"Hall and Burrows en route, yes?" Nathan said. His suspicions were confirmed when instead of answering, Lara got him some more water. He clumsily turned his head away from the glass. "What's wrong?"

Lara explained about the explosive miscalculation and losing their own men.

"The news reports have the dead set at forty-nine," Lara said. "I'm afraid Miss Burrows was-" A tweedle from her cell phone stopped Lara in mid-sentence while she read a text message. For a moment, he thought she was going to pitch the device across the room.

"What is it?"

"Uh, nothing," she said, putting the phone away. "As I was saying, Miss Burrows wasn't acquired. She got away."

Nathan's chest heaved. At first he thought he was having a coughing fit, but then he realized he was laughing. Hard. A side effect of the disease. If he didn't get a neuro-blocker shot, he'd be laughing inappropriately all the time, now. Tears ran down his face. Lara knew about the condition, but even so she looked uncomfortable in the face of it. When he found it hard to breathe, the laughter finally subsided.

"Where's Thomas?" Nathan said between pants.

"He's still in New York awaiting further instructions."

"Tell him to get Burrows back here ASAP. At all costs. Do you understand? She's integral to this. Without her-"

"I understand, Father. Consider it done." He could tell by the look on her face that she didn't understand at all. She didn't need to.

He sent Lara away to convince Sophia to give him the neuro-blocker. A little later, while trying to get himself some water, Nathan caught his reflection in the cabinet of rare books against one wall. He watched himself shake and twitch.

If this didn't work, he'd take a final dose of the serum, light a final cigar, and hobble into the natural gas holding tanks beneath the complex. One throw of a switch and it would all be over.

Mercifully over.

32.

New York City 9:30 P.M. Local Time LEW DIDN'T KNOW if Emily could help him find Jonathan or not, but right now she was the only lead he had. At least she'd stopped looking like a scared rabbit that was going to bolt at the tiniest noise.

"You've hardly touched your food," Lew said, seeing her plate when he finally eased back from the pile of dirty dishes on his side of the table.

"I just don't have much appetite after today," Emily said, picking at her spaghetti.

"You need to eat," Lew said. "Especially after today. Nothing drains a body more than shock." He watched her poke at her food some more, but the fork never made it up to her mouth.

"You still haven't told me why we needed to get out of the hospital," Emily said. Lew had shined her on about the question earlier, more intent on getting food into his grumbling belly.

"Let's just say that whoever took Jonny might be interested in me."

"You were with him, then. How well do you know him? Why was he here in New York? And how does he know me?" Emily said in rapid-fire succession.

"Easy, Geraldo. I'm going to be honest with you. I'm still not sure I can trust you."

"Trust me?"

"Jonny said to protect you when he saw the shit going down. I don't know why, but he usually has pretty good reasons for doing the things he does. So I figure maybe we can help each other."

"Oh," she said sounding disappointed.

"Who's Nathan?" Lew asked abruptly, hoping to catch her off guard.

"How do you know that name?"

"Back in the hospital room you said if it was the last thing you did you'd find Nathan. And make him pay. Pay for what?"

Emily sighed, drained her wineglass, and then told Lew everything about Nathan's bribe, his request, and even the abduction and her meeting on the beach. Lew listened quietly, letting her finish, each stage of the story fascinating him more than the last. When she was done, he refilled both their wineglasses.

"You think it was Nathan that grabbed Jonny?" Lew asked.

"It would seem likely. More than likely, actually. But you have to believe me that I had no idea what his endgame was."

"From what you've told me, I don't think we've even glimpsed his endgame yet. Can you contact him? Do you know where he is?"

"No. . . . wait. Yes, I do know where he is," Emily said. She explained about the book and the cell phone she'd given to the FBI. "They still have the phone, but if we could get it, we could locate Nathan. I'm sure of it."

"They have it? The FBI? In the building that was just blown apart? Yeah, we're not getting in there anytime soon."

"We may not have to," Emily said, a faraway look in her eye.

