Ledger just spread his hands.

"You're all a bunch of a.s.sholes," growled Hu. "Artemisia used to be part of our family. Show some respect."

"Family?" said Auntie. "Yeah, as I remember it, Cain was part of a family, too. So was Judas."

That shut Hu up.

There was no more conversation. Spencer continued his work and everyone else stood and watched him.

Rudy stayed by Hu's side. Despite the animosity between Ledger and Hu, and the more recent tension between Hu and Auntie, Rudy liked the scientist. Per DMS requirements, Hu had spent hours in therapy sessions with Rudy, and that allowed Rudy to see a more three-dimensional person. A man with vulnerabilities, with layers.

Although Rudy had become fond of Hu, he found that he did not entirely trust the man. And for the same reasons that Rudy had liked but not entirely trusted Bliss. Both of them were cut from similar cloth. Brilliant on a level that made life awkward in many ways. Both socially inept, though Bliss managed it better, partly because she'd known how to use her looks to advantage and because she appeared to have some consideration for how her words affected people. Joe had confided to Rudy that he thought Bliss was much more manipulative than she appeared.

"It's crazy," Joe had told him last year, "but I'd find myself telling her the d.a.m.nedest things. Really opening up to her."

"Why?" asked Rudy.

"Beats the c.r.a.p out of me. Maybe it's that she looks so earnest. And she listens. She's like you in that regard. She really listens. When someone listens with that much focus and attention, it's ... I don't know, it's somewhere between an ego stroke that says 'd.a.m.n, but you're one interesting son of a b.i.t.c.h' and a validation that what you have to say matters. Does that make sense?"

It had.

Rudy had noted that about Bliss. She was always paying attention. Her brain was never cruising on autopilot. Another of Joe's phrases. But she was like Hu in another way. Both were ambitious, and if they'd been in the private sector they would probably have set up competing shops and battled each other while making vast fortunes. As it was, within the confines of the binding security and nondisclosure agreements of the DMS, their ambition had been mostly channeled into bringing the edgiest science into play so that the organization was second to none in the world. More than once Rudy had cautioned Mr. Church about that arrangement. He felt that Hu, Bliss, Bug, and the other experts should be given some opportunity to profit from their work, even if only in the form of accolades from publications. The generous bonuses-which Rudy was certain came from Church's personal bank account-were nice but they couldn't match the enormous wealth his people were pa.s.sing up in order to do their jobs. Church was adamant, however, believing that this would open a door beyond which was a slippery slope.

"People need reward," said Rudy during one conversation. "As much as we would both like patriotism, humanism, and idealism to be their own rewards, we have to accept that these are people. They're not characters from a heroic ballad."

"Yes, doctor," Church replied with a faint smile, "I am aware of that. However, I won't apologize for holding a high standard for people who are doing work as important as this. And I won't lower those standards to accommodate personal agendas. If we do that, then the focus becomes personal gain. The work we do requires the best efforts and actions from those few people with minds and skill sets that are truly exceptional."

"It's a lot to ask."

Church nodded. "I know. And because so few can rise to that standard the DMS is-and will likely remain-a small organization."

Rudy could understand Church's rationale, but in his professional experience he'd met only a precious few people who could live within those restrictions. Joe Ledger was one, and Samson Riggs. Bug was another. And there were a few dozen within the DMS. Top, Bunny, Lydia. Each answering the call with varying degrees of personal commitment. Rudy knew that some of those people would burn out and fall away.

Church, of course, was the icon, the role model for that level of total dedication to this war, but he was a very hard act to follow. Likely an impossible act. Like Lancelot without the emotional flaws. There were few people answering his call, relative to the vast sea of available military and paramilitary operatives, scientists, and support staff; the world rarely coughed up someone like Church. Rudy knew more about him than anyone except Aunt Sallie, but even with the privileged insights from staff-required therapy sessions, Rudy was certain he'd merely scratched the surface of who Mr. Church was.

Rudy wondered what Church was thinking now; how the news of Artemisia Bliss's murder had affected him. Even though Church had never been her biggest supporter, had hired her only on the strong recommendations of Hu and Auntie, he had worked with her for years. Rudy knew that her criminal activities had hurt and angered him. Would he grieve over her death?

