He pulled out a small case. She knew it held a ring.

She did not reach for it.

"I know we fought about the job," he said, "and about you going back. But now that-whatever you were doing is over-we won't have anything to cause those arguments anymore."

Her mind whirled. He was right about all that, but she didn't want to do this now. She needed a minute.

"I said a lot of things that were cruel," she began. "I was angry at you for not supporting me."

"I didn't want you to go, because I was worried about you and I didn't like being left behind. So I'm sure I was just as much in the wrong as you."

Maybe time did change things. They were finally saying the right words instead of just trying to win the argument.

"You know this can be good," he added. "You know it was, before our egos got in the way."

He opened the case. Of course, the diamond was perfect.

On his way to the elevator Hawker passed the nurse's station. All smiles for him. "Having a good day?" he asked.

"You're leaving," one of them said. "We're ready to party."

He had to laugh.

He stepped into the elevator and rode it down to the first floor. From there he walked to Danielle's room. Hearing her talking to someone, he glanced inside. They were sitting on the bed holding hands.

He pulled back quickly, surprised, stunned. He was certain that they hadn't seen him, but feeling like an intruder, he backed away. Right into Arnold Moore.

Moore stepped past him and peeked into the room, then came back to where Hawker stood.

"Bad timing," Hawker said.

"There's some history there," Moore advised. "I'd tread lightly if I were you."

Hawker clenched his jaw as the reality of the situation crashed in on him. Things happened when people were under pressure and far from home, but the normal world was something different. He wanted to talk with Danielle, tell her how he felt, most of which she already knew or guessed at. But what would that lead to? She was getting out and lining up on final approach for a normal life, one without blood and death and destruction around every corner. Just as he'd suggested she should. How the hell could he ask her not to?

"Might be better if I don't tread at all," he said.

Moore nodded, noncommittal. He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked down the hall. "You make a decision?"

"Yeah, I'm in," Hawker said, making it that moment. "Send me on my way."

Moore pulled a passport wallet from his coat. "Instructions are in there, along with new ID and papers," he said. "We have a car waiting outside, and a ticket for you to Miami. Transport will be standing by."

Hawker studied Moore. He had a new sense of the man. He guessed they'd argue plenty over the next five years. But at least he knew he could trust him.

"I'll give you your money back," he said. "When the five years are up."

"Interest?" Moore asked.

"Probably not."

Moore shrugged. "It was worth a shot."

Hawker took the papers. "Don't you drag her back in," he warned.

"Once was too often," Moore assured him.

Hawker nodded and then reluctantly started for the far door. "Tell her I said goodbye."

"I will," Moore promised.

Danielle pulled the ring from the case. The facets caught the light and it sparkled almost like the Brazil stone. It was awfully pretty. But pretty things did not move her anymore. Never really had. She pushed it away.

"I don't want you to be angry," she said.

He looked as if he was. But it didn't matter. She'd decided something in San Ignacio, even before she'd kissed Hawker. It had to do with living for the future.

"I went back to the NRI because I had to," she said, stating her original position. "But also because I wanted to."

"Why?" he asked.

"You like your life," she said. "You like teaching, and your friends, and the university. You like the consulting work and the lobbying firm. But for me those things were just okay."

"You'll get used to them," he said.

"I don't want to get used to anything," she said.

He inhaled a deep breath and looked away, as if trying to hold back.

"I don't feel pity for you," she said. "You have almost everything you want in life. You got shot and almost died and instead of crawling into a hole you're in the world building an empire. The only thing about your life that brings you pain is me."

"That's not always the case," he said with conviction.

"No, not always," she said. "But it shouldn't ever be. If I stay and live your life, I will resent you forever, because this isn't where I belong. And if I continue with the NRI, you will always worry about me and always be reminded of what happened to you. I don't want either of those things."

"What do you want?" he asked.

"I don't know," she said. "But until I find it I'm not willing to give up the search."

He looked as if he was about to launch into the full-court press, the all-out effort to change her mind, but he didn't. Reluctantly, he put the ring away, closed the box, and stood up. A long moment of silence followed. "You win," he said finally.

"No one wins," she said. He leaned toward her. They hugged and he walked out.

She watched him go, knowing she'd hurt him again, but feeling like she had finally done the right thing for everyone including herself. She gathered up the rest of her belongings, walked out and down the hall. Moore waited there for her.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Yeah," she said, certain of it for the first time in a while. "I am."

"I saw Marcus leave," he said. "You not going home?"

