close range.

Her scream was so loud it nearly made Simon deaf.

“Oh my god, oh my god,” she shrieked. She popped open the car door and threw herself out, backing away from the car, screaming and screaming. The interior lights clearly showed what had happened. Jonathan’s shoulders and back were drenched in blood, completely invisible until he had fallen forward.

She had been sitting in a car with a dead man. My god, she thought numbly, I slept in there while he bled to death.

“Christ, what the…?” Andrew muttered under this breath as he watched Samantha back away from the car.

Simon froze for an instant—but only an instant. His training—all those years in mixed martial arts, many of them with Jonathan himself—finally paid off. He felt a cold, implacable control clamp down as he examined the wound, then pulled back, and slipped out of the car.

Andrew stood up when he saw Simon get out, go around the front of the vehicle, and open the driver’s side door. Only now was he aware that something was wrong. He left Hayden’s motionless body and ran to join them.

He was still twenty steps away when he saw Jonathan’s body fall lifelessly out of its seat and slump into Simon’s arms. He stopped short, unable to believe what he was seeing. Not another one, he thought. Just like Hayden.

Simon put his arms around his old friend and knew in that instant he was dead. The flesh was sticky with drying blood, and it was cold, cold, and heavy with death. He stood there trembling, Jonathan’s body half-in, half-out of the car.

Everything was happening so fast. He couldn’t think clearly—not anymore. His home invaded. Samantha attacked. Hayden paralyzed, maybe dead. And now Jonathan. Jonathan. Jonathan, the spy, the hero, the man who couldn’t be stopped, not ever. Jonathan was shot in the head and dead in his—

Andrew grabbed Simon’s sagging shoulders from behind as the shock of it hit Simon like a lightning bolt. His knees buckled and he started to collapse, but Andrew caught him, held him up. After a silent, steadying moment, they straightened together and pulled Jonathan’s lifeless body from the car, then dragged it back three feet, and loaded it into the back seat, into the place where Samantha had been sitting just moments before.

As they pushed the door shut a black helicopter, silent and menacing, flew overhead—high and fast at the moment, following the underground route of the subway, looking for them but not seeing.

Yet, Simon thought numbly. Not seeing yet. They had closed and locked the gateway and the door to the subway entrance before the black-clad soldiers had come round the bend. He didn’t think there was any way they could have known about their escape route; they should’ve continued down the dimly lit tunnel for at least another mile before they realized that Andrew and Simon and their valuable cargo had disappeared. But he couldn’t know that for sure. They could come surging up out of the underground or roaring down the street at any moment.

Samantha stood far from the Rover, hugging her arms and trying to keep her body from shaking. “What’s happening?” she said in a tiny voice. “What the hell is happening?”

Simon tried to rub the shock away with the heels of both hands in his eyes. Focus, he ordered himself. Focus. Shouting he said, “Hayden. We have to get Hayden in the car!” With a fighter’s discipline, he pushed himself into the driver’s seat and put his hand on the ignition key. “Get in, Sam,” he said harshly. “Right now!”

She didn’t move. She just pressed both hands against her mouth and shook her head, crying.

“Get in, I said! We’ve got to get the f*ck out of here!”

Andrew put a hand on her bare arm and felt her flinch. “Get in the front,” he said quietly. “You don’t have to look at him.” He led her gently but insistently around the car. He opened the door for her and helped her inside. She was still trembling. Then he got in the back seat himself, next to Jonathan’s dead body.

The car started moving before Andrew was completely in the car. It didn’t matter; Simon only cruised fifty feet forward and stopped next to the motionless body of Hayden, sprawled on the side of the road near the entrance to the underground.

Andrew jumped out of the car as it stopped just short of Hayden’s body. Samantha turned her head to see what he was doing, then looked back, confused, as Simon exited the car as well. Andrew heard her gasp as he struggled to lift Hayden’s body all by himself.

“Oh my god, is he dead too?” she said, her voice going higher and louder at the end. Andrew noticed lights from the surrounding apartments had started to snap on; a few pedestrians were slowing to watch them, distracted by the commotion.

“No!” Simon said sharply. “He’s not! And you have to help him!” Together, the men maneuvered Hayden’s body into the back seat, shoving him unceremoniously to the middle, next to Jonathan’s corpse.

It’s like a bad dream, Simon thought looking at the grisly tableaux in the back seat.

He pushed away his despair and forced himself back to the driver’s seat, doing his best to ignore the blood-soaked backrest as he got inside. Andrew climbed into the back, far too close to Hayden’s body, looking just as repulsed as Simon.

