Wired

PART THREE Fountain

Desh moved the instant the outer door of the adjoining room was shut. He scooted to the other side of the bed and reached out cautiously, probing for the lamp on the other end table. It was identical to the one whose cord had been ripped from the wall. His hand connected with it and he fumbled for the switch at its base, managing to find it and flip it on. Although the lamp was on the dim side, after several minutes in darkness he was forced to squint until his eyes adjusted.

The door frame at the room’s entrance was shattered where the lock had been, and the door itself hung awkwardly from a single hinge; a splintered mess. The two intruders were awkward heaps on the thin carpet, and neither was moving. Desh slid from the bed and pressed two fingers into each of their necks in turn, feeling for their carotid arteries and signs of a pulse. Both were still alive. Satisfied, he shuffled as quickly as he could to the adjoining room, his ankles still bound. Making sure not to turn on any additional lights, he entered the bathroom, unsure of what he might find there.

He waited until the bathroom door was closed and flipped on the light. No use sending out a beacon to any onlookers that would remind them of the possibility of front-to-back adjoining rooms. True to Kira’s word there was a Browning semiautomatic, its clip full, and a combat knife lying on the floor. Desh was shocked to also find the keys to the Ford and what must have been a spare pair of night-vision goggles next to the weapons. She knew he would be coming after her, despite her brief head start, so why arm him and provide him with night-vision and a car?

Desh frowned. Because she was confident it wouldn’t matter. She knew he couldn’t catch her, even still. She wouldn’t have planned an impeccable ambush and a way to exit the motel undetected without planning an escape route as well. He had no doubt she had another car ready to go, parked and waiting for her just on the other side of the stretch of woods that abutted the motel.

Desh pocketed the gun and keys and made quick work of his ankle restraints with the knife. It was a relief to have complete freedom of movement again. He strapped the goggles on his head and grabbed a neatly folded towel from a small shelf in the bathroom. He rushed back to the wounded man as he lay unconscious, wrapping the towel tightly around his thigh.

The men had carried identical guns that were now lying on the floor near them. Desh picked one up and examined it, surprised that he didn’t recognize the make. As he pulled the clip his eyes widened. It was a tranquilizer gun! Designed to shoot darts instead of bullets.

He patted both men down. While neither possessed any personal items or identification, which didn’t surprise him, they each carried semiautomatic pistols along with the tranquilizer guns. They had possessed lethal firepower but had been intent on taking their quarry alive. Interesting. But who were they, exactly? And what were they doing here? Kira Miller’s explanation that he was being followed by his own people was the most likely, but still didn’t make sense. It wasn’t as though he couldn’t be trusted to report back once he had found her.

What now? He could charge after her, but he was certain he wouldn’t catch her. Desh knew he didn’t have much time before the police would be arriving. The man she had shot may have been lying about the sniper, but it was just as likely he hadn’t been. And Desh didn’t have her supposed ability to become invisible to thermal imagers. He wasn’t about to be the first heat-emitting humanoid to rush out the front door. Still, he had to regroup, and the last thing he needed was to be in the room when the police came calling. This left only one choice: he had to leave out the back, through the adjoining room, as she had done.

Kira Miller had told him to trust no one, and regardless of what he might think of the veracity of anything else she said, this was sensible advice. He was in far over his head, and until he had a much better sense of what was happening and who the players were, he wasn’t prepared to trust his own shadow.

Desh pocketed the shorter man’s cell phone and tranquilizer gun and wrapped the other tranquilizer gun and the two pistols in a towel. He moved into the adjoining room, tossed the towel on the bed, and closed both doors, plunging himself yet again into darkness. He felt for the dead-bolt, locked the adjoining door on his side, and then flipped open the cell phone he had taken. The phone’s glow provided enough illumination with which to dial and navigate the room. He had memorized Jim Connelly’s private home number and dialed it rapidly.

The phone rang three times while Desh waited anxiously.

“Hello,” rasped Connelly sleepily.

“Colonel, it’s David Desh.”

“David?” mumbled Connelly in surprise. “Jesus, David, it’s three in the morning,” he complained, but then began to awaken more fully as the significance of the call registered on his barely conscious brain. His voice picked up strength as his adrenaline levels spiked. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, but I need to know something,” said Desh in hushed tones.

“Are you under duress?” said Connelly carefully, now fully alert.

“No, I’m alone.”

“We need to get to a secure line,” insisted Connelly. “I know you remember our discussion. I hadn’t expected to hear from you,” he added pointedly, as if Desh needed reminding that Connelly had given him explicit instructions not to call him and to stay well clear of military channels.

“Yeah, we wouldn’t want to tip off our quarry,” said Desh sardonically. He paused and then added, “Unfortunately, it’s a little late for that.”

“She knows you’re on the case?”

“You could say that,” replied Desh. “In fact, you could say that I was just abducted,” he continued. “And it wasn’t by aliens.”

“What?” whispered the colonel in disbelief. “But why? It makes no sense.” He paused in thought. “Unless she thought you were getting close.”

“She didn’t, and I wasn’t,” continued Desh hurriedly, acutely aware that the police could arrive at any moment. Worse still, the two men in the adjoining room could regain their consciousness, or their sniper friend could lose his patience with his colleagues and come to investigate. “She tried to convince me she was innocent. I have very little time, so I’ll tell you about that later. But I need to know something. Two military types crashed the party and ran her off. Were they yours?”

“I didn’t know about the party, so I sure as hell didn’t send the party crashers,” he replied.

“Did you set them up on their own recognizance to tail me?”

“Why would I do that?” said Connelly, genuinely confused. “You aren’t the target here, and I have every confidence you’ll do your job and then call your contact.”

“Then who are they?”

There was a long pause. “I have no idea,” came the uneasy reply.

Desh nodded. “I have to go, Colonel. Do me a favor. Investigate this entire Op from top to bottom. Something’s not right. Starting with the party crashers. Make sure you have the straight skinny on this deal.”

“After what you’ve just told me,” said Connelly, “you don’t need to ask.”

“Good. I’ll be in touch,” said Desh, ending the connection.

Desh pocketed the phone and pushed aside just enough of the curtain to be able to peer out of the window. The coast appeared clear, although this guaranteed nothing.

Desh heard heavy footsteps coming from the adjoining room and jerked his head away from the window, his senses hyper-alert.

“Holy Shit!” bellowed a man in the other room, his shocked voice easily carrying through the wall. “Are they alive?”

“I’ll check,” said another man. “You call for back-up,” he added anxiously.

Desh guessed from their reaction to the two unconscious men they were uniformed cops with no military experience, which was somewhat of a relief. Even so, he didn’t wait to hear more. He opened the outer door and cautiously stepped outside, crouching low and keeping to the darkness.

David Desh entered the woods near the back of the motel, the night vision equipment that Kira had provided now firmly over his eyes, and picked his way through the trees as quickly as he could. The woods at night provided a spectacle few would ever witness, requiring both the interest and expensive IR night vision equipment to maximize the experience. Desh had been lucky enough to be properly equipped on many occasions and see the woods come alive at night as nocturnal birds, amphibians, mammals, and reptiles scurried onto the stage under cover of darkness, unaware that technology could now offer night-blind humans a peak at their previously hidden universe. Warm-blooded bats, normally invisible against the night sky, now showed up clearly as they winged after insect meals, and owls terrorized rodent populations, often swallowing their prey whole.

Tonight, though, Desh didn’t have the luxury of letting himself get distracted. His entire focus was on plotting a path that would allow him to traverse the quarter-mile wide strip of trees as quickly as possible. Ten minutes later he emerged from the trees. A road paralleled the woods, but Desh stayed close to the tree line and out of sight of headlights, continuing to put distance between himself and the motel.

After jogging for a few miles he spotted the steeple of a church across the road, with a small parking area in front, and hurriedly approached it. He passed a sign that read Saint Peters Lutheran Church. Pushing aside feelings of guilt, he forced the lock on the front door of the brick building and slid inside.

He went straight to the main sanctuary, stepped onto the altar, and deposited the cell phone he had removed from Kira’s assailant behind the pulpit, leaving the phone closed but still on. Within minutes he was back just inside the tree line, staying out of sight and watching all access points to the church carefully.

Desh settled in for what he expected to be a long vigil. Periodically, he retreated farther into the woods and did jumping jacks to keep his blood flowing and to generate warmth on the chilly autumn night. He had the odd feeling that if Kira Miller had had an extra coat in her magic bag, she would have left that in the bathroom for him as well.

So what to make of her? Could her story have been true? It was impossible to say. But regardless, Desh had to admire her competence. She planned brilliantly, was quick on her feet, and was decisive.

But was she too decisive? She had shot one of the intruders to get information with a ruthless efficiency. Few people were capable of acting so callously. On the other hand, she could easily have killed them all. A true psychopath wouldn’t have hesitated. Unless for some unfathomable reason it continued to be of importance to her to convince Desh she was innocent, so much so that she was able to sublimate her psychotic nature.

Or was she not a psychopath at all? Had she really been a model citizen before she had altered her own brain chemistry? Maybe. But even if she was, it was equally possible that the changes to her nature she claimed to have come about as a result of her experiments had become permanent, despite her assurances to the contrary.

But this still wouldn’t explain the deaths of her parents and uncle and teachers, Desh realized. Even if the murder of her brother and her collaboration with terrorists could be explained as a result of self-induced psychopathic behavior, a horrible side effect of the rewiring of her own brain, these earlier murders could not be. Could it be that she honestly was unaware of her own true nature? What if she had suffered from schizophrenia and had developed a split personality at a young age? Maybe it had always been a Dr. Jekyll, Mr. Hyde thing with her, with the changes to her brain chemistry doing nothing more than allowing the Mr. Hyde personality to become more dominant.

Desh shook his head, annoyed with himself. Why was he trying so hard to identify some part of her that was innocent! He knew that she was getting to him, but he hadn’t realized just how much until now. Along with a powerful intellect that he found stimulating and those soft, expressive eyes, there was a charm and sincerity to her that was undeniably appealing, even though he knew it was nothing but an accomplished acting job. He had to hand it to the ancient Greeks: they knew that a treacherous woman who could still captivate a man was far more dangerous than the most powerful of sea monsters. How many others had been mesmerized by Kira Miller’s siren song, he wondered, letting down their guard and crashing against the cliffs. If their paths crossed again, he had better find a way to tie himself to the mast if he wanted to have any chance of surviving the encounter.

