Back in her lab, she'd led Jonathan to a vent that had looked welded shut, but had opened easily. Sophia said she and Lara used to play in the tunnels when they would visit the island as kids. But then her father had discovered the natural gas pocket under the island and dug out a newer, deeper level to manage the gas and house several giant generators. After that, her father had welded most of the vents shut except for a few larger access panels in the corridors. Sophia didn't explain why, but a few years ago she'd used some of her chemicals to break the weld around the vent in her lab. If they found Natalie he wasn't going to be able to hold her, but he could see her and talk to her. That would be enough until he could figure a way out of this mess.

He really wished Lew was here.

"This corridor runs along the guest rooms. If she's here she'll be in one of these," Sophia said.

Jonathan crouched and trotted over to the first one, but saw no one inside. The next three were the same. Then, in the second to last room, he found her, his breath catching in his throat when he saw her.

The room was bright, fake sunshine coming from phony windows on one wall, an impossibility this far underground. The color scheme was bright as well. All golds and yellows. It resembled a hotel room, with a dresser and writing table against the wall. In the middle of the room was a large bed and on it sat Natalie. She was busy drawing.

He opened his mouth to call to her, but stopped himself at the last second.

"What is it?" Sophia asked. Jonathan gently led her away from the vent so they could talk without Natalie hearing them.

"I can't say anything to her," Jonathan said, standing close to Sophia so he could keep his voice down. She smelled of chemicals and animals. He thought it odd that it was about the best thing he'd ever smelled.

"Why not?"

"What would I say? 'Daddy's been kidnapped and has to go be a thief. Remember to brush your teeth.' It's ridiculous," Jonathan said. He'd explained about The Monarch when they first entered the tunnels. His honesty was Sophia's price for helping him, though he felt she would have helped him regardless.

"She'll understand," Sophia said.

"No. She won't. Besides, even if she did, as hard as it is for her right now, how much harder would it be knowing I was out here somewhere? How could I explain why she has to stay there? No, it has to be this way."

Sophia looked at him, her head slightly tilted. She looked almost . . . awed.

"All right. If you say so. Whatever we're going to do, we have to do it now."

"Just let me look at her again," Jonathan said, turning and easing back to the vent.

Jonathan smiled as he watched her. Then, out of nowhere, Natalie started singing. Just a silly, repetitive children's song, but it was more than Jonathan could take. He backed away from the vent, blinking tears from his eyes.

"Okay. Let's go-" Sophia put her arms around him and hugged him. Part of him wanted to let go and sob, another part of him wanted to do something very different. He took the middle ground and just accepted the human contact. When she let him go, he saw she was crying and knew it wasn't just for him.

"Come on," she said.

11:00 A.M.

SOPHIA AND JONATHAN got back to the lab ten minutes before Nathan and Lara returned. An hour later, Nathan dismissed the guards. Alone, he took Jonathan on what he thought would be another tour. Jonathan expected Lara to complain again, but she remained silent. Even her stance was different on her return than before they'd left the lab.

Level five, accessible by a separate, private elevator at the far end of level four, held something Jonathan had never expected to see in such a place. But he was starting to realize that this island and Nathan's life were filled with the unexpected.

"My father started this collection before I was born," Nathan said as he rolled over to where Jonathan stood. "He never divulged its existence to anyone, including me. I stumbled upon it years ago when I was expanding the complex. On the first day of excavation, we found this chamber. It was a very special day."

Jonathan had no doubt. And if he knew this man at all, he also had no doubt that the workers who had been present that day no longer drew breath.

The room was a treasure vault.

"I don't suppose it ever occurred to you to return these items to their rightful owners," Jonathan said.

"And who would that be? The country that pillaged their neighbor hundreds of years ago? The men these articles were taken from before they wound up here? In the case of the religious icons, the Catholic Church? We all know what pillars of honor they've been through the centuries."

"Those are weak justifications, and you know it. These treasures don't belong to you, no matter how much you paid for them. Even if you didn't pull the job yourself, you're a thief. And so's your father."

"And you're a Supreme Court justice? Please, you've made your living and your fame as a thief."

"That's different. I've never kept any of it. It's all where it rightfully should be," Jonathan said, examining a van Gogh he'd never even heard of.

"And you've never taken a finder's fee?"

Jonathan didn't say anything.

"My point exactly," Nathan said. "I'm sorry you can't appreciate this for what it is. I think it was a mistake showing it to you. Let's go. Dinner will be ready shortly. And you have a job to do." It was hard to tell through the electronic device he used to communicate, but he thought Nathan was insulted.

"Hang on," Jonathan said, coming around a large display case of royal jewels. He was only halfway into the room, but the treasure seemed to stop there. The display cases and pedestals continued on to the far wall in the distance, but they stood empty. "Where's the rest of it?"

"What do you mean? That's all of it. Isn't it enough? You seem to think there shouldn't be anything here and yet you're complaining about the depth of my collection?"

Jonathan walked up to an empty display case and saw a plaque describing what wasn't there and a clean area within the dust on the pedestal.