Still trapped in his paralyzed body, Hayden only gradually became aware of the grotesque scene that was transpiring around him. But as he was manipulated into the back seat of the Rover like an unwieldy corpse, he found that his hearing was not the only sense that was unaffected by the gas; his sense of smell worked perfectly well, too. He knew because it was assaulted by the stink of blood that hung around Jonathan’s body like a cloud. A dead man, he thought frantically. I’m sitting next to a dead man! He tried harder than ever to move his body—any part of it, even a tiny amount—but nothing happened.

The instant Andrew was back in the car, Simon stamped on the accelerator and the car sped away from the curb. They were away from the entrance, away from the little shop, and through the intersection in seconds.

Meanwhile, the black helicopter that had passed far overhead was circling back—lower now, looking even more carefully.

“You think they’re giving up?” Andrew said, craning his neck to watch the chopper slide through the air above them. “Or narrowing the search?”

“I have no idea,” Simon answered. He gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white. He forced himself to keep his speed under the legal limit, matching the other cars in the increasingly busy highway. They can’t know who we are, trying to convince himself. We’re just another vehicle on a crowded road in a crowded town. Just keep it slow. Concealed in the chaos of traffic.

* * *

Takara studied her little satellite display. She watched the hysteria from over four hundred yards in a small cavity between two buildings, hidden by the shadows. She had fulfilled her promise to Jonathan. She knew she would find him. Now he was one of her victims. She felt no remorse as she slipped through the shadows and disappeared into the night.

* * *

He drove for ten minutes with no real destination in mind; there was a dead man and a paralytic in the back seat, and his other companions were silent and in shock. Finally, he activated the safe phone. He punched the icon Andrew had programmed into the phone as he focused his eyes on the road.

Ryan answered almost immediately. “Sorry, Simon, there’s just so much to do. I had to reschedule my classes, and all of the family business, and Sabrina—”

“So you haven’t left yet?”

“No, but I’m half out the door, I swear—”

“No. Just stay there.”

“What? Why?” He sounded absolutely bewildered.

Simon didn’t have the time or the energy to explain. “Just stay. We’ll come pick you up.”

“But—”

“Stay,” he said, tired of playing the game. He disconnected before Ryan could ask any more questions.

At least now, he thought, they had a destination.

At that moment, he had no idea he was signing someone’s death warrant.





OXFORD, ENGLAND

Ryan's Estate

Hayden could barely open his eyes, but he knew the worst was over. He could feel a gradual warming sensation; his muscle control was slowly coming back. At first, the interior of the car was a haze of dark colors and blurred textures, but it was making more sense, one small bit at a time. He struggled to gently open his mouth. Speak, he ordered himself. Speak, you idiot.

The massive iron gate outside Ryan’s estate opened as the Land Rover approached. Simon had been talking—almost shouting—at Ryan over the safe phones for the last ten minutes. They were expected…or at least he hoped so.

The rain poured down in an unending torrent, but Ryan and Sabrina were standing on the covered porch, waiting for them—and arguing. It was clear even at a distance that things were not going well for either of them. Sabrina had her arms tightly crossed; there was a small case sitting at Ryan’s feet—all that he would need for the trip in one small bag.

“Let me deal with this,” Simon told the others and reluctantly stepped out of the Rover as it rolled to a stop.

“Quickly, please,” Andrew said. “We gotta get outta here.”

Simon walked the thirty feet from vehicle to porch, hunched over in the rain, hating to be there. He heard Sabrina speak as he approached.

“You’re going,” she said.

Ryan nodded. “I have to.”

And you can’t even tell her why, Simon realized, ashamed to be watching the exchange at all. The more you tell her, the more danger she will be in—and you know that.

“I don’t want you to,” she said simply. Her eyes were huge and brimming with tears.

“I don’t want it either,” he said, “but I don’t have a choice.”

“They can’t make you,” she said, casting a hateful glance at Simon, past Ryan’s shoulder, cursing the others with a single look. “They can’t force you to do what you don’t want to—”

He put up his hand, palm out, pushing to make her stop. “Sabrina,” he said. “Don’t. Please. I have to do this, and I can’t explain why. You’re just going to have to trust me a bit.”

Her pretty, carefully made mouth fell open at that. “A bit?” she paused. “Trust you a bit?”

She shook her head as she stared at him. “I can’t,” she said. “I can’t.”

She turned away and opened the door to the estate without another word. Simon saw her shaking her head—no, no, I can’t—as she stepped inside and closed the door behind her.