He was still lost in thought, forty minutes after he had abandoned the cell phone, when a large, two-door sedan pulled off the road a hundred yards before the church. Two men with night-vision equipment of their own jumped out and without a word began to double-time it to the church, leaving the driver waiting in the car. They had taken the bait already. Impressive. Whoever they were, they were exceedingly well connected. Despite the police presence in the motel, they had been able to pull the required strings to retrieve their men and track the missing cell phone in record time.

Desh pulled out the tranquilizer gun he had borrowed. Despite the fact they had been tailing him, they were still most likely friendlies. He wasn’t exactly in a trusting mood, but he wasn’t about to consider lethal force, either, until he knew who they were.

Desh sprinted along the tree line in the opposite direction from the church so he could circle back around behind the car. As the two men entered St. Peters, Desh cut quietly across the road and noiselessly lowered himself into a military crawl. He inched forward toward the passenger door, not even allowing himself to breathe. He was betting the driver had not locked the car.

Desh let out a slow, preparatory breath and quietly removed his goggles, leaving them on the ground next to him. Then, in a single fluid motion, he shot up from the ground—catching the door handle on the way up—and yanked the door wide open. It wasn’t locked! Wasting no time congratulating himself, Desh pointed the gun at the startled driver, who had just begun reaching for his own weapon. “Hands on the dash!” he barked fiercely.

The driver studied Desh thoughtfully, and then calmly placed his hands on the dash as instructed. The tip of Desh’s tongue protruded just slightly through his lips as it tended to do whenever he was engaged in any physical activity that required his absolute concentration. He slid through the car’s open door and into the back seat, his gun never wavering from its target.

“Slide over and close the door,” commanded Desh in hushed tones.

The man did as he was told.

“Now slide back and get us on the road. Quickly!” demanded Desh. “Head farther away from the Church.” Desh had no interest in passing the man’s colleagues who he knew would be exiting the church at any moment after they discovered they had been set up.

The driver did as instructed, and the church rapidly receded in the rear-view mirror.

“Very impressive, Mr. Desh,” the driver allowed. “But then, I have heard good things.”

“Who are you?” demanded Desh. “And why were you and your people following me?”

“Call me Smith,” said the driver, a short, wiry man in his late thirties, with short brown hair and a two-inch scar under his ear that followed his jaw line. “After a session with Kira Miller you get a little paranoid, don’t you? Don’t know who to trust or what to believe.”

“Smith, huh,” said Desh to himself. The man was unmistakably military. And along with the obvious alias, there was a peculiar arrogance about him, as though he considered himself above it all; unencumbered by rules that might apply to lesser men. “Black Ops, then?” guessed Desh.

A self-satisfied smile flashed across Smith’s face. “That’s right,” he said. “We had a shot at the girl and we took it. Sorry we surprised you. Given what you’ve just gone through you’re reacting the way any smart soldier would. But we’re on the same side you and I. Really.”

“Why was I under surveillance then, if we’re on the same side?”

“I would be happy to explain that and much more, Mr. Desh. I’m the one who authorized putting you on this Op in the first place. I trust that Colonel Connelly gave you a number to call when you found the girl?”

Desh didn’t respond.

“I’m going to lend you a cell phone,” said Smith. “I have two of them. I’m going to reach in my pocket for the phone but remain facing the road. I’ll throw it back to you. If I begin to pull out a gun, shoot me,” he added.

Desh knew that at their current speed any hostile exchange would cause them to crash, killing them both. Mutually assured destruction. Smith would realize this as well.

“Okay,” said Desh, nodding warily. “But very slowly.”

The man reached into his pocket and carefully inched out the phone, lifting it with his hand facing backward so Desh could see. Still facing the road, he flipped the phone over his shoulder. Desh caught it with his left hand while he continued to train the tranquilizer gun on Smith with his right.

“Dial the number that the colonel gave you,” instructed Smith.

Desh flipped open the phone and dialed the number he had memorized. As the call went through, a ringtone melody issued from Smith’s shirt pocket. He looked at Desh in the rear-view mirror and raised his eyebrows. “Mind if I get that,” he said smugly.

Smith reached into his shirt pocket and flipped open the phone. “Hello, Mr. Desh,” he said, his voice arriving in stereo from both the front seat and through the phone in Desh’s hand. “I think it’s time we had a little talk.”

David Desh still wasn’t sure who to trust, but Smith had established his authenticity, even if Connelly hadn’t been aware of his activities. Even so, Desh had an uneasy feeling in his gut that wouldn’t seem to go away.

“Okay then,” said Desh. “Let’s talk.” He continued to point the gun at the Black Ops agent.

“I’ll tell you what, Mr. Desh. How about I pull off to the side of the road and we have a disarming ceremony first.”

Desh remained silent.

“What do you say?” pressed Smith. “You can keep your gun on me while I toss all of my weapons into a bag in my trunk—including the gun strapped to my ankle You can frisk me to be sure.” He paused. “In return, you can hang on to your weapon. Just don’t point it at me.”

Desh gazed at the scarred man thoughtfully, but said nothing.

“And while we have a little discussion and get to know each other,” pressed Smith, “I’ll even drive you home. As long as you sit in the front seat. Be easier to talk that way, and I refuse to be your chauffeur.”

Desh thought through all the angles and finally agreed. Five minutes later two guns and a combat knife were tucked in a bag and locked safely away in the trunk, and Desh was satisfied that Smith was now unarmed. After allowing the wiry man to contact his men to give them a quick situation report, Desh settled into the passenger seat, safely restrained in a seat belt, but angling his body so he was facing Smith rather than the road and was out of the man’s easy reach.

“All right,” said Desh, as Smith accelerated back onto the road, his left hand on the steering wheel and his right arm resting on the storage console between them. “Why don’t you tell me what’s going on.”

“I’m afraid that isn’t how this needs to work,” said Smith evenly. “I will tell you everything. Make no mistake about that. I do understand how confused this woman can make someone and that we surveilled you without your knowledge. So I’m willing to cut you some slack. But we’re going to do this my way,” he insisted. “First you answer my questions. Then I’ll answer yours. Despite heading a Black Ops agency that doesn’t formally exist and using an alias, I am still your superior officer. I’m sure Connelly told you that.”

Desh raised his eyebrows. “Superior officer?” he said, unimpressed. “Come off it, Smith. You’ve been calling me Mr. Desh. You know I’m a civilian. Connelly did tell me to follow your instructions, but Mr. Desh can tell you to go to hell anytime he wants.”

Smith sighed. “All right, Mr. Desh. Let’s try this another way, then. If you want to know what’s going on, you’ll have to answer my questions first. Period. Otherwise, I’ll leave you completely in the dark.” He glanced sideways at Desh. “Well?”

Desh glared at him for several long seconds but finally nodded irritably.

“Good,” said Smith. “So tell me how Kira Miller got the drop on you.”

Desh told him about receiving the fake message from Griffin and what had happened at the hacker’s apartment. Smith interrupted occasionally for clarification but said very little otherwise. When Desh described how Kira had stripped him and had him dress in sweats, Smith glanced at his gray outfit, considerably worse for wear since Kira had pulled it from her duffel, and an amused smile came over his face.

Smith listened intently as Desh described the precautions Kira had taken at the motel. Smith was well aware that they had worked to great effect on his men. Desh ended his narrative at the point at which Kira had exited through the adjoining motel room, leaving out any mention of her claims of having invented material that could hide her heat signature.

“Damn she’s slippery,” commented Smith when Desh was finished. “It’s uncanny how she manages to stay at large. And then, to risk kidnapping the elite soldier coming after her practically in the middle of the nation’s capital—and get away with it. She has balls the size of Texas,” he said, partly in frustration and partly in admiration.

Smith paused in thought as they shot along the dark highway, nearly abandoned at this early hour except for the occasional trucker hauling cargo through the night. The car’s ride was smooth and its well-tuned engine issued only the softest of roars to interrupt what would have otherwise been a cocoon of silence. Desh’s entire universe had been reduced to the luxury interior of an expensive sedan, the twenty-foot swath made by its headlights as they cut through the enveloping darkness, and a stranger using an alias whose motives were currently just as hidden as the stretch of road beyond the headlights.

“Okay,” began Smith, having finally plotted his interrogation. “You said she talked with you for an hour or so. What did she talk about?”

“She claimed she was innocent,” said Desh. “She wanted to convince me.”

“Did she say why this was important to her?”

“No,” said Desh. He considered telling the Black Ops officer that she had told him her goal was to recruit him to her side, but immediately decided against it.

“Did she explain away all the bizarre deaths and disappearances that occurred around her when she was growing up? Or the death of her boss? Or the murder of her brother?”

“She insisted she didn’t kill her parents. The other incidents didn’t come up at all. Neither did any mention of Ebola or bio-weapons. She mentioned terrorists only in the context of denying that she had any connection to them.”

“I see. Then on what grounds did she claim to be innocent if she made no effort to refute the airtight evidence against her?”

Desh shrugged. “I don’t know. Your men interrupted before she got that far.”

“Let me understand. She wanted to prove her innocence. Yet after an hour of discussion she had not addressed even a single thing she was accused of?”

“That’s right,” responded Desh.

Smith took both eyes off the ruler-straight road and studied Desh for several seconds. Finally, apparently unable to find any signs of deceit, he returned his attention to the road. “So what did she talk about in that time?”

Desh sighed. “About experiments she conducted to increase her own intelligence. The theory behind it, the results of the experiments; that sort of thing.”

Smith raised his eyebrows. “Did she say she was successful?”

Desh nodded. “She claims to be able to enhance her intelligence to immeasurable levels.”

“I see,” said Smith, noncommittally. “And did she tell you how she applied this newfound brilliance of hers?” he asked.

“Not a word,” said Desh.

“Did she offer you anything?” asked Smith.

“Like what? Money?”

Smith studied him carefully once again, as if this would enable him to precisely judge the sincerity of Desh’s response. “Like anything. Money. Power. Enhanced intelligence of your own.” He raised his eyebrows. “Other considerations that might be appealing.”

Desh furrowed his brow in confusion. “Other considerations? You can’t mean sex,” he said in disbelief.

Smith shook his head irritably. “Of course not,” he replied.

Desh shrugged. “Then I’m afraid you’ve lost me. But regardless of what you’re trying to hint at, she didn’t offer me a single thing. Period. Not a thin dime. Not that I could be bought in any case,” he added pointedly.

Smith paused for a long time in thought. “Did you believe her story?” he asked finally, taking a new tack.

“What, about her ability to elevate her IQ, or that she was innocent?”

“Both,” said Smith.

