"Does this have something to do with your friend from school? Deeps said you've been upset."

Dad always avoided emotional issues, so if he talked to Deeps, he was really worried. "I'm not suicidal, if that's what you're thinking."

Dad's shoulders slumped. "You're awfully d.a.m.n stubborn."

"Wonder where I got that from."

"No idea whatsoever." Dad sighed. "I'll see you in a few days." I must have looked confused, because he said, "Your Signing. Jessop invited me."

My spine p.r.i.c.kled like he'd poured a cup of gla.s.s slivers down my back. "Right. Of course." Then we both turned, hearing Gerard and Deeps in the hall. "I guess we're leaving," I said.

Dad opened his arms and I walked into them. Then he kissed me on the forehead. "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas, Dad."

A few minutes later I was in the chopper. Deeps started up the engine, and Dad waved from the terrace. Gerard's plastic tub of gingerbread dogs rested on my lap, and the stocking of gifts that Dad picked out leaned against my leg.

I waved as the helicopter rose, watching as Dad got tinier and tinier. This might be the last time he saw me alive, but at least we got to say good-bye.

44.

Hawkins returned late that night. He'd headed back from London when Zara's story was pushed out of the Top Ten by a scandal at the Oklahoma City Fetal Protection Unit, where the head of "Resident Services" was accused of pimping out pregnant girls in his care.

I didn't see Hawkins then or the next morning. The Signing was tomorrow, and the compound was awhirl in pre-Signing prep. I had to dodge lighting and sound experts on my way to the kitchen, then caterers a.s.sessing the venue, and then security personnel keeping watch over them.

I wandered out to the parking circle, where Deeps was overseeing the tent setup. "Don't you put up a single post or inch of rigging before I inspect it," he told the crew.

A K-9 unit went past with a dog that was built like a marine, all chest and muscle with short tan fur like a crewcut. BOMB SQUAD was printed in big letters across the back of the handler's jacket. His communicator squawked instructions as he and the dog descended the stairs to the subterranean garage.

I knew I should warn Hawkins about the reporters' story coming out, but I couldn't figure out how to explain how I knew. And even if I prepped him for what was coming, could he really convince Jouvert we hadn't betrayed him?

When Adam Ho buzzed by, I trotted after him. "Is Jessop busy? I need to talk to him."

"He's got two lawyers in with him now, then a conference call with investment bankers, and a meeting with the vice president's security detail after that. He can fit you in around six P.M."

The screech of metal on metal made both of us whip around. Ho swore and took off for the front gate, where the party rental truck had stopped.

Deeps was watching two men in black suits and shades who had walked onto the flat roof. They strode along the edge, pointing and stopping every few feet. I came up beside him. "Who are they?" I asked.

"They're sharpshooters from the VP's security detail. We've got two hundred very important people coming to your Signing tomorrow."

I rubbed my goose-pimpled arms. The shooters could easily turn those guns on Hawkins and me. "You really think someone might try to kill the VP?"

"The only person who'd try that here is someone who wants to get caught. A guy who wants his face all over the media, because he wants the fame or because he's killing for a cause."

"So why don't they keep the media out?"

Deeps rubbed his fingers together. "The Almighty Dollar. High-profile Signing like yours means Jouvert gets his face on every Sportswall in the U.S., and he doesn't have to spend a dime."

The thought of Jouvert benefiting from my Signing made me sick. I needed to testify about Sparrow and Jouvert, but the chance I would was infinitesimally small. Samantha Rowley didn't even get inside the court building before she was shot.

But I had something Samantha didn't have. The vision came to me in full color.

"I'm going inside," I told Deeps, and almost ran back to my room. Then I shut the door and went right to the closet, where the wall hanging was still in the drawer. I shook it out and laid the bleached silk against my body.

Sig said I'd only get one chance to speak out before the campaign silenced me, so it better be an apocalyptic, despot-toppling, world-changing revelation. TEOTWAWKI. The End Of The World As We Know It.

This was the story I needed to tell.

45.

I waited outside for Sig, hoping to catch him away from the monitoring equipment. He drove up after the security detail left, and stepped out of his Jaguar, sleek in his blue on blue striped suit and bronze pocket square.

"How was your trip?" Did you find Luke?

"Interesting." His lip was split and swollen on one side.

"What happened?"

Sig closed the car door stiffly, as if he was favoring his side. "I'm afraid I entertained some uninvited guests at my motel last night."

"Are you all right?"

"Bruised, but undaunted. I believe our boy has some very protective friends."

"He sent people to beat you up?"

"No, I suspect he had no clue what they did on his behalf."

"I'm sorry, Sig. But you think he's safe?"

"Yes, I do."

"Aren't you going to tell me where?"

"No." Sig paused. "But I think if you saw it, you would agree that he's in a good place."

I closed my eyes and saw Luke the way he was in Salvation with his family before the Siege. The calm quiet in his face, the loving look in his brown eyes. Thank you. Thank you for keeping Luke safe. For taking care of him.