Back in the car, there was a sudden, unexpected shifting in the back seat.

“Hey,” Hayden grunted from the back seat, sounding slurred but determined. “You got anything to drink in this crate?”

Samantha turned suddenly in her seat, hysterically relieved to hear him. “Hayden!” she said, holding back tears. “I’m so glad you’re okay!” She reached back and gently placed her hand on his knee.

He was moving very slowly, struggling to keep his eyes open, muscles twitching as he slowly regained control, grunting with the effort to move his body. Samantha opened the door and called out to Simon.

“Simon, it’s Hayden!”

Ryan gaped in surprise when Simon suddenly turned away and sprinted back toward the car. He watched in astonishment as his friend opened the back door and shouted with delight.

“Hayden! God, I’m so glad you’re okay!”

Hayden managed to give him a sketchy version of his usual scowl, “So am I,” he growled.

Then Simon looked past him and saw Jonathan’s body slumped in the seat, covered in blood. “We’ve got to do something about this.”

Hayden didn’t have to turn around to know what Simon was talking about—not that he could have managed the task quite yet anyway.

Simon turned abruptly and went back to the porch. The others watched as the two men had a short, clipped conversation—a quick, almost businesslike back-and-forth. Finally Ryan nodded, and the two of them ducked into the rain and approached the car.

“We’re ready,” Simon said swiftly as they reached the Rover. “Let’s go.”

* * *

We need to move, Simon told himself as they cruised out of the iron gates and bounced back onto the road. We need to get out of here. He could feel the black-clad mercenaries out there, looking for them. There wasn’t time for this.

“What now?” Ryan said, clearly appalled by the smell in the vehicle. He felt detached, somehow numb. He had never even touched a dead body before that day, and now he was staring at Jonathan. He shuddered and wondered if he could ever get the smell of it off his hands.

“You know the area,” Andrew said from the driver’s seat. “Hell, you own the area. Tell me where we can find a body of water—preferably slightly polluted or worse. We need to get rid of the body.”

Ryan stared at him. “Are you f*cking serious?”

Andrew glared at him. “Does this seem like a good time to be joking?”

Ryan swallowed. “No.” He thought about it for a moment and then said, “Turn left at the next street you see. There is a small reservoir—really a pond that most people ‘round here use as a dumping ground. That may work.”

“Deserted, I hope,” Andrew said. “Wooded or invisible from the street would be nice, too.”

“As it happens, yes it is.”

“Good.”

Everyone was silent for a moment while the stormy afternoon grew even darker. Andrew had to turn on the headlights to see the road signs ahead.

“You may need to pull a few strings,” Simon said as they plunged through the storm. “You’ve got connections everywhere. You can see it already Ryan, we are going to need to get out of here—out of London and to Dad’s estate in Corsica, at least for a day. And it’s going to have to happen fast.”

Simon had already told him the plan and the unorthodox route he had worked out. They had spoken about alternate ways to travel, and Ryan had charted a route that would take them from the Island of Corsica to Chile and beyond to the southern continent undetected. The route had to be unorthodox. It had to be an atypical system of back roads and unregistered flights that would get them there. At least that’s what Simon and the others hoped.

“Well,” Ryan said finally. “It’s not as if any of us have a lot of choice, now, is it?”

Simon turned his head toward him. “No,” he confessed. “Not much.”

“Look at the bright side,” Hayden said sarcastically, keeping his eyes ahead, listening to the directions from Ryan. “At least it’s a beautiful island, even if it is for one day.”

Ryan absent-mindedly said, “Turn right. Half a mile, then take the dirt road.” He was running his hands through his hair as he said it, pulling at it, looking entirely distracted. “I just can’t believe it,” he said. “Riding around the countryside with a dead body in the back seat. Jonathan Weiss’ dead body. Someone just walked right up to the car and killed him. Killed—”

“Wait a minute,” Andrew said. A thought struck him so suddenly he almost hit the brakes. “Wait a second…”

He thought furiously as he drove the last half-mile. “How did they know where he was?”

“What?” Ryan didn’t understand.

“He was killed in this car. My car. Not his. If they were tracking him through his car, they would have lost him at the crash.”

Ryan just stared. “But they didn’t. They knew enough to either follow him or find him again…”

“…and waited until he was alone before they killed him.”

He took the last curve of the dirt road just a little too quickly, and Ryan was bashed painfully against the passenger door. “Hey!” he said.

“Sorry.”