“With respect to enhanced intellect—I don’t know,” said Desh, shrugging. His eyes narrowed in thought. “She’s an extraordinary scientist, that’s beyond dispute. And she weaved a very convincing scientific rationale around the concept. Autistic savants do exist and do demonstrate what one hundred billion neurons can do when wired slightly differently than normal. As farfetched as it is, she made optimizing her own brain seem possible, even reasonable, for someone with her talents.” He paused. “Is she innocent? That one is easier. Of course not. Other than claiming she was innocent, she didn’t provide a shred of evidence, as we’ve discussed.”

The corners of Smith’s mouth turned up in a knowing smile. “But she still got to you a little, didn’t she? Even without providing any evidence, you half wanted to believe her, didn’t you?”

“What I might have wanted to believe and what I actually do believe are two different things,” snapped Desh defensively.

“I’ve never met her,” said Smith. “But she’s brilliant and I’m told she has a way about her. She can suck you in, dazzle you with logic that seems irrefutable, and do it in a way that’s absolutely sincere. Not to mention that she has a wholesome, doe-eyed beauty that some men find hard to resist. You must have felt her pull.”

Desh frowned. “A little,” he admitted. “But I know what she is and my guard was up. She may have intended to provide evidence of her innocence. Maybe she would eventually have even tried to bribe me, but we’ll never know. Your men crashed the party and all she talked about was her ability to make herself smarter.” He paused and added sharply, “You can believe anything you want. That’s what happened. That’s all that happened.”

Smith was silent for several long moments as they continued hurtling down the dark highway. Traffic was still sparse but had begun picking up, ever so slightly, with the gradual approach of dawn. “I believe you,” he said at last. “I conducted a number of interrogations in a past life and I think you’re telling the truth. On the important things at any rate,” he added.

“Good,” said Desh. “So are you ready to take your turn in this little information exchange of ours?”

Smith considered. “All right,” he replied. “First of all, we believe Kira Miller really has found a way to turn herself into the ultimate savant. And our experts seem to agree that, properly organized, there’s almost no level of intelligence the one hundred billion neurons you spoke of can’t reach.”

“Do you have actual evidence of this optimization?”

“Yes. Most of it circumstantial, but enough that we’re convinced. What you say she told you fits right in with what we know. It’s interesting that she told you she gave herself this immeasurable IQ,” continued Smith, “but she didn’t say a word about how she applied this intelligence.” He eyed Desh meaningfully. “If you had supreme intellect, what problem would you tackle?”

Desh shook his head tiredly. “Look … Smith … usually I’m up for riddles and guessing games. Really. But I haven’t slept in almost twenty-four hours and it’s been a tough day, so why don’t you just tell me.”

“Immortality,” said Smith simply.

David Desh sat in stunned silence, replaying the word in his head to be sure he had heard correctly. A flying insect slammed into the windshield like a tiny missile and became an instant smear. “Immortality,” he repeated finally, shaking his head dubiously. “Impossible.”

“Yeah, so is amping up your own IQ,” shot back Smith. “And no, she hasn’t achieved it. Yet. But it’s only a matter of time. She has managed to double the span of human life, though. Not immortality, but certainly good enough to win the high school science fair,” he added wryly.

“You’re sure about this?”

Smith nodded. “You can never be positive until the first person treated lives to be 160, but I understand the animal and early human evidence is pretty strong.”

“How does she do it?”

“Hell if I know. It takes an injection, repeated once a year. I have no idea what it does. All I know is that it slows aging to a crawl, so that a man of seventy will have all the physical characteristics and abilities of a man of thirty-five.”

“Remarkable,” said Desh in wonder.

“We believe she sees immortality as a three stage process. She’s already completed the first stage. The second stage would be to design microscopic nanorobots that would be injected into the bloodstream, patrolling and repairing the body and replicating themselves as necessary. A vast army of tiny MDs. This could theoretically extend the lifespan five hundred years or more.” He paused. “The third stage, her ultimate goal, would be set up an artificial matrix into which she can transfer her intellect. She could repeat this process any number of times. That would be closer to true immortality.”

“What do you mean by an artificial matrix to transfer her intellect? Are you saying she plans to transfer her consciousness someday into an artificial body? Turn herself into some kind of cyborg?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe she’ll just clone herself every fifty years and transfer her consciousness into a younger version of herself. And what we think she’s trying to do may never be possible. Even for her. But that’s beside the point. The key for our discussion now is that she has already managed to do the impossible: doubling human life expectancy.”

Incredible, thought Desh, as he allowed himself to truly consider the earth shattering implications of this discovery. More than incredible—surreal. But as he thought about it, it all made perfectly logical sense. If he assumed Kira Miller really could optimize her mind and become autistic-savant-like in every area of thought, she wouldn’t focus these transcendent abilities on solving pedestrian problems. No, she would go after the ultimate prize: conquering death. The ultimate Holy Grail of the species. And she was a genius in gene therapy even before any enhancements.

Now the journals Kira had been receiving at home made perfect sense. Human Brain Mapping. The Journal of Cognitive Neuroscience. Both would be quite useful in her efforts to rewire her own brain. But she had also subscribed to a journal having to do with gerontology, the branch of science that dealt with the aging process. Desh had found this odd at the time, but hadn’t thought any more of it. But now the pieces of the puzzle seemed to be fitting together quite nicely.

Desh pulled himself from his reverie. “But if she was able to accomplish something like this,” he said, “why didn’t she announce it? She’d be recognized as the greatest scientist in history. She’d be an instant billionaire as well.”

“You don’t really get her yet, do you?” said Smith in frustration. “She doesn’t get off on extending life or bringing joy to the world. She gets off on the opposite. Think Adolph Hitler, not Florence Nightingale.” He paused. “Kira Miller has discovered the ultimate leverage. She can amass wealth and power beyond imagining. Every person on the planet wants to delay their aging. And she’s the only game in town. If she takes her treatment public, anyone who pays for it can have extended life. But if she keeps it and only doles it out to a select few, she can acquire a level of power that goes far beyond mere money.”

Desh nodded grimly. People had gone to extraordinary lengths throughout history in the pursuit of money alone, but that would pale to the lengths to which they would go for the fountain of youth.

“By using her treatment as currency, we’re convinced she has a number of powerful people in her pocket already,” said Smith. “Including a mole in USASOC.” He shook his head in frustration. “Although it isn’t as if anyone she’s treating is announcing themselves. She controls supply, so if they do anything to cross her, she cuts them off. Bye-bye fountain of youth.”

“Has anyone come forward?”

“Only one. And not willingly. A billionaire industrialist who helped finance her early on.”

Desh pursed his lips in thought. “What about intelligence enhancement? Is she leveraging this in the same way?”

“Doesn’t have to. Extending life gives her all the power she needs. As far as we know she’s keeping enhanced IQ all to herself. Right now she’s the goose that lays the golden eggs. The only such goose in existence. She can leverage the fruits of her enhanced genius, but why give up her golden-egg laying monopoly?”

“Makes sense,” allowed Desh.

“Besides,” added Smith, “she’d have far fewer takers for this therapy. People tend to get nervous about a treatment that screws with their brain chemistry. You can’t make dramatic changes to the brain without risking irreversible changes in personality.” He shook his head in disgust. “Others might not be as eager as she is to transform themselves into something not quite human.”

Desh knew that if Kira was to be believed, she was far from eager to undertake any further transformations. In fact, she claimed to be horrified by what her treatment was doing to her and determined to never transform herself again. Whether this was true or not remained to be seen.

They drove on for several minutes as Desh tried to get his mind around the immense implications of what he had been told. Finally, he broke the silence. “Now I understand why you had the colonel make sure I didn’t go after her once I found her. And why your men were using tranquilizer darts. You can’t risk harming the only being in existence who knows the location of the fountain of youth.”

“That’s right.”

“And if I did catch her, you were worried that she’d hypnotize me with her charm or bribe me. That’s what you were getting at when you asked if she had offered me anything. You wanted to know if she tried to buy me off with promises of extended life.”

“Yes. She would have had to convince you it really worked, have you talk to some of her other, ah … clients, that sort of thing, but I did wonder if she had at least raised the prospect.”

“She didn’t say a single word about it.”

“I believe you. Perhaps she would have if we hadn’t intervened.” He paused and then sighed heavily. “But you see what we’re up against. How can you trust anyone when she can offer them the keys to the fountain of youth?”

“Which is why you didn’t share the entire truth with Colonel Connelly,” said Desh knowingly. “And why you kept me under surveillance.”

“Exactly. I don’t trust anyone where Kira Miller is concerned. If you ignored Connelly’s instructions and captured her, she could offer you the ultimate bribe to gain her freedom. At that point there is no guarantee that you would follow through and call us in. We didn’t want to leave that to your discretion.”

That could well have been her plan, Desh realized. She had told him her goal was to recruit him to her side, perhaps their discussion was prelude to her revealing what she considered the ultimate recruiting tool.

“I can’t be bought,” said Desh firmly. “Even with extended life.”

Smith nodded. “Again, I believe you. Your military records show that you are a man of impeccable integrity, Mr. Desh. But even so, any man who says he wouldn’t be at least a tiny bit tempted to drink from the fountain is a liar.”

“Including you?”

“Including me,” acknowledged Smith.

Desh pursed his lips in thought. Smith had referred to his military records and said they spoke to his integrity. But Kira had claimed to have made a thorough study of him, including these records. If this was true, she would have known how highly he valued his integrity. In fact, she had said that this trait, among others, was the reason she wanted to recruit him in the first place. But if this were the case, she would have known any attempt at a bribe, regardless of the lure, would have failed. So maybe this hadn’t been her plan, after all.

Smith had cleared up some questions but many more remained.

“So what about the terrorist connection and Ebola plot,” said Desh. “Is this just a fabrication? Did you invent it to get everyone hunting for her?”

“I wish this were the case,” said Smith gravely. He yanked the steering wheel to the left to avoid a grisly mass of fur and blood the headlights had suddenly revealed ahead of them. “But I’m afraid it’s very real,” he continued a few seconds later, the car steady once again as the unrecognizable road-kill receded behind them. “And with her abilities you can be sure the attack will succeed.”

Desh looked confused. “But why would she work with terrorists?” he asked. “It doesn’t make any sense. What can she gain from a bio-weapons attack? She has all the money and power she could want.”

“You would think,” agreed Smith. “But apparently not. We don’t know what her angle is on the Ebola plot. But rest assured, whatever it is, it moves her agenda forward. She’s a far better chess player than we are. Just because we can’t understand one of her moves doesn’t mean it’s random.” He shrugged. “Maybe she plans on blackmailing the government to call off the attack in the eleventh hour. Maybe she wants to get in bed with powerful people on both sides of the war on terror for her own ends. We don’t know. All we know is that the threat is very real and she’s behind it. Stopping this attack is still the primary purpose of the Op, regardless of any other reason we have for wanting her.”

