He glanced out the window. The tarmac was visible in the distance. A light blue jet was parked. Running and cabin lights were visible.

“Put it next to that plane,” said Dewey.

Stihl banked left and descended. A half minute later, the chopper stopped and hovered just a few feet above the ground. Its wheels lowered, then the Eurocopter settled smoothly onto the tarmac.

Dewey opened the side door and crossed a thin stretch of tarmac to the jet, whose cabin door was now lowering. He climbed the stairs and stepped into the cabin.

Looking right, he saw Chalmers, seated, legs crossed.

“Hi, Dewey,” said Chalmers.

Dewey’s eyes moved to Katya, who was seated across from Chalmers.

“Let’s go,” said Dewey.

Katya glanced at Chalmers, who stood up and extended his hand.

“It’s time,” Chalmers said.

Dewey led Katya and Chalmers down the stairs and across the tarmac. Halfway to the helicopter door, Chalmers took Dewey’s arm at the elbow.

Dewey shot Chalmers a look.

“She tried to kill herself,” said Chalmers, out of Katya’s earshot. “Make this quick. She needs to get to a hospital.”

“I’ll do my best, Derek. But right now, I only care about one thing.”

Dewey opened the door of the helicopter and climbed inside, followed by Katya. Chalmers paused at the door, then followed, sliding it shut behind him.

Katya searched in the dimly lit cabin, her eyes finding Cloud. She dropped to her knees beside him. A horrified look crossed her face as she registered his right leg, cleaved of its skin below the knee. Then she saw Cloud’s hip, the dark red bandage, the blood on the floor.

She looked at Dewey. As much as Cloud’s actions horrified her, Katya’s expression showed an even stronger reaction. Her eyes betrayed revulsion at what Dewey had done to him.

She looked back to Cloud.

“Pyotr,” she said. “Pyotr, it’s me.”

Cloud’s head remained limp.

Behind Katya, Dewey removed the syringe. He knelt next to her.

“This is adrenaline,” said Dewey. “I’m going to try and bring him back. Let me speak first.”

Katya nodded.

Dewey pulled the collar of Cloud’s shirt down, exposing his chest. With his left hand, he felt Cloud’s chest, locating the breastplate. He kept two fingers pressed to a specific spot almost directly in the center of the chest, then placed the end of the needle between his fingers and pushed the needle in. Blood spurted from the puncture. He moved the needle in several inches, then pressed the plunger and pumped adrenaline directly into Cloud’s heart.

Cloud’s eyes opened up, then shut. A moment later, he screamed. He said something in Russian, repeating it over and over.

“What’s he saying?” asked Dewey.

“Kill me,” said Malnikov.

“Pyotr, listen to me,” said Dewey.

Cloud continued to scream. His eyes again opened. He turned and looked up at Dewey.

“I know what they did. What we did,” Dewey told him.

“You couldn’t know,” whispered Cloud.

“We killed your father. Your mother. I know about it. But the man who did that was a killer. One man. He was slated for termination because of what he did.”

“You lie!”

“Roberts,” said Dewey. “That was his name. He did it. The people you’re planning on killing, the people in Boston you tried to kill—they didn’t kill your parents. One man did. An evil man.”

“Lies,” Cloud groaned.

Dewey stood up and moved toward the front of the cabin.

For the first time, Cloud saw Katya.

“Oh, God,” he said in a pained whisper. “I’m…”

“Pyotr,” she said as she began to cry, “you have to tell them.”

Cloud looked away from her, shutting his eyes.

“You have to tell the Americans where the bomb is going. It’s not fair. It’s not right.”

“There’s no such thing as fair, Katya,” he said. “Don’t you see that?”

“You’re going to kill a million innocent people. What they did was wrong, but God will judge the man who did that.”

“I was innocent too. My mother was innocent. My father, he was innocent.”

He stared into Katya’s eyes. He was blinking rapidly, trying to hold back his emotions.

“Tell them,” Katya pleaded. “Please, for me.”

Cloud stared at Katya.

“Do you love me?” she asked.

“Of course I love you.”

“And if I was there? If I was in the place where you are sending the bomb? Would you tell them? Or would you let me die?”

“I would tell them,” he whispered. His eyes moved to Dewey, then back to Katya. “But you’re not there.”

She leaned over him, her head just inches from him, her lips nearly touching his.

“Pyotr,” she whispered. “Please show them the person I know. Show me the person I love.”

Dewey took a step back. He leaned into the cockpit. Stihl turned and looked at Dewey.

“Take us up,” Dewey said.

104

BENEATH THE 145TH STREET BRIDGE

HARLEM RIVER

NEW YORK CITY

Faqir steered the boat up the Harlem River, away from New York harbor. The running lights were off. Over his head was a pair of night optics. He had the Talaria moving slowly, its engine barely above a whisper, as he cut north.

The logical approach to the Statue of Liberty would be from the sea. The authorities would not be looking in the Harlem River or the Hudson. And if they were looking—if they did find him—Faqir possessed the ultimate backup plan: detonate the bomb. As soon as he entered the Harlem River, he had the ability to level untold acres, to bring down building upon building, to kill hundreds of thousands.

He stared up at the green steel of the bridge as he purred north. That was the moment he realized that he’d already won. There was nothing the Americans could do now. All he had to do was press the red button on top of the device.

Faqir pulled out a drawer next to the steering wheel. He picked up the detonator. Ever so lightly, he rubbed his index finger across the button. Then he placed it on the teak table that adorned the center of the deck.

Suddenly, the door to the cabin opened. Naji stepped onto the deck. His hands and clothing were spotted in white paint.

“I painted above the waterline, as you asked,” said Naji.

Faqir held a finger to his lips as an angry scowl came to his face. He motioned for Naji to come closer. He pushed the optics to his forehead so he could look into Naji’s eyes.

“First,” Faqir whispered, “shut the fuck up. Look around you. We’re in the belly of the beast. They could very well be looking for us.”

“You heard the radio,” Naji whispered. “Their own president thinks they stopped us.”

“Unless they’re playing a game,” said Faqir. “The Americans are not very smart, but even a blind squirrel finds an acorn every once in a while. So do us both a favor, shut the hell up.”

Naji nodded.

“Yes,” he said. “I’m sorry. I finished painting the hull. That’s all.”

“Good. How does it look?”

“Like Rembrandt.”

“We’ll drop anchor here for a few hours and let it dry.”

Faqir steered close to the west side of the river, so that the boat was now hidden by a combination of the bridge and the riverbank, a concrete wall that arose thirty feet into the air above the water. He pressed a button that controlled the anchor, dropping it from a built-in compartment at the bow. When he felt the anchor hit the riverbed, he let go of the button and looked at Naji.

“It’s important you understand what I’m about to tell you,” said Faqir, barely even whispering, eyes casting about. He nodded at the detonator.

“We’re now free and clear. It is July Fourth. We did it. So if they catch us, press the button.”

“I thought the Statue of Liberty is our target,” said Naji.

“It is. But if somehow they find us before we get there—”

Naji nodded.

“I understand.”

Faqir removed the optics and handed them to Naji.