They had arrived. As promised, it was a small, deep pond surrounded by a copse of threadbare trees. The shore was strewn with a random collection of blown-out tires and broken appliances. The water itself was so dark it was almost black; its surface, pockmarked by raindrops, wobbled with a faint, oily rainbow.

Simon, Andrew, and Ryan climbed out of the vehicle without a word. The downpour had relented, at least for the moment, to a thin but penetrating drizzle.

They dragged Jonathan’s body from the Rover and laid it on the ground, facedown, treating it with an unspoken respect. It was the last time, Simon knew, that this body would be afforded any dignity at all. He deserved so much more.

“I hate to say this,” Andrew said, “but we need to undress him.”

“Ah, shit, Andrew.”

“I know.” Grim but efficient, he squatted by the body and peeled the bloody, filthy clothes away with as much delicacy and speed as he could manage. As soon as he was done, he pulled a flat device from his wallet. It was no larger than a playing card and the color of mother-of-pearl; it vibrated very slightly in his hand. He passed it close to the body, scanning every inch from close in, barely an inch from the skin, checking the number that skittered along the device’s silvery surface.

It took Andrew almost fifteen minutes to find what he was looking for. Ryan and Simon remained silent the entire time.

“My god,” he said when he finally located it. “Somebody out there is a bloody genius.”

Simon felt as if he had been holding his breath the entire time. Now he let it loose and said, “What?”

Andrew took his Swiss Army knife from his pocket, flipped open the blade, and said, “Look away.”

Ryan was happy to. Simon did not. He only moved a bit to one side to block the view from the Rover completely.

There was no reason for anyone else to see this.

Sixty seconds later, Andrew straightened up and sighed with relief. “Will you look at that?” he said. Ryan turned back, and Andrew showed him a flat, flexible piece of metalized plastic about the size and shape of a dime, but much thinner. It was sticky with Jonathan’s coagulated blood.

“What the hell is that?” Ryan said, completely unable to keep the revulsion out of his voice.

“A locational tracker. No microphone, no GPS, just a tiny little ULF pulse generator.”

“‘ULF?’”

“Ultra Low Frequency Radio. Three hundred hertz to three kilohertz. Really low. Sends out such a tiny little informationless pulse that standard scanners would only detect if they were looking for it.” He shook his head and chuckled. “What a joke. I block their surveillance by going under it with my scramblers, and they go under me with this little bitch.”

“This is how they tracked Jonathan—and us,” Simon added, understanding it completely for the first time.

“Exactly,” Ryan said. “When he fell off the grid, when the CCTV cameras couldn’t see him, when even thread interrogation didn’t work, they started looking for this thing’s little ping, ping, ping. And they found it.” He crushed it in his palm, and for one instant, Andrew looked so filled with hate his eyes were nearly on fire. “They found him.”

Ryan just stared at it. “Why didn’t Jonathan know he was carrying it? He must have changed clothes, searched his—you know, himself.”

Andrew nodded. “They put it in a perfect place. Right here.” He cocked an elbow and pointed over his shoulder to the small of his own back. “The one spot on your body you can’t see or touch. Just under the skin, flat and flexible. Probably couldn’t feel it anyway. And powered with a micro battery, trickle-charged by Jonathan’s own bioelectricity.” He gazed at the device again, almost admiring. “It could have been there for months. Years. Since he started working for UNED.”

Simon started. “Battery? You mean it’s still working?”

Andrew shrugged. “Might be. Or it might have quit when he died.”

God, he thought, what a mess. Aloud, he said only, “Get rid of it. “

Andrew put the device in his pocket and then bent over the body one last time. Together, the three men carefully dragged Jonathan’s corpse to the edge of the water and rolled him in until it was entirely, if only slightly, submerged. Then they weighed the body down with a few large stones and a concrete block, gathered from the trash-strewn shoreline.

The wind and rain were beginning to pick up again as the last of the light drained away. Ryan had never felt so miserable.

“Won’t stay hidden forever,” Andrew said shortly. “But long enough. And the crap in the water, along with fish and vermin, should destroy any forensic evidence.”

Ryan wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stood there for a moment.

They were dumping a person’s body. Dumping it, as if they were the cold-blooded murderers. Ryan was speechless, rendered mute by all he had just seen.

Andrew was the first to turn away. Ryan followed him almost gratefully. Simon stood alone over the body for a moment longer, saying nothing, revealing nothing.

Finally, he turned away and trudged back to the Rover.

“Let’s get the hell out of here,” he said.

They drove away from the polluted pond. No one spoke for a long time.

* * *

They drove to a working tube station.

