Jonathan realized his mouth was open. He closed it as his host, obviously jacked up on Sophia's serum, entered and sat next to him.

"Uh, yes. I mean, it was very good. Top notch," Jonathan said, unable to take his eyes off Nathan. It was like he was meeting him for the first time. "But I was wondering where-"

"Sophia and your daughter are having an equally satisfying supper. Trust me. I just thought it might be better if we discussed business without having to make a lot of explanations. I believe your daughter is unaware of your . . . past. Is this not so?"

Jonathan nodded, wondering how he'd come by that little tidbit of information.

"Yet something else we have in common," Nathan said as Lara dropped her silverware on her mostly empty plate and got up from the table.

"If you'll excuse me," Lara said, practically gritting her teeth.

"I was hoping you'd stay for the briefing, Lara. You could help-"

"I have things to attend to, Father," Lara said. She tossed her napkin down and marched out of the dining room. Jonathan wondered if that woman was ever happy, though he had to admit he was glad she was gone.

"Children," Nathan said, though Jonathan could see by Nathan's face-now that it was animated and not lolling to the side-that he was not pleased with his daughter's behavior. "Enjoy young Miss Hall's preteen years while you can. They go so quickly. But on to business."

Nathan got up and poured himself a snifter of brandy from a collection of bottles on one of the sideboards. He held the bottle up, offering Jonathan a drink. Jonathan shook his head and declined.

"Probably best," Nathan said. He took a long sniff of the liquid, swirling it in the glass as he held it in his palm. "As you know, Canton George is a collector."

Jonathan nodded, nervous. How much information does he have?

"What you probably don't know is that Canton and I used to be business partners. In fact, there was a time when we were the best of friends. I won't bore you with the drama, but that time has passed. We've spent the last twenty years trying to put each other out of business. And I'm not too humble to tell you that I was achieving that goal before my condition flared up." He tilted the snifter back and sipped his drink. Afterward he closed his eyes and almost groaned in ecstasy. This was a man who enjoyed all the experiences life had to offer. Jonathan thought the wheelchair was probably an experience he could have done without.

"What's the target?" Jonathan asked. He was worried, but not just about Natalie's safety. If Nathan came after The Monarch because of his history with Canton George, Nathan was going to expect him to know things that he didn't. Lew hadn't shared much of anything about the job, except that it had not gone well. Jonathan had always assumed that meant nothing had been stolen.

"Part of his collection. I'm afraid I can't tell you what it is, yet, for reasons that will become obvious in time, but rest assured Canton has something that belongs to me. And I want it back." That didn't make sense to Jonathan. If Nathan and George were rivals-enemies, even-how did Nathan even know about a theft George would have certainly wanted to keep quiet? With so many unanswered questions, Jonathan was starting to blame himself for not probing Lew harder about the botched job.

"How am I supposed to steal something when I don't know what it is?"

"His items are catalogued and labeled. Have you forgotten? Item CS231 is what you'll be stealing."

Damn it! Have to be more careful.

"How big is it?" Jonathan asked.

"About the size of a hatbox. Like so," Nathan said, showing Jonathan the general dimensions with his hands.

"Okay, what's his security like?" Jonathan caught his mistake a second too late. "It's been a while and people tend to beef up security after a robbery," he said, trying to cover his slipup. It seemed to work.

"Minimal, same as before. Living in the middle of nowhere like he does, he doesn't think he needs much in the way of security. Maybe four or five guards on the grounds and a mediocre security system."

"When do we go?" Jonathan asked wanting to end this little exchange before he made a mistake he couldn't cover.

"Tonight. I know that doesn't give you much time to prepare, but the timing is unavoidable and I'm hoping your previous venture there will make up for it."

"I'm going to need some equipment."

"I'll have Lara get you whatever you need. We anticipated your requests and should have everything on hand," Nathan said.

"What about transportation? Not just to Australia, but in and out of the area?" Jonathan asked. It was his first blatant attempt to find out where exactly he was. Or, at least, to find out where he wasn't.

"We've got that covered, as well. And let me save you some time, we're in the Indian Ocean, a few hundred kilometers east of Africa," Nathan said, apparently seeing right through Jonathan's ruse. Jonathan nodded.

Why's he being so forthcoming? Jonathan wasn't sure he wanted the answer to that question, but he figured he'd better strike again while the gate was open.

"All right," Jonathan said, rising and pouring himself a coffee from the sideboard behind him. "Cards on the table. What's with all the fake cordiality?" He sipped the coffee. It was about the best cup of coffee to ever touch his lips-dark, rich, and not too bitter.

"I'm sorry? What makes you think-"

"Let's not fuck around, Kring. You killed people in New York to find me. A lot of people. Near as I can figure, it cost you millions. You kidnapped my daughter to force me to help you. And to top it all off, you decide to give me a tour and have dinner with me? What the fuck are we waiting for?" Jonathan was trying to shock Nathan into dropping his facade, but he was also letting out some of his pent-up anxiety.

