There was one last responsibility before he disappeared into the jungle. Lawrence kept his eyes on the brake lights of the car in front of him and dialed the emergency phone number that Linden had given him when they met in Paris. No one answered. Instead he heard a recorded voice telling him about weekend vacations in Spain: Leave a message and we’ll get back to you.

“This is your American friend,” Lawrence said, then gave the date and time. “I’m going on a very long journey and I won’t be coming back. You should assume that my company knows that I’ve been working for our competitor. This means that they will assess all of my prior contacts and every request made to the data system. I’ll be off the Grid, but you can assume that the older brother will remain at our research facility. The experiment is going well…”

That’s enough, he thought. Don’t say anything more. But it was difficult to end the call. “Good luck. It was a privilege to meet you. I hope you and your friends survive.”

Lawrence touched the switch in the armrest and lowered the electric window. Raindrops blew into the car, striking his face and hands. He dropped the cell phone onto the road and continued driving.

PUSHED BY THE storm, the helicopter headed south. Rain hit the pilot’s Plexiglas windshield with a cracking sound, like little pieces of mud. Boone kept dialing different phone numbers and occasionally lost the signal. The chopper fell through a hole in the sky, dropped down a hundred meters, then regained stability.

“The target has just used his cell phone,” Leutner said. “We’ve established location. He’s in Queens. Entrance to the Van Wyck Expressway. The Global Positioning System in his car confirms the same location.”

“He’s going to Kennedy airport,” Boone said. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes. Some of our friends will meet me there.”

“What do you want to do?”

“Do you have access to his car’s location-tracking device?”

“That’s easy.” Leutner sounded very proud of himself. “I can do that in about five minutes.”

LAWRENCE TOOK THE ticket from the machine and entered the airport’s long-term parking lot. He would have to abandon the car. Once the Brethren found out about his disloyalty, he could never return to America.

The rain continued to fall and a few people huddled together in the parking lot kiosks waiting for the shuttle bus to take them to the airline terminal. Lawrence found an empty parking space and slipped in between the faded white lines. He checked his watch; it was two and a half hours before his plane left for Mexico. Plenty of time to check his luggage and the golf clubs, go through security, and drink a cup of coffee in the waiting lounge.

As Lawrence touched the door handle, he saw the lock buttons glide downward as if pushed by invisible hands. A loud click. Silence. Someone sitting at a distant computer terminal had just locked all four doors of his car.

BOONE’S HELICOPTER SETTLED on a landing zone near the private flight terminal attached to Kennedy airport. The main propeller continued to turn slowly as Boone dashed through the rain to the Ford sedan waiting at the edge of the runway. He yanked open the back door and jumped into the car. Detectives Mitchell and Krause sat in the front seat drinking beer and eating sandwiches. “Bring on the ark,” Mitchell said. “The flood is on its way-”

“Let’s go. The GPS locator says that Takawa’s car is in either parking lot one or two near the terminal.”

Krause glanced at his partner, then rolled his eyes. “Maybe the car is there, Boone. But he’s probably gone.”

“I don’t think so. We just locked him inside.”

Detective Mitchell started the engine and drove toward the guarded exit. “There are thousands of cars in those lots. It’s going to take us hours to find him.”

Boone slipped on a headset and dialed a number on his cell phone. “I’m taking care of that, too.”

LAWRENCE TRIED PULLING up the lock button and forcing the door handle. Nothing. He felt as if he were sealed in a coffin. The Tabula knew everything. Perhaps they had been tracking him for hours. He rubbed his face with his hands. Calm down, he told himself. Try to be a Harlequin. They still haven’t caught you.

Suddenly the car horn began honking while the headlights flashed on and off. The pulsing noise seemed to jab at his body like the point of a knife. Lawrence panicked and pounded on the side window with his fists, but the safety glass didn’t break.

Lawrence twisted around, crawled into the backseat, and snapped open the traveler carrier for the golf bag. He reached into the bag, pulled out an iron, and hit the front passenger window again and again. Cracks appeared like an intricate crystal and then the steel club head smashed through the center of the glass.

THE TWO DETECTIVES drew their guns as they approached the car, but Boone had already seen the smashed window and nylon carry-on bag lying in a puddle.

“Nothing,” Krause said, peering into the car.

“We should cruise the parking lot,” Mitchell said. “He could be running away from us right now.”

Boone returned to the car, still talking to the team in London. “He’s out of his vehicle. Switch off the theft alarm and initiate facial scanning from all airport surveillance cameras. Pay particular attention to the arrival zone outside the terminal. If Takawa grabs a taxi, I want the license number.”

THE SUBWAY JERKED forward, steel wheels screeching as it rolled out of the Howard Beach station. With wet hair and a damp raincoat, Lawrence sat in one end of the car. The sword was on his lap, the scabbard and gold handle still covered with brown wrapping paper.

Lawrence knew that the two surveillance cameras at the airport had photographed him stepping onto the shuttle bus that carried visitors to the subway connection. There were more surveillance cameras at the station entrance, token booth, and platform. The Tabula would feed these camera images into their own computers and search for him using facial recognition technology. By now, they probably knew he was on the A train, heading to Manhattan.

That knowledge was useless if he stayed on the train and kept moving. The New York subway system was huge; many stations had multiple levels and different exit corridors. Lawrence amused himself with the idea of living on the subway for the rest of his life. Nathan Boone and the other mercenaries would stand helplessly on the platforms of local stations while he roared past them on an express train.

Can’t do it, he thought. Eventually they would track him down and be waiting. He had to find a way out of the city that couldn’t be monitored by the Vast Machine. The sword and its scabbard felt dangerous in his hands; the weight, the heaviness made him feel brave. If he was trying to hide within the Third World, then he needed to find similar places in America. Taxicabs were regulated in Manhattan, but unregistered gypsy cabs were easily found in the boroughs. A gypsy cab traveling on surface streets would be very difficult to trace. If the driver could take him across the river to Newark, perhaps he could slip onto a bus going south.

At the East New York subway station, Lawrence got out and hurried upstairs to catch the Z train going to lower Manhattan. Rainwater dripped down from a ceiling grate and there was a damp, moldy feeling in the air. He stood alone on the platform until the headlights of the train appeared in the tunnel. Keep moving. Always keep moving. It was the only way to escape.