Desh shook his head irritably. “That’s bullshit and you know it!” he snapped. “Getting the secret of extended life is the primary purpose of the Op.” Before Smith could respond he added, “Suppose I had her in my sights, and I knew for certain that killing her would end the bioterror threat. Would you have me pull the trigger?”

“It’s not as easy as that,” replied Smith. “We need to know what she knows about the Ebola plot. Taking her alive could well be the only way to stop it.”

“You’re ducking the question. I asked a hypothetical. Would you support killing her if you knew, with certainty, that this would end the threat? Suppose, even, it was the only way to end the threat.” He stared intently at the wiry driver. “Well?”

Smith hesitated. “It still isn’t that simple. If you killed her, you might stop the murder of several million people, but at the expense of extended life for all of humankind now and in future generations. Where do you draw the line? Would you save two million people from dying an average of thirty years sooner than otherwise, even if you knew it was at the cost of preventing more than six billion people, in this generation alone, from living longer? Say an average of seventy years longer?”

“I see,” said Desh in disgust. “So it’s just a tradeoff. An easily solved mathematical calculation.”

“Not necessarily. But there are important considerations that need to be made. Who’s to say that humanity will ever have this chance again?”

“So if two million people have to be sacrificed for the greater good, so be it?”

“Look, the point is we’re talking about a hypothetical here. It’s unlikely that killing her will stop the bioterror threat. In fact, it’s more likely that killing her before she can be interrogated will end any chance we’ll ever have of stopping it. So no tradeoff needs to be made. Capturing her alive is critical to stopping the Ebola threat and to getting the secret of life extension.”

“Maybe,” said Desh dubiously. “But I doubt it. She’s the only one capable of perfecting the virus they’re planning to use. Unless it’s ready to go, everything I know tells me that killing her will end the threat. But regardless of whether you believe that or not, just do me the favor of not pretending this is mostly about bioterror.”

Smith frowned. “Even if I conceded your point, how does this change anything? Kira Miller is still out there somewhere, and we have to find her.” He paused and then added pointedly, “And you could be the key. She took a huge risk capturing you. The question is … why?”

“I don’t have any idea.”

“Another move that doesn’t make any sense,” said Smith in frustration. “If all she wanted was muscle, she could have as much as she needed at any time. You’re not wealthy or highly-placed. As good as you are, with her brilliance and resources and unknown benefactors, you had very little chance of finding her. Given everything we know, you don’t merit even becoming a pawn in her chess game, let alone a piece of higher value. But the risk she took was uncharacteristic, so we must be missing something.”

“I’m just as mystified as you are.”

“I doubt we’ll ever figure it out,” said Smith. “Her enhanced mind can work on a plane that we can’t come close to reaching. The question is,” he added pointedly, “are you still important to her for some reason?”

“Why do I suddenly feel like a worm right before the fisherman sticks it on a hook?”

“Look, Mr. Desh, you represent an unprecedented opportunity to finally get a handle on this woman. We have to seize this chance. Will you help us?”

Desh considered. There was still something about Smith that he didn’t quite trust. His gut told him there was far more to this story. But regardless of Smith’s ultimate motivations, there was no question Kira Miller had to be stopped. And Desh knew that, alone, he was overmatched. And even if he refused to help further, this wouldn’t stop Kira from coming after him again if she was intent on doing so.

Desh frowned deeply and then nodded. “Okay … Smith. I’ll help you.” He waited until Smith turned from the road to glance at him and then locked onto his eyes with a laser-like intensity. “But this time we’re going to do it my way.”

The darkness was beginning to gradually give way to the coming dawn, and tiny flecks of water appeared on the windshield as the early morning drizzle that had been forecast arrived on schedule. In another month this same precipitation would result in snow flurries. Smith set the wipers to a ten second delay between strokes and waited for Desh to spell out his terms, the silence of the twilight drive broken only by the intermittent squeaking of the wiper blades.

“Pull off here,” instructed Desh, pointing.

Smith raised his eyebrows. “A shortcut to your apartment?” he asked.

“No. It makes more sense for you to drop me at Griffin’s apartment. I need to retrieve my clothes and watch,” he explained. “Not to mention my SUV.”

Smith said nothing but exited the highway as instructed, decelerating rapidly to a stop at the end of the long off-ramp. He glanced at the gas gauge and proposed they stop for fuel. Less than a minute later they pulled into a nearby gas station. While Smith began to fill the tank the gnawing in Desh’s stomach reminded him just how hungry and thirsty he had become. He also realized that he didn’t have his wallet with him and was forced to borrow ten dollars from the Black Ops officer, feeling slightly foolish.

Desh entered the store’s mini-mart and pulled a 32-ounce bottle of water from the cooler and an orange juice for Smith, and then tore two bananas from a fresh bunch near the register, both for himself, and walked to the counter. The entire time he watched Smith attentively through the transparent storefront to make sure he didn’t open the trunk and try to regain access to his weapons. He and Desh appeared to be on the same side, but that didn’t mean Desh was prepared to trust him. Whatever was going on, and whoever could be believed, the stakes were very, very high, and he was determined to err on the side of paranoia.

A number of nagging questions still gnawed at him. If Kira Miller really did have some of the wealthiest and most powerful people in the world in her pocket as Smith suggested, then why hadn’t she had them use their influence to call off the manhunt? And how was it that she wasn’t better protected? The beneficiaries of her therapy would have an enormous vested interest in her welfare and survival. If she died, so did their longevity. Even if she had refused bodyguards, they would have activated armies of guardian angels, staying in the shadows but ensuring that the Smiths of the world didn’t get nearly as close to her as they had at the motel.

There was far more going on than Desh understood. He was convinced he was fumbling in the dark, feeling the elephant’s trunk and being persuaded it was a snake. He needed to go back to basic principles. If he believed Kira Miller really had been able to optimize her intelligence, it wasn’t much of a stretch to believe she had also successfully developed a longevity therapy. And if this were the case, than all bets were truly off. Smith portrayed himself as being on the side of the angels, and maybe this had largely been true in the past. But what about now, in this situation? What would Smith do if he really did have Kira in his grasp? And what about the people above him? Could Desh trust this group to do the right thing once they had her? Would they simply pry the secret from her and give it to the world? It would take but a single weak link for her to bribe herself to freedom or for someone to take her place. She was the key to unlimited power, and if only a single corrupt person was in the loop, he could obtain her secrets for himself, kill her, and disappear; potentially becoming even a bigger monster than she had been.

Desh believed that dangerous character traits such as megalomania, sadism, and sociopathy tended to be enriched in populations of people who had risen to positions of power and influence. This enrichment was even more pronounced at the top of organizations such as the CIA and the military, to which people with these pathologies tended to gravitate preferentially. This was especially true of Black Operations divisions, which existed in the shadows and had little accountability. Not that there weren’t plenty of good men high up in the chain of command of these organizations with a passion for serving their country and doing what they thought was right. But all it took was one bad apple at or near the top, and Desh was convinced that with a lure this seductive the odds that one existed were almost a hundred percent. So even if Smith was a saint, turning Kira over to him and his agency could be a disaster.

As Desh walked slowly back to the car, completely oblivious to the drizzle hitting his face, he was hit by a stark realization. If he really believed his own logic, there was only one way he could be absolutely certain the longevity therapy would be unveiled for the benefit all the people of the world: if he did so himself. It was a troubling thought. He had no wish to take matters into his own hands, but unless he could find a flaw in his logic it was a prospect he could not ignore.

A few minutes later they were back on the road. Smith took a sip of orange juice and turned to his passenger. “All right,” he said. “We’re refueled and I’ll have you at Griffin’s in less than an hour. So what do you want?” he asked bluntly.

Desh slowly chewed and swallowed a large piece of banana, organizing his thoughts. “First of all,” he began. “I’m in charge. You and your men take orders from me.” He scanned Smith’s face with keen interest, watching for his reaction.

“Go on,” said Smith noncommittally, sliding back the center console to reveal two cup holders and shoving his plastic orange juice container into the one nearest him.

“Secondly, kill the listening and homing devices immediately. The only thing these devices and your surveillance will accomplish is guarantee Kira Miller never tries to contact me again.”

“They didn’t stop her the first time,” noted Smith.

Desh shook his head. “I know how she thinks,” he said firmly. “The reports all say she’s brilliant. And she is. But I know she’s also something far more dangerous: she’s savvy. And she doesn’t make mistakes. She knows you’ll try to use me to get to her and she’ll be more careful than ever.”

“We can track you in a way she can’t detect.”

“Really?” said Desh skeptically. “I wouldn’t count on that if I were you. You’re underestimating her. Trust me, she’d smell you if you were in the next galaxy. I don’t think she’ll come within a thousand miles of me now, knowing that I’m bait. But if she does and then catches your scent, she’ll bolt and we’ll never have another chance.” He stared at Smith with an unwavering intensity. “I want your guarantee on this.”

Smith paused in thought and then sighed resignedly. “Okay,” he said finally, clearly not happy about it.

“Good. I’ll continue my efforts to find her as I was tasked to do, since I don’t think she’ll come to me again. And Smith,” he added, “I will call you in when I find her as per the original plan.” He paused. “Just so you know, I also intend to continue working with Griffin. He’s very good at what he does and my gut tells me he’s a good man. It goes without saying that the no surveillance rule goes for Griffin and anyone else I’m working with as well,” he added pointedly.

“Can he do an effective job for you without having a glimmer of what’s really going on?”

“I think so, yes,” said Desh. He popped the last piece of his first banana in his mouth, swallowed, and then chased it with a long drink of water.

“So now let’s turn to point number three,” said Desh. “I have to have full authority to capture her myself. I have the tranquilizer gun I borrowed from your colleague, and I can add other non-lethal weaponry to my arsenal. If I’m wrong and she does come after me again, I won’t pass up the chance to take her down.”

Smith frowned and looked unconvinced.

“Trust me,” added Desh. “Your fountain keeper is in good hands. I’ll only act if I think I have to. Otherwise, I’ll call you in. And I won’t use lethal force.”

“It’s not like I have a choice,” muttered Smith. “If you’re in a position to capture her and I’m not there, you’re going to do whatever the hell you want, regardless of what I agree to.”

“I will take her alive. And I can’t be bought. You’ll just have to trust me.”