RAIDEN PIONEER PEEKED through the glass a few minutes after Emily knocked. She was relieved he was there so late. At first he smiled, before he noticed the big man standing behind her. Emily nodded. Raiden eyed Lew again, but unlocked the door.

Emily sat with Raiden at the counter by the old-fashioned cash register while Lew wandered around the small shop, poking at the computer guts hanging everywhere. As Emily spoke to him, Raiden never took his eyes off Lew.

"A new phone's not going to help you," Raiden said.

"It can't pick up the signal?" Emily asked.

"It'll pick it up, but what you want is the log of the previously texted locations. That's on that particular phone's SIM card. A new phone won't have that."

"Bollocks, you're right," Emily said. "Wait, what about Bluetooth?"

"Hmm, yes. That might work. You'd have to get within about twenty feet of the original phone, but if you could get a connection, it would only take a few seconds to grab the data."

Emily wasn't sure how she could get that close to the original phone, but at least it was possible. When Raiden told them the price, Emily looked at Lew, who was trying to push some wires back into an old motherboard he'd apparently unplugged.

"What? It was like this," Lew said.

"No, money. The FBI took all the cash Nathan gave me. Can you pay Raiden?"

"Oh. Yeah, sure."

"So that's all you need?" Raiden asked.

"Guns," Lew said, approaching the counter.

"Excuse me?" Raiden said.

"He just does electronics, Lew," Emily said.

"Look, this is a nice shop and all, but this computer crap is all show. It's staged. Most of it has a couple months' worth of dust on it. Meaning it's garbage. Your pal here is a businessman. And I'm willing to pay a fair price. But without an automatic and a box of shells, no deal. Bank's closed."

"Lew, please," Emily said emphatically, embarrassed by her new partner's behavior. "Raiden is a friend, and he's willing to help us. But-"

"Glock okay?" Raiden said to Lew.

"I guess," Lew said, not seeming surprised that he'd been right. "I'd prefer a SIG P226 with a .357 clip, if you've got one.

"Nice weapon, but lower capacity than the 9mm," Raiden said. Emily felt as if she weren't even in the room anymore.

"You give me .357 slugs and I won't need as many shots," Lew said.

"True. Let me see what I've got," Raiden said, going into the back of the store.

"You'll catch flies," Lew said as he pulled a wad of cash out of one of his coat's pockets.

Emily realized her mouth was hanging open and closed it. It had never occurred to her that Raiden did more than electronics. But the really shocking thing was after only a few minutes of wandering around the shop, Lew had known more about Raiden than she did.

"What exactly did you do for Jonathan?" Emily asked. She was starting to get used to the idea that The Monarch had a name, but she just couldn't bring herself to call him Jonny. In fact, she wished Lew wouldn't either.

"For him? Well, if you listen to him, most days I just messed with his blood pressure," Lew said with a smile and a wink. Emily didn't know how he could be so . . . so amiable after what had happened this morning. She was having trouble not hyperventilating whenever she thought about it.

Raiden brought out a selection of guns, and Lew examined each, selecting two of them. He also purchased a couple of boxes of ammunition, extra clips, and a couple of underarm holsters. He offered to buy Emily a gun, but just the idea of having a weapon made her light-headed. After the arms deal, they waited another half hour for Raiden to prepare their Bluetooth-hacked phone.

They left Raiden's shop and Lew tried to flag down a cab. Under his coat, she couldn't even see the new weapons. It made her wonder how many unseen things she passed every day without realizing it.

"Where are we going, now?" Emily asked as a cab slowed and pulled to the curb. Lew opened the door and stepped back.

"You're going home. I'm going to try and get close to that phone of yours," Lew said.

"What? But I thought we were-"

"A team? Sister, let's just say I don't play well with others. You've done enough. No offense, but aside from that phone of yours, you'll just get in the way. And I think it's pretty obvious things are far from safe. Just go home. Work on a new book or something. Have a nice life," Lew said. He turned around, his coat flapping dramatically in the morning breeze, and headed up the street.

