“You find anything else?” asked Calibrisi.

Katie nodded.

“Guess who one of the case officers was who witnessed Vargarin’s murder?” she asked.

“Josh Gant.”

“How did you know?”

Calibrisi stared at Katie but said nothing.

“Let’s table that discussion for later,” he said. “Right now, we have a nuclear bomb in a Hinckley Talaria that we have to stop. I want you to call Igor. Give him the make and the model on the boat and see if there’s anything he can do.”

Katie pulled out her cell.

“What do mean, ‘anything he can do’?”

“Some sort of variation on facial recognition technology. I want whatever ad hoc software he develops to be live on every possible video feed and security camera from Providence to Washington, with an obvious focus on New York.”

“Is that where we’re going?”

“Yeah,” said Calibrisi. “I might be wrong, but I have to believe that’s where the final target is.”

*   *   *

Dewey stepped over to Cloud. His eyes were shut. He was unconscious. Dewey felt his neck for a pulse. It was weak, but it was there. He was still alive. Dewey lifted him up onto his shoulder, fireman style.

The voices from the elevator shaft were becoming louder now.

“We have to move,” said Malnikov.

He followed Malnikov to a set of stairs. They climbed up three flights, emerging at the top floor of the skyscraper. Wind ripped across the unfinished concrete, drenching them in rain.

The sky was starting to turn a silvery gray as dawn approached. The Moscow skyline was dimly illuminated in sporadic cuts of light from other buildings. Twin ribbons of steel jutted up from the concrete, arched in curvilinear black against the sky.

Blood from Cloud’s wound covered the right side of Dewey’s coat and pants. Dewey could feel the wetness, warmer and stickier than the rain.

Malnikov clutched his shoulder as he searched the sky for Stihl.

“Pull it aside,” said Dewey to Malnikov, nodding at his blood-soaked shirt.

“No,” said Malnikov. “It hurts too much.”

“Pull it aside.”

Malnikov paused.

“You’ll have to do it,” said Malnikov.

Dewey reached his hand out and gently ripped Malnikov’s shirt away from the left side of his chest. The bullet hole was visible—a small black opening that continued to ooze dark blood. Dewey pulled the shirt down, then looked at Malnikov’s back. It was covered in blood. But there was no exit wound.

“It’s still inside you,” said Dewey. “It didn’t hit your heart, but it needs to be removed.”

Malnikov nodded.

“You’re not going to like what I have to say,” said Dewey.

“What is that? That I’m going to die?”

“No,” said Dewey. “Go back downstairs. Let the cops or whoever they are get you to a hospital.”

“No fucking way,” said Malnikov.

Just then, the black Eurocopter plunged from the clouds, knocked by the crosswinds, then cut toward the top of the building.

“Promise me something,” said Malnikov.

“What?”

“If I die, you will make Calibrisi live up to his end of the bargain.”

“You’re not going to die, Alexei,” said Dewey.

The chopper dropped down quickly as Stihl used the speed of his descent to counter the violent winds. The front of the Eurocopter was tilted forward. As it came closer and closer, it appeared it might slam nose-first into the slab. At the last second, Stihl pulled the chopper back, rear wheels hitting first, then the front.

Dewey and Malnikov moved through the rotor chop toward the door.

“Then the promise won’t cost you anything, will it?” yelled Malnikov.

“Fine,” said Dewey. “I promise.”

Dewey stepped inside the cabin and lay Cloud down on the steel floor. Malnikov followed him on, then the door slid shut behind them. Seconds later, Stihl lifted off.

Dewey went to the back and started pulling out drawers and opening compartments, searching for the trauma kit. He carried the steel case to where Cloud was lying. He pressed several large gauze pads against the wound. Cloud jerked from the pain, though his eyes remained shut. Dewey wrapped a large bandage around Cloud’s hip, as tight as he could, keeping the pads pressed to the wound.

He took another gauze bandage and moved to Malnikov. He pulled Malnikov’s shirt aside and pressed the bandage against the bullet hole, then wrapped a bandage across Malnikov’s chest to keep it in place.

“How do I know you’ll keep your promise?” asked Malnikov.

Dewey looked at Malnikov.

“I never break a promise,” said Dewey.

*   *   *

Chalmers’s Bombardier touched down at Ostafyevo Airport and came to a stop at the end of the runway.

Chalmers unbuckled and stepped to the cockpit.

“Take it over toward the terminal building but stay at least a hundred feet away.”

“Sure, Derek.”

Chalmers walked back into the cabin. He sat down across from Katya.

“Katya,” he said. “I need to talk to you.”

Katya was lying on the leather built-in sofa, eyes shut. She didn’t respond.

“The United States found the nuclear bomb,” he continued. “It was in Boston. They stopped it. They believe, had it been detonated, at least one hundred thousand people would have perished. Your information prevented that from happening. You saved a lot of lives.”

Katya remained still.

“But we need something more from you. There is another bomb. There were two bombs. There’s only one individual who knows where it’s going.”

Katya’s eyes opened, then tears came to her eyes and started to roll down her cheeks.

“I don’t know where it’s going,” she whispered, looking at Chalmers. “That was just a conversation I overheard. You must believe me. I don’t know!”

“But Pyotr does know,” said Chalmers.

“I don’t know where he is,” she protested. “What do you want me to do? He’s a monster. He wouldn’t listen to me.”

The faint din of a helicopter hit the cabin, causing Chalmers to turn to the window. Katya’s eyes followed Chalmers.

“No,” she cried. “No!”

“He will listen to you,” said Chalmers. “I need you to be strong. One more time, then it will be over. You can do it. I see how brave you are. I know you can do it. Lives are depending on you.”

*   *   *

Dewey tapped Stihl’s shoulder as the chopper cut across the Moscow dawn.

“How long until we get there?”

“Five minutes.”

Dewey stepped back into the cabin. Malnikov was seated quietly. He looked weak. Dewey knelt next to Cloud and checked the wound. The bandages were soaked through and a small pool of blood was on the ground beneath his hip. Dewey felt his pulse. It was weaker than before. Dewey shook his shoulder, trying to revive him. It didn’t work.

He pulled out his cell and dialed Calibrisi.

“We’re about to land,” Dewey said. “Is she there?”

“Yes,” said Calibrisi. “Is he still alive?”

“Barely. He’s unconscious. I’m going to try and revive him. I’m not sure it’s going to work.”

“You need to know something,” said Calibrisi. “It’s about his father.”

“His father?”

“He was a nuclear scientist. Before the breakup of the Soviet Union, we recruited him. He was going to defect. He had second thoughts.”

The chopper arced forward and right, descending. Dewey glanced out the window. He could see the small airport in the distance.

“Can this wait?” asked Dewey.

“An agent named Roberts shot his father and mother in front of him. He was five years old.”

Dewey stared at Cloud.

“What’d we do with the agent?”

“The Agency put a sanction on him, but he escaped. I don’t know if he’s still alive.”

“Understood.”

Dewey hung up. He went to the trauma kit. In a compartment on the side of the case were several small bottles of drugs, including painkillers and antibiotics. He found a bottle labeled EPINEPHRINE. Adrenaline. Dewey took a syringe from the kit, removed it from its sterile packaging, and filled it. He left the loaded syringe in the case and stood up.