"The items have been taken out. Wait. You've been selling them," Jonathan said, realizing what was happening. Nathan's endeavor to find him had been so costly he'd had to start selling his prized collection, piece by piece.

"That's enough of your impudence, Mr. Hall. Leave. Now. Or I won't be responsible for what happens to your treasure."

Jonathan felt the blood boil up into his face. He fought the urge to strike out and forced himself to walk silently to the door. He'd found Nathan's Achilles' heel and he'd foolishly poked at it.

As they headed to the private elevator, Jonathan couldn't help but wonder how whatever Nathan wanted him to steal could possibly be worth half a roomful of treasure. Canton George had something Nathan was willing to financially ruin himself to get. Anytime someone wanted something that bad it made him dangerous and unpredictable.

But nowhere near as dangerous as the man who already had it.

36.

Federal Plaza New York City 7:00 A.M. Local Time "IS THAT HIM?" Lew asked from behind the wheel of the liberated car. Emily had been less than thrilled with the idea of stealing a car. Probably about as thrilled as Jonathan would have been to find out that the woman he'd asked Lew to protect-the final thing he'd ever said to Lew-was sitting in that stolen car staking out a police cordoned-off federal building waiting to follow an FBI agent.

Lew knew what he should have done was dump Emily off with the cops where she'd be safe, but when he thought about it, she hadn't done so well under their care the last time. They had managed to get a few hours' sleep in the car-Emily more than Lew-but as it got close to the time when the junior agent was supposed to show up, Lew would wake Emily up and ask if anything that moved was the guy they were waiting for.

"For the fifth time, no," Emily said. Lew was not a watcher. He was a doer. This recon stuff was Jonathan's thing.

"Hey, I'm just asking," Lew said.

"That's not even a man," Emily said, sounding like her frustration level was reaching its breaking point.

"It is so." Lew leaned forward and looked closer. "Son of a bitch. I guess if you can make it here you can make it anywhere." She'd stopped laughing at his bad jokes about an hour ago.

Lew was actually glad their frustration levels were so high. The first few hours of sitting in the car had been uncomfortable in a different way. The space in the front seat seemed interminably cramped and when their hands accidentally brushed each other it was as if a spark lit up the car's interior. Ever since that moment in the elevator, all he could think about was what it would be like to hold Emily. Lew was sure his time in Yazoo was to blame, but that fact didn't help. At least now, as he deliberately annoyed her and made her snap at him, he was starting to lean back toward wanting to push her out the door and go on alone. At least, a little.

"There he is!" Emily said, grabbing Lew's arm in her excitement. Her hands felt hot all the way through his duster's sleeve.

"Okay, okay," Lew said after swallowing. "He still has to go up and get the stuff. Let's hope he's not being paid by the hour."

They watched Hinton flash his ID to the cops at the blockade before they moved the yellow sawhorse out of the way. He pulled his green Ford up in front and got out, slipping on a construction hardhat before entering the building.

"Make sure that thing is ready," Lew said.

Twenty minutes later he came out of the building carrying two office file boxes. He put them in the back of the Ford, got in, and headed back for the barricade.

"Here we go," Lew said as he pulled out and drove in the opposite direction.

"What are you doing?! He's back there," Emily said.

"Relax. I've done this before," Lew said. As he drove he kept an eye on his rearview mirror and slowed down gradually. Pretty soon the green Ford was right behind them. If he'd pulled out after the agent had left, the cops would have noticed him. This way he was just part of New York's morning traffic.

"Use the mirrors. Don't look back," Lew said. "Do we have a signal yet?" If the phone was off or out of battery power, this was all for naught.

"I don't see . . . wait! Yes, I've got a signal," Emily said. "Signals."

"Signals?" Then Lew realized they were in New York and there had to be hundreds of Bluetooth devices around them-phones, headsets, Walkmans, you name it. "Can you identify the phone?"

"No," Emily said. "I have no idea . . . wait, something's happening." Lew tried to look at the device but he had his hands full with the traffic and keeping an eye on the green Ford, making sure he didn't get more than twenty or so feet away from it.

"Yes! I love you!"

"Uh, what?" Lew suddenly felt his cheeks flush.

"Oh, not you. Raiden. He coded the device to the phone. It's eliminating erroneous signals. And . . . there. Got it. It's locking on now and . . . no! The signal's gone."

"Gone? But he's-" Lew looked up and saw that the green Ford was gone. He'd taken his eye off it for just a second. Lew slowed and spun his head around. "There he is. Four cars back. On your side."

Emily looked in the mirror and nodded that she saw him. Lew slowed to the point where the cars behind him started honking, but he didn't care. They were getting closer. Then the green Ford pulled out and started to pass on the outside. Lew would actually prefer if he got ahead of them. At least then he could . . . oh shit.

"Get down!" Lew shouted.

"What?" Emily said without taking her eyes off Raiden's device.

"He's passing us. If he sees you he'll recognize you for sure."

"I've got the signal back," Emily said, seeming to ignore him. She was too focused. As the front bumper of the green Ford started to pass them, Lew reached out and grabbed Emily, pulling her down so she was out of sight, more than a little aware that her head was now in his lap. Once the agent had passed them, he pulled in behind the Ford and let her up.