Smith drained the last of the orange juice as he considered. “Okay,” he said, shoving the empty juice container into the cup holder. “I’ll agree to your conditions.” He eyed Desh intently. “But I have one of my own. My men told me they discovered you had used the cell phone you had, ah … borrowed, to contact Jim Connelly. From now on, I’m your only contact. You agree not to contact Connelly again no matter what happens. We know there’s a mole at USASOC. Calling the colonel plays right into Kira Miller’s hands.”

“Will you tell him it was you and your men who crashed the party tonight and fill him in on the longevity angle?”

Smith’s expression turned to one of disbelief, as if Desh had lost his mind. “She’s doubled the span of human life,” he said emphatically. “There’s no greater secret in the world. It’s on a need to know basis. And Connelly still doesn’t need to know.” He frowned and shook his head. “If we don’t keep this under wraps we could have dozens and dozens of factions all warring with each other trying to get their hands on her. You think this Op is a clusterfuck now—” He raised his eyebrows and let the thought hang. “I’ll tell him it was me at the motel, but that’s where I’ll stop.”

Desh considered. “Agreed,” he said. “We have an understanding.”

Desh directed Smith to turn right. “I’ll expect you to send me an e-mail message with the locations of all bugs and homing devices you’ve planted anywhere near me or anyone I’m working with.”

Smith nodded.

“Oh, and check the list twice, will you,” added Desh pointedly. “I wouldn’t want you to accidentally forget any.”

David Desh stood in the parking lot of Griffin’s apartment and waited for Smith to drive out of sight. Satisfied, he returned to where he had parked his Suburban and removed a sleek leather case from the passenger seat, which contained state-of-the-art bug detection equipment and an inch-thick sheaf of hundred-dollar bills, compressed tightly by a money clip. Connelly had provided a ridiculously large advance and Desh had withdrawn far more than just Griffin’s retainer from the bank the previous morning. Case in hand, he quickly made his way back to Apartment 14 D. He had walked down this same hallway, and into an ambush, only the night before; yet it seemed like ages ago.

Griffin’s apartment was unlocked and the giant was sprawled out on the floor right where he had been left, although he was now breathing more deeply and Desh guessed he could be awakened at any time. He carefully cut the plasticuff bracelet from around Griffin’s wrist and tossed it into the kitchen trash along with the link Kira had removed the night before.

He removed the bug-detection equipment from the leather case and began a careful sweep of the apartment. Proficiency at detecting and removing listening devices was critical in the executive protection business. Fleming had the most advanced equipment made, which was out of the price range of all but the wealthiest private citizens. Desh found two wireless bugs and placed them in a soundproof container he pulled from the case. Smith had assured Desh he would kill all bugs immediately. Desh didn’t believe him for an instant.

Desh changed into his own pants, pulled his cell phone from the pocket where it had spent the night, checked it for messages, and rearmed himself. He retrieved his windbreaker and zipped it over the gray sweatshirt to hide his shoulder holster. His shirt and undershirt had been cut from his body the night before and were ruined. He gathered them up, along with the sweatpants, and piled them nearby for later disposal.

This completed, Desh gently shook Griffin until he began to stir.

Griffin opened his eyes and appeared to be in a fog, struggling to make sense of the man standing before him. Finally, a name and a context must have swum into place to match the face. “David Desh?” he mumbled drunkenly in disbelief.

“Yeah. It’s me. Time to wake up.”

“Why am I on the floor?” he asked, confused.

“How do you feel?”

Griffin’s brain hadn’t quite finished rebooting and his responses were slow. “Great,” he said at last, almost in surprise. “Never felt better.”

Desh nodded. Kira Miller had assured him this would be the case and in this, at least, she hadn’t lied.

While Griffin roused himself and finally got up, Desh made a pot of coffee. Several minutes later Griffin joined Desh at his kitchen table, sipping the coffee gratefully.

“You had a visitor last night,” began Desh. “Do you remember anything about it?”

Griffin searched his mind but finally shook his head in frustration. “Not a thing.”

“It was Kira Miller.”

“Kira Miller!” repeated Griffin in alarm.

“Don’t worry. She just knocked you out and left. She used a benign drug. You’ll be fine. And she won’t trouble you again, I guarantee it.”

“What did she want?”

“Me.”

Griffin looked at Desh as if seeing him for the first time. “You really look like hell, you know that?”

Desh smiled weakly. Given that he was sleep deprived, unshaven, uncombed, and had spent part of the night inside the trunk of a car, he didn’t doubt it. “Thanks. I feel like hell too.”

“What happened to you? And what are you doing here now?” Griffin scratched his head. “For that matter, if she was after you, why knock me out?”

“I’d love to answer all of your questions, Matt, but I really can’t.” He held out his hands helplessly.

“Look, David, this secrecy crap has to go. My apartment was broken into and I was knocked out. I’m up to my ass in this. I need to know what’s going on.”

Desh sighed. “You make a good point,” he said. “Maybe at some point I’ll tell you everything, but not right now. There’s too much going on and I don’t know who to trust. It’s better for both of us if you don’t know any more than you do already.”

“Then find yourself another hacker,” snapped Griffin.

“I don’t blame you for being angry,” said Desh sympathetically. “A known psychopath and murderer has attacked you, and you want to know what you’ve gotten yourself into. But I’m asking you to trust me. Eventually, I’ll tell you everything.” He paused. “And I’ll throw in a fifty percent bonus as hazard pay for what you’ve already gone through.”

“You can’t spend money when you’re dead,” noted Griffin, unimpressed.

“I’ll see to your safety,” Desh assured him. “This was a one time thing. It won’t happen again.”

Griffin eyed him skeptically but finally nodded. “Okay—for now at least,” he added cautiously.

“Good. Now that that’s settled,” said Desh, changing the subject rapidly so Griffin wouldn’t have time to reconsider, “I want you to find everything there is to know about Kira Miller. If it’s accessible by computer, I want it. School records, guidance counselor notes, scholarly articles, books she buys online—hell for that matter anything she buys online, from perfume to paperclips. I told you about the two teachers from Middlebrook, her high school alma matter. One was murdered and the other went missing about sixteen years or so ago. Find anything you can about this. Newspaper articles, police reports; everything. I want to build as complete a profile of her as is humanly possible.”

Griffin studied him carefully. “All right,” he said reluctantly. “As long as we’re still trying to find a mass murderer, I’m willing to take some personal risk. But this had better not veer off into questionable territory,” he warned. He pointed to the plaque on his desk. “Remember, I use my skills for good only.”

“And that’s what I like about you, Matt,” said Desh smoothly. He sighed. “While you’re working on this assignment, do you mind if I crash on your couch? I’m exhausted. The prospect of driving home right now without any sleep is looking pretty bleak.”

“Mi sofa es su sofa,” responded Griffin, his amiable self once again.

“Thanks,” said Desh gratefully. He laid down on the couch and closed his eyes.

Desh re-opened his eyes with a start to find the massive figure of Matt Griffin standing over him, shaking him roughly with an anxious but irate expression. Desh glanced at his watch. He had been sleeping for almost two hours! Incredible. He had closed his eyes just an instant before. He was still tired, but this period of concentrated sleep would be enough to allow him to operate at a high level for the rest of the day, if necessary.

“What?” mumbled Desh worriedly as the rage on Griffin’s face began to register.

Griffin thrust a scrap of paper in front of his eyes. ARE WE BEING BUGGED?

“No,” said Desh aloud, shaking his head “We were, but I cleared them. Why? What’s going on?”

Griffin handed him a piece of paper. “You got an e-mail from Kira Miller,” he snapped.

Desh bolted upright, now fully awake.

“Read it and tell me what the hell is going on!” barked Griffin angrily.

Desh’s heart pounded furiously as he turned to the message.

From: xc86vzi

To: Matt Griffin

Re: Urgent! For David Desh

Matt Griffin:

David probably removed any bugs from your apartment, but remain silent about this message and assume you’re being bugged until he indicates otherwise. Please give this message to David immediately.

David Desh:

I bugged the sweatpants I provided to you as a precautionary measure. Once again, I’m sorry about the invasion of privacy. I modified the bug to make it undetectable by your equipment (Impossible—I know). I just finished listening to the record of your conversations with Connelly and Smith that were forwarded to my computer.

Desh stifled a curse and clenched his teeth in fury. She was always one step ahead of him! She had correctly named the two people he had spoken with during the night, which meant she wasn’t bluffing. He was being outsmarted at every turn. He retrieved the sweatpants he had worn the night before, opened the door, and threw them as far down the hallway as he could manage. Griffin watched him angrily, not saying a word.

Desh was furious with himself, but forced his focus back to the e-mail message, knowing that self-recrimination would have to wait. He continued reading:

We need to finish our discussion. I have precious little time now to provide details (I was planning to last night) but a batch of the gellcaps I told you about were stolen years ago. There is another enhanced human at large (or “golden goose” to use Smith’s terminology). He is the one who is ruthless and has powerful people in his pocket, not me. He is also the one behind the effort to find me. It is critical that he be stopped.

Smith is lying to you: the rival who stole my treatment is behind the Ebola plot, not me.

I know you don’t trust me, but trust this: Jim Connelly won’t live out the day if you don’t act. You need to warn him and then bring him fully up to speed. You called him and raised his suspicions and he’s in a powerful position to pry and make life uncomfortable for the true psychopaths here. Like you, he is a man who can’t be bought, so they will kill him to prevent him from learning the truth. Don’t trust me, but please err on the side of caution. Stakes this high bring out the aberrant personality types we spoke of like moths to a flame.

They will kill you as soon as they come to believe you won’t lead them to me. They will clean up behind you as well, which means killing Matt Griffin the first chance they get.

Good luck

Kira Miller

Desh looked up from the message in alarm and immediately was met by Griffin’s icy stare. “Can you tell me what the hell I’ve gotten myself into!” he demanded. “Ebola plot! What the hell does that mean? She says some group out there plans to kill you and me both. You said I’d be safe. It sure doesn’t sound that way!” he spat.

“Okay, Matt, no more secrets,” said Desh, his voice calm. “You’re far more involved than I ever expected you to be, and for that I am truly sorry. You deserve the truth. But I need to think through the implications of this e-mail first. How securely was it sent? Could it have been intercepted?”

“No way. She’s as good as it gets and my computer is a fortress.”

Desh nodded, not surprised. As usual, she was careful and smart. But was the message simply another of her manipulations? Desh was getting awfully tired of being a pawn in a game for which he didn’t know either the rules or the players.

