As the Marine strike force turned inbound, Kurt made his way around the side of the Brevard palace. Lights aimed up at the structure meant the last ten feet or so would expose him no matter how the infiltration suit attempted to compensate. Instead of crossing through them, he swung wide, pa.s.sed an Olympic-sized swimming pool, and made his way around the back. There he found an overhanging veranda.

Using a chair to boost himself up, he clambered onto the deck and sprinted forward. He managed to force the door and slip inside.

Thankful that he'd set off no alarm system in the process, he moved into the hall and found himself surrounded by framed works of art, intricate tapestries, and statues that looked as if they might belong in a museum.

He needed to find a stairwell that led upward and began to move down the hall, stopping at the sound of footfalls coming his way from an adjacent corridor.

He backtracked and took cover behind a statue of some Greek hero with a laurel leaf on his head and pressed himself as far into the shadows as possible until the figure pa.s.sed by.

It was Calista. She was speaking into a radio, giving orders about something. She never saw Kurt or even looked in his direction. As she reached the far end of the hall, she disappeared into a room.

In a house of many rooms, Kurt knew he'd be hard-pressed to find the right one in time. But seeing Calista pa.s.s by brought a new idea to mind. Checking the hall in both directions and seeing no one else coming, he moved from behind the statue and backtracked, heading toward the room Calista had just entered.

Calista was ready to leave. Over the years she'd begun to feel claustrophobic in the family home, a sensation that had only gotten worse over the past few months. Grabbing a small backpack from a shelf in her closet, she began to pack.

Ever the pragmatist, she didn't care for the clothes or the jewels. Her items of importance were those that would be useful: pa.s.sports in several names, bundles of cash in a few different currencies, a knife, a pistol, and three spare magazines. The one item of sentimental value she had was a necklace with a diamond ring hanging from it that had belonged to their mother. Sebastian had given it to her.

She eyed the necklace for a moment and then placed it into a side pocket and zipped the pocket shut. Nothing else in the opulent mansion mattered to her. It was all fake. The artwork, tapestries, and the antique furniture were nothing but good forgeries. That's what their family did. They gave life to lies.

About the only thing she would miss were the horses. As she thought about her favorite, a horse named Tana, which meant "sunshine" in Malagasy, it dawned on her that Sebastian might have rigged the stables to explode like everything else in the compound.

This struck her as cruel. Humankind was fairly worthless in her eyes, but animals, in their innocence, were something else. They had no schemes or desires other than to please their masters and receive their rewards in the form of food and shelter and attention.

She zipped the bag shut and decided to hike down to the stable and turn the animals out. There was no reason for them to burn to death.

Throwing the pack over one shoulder, she left the bedroom, entered her sitting room, and tracked straight for the door. As she approached the door, she noticed it was closed but not shut. That was more than odd, she never left the door unlatched.

She put her hand in the bag, grabbing for her pistol.

"Sorry, Calista," a voice said from behind her. "I'm afraid it's game over."

She froze in her tracks. The timbre of the voice was easily recognizable, as was the calm and certain delivery of the words. She had no doubt that Kurt Austin was standing behind her.

"Toss the bag on the floor and turn around slowly," he said.

She let her shoulders sag and flipped the backpack into a corner. Pivoting slowly, she found Kurt sitting in a high-backed Victorian chair, aiming a lethal-looking rifle in her direction.

"I believe we've done this before," she said.

"We have," Kurt replied, standing up. "And we're going to keep doing it until we get it right."

She studied him for a moment. He looked out of place with all the armor. Less handsome, less unique. As if he'd read her mind, he pulled off the hood.

"How on earth did you get in here?" she asked. "We have cameras, guards, motion sensors."

"Nothing's foolproof," Kurt said.

That much was certain. "You can't expect to get out alive," she said. "We're ready for you. We've been waiting for you to make a move."

His eyebrows went up. "Really?" he said. "Because it doesn't look that way to me. Your men at the front gate are half asleep. The gang in the bunkhouse are celebrating like it's Bastille Day. And we've already found the hostages while taking out two of your guards. All without the slightest peep from the rest of you."

