The Seventh Pillar

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

Satellite photos littered Steph's desk. Carter, Stephanie and DNCS Hood were in her office. Nick rubbed his shoulder. It ached like hell. He could make the arm work, but it hurt. He was practicing Tai Chi again, the fighting form with swords, pushing through the pain. Comfort wasn't important. Function was. Carter didn't practice the slow, stylized sword form people saw in demonstrations. His was the other kind. Meant to kill. Harder, effective, useful even in unarmed combat. It wasn't the sword that mattered. It was the quick, ingrained response to block an attack and counter with lethal force.

His back hurt. His stomach was upset. His ear itched like hell. What Hood was saying didn't make him feel any better.

"The terrain is difficult." Hood pointed at the photos. "The objective is across the Afghan border, on the Paki side. We're pretty sure this is what we're looking for."

"Pretty sure? What does that mean?"

Hood looked annoyed. "What I said, Nick. Nothing else fits. Landmarks match what you found in that manuscript in Mali."

Carter studied the photo. A building made of stepped tiers of stone sat at the end of a winding box canyon, recessed into a black mountain. Rock walls rose on three sides, protecting the building. The front was protected by a high stone wall crossing the full width of the canyon. A large courtyard formed an open space in front of the structure. Entry was through a wooden gate flanked by pillars. The gate was closed. The ends of stout timber beams jutted at intervals from the eves and walls of the building. Narrow windows covered by carved wooden shutters looked out over the canyon. It was a fortress, old style.

It looked abandoned, except for the closed gate. Some of the shutters hung askew, others lay on the ground. The courtyard was littered with debris. The third tier was partially collapsed. Fallen stones lay scattered on the balcony of the tier below.

"It looks like a Buddhist monastery."

"It was, a thousand years ago. There's an odd zone of quiet around this building. Even the Haqqani don't go there. It's as if everyone has decided to leave it alone. We'd never have seen it if we weren't looking for it. The satellite has to be directly above to see it at all, the way the canyon and the mountains are. Notice this shadow."

Hood pointed to a dark blur in the ruins of the third tier. "That's a satellite dish. I don't think the Buddhists had one."

"Looks like a good candidate for a Reaper."

"It would be, if we were certain it's the base for the assassins. We have to find out."

Carter knew what was coming. "And you want us to go take a look."

"That's right."

"That's a job for a full assault team. Why do you need us? You have people on the ground already."

"We did." Hood looked grim. "Now we have two more stars for our wall. You have a good team. Look what you did in Tibet and with that whole unpleasant business here in Washington. You're the right ones to do it. Langley will provide full logistical support, insertion and extraction, everything you need."

And if something went wrong, Carter thought, Langley would have no blame for a failed op.

"Why not send in the Seals? Like with Osama?" Stephanie asked.

"We can't. The Pakis are making a lot of trouble about incursions. And what if this place is some kind of religious school or retreat, a Madrassa? Things are bad enough without making a mistake. We don't have enough intel for that kind of Presidential decision. But you, on the other hand…"

"Are deniable." Nick finished for him.

Hood had the grace to look embarrassed. "Yes, there's that."

"I don't know." Stephanie picked up a photo, set it down. "We have our own way of doing things like this. Our own team. Who runs the show?"

"You do." Hood looked at Nick. "We provide support. As I said, everything you need. The President is okay with this."

"What about your boss? I don't trust him. He doesn't like us."

"The President expressed his displeasure in colorful terms when the DCI informed him about the bomb. Rice told him this op is a top priority. You will be dealing with me, not Director Lodge."

Hood didn't try to defend Lodge. Maybe the DNCS had his eye on the job. Nick filed the thought away.

He thought about Afghanistan and Pakistan. He'd never wanted to see either one again. Things didn't always work out the way you wanted.

"I've got one more question. What are the rules of engagement?"

Hood looked at Nick. "Whatever you say they are."

CHAPTER FIFTY

The team sat in a semicircle looking at the big screen. A real time satellite kept twenty-four hour surveillance on the target, courtesy of Langley. The building and landscape were coated with snow. It was winter in the mountains. Once, someone came out and crossed the courtyard. He was hooded, like a monk. Aside from that, he looked like anyone else in that part of the world. He wasn't carrying weapons. That stood out in an area swarming with militants and terrorists.

The building was fourteen thousand feet up. There was no road. A steep, winding track covered in snow descended along the canyon floor for several miles until it emerged onto a high plain.

Ronnie, Nick and Selena were wheels up for Afghanistan at 0200 the next morning. Lamont's injuries meant the only thing he could do was monitor the mission with Stephanie. He wasn't happy about it. Neither was Nick. They needed Lamont. Carter knew this operation could turn bad fast. The cold weather added another complication.

They had to approach unseen. They had to get in. They had no idea what lay inside. They had no idea how many people were there, or what they might be armed with. A safe assumption was whoever was inside was hostile and armed to the teeth.

"We can't go through the gate," Ronnie said. "It's exposed, they must have lookouts. We'd never get within a hundred yards. This sucks, Nick."

"Yeah. A chopper would be nice. We could drop right into that courtyard. But it's not going to happen."

Nick stood and walked over to the screen. He pointed. "Look at this notch in the canyon ridge, on the left of the courtyard and over it. If we can get to it from the other side, we can rappel down and land right at the front door. It's only two or three hundred feet."

"Excuse me." Selena raised her hand. "Would someone tell me why three of us are going to try and get into a place full of trained assassins who think the end of the world is coming? Doesn't this sound a little difficult to you?"

"It's difficult but not impossible. Pretend you're Tom Cruse. We're going because the President wants us to, Langley is covering its ass and we're expendable."

"Oh, that clears things up. I feel much better now."

"Welcome to the next level of your training." Carter sat down again. "We have a couple of things going for us. We've got surprise. No way they're expecting us. We get into that building, we've got firepower. We can create a lot of confusion. We've only seen one person but there must be more. That's what we'll assume."

Stephanie moved the satellite focus out. They studied the terrain.

"We could set down there, on the Afghan side." Nick indicated a flat area just across the border and a little over six kilometers from the objective. "Six klicks away. Then come in from the west."

Steph moved the focus to the west side of the canyon and zoomed in. A steep slope covered in snow and black rock rose to the ridge overlooking the courtyard. The ragged notch Nick had pointed out was clearly visible.

Nick studied the image. "It looks like we could climb to it."

The slope was bare of vegetation. They'd be fully exposed.

"Night penetration," Ronnie said.

"I agree. The only way." Nick rubbed the back of his head. He had another headache. "Way I see it, we get in and improvise after that. If it's a religious school or some kind of monastery, no problem, we leave. If it's not, we do as much damage as we have to, get as much intel as we can, and leave. Then we call in a strike."

"I don't like this." Stephanie looked at Nick. "We don't know anything."

"Then I guess that's why we're going. To find out what's there."

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

The plane vibrated with the pulsing drone of the engines. For the second time in her life, Selena found herself seated on an orange strap bench in a cavernous C-130. For the second time in her life she was dressed in camo battle gear with a pistol, a K-Bar knife and an MP-5. Different colors for the camo, but everything else was the same.

The first time in a plane like this she'd been busy with her mind, focused on the translation of an old text. The first time, she'd had only a vague idea of what she was in for. The guns, the knife, the gear, it had all been a little unreal. She hadn't known what combat was like. She'd had no idea of the deafening noise of battle, the instant choices that meant life or death. What it felt like to shoot back or die. Now she had more than an idea. Now she knew what might happen.

It scared the hell out of her.

They were headed for Bagram Airfield in Afghanistan. From there they'd be transported to the landing zone near the border. After that, it was up to them.

Nick dozed. Ronnie leaned back against the aluminum skin of the aircraft. His lips moved. He had his leather pouch in his hand. He was repeating one of the Navajo ceremonies to himself, preparing himself for battle. Keeping himself in harmony with the universe. She knew the Navajo people had once been fierce warriors. If Ronnie was typical, they still were.

She wished she had a ritual ceremony. She wished she was back behind a lecture podium at Stanford.

No you don't, something said inside her head.

The realization felt like a flare of light across her mind. A ritual would be good. But not the predictable routine of life before the Project. Before Nick.

She was in love with him in spite of herself. She wasn't sure when it happened. Maybe in his cabin, after Tibet. Maybe later. It didn't matter. What made her uneasy was that she didn't know if he felt the same way. Sometimes she thought he did. He'd given plenty of indications. He'd look at her, say something, touch her just to make a connection with her. As if he wanted to be sure she was there, that she was real. But he hadn't said the words.

Other times he walked in a world where no one else could go, a closed landscape of his mind as remote and inaccessible to her as the surface of Jupiter, a place filled with faceless enemies. They'd be in a restaurant or on the street. Something would make him reach for the .45 he always carried. A stray cat. A homeless man with a shopping cart. A car slowing nearby. A waiter passing with a tray. He was always jumpy. He watched everything. Hyper-vigilant.

He brought out primal sexuality in her she hadn't known was there. He was passionate. He took as much pleasure in her ecstasy as his own. He knew when to be strong, when to be gentle. He was everything she could want in a lover.

She wanted more.

His honesty fueled her doubts and hopes at the same time. She'd never met a man as honest as Nick. It wasn't just that he'd never rip someone off or lie to them to gain some advantage. He had the kind of honesty that was direct and simple, almost naive. Given what he did, she thought it was astounding. He said what he thought. He could be tactful or blunt or mistaken, but he never said something he didn't mean. If he ever managed to say those three words to her, he'd mean it. It hadn't happened yet.

The longer she was with him, the more she saw the demons that drove him. He'd told her once that he had snakes in his head. He'd surrounded himself with armor forged from pain and loss and a need to hold himself together in a private world filled with emotional danger at every turn. She could understand that. She'd done the same.

She thought about where they were headed, the mission. What had he said? Welcome to the next level of training, that was it. Training. If this was training, what was graduation? She watched Nick. He was twitching in his sleep. He's having one of his nightmares, she thought.

Nick dreamed.