He made a snap decision. Whether Kira had her own nemesis or not was something he could consider at a later time. But her logic was sound and his gut told him to take her warning about Connelly very seriously. Jim Connelly was a good man and Desh agreed that he couldn’t be bought. But the jury was still out on Smith.

Desh was annoyed with himself that even in his current paranoid mindset he had failed to at least consider the possibility that Connelly’s digging would make him a target. If Desh was going to survive this mess he would have to do better.

“Do you have a car?” asked Desh.

“Why does that question make me nervous?” answered Griffin guardedly.

“Connelly could be in someone’s crosshairs even as we speak. We need to get him in motion immediately and set up a meeting with him so I can bring him up to speed. We can’t risk taking my SUV. I’ll tell you everything I know on the way.”

“This woman is a psychopathic killer. Why would you even consider following her advice?”

“If she’s wrong, we’ll have wasted time and inconvenienced the colonel. But if she’s right, we’ll have saved his life.” Desh paused. “I assume you have a car, correct?” he persisted.

Griffin looked ill but finally nodded unhappily. “What if I’d prefer to stay here and let you meet with this Connelly by yourself?”

Desh shrugged. “Suit yourself. But in that case I won’t be able to tell you what you’re up against until I see you again. And you have to ask yourself if you feel safer on your own right now—or with me.”

Griffin frowned. “I’ll go,” he mumbled unhappily.

“Good. Can you jump on the computer and find the midway point by car between here and Fort Bragg, North Carolina?”

Griffin sat at his computer and seconds later a satellite map appeared on the large plasma screen. The image of the East Coast of the United States was almost uniformly green and not a single sign of human habitation, including the largest cities, could be detected. The Atlantic Ocean appeared as a much deeper and more vibrant shade of blue than when viewed from the beach. Griffin overlaid the satellite imagery with a driving map that highlighted the route between the two locations, spotting a promising town almost immediately. His hands flew over the keys.

“Emporia Virginia,” he announced. “It’s 172 miles from D.C. and 155 miles from Bragg.”

“Good,” said Desh. “Any State Parks? Woods? That sort of thing.”

Griffin worked the mouse to display a helicopter’s-eye view of Emporia and its vicinity and began to fly this virtual helicopter slowly forward. He called up further information on the town and displayed it on one of the smaller monitors. “There’s a hydropower dam in Emporia on the Meherrin River. The river flows northwesterly from the dam.”

“Find a two-lane road that parallels the river and woods and follow it northwest,” instructed Desh. He had decided to borrow from Kira’s playbook. Her choice of motels had been tactically ideal. “Try to locate a quarter-mile to a half-mile chunk of woods flanked by roads on either side. Easily accessible but fairly isolated.”

Griffin swooped down to the Meherrin River dam and found a nearby road that fit Desh’s requirements. He followed the road as instructed, zooming closer when he found a candidate location and back out again when he needed a more panoramic view. Whatever satellite database he had hacked into allowed him to get clearer pictures and zoom in more closely than he would have been able to do using the satellite imagery available to the general public.

“I think I’ve got it,” said Griffin.

Desh studied the screen. Sure enough, about twenty miles from Emporia another road appeared on the right flank, sandwiching the woods between it and the road Griffin had been following. The roads ran parallel on either side of the woods for several miles.

“Continue to follow your original road, but slower and from a lower altitude,” said Desh.

Griffin swooped in closer and did as instructed. Desh pursed his lips in concentration and studied the rapidly changing landscape. “Stop,” he barked. “Back up just a little.”

Desh pointed to an area of road that abutted a section of the tree line that had a break in it. A car could pull off at this point and circle back around without hindrance to a pocket-shaped clearing, about fifty yards away, that couldn’t be seen from the road. He only hoped that enough of the trees had retained their leaves to provide adequate cover. Since the satellite data was somewhat dated, it was impossible from the imagery to know for sure.

“Get the GPS coordinates for this break in the tree line and write them down for me while I make a call,” said Desh.

Desh lifted the receiver of Griffin’s phone. It was cordless but still a landline, which was what he needed. Cell phone traffic was far too easy to intercept. He had checked the phone carefully for listening devices previously and it was clean. He dialed Connelly’s scrambled line at his office at USASOC, praying he would be in.

It was picked up on the fist ring. “David?”

“That’s right.”

“I’m glad you called. And on my secure line at that,” added Connelly approvingly. “I’ve begun looking into this Kira Miller case more carefully and I’m hitting roadblocks that shouldn’t be there for someone with my clearance. I think you’re right. There’s a lot more going on here than meets the eye.”

“Colonel, I’ve learned more since we last spoke. Not enough to complete the picture, but enough to suspect you may have just kicked a hornet’s nest. I think you could be in danger. I recommend you leave your office immediately. Write this down,” he said. Desh gestured to Griffin who handed him the newly scribed GPS coordinates. Desh read them carefully to Connelly. “The coordinates I just gave you are to a short break in the tree line that parallels the road you’ll be on. Otherwise the tree line is unbroken for many miles. If you go off road there you’ll find a pocket in the woods, hidden from the road. Meet me there in as close to three hours from now as you can manage. First check your clothing and car for bugs and assume you’re being followed.”

“Roger that,” said Connelly, trusting Desh enough to follow his instructions without asking any questions.

“I’ll be with a friend: about six-five, 300 pounds, bushy beard. I’ll explain everything when I see you.” Desh paused. “Before we sign off,” he added, “has Smith contacted you yet today to explain what last night was all about?”

“Smith?”

“It’s an obvious alias. I’m talking about the person you asked me to call in when I found Kira Miller. Black Ops officer; short, wiry. Scar under his ear.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, David,” said Connelly in alarm. “Black Ops? I was told that number is to the private cell phone of my boss at MacDill: Brigadier General Evan Gordon.”

The army, navy, air force, and marines each had their own Special Operations Command, but all four reported in to the US Special Operations Command, or USSOCOM, at MacDill Air Force Base in Florida, headed by a four-star general. It made sense that this case warranted attention higher up the chain of command and that the contact information had been for Connelly’s boss.

Desh felt his skin crawl. The news that Smith wasn’t who he claimed to be significantly increased the chance that Kira had been right and Connelly was in imminent danger. This called into question the veracity of everything that Smith had told him. Desh knew he needed to consider the full implications of this new information and discuss this further with Connelly, but that would have to wait for another time. He ended the conversation quickly so the colonel could begin taking steps to protect himself.

“Ready to go?” asked Griffin when Desh was off the phone.

“Not yet. I need to think,” said Desh. He lowered his head for almost a full minute as Griffin waited anxiously.

Desh finally lifted his head and looked at Griffin thoughtfully. “It’s possible that we’re no longer under surveillance or we’re being surveilled by friendlies,” he said. “But we can’t be certain of this, so we need to freeze anyone watching. We need to make sure they don’t have any reason to point their satellites at the exits of this building while we’re leaving.”

“What are you talking about? Whoever is after us can’t just access satellites and get real-time imagery of whatever they want on a whim.”

Desh raised his eyebrows.

Griffin swallowed hard. “Come on, David,” he said nervously. “Are you saying these people are so high up in Big Brother they can authorize real-time satellite surveillance of us?”

“I have reason to believe so, yes.”

“Holy Christ!” barked Griffin. “We’re totally and completely screwed.”

“Don’t count us out just yet,” said Desh. “I have an idea. If we can convince them we’ll be staying here for a while they’ll have no reason to point a satellite at your apartment complex.”

“How do you know they aren’t watching the exits the old fashioned way?”

“I’ll reconnoiter the area before we leave, but I don’t think they are. They’ve told me they’re calling off the dogs to get my cooperation. They know I’ll be checking carefully to see if they’ve gone back on their word.”

Griffin didn’t look convinced. “So what’s your plan?”

Desh told him. He would remove the bugs from the container in which he had placed them and assume they were still active. Then they would put on a little play for their audience. “For a hacker with your social engineering skills this should be a snap,” said Desh encouragingly. “Don’t overact, don’t speak woodenly as if you’re reciting lines, and don’t speak directly into the bug. They’ll pick up your voice from wherever you are. Just be yourself. If this seems staged it’ll blow up in our faces.”

Griffin frowned. “Thanks for not putting any pressure on me,” he said dryly. He paused for a few seconds to get things straight in his head, took a deep breath, and then gestured for Desh to proceed.

Desh carefully removed the bugs, putting a finger to his lips unnecessarily, and then nodded at Griffin to begin.

Griffin’s face was a mask of concentration. “David?” he said in disbelief. “David Desh? Wake up.”

“Wha—” mumbled Desh.

“Wake up and tell me what the hell’s going on here?” demanded Griffin accusingly. “Why did I just wake up in the middle of my floor? What the hell are you doing here sleeping on my couch?” He delivered the lines convincingly, throwing himself smoothly into the role as Desh had hoped he would.

“Sorry,” said Desh, doing a good job of sounding groggy. “I stopped over a few hours ago and couldn’t get you awake. I fell asleep myself while I waited for you to sleep it off. I was exhausted.” He paused. “Still am for that matter.”

Desh went on to repeat the conversation they had had earlier when he had filled Griffin in on the night before. He then repeated the specifics of the assignment he wanted Griffin to work on, an extensive foray into Kira Miller’s past. “Look, Matt, I’m really sorry about this, but I still need to regenerate. Do you mind if I continue to sleep on your couch while you work?”

“Go ahead,” said Griffin.

“Thanks. Can you wake me in exactly two hours and give me a progress report?”

“Will do,” responded Griffin.

Desh gave the thumbs up signal to Griffin and then put his finger to his lips. He carefully returned the bugs to the soundproof container.

“Nicely done, Matt,” he said appreciatively.

With any luck anyone keeping tabs on them would relax for a while and decide that any satellite use for the next few hours would be a waste of resources.

Desh continued to visualize different scenarios that might arise and considered making a stop at his apartment for bulletproof vests, but quickly ruled this out. It would be risky and take too much time. Besides, the vests could only stop handgun fire and not rifle-fire. If the military were involved in this, even a small rogue element, they would assume he was wearing a vest and choose their weaponry accordingly. In this case the vests would be a disadvantage rather than an advantage. He enjoyed the Star Wars movies as much as the next guy, but had always seen Storm Troopers as the height of stupidity: their head-to-toe white body armor did nothing but slow them down and make their movements awkward while failing to protect them one iota from even the weakest blaster.

Desh removed the thick wad of hundreds from the case he had brought and held them out in front of his face to show Griffin. “An ample supply of cash can prove just as useful in certain emergency situations as a weapon can,” he said, and then shoved the bills into his front pants pocket.