"There are at least fifty men here loyal to my brothers and me. You're overwhelmingly outnumbered."

"For now," he said smugly.

She pursed her lips. So there were reinforcements coming. And coming soon. Her brother was sitting around foolishly thinking they were not in danger yet. Her feelings were torn. Silently she cursed him for his arrogance even as she wished she could warn him.

"If you've already won, then what do you want from me?" she asked. "Answers perhaps? Are you still trying to figure out what happened to you on the Ethernet?"

He smiled at her. It was a grin both endearing and proud. "Too late for that," he said. "I know what happened. Enough of it anyway. It all came back once they debugged me in Korea."

She shifted her weight. "Then you know if it wasn't for me, you'd have been killed and buried at sea in the hull of that yacht just like all the others we encountered."

"Considering that you caused the danger in the first place, that doesn't really carry a lot of weight with me. On the other hand," he added, "I do have a newfound appreciation for the importance of remembering the past accurately, thanks to you. That being the case, I thought I'd return the favor."

"What are you talking about?" she asked, growing tired of the conversation.

He studied her with those ice-blue eyes, taking her in, measuring her. Finally, he unzipped a diagonal pocket on the right sight of his vest and pulled from it a folded sheet of paper. He placed it down on the small stand between the chairs, smoothed it flat, and then pulled away.

"Take a look" was all he said.

She hesitated and then stepped cautiously forward, reaching for the paper like someone might reach for a dangerous animal, keeping as much distance between her body and the printed sheet as possible.

She tilted the page to catch the light and gave the image a quick once-over. "What is this supposed to be?"

"It's a family," he said. "Believe or not, it's your family. Your real family."

She looked up at him suspiciously. "What are you talking about?"

She noticed he was watching her with a sort of detached, almost professorial look.

"The Brevards aren't your family, Calista, the people in the photograph are. The woman's name is Abigail. She was your mother. Her friends called her Abby. The man's name is Stewart, he was your father. The two boys are Nathan and Zack-or I should say, they were named Nathan and Zack."

For reasons she couldn't pinpoint, she began to feel sick. "You expect me to believe this?"

"Look at the woman. Look at her face. You two could be twins."

She wasn't blind, she saw the likeness. It was nonsense. "You think you can trick me?"

He didn't blink. "It's not a trick. Your mother was a telecommunications expert, your father worked on satellite guidance. They were both very intelligent people, brilliant in their understandings of math and science. Just like you, I'm guessing. They had a good life in suburban England. Unfortunately, the Brevard family came along, took them from the world, and made them disappear, the same way you kidnapped Sienna and her children. They were bartered for and used for what they knew the same exact way you and Sebastian and the rest of this sick family have used the people you're holding hostage."

She was shaking her head, filled with rage, a kind of rage she was having a hard time controlling. It was unlike her-she was cold, emotionless. Why should this make her so angry? she wondered. Of course he would lie. Of course he would try something to confuse her. But why, if he and his friends were all but a.s.sured of victory in their own minds, would he bother?

She felt an urge to charge him, to put her hands around his throat and choke the life out of him if she could. Even if he shot her in response, at least she wouldn't have to listen to any more of this.

She lunged for him. "You're a liar," she screamed.

She slammed one fist into his chest, where it uselessly struck the body armor, and reached for his face with her other hand, intent on clawing out his eyes. But he was too quick and too strong. He caught her arm and stopped it. He spun her around and folded her arms across her chest, holding her from behind.

"I'm not lying," he said. "I'm not trying to hurt you. But you should know the truth."

"I don't want to know!"

"Believe me, you do," he said. "Because these people are better than the Brevards. These people loved life, they didn't abuse and destroy it, and you're one of them."

She continued to thrash and tried to slam and elbow him, but it was no use.

"I know what kind of h.e.l.l it is to wonder what's real and what isn't," he said quietly. "I know what you're going through right now. I lived it for months, but you've had it worse, you've lived it all your life. I can only imagine what it's done to you."

"It's done nothing," she insisted, trying desperately to kick him and pull free.

He turned her around and looked into her eyes. "Your father was killed trying to escape his captors," he said. "He was gunned down in broad daylight by a man who was never found. He'd been gagged and beaten. He'd been tortured."