"The NRI is my home," she said. "And I'm grabbing on with both hands."

He smiled. "You'll end up old and lonely like me."

"I can think of worse things," she said. "Where's Hawker?"

"He's gone," Moore said.

Her heart dropped. This could not be happening. If Hawker vanished into the haze she might never find him again.

"You've got to be kidding me. Did he say where he was going?"

"No," Moore replied. "But he'll check in when he gets there."

"What are you talking about?"

"He took the deal," Moore said.

She was very surprised. "You're serious?"

"Uh-huh," Moore said. "Now, I just need to find someone to be his contact. Someone who might be able to keep him under control and out of trouble. I was thinking Carson or Palomino or ..."

She glared at him. "You give that job to anyone but me and I will kill you right here and now."

"Well," he said, false shock covering his face, "since I can't even afford a funeral these days ... I guess the job is yours."

CHAPTER 70.

Hawker was riding shotgun in a Bell JetRanger as it crossed the Everglades of South Florida and descended toward the tarmac in an isolated corner of Miami International.

Someone in the NRI or CIA had telegraphed his whereabouts to the State Department, part of the cover he would now maintain. As a result, U.S. marshals and members of the FBI were undoubtedly searching for him, possibly even in Miami. To keep the cover clean he would have to stay on the run. He was used to that.

As the JetRanger descended, Hawker gazed across the flat expanse of Florida. The air was warm and humid, an incredible difference from frigid Washington. To the west the sun was setting, a giant orange ball once again, falling through the hazy sky.

The latest estimates had the poles returning to normal after thirty-seven days, and a similar event as not likely to occur for another five thousand years.

In the meantime, the aurora that had sprouted over central Mexico was being watched closely, guarded by an impressive phalanx of military hardware but left alone. All involved agreed that ignorant interference in the device would only risk its failure.

Yuri had been carried back to San Ignacio and buried on holy ground, a martyr unknown to most of the world. Perhaps as it should be.

The JetRanger touched down at the center of the helipad. The pilot pointed across the ramp, to an old, unadorned cargo jet.

Hawker shook the pilot's hand and grabbed his pack. He jumped out of the helicopter and made his way across the apron to a forty-year-old DC-8, retrofitted with new engines.

The plane carried no markings. But the men who stood outside it were most definitely retired military. Thirty-year vets by the look of things: weathered, confident faces, gray buzz cuts and steely eyes.

Hawker walked up to them.

"There's trouble," the captain said. "You must be our passenger?"

Hawker nodded.

"My name's Samuels," he told Hawker, shaking his hand. He pointed to the man across from him. "This is Halle, my copilot. And for God sakes don't tell us your name. We'd have to go through six months of brainwashing to get it out."

Hawker smiled; there was something undeniably positive about these men. And he had a sense that they'd been told he was one of the good guys.

"What's the plan?" Hawker asked, assuming something had been set up.

"We take you anywhere you want to go," Samuels said. "I have ten thousand miles of gas and a tanker standing by in every direction in case for some reason that ain't enough for you."

The captain looked across the airport to the setting sun. "What I don't have is time. We have to be wheels up by sunset, with or without you. So, whoever the hell you are, you're cutting it damned close."

Hawker glanced over his shoulder. The sun was just touching the horizon. If he was right, the FBI was on its way, chasing a hot tip as to his whereabouts, someone's bright idea to make sure he didn't change his mind. It was okay; he had no intention of changing it now.

"Let's go," Hawker said.

"Where to?"

"I'll tell you when I decide."

The captain nodded and ushered Hawker aboard.

Taking a seat in the passenger compartment of this particular aircraft was not much different than being part of the cargo, so Hawker chose the jump seat behind the pilots instead.

He strapped himself in as they ran through the checklist and received expedited taxi clearance.

Several minutes later the roar of the engines announced the beginning of the takeoff roll and the big DC-8 rumbled down the two-mile strip of concrete.

Three-quarters of the runway behind them, the plane rotated and finally broke free from the earth.

The old bird climbed at a steady pace, engines roaring, the cabin shaking and rattling around him. He felt a sense of kinetic energy, of freedom and gathering momentum. His world had changed. It had been painful and destructive, but he'd come out the other side. He wasn't sure what the future held, but he would rush forward to meet it, much as he was rushing forward now, surrounded and enveloped by something greater than himself. He was part of life once again, instead of death. And for the first time in years the darkness had left his soul.

EPILOGUE.

High desert of Nevada, three months later.