Griffin raised his eyebrows. “And here all these years I was under the impression that carrying a huge amount of cash actually put you in greater danger, not less. Who knew?”

Desh grinned. “Do you have a cell phone on you?” he asked.

Griffin nodded.

“Leave it. I’m sure you know they can be used as homing beacons.”

Griffin pulled his phone from his pocket and set it on his desk. “Okay,” he said, nodding toward Desh. “What about your phone?”

“It’s a special design issued by my firm. It can’t be tracked. You can’t protect people effectively if their enemies can track you.”

Desh slipped out the door and scouted the area for ten minutes, until he was satisfied the coast was clear. Even so, they took separate exits from the building, keeping their heads down and walking as unobtrusively as possible.

Griffin retrieved his car, a blue Chrysler minivan, and met Desh two blocks from the apartment complex. Griffin slid over into the passenger seat. Desh jumped in, quickly adjusted the seat and mirrors, and drove off. The minivan hadn’t had a bath in some time and it was cluttered with empty water bottles, Starbucks containers, and even an empty pizza box.

Desh turned to Griffin and raised his eyebrows. “A minivan?” he said with a smile. “Interesting choice for a single guy like you, Matt. I hear these are real chick magnets.”

“You Special Forces sissies may need flashy sports cars to attract the fairer sex, but not us hackers,” responded Griffin with mock bravado. “Women find us irresistible. We get swarmed like rock stars.”

Desh laughed. “I see. So the minivan is actually a tactic to fend them off?”

“Exactly,” replied Griffin with a grin.

“Good choice, then.”

Griffin laughed. “Actually,” he said, “I use it to haul around scores of old computers, sometimes rebuilding and reselling them and sometimes cannibalizing parts.” He smiled slyly. “And as for women, I do very well for myself. And I really don’t need a fancy car. I meet and attract them all the old fashioned way.”

Desh gazed at Griffin quizzically.

“Online, of course,” he said in amusement.

Desh’s smile remained for several seconds. When it was finally gone, a grave expression replaced it. “All right, Matt,” he said. “It’s time to tell you what I know, incomplete as it is.”

Griffin’s face reflected both eagerness and anxiety, in equal measure.

Throughout the long drive to Emporia, Desh told Griffin everything he knew and the current state of his analysis, forcing himself to obey the speed limit as he did so; battling his nature so they wouldn’t risk getting pulled over. The day remained overcast, with intermittent rain, although it appeared they were driving away from the rain rather than toward it.

When Desh had finished, Griffin was dumbfounded. “This is truly astonishing stuff here, David. If any of this is true the implications are staggering,” he said.

Desh pursed his lips and nodded in agreement. “I know I’ve managed to put you in the middle of all this, but if it makes you feel any better, you and I could be standing at the crossroads of human history. The decisions we make now could well play a role in stopping a bioterror threat and bringing the fountain of youth to the world.”

“Thanks David,” said Griffin, a pained expression on his face. “Now I feel a lot more relaxed.”

“I was shooting for inspiration.”

“And you succeeded. I’m inspired and freaked out at the same time.”

Desh smiled. “Why don’t you tell me what you learned about Kira while I was asleep,” he said.

Griffin was five minutes into his report when Desh’s cell phone went off. He pulled it from his pocket and eyed the screen warily. It was Connelly. And given the call was unsecured, it had to be urgent. Connelly’s cell, like Desh’s, was untraceable, but it paid to keep the communication short and to the point.

“Yes,” snapped Desh as he answered the call.

“I’m tracking non-stop toward our rendezvous point, with an ETA as planned,” said Connelly. “Managed to flush out some company. I think I lost them but can’t be sure.”

“Understood,” said Desh. He paused in thought for a moment and then added, “Stick with the original plan. I’ll monitor your perimeter after you arrive.”

“Copy that,” said Connelly, ending the connection.

Griffin eyed Desh questioningly as he put his phone away.

“The colonel detected a car following him,” explained Desh. “But he thinks he lost them.”

“Thinks he lost them?” said Griffin nervously.

“We have to assume he hasn’t.”

“But I heard you say, ‘stick with the original plan.’ Why would you do that if you still think he might have been followed?”

“Because we need information and this might be our best chance to get some.”

“How?”

“By setting up an ambush for any unwanted guests,” responded Desh gravely.

Griffin shook his head vigorously. “No way!” he croaked, his lofty vocabulary invariably coming down to earth when he was scared or angry. “That’s not what I signed on for. You may thrive on all this macho military bullshit, but I’m not interested in any of it.”

Desh let out a heavy sigh and frowned deeply. “Me either, Matt,” he mumbled wearily. “Me either.”

David Desh glanced impatiently at his watch once again and frowned. He was hidden from view behind a large tree trunk at the outer edge of the clearing, which was roughly the size of a basketball court, waiting for Connelly’s arrival. He and Griffin had picked up a cab in Emporia. After instructing the driver to drop them off a quarter-mile from the meeting point they had finished their journey on foot. Desh had the tranquilizer gun in one pocket of his windbreaker and two spare clips for his .45 in the other.

Griffin was waiting twenty yards farther into the woods. Few of the trees were totally bare, while many of them held full compliments of leaves that hadn’t even begun to change color. Given the significant number of evergreens added to the mix, the woods provided adequate cover as Desh had hoped, with a thin cushion of colorful, newly fallen leaves on the ground.

Desh came to full alert! A car was approaching.

He relaxed slightly as it came into view and he recognized the colonel behind the wheel. Connelly carefully chose his route over the hardened ground, which hadn’t experienced any of the rain that had fallen to the north, trying to minimize any evidence of the passage of his car. He killed the engine and cautiously got out, alert for anyone following. He was wearing civilian slacks and a heavy green knit sweater. Judging from his bulk, Desh guessed he was wearing a vest as well.

Connelly surveyed the tree line methodically. When his eyes reached Desh’s hiding place, Desh moved his head into Connelly’s line of sight and nodded meaningfully. The colonel caught his eye and gave him an all but imperceptible nod of acknowledgment in return. Satisfied that Desh was in place as expected, Connelly scooped up an arm-full of fallen leaves and returned to where his car had exited the road, placing the leaves strategically so they would hide any visible tracks but would still look random.

He then carefully returned to the clearing and stood by his car as if waiting for someone.

Desh knew it was possible that Connelly had lost whoever was tailing him, but if these followers could authorize satellite time this would be little consolation. It was also possible that whoever had been following the colonel had no intention of taking any hostile action, but Desh had no choice but to assume otherwise.

Desh quietly made his way to the oversized hacker. “It’s showtime,” he whispered so softly that Griffin wasn’t sure if he had heard it or had simply read Desh’s lips. “Don’t move. Don’t even have noisy thoughts,” he continued in hushed tones, his lips almost touching Griffin’s right ear. “A single snap of a twig can give away your position.”

Griffin glared at him angrily for putting him in harm’s way but nodded his understanding.

Desh picked his way through the woods noiselessly, with cat-like grace and light-footedness. The tip of his tongue protruded just slightly from his mouth as he concentrated carefully on avoiding pine cones and twigs, and more plentiful still, fallen leaves that had become dried out and would crunch noisily at the slightest touch.

Desh was convinced that whoever was following Connelly would have enough respect for the colonel not to try a frontal assault. Given Connelly’s location in the clearing they were sure to take a textbook approach through the surrounding woods to surprise him on multiple flanks. Desh was on Connelly’s southern flank and calculated the angle he would take, coming from the road, if he were attacking Connelly. He chose a post that gave him a full view of this expected approach while keeping him hidden.

He waited behind a dense evergreen, ringed by a thin cushion of needles, now brown, that had fallen from the tree. He remained perfectly still as several minutes ticked by.

He caught movement from the corner of his eye!

A man dressed in black commando gear and wearing a bulletproof vest was stealthily approaching along the exact line Desh had visualized, a militarized and silenced version of Desh’s H&K .45 automatic, a favorite of Special Forces commandos, gripped in his right hand. Desh’s heart began to jackhammer wildly in his chest but he was able to steady it through force of will alone. The soldier scanned his surroundings alertly while he moved silently and athletically through the woods toward Connelly’s position.

Desh leveled the tranquilizer gun at the commando and waited for him to get closer. He had no interest in harming a fellow member of the Special Forces who might just be a dupe in this situation. Given the soldier’s body armor, a tranquilizer gun would be his most effective weapon in any case.

The man slowly crept closer. Closer. Closer.

Now! thought Desh, emerging from behind the tree and squeezing off a shot before the man could begin to react. The tranquilizer gun was as silent as a bow. The dart scored a direct hit to the soldier’s thigh, and he crumpled to the ground as the tranquilizer took immediate effect.

Desh didn’t waste another moment. The man’s colleagues were sure to be advancing from alternate flanks. Desh was racing toward the clearing when the word “Freeze!” thundered through the woods. He reached the tree line to see Connelly with his hands up and two men, mirror images of the man he had shot, emerging alertly from the woods on Connelly’s northern and western flanks, their weapons held expertly in front of them with two hands and pointing unerringly at the colonel’s forehead.

Desh fired! The soldier on Connelly’s northern flank collapsed to the ground.

Desh wheeled around the instant the shot was off and fired again at the last remaining commando, but the man had caught Desh’s motion and instinctively threw himself into a roll. Instead of hitting an appendage, Desh’s shot bounced harmlessly off his vest. The soldier came up firing but Desh had already darted back behind a tree.

Bark flew past Desh’s face as a bullet imbedded itself in the tree he was using for cover. The soldier was about to shoot again when his arm was blasted backwards and his gun clattered to the ground. A stunned expression came over his face as he realized he had been shot. Blood poured from his arm. Connelly rushed forward and kicked his gun away, and then retreated to a safe distance with his own weapon still trained on the wounded man. Connelly had known Desh was on his southern flank and had been primed to act once Desh had made his expected move.

Desh circled the clearing at the tree line, his gun drawn, looking for additional assailants. There were none. He returned to his original flank and motioned Griffin to leave his hiding place and join him in the clearing. They emerged from the woods and quickly joined Connelly. Desh was calm and alert while Griffin was pale and clammy, looking as if he had seen a ghost.

“All clear?” said Connelly.

“It looks that way,” replied Desh, “for the moment at least. Let’s question this guy and get the hell out of here.”

Connelly motioned to Griffin. “Is this your friend?” he asked.

Desh nodded. “He’s a computer expert I’ve been working with who got drawn in. I think we can trust him.” He paused. “Matt Griffin—Jim Connelly,” he said.

