Greg Bear - Mariposa

"Oh," Rebecca said.

"Last night, there was a glitch on our Lynx network. Our agent was called away by a false emergency message. We lost track of you for ninety minutes. Then our system crashed. That whole ninety minutes is a void for us. When the system came back online, we heard something unusual. A little boy weeping. Weird, huh?"

"Very," Rebecca said.

Haze gave her a moment to say more, but she just watched him, as interested in his reaction as he was in hers.

"I'm hearing a lot about Talos these days," he said. "Their executive security division is a top contender for the president's private contract. I'm concerned your connections to Trace, and presumably to Talos, might compromise any service you perform for the president. I'm concerned you might be tainted, Ms. Rose."

"I appreciate your concern," Rebecca said. "Are you going to hold me or let me go? I need to make my report to the president-whenever she becomes available."

Haze shrugged. "Just a professional courtesy, actually, at this stage," he said. "Good luck getting through to her."

Baumann dropped her off at the EEOB. She was met by two Marine guards who escorted her in precise silence to her offices, opened the door, and let her in, to meet the startled faces of her assistants, lined up as if for formal inspection.

Judith stepped forward to meet Rebecca's onslaught-to defend the others.

The door closed behind Rebecca with a large, soft thump and a resonant click. For a moment, she wondering if they were all being held prisoner, but she could hear one of the guards marching off down the hall.

When she opened the door and peered out, like a little girl at school, only one Marine remained-and Baumann, who had come up from parking the limo.

He seemed very unhappy, listening to his earpiece, and wouldn't meet her eyes.

Rebecca shut the door and leaned back against it.

"What is going on?" Judith asked. "Everyone's jumpy as grasshoppers on a griddle."

"I wish I knew," Rebecca said. "It's like the whole town is getting ready for a punch in the gut. We've got work to do. Let's do it."

For the next few hours, she returned to the documents, struggling to put all she knew, or thought she knew, into context. She closed the door to her small office and leaned back in the chair, stretching her ankle… but waiting for a clear picture to emerge was like waiting for a lightning strike. The air was thick with potential.

She would not have taken this job had she known how utterly powerless she would be, just when things were coming to a head.

At four-thirty, Rebecca opened her door.

"You got a delivery," Judith said, stepping forward to give her a small disc in a gray plastic sleeve. "From an arrogant young man I've never met. He seems to have credentials to go anywhere he wants."

"Tom," Rebecca said.

"He said he was an assistant to somebody named Tom, who was elsewhere on important business," Judith said disapprovingly. "He did not follow protocol."

Tom, his assistants, and their solutions had been welcomed in places far more secure than the EEOB. "He doesn't have to-so he doesn't know how."

Rebecca took the disc back to her desk, closed the door again, and plugged it into a player, then slipped on headphones.

Tom had fully restored Quinn's digital voice file-less than five minutes.

As she listened, she felt her stomach knot, then threaten to turn. No wonder Plover had left Baltimore and tried to hide. She returned the disk to its sleeve and slipped it into her pocket. She hoped Tom had not listened to it. If he had, he might be in danger as well.

Plover's information had become absolutely toxic.

Rebecca emerged again and took Judith aside. "Call Thalia Ripper. You two know each other-she put you in my service to report on me, didn't she?"

Judith stared up in owlish resentment, then nodded.

"Call her at home if necessary. Tell her, if I don't have an appointment in an hour, directly with the president, I'm going to the Bureau with what I've learned. Or to Haze. Or both. Tell her I mean business. Tell her I've gone off my nut, if you have to-but get me that appointment."

"You can't breach the president's trust!" Judith said, appalled.

"Call."

Judith left wringing her hands-literally-and Rebecca used her cell to call Quinn's attorney. The secretary who took her call was already in shock, barely audible. "Mr. Blake is not available. I'll let him know you called," she said.

Rebecca listened to the secretary's quavering tone. "Something's wrong," she said. "What is it?"

The secretary abruptly hung up. Rebecca put her coat on and was almost out the door-causing Baumann to stir into action-when Judith shouted across the room, from her desk: "The vice president is dead! It's on the web! Quinn is dead!"

The Marine looked left out, young, confused.

"Jesus," Rebecca murmured. She turned to Baumann.

He tapped his earpiece and nodded. "It's true," he said, pale spots around his lips and the corners of his jaw. "Suicide."

A whirring sounded over Rebecca's head. She looked up and saw a security camera tracking someone at the end of the long hall.

Without thinking, she glanced in that direction.

A man in a tan raincoat stood there, hands thrust deep in outer pockets. Even from this distance, she could see that he had a scar on his right cheek-and a tousled head of gingery hair.

He nodded to her, then turned and stepped around the corner.

Baumann was still listening, waiting for instructions.

"I got to visit the ladies room," she told him, one eyebrow raised, feeling like a little girl about to play hooky. He grimaced and reached out but she was quick-amazingly quick, running down the hall.

After a couple of devious turns, she left the rear of the building and stood for a moment, watching cars hum past.

No sign of Baumann, poor man. There would no doubt be a swarm of agents out looking for her any minute, but she knew from long undercover and tracking experience how to evade, hide, blend in.

What now?

Go for a walk, she decided.

The Smoky

Two shining black Torq-Vees exited the Monarch Gate, trailing a tail of dust as they veered south along the direct road to the Smoky.

Fouad rode left middle passenger in the second vehicle as they ferried him back to his temporary quarters on Price's ranch. His driver was a silent Haitian, one of Colonel Sir's mercenaries, and behind him sat three escorts, all beefy Anglos with shaved heads and black T-shirts, their left arms sporting tats: grinning death's-heads wreathed by laurels over the words "Fallujah 2004."

The Anglos were soft-spoken, tightly controlled-supremely fit middle-aged men who had survived many bad times.

Fouad could not help but respect their demeanor, their polite say-nothing-but-say-it-pleasant banter. They were much too good at their jobs to talk sports scores. Instead, without seeming to pry into his prior life, they discussed geography.

They even played a game of Muslim surnames, at which they were experts.

They were excellent company.

Halfway to the compound-surrounded by acres of scrub-Fouad looked left through the thick armored glass and saw another blazing Texas sunset, the beginning of another protected, isolated night.

The prelude to another day of being briefed for his new role as translator to the Saudi royal family-another long day of meetings, protocol, and cultural prep, where everyone behaved as if he were Axel Price's new favorite, his most recent handpicked protégé.

It was too polite, all dumb show. Fouad suspected no one believed he was fooled by this ruse.

Thirteen agonizing days after his intrusion into the Talos infranet.

The great gathering on the Talos Campus would begin in less than twenty hours. Already, support and cargo planes were landing at Lion City's Judah P. Benjamin International Airport-delivering armored luxury vehicles for a few of the guests, and also, perhaps, more logistical support for whatever grand dance Price was choreographing. The world's deepest, most powerful shadow bankers, international hedge fund managers… the richest oleocrats from Russia, South America, Canada (no surprise-and perhaps without the knowledge of the Canadian government) and of course the Middle East.