He was in a large city somewhere. It was overcast, gray. The scene vibrated, shimmered with light. People hurried by, wrapped in coats and scarves and sweaters. Their breath frosted the air. There was a tall building, faceless with rows of apartment windows.

On the corner, lampposts stuck up over barriers on the sidewalk. Something was written there. A number in a circle. He stared, trying to make it out. 7. It was a 7.

There was something he had to do, but he couldn't remember what it was. He was worried, because he couldn't find his gun and something was going to happen.

Something was going to happen. It was important, but he couldn't remember what it was. He was afraid.

Carter jolted awake. The interior of the plane was the same as when he'd fallen asleep. His shoulder ached. The engines droned on.

He hated the dreams.

They'd started when he was twelve. A week before she died, he'd been visiting his Irish Grandmother. She'd told him he had something called the Sight. It came through in prophetic dreams lit by odd light, like this one.

He never knew what they meant until later. They never foreshadowed anything good. His Grandmother's genes were probably the reason his ear acted up like it did. That part was all right. But the dreams, those he could do without.

He used to dream of Megan, but she seemed to have gone. He missed her. The dreams had been all that was left of her, except for a faded picture in his wallet.

They landed at Bagram Airfield and deplaned into freezing winds and a temperature hovering just above zero. He was back. He smelled the air and knew nothing much had changed. In this bitter fiction of a country, he didn't think much ever would.

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

Selena, Nick and Ronnie lay on hard, frozen ground and looked down at the compound courtyard below. A chill wind razored across the ridge, lifting threads of icy snow crystals into the night sky.

Ronnie looked through his scope. Green readouts in vertical and horizontal lines flickered in the eyepiece as he moved the weapon.

"I make it two hundred twenty seven feet down. Give or take."

It was three in the morning. Ronnie was only a dark shape in the night. The winter camouflage they all wore made them indistinguishable from the rocks and snow where they lay. Their faces were covered, only the eyes visible.

"No sign of a sentry. I don't see cameras, either." Carter scanned the courtyard through night vision binoculars. "This is too easy."

"No power."

"They need power for that satellite dish. They must have a generator. I don't hear one running."

"Maybe they just feel secure out here." Selena's voice was quiet. Her mouth felt dry.

"Maybe. Maybe nobody's home. Maybe I'll win the lottery tomorrow. Check your gear."

They checked the MP-5s, the grenades and other weapons. Their headsets crackled. Stephanie's voice echoed through the satellite link.

"Nick. Acknowledge."

"Yes."

"I see you. I can't get a clear infrared image on the objective. There's some kind of shielding. Probably explains why Langley never spotted them before. I can't tell you who's in there."

"Roger that." That was no help.

"What is your status?"

"We're ready."

"Lamont says watch your ass."

Nick laughed. "Roger. I'll leave the comm link open. Out."

Ronnie anchored the line around a black outcrop of stone. He gave it a tug.

"All set."

"Ronnie, you first, then Selena, then me. We hit the ground, get up against the wall next to the door. Watch out for those windows."

Ronnie hooked on and slipped over the edge. In seconds he was down. He sprinted for the door. Selena followed, her heart thumping. Carter felt the adrenaline surge take hold, hooked on and rappelled down the side of the canyon. In less than a minute they were flat against the wall by the wooden door.

The door was old and solid, painted green. It was made of thick wooden planks held together by rusted iron bands. A pitted metal latch held it closed. There was no sign of alarm. No lights in any of the narrow windows. The only sounds came from the crunch of their feet on the frozen snow and the thin wail of a cutting, chill wind swirling around the courtyard. The building loomed over them, stark against the black mountain.

Carter reached over to the latch and lifted upward. He felt a bar move on the other side. He signaled and eased the door partway open, ready to fire.

Nothing.

They slipped into the building and fanned out. Ronnie closed the door behind them. They were in a large, high ceilinged hall. It was warmer here. The windows were sealed over on the inside. The floor was paved with stone. To one side was a row of wooden dummies and a rack of staffs, aids for practicing martial arts. A few candles burned in niches set back along the length of the room. The ceiling was crossed by dark wooden beams. Flecks of red paint lingered on wooden columns supporting the floors above and a wide balcony at one end.

The walls bore traces of paintings of the Buddha and scenes from Buddhist teaching, all defaced and damaged. One painting remained, dominating the east wall over a low dais. It was huge, circular, with letters scribed in deep green against a sickly yellow background. It was old.

The sign of the assassins. The air was sullen and oppressive, malevolent. The hall brooded with malice. Selena shivered.

"Guess we're in the right place." Ronnie's voice was quiet. "Gives me the creeps."

A railed stairway rose to the upper stories and a wide balcony. At the far end of the room a dim passage led into the back.

Nick held up his hand. "Something doesn't feel right." Nick scanned the room. "There." He pointed.

A thin, black wire stretched across the middle of the room, six inches high, almost invisible. He followed the line across the floor and up the wall to the ceiling. A six foot wide, razor sharp blade was poised to swing down and across, right where that wire was laid. It would move too fast to avoid. It would cut a man in half.

"Booby trap. No need for a guard. Confident bastards."

"Where are they?" Selena asked in a whisper.

"Probably upstairs asleep. Check the back. Watch it."

She stepped over the wire and moved to the back of the room. She held the butt of the MP-5 high against her right shoulder, muzzle down. It almost felt familiar to her, the crouching walk, the electric feeling of adrenaline, the hard form of her weapon, the taste of copper in her mouth.

She went down the passage, selector on full auto, finger laid against the trigger. Range rules didn't apply out here. The passage led to another large room. Tables, sinks, a propane stove, a fireplace with a few glowing embers, stores on wooden shelves. There was no one there. She placed her gloved hand against the stove. It was cold. A large pot on the top held bits of food congealing on the sides. A smaller room contained a silent generator.

She made her way back to the others.

"Nothing. It's a kitchen and generator room. Stove is cold. What's left of dinner on the top. Still coals in the fireplace."

"They have to be up there." Nick gestured upward.

The railed balcony ran the full width of the room. A dark opening beckoned in the wall behind it.

"If it's one large room, I'll hold up one finger. If it's separate rooms, I'll hold up five. Shoot anyone you see."

Selena looked at him. "What if they're unarmed? Asleep?"

"What if they are?" He gave her a hard look. He was in that landscape where no one else could go. "There are three of us. We don't know how many are in there and these guys are good. Don't hesitate or it will go south fast. I'll toss a flashbang, then we start shooting. We might be able to take prisoners. Maybe not. Understand?"

Shoot sleeping men. She couldn't trust herself to speak. Then she thought of the attack in Mali. There had been something relentless in that man, something without compassion.

"Yes. Don't worry about me."

Nick nodded. They climbed the stairs.

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

Hassan-i Sabbah had taken the name of the founder of the order, his right by tradition. At the moment the Imam of the assassins was annoyed. His disciples were expendable, of course. They weren't called Fida'i, the self sacrificing, for nothing. None the less, someone had managed to kill three of them and that was annoying. This had not happened in living memory. Others would take their place. But still.

Soon the Mahdi would reveal himself, after centuries in occultation. He would bring peace and justice to the world, the triumph of Islam. Hassan knew it was so. The Mahdi had appeared to him in a vision, flanked by angels with glowing, golden wings, so bright Hassan had to turn his eyes away.

In one hand, the Mahdi had held the Holy Book, in the other a flaming sword. There was a sound of angels singing somewhere in the distance, the voices of Paradise. He'd felt transformed, filled with glory. In the vision, he had fallen to his knees and prostrated himself. Hassan heard no words, but the Mahdi's instructions had been clear. Retrieve the sword. Ignite the fire. A great feeling of joy had flooded him. Gradually, the feeling faded.

It wasn't the first vision he'd had. They'd been coming since his early teens, sometimes accompanied by a fierce headache that lasted for days. His entire life had been preparation for this moment.

Hassan had prostrated himself on the cold stone floor of his room and prayed. When he arose, he'd known what he must do. Follow the vision. And now he had what he needed. The Sword. The fire.

Those who were looking for him looked in the wrong place. If only they knew how close to their quarry they really were.

Al-Bausari had done a great service by unearthing the relic and showing it to the world. It lay before Hassan now, in the wooden box. Allah would forgive the Sunni his heresy, for surely he had been doing God's will. It had been necessary to kill him, but his martyrdom guaranteed his entry into Paradise.

It was time for all Muslims to unite. Bausari had been right in that. Even Hassan could see it. Only God was important, only His will. The rest was human folly.

Bausari's video had produced the desired effect. While many scoffed and denied and argued, the mosques filled worldwide. Some repented and prayed to save their souls. Some prayed for deliverance. Some, once past their fear, prayed from gratitude. Surely, Allah must be pleased.

Hassan only waited for the heavenly sign of the sun in eclipse to unleash the fire. He would die, but that was unimportant. The fire would come. When the cleansing was done, when the infidels were all destroyed, peace would reign forever.

God was Just.

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

Carter climbed the stairs to the balcony crossing the dark hall, a flashbang in one hand, MP-5 in the other. Selena and Ronnie came behind. Nick signaled them to wait. He stepped quietly along the wall to the passage they'd seen from below. He could hear heavy breathing of sleeping men. The stench of unwashed bodies polluted the air. Nick felt his pulse pounding behind his left eye. His ear burned.

He risked a fast look through the arch and pulled back. A single candle cast soft light at the end of a wide room. The floor was covered with shapeless forms.

He showed one finger and beckoned Selena and Ronnie forward. When they were all three set by the opening he tossed the flashbang into the room. They covered their ears and looked away.

The flashbang was an effective, disorienting weapon. Even asleep, someone inside that room would be blind and confused. The concussion disrupted fluid in the inner ear. Balance would be lost for critical seconds. It would give them a chance.

The grenade detonated. The floor shook. Shouts came from the room. The team came low through the entrance and began firing.

Not everyone was disoriented. Even as they fired, figures came at them. In seconds the fighting was hand to hand.

Ronnie went down, unconscious from a vicious blow to the side of his head. Carter shot his attacker. He drove the barrel of his gun into the gut of another assassin, swung the butt across his jaw. The man fell away.