"We're done here," said Spencer as he got to his feet. They all took a moment longer to look down at the blackened corpse.

"Such a waste," Ledger said.

He, Aunt Sallie, and Spencer left. Hu lingered for a moment longer, and Rudy stayed with him.

"I can't believe it," said Hu.

Rudy thought he caught the edge of a sob in his voice.

With his hand still on Hu's shoulder, the two men turned and left the cell.

By the end of the day the dental records had been compared and matched. Within three days the DNA comparison was done and that, too, matched.

And that was the end of Artemisia Bliss.

Chapter Sixty-one.

Liberty Avenue Station Brooklyn, New York Sunday, August 31, 2:36 p.m.

We were met at Liberty Avenue Station by a small DMS field team. The techs sprayed us with some noxious s.h.i.t that smelled like moose p.i.s.s, then we stripped out of our Hammer suits right down to our skivvies. The suits, our gear, and even our weapons were stuffed into big oil drums and filled with more of the smelly stuff, then sealed. Permanently sealed, I think. The bag of cameras went into a biohazard bag for immediate transport to Bug. The only things we kept were our earbuds and cell phones. I told everyone to stay offline. Now was the not the time to be texting our BFFs or playing Angry Birds. Silence was genuinely golden.

There were clothes for us to change into, and we variously became Con Ed, water department, subway techs, or cops. Not a whiff of anything federal. I was a transit cop, which is okay because I used to be a cop and could talk the talk if it came to it.

My cell buzzed and I looked at it warily, expecting something bad.

Getting it.

The message read: ROLL OVER AND HAVE A CIGARETTE, HONEY,.

BECAUSE YOU'VE JUST BEEN f.u.c.kED.

I showed it to Top and Bunny.

"s.h.i.t's not funny anymore," said Bunny. The strain of the shooting and now the knowledge that we were being labeled as monsters had etched deep lines into his tanned face.

I said nothing.

As we all changed there was a noticeable lack of the usual rough humor and trash talk. Lydia didn't make jokes about the way Ivan looked in boxers. Bunny didn't flirt with Lydia. Sam didn't flirt with the new gal, Montana. They all looked at me, though. Hard eyes from hard people who were as deeply afraid and confused as I was. My own snarky sense of humor seemed to have shriveled up and crawled off to hide under a rock. Usually, I could joke my way out of most tense situations. A defensive reaction, sure, but a useful one because at least I kept myself amused. Now all I had inside my head were growls and questions.

The lead tech from the Hangar was a guy named Rasheen who'd once run with Broadway Team before he got hit with almost enough bullets to kill him. Now he ran logistics for the New York office. We were old friends and we shook hands in the troubled darkness.

"Must have been some s.h.i.t back there," he said. "You holding it together?"

"For the moment." I said, accepting a police utility belt. "Give me some good news, man."

"They don't have your names on the news. That's something."

I grunted.

"But otherwise the G.o.dd.a.m.n Net's gone a.s.s-wild on this s.h.i.t."

"Tiny midget b.a.l.l.s," grumbled Ivan. Not one of his better choices but not bad in the moment.

Rasheen handed me a set of car keys. "The big man wants you at the Hangar a.s.a.p. Can't risk a military helo or regular DMS transport. They got every news helicopter in North America up there, and you wouldn't believe the crowds we're drawing. You'll have to go out in ones and twos. Get in your vehicles and get out of here nice and slow. Don't draw attention."

"What about my dog?" I asked.

"Big Fuzz is already at the Hangar."

"What about us?" asked Noah Fallon. He and the other newbies, Montana Parker and Duncan MacDougall, stood together in a kind of defensive cl.u.s.ter. "Are we supposed to go to the Hangar or what?"

The logistics man turned to them. "That depends," he said. "Y'all are new, right? Just signed on?"

They nodded.

"But you signed on? You rolled out with Captain Ledger?"

A pause, then another nod.

"Then what do you think you're supposed to do?"

The rest of us gave them a few moments to work it out. It was Montana who answered. "I guess we get our a.s.ses back to the Hangar and circle the wagons."

"Hooah," said Rasheen.

The rest of Echo Team said it, too.