Emily was furious. She felt like a tag-along little sister being sent home. But worse, whatever fate had befallen Jonathan was her fault. There was no way she could just go home and let that lie. Not after the promise she'd made to Wagner. And she knew there was only one thing Lew would understand. She marched after him, spun him around, and slapped his face even harder than she'd meant to, the frustration of the past few days all summing up in her swing. She saw red images of her fingers appear on Lew's cheek.

"Jesus, lady! I knew you were trouble," Lew said rubbing his cheek.

"Look! You wouldn't have an inkling of where to go if it wasn't for me. I'm as deep in this as anyone, if not deeper, so don't you dare try to dismiss me. What if by some bloody miracle you do get the location? Do you have any idea what Nathan looks like? You stick your head up down there asking stupid questions, and if you're right about them wanting you as much as Jonathan, you'll get it shot off. Nathan will talk to me. Hell, he's practically in love with me! So you just get your arse in that cab and stop this cowboy bollocks!" She yelled so loud and with such vitriol she almost lost her balance. Lew reached out and caught her by the arms.

"Okay, okay. Relax," Lew said. He walked back to the cab with a slight hunch to his shoulders, like a scolded schoolboy. They got in and Emily slammed the door behind her before she crossed her arms, still fuming.

"Where to?" The driver asked. Silence drew out in the cab. Emily realized she had no idea what they were supposed to do next.

"If I give him directions are you going to hit me again?" Lew asked. Why is he so damn likable? Emily did her best to stifle a smile. Apparently Lew took that as a no. "Hemingway Hotel."

"Why there?" Emily asked as the cab pulled away from the curb.

"Clean up," Lew said, rubbing his cheek.

PART FIVE.

Tuesday.

33.

Unknown.

JONATHAN SNAPPED HIS head up and fought the inky tendrils trying to drag him back down into the darkness. His cheek ached where the Australian had pistol-whipped him. He tried to reach up to feel his wound but handcuffs running through the metal arms of his chair prevented him from moving his hands more than a few inches. He gripped the arms and pulled as hard as he could, but they wouldn't budge. The chair didn't rock either, apparently bolted to the concrete floor under his feet.

He bent his head down so he could touch his wound. It had crusted over and was already healing. He'd been out for at least a day, something that no pistol-whipping could accomplish. He'd been drugged.

The fuzz rapidly lifting from his senses, he looked around the dimly lighted cavern he was in. It was huge, empty and lit only by emergency lighting. The air was hot and smelled moist and salty.

Streamers of wiring hung from the ceiling, both power lines and blue CAT5 computer network cabling. Whatever had been here had sucked a lot of power and had been computerized.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Hall," a man's voice boomed out above him from speakers. He involuntarily looked up, but the ceiling was so high and it was so dim he couldn't see anything. "May I call you Jonathan?"

"No, you may not," Jonathan said. He winced as the act of speaking made his head pound even more. "What you may do is get me out of this fucking chair."

"John, John the leprechaun. One shoe off and one shoe on," the voice said. Jonathan frowned at the nonsense.

"Was that supposed to be a joke?"

Muffled voices argued over the loudspeaker. A man and a woman. A disconcerting giggle. More muffled voices, then the female voice said: "Just give him the shot!"

After that, minutes passed with no sound at all except Jonathan's own heartbeat, which felt like it was in his eye sockets.

"Apologies, Mr. Hall," the male voice said a few minutes later. "I'm sure you have a lot of questions."

Jonathan remained silent and still. He'd tried bending this way and that, leveraging here and pulling there, but he was too well secured. Physically, he was at their mercy. Mentally, he might have the edge.

"First, allow me to introduce myself," the voice said. A light snapped on in a large window high overhead. The light streamed down, spotlighting Jonathan. He squinted and turned his head away slightly. "My name is Nathan Kring, this is my island, and I'm the one responsible for finding you-for finding The Monarch."

As Jonathan's eyes adjusted to the brightness, figures took shape in the window. A seated man dressed in black looked down at him. Behind the seated man was a tall, slender woman with striking bone-white hair.