Selena jammed in another magazine. She brought the gun up and fired as someone lunged at her with a dagger. The bullets ripped across his chest. She was shouting, a guttural, primal scream of fear and anger and war. She watched him fall at her feet, all the time with her finger hard back on the trigger, brass casings showering the air. Littering the ground around her.

She felt as if she stood outside herself. She watched the muzzle flashes at the end of her barrel. She heard herself yelling. She swept death across the floor, where men tried to stagger up from their blankets. She saw herself eject another magazine, reload. She kept firing. She saw Nick spraying the room. The flashes lit the scene like strobe lights in a devil's nightclub, bodies rising and falling, spinning in a frenzied dance from the impact of the bullets.

Then it was silent. The smell of burnt cordite hung heavy in the room. Bodies lay across the floor. Shredded blankets turned dark with a spreading red tide. One of the bodies moved. Nick fired a final burst. The body stopped moving.

A slaughterhouse on a bad day. Selena bent over and threw up.

CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

Stephanie and Lamont heard it all, safe in the warmth of Stephanie's office. First Nick's quiet voice. Silence, then the explosion of the flashbang. The shouts and screams. The constant fire of the weapons.

"Jesus," Lamont said.

"What's that noise?" Stephanie asked.

"Selena. She's yelling." The sound was chilling. They looked at each other.

The firing stopped. There was a brief silence. Then a short burst from an MP-5. Someone retching.

"Nick. Come in."

"Yeah, Steph."

"What's your status?"

"One less nest of vipers. Ronnie's down. Hold one."

They waited. After a moment they heard Nick and Ronnie talking.

"He's good." Nick's voice hissed with atmospherics over the sat link. "He took a hard hit in the head."

Lamont spoke. "Tell him I said that's the safest place for him."

"Thanks a lot, Shadow." Ronnie's voice was hoarse. "Wish you were here."

"What did you find, Nick?"

"I make it twenty-three assassin KIA. They thought they were safe up here. They got careless. Big mistake, but we were lucky."

"Is the nuke there?"

"Don't know, Steph. There's another floor above us. We'll go up now. Out."

Ronnie had his weapon trained on a staircase in the far corner of the room. The stairs were narrow and steep. They disappeared through an opening in the floor above.

Carter looked at the stairs. "There could be someone up there. The damn thing is almost like a ladder. I can get a flashbang up top from about halfway. Then I'll go up."

"You're too big."

Carter turned to Selena. "What are you saying?"

"You're too big, too slow. I'm smaller, I'm fast. I can be up there in half the time."

Carter looked at Ronnie. He shrugged. "She's right. She can do it faster."

The headache was instant, a wave of white pain. Nick staggered, caught himself.

"You all right?"

"Yeah. I'm fine." The pain settled to a steady throbbing. "All right. Make sure that flashbang doesn't come back down past you."

"I've got a good arm."

"It's not the World Series. Don't get fancy."

Selena armed the grenade. "Don't worry." She felt good that her hand wasn't trembling. She went to the bottom of the stairs and climbed. Fast. The dark opening above got closer. If someone was there, now was when they'd kill her. She heaved the grenade through the opening. She covered her ears and closed her eyes tight and looked down and prayed no one tossed it back at her.

Behind her closed eyelids a white light flared. The steps shook. Air thumped around her. Dust drifted down from the floor. Selena ran up the narrow steps and into the last room.

There was no one there.

"Clear," she called. She heard boots scramble up the steps..

The room was a communications center. The furniture consisted of a desk and a chair. On the desk was a black logbook, filled with frequencies and coded entries.

"Hood will want to see this." Nick put it inside his jacket.

A small, high end satellite transceiver sat on the desk, wired to a laptop computer. That made sense of the satellite dish they'd seen in the photo. Nick figured it wasn't there for watching TV.

There was nothing that resembled a six kiloton nuclear bomb.

"Ronnie, grab the sat unit. Selena, you get the computer."

They stashed the gear in their packs. Nick took a last look around.

"Steph. No nuke. We're leaving. Call for our ride."

"Roger."

The team went down the stairs and through the silent sleeping room. The smell of blood and bowels fouled the air.

They descended to the main hall, avoided the trip wire and went out into the courtyard.

"Leave the door open," Nick said. "Let some heat out."

Snow was falling, the kind of snow that came fast and deep. It was getting light.

"Nick."

"Yeah, Lamont."

"We got a problem."

CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

"What problem?"

"Actually, two problems. There's a company of Paki regulars starting up the canyon. They're still eight klicks away. They have to be coming for you."

"How the hell do they know we're here?"

"Does it matter? Probably a leak out of Langley."

"What's the second problem?"

"Taliban. They're between you and the LZ, on the Paki side. I don't think they know you're there. Just bad luck. Looks like they're setting up camp. The snow is making it hard to see what's happening."

"Wait one."

Nick turned to the others. "I thought this was too easy. The snow is going to screw everything up." Nick looked up at the thick flakes coming down. "Might help us get past the Taliban."

"What happens when those army people get here?" Selena gestured at the building. "They won't be happy with what they find."

"They won't find anything."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm calling in a strike. There won't be any building, or any dead bodies. We can't leave it behind."

"Then maybe we should get moving," she said.

Nick spoke into his microphone. "Lamont. Give us ten to get out of here and call in a Reaper on this dump. Blow it before those Pakis get here. A five hundred pounder ought to do it."

"Roger that." Lamont knew the score. "Wish I was with you."

"Yeah. Just keep the comm open and get our ride to the LZ."

"Roger that."

The team slung their weapons, climbed up the rope hanging down through the notch and headed west. Toward the LZ and safety. Toward the Taliban.

CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

Merlin sat in front of his monitors in the Operations Center at Creech Air Force Base in Nevada. Outside his cubicle, Merlin was First Lieutenant Zachary Tillson. Here in the Ops Center he was simply Merlin.

Tillson loved his job. Merlin, the magician. The man, the wizard who could make anything vanish in a cloud of smoke. It was like playing God. Tillson had a joystick in his hand, a fancy version of a war gamer's stick. The stick controlled an MQ-9 Reaper, the most sophisticated unmanned weapons system in the world. The wizard's wand, and he was the wizard.

In the elite group flying the unmanned drones, Tillson was acknowledged by all as best with the Reaper. It took a lot of practice to control the bird. Thermal currents and unpredictable winds at high altitude in that part of the world required a delicate touch to stay on task. The Reaper wasn't a Radio Shack model airplane. It had a 950 horsepower turbo charged engine that could make 260 knots. It had a range of a thousand miles and carried three times as many weapons as it's older brother, the Predator. One of those weapons was a monster five hundred pound Paveway bomb, reserved for special targets. The Reaper carried Hellfire missiles and other goodies to help it live up to its name.

Reapers featured a combination of thermal and satellite sensors and cameras that could pinpoint with total accuracy a target as small as a Volkswagen from 20,000 feet up. Or a man. A complex system of checks and balances made sure there were no accidental launches or cowboy attempts to take out a target.

Tillson had gotten his mission. He'd taken off from Bagram and now his bird was over Pakistan. He watched the rugged mountains of the Hindu Kush pass under the drone.

The cameras sent a clear picture of the landscape below. The target was at the end of a canyon. Snow made it hard to get a good visual, but the thermal sensors were reading a solid heat signature from the target. No problemo.

Tillson noted three heat signatures, bodies, moving away toward the west. They were already two klicks away from the strike zone. Not his target. Tillson also noted that the three signatures were moving toward a cluster of other heat signatures, west of them.

He eased the stick and throttled back, brought the drone around in a sweeping bank and followed the canyon north. The heat radiating from the target made it easy. A piece of cake. His readouts showed lock on. He spoke into his headset microphone.

"Victor One, target is acquired." Victor One was his control.

"Roger, Merlin. You are clear to engage."

"Roger, clear to engage. Release in three, two, one." Tillson pushed a button. The reaper lifted as the weight of the five hundred pounder dropped away. Tillson compensated, activated the autopilot.

The Paveway was laser guided and under his control. Merlin watched the bomb down to the building through a camera eye in the nose. Some kind of monastery. He made a minor adjustment, aiming for the open door of the building. It beckoned and drew closer. The screen blacked. From the drone, Merlin watched a bright white light spread across the area.

"Victor One, Target terminated," Tillson said into his headset.

"Roger, Merlin. Well done."

Tillson leaned back in his chair and reached for a handful of M&Ms he kept in a dish near his computer. Just another day on the job.

CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

Nick and the others were well off the slope and heading east when they heard the explosion. The falling snow turned brief orange with reflected light. Then it was gone. The gray, muffled morning returned.

The snow lay thick, two inches or more since they'd started down the slope. Clouds of snow swirled around them in freezing wind. Bits of ice pelted them. Sometimes they could see for yards, sometimes Nick could just make out Ronnie and Selena walking next to him. He looked at his GPS. Without it, they'd be lost in a moment.

The GPS wouldn't help if they stumbled onto the Taliban camp. He called Lamont.

"You're almost on them, Nick. Thermals are faint, but we've got them. You are off their left flank. I make it fourteen bodies. Looks like they've got animals with them, probably goats. They're clustered together, keeping warm."

"What's our extraction status?"

"All flights are grounded. Once you're past these guys, get to the LZ and hole up. Weather says clear later today."

"Roger. We're…" Nick didn't finish. A figure emerged from the snow twenty feet in front of them. He fumbled with the front of his robes. Yellow stains on the snow showed what he had been doing. He wore a dirty turban tied sloppily around his head. He had a full beard, an AK-47 and a loud voice. He saw them and shouted an alarm.

Ronnie shot him as the AK came up. The man went backwards into the snow, firing into the air.

All hell broke loose.

"Down," Carter yelled. They dove for the ground.

Shouts and the chatter of AKs sounded in front of them. Nick froze.

He's in the market. He can smell himself, his fear. He keeps away from the walls. A baby cries. The street is deserted.

Men rise up and begin firing, dozens of AKs trying to kill him, bullets flying everywhere. The market stalls explode in splinters and plaster and rock fragmenting from the buildings.