The men shook hands while Desh turned to the wounded soldier and stared at him intently. “Who are you working for?” he barked. “And what were your orders?”

The soldier remained silent.

“You’re obviously US military; ex-Special Forces. I’m guessing you’re working for a Black Ops group, am I right?” Once again there was no response. “Do you have any idea who it is you were attacking?” He gestured toward Connelly. “You’re looking at a highly decorated officer in the US Army Special Operations Command.”

The soldier’s expression suggested that he knew exactly who it was he was attacking but didn’t care.

Desh pocketed the tranquilizer gun, drew his .45, and pulled back on the slide to chamber a round. He pointed it at the prisoner’s kneecap suggestively. “I’m only going to ask one more time,” he growled. “Why are you after him?”

The soldier’s face remained stoic but he glanced from his kneecap to Desh’s fiery eyes and swallowed hard. “We were told he went off the reservation.”

Desh glanced at Connelly and raised his eyebrows. “How so?”

“We weren’t given details. We were just told he had gone rogue and was extremely dangerous. That he was working against the interests of the United States and had to be brought in. The orders came from high up the chain of command.”

“Brought in or executed?” said Connelly.

“Brought in.”

“But you weren’t told he had to be taken alive, correct?” said Desh.

The soldier didn’t respond, but the look on his face spoke volumes.

“Just as I thought,” said Desh. “So if you were able to bring him in without a fight to interrogate him, great, but if you had to kill him, no one would lose any sleep over it.”

The soldier glared at Connelly. “You sell out your country and you get what you deserve.”

Desh shook his head. “You’ve been lied to. The colonel hasn’t sold out his country. Whoever is ultimately giving the orders has, and is afraid the colonel is on the brink of finding out. So I’ll ask again, who gave you your ord—”

Desh jerked his head toward the sky in mid sentence as he detected the faint but unmistakable sound of helicopter blades overhead, his heart accelerating wildly. The chopper was already less than two hundred feet away and was closing fast.

Impossible!

Desh darted for the tree line as a muffled shot rang out from above, and an armorpiercing bullet screamed through Connelly’s vest and drilled a hole just below his left shoulder, sending his gun flying. Two soldiers in the helicopter tried to follow Desh’s sprinting form with their silenced rifles but held their fire as he entered the woods.

A helicopter was far too noisy to have made it so close undetected, thought Desh in alarm. But this one had. Which meant it was one of the few, next generation choppers designed to have a dramatically reduced acoustic and radar signature. Whoever was after them had access to the military’s most advanced equipment, which was extremely disconcerting.

The helicopter approached the clearing and four men, clutching automatic rifles and donned in commando gear, rappelled down a green rope that had unfurled like a streamer from the floor of the chopper. As soon as their boots hit the ground, two of them captured Griffin and Connelly, and two raced into the woods after Desh, fanning out. The helicopter gently settled onto the ground next to Connelly’s car as they did so. The man who had called himself Smith was at the controls.

Desh sprinted through the woods ahead of his pursuit, stopping abruptly to take up residence behind a particularly thick tree trunk. The two men approached cautiously, keeping to trees for cover, no doubt aware of Desh’s credentials. He was outnumbered, but they had the unenviable task of rooting him out, and he had access to any number of fortified positions. One of the men would circle around and they would coordinate an attack from opposite sides of him. That is if he remained stationary, which he had no intention of doing. Experience told him that he had a better than fifty-fifty chance of escape.

Smith killed the helicopter’s engine and entered the woods. “Stand down, Mr. Desh,” he bellowed into the trees. “It’s Smith,” he added, in case Desh failed to recognized his voice.

Desh said nothing.

Smith made several crisp hand signals and seconds later the two commando’s retreated back toward their commander. “I’m recalling my men,” yelled Smith in Desh’s general direction. “We have your two friends,” he continued. “Cooperate and they get treated like royalty. Help me get the girl and I’ll even let them go.” He paused. “Don’t cooperate and I’ll have them executed. Right here, right now,” he bellowed. “So how about it, Desh?”

Smith paused and waited for Desh’s response, which didn’t come. Desh wasn’t about to be goaded into giving away his position.

“Look, Desh, my men and I will be waiting in the clearing for you to come to your senses. Your friends’ lives are in your hands. You have three minutes!” he finished, his booming voice reverberating off the trees.

While Desh didn’t believe Smith would ever let Griffin and Connelly go, he did believe he would execute them if Desh didn’t play ball. He had already proven this by shooting the colonel. But as long as they were alive, there was a chance Desh could get them out of this mess. He had no other choice but to give himself up, and Smith knew it.

He approached the edge of the tree line. The colonel and the bearded giant were sitting on the ground next to Connelly’s car, their hands and feet bound, while Smith’s men were spread throughout the clearing. Desh was relieved to find Connelly still looking alert despite his gunshot wound.

Desh planned to announce himself before he broke from the woods in case any of the soldiers were trigger-happy. He opened his mouth to announce his presence but slammed it closed in shock as he heard something that took him completely by surprise.

The voice of Kira Miller coming from the opposite side of the clearing.

“Drop your weapons!” commanded Kira as she calmly entered the clearing, not wearing either glasses or makeup to alter her appearance. She was unarmed and protected by nothing more than a black sweatshirt and tan jacket.

An image flashed across Desh’s mind of the sweatpants Kira had provided, which he had unceremoniously thrown into the hall. But he was still wearing the gray sweatshirt from the night before. She must have bugged both garments. God, she was clever. She told him she had placed a bug in the sweatpants, knowing he would have changed back into his own pants anyway, but she also knew he would keep the sweatshirt on longer, because she had destroyed his shirt. Like a master magician, she had diverted his attention in one direction while she had continued to operate in another. So she was still listening in when he had read the GPS coordinates of this clearing to Connelly. How had he become so inexcusably sloppy!

“I repeat,” said Kira firmly. “Drop your weapons. Now!”

The soldier nearest to Kira shook his head in dismay. “Are you out of your mind! What are you threatening us with, girl power?”

“Girl power. Very witty,” she said sarcastically.

“Who are you?” said another of the soldiers, his eyes widening in wonder.

Smith had been as stunned as Desh by Kira’s sudden arrival, but finally snapped out of his trance. “Don’t let down your guard,” he instructed his team. “This girl is dangerous. Don’t let her appearance and lack of weaponry fool you.”

The commandos nodded, but found it hard to take her seriously even so. Desh knew from their reactions they had no idea who she was.

“I’ll be damned,” continued Smith. “Kira Miller in the flesh. It’s nice to finally meet you. But I must say I’m surprised you would just walk into our hands like this after proving so elusive for so long.”

“Mr. Smith, I presume?”

“That’s what I called myself last night, at least. Which means you must have been listening in to my conversation with Desh.”

“Maybe,” she said. “On the other hand, maybe I was just paying attention when you shouted your name a minute ago loudly enough to wake the dead.”

“Also a reasonable possibility,” he conceded.

“I need you to order your men to drop their weapons.”

“Or what?” said Smith contemptuously. “Have you invented a super weapon you can activate with your mind that can disable us all? I doubt it. If you had something like this you would have used it already.”

Kira’s eyes burned with a steely resolve. “I don’t need a weapon to get what I want. Either you and your men lay down your weapons—” She paused for effect. “Or I commit suicide.”

The commando nearest to Kira smirked. “That’s the dumbest threat I’ve ever …” he began, but stopped in mid-sentence as he noticed the expression on Smith’s face. Smith wasn’t laughing.

“I can have you captured and pacified long before you could kill yourself,” said Smith.

“Really?” she said smugly. “I have a cap on a tooth with cyanide enclosed. I bite down on it with all of my strength and I die very quickly. And you can’t have that, can you? Because if I die, you’re next. Your boss would serve your brains as an appetizer at his next dinner party.” She paused and motioned to Smith’s men with her head. “Tell them, Smith. You obviously didn’t expect me here or you would have warned them already. Tell them what happens to them if they accidentally kill me.”

“She’s right,” said Smith hurriedly, realizing they knew nothing of the stakes and couldn’t risk that they would decide to take matters into their own hands. “None of you are to take any hostile action against her if there is any chance—any chance—that it could result in her death, accidental or otherwise. Am I clear?” he hissed.

“Clear,” responded his men in turn, looks of disbelief across the board.

Desh watched her performance in awe. She was the most remarkable woman he had ever known. She had waltzed into an elite group of heavily armed commandoes without even flinching and was attempting to pull off a plan more audacious than any in his memory.

“Good,” said Smith. He turned once again to Kira. “As for you, you’ve watched too many old spy movies. A suicide tooth? You’re bluffing. And even if you aren’t, you’ll never go through with it.” He pulled a tranquilizer gun from his pocket and raised his eyebrows. “I can have you unconscious in a few seconds,” he said smugly.

“Even think of pointing that at me and I crack the tooth. You might think I’m bluffing, but are you willing to bet your life?” Kira cast a furtive, nervous glance at the tree line in Desh’s direction and nodded ever so slightly.

Her nod jolted Desh out of the trance he was in like a cattle prod. “Even if the tooth isn’t real,” he thundered from beyond the clearing, taking the cue she had given him. “I sure as hell am! I have a gun trained on her head and an itchy trigger finger. I’m happy to be the instrument of suicide for this psychopathic bitch!” he spat hatefully.

“Jesus, Desh!” said Smith in alarm, the smug look vanishing from his face as he realized he had neglected to factor Desh into the equation. “Back off! She could be our only hope of stopping the Ebola attack. You kill her and you’re sentencing millions of others to death as well.”

“I don’t believe that and you know it!” growled Desh. “I think killing her ends the threat. So I’ll tell you what. Have your men drop their weapons and hug the ground or I put a bullet through her head.”

There was no response.

Desh fired, missing Kira’s head by inches.

“Do it!” he thundered. “Or be prepared to bend over and kiss your ass goodbye when the powers that be discover you allowed her to be killed. I’ll at least die a happy man knowing I stopped her.”

Desh could tell that Smith’s mind was racing, weighing the possibilities.

“You have ten seconds,” said Desh forcefully. “Nine. Eight. Seven. Six—”

“Do what he says!” ordered Smith anxiously. “Now!”

His men were incredulous, but did as ordered: they dropped their weapons and fell to the ground.

Smith remained standing.

“You too, Smith,” demanded Desh. “On the ground. You and I need to have a nice long chat.”

Smith shook his head. “I’m really not feeling all that chatty,” he said.

And then, before Desh could react, Smith pointed his tranquilizer gun at his own leg and pulled the trigger.