"Hours ago. He still wants to crunch the data past a statistician to be sure, but for the moment, he confirms Andrea Solderitch's story. Or at least as much as we can verify."

Painter had kept current with the status reports. Dr. Malloy's assistant had described a conversation with the professor just an hour before he was murdered. The professor had been compiling the genetic assay that made up the bulk of the file that Jason Gorman had e-mailed his father. It had revealed a genetic map of the corn harvested in Africa. Radioactive markers showed which genes were foreign to the corn.

Two chromosomes.

"And what about that original file?" Painter asked. "The one Jason Gorman sent to the professor two months ago. The one that contained the genetic data from the seeds originally planted in that field?"

Monk ran a hand over his bald scalp. "The techs at Princeton are still trying to recover the data. They've checked all the servers. The professor must have kept the file isolated to his own computer. The one torched by the assassins. All evidence of it is gone."

Painