The naked edge

7

One instant, the transmission Cavanaugh listened to was alive. The next, it was dead. That word came involuntarily to Cavanaugh's mind. Dead. En route to New Orleans aboard GPS's jet, he felt something inside him drop. Reminding himself that phone communication on an aircraft wasn't reliable, that an electronic glitch might have interrupted the transmission, he stifled his premonition and called Ali's cell phone again, but the only response he got was a computerized voice that told him the number he had called was unavailable.

"Is something wrong?" Jamie asked.

"I'm afraid there is." Cavanaugh hurriedly called GPS headquarters in Manhattan.

The duty officer had already heard from two GPS agents outside Brockman's apartment.

"An explosion?" Tightness took Cavanaugh's breath away. He lowered the phone. "God damn you, Carl."