Nathan pursed his lips and stared. Jonathan felt like a bug under a microscope, Nathan's cold stare pulling him apart, layer by layer. He stood his ground and stared back, fighting the chill that wanted to race up his spine.

"Fine," Nathan finally said. "Let's clear the air. First off, I had no intention of killing anyone with that explosion. It was supposed to be a simple diversion. People I trusted let me down."

"What about the others? The ones that put The Monarch into the spotlight to draw me out? Those were no accidents."

"No, they weren't. Sacrifices had to be made. For the greater good."

"The greater good being your revenge on Canton George," Jonathan said.

"No. The item you're stealing is not just part of Canton's collection. It's the only thing that can save my life."

"That's the greater good? You justify killing those people to save yourself? Because you're worth more than them?"

Nathan's solemn facade slipped away and he was suddenly laughing a deep, hearty laugh. But it was a laugh relegated to just his mouth and chest. His eyes didn't crinkle up with joy. Instead, they looked panicked and helpless.

"Again, my apologies," Nathan said when his laughter subsided. "My disease has a disconcerting symptom of inappropriate laughter. It would appear my mobile and lucid state is about to leave me." Nathan made his way to the far end of the room, seeming to have trouble making his legs obey him, and pressed a call button on the wall.

"How can item CS231 save your life? What is it?" Jonathan asked quickly since Nathan looked like he was going to collapse.

"My plans need to change," Nathan said, slumping into a chair. "You'll be leaving shortly. Good luck to you, Mr. Hall. Remember what's at stake. Both for me and for you."

The door to the dining room opened and Lara and several security guards flowed in, two of them grabbing Jonathan by the arms and holding him while the others ran to Nathan's side.

"Now just wait a-" Jonathan didn't get to finish. Lara stormed in and roughly pulled a black cloth bag over his head.

Then she put her lips to his ear.

"Fail him and I'll personally cut her heart out."

38.

Pioneer Electronics New York City 9:00 A.M. Local Time LEW DIDN'T HAVE many options. In fact, near as he could figure, all he had was option. And even that was a long shot. Jonathan was gone. Lew's only link to him was Emily. Emily was gone. Both of them had been taken right from under his nose. But if Emily could track someone with her phone, then maybe-just maybe-she could be tracked too.

Everything had been going well. Raiden Pioneer's shop was open and no one else was around. Lew thought he was finally catching a break, as he explained the situation to Raiden in his shop bathed in the early morning sun streaming through the dirty windows. But when Raiden came out from behind the cash register he didn't have a phone in his hand. He had a gun.

And it was pointed at Lew's heart.

"Put the gun away," Lew said, raising his hands. Raiden Pioneer's glare and unshaking gun hand told Lew this wasn't the first time the unassuming man had held a weapon. He was also pretty sure Raiden wouldn't have a problem pulling the trigger if Lew cornered him.

"In the back," Raiden said, wiggling the gun toward the curtain that separated the front of the store from his workshop. Raiden circled around behind him, staying at least six feet away, and locked the store's front door and turning over the "Open" sign.

This guy's no amateur. Generally people who were new to holding guns on other people used their television-acquired training and always stood close enough to press the weapon into their target's back. That invariably made it easy to overpower them, especially if you had close combat skills.

"Look, Hopalong, all I want to do is help Emily. She's in trouble and I need your help to-"

A colon-twisting snick echoed in the little store as Raiden cocked the gun's hammer.

"I don't know what you've done with Emily or why you're here, but I'm turning you in," Raiden said.

"Turning me in? For what?"

"For mass murder." Lew's eyes narrowed.

"What are you talking about?" Lew asked, afraid of the answer.

"It's been on the news for the past hour. A tourist came forward and turned a video of the Federal Plaza disaster in to the police when he couldn't sell it to the news stations. He didn't film the explosion, but he got a great shot of someone jumping onto a limousine and smashing the window as he ran from the scene. Someone wearing a duster. It wasn't hard for me to guess who it was after meeting you earlier. Your description is on every channel now. And I'll bet there's a nice reward involved."

My duster? They didn't have my face or name. That's something.

Lew was doubly glad he hadn't waited around at the accident for the cops to show up. But time was ticking and Emily's kidnapper could be anywhere by now, never mind where the hell Jonathan was. This suspicious little opportunist was his only hope. Though he wasn't going to get anywhere as long as Raiden had that gun.

"Things aren't always how they look," Lew said, taking a tentative step forward.

"That's far enough," Raiden said, seeing his idea plainly. "In the back!" Raiden waved his gun toward the curtain that led to the back of his shop.

Lew hesitated, but knew he had little choice. He turned around and stepped toward the curtain, his hands in the air.

"You're making a mistake," Lew said.

"Let me worry about-"

As Lew parted the curtain with one of his raised hands, he abruptly dove through the material out of Raiden's sight. The workshop was small and cluttered, a workbench against the wall beside the curtain, a few tables covered with electronic guts along the other walls and a door opposite the curtain. Lew saw through the door's window that a dark alley lay beyond. An easy escape that his flight muscle was begging him to take. But getting away was the last thing on Lew's mind.