He ducks into a doorway. Then the child runs toward him screaming and throws a grenade as Nick shoots him. The boy's head disappears in a red geyser. The grenade drifts toward him in slow motion…everything goes white…

"Nick." Ronnie shook him. "Nick."

The white faded into the white of snow.

"Yeah. I'm all right." His headache was back. "Grenades." He turned to Selena.

"Remember when I showed you how to use a grenade, just in case?"

"Yes."

"Well, this is the case." He pulled a grenade from his pouch, pulled the safety clip. Held the lever down. Pulled the grenade from the pin. He got to his knees. Rounds hummed past. The Taliban were shooting blind into the snowfall. He arched back and lofted the grenade toward the sound of the AKs in front of him. Ronnie and Selena followed. They hit the deck.

The explosions sent a ripple of death through the morning air. Screams pierced the clouds of blowing snow.

"Go." Carter got to his feet and ran toward the screaming, firing blind as he went, his MP-5 held at waist level. He tripped over a dead goat and went sprawling onto the ground.

He got up, ran forward. Shapes appeared. He shot a man bleeding from his ears before he could level his AK. He shot another. He heard Ronnie and Selena firing, the distinctive sound of their weapons contrasting with the staccato blasts of the AKs still firing.

Carter saw Selena go down hard. Something twisted deep in his gut. A red mist clouded his vision. He charged the man who had shot her and swung his MP-5 like a club and brought the man down before he could fire another burst.

Nick hit him again. And again. He beat him about the head. He raised his gun high and was about to bring it down again when he felt Ronnie grab his arm.

"He's dead, Nick."

Carter paused, the MP-5 high in the air. He looked around. The red film cleared. He looked down at the man at his feet. His face was gone, a bloody pulp left behind. The firing had stopped.

He looked to his left. Selena lay face down. She wasn't moving. Her helmet had come off. Snow drifted onto her red-blond hair.

His MP-5 was bent and covered in blood. Nick dropped the useless weapon and ran to her. He turned her over, wiped snow away from her face. A trickle of blood ran from the corner of her mouth. He bent his head down. She was still breathing. Labored, harsh breaths. There were three holes across her chest where the rounds had hit. Her armor had kept her alive, but she was in trouble.

"Selena. Selena, talk to me."

No response. He pushed back the eyelids. Her eyes were unfocused, one pupil larger than the other.

"How far to the LZ?"

Ronnie looked at his GPS. "About two klicks."

"Grab her gear. Call in and have a goddamn medic on that chopper. I'll carry her."

Carter scooped Selena's limp form into his arms and stood up. "You lead, Ronnie. Let's move."

They set out. Carter carried Selena in front of him. He went as fast as he could. Twice he stumbled in the treacherous footing and caught himself. Once he fell, but managed to land with Selena on top of him. His arms ached. His bad shoulder felt like it was on fire. His back sent bolts of electric burning pain down his leg. He kept looking down at Selena, praying she'd make it.

Why didn't she wake up?

A little over an hour later they reached the landing zone. Nick sat down and cradled her in his arms, her head resting on his shoulder. She was still unconscious. Her breathing was shallow, labored.

"She took a hell of a hit," Ronnie said. "Like getting hit by a truck. Cracked ribs for sure."

"You a doctor now, Ronnie?" Nick was angry. At himself, at the Taliban, at God, at being helpless. But it wasn't Ronnie's fault.

"I'm just saying."

"Yeah, I know. Sorry." He spoke into his microphone. "Lamont, where's that fucking chopper?"

"Weather's clearing at Bagram. They're just lifting off. Hang in there, amigo."

It was coming on dark when they heard the beat of rotors.

"Selena." Nick bent down and whispered. "Stay with me. The chopper's here."

Then he said, "Don't leave me."

CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

Lucas Monroe watched Hood pour two glasses of Talisker single malt. Neat, no ice. The glasses were heavy Waterford crystal. The DCNS came back and handed Monroe one of the glasses. He sat down.

"You did well in Italy," Hood said.

"Thank you, sir. A bit messy."

"The Italians are ballistic, but they can't prove anything. I've got a new assignment for you. You've earned it."

"What's my new job?"

"You'll work directly under me. I want you to liaise with another agency here in Washington."

Monroe waited. He knew better than to ask why. Hood would tell him.

"You know about the Project. You met two of their operatives in San Diego."

"The President's unit? They've made problems for us in the past."

"Yes, they have. They have the President's ear. It hasn't helped that they've been right more often than not. We've gotten too big, Lucas, too arrogant."

Monroe noted Hood's use of his first name and the criticism. A shot across the bow at the DCI. Hood was feeling him out. But was it a trick? A test of loyalty?

"I'm a career officer, sir. I do what I'm told. Sometimes I've wondered why, but I didn't think it was my place to question."

"You've kept your thoughts to yourself."

"Always. People talk to me because they know I never repeat what they say. Been like that since before I joined the Company."

"And a black man in America. That must have forced you to learn discretion. An unfortunate part of our less than enlightened society."

Monroe kept his thoughts to himself. Hood knew nothing about what it was like to be black in America.

"Your record is exemplary, Lucas. You would have moved up before now, but field agents of your caliber are hard to find."

Monroe said nothing. He sipped his drink. Lots of flattery. Where was this going?

"You know about the assassinations. The Shia killers."

"Everyone does, Director."

"The Project has just eliminated their home base. Everyone and his brother was looking for those bastards and the Project found them, or at least the intel that led to them. Then they went in and took them out. Three of them, for Christ's sake. It should have taken two Seal assault teams.

"They are mobile in a way we are not. They are dedicated, smart and tough. I want to know what makes them so damned efficient when we can't find our ass with our own two hands."

Monroe nodded. Now he understood. "You want me to observe and assess." Spook speak for spy.

"Exactly. I knew you'd see it. In the spirit of cooperation, the President has informed them of his desire to have you work with them. They're expecting you."

Hood drained his whiskey. "I'm upgrading your clearance to Alpha."

Lucas was surprised. That was second only to the Directorate, which had Alpha Black clearance.

"There's something you need to know." Hood paused. "There's a six kiloton nuke out there in the hands of the terrorists. The Project told us it might be in Seattle. It was, until this assassin group took it away from al-Qaeda for their own purposes."

Lucas kept his face expressionless. Inside, he was stunned. "And we don't know where it is." It wasn't a question.

"Get settled in your new office. I'm giving you a desk on the sixth floor." Hood handed Monroe a coded entry card and an updated ID. "Tomorrow, go over to the Project. Report to me alone. Keep me informed of their thinking. I want you to evaluate their methods and personnel. They found the assassins. Maybe they can find whoever has that damned bomb."

CHAPTER SIXTY

She drifted in a world of movement without meaning. It was hard to breathe. There was noise, vibration. Hot and cold air. Voices in the distance. Once, she thought she heard Nick say he was leaving. She decided she was dreaming. But why was she being bumped and carried? Why couldn't they, whoever they were, just leave her alone? She was so tired. She just wanted to rest….

Selena opened her eyes. The room was bright with fluorescent light. The air smelled of disinfectant. The walls were light blue. She stared at the ceiling, trying to figure out what had happened. She remembered being in the snow, her MP-5 hot in her gloved hands, people shouting, the sound of small arms fire. Then something slammed into her. Then nothing.

She came awake. She was in a hospital bed. A drip of something was laced into her arm. A drip of something else was stuck into the back of her hand. Her chest hurt. She turned her head and pain shot though her spine. Nick sat in a chair by the bed, asleep, his face creased with fatigue and worry.

He needs a shave, she thought.

She remembered the angry, turbaned man who'd leveled his AK at her and realized what had happened. She'd been shot. Why wasn't she dead? The armor, she thought, the armor saved me. But how did she get here?

Nick opened his eyes. They were red. He looked at her.

"Selena. Thank God."

She tried to speak, coughed. Her voice came out as a raspy croak. "What happened?"

"You got shot. The vest saved you. We got you to the LZ and you're at Bagram in the hospital. You've got four cracked ribs. The impact collapsed one of your lungs, but it's okay now. You were out for hours." He smiled. "You also have some spectacular bruises."

"What bruises?"

"Let's just say your breasts look like eggplants."

"Always elegant, Nick. Nobody's got a way with words like you."

"That's my Irish heritage," he said. "I can't help it."

"I remember. The man who shot me. What happened to him?"

"He won't be shooting anyone else."

CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

Monroe had a hard time believing what these people had done. Taking out the assassin base was just the latest in a long string of difficult missions. Lucas knew Nick and Selena, but he'd never met the others.

Stephanie's office looked like a hospital ward for the walking wounded. The brother, Cameron, had his arm locked into a stiff cast sticking out at an odd angle. Selena was clearly in pain, though Lucas had to admit she hid it well. Carter looked like he could use about six months sleep. He moved like he had a rod up his ass. Lucas guessed it was his back. The only one who seemed whole was the Indian. There was probably something wrong with him, too.

"Now you've met everyone." Stephanie looked at Monroe. "Why don't you tell us why you're here?"

Monroe had no illusions. If he were in their shoes, he'd be as suspicious as if someone had just offered to sell him Arlington Cemetery.

"Director Hood is impressed with your results. My job is simple. At least I think so. Hood wants me to study how you work, how you get to these conclusions. For example, how did you know Bausari was headed for Seattle, or where those terrorists were in Mali, or where they went? We've got the same satellite data as you do and a hell of a lot more computing power, not to mention a building full of analysts. But we missed it."

"That's true, you missed it. Lucas…may I call you Lucas?"

"Please."

"Lucas, our relations with Langley have been lousy. Worse. The President is stressing cooperation but we both know that's not what's behind this. You want us to work with you, you need to fill us in."

Right to the point, no bullshit or polite beating around the bush. Monroe knew the previous director was recovering from being shot in the head. He hadn't failed to notice that Stephanie carried a Glock. Even in her own office behind massive security. Hell, security here was as good or better than Langley's. All of these people were hands on, like he was. He wanted to like them. He decided to opt for the truth, at least most of it.

"You understand this is off the record. My opinion only. The way I read the situation."

Stephanie nodded, once. "Off the record."