With the goggles and masks off I could see their faces. After several days of training with them I could tell you everything about their service histories and combat capabilities, but I had no idea who they were.

Still strangers.

And yet not so, because we had just shared an event together that connected us in ways no one else could possibly share. This ma.s.sacre and the media firestorm that it had ignited were ours. We were the family that lived on that plot of land in that dark country.

It was an odd connection, like pa.s.sengers on a crashed airliner working diligently side-by-side to pull total strangers out of the debris. Or folks who might otherwise pa.s.s on the street without even a nod to the existence or humanity of the other suddenly striving together to save the injured after a bomb goes off.

I hoped I would get to know them, to have them become fully rounded people in my mind instead of ciphers, though part of me resisted that thought. Some cops and soldiers never form close connections, even to someone they've gone into battle with or kicked in the door with at a g.a.n.g.b.a.n.gers' clubhouse. They despise the attachment, the connection to a human personality, because of all the potential for grief, for loss, for personal hurt. They think it's better to keep their own emotional plugs pulled than to risk sticking their fingers into the fan blades. Maybe that's a better way, a safe and sane form of professional detachment.

But I've never played it safe and no one has ever accused me of being sane.

Chapter Sixty-two.

On the Road Brooklyn, New York Sunday, August 31, 2:45 p.m.

I took Montana Parker with me. I drove; she road shotgun. She sat so far from me that she was crammed against the pa.s.senger door.

Traffic was almost totally snarled. While we inched along I tapped my earbud and surprised myself by getting Church. I gave him my location and ETA.

"Where do we stand right now?" I asked. "How much s.h.i.t is. .h.i.tting the fan?"

"The intensity varies but we haven't caught any breaks today," he said. "Circe estimates that the video is having exactly the effect Mother Night intended. The world press is galvanized and public outcry hasn't been this intense since the planes. .h.i.t the towers. Every reporter with an audience has begun a personal witch hunt, and that is being reflected within the government. Not merely party polarization, but even within the president's party a lot of people are distancing themselves from him in case he is complicit in some illegal act."

"He isn't."

"No, but considering how many levels of secrecy are involved, including those which both charter and protect the DMS, there isn't a lot of wiggle room for the president to come clean to the American people. Virtually anything he could say would either endanger or substantially weaken Homeland. It could potentially cripple our fight against global terrorism. It's not unlikely that the DMS will lose its charter and be shut down. It would be difficult to imagine a more effective attack on our nation's apparatus for counter- and ant.i.terrorism."

"Is that Mother Night's endgame?" I asked him.

"Difficult to say. Not everything she's done appears to serve that goal, but we don't yet know the scope of her plan. We are rich in suppositions but wanting in facts."

"Meaning that we have nothing."

"Deliberate and well-crafted obfuscation is clearly part of her agenda."

"Meaning," I repeated, "that we have nothing."

"As you say."

"Is she a she or is she a them?"

"I asked Dr. Sanchez to speculate on that earlier today. It's his considered opinion that Mother Night is an individual who is using stand-ins for certain high-risk activities. He says it fits with a certain kind of megalomaniacal personality subtype."

"Sounds like Rudy."

"However, it's clear that she fronts a large organization," added Church.

"Of what?" I asked. "Is she the poster child for National Anarchy Day?"

"Remains to be seen," said Church. "Dr. Sanchez has some doubts as to whether this actually is anarchy, and I agree with him."

"Why?"

"He'll discuss that with you when you get here," said Church.

"Are we anywhere on the text messages?"

"No, although it's interesting that only you and Colonel Riggs are receiving them. Circe and Dr. Sanchez are working on ways to attach specific meaning to that."

"We're the cool kids in cla.s.s."

"You are of a kind," said Church, but he didn't explain. "Bug is working on some things and believes he might be able to crack the block on the tracebacks. In the meantime we have a few other things to cover first."

"Hit me."

I was aware that Montana was watching me like a hawk. She had an earbud in but she wasn't on the same channel as my conversation with Church; she had only my side of things. Fine for now.

Church said, "Vice President Collins is among those who have distanced himself from the president since the video went live."

"What a guy. I'd hate to be next to him on a sinking ship. Pretty sure he wouldn't want to share the lifeboat."