“I can’t bloody believe this is happening,” Ryan muttered as Andrew pulled to a stop.

“It isn’t,” Samantha said dully. It was the first thing she had said in more than an hour. “None of it is.”

Andrew popped the door so suddenly it sounded like a gunshot. “I’ll be right back.”

He hopped out of the car, carrying the small silver device in his right hand. Without looking back he crossed four lanes of traffic, dodging expertly between the oncoming cars. When he reached the far curb, he turned on a dime, scanned the vehicles, and raised an arm.

“Taxi!” he said. “Taxi, here!”

One of the semi-automated electrics that scoured the city pulled up almost immediately. The cabby was an older man—semi-retired, Andrew guessed—with chubby cheeks and a bright red drinker’s nose.

The back door opened automatically, and Andrew jumped in.

“Where to?” the cabby said, already abysmally bored. The car would do all the work: plot the course to the destination, avoid traffic problems, and calculate the fare. His presence was more a matter of union politics and public jobs programs than necessity.

“Heathrow Airport!” Andrew crowed with absurd enthusiasm.

The door started to close as the cabby punched the destination into his console…and Andrew stuck his foot half-out of the cab, so it couldn’t close.

“Oh!” he said in the same giddy tone. “Silly me! Forgot my luggage, forgot my wallet, and forgot I’m not leaving ‘til tomorrow. Never mind!”

He hopped back out of the cab and walked briskly away, leaving the old cab driver gaping at him.

“Bloody drunkards,” the driver said and veered back into traffic, returning to the never-ending quest for passengers while carrying the ULF locational tracker with him, wedged between the cushions of the cab’s back seat.

“Take that, you bastards,” Andrew said between clenched teeth. “The Invisible Man strikes again!”

Three minutes later, he was back behind the wheel, guiding the Rover and the rest of the team toward their destination. He almost managed a smile when the familiar black helicopter, still flying far too low to the ground, passed overhead, going in entirely the wrong direction.

* * *

They stopped at a nearly deserted pub, miles from the estate and the pond. As they ate, Andrew took each of them to the restroom—even Samantha—and used his handheld scanner to check for implants. At the same time, Ryan began to make phone calls—half a dozen of them, all very quiet, all very intense. As the rest of them lingered over bad coffee and lukewarm tea, he excused himself from the table, drove off in the Rover, and returned in less than fifteen minutes.

Ryan and Andrew both returned to the table almost at the same moment, from different directions. Andrew broke the silence with a ghostly imitation of his old chirpiness. “Finished!” he reported. “I think we’re clean.”

“Good,” Simon said, feeling a bit better about the entire journey.

Ryan cleared his throat politely, all business. “I have something for you all.” He began to pass out packets to each of them, dealing them across the filthy table as if they were oversized playing cards. “Made the calls, cashed in a few favors, greased a few palms, and hacked a few databases.”

The packets contained old-fashioned paper airline tickets and shiny new passports for each of them: Hayden, Andrew, Simon, and Samantha. He shoved his own into the pocket of his sports coat. “Different airlines, different times—for most of us—and names you won’t recognize and will never see again. These are temporary identities. They’ll last for seventy-two hours or so and then poof, dissolve into thin air.”

Andrew smiled—his first genuine grin since he could remember. “Very nice,” he said, examining the documents closely.

Ryan laughed. “I’m flattered. And I am now officially out of the forgery business.”

He turned to Simon with a very serious expression. “I think you should go with Sam. I set you up as brother and sister, traveling together. I hope that’s okay.”

Simon glanced briefly at Sam. “It’s fine,” he said quietly. “A good idea.” He was frankly unsure if she could have made it out of the country on her own—not in her current state. She didn’t look back at him. She didn’t even bother to push the hair out of her eyes.

“Okay, then,” Simon told them all, “I think we’re set. Andrew, why don’t you drive us all to the nearest hotel. We can catch individual cabs or busses or shuttle from there—split up and fade away. You can just leave the car in extended parking. It’ll be weeks before they notice something odd.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Andrew said.

Simon looked up at the rest of them. He knew that they would all meet again in Corsica. He had to go. He had to find out more about his father’s travels. Oliver’s private hideaway nestled in the remote mountains of Corsica would give them the perfect place to be undetected while he searched for more clues.

“And so it begins,” Hayden said grimly and looked at the door.

“That’s one way of looking at it,” Andrew added.

Simon’s eyes moved from face to face, as if he was memorizing each of them. As if this was the last time they would be together.

“Thank you again,” he said. “I’ll see you in Corsica.”