"The DCI has made some bad decisions. He's under a lot of pressure. You've made us look bad. I mean, how the hell does a small group like this do what you've done? We're the CIA, for Christ's sake, and you make us look like amateurs. I think Lodge's days are numbered."

Monroe was about to burn a bridge. "Hood wants his job. He's brought me along the whole way. I owe him. He's getting old and if he's going any further, it has to be soon. So, he tells me to come over here and find out how you do things. That's why I'm here."

"To help Hood become the next DCI." She paused. "And keep your career track moving along."

Monroe said nothing. He didn't have to.

"What do you think, Nick?" Stephanie twisted a bracelet on her arm.

"I'd rather see Hood running Langley than Lodge. If having Lucas here helps that happen, I'm all for it."

"Selena?"

"Hood got us in and out of Pakistan. He kept his word. Let's give it a chance."

"Ronnie?"

Ronnie grunted assent.

"Lamont?"

"I owe you guys one for Khartoum. So I'm good with it."

"That's your first lesson, Lucas."

"What do you mean?"

Stephanie waved her hand around the room. "Teamwork. Agreement. We're all on the same page and we work at it. We get through the bullshit. If anyone was against you being here, you'd be gone. That's how we operate. You can tell that to your boss."

"All for one and one for all?"

"That's right."

"When Hood sent me over here I didn't think I was going to end up with the three musketeers."

They all started laughing. "Ow, that hurts," Selena said.

CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

"What have we got?" Nick massaged his shoulder.

A storm was coming in from the Midwest. By dark there'd be snow on the ground and the Beltway would be a skating rink for all the road warriors who thought four wheel drive made them invulnerable. Carter wasn't looking forward to the drive back into the city.

"Langley's got nothing." Monroe looked grim. "There's nothing to show where the bomb went after they took it from Bausari."

"We can eliminate anything that doesn't mean a big population kill and a lot of damage," Steph said.

"That's nice. Still leaves the whole country. Every major city and then some."

"The solar eclipse is tomorrow." Selena tried to get comfortable on the couch. Stephanie had filled Monroe in on their thinking. "If we're right about this, that's not much time."

"What about the Bureau?" Carter asked Stephanie. "They have anything?"

"Nada. No one saw or heard anything where Bausari was killed."

"What makes something worth a nuke?" Nick pulled on his ear. "We can't be everywhere. Hell, the guy could choose Kansas City because he doesn't like steak. Or Philly, because of it's symbolic significance. Or Boston, or New York."

"Or right here in Washington," Monroe said. "Lots of symbols. The seat of power. The White House."

"He could put that bomb in the trunk of a car and no one would ever know it. How do you check every possible target and access to it?"

"You can't." Selena looked at Nick. "Time to play assumptions again."

"Assumptions?" Monroe said.

Carter explained. "We found the base in Mali because Selena translated some old documents and found clues that led us there. We assumed the truck with Bausari was in the area and we knew AQIM had hideouts up there. Then we got lucky, if you call being shot down lucky."

"Go on."

"We picked up the truck heading west and lost it again. We assumed they were making for the coast. We went to Mauritania and made more assumptions. It was logical, a process of elimination. We decided to go north. Then we got lucky again. Steph picked up their heat signatures. But Bausari was gone when we got there."

"And?"

"Then Hoover's boys happened on Hemmings and the mosque. You know about that. More luck." Monroe nodded.

"Hemmings overheard Bausari's guys talk about going north. That figured, because Bausari is dying. No way he'd go across country. He's running out of time. We made more assumptions, ended up with Seattle and passed it on. Then somebody cut Bausari short, right out of the picture."

Selena thought of the photo of three headless terrorists. She stared at Nick. "I don't believe you said that."

Nick shrugged.

"So all of this has been guesswork?" Monroe was incredulous.

"Not guesswork." Selena turned to face Monroe. "Deductive reasoning. Like Sherlock Holmes." She glanced over at Stephanie. "Same with Pakistan. My research in Mali pointed us toward the assassin base. That gave us more assumptions. Langley cooperated and found the spot. We went in. But no bomb."

Stephanie said, "The intel we got blows a lot of their networks, but doesn't mention the bomb. It does mention their Imam."

This woman is interesting, Monroe thought. A lot going on there. No ring. She's single. He looked at her. She met his look and something passed between them. Some primal recognition. Monroe brought his mind back to the subject.

"What Imam?"

"His name is Hassan-i-Sabbah. He took the name of the founder of the assassins. He believes he has a personal connection with the Mahdi."

"So did Bausari."

"Sabbah is different. He has visions, had them for years. His followers think he's got a direct line to God. So does he. We think he has hallucinations. Maybe a brain tumor, if we're lucky."

Monroe looked down at his shoe. As if he'd just stepped in something. "A fanatic with a nuclear weapon who thinks God is talking to him."

"That's right." The room was silent for a beat.

"So," Selena said, "let's assume. Let's look at targets, narrow it down. What do you attack to create the most confusion? Sabbah wants to initiate the end of days, Muslim style. How do you do that?"

"You start a war," Nick said.

"That's the easy part. The bomb goes off, the shooting starts. But we just had a war and Rice managed to squash it before it went nuclear. War isn't enough, unless it's world wide."

"That is a scary thought," Ronnie fingered his deerskin pouch.

Lamont arched his back and tried to get the cast comfortable. "If what we just saw in the Middle East isn't enough, what could be worse? Enough to guarantee World War Three with nukes raining out of the sky?"

"Okay." Carter looked at the others. "Assumption number one is that Sabbah wants to start a war."

There were nods all around.

"Assumption number two is that he has to make certain it escalates. How do you do that?"

Selena took a breath. Winced from the pain of her ribs. "Eliminate the people who could stop it. Like the President."

"The assassins were killing people," Lucas said. "It didn't start a war."

"They didn't try for the President. Or any of the world leaders. They were trying to point us toward Iran and wreck the peace process in Afghanistan. They succeeded in that, almost."

Carter tapped fingers on his knee. "Then assumption number three is the bomb, or some kind of coordinated attack, has to take out all the big guys at once. The President and the others. That wouldn't be easy."

"Yes it would." Everyone looked at Stephanie. Her face was white.

"There's an emergency meeting of the Security Council tomorrow at the UN. China and Russia are upset about the new sanctions on Iran. Every international leader of importance will be there, including the President. If Sabbah set that bomb off in New York, he'd get them all."

"Security will be impenetrable," Monroe said. "This isn't a movie. You can't wheel a bomb in on a serving cart under a white linen tablecloth and a couple of bowls of Caesar salad. No one will be able to get close to the UN "

Steph sighed. "How close do you have to be with an atom bomb?"

CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

"Everything is ready?"

Hassan-i-Sabbah looked out through the window. A light snow flurry softened the impressive view.

"Yes, Teacher. We obtained the right size batteries at a Honda motorbike store. Those machines…such costly toys, when their own people starve in the streets. It is unjust."

"That is why we are here, Jamal. To restore justice. As the Prophet taught, Praise be upon Him."

Jamal bowed. "He guides our way."

"The fida'i are ready?"

"Yes, Teacher. Perhaps they will not be needed."

"Perhaps. Is there word from Pakistan?"

"No, Teacher. We have sent someone."

Sabbah considered. It was odd that he'd had no communication from his disciples. Perhaps there had been a failure in the equipment.

He dismissed the thought. So far everything was going well. The deaths of the British Foreign Secretary and the American politician had misled the capitols of the West and pointed them toward Tehran. The various security agencies competed with one another. The war raged with new fury in Afghanistan. Yes, things were going well.

"The Security Council members have arrived?"

"Yes. As we expected, security measures are very strict. It will not affect us."

"No changes in the schedule?"

"No."

"Foolish. They believe themselves invulnerable." He turned from the window.

CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

Morning. The Virginia countryside was covered by a foot of fresh snow. Stephanie set the phone down. She looked unhappy.

"The President will not change his schedule. We have no hard evidence to back up our assessment. Lucas, what's Langley's reaction?"

"Hood thinks you're right. Lodge thinks you're meddling."

"What about the Bureau, Steph?" Nick asked.

"Everyone is convinced security is faultless and we're crying wolf. We can't tell them there's a nuke floating around. It would leak and cause wide spread panic. Homeland Security, the Bureau, the NYPD, everyone with domestic authority is looking for Sabbah. They think it's enough."

She turned to Monroe. "Lucas, you don't have a domestic mandate but we can do what we like. Consider yourself deputized for the duration."

"Do I get a tin star?"

Lamont laughed. "Yeah, man, you're Gary Cooper."

"Cooper?"

"The western, High Noon. Remember? There's this old sheriff telling Cooper he's nuts for doing the right thing. He says, 'For what? For a tin star.' "

"Sabbah won't be taking carriage rides in Central Park," Nick said. "He's holed up somewhere with that nuke."

"How do we find him? You got any assumptions?" Monroe asked.

"How about a Ouija Board?"

"Yeah. Funny."

Nick tugged on his ear. "He has to get close enough so the blast takes out the UN. How close is that?"

"Six kilotons?" Monroe rubbed his chin. "Anything within a quarter to a half mile of ground zero is toast. The shock wave and radiation will go a lot farther. Any old buildings will fall. All the glass. Fires, ruptured gas lines, things like that. Another mile of heavy damage as you move away from the center. The explosion would decimate Manhattan. Those backpack bombs were dirty. The radiation would contaminate thousands of square miles."

"So he could be anywhere up to a quarter to a half mile away and get what he wants."

"Right."

"Let's look at a map of the city."

Manhattan appeared on the big screen.

"A city block is an eighth of a mile, right?"

"More or less."

Nick used a laser pointer to indicate his thinking. "Call it a mile kill zone, plus another mile for big trouble. That extends sixteen blocks in every direction from 42nd and the UN Plaza, if we use that as ground zero. Roughly from 26th to 58th Street on the East Side. Across the Park to the West Side."

"He doesn't have to be right on the UN." Selena ran her fingers through her hair. "He could set up a quarter mile away in any direction."

