“Open it, Colonel.”
Henneman turned the wheel and backed away. From inside the tunnel came a slow clop of hooves. A frisson of energy rippled through the line of soldiers facing the portal; all guns were raised, all eyes arrowed over the barrels. A shadow elongated across the wall of the tunnel; then Alicia emerged. One hand held a short rope attached to the horse’s bridle; the second lay easily at her side. Her hair, that distinctive red crown, was pulled tight to her scalp, its length corralled into a densely woven braid that fell midway down her back. On her upper body she wore a T-shirt without sleeves, revealing the muscularity of her arms and shoulders; below, loose trousers, cinched at the waist, and a pair of leather boots. A quick scan of the crowd, the lights of the staging area rebounding off the lenses of her goggles like search beams, another step forward, and there she paused, awaiting instructions.
“Move forward,” Peter said. “Slowly.”
She advanced another twenty feet; Peter ordered her to stop.
“Blades first. Toss them forward.”
“That’s all you have to say?”
He had a sudden feeling of unreality; it was as if he were talking to a ghost. “The blades, Lish.”
She glanced to Peter’s right. “Michael. I didn’t notice you standing there.”
“Hello, Lish.”
“And Colonel Apgar.” Alicia gave a quick nod from the chin. “It’s nice to see you, sir.”
“It’s ‘General’ to you, Donadio.” The man’s arms were folded over his chest; his face was a hard scowl. “Mr. President, say the word and this is done.”
“ ‘Mr. President’?” From Alicia, a wry frown. “You’ve come up in the world, Peter.”
The old banter, the jokey tone: was it a trick? “I said, take them off.”
In a manner that struck him as leisurely, Alicia unbuckled the straps and tossed her bandoliers to the ground.
“Now the sword,” Peter said.
“I’m here to talk, that’s all.”
Peter lifted his voice toward the top of the wall. “Snipers! Target the horse!” Then, to Alicia: “Soldier, isn’t it?”
If he’d rattled her, she didn’t show it. Nevertheless, she drew the scabbard over her head and lobbed it forward.
“Now the goggles,” Peter said.
“I’m no threat, Peter. I’m just the messenger.”
He waited.
“As you like.”
Off they came, revealing her eyes. Their orange color had grown stronger, more piercing. Time had not moved for her; she hadn’t aged a day. Yet something was different, a quality not so much seen as felt, like the prickling of a storm’s approach long before the clouds arrived. Her gaze did not wander but held him straight. A look of challenge, though now that her face was unconcealed, there was something naked about her, almost vulnerable. Her confidence was a ruse; feelings of uncertainty lay beneath.
“Hit the lights.”
Three portable banks of sodium vapor lamps were positioned behind him. They went off like a gun, blasting Alicia in the face. As her hands flew upward, half a dozen soldiers charged forward and shoved her face-first to the ground. With a loud whinny, Soldier reared up on his hind legs and pawed violently at the air. One of the soldiers jammed the barrel of a pistol against the base of Alicia’s skull while the others covered her body.
“Somebody control that animal,” Peter barked. “If it makes any trouble, shoot it.”
“Leave him alone!”
“Colonel Henneman, shackle the prisoner.”
As two soldiers led the horse away, Henneman holstered his pistol, stepped forward, and chained Alicia’s wrists and ankles. A third chain connected the shackles behind her back.
“Rise and face me,” Peter said.
Alicia rocked upright into a kneeling position. Her eyes were clamped shut, her face angled down and away from the harsh glare of the lights, like someone dodging a blow.
“I’m trying to save your lives, Peter.”
“You have an interesting way of showing it.”
“You need to hear what I have to say.”
“So talk.”
A moment passed; then she began: “There’s a man—more than a man, a kind of viral, but he looks like us. His name is Fanning. He’s in New York City, in a building called Grand Central. He’s the one who sent me.”
“So that’s where you’ve been all this time?”
Alicia nodded. “There are things I never told you, Peter. Things I couldn’t tell you. The viral part of me was always stronger than I let on. The feeling got worse and worse—I knew I couldn’t control it for long. Right after Iowa, I began to hear Fanning in my head. That’s why I went to New York. I intended to kill him. Or he could kill me. I didn’t really care which. I just wanted it all to be over.”
“So why didn’t you?”