"It crossed my mind."

"Not true. Just the opposite, in fact."

"How do you mean?"

"My life will have meaning only after Pavski is gone. Until then, I have to stay in limbo."

"In limbo?"

"Yes. Caught between my old life and the new life to come."

"It's a long time to be in limbo."

"For a while I was dead inside, and then I began to come alive again. There are all kinds of pleasures to be had in this world. There are good people as well as evil, new worlds to be discovered if you have the eyes to see them. Companionship and sex." He shrugged. "Perhaps even love. Though that's the grand prize and not to be taken for granted."

"I don't believe you take anything for granted."

"I did once. I'll never do it again." He reached over and pulled the blanket closer around her. "You've probably never looked uglier in your life. Your nose is swollen, your eyes are bloodshot, and you're white as a sheet."

"Thanks. Do you want to make me feel worse?"

"No, I just wanted you to know that it doesn't make any difference." He gently brushed a scraggly tendril of hair away from her cheek. "Everything you are still shines out of you. You're like Silent Thunder. All the strength and the grace and the spirit. No matter how beat-up you get, no matter how much punishment you take, nothing can take that away." He leaned forward and brushed his lips across her forehead. "And I'm sorry I risked you because I didn't think far enough ahead."

She didn't know what to say. She was feeling… "That's the second time you compared me to Silent Thunder," she said unevenly. "I'm not a sub, dammit. Conner used to tell me that I identified more with machines, but he never said I was like one."

"Perhaps because he never reached that final empathy that some men have with ships and the sea. Close but not quite there." His hand dropped away from her cheek. "From what you told me he was very much involved in the human race."

Her cheek felt strange, sensitive, now that he was no longer touching it. "Yes, he was that." She felt too close to him, too… intimate. She straightened. Get back to business. "What's next, Kirov?"

"After we return LISA, we need to pay another visit to our favorite antiques dealer. Petrenko was obviously instructed by someone to give us that satchel, so there may be some coercion in order to find out what he knows."

"Just don't ask me to wait in the car again. After what I've been through this morning, I'd like to see him get anything you can dish out."

"As you wish." Kirov nodded. "By the way, I could hear you in the pod even when you couldn't hear me."

"So?"

"You were on quite friendly terms with LISA down there. 'Give me some distance, baby.' 'Good girl.' Is that any way to speak to an inanimate object?"

"It's just… slang."

"It was more than that. LISA surprised you, didn't she?"

"Yes. She's-It's very well constructed."

"And well designed."

Hannah bowed her head with mock modesty. "Well, now that you mention it…"

"But there's more there, and you know it."

"You mean a soul."

"Yes, and when the chips were down, even you felt it. I guess there are no atheists in foxholes, eh? Had you ever called a vessel 'she' in your life?"

Hannah sighed. There was no use arguing with him. "I'm sure I've slipped once or twice."

He smiled. "There's hope for you yet, Hannah Bryson."

BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS

The call from Pavksi had finally come.

After days of trailing Congressman Preston, Dananka had received his instructions. It wasn't what he had expected, but in this business, he'd learned to expect the unexpected.

Preston was a full block ahead of him.

There was obviously more to Preston than met the eye, or Pavski's orders wouldn't have been so urgent. What had seemed to be a fool's errand suddenly became much more interesting.

Preston disappeared in the shadows. Shit. Where did he go?

Dananka walked faster, keeping his eyes peeled for any sign of the congressman.

Preston finally stepped from the shadows, walking back toward him.

"Preston?"

Preston stopped. "Yes?"

"I'm Dananka. I was told you were expecting me."

"Unfortunately."

"No time like the present." Dananka reached into his pocket and pulled out a velour-covered ring box.

Preston tensed. "What's that?"

"Well, I'm not asking you to marry me." He opened the ring box to display a tiny wireless microphone. "You know what to do with this?"

"Pavski explained it to me. There's an adhesive backing, and I'm to put it somewhere in Cathy Bryson's living room."

"Correct. Behind a picture frame, maybe on the underside of a lampshade. Just like in the movies."

Preston took the box and closed it.

Dananka handed him a disposable cell phone. "He'll call you tomorrow morning at 9:30 A.M. Be sure this is turned on." Dananka smiled maliciously. "Would you care to tell me what Pavski has on you?"

"I would not." Preston turned and strode away from him. "Good night, Mr. Dananka."

Device delivered," Dananka told Pavski when he picked up the phone. "And so was the message."

"Good," Pavski said absently, and hung up the phone. He spread the photos from the Danzyl delivery out on the desk in front of him. He had gone through these photos after Heiser's father's death, but he hadn't remembered there were so many of them. There were at least forty or fifty ranging from childhood to the professor's senior years. The GRU had taken them out of the family albums at Pavski's request after Heiser's death on the sub. He'd thought there might be a clue among them after he'd been cheated of interrogating the old man. He'd studied these photos for hours all those years ago, but he'd found nothing.

Or maybe he had found something and not realized it. That symbol on the plate had not been Samsovian but it had been damnably familiar. He had seen it somewhere…

He'd gone through over thirty photos when he found it. He froze in his chair.

A photo of Heiser smiling into the camera. He was outside in the sunlight and behind him…

Yes.

FAIRFIELD, CONNECTICUT

A yellow crime scene police tape now stretched in front of Petrenko's antiques store.

"Not an encouraging sign," Kirov said. "We may have difficulty getting answers to those questions."

"Pavski?"

"We'll have to see, won't we?"

Hannah peered through the front windows. "Nothing looks as though it's been disturbed."

"Let's check in back. Most of these shops have living quarters over the store."

In the rear of the store a wooden stairway led up to a second-floor apartment over the store.

"It seems this shop is no exception." Hannah climbed the steps and knocked on the weathered oak door.

No answer.

Kirov glanced around and produced his lockpick.

Hannah used her body to try to shield him from view. "This isn't a good idea. It's a crime scene. What if a policeman-"

"The store is a crime scene. Not the apartment."

"You're quibbling."

"Yes." He bent over the door. "And breaking and entering is small stuff compared to what Petrenko tried to help do to us. Get a little perspective."

A young female voice called from below. "You don't have to break in. I'll unlock it for you."

Anna, the teenager who had held the gun on them only two days earlier, stood at the bottom of the stairs. She carried a bag of groceries in one hand, a set of keys in the other.

"What happened, Anna?" Hannah asked.

Anna didn't speak as she trudged upstairs and unlocked the door. "Petrenko's dead, that's what happened." She threw open the door and walked inside.