They all looked at the screen. New York was a big city. A really big city. Sabbah wasn't a needle in a haystack. He was a speck of dust in the middle of a sandstorm. He could be anywhere. A car. A van. A building. A hotel. Riding in a garbage truck or a taxi cab or the subway. In a church. Hell, he could be sitting on the bomb in the Park feeding squirrels. It was New York. No one would notice.

Something bothered Nick, at the back of his awareness, nagging at him. They were missing something. He stared at the map.

"The dog that didn't bark."

Monroe had a confused expression. "What are you talking about? More assumptions?"

"Sherlock Holmes. The dog that didn't bark. The clue to the mystery was in what didn't happen, what wasn't there. What's not here?"

"Nothing. They've got that place sewed up tighter than a gnat's ass."

"What's the security cordon?"

Stephanie gestured at the map. "Eight blocks north and south of UN Plaza. Over to Midtown on Lexington. The cordon gets tighter as you get closer. All the streets are sealed off. Traffic is a mess."

"The Midtown tunnel? The bridges?"

"Still open, but traffic is funneled south and west. Checkpoints also."

Then Nick saw the flaw. "What about on the other side of the river?"

"The other side?"

"You ever hear of that Eastern Airlines flight that went into the Everglades some years back?"

"The one where everyone was looking at a burned out light?"

"Right, that one. A lot happened to cause that crash, but the main thing was everyone in the cockpit zeroed in on that bulb. They weren't paying attention to anything else. They didn't hear the alarms and flew the plane right into the ground. There's some psych phrase for it."

"Selective attention," Selena volunteered.

"I think that's what we've got here. Look at the map. The UN is right on the East River. How wide is the river?"

"About eight hundred feet," Stephanie said.

"That's a lot less than a quarter mile. What's the security on the other side?"

It dawned on all of them at the same time. "There isn't any. Just the checkpoints."

"Shit." Monroe shook his head. "Everyone's focused on the UN. The bomb's not in Manhattan. It's on the other side of the river."

CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

The FBI met them at La Guardia. The agent who took them to the black Suburban they would use was not pleased. His partner sat in an idling Crown Vic, keeping warm.

"This is a waste of time and resources." His name was McFarland. He was dressed in a blue suit and tie, a long overcoat and black rubbers that didn't keep the slush from spilling over into the edges of his shoes. His nose was red. He sneezed.

"Right now we've got over a thousand people out there. No one's getting near the President or anyone else. I should be back on the Plaza, not baby sitting a bunch of wanna be agents."

"Well, McFarland, as soon as you give us the keys we'll be out of your hair and you can get back to whatever you were doing." Nick controlled his temper.

"Can't be soon enough for me. Oh, yeah. When you're done sightseeing, bring it back with the tank full."

McFarland got into the Taurus and drove away, spraying slush behind him.

"Asshole."

"Yeah, Ronnie. He'd fit right in down in Washington."

They got in the car. Carter and Monroe in front, Selena and Ronnie in back.

"Weapons check."

Nick had a new H-K .45. The others had their Glocks. There were MP-5s in Ronnie's duffle. He handed them around. They all wore armor under their jackets.

"All dressed up and nowhere to go," Lucas commented. "Where do we start?"

"The closest point across the river from the UN is the waterfront in Queens. If he's here, Sabbah will want to get as close as he can."

They studied a map.

"That's a lot of waterfront." Ronnie had his small deerskin pouch out again. Selena reminded herself to ask him about it. Maybe it was like worry beads.

Nick pointed at a green space on the map.

"There's a park right across from the UN Plaza on the east side of the river. Let's start there."

They left La Guardia and followed signs to the Brooklyn Queens Expressway. They crossed Queens Boulevard and turned onto the Queens Midtown Expressway toward Manhattan. Snow and slush lined the side of the road, turning dirty gray. Carter kept the wipers going.

Traffic was bumper to bumper. They hit the flashing lights on their suburban and wove through the mess. The lights didn't help a lot. They exited the expressway before the Queens Midtown tunnel and took Vernon Boulevard north.

Nick saw a subway station. Marked with a number seven in a circle. Like in the dream.

He shivered.

"What's the matter, Nick?" Lucas gave him a curious look. "You look like someone just walked over your grave."

Nick said nothing.

They turned on 48th. The park opened directly ahead of them.

They drove to the park and got out. A cold wind blew off the East River. Sudden sunlight flashed on glass across the water.

The UN Headquarters building.

The park was almost deserted in the raw weather. Two giant gantry cranes dominated the landscape. Four long piers jutted into the East River. The polluted water shimmered in rainbow colors around the pilings. Beyond the piers a wide wooden boardwalk curved along the shoreline. Paths branched off the walk at intervals, ending in circular spaces where people could sit and enjoy the view.

The Manhattan skyline stretched across the other side of the river, a human fairytale, a soaring collage of cement and glass and steel. A view Braque or Picasso could have painted. No one seeing that could doubt they gazed on one of the great cities of the world.

The clouds parted overhead. Patches of azure blue began to appear. The day was beautiful and cold. Maybe the last day.

Nick's ear began to itch.

"We're close," he said.

Selena watched him pull on his earlobe.

"The ear thing again?"

"Yeah."

Monroe decided to keep his mouth shut. These people had strange ways of doing things.

CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN

Stephanie sat in her office and brooded about the bomb. There were too many places, too many people, too many areas to check. Four people had about as much chance of finding Sabbah as she had of winning the lottery. Probably less. They were talking potshots in the dark at a target that might not even be there.

She looked up as the door opened. She looked at the figure in the doorway and a vast sense of relief filled her, a wave of release. Her face lit with pleasure.

"Elizabeth!"

"Hello, Steph."

Director Elizabeth Harker looked pale. She had elfin features, like some magical creature that seldom saw the sunlight. Elizabeth hadn't seen much sunlight in a while. She'd been in intensive treatment at Bethesda for a bullet wound and a rare illness. She had a fresh scar over the ridge of her left eye. Her raven black hair was shorn close and a bald patch marked where the surgeon had gone into her skull. She was thin, fragile looking. But she was here. Her green eyes glowed with their old intensity.

"Your office is the same." Steph jumped up and hugged her. "We kept it for you. You're all right? Are you back?"

"I'm fine. And yes, I'm back. No marathon runs, but they've halted the disease. No damage from the bullet, except a little weakness in my hand. I can work again. Rice asked me to come back when I was ready. He's pleased with how you and Nick have handled things." She paused. "You don't mind, Steph? Because if you do…"

"Are you kidding? You couldn't have picked a better time."

Stephanie filled her in. She followed Harker into her old office. Elizabeth's silver pen still lay on the desk. The picture of the Twin Towers was still there. Harker sat down slowly in her chair, looked around. Then she got down to business.

"Put Nick on the line, Steph."

Then she said, "Thank you. For everything." Stephanie made the connection. Elizabeth picked up the phone.

"Nick."

"Director. Is that you?"

"In the flesh, what's left of it. I lost twenty pounds. Give me an update." Harker picked up her pen and tapped on the desk.

She listened while Nick told her where they were and what they were doing.

"I think your guess is good, that the bomb is on the east side of the river. Sabbah is probably in a van or holed up in a building. What are you going to do?"

"We can't find him in a van, or a building. Our only shot is if he comes out into the open. That's why we figured open space across from the UN."

"What's your plan?"

"Canvas the park. It's the closest location to the UN on this side of the river. Check all the vehicles. There aren't many. We can cover it quickly."

"Any buildings, apartments?"

"Yeah, several. There's a big complex just east of the park and another right across from it. There's a Hertz rental joint and some kind of commercial building. Beyond that are vacant lots, streets, the rest of Long Island City. Oh, yeah, a huge Pepsi sign. You can see the whole New York Skyline from here. Hell of a view. Including the UN."

"All right. If he's not in the park, check out those buildings. Check the parking garages. He could drive out into the open."

"There's no way we can check every apartment in time. We'd need a thousand cops."

"I'll see what I can do. In the meantime, keep me posted."

"Roger that, Director." He paused. "Glad you're back. You don't know how glad. Out."

"Steph, get me NYPD in Queens."

While Stephanie was on the phone, Harker settled into her chair, an old friend, the contours familiar and comfortable. She'd missed this. She hadn't realized how much. It was good to be back, good to have her life back. The Project was pretty much all she had.

The clock ticked on Armageddon. Her father, the Judge, would have had something to say about it. Elizabeth had spent many hours in this chair, some of them with the memory of her father's plain wisdom. She knew what he'd say now. She could see him sitting in that big green chair in his den.

You can do anything, Elizabeth. Just remember, never give up. No matter what, never give up.

Elizabeth nodded to herself.

CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT

Hassan-i-Sabbah sat with his back to a wide window, ominous in black robes and a black turban. His beard was black and narrow and streaked with gray. His eyes were set back in the hollows of his thin face, dark and lit with righteous anger. Behind him, the unmistakable skyline of Manhattan rose on the other side of the river. Sabbah knew that would give away his location, but it didn't matter. Whoever came would be too late. The world needed to see the impotence of America. What better way than to show the heart of The Great Satan in the background?

Before it was destroyed.

"Begin, Jamal." A red light came on in front of the camera.

"My brothers," he began. "The time is here. Allah's vengeance and His mercy will cleanse the world of the false prophets and apostates of the Faith."

Hassan held up the sword in both hands. "The cleansing is at hand. Here is the sign of the return of the Mahdi, praise upon him. He will lead the way. He will come with fire in one hand and mercy in the other. We must follow and prostrate ourselves before His glory."

Sabbah lifted the sword high. It glittered in the light from the camera. He drew the razor edge down his left arm. Blood stained the blade and dripped onto the floor.

"The blood of martyrs is a trail to Paradise. There is still time to pray, my brothers. Do not be afraid, for God is merciful. He knows the false from the true. He knows who is faithful and who is not. Go to the mosques. Purify yourselves with prayer. Wait for that which will come. As you believe, so shall you be received into Paradise or cast forever into the flames."

The light on the camera went out. Hassan rose and placed the sword through a sash around his robe.

"Transmit the tape, Jamal."

"Yes, Teacher."

