Beckett looked exactly as electrocuted as Magnus felt. He stammered, “I . . . uh . . . that is . . .” He shook his head to clear it, then straightened his shoulders and continued on, a little more in control. “Let’s find out.”

From his cluttered desk, he retrieved a small, handheld device and pointed it at the map Lumina had drawn. With a click and a sound like crickets chirping, a ray of translucent red light scanned the board from top to bottom, then disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. Beckett plugged the device into a larger one, about the size and shape of a shoebox, and a three-dimensional rendering of Lumina’s drawing flickered to life, floating in the middle of the room like a disembodied spirit.

“Specular holography imager,” Beckett explained, walking around the perimeter of the wavering image. It was rendered in a brilliant royal blue, except for the bottom layer, which pulsed vivid red, corresponding to the red in Lumina’s drawing. She drew closer to it, as if pulled by an invisible lure, her gaze trained on that pulsing band of red.

“That son of a bitch,” she whispered. She glanced at Honor. Something unspoken passed between them, but Magnus caught a whisper of it, because Lumina had stripped him of the mental shield he’d worked so hard to develop over so many years.

That’s where they keep her.

Into a keyboard wired to the shoebox, Beckett typed something. He waited a moment, examining the rapidly scrolling text that appeared on an adjacent computer screen. “There’s nothing shaped like this on any of the system maps. Which, if it really is IF headquarters, makes sense: They wouldn’t want anyone to be able to access it.”

“A hidden file, then,” said Christian, stepping forward to examine the image. “Or another closed system you can’t access.”

Sounding insulted, Beckett said, “There isn’t a system I can’t access.”

“Well, everything that’s built needs plans, blueprints,” interjected Xander, absently combing his fingers through Morgan’s long hair. They stood side by side on the opposite side of the cave, so close they looked fused together, and Magnus didn’t want to know where Morgan’s left hand was, her arm completely hidden behind Xander’s large back. Morgan caught Magnus’s eye, and sent him a wink, which he responded to with a glower. Which, naturally, made her smile.

“Maybe it’s pre-Flash,” suggested Demetrius in his deep, gravelly voice.

Beside him, Eliana nodded. “They could even have converted another existing facility. Something old . . .”

“But there’s nothing this particular size or shape on the maps, and whether it was pre-Flash or not, it would show up—”

“You know what it looks like to me?” interrupted Jack. She drew away from Hawk’s side, and came up to the image, examining it from top to bottom. “A silo. Like one of those towers you’d see across the Midwest in the disbanded United States, steel structures filled with grain or coal in the ag belt.”

Magnus considered it. Then it hit him. “But not all silos in the US were above ground. And not all of them were agricultural.” Everyone looked at him. “Ever heard of the Atlas missile program?”

“Shit,” breathed Beckett. “You’re right. It could be a bunker!”

“Underground?” Honor stepped forward as everyone else was, coming to get a closer look. “You think this thing could be underground?”

“That would definitely explain why it wouldn’t show up on the modeling maps,” said Beckett, nodding. “They’re all aerial based: topography, buildings, that sort of thing, built out from the pre-Flash earth-mapping computer programs. There’s an associated subprogram that identifies all the known underground structures, like sewers, subway systems, catacombs. But if, like Magnus suggests, this is a government-built structure constructed as part of a national defense plan, the blueprints would never have been made public.”

“Or been catalogued electronically,” added Ember, beside Christian, her fingers threaded through his. “The Atlas missile program was decommissioned in the 1960s, long before the creation of the World Wide Web, or the rise of information technology. Those blueprints were most likely stored in hard copies deep inside some secret government vault.”

“So we’re looking at the disbanded US, then?” Beckett was beginning to sound excited.

“Not necessarily, son,” said Christian. “Many pre-Flash governments had missile programs. Russia, China, Iran, France, Germany . . . there were dozens. Maybe more.”

“So it could be anywhere. We have no idea where to start looking,” said Morgan, sounding deflated.

“Actually we do.” Everyone turned to look at Lumina. “The helicopter pilot was born in the same city he worked. He raised his . . .” she swallowed, pausing a moment to steady her voice. “He raised his family in the same place. The same place I believe this structure is located, although I couldn’t tell for sure from his memory . . . he died before . . .” She paused again. “I don’t know exactly where this thing is, but I think I know the city it’s in.”

“Where?” said Magnus.

Lumina looked at him, her expression registering fury, anguish, and, worst of all, self-recrimination. With a telling tremble in her voice, she asked him, “What’s the worst place in the world it could possibly be?”

No one else understood her, but Magnus grasped her meaning instantly, even before she sent her thoughts directly into his mind.

She was right there. My entire life, my mother was right there, and I didn’t know it. Her eyes filled with tears.

With his heart aching for her, Magnus said into the hungry silence, “New Vienna.”

Slowly, Lumina nodded, her eyes burning his. “I have to save her, Magnus. I have to go back.”

His gaze never leaving hers, Magnus shook his head. “No.” He stepped forward, the space between them charged. “I have to go back. You’ll be recognized immediately—”

“I’m not going to just sit here and wait—”

“That’s exactly what you’re going to do—”

“She’s my mother—”

“It’s my responsibility!”

They’d moved closer and closer while they spoke, drawn as if by an invisible magnet, eyes locked together. He felt all the other eyes on them, he felt the tension in the room, but all he could think about was Lumina, her anguished face and voice, what he could do to take away her pain.

Finally they stood once again mere inches apart, staring each other down. Into the uncomfortable silence, someone in the room coughed.

Always the hard way with you, she said into his head, examining his determined expression.

Before he could form a reply, she said aloud, “Fine. We’ll go together.”

EIGHTEEN

Almost another full day passed before Lumina and Magnus set out on their journey back to New Vienna, and in that time he managed to avoid speaking directly to her, preferring instead to communicate his plans and directions in the presence of others so that she would overhear and be informed, deftly sidestepping the need for one-on-one conversation.

It was as if her kiss had changed something between them. As if he’d erected defenses even higher and more fortified than those he’d had before. He wasn’t even looking at her.

Though she knew she could communicate with him by speaking right into his mind, Lumina avoided doing it, sensing his need for privacy. She was well-practiced in blocking stray thoughts, so it was no great challenge, but the temptation was great.