Still, he opened the door, then doubled back and hopped up on the bench. Raiden had taken too long following him. Lew figured he was either just calling the cops from the store or he wasn't as steady with that gun as he'd appeared. Lew remained where he was, silent, hoping whatever was going to happen would hurry up because his accident-bashed knee was killing him from crouching on the bench.

After what seemed like minutes, the tip of the gun finally appeared through the curtain. Lew forced himself to keep waiting. When the entire gun hand was through the curtain, Lew slammed his good hand down on the gun so the webbing between his thumb and index finger jammed between the hammer and the gun. Raiden reflexively pulled the trigger. The hammer slammed down and tore into Lew's flesh. He howled in pain and wrenched the gun away from Raiden, rolling off the workbench onto the floor.

"Son of a bitch! Fuck! Shit!" Lew, who had been shot more than once, had never felt pain so excruciating. He cocked the trigger and released his hand.

Raiden had backed against the wall, fear and the gun in Lew's hand keeping him from making a run for it. Lew continued to rage, the pain pushing buttons in him he tried to keep buried. He kicked a stool across the room and cleared everything off the workbench and the tables. Raiden remained where he was, his eyes growing wider and wider as he watched. Suddenly, Lew vaulted across the room and press the gun's barrel into Raiden's forehead, panting hot, rapid breaths through clenched teeth.

This was as close as he'd been in years. Close to losing himself. The aggression and mindless, numbing violence had been a necessity on the battlefield, but it had followed him out of the army too.

All he wanted to do was pull the trigger. Over and over. Just keep shooting until his frustration-and Raiden's head-were history. But then he'd be a self-fulfilling prophecy, condemning Emily and Jonathan to their fates because of his ineptitude. No! I'm not that man anymore.

"All I want. Is to find. Emily," Lew managed with stilting, deep breaths. He forced himself to stop clenching his teeth, his head pounding from the effort. He stumbled back a few steps and then did what Jonathan would do. He took a risk and trusted someone else. He flipped the gun around so he was holding the barrel and held the butt out to Raiden. "Can you help me or not?"

A LITTLE WHILE later, Lew sucked wind through his teeth, clenched for a different reason now. Raiden had sewn up his hand and was taping the final bandage into place. It still hurt like hell, but now it was more of a throb than a stabbing that made his toes curl. Raiden had offered Lew whiskey to drink during the procedure, but he'd refused, which had made his thirsty liver kick him a few times. He had to stay clear. When this was over, no matter what the outcome, he was going to go on the mother of all binges, but for now, he took the pain.

"Where'd you learn to do that?" Lew asked, examining Raiden's handiwork while the electronics expert put his portable ER away.

"North Korea," Raiden said, the tone of his voice saying he didn't want to share the details. Lew understood and let it go.

Lew got up and put his duster back on, easing his broken and damaged hands through his sleeves. Raiden handed him the tracking device he'd whipped together in less than five minutes. Watching him work had been awe-inspiring. His hands had flown from tool to part to tool as if he wasn't even looking. The closest approximation Lew had ever seen was when he'd been in his prime, stripping and reassembling an M16 in record time, over and over.

"This will find her?" Lew asked.

"Its range and signal attenuation is limited. If she's been taken out of the tri-state area, I'm afraid she's gone." Lew flipped it on, a blip showing up three-quarters of the way down the screen. Raiden looked on and said, "She's headed for New Jersey."

"Do you know what's in that area?"

"Uh, let's see. Industrial mostly. And a private airport."

Crap.

Airport meant ID check. If Warden Quinn wasn't dead by now, Lew's deal with him certainly was.

"We may have a problem," Lew said. He explained he couldn't travel under his own ID without going into details as to why. He knew Raiden didn't need to hear them and would understand.

"Do you know anyone who can do papers in-"

"Stand against the wall," Raiden said. Lew backed up and watched Raiden take out a Polaroid camera, Is there anything this guy doesn't do?

A few minutes later, Lew had a driver's license and a passport in the name of Sven Longren. He turned the documents over and whistled, impressed by their quality.

"Sven?" Lew said.

"You're big and blond . . . Hopalong," Raiden said with a smile.

"Gotcha," Lew said, smiling back.

"Do you have a car?" Lew asked. He needed new transportation, especially if he was going out of state.

"No, but I've got a motorcycle. The helmet would probably help you get out of the city without being spotted."

"Perfect. I don't know how to thank you," Lew said. But Raiden knew. Lew coughed up most of his cash and gave him a promissory note for twice as much once he was back. Lew didn't have a problem with signing; in all likelihood, he'd be dead before this was over.

Lew put on the black helmet, straddled the bike, and started the motor. He twisted the accelerator a few times, liking what he heard. He'd be there in half the time now, which still might not be soon enough. The blip on the tracking device wasn't moving anymore. Raiden and a few seconds on Google confirmed it was the airport.