Sabbah went over to the bomb. A flat, olive drab metal case lay on the floor under the window. He unlatched the lid and opened it. The bomb looked like a fat silver cylinder with a round, steel ball at one end. There was a control panel with a digital counter. Wires ran from one end of the panel to a battery and then out of sight into the container. A second battery was hidden below the first. The counter was active. A row of green digital zeros looked back at him.

Waiting.

The bomb was simple to arm. It had been designed for covert ops or a battlefield situation. The operator wasn't expected to know complex programming. Jamal had studied nuclear physics in Islamabad and knew his way around atomic devices and their electronics. It had been a simple matter to bypass the safety lockouts. The counter would tick off minutes and seconds and tenths of a second until detonation. All that was required was to set the desired time and start the timer. Jamal had linked the timer to the Atomic Clock in Colorado. It would count down to the exact instant of the eclipse with perfect accuracy.

Hassan-i-Sabbah entered the time the eclipse would begin: 3:42:08 P.M. He activated the timer. The readout went from green to red. The numbers blinked and began their descent toward zero.

Sabbah closed the lid.

"Are you afraid, Jamal?"

"Yes, Teacher. A little."

"You have been a good servant, Jamal. You are truthful. Allah is pleased with you. We will enter Paradise together."

Sabbah looked out the window at the towering city across the way.

"Paradise awaits us," he said.

CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE

The video went viral minutes after Al-Jazeera posted it. Elizabeth Harker watched with Stephanie. She watched Sabbah cut his arm, listened to his words, watched his eyes. Dead eyes. She looked at her watch. The time was 3:20 P.M. Twenty-two minutes and seconds to the solar eclipse. In her gut Elizabeth was sure Hassan would push the button at that exact moment.

"Freeze, Steph." Stephanie halted the video playback. The Manhattan skyline was clearly visible through the window.

"He's high up. He's got to be in an apartment near the team. Give me an angle across the river to the UN."

Stephanie manipulated her computer. A red line of sight appeared to the UN Plaza, interposed as if the wall and window behind Hassan did not exist. She entered commands, her fingers a blur on the keyboard. Green readouts appeared in a column on the left of the screen. A set of GPS coordinates blinked in red.

"Twelfth floor. He's on the twelfth floor, facing the river."

Elizabeth activated the radio link.

"Nick. We know where he is. Twelfth floor, one of those apartment complexes."

"Roger that. Which building?"

"The one on the left as you face east. I'll send NYPD for backup, I don't know how many. Don't get shot by mistake. You have less than twenty minutes to find him."

Nick looked up at the rows of windows.

"We're on it. Keep the link open."

"Roger. Good luck, Nick."

Elizabeth picked up her phone and dialed a number few people had. She prayed the man on the other end would answer.

"Yes."

"Mister President, this is Director Harker."

"Harker? I thought you were still in Bethesda."

"Yes, sir, I was. Now I'm back.” She glanced at her watch. "Sir, there is a nuclear device set to detonate in nineteen minutes, located near the UN on the other side of the river. You must evacuate immediately to the west. You must be at least three miles away for safety, farther if possible."

"A confirmed threat? Director, I am about to address the General Assembly."

"Mister President. That is not an option." Her voice left no room for argument. "This is a confirmed threat. My team is on the site as we speak."

Stephanie watched Elizabeth. She'd just told the President of the United States what to do.

"Very well. Keep me informed." Rice broke the connection.

"I wonder if he'll let the others know?"

"I don't know, Steph. He has to, I think."

"What if Sabbah finds out? Can he set it off then?"

"I don't know. Let's hope we don't find out."

CHAPTER SEVENTY

Carter spoke into his headset. "Twelfth floor, that building." He pointed. The team was spread out along the boardwalk. They ran. They reached the complex and Nick held up his hand, short of the entrance.

"How should we do this? Sabbah has to have people protecting him."

Monroe looked up. Rows of windows looked back.

Carter glanced at his watch.

Nineteen minutes.

"We have to go in quiet." Monroe gestured at the building.

Nick nodded. "Ronnie, elevator or stairs? I'd have people on both."

"The elevator is faster but it's exposed. Big ding when it reaches the floor. An open hallway. They'll have the floors covered and pick us off as soon as we step out. If they're there."

"They're there, count on it. We'll go with the stairs. I'll take point, Ronnie you next, then Selena. Lucas, guard our backs. Safeties off."

They pushed open the doors and ran into the lobby. Nick held up his ID with the gold badge as they came in. Behind the lobby desk a startled security guard stared open-mouthed at the guns. He got to his feet. He was around fifty. His belly protruded over his gun belt. Ex-cop, Nick figured. Could be good or bad. Nick watched his hand and hoped he didn't try for his gun. There wasn't time to argue.

"Federal agents," Nick told him. "There's a situation on the twelfth floor. In a few minutes this place will be full of cops. Tell them what we look like and send them up to twelve. Tell them there are armed hostiles. They may hear gunfire. Shut down the elevators now and tell them to use the stairs. And tell them not to shoot us."

"What…?"

"You got what I said? Just do it. Where are the stairs?"

"There." The guard pointed.

They sprinted across the lobby and opened the door to the stairwell. It should have been brightly lit. It wasn't.

The stairwell was open all the way to the roof. The stairs rose a half floor to a landing, then back and up to the next floor. The lights were out. The emergency lighting was out except for exit signs on each floor casting a soft red glow. There was just enough light to see by. There were dark patches of shadow. Anything could be in those shadows. Anything probably was.

Seventeen minutes.

They climbed, quick steps. Their footfalls echoed in the space. They passed the next floor. A large white number two was painted on the cement. There were closed entry doors on either side of the landing. They climbed past the next floor, numbered three.

Sixteen minutes.

They started toward four. The first attacker was silent, dressed in gray. He came out of the shadows with something dark in his right hand. Nick shot him. The MP-5 shattered the silence of the confined space. The body tumbled past them down the stairs.

"They know we're here now. Move."

Floor five. The doors opened before they reached the landing. Three more men came out, firing into the stairwell. Pistols, not knives. The assassins had gone modern.

Selena couldn't get a clear shot. The stairwell filled with concrete chips and fragments of metal. Above her, Nick and Ronnie fired. She smelled cordite and heated brass. She reached the landing. Bodies lay on the cement. Her steps made footprints in blood.

She heard Monroe behind her. They ran up the stairs.

At the seventh floor they left three more dead. Selena's legs ached by the time they reached the eleventh floor and the next attack. This time, it came from below. Monroe crouched on the steps and fired down the stairwell. Selena saw figures below, muzzle flashes. She fired. She kept firing. Someone toppled backwards. She reached for a magazine.

A shot and Monroe went down, headfirst on the steps. She heard shots above. A figure leapt over Monroe and came straight at her. She threw the gun at him and he was on her. Kick to the leg, she blocked, parried with a stiff armed strike, landed, felt a blow to her kidney, countered with a forearm strike, felt her left arm go numb from a hard blow to her neck, drove her right fist up under his ribcage to strike at the heart.

The man went down, convulsing.

Selena ignored him. She bent and felt Monroe's neck for a pulse. Erratic. Still alive. Unconscious. Her arm tingled as feeling flowed back in. She picked up her MP-5 and inserted a new magazine. She worked the bolt and breathed.

Ready.

Her pulse hammered. She was wired, like being plugged into a high power line. Above her it was suddenly quiet.

"Selena. Lucas."

Nick's voice. She yelled up the stairs. "Monroe's hit and down. I'm coming up."

She stepped over bodies on the stairs. They were at the twelfth floor. Nick looked at his watch.

Seven minutes.

"We'll come back for him. Get ready."

They crowded to the side. Nick pulled the door open. The opposite wall exploded with dust and fragments of concrete. Nick and Ronnie reached around the door and cut loose. The air filled with shiny brass casings bouncing end over end.

Selena entered the Zone.

Sound became a muffled background murmur. She watched the empty shells erupt from the guns, twisting through the air in slow motion. Everything moved as if she were underwater. She ducked and rolled through the door, under the lethal stream of bullets from the hall. She could almost see the bullets in the air, almost feel them drift by. She rolled to the side of the hallway. She brought up her MP-5 and shot two men with machine pistols. She watched them lift backwards as her rounds struck. They drifted slowly through the air. They landed sprawled in a crumpled heap.

Time sped up again. She stood.

Five minutes.

"Which door?" Nick looked at the hall. It was papered in a bland pattern of pale yellow. It was carpeted and lit along the walls. The carpet was a vague blue. The lights were fake art deco. Doors stretched along both sides.

"Past them." Selena nodded at the men she'd shot. "It has to be past them"

Nick's ear was on fire. They ran past the bodies. A door opened. A man stepped out, a pistol in his hand. Ronnie put three rounds in his chest. The pistol flew into the air. The man fell back into the doorway.

Nick stepped over him into the room. A tall man in a black robe stood in front of a green metal footlocker. Behind him, the New York skyline shone in shifting patches of sunlight streaming through the clouds. The man had a sword in his right hand.

Hassan-i-Sabbah laughed.

"Too late. Now you will burn in hell."

He lunged and brought the blade down in a sweeping arc, slicing across Carter's armor. Nick grappled Sabbah's arm. He could smell Sabbah's foul breath, his unwashed body. Behind him, Ronnie started forward.

Nick ripped the sword free and brought it across in a roundhouse swing. The heavy blade bit into Sabbah's neck and kept on going. The head flew away. Blood fountained high in the air, splattered the room, misted the window, painted the ceiling. Painted Nick.

Sabbah's corpse crumpled. Nick wiped blood from his face. He looked at his watch.

One minute, fifty-nine seconds.

CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE

Elizabeth waited. Her screen displayed the wiring diagram for the WD-54 portable bomb. Static crackled in her headset.

"Director. I'm looking at the bomb. One minute, fifty and counting. What do I do?"

"There are five wires. Red, black, green, yellow and blue. Do you see them?"

"Yeah, I see them. I also see four more. Green, green, orange and black. They look new."

"There aren't supposed to be more than five."

"They must have wired in a backup. One minute, twenty-one seconds."