"Avie."

I opened my eyes. A group of Secret Service men were walking toward us up the drive.

"Let's go in the house," Sig said, taking a garment bag out of the trunk. "I've got your Signing dress."

I swung the bag on my finger, and gushed, "Oooo, I can't wait to see my dress," as we pa.s.sed the security detail. "What about those Zanotti heels I wanted? Did you find them?"

Once inside, Sig glanced at the camera in my bedroom, which had gone live again in the last hour, and went right to my walk-in closet. He hung the bag on a hook and zipped it open. "Oh, let's see," I squealed for the audio monitor overhead.

The white dress inside wasn't the little tissue-paper silk I'd tried on weeks ago that had made me feel like a virgin sacrifice.

The wool crepe was cut close to the body, and silver brambles wove over the bare shoulders and edged the skirt. "What are they made of?" I said, rubbing one of the th.o.r.n.y twigs between my fingers.

"Dyed leather, hand sewn."

"It's amazing, Sig-"

"But?"

For a moment I thought how easy it would be to wear this dress. But then- "I had something else in mind."

I handed Sig the wall hanging and watched as Sig weighed the silk in his hand. He contemplated the embroidered cherry branches. Are you sure?

Yes, I'm sure.

"Well, this fabric would certainly make a statement," he said.

"Fashion is message, right?"

"Yes, it most definitely is. Hmm. It would be a travesty to lose any of that gorgeous needlework in the tailoring." Sig took the fabric, pivoted me, and held it up to my waist. In the full-length mirror, I saw how the silk trailed a foot or more behind me.

Then Sig moved the silk up between my shoulder blades. "We'll dye it pink, perhaps, then go over the st.i.tching with a fine brush in a darker color so it will stand out. Perhaps some crystal details along the branches to direct the eye."

Draw the cameras to the coded names, and dates, and bank deposits. The bribes. The guilty parties. The foreign powers.

"I think this could be unforgettable," I said.

"Yes, it is the very definition of unforgettable."

"There are two places where the embroidery needs to be fixed." I showed Sig the two branches Maggie left unfinished, then handed him a piece of paper with the st.i.tch code I sketched while I'd waited for him. One branch would reveal Jouvert's secret deal for nukes with the Saudis and the other would expose the Paternalists' White Gold Pipeline.

"Luke got the tapes to the reporters," I whispered.

Sig nodded and pulled in a breath. "Well, now I understand the change of heart. When do you expect the story to break?"

"Soon."

Sig looked almost sorry for me. "If you want this for tomorrow, I must get to work."

"Thank you."

He folded the silk into a small square. "Welcome back to the revolution."

When Sig left, I felt lighter, as if making the decision was the hardest part of what I needed to do. But I knew that probably wasn't going to be how things turned out.

46.

A short wall of yellow flames whipped between Hawkins and the edge of the terrace. He sat back, legs crossed, silhouetted in one of the webbed chairs that usually stood by the indoor pool. An empty chair waited beside him.

Hawkins' back was to me, so he didn't see me walk up. The wind was blowing off the water and I zipped up my jacket. Tiny white lights lit up the mast and prow of a boat motoring past.

"I thought we'd have dinner out here," he said, as if the whole me calling him a monster thing had never happened.

"Really? It's a little cold," I said, sitting down. The sky was blue-black with bands of thin clouds.

"The house is-" He glanced over his shoulder. "I thought we could talk more candidly out here."

"Right." Ho had told him I wanted to talk. Maybe Hawkins suspected it wasn't something he wanted the monitors to hear. I inched my chair closer to the fire. "Why didn't I know this was here?"

"It's recessed. It can be raised with the touch of a b.u.t.ton, just like the gla.s.s rail."

The chef appeared with a pizza for each of us. Sausage on Hawkins' and mushrooms on mine. Hawkins folded his slice in half and took a huge bite.

I bit into mine, surprised at how good it tasted. Maybe it was the relief of hearing that Luke was safe.

"I heard you built a gingerbread house," he said.

"Pasadena City Hall, actually." I had that surreal feeling Hawkins was trying to get close to me again. He asked me all about the project, and even laughed as I described Gerard ordering Deeps to go to the grocery store to replace the green jelly beans he'd scarfed down. I didn't tell Hawkins that Gerard smuggled Yates out of the house while Deeps was gone.

Finally, Hawkins put his empty plate down, and the relaxed look in his face turned serious.

I sensed something coming and I set my plate down, too. Maybe someone had tipped him to the news story.

"I never expected when I drew up your Contract that you'd turn out to be-" Hawkins swigged his beer. "You hold a mirror up to me day and night and force me to look at myself. No one's done that in a long time."

In his own odd way, he was complimenting me.

"I met with my lawyers today to revise your Contract. When you Sign it tomorrow, the new version will replace the old." He pulled some folded papers from his inside pocket and handed them to me. "I think you'll find it more acceptable."

"Acceptable?" The word flew out of my mouth before I could stop it. "But you'll still own me."