The camera wobbled. Been looking for this my whole life…finally found it and look where it gets me. A jagged piece of metal could be seen at the lower edge of the frame where the man had cracked the room. The same sharp edge that had torn his decon suit. Gonna try and get a better shot of it. He scooted forward, extended the camera through the opening with one hand, the room sparkling in the bright light. I'm beaming this to my Web site as a single data packet. This…this is what you wanted, Sarah. He coughed and his hand bumped the edge of the entrance, knocked the camera loose from his thick glove. The camera bounced off the floor of the safe room, the image dizzying for a moment. Just as the light went out, the red rose collapsed, petals shattering onto the desk. The wallscreen went black.

Sarah switched off the thumb drive. "I used my access code to pull that sequence off Eldon's restricted site. He never made it home." She turned to Spider. "Can you and Leo walk back the signal and find out where it originated?"

"I doubt it," said Spider. "There's too much interference in D.C. Even when the surveillance satellites were working-"

"He would have used a dedicated signal to send the data packet," said Leo. "It's the only way to get through that soup, but without knowing the precise algorithm-"

"I need to find that safe room," said Sarah.

"What's so important about some old junk anyway?" said Leo. "Might as well collect bottle caps or baseball cards."

"Why not just admit you can't do it?" said Sarah.

"I didn't say that," said Leo.

"I understand," said Sarah. "It's too complicated. There's too much interference-"

"You still haven't told us what the zombie was looking for," said Leo. "'This is what you wanted, Sarah.' What did you send him after?"

Sarah hesitated. "A piece of the cross Jesus was crucified-"

Leo burst out laughing.

Sarah ignored him, turned to Spider. "There's a school of revisionist history that says one reason the USA achieved greatness was because the founders possessed part of the true cross. As long as they were faithful, they were blessed."

"Supposedly why they had the eye in the pyramid on their money?" said Spider.

"They used to have Easter egg hunts on the White House lawn," said Leo. "Maybe the Easter bunny was the secret of their success."

"That's a full-security safe room that Eldon Harrison found." Sarah backed up the download. Froze on the chunk of wood lying on the floor. "Last room like that was discovered under the Capitol building sixteen years ago, and it contained the real Warren Report on the Kennedy assassination."

"Yes, I can understand your excitement," said Spider. "Still…the cross is a strange relic for a good Muslim to be interested in."

"I'm interested in its symbolic, not religious, value," said Sarah.

"If you were really interested in something valuable," said Leo, "why didn't you go looking for the missing gold from Fort Knox?"

She looked at Leo. "Isn't there something you can do to trace the signal?"

"It's late and I'm tired," said Spider. "If Leo says it can't be done, it can't be done."

"I didn't say it couldn't be done," Leo grumbled as he and Sarah slipped out of the bedroom. "Let's go for a walk. I wanted to talk to you anyway."

"You've made things very difficult for me," said Jenkins. "I hope you appreciate that."

"Yeah, it's been gnawing at me," said Rakkim.

The Bridge of Skulls bucked so hard in the high wind that Rakkim had to put one hand out to steady himself, his clothes flapping like a distress flag. He looked back to shore. The guards assigned to patrol the bridge stayed on solid ground, huddled behind a concrete barricade. Jenkins clutched the railing beside Rakkim, hanging on with both hands as he faced the storm. Once vigorous and muscular, his face was now sallow and unhealthy, his cheeks hollowed out, dark circles under his eyes.

Rakkim shifted his grip, brushed against one of the thousands of skulls that lined the railings, this one long since plucked clean by the seagulls except for a patch of long brown hair. A small skull. A woman or a child. One of the multitudes of accused sodomites and idolaters, witches and blasphemers on display for the education of the faithful. He looked over at Jenkins, saw him watching.

"An adulteress, if I remember correctly." Jenkins's robe caught the wind, puffed up around him like a gigantic black toadstool. "A sinner, that much is certain."

Rakkim felt the bridge shift underfoot. "Like the girls at the madrassa?"

Jenkins looked down into the dark water below. "Duty…duty requires terrible things of us sometimes. You should know that as well as I."

"They were children."

Jenkins's face was pale in the moonlight. "They're already in Paradise."

"They should be with their families."

Jenkins cupped the skull in his hands, his knuckles red and raw. "I remember this one now. So adamant of her innocence. They all are at first, but they give that up soon enough. Not her, though. Kept going on about her husband's eagerness to trade her in for a more attractive wife and not wanting to pay alimony. She was homely, but such gentle eyes…you could see straight to her heart." He idly wrapped the strand of hair around his forefinger. "Impossible to free her, of course, his word against hers, but a few months after her execution, I had him buried alive for possession of pornography." He rubbed her hair between his spindly fingers. "Most shocking holo you could imagine…I hated to part with it." He plucked the skull free of the spike that held it on the railing. Caressed the cheekbones, then let it drop over the side, that single strand of brown hair spinning around and around until it disappeared into the darkness below.

The bridge shuddered in the gale, salt spray drenching them. Rakkim was grateful for the wind-it cut down on the stink.

Jenkins looked over at Rakkim. "I remember hearing that you had retired-what was it, five or six years ago?-and thinking, good for him, but here you are, another patriot sent where he doesn't belong. Hurray for God and country."

"I'm not doing it for my country. General Kidd asked me to do a favor for him-"

"Ah, yes, a favor…a secret mission known only to the two of you." Jenkins's eyes were sunk so deeply you couldn't see the bottom. "I wonder if anyone tells the general no."

Jenkins was the longest-serving shadow warrior in the history of the Fedayeen. Called back from teaching at the academy, he had disappeared into New Fallujah eleven years ago…right after Rakkim's second excursion into the Belt. Most missions lasted two years or less and shadow warriors were forcibly retired after ten. Shadow warriors might be needed, but they were never fully trusted. Sooner or later, they always went native, always turned traitor. Or went mad, lost among the masks, unable to find their true face.

"The jihadi you took the headband from…do you know his name?" asked Jenkins.

"Tamar."

"And where was his mission?"

"Santa Barbara. He said he wanted to detonate himself among a crowd of picnickers on the beach."

Jenkins nodded. "Are you still a good Muslim, Rakkim?"

"I was never a very good Muslim. I still truthfully declare the Shahada…I believe there is but one God, and that Muhammad is His prophet, but as for the rest…"

"Hard for a shadow warrior to keep his faith, but without faith…" Jenkins's eyes drifted off. "No God, no country, we might as well be devils." His black robe billowed around him. "Is that what you've become, Rakkim? Are you some devil sent to torment me?"

"I'm the man sent to squeeze you. It's been a while since you checked in."

"I send General Kidd regular transmissions-"