"Cut the blue and the red at the same time."

"Roger. Blue and red. Cutting." Elizabeth held her breath.

"Any change?"

"Negative. One minute, four seconds."

"Can you see the power source?"

"Looks like a motorcycle battery. Red and black and green wires."

"Don't cut the negative leads. That will set it off. Cut the positive lead, Probably red."

"Red and green. Forty-eight seconds."

"Cut both at once."

"Cutting."

Nick held his knife against the wires and prayed. He cut. The readout continued.

"No effect. Twenty-three seconds."

"Nick…"

"I'm cutting them all." There was a brief pause. "No effect. Twelve seconds."

"Nick."

"Goodbye, Director." Then he said, "Five."

Selena stood frozen in the middle of the room. She wasn't conscious of the blood pooling at her feet from Sabbah's headless corpse. She didn't hear the confused shouts in the hall.

"Four."

All she could hear was Nick counting down.

"Three."

Nick thought what an idiot he'd been. He looked at Selena. Their eyes met and locked. He should have told her how he felt about her, that he loved her, and now there wasn't any time left for that.

"Two."

Selena could see it. Maybe he'd never said the words, but she could see it. Feel it. Something wrenched at her heart, sadness for what might have been.

"One."

There was the sudden sound of a relay closing, the click of metal against metal.

No one moved. No one breathed. Nothing happened.

"A dud," Nick said. "The damn thing's a dud." He laughed. He laughed harder, tears running down his face. "A fucking dud."

CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO

Events couldn't be covered up. The President had left the UN in a hell of a hurry right before his scheduled speech. Reporters and network helicopters listening to the police bands had converged on the apartment complex within minutes. The tabloids were splashed with pictures of body bags being carried from the building.

Everyone had seen the video of Sabbah with the sword. No terrorist since Bin Laden had gotten so much exposure. When his death was announced, all anyone knew was that Sabbah had been killed in the midst of a bomb plot aimed at the President and the world leaders at the UN. There was no mention that the bomb was nuclear. No one would ever know Manhattan had almost been vaporized, or that the bomb had been made in America.

Iran accused the United States of an elaborate plot to discredit Islam. Al-Qaeda vowed vengeance. But most of Islam wasn't buying Jihad or longing for Judgement Day. Most of Islam wanted to live their lives in peace. Islamic groups and nations across the world denounced Hassan-i-Sabbah as a madman who had perverted the teachings of the Qur'an.

Elizabeth had her pen in her hand. Nick waited for her to begin tapping it.

"Sabbah thought he'd destroy the West. Instead he may have laid the groundwork for a new dialogue with Islam. It's been a wake up call."

"What happened to the sword?" Carter asked. Nick, Selena, Ronnie and Lamont were in Harker's office.

"Oh, that. It was a forgery. We sent it to the Saudis for their inspection. Imagine if it had been real."

"It wasn't real?"

"Let's just say I'm sure the Saudis will verify our conclusion."

Nick considered that.

"How is Monroe doing?"

"He's in intensive care. He took one through the lung, even with the armor. Another in his leg. He'll be okay. Stephanie went over to check on him."

"Steph? I thought I caught something between them."

Elizabeth filed that away. She began tapping on the hard surface of her desk. "Hood sends his thanks. That was good work, Nick."

"I never thought we'd get help from Langley."

Elizabeth's pen went still. "As long as Lodge is DCI we can't rely on them. He'll take the credit, along with the Feds. The President knows the real story. He's giving the entire team a commendation. Privately, of course. No one can know about it but us."

"I was sure we were done when that counter hit zero."

"You almost were. The bomb wasn't a dud."

"It wasn't?"

"That unit was assembled in 1982. The relay that triggers ignition was corroded. It missed making the connection by a hair. Literally by a hair. If it had connected, it would have detonated."

Nick thought about that. A pulse began pounding behind his left eye.

"What's next?" he asked.

"I need time to get back up to speed. You and the others need time off. Go visit your cat, or whatever it is you do out there at your cabin. I don't think the world is going to fall apart in the next week or so without us."

Later, Elizabeth settled back in her chair and closed her eyes. She was tired, very tired. She picked up the picture of the Twin Towers. Her hand trembled. They'd managed to stop it, this time. But what about the next?

She was sure there would be a next time.

CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE

The road to the cabin lay buried under new snow. Heavy, wet clumps slipped from the branches of the cedars, soundless in the afternoon gray. They came around a curve. A trash can sat by the neighbor's gate. Nick jerked the wheel away. The truck slid toward the ditch on the side. He recovered and they climbed toward the cabin.

"Icy," he said.

Selena hadn't noticed any difference in the surface. She kept quiet. They reached the cabin and got out of the truck. A large cat waited for them on the porch, forty pounds of scarred muscle and matted orange fur.

"How did he know?" Selena looked at the ragged animal, big as a bobcat.

"Burps? I don't know. He's usually there when I show up. Probably wants out of the cold. It's a scam, though. He's got a nice warm place to sleep in the neighbor's barn. They feed him and he keeps the mice away."

"Hello." Selena bent down and scratched the cat behind his ears as Nick opened the door. Burps looked at her, drooled past one long tooth and ran inside. Nick lit a fire in the wood stove. He tossed his jacket on the couch. He got out two cans of cat food and put them down. Burps began chewing. Nick added a bowl of water.

Selena sat at the table and watched Nick. She saw him glance out the window. Jumpy.

The cat paused and belched, loud. He went back to eating.

Carter got out a bottle of wine and two glasses. He held up the bottle.

"Cabernet. Silver Oak."

The first time they'd had a glass of wine together it had been Silver Oak. The rest of that day hadn't gone too well. He sat at the table. Opened the bottle. Poured. Drank.

"That fire is nice." Conversation. She watched him.

"I like a fire. The furnace works fine. But I like watching the flames."

"What's wrong?"

"Wrong?"

"Something's bothering you. You think I can't tell?"

He got up and went to the window.

"I froze," he said. "In Pakistan."

"It was cold."

"No, I mean I froze. I was back in Afghanistan, back where that kid threw the grenade at me. Ronnie had to pull me out of it. I could have got us all killed. Then you got hit. I beat the guy who shot you to a bloody pulp."

She said nothing.

"If I hadn't frozen, you might not have been shot."

"But you handled it. Ronnie told me what happened. That you carried me out. It wasn't your fault. There were a lot of them and they were all shooting at us. We all could have been shot. Killed."

"That's it, isn't it? We all could have been killed. It's my job to make sure we don't get killed. And I froze. How the hell can I keep doing this?"

"You don't have to."

"Yes I do."

"You don't have to do it by yourself. You've got me and the others to do it with you."

"The team."

"That's right. And now Elizabeth is back. Less pressure. You just need a few days off. You know, where nobody's shooting at you." Selena smiled at him. When she smiled, the corners of her mouth wrinkled at the ends. "With me and Burps."

The cat had finished after dinner cleanup. He stalked over to the wood stove and curled up in a basket. In for the night. Nick looked outside and couldn't blame him. It had stared snowing again. Selena joined him at the window. For a few moments they both watched the snow.

"You're not the only one with something bothering you."

"What do you mean?" Nick looked at her.

"I'm not sure I like what's happening to me. I used to think the world was a pretty safe place, more or less. I knew there were agencies like ours who made sure people like me could go to bed at night with some reasonable expectation of waking up in the morning. I didn't think much about it. I've been protected, by the money, my education."

"But now it's different."

She nodded. "Now I know how dirty it is out there. Now I know you can't always take some high position and point fingers because someone breaks the rules to make sure fanatics like Sabbah don't get their way."

Nick said nothing.

"We broke a lot of rules. If we hadn't, that bomb might have gone off. He could have set it off even if the timer failed. New York would have looked like Hiroshima. We stopped that. But we were lucky."

"It's like what we were talking about in the desert, about morality. We're in a war and war isn't a game with nice clean rules. They used to try to do that sometimes, back in the days of horses and cannons. But it was always an illusion. It's always been about killing the enemy, any way you can, and getting information any way you can to defeat him. At least we stop at torture, we don't do that." He paused. "At least we don't do that in the Project."

"That doesn't help. What I'm getting at is that a part of me comes out I didn't know was there. It's like I'm someone else, a killing machine. What's that about? When we were shooting those sleeping men, something in me was totally into it. Like I enjoyed it."

"Yeah, you enjoyed it so much you puked your guts out afterward. Look, Selena. I'm no shrink, I don't know what makes us tick. I know this, though. When it's life and death you do what you have to do when you have to do it. You don't think much about it before, you try not to think about it afterward. If you weren't a moral person you wouldn't even be worried about this."

Nick poured another drink, poured one for her. She took it and sat down on the couch.

He sat down next to her. "You and I, we're the front line in a war no one wants to look at because it's too vicious. It's not about feel good parades and shiny buckles on uniforms and flags waving. It's a shit job that gets everybody covered in shit. But it has to be done."

"You won't win any recruits with a speech like that."

"I'm not looking for any."

"No more rookies like me?"

"You're not a rookie anymore."

Selena stood and took the glass from his hand. "Come on. Let's go to bed."

"Kind of early."

"Don't be dense. I didn't say anything about sleeping, did I?"

That night, Nick dreamed.

He stood with Megan in front of the restaurant, the one where he'd asked her to marry him. Where she'd said yes. He felt guilty but he didn't know why.

"It's all right, Nick. It's all good."

"But I love you."

Then he was across the street, looking at her as cars and busses streamed by. She raised her hand. She waved her fingers at him, something she'd always done when they parted. He couldn't hear her, the traffic was too loud, but he knew what she was saying.

"Goodbye, Nick."

Then she was gone.

He woke for a moment. Selena nestled against him, warm under the covers. Nick listened to her quiet breathing and thought about Megan and went back to sleep.

Outside, snow fell in great, heavy flakes, covering the branches of the cedars and laying thick on the ground. A figure dressed in white camouflage stood motionless under one of the trees, almost invisible in the near white-out. He watched the light go out in the cabin window. The man spoke softly into a headset. He asked a question. He listened and acknowledged, then turned and vanished into the snow filled night.