"Stop it!"

"Your mother and brothers fared worse. They'd found a lifeboat on a ship half buried in the sand, but they didn't have enough water. They died from dehydration, drifting on the ocean a hundred miles from here."

She froze. "What did you say?"

"They died at sea," he repeated, "on a lifeboat half gutted with rot. We're pretty certain they found it on an old ship that was buried in the river several miles from here."

An image flashed in her mind, it struck like a bolt of lightning. A brief glimpse of the rivets on the dark metal plating, the rushing river, the sediment being scoured away. "A ship," she whispered. "An old iron ship?"

A second bolt of lightning struck. It was night. There was only a sliver of moonlight to see with. A woman had her by the wrist, leading her toward the hill. Two boys were dragging a small wooden boat from a cave they'd excavated in the sand.

"It's a lie," she protested.

"It's the truth," he said. "Your truth."

She'd ceased struggling now, her mind adrift. He continued to hold her tight, perhaps because he couldn't trust her. But as her legs began to shake, she felt he was holding her up, keeping her from buckling right then and there.

The memories continued to come. Men chasing them. A gunshot ripped through one of the containers. The water was spilling out. Disaster.

"There's not enough water," Calista spoke aloud.

More gunshots. The woman fell.

"They shot her," Calista said to no one.

"She was wounded," Kurt replied softly. "But it was superficial."

"She fell down the hill."

In her mind, Calista heard the woman shout.

"Olivia!"

Calista felt only fear-terrible, swirling fear.

"Mum!" one of the boys had yelled.

"Olivia, hurry!"

More gunshots sounded and the woman turned and ran. Calista just stood there on the hill, while down below, her mother and brothers pushed the small boat out into the water. She saw them climb on board and paddle into the darkness, moving swiftly with the current. She felt the men rush by her, watched as they scrambled down the bank, and listened as they fired again and again into the dark.

But she never flinched. She just stood there and stared until eventually the shooting ceased and one of the men came up to her and took her hand.

"I let them go without me," she said to Kurt.

She was sobbing, dropping to the ground. Kurt eased her down gently.

"There wasn't enough water," he told her. "Not enough for three. Certainly not enough for four."

She was sobbing and shaking and then suddenly angry again. "You have no right! No right to . . ."

The insanity of what she was saying cut her off before she'd finished.

"The Brevard family stole your life," he said. "Maybe they realized how sharp you already were. Maybe they knew they could mold you into one of them. Maybe they planned to kill you and just never got around to it. But, whatever their reasons, they stole your life. They stole the lives of your family and we think many others. And if you let them, they'll steal the lives of Sienna and her children and everyone else they're holding in that oversize Quonset hut halfway down the hill."

She noticed he kept saying "Sebastian" or the "Brevard family," but she knew her part in it. For a second she wanted to scream out, to yell at him, "This is who I am," to claim it and own it and tell him to go to h.e.l.l, but the desire faded. And tears returned uncontrollably.

Why shouldn't her name and memories be false? Everything else around her was a lie.

As she cried, Kurt moved to a spot in front of her and gently wiped the tears from her face.

"Help me get to Sienna before the Marines arrive," he said. "Sebastian is going to lose tonight. But I don't want him using her as a shield or killing her in a fit of spite when he realizes it's over for him."

She looked up at him. There was kindness and determination in that face. The white knight, she thought. He really was.

"It's not over for him," she said.

"It will be soon."

"No, you don't understand," she replied. "You may be early, but he knew a response would be coming. He's got some nasty surprises waiting for your friends. And he's got a plan of escape locked and loaded."

"He couldn't know we would be coming."

"Not you, but he knew someone would be," she said. "He's waiting for it. While our men are fighting with your forces, he'll blow this place to kingdom come. The hacking you're seeing now will end and he'll disappear-we'll disappear-and the whole world will a.s.sume we're dead."

"So history does repeat itself," Kurt said. "We have to stop him. And we have to stop whatever he has planned. Will you help me or not?"

She looked at him through the tears.

"I'll trust you," he said.

"Why would you?"

"Call it instinct," he said, offering her a hand.