"Sorry," Lew said with a grin.

"I . . . That was . . . um . . ." Emily looked back at the device. "Signal lock!"

"Do we have the data yet? This traffic is getting hairy." Lew pulled up tight to the green Ford's bumper to keep another car from cutting in between them. He ignored the flurry of honks and birds flipped at him. Then the pair of cars came up on a traffic light that had turned yellow. "Finally," Lew said. He pressed the brake but saw the green Ford accelerate.

"He's running it!" Emily said.

"Hang on," Lew said, punching the accelerator. He stayed within thirty feet of their target, but there was enough space that the light had turned red and cross traffic had already entered the intersection. Horns blared as he spun the wheel, fishtailing out of the way of an approaching taxi. Then he spun the wheel back the other way and nudged an SUV with his side of the car, but he kept going. Incredibly they made it through the intersection.

"Man, that was-"

"Stop!" Emily yelled over him.

Lew didn't realize she wasn't shouting at him until the truck hit them broadside. His head smacked against the window and he felt the side of the car buckling in around him. Then everything went white.

Lew opened his eyes what he thought was a few seconds later, a high-pitched whine in his ears.

"Emily," he managed, shaking the fuzz out of his brain. But when he looked beside him he saw he was alone in the car. Emily and the tracking device were gone, the passenger door still open. The view of approaching pedestrians was hard to see through, but he could tell the green Ford was long gone too.

His door wouldn't be opening without the Jaws of Life. He tried to climb out the other way, but his leg was wedged against the steering column. He could taste blood in his mouth. He'd bit the inside of his cheek in the crash. As his head cleared, he realized the wailing wasn't in his head at all, but was the sound of the approaching ambulance. Exhausted, Lew just wanted to sleep. Maybe a ride in an ambulance wasn't such a bad idea?

"Lew! Help!"

The sound of Emily's voice snapped him out of his funk. He squinted through the windshield and saw someone dragging her toward a pickup truck parked across the street. A pickup truck with a bashed-in bumper.

Adrenaline shot through Lew's nerves. He pulled harder but his leg was stuck fast. He grunted and smashed the steering wheel. It moved but just a bit. Realizing he couldn't pull his leg out, he instead pushed sideways on the steering column, pulling it aside at the same time. When it started to move he got his other foot up against the wrecked door for leverage and shoved. He'd free himself or break his leg. Either way, he wasn't going to just sit here and watch that bastard take Emily.

After what seemed like forever, something snapped. It was the steering column. Lew pulled and wrenched himself free, scrambling out of the open passenger door. He fell on the pavement, but got back up, and ran with only a slight limp toward the pickup truck, pushing onlookers' hands off him. He'd almost made it when the pickup truck's brake lights flickered. Wheels spun as it fishtailed away, knocking several pedestrians down as it went.

And then she was gone. He'd failed her. And he'd failed Jonathan.

Lew ran, knowing the only thing he could save now was his freedom.

37.

Tartaruga Island 3:00 P.M. Local Time EVERY INSTINCT HE had told him not to eat or drink. The plateware or silverware could be compromised. Jonathan didn't listen to any of it, or rather, Jonathan's stomach didn't. He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten and if he was about to pull a job-alone, at that-he was going to need all the sustenance he could get his hands on. And what sustenance.

Green asparagus and purple artichokes surrounded presentations of roasted blue lobster, chicken fricassee, and sea spider crab. Several bottles of Penfolds Grange, 1951, dotted the table.

The dining room was just as impressive. A vaulted ceiling surrounded an ornately complex crystal chandelier hanging over the dark wood of the dining table. Matching teak sideboards lined both sides of the room, each covered with silver platters, those in turn covered with detailed engraved silver lids. Paintings from the Baroque period hung on the walls, and light chamber music emanated from recessed speakers in the ceiling. There were ten chairs placed around the table, but only three place settings. One of them was vacant.

The dining room was nestled on the third level of the complex. Hunger aside, it was difficult for Jonathan to concentrate knowing Natalie was just a few rooms away, but he wasn't supposed to know that. Lara, at the opposite end of the table, hadn't said more than a few words to him beyond that something was delaying Nathan and he would join them when he could. Jonathan wanted to ask where Sophia was and if Natalie was being fed as luxuriously, but doubted he would get a useful answer.

If he could get some more time with Sophia, he was pretty sure he could turn the tables on this whole situation.

Jonathan cleaned off his second plateful, drank a third glass of wine, and then leaned back with a satisfied sigh. What he saw next almost sent him toppling back in his chair onto the ornate carpeting on the floor.

"Good evening, Mr. Hall. I hope my absence . . . ah, I see you went ahead without me. Good. You're going to need your strength," Nathan said. And not out of an electronic box. In fact, his wheelchair was nowhere to be seen. He stood in the doorway in a tuxedo, the jacket unbuttoned and open. He had one hand in his pocket, while he held a cigar in the other. "I trust the smoke won't bother you. I ate earlier and I just couldn't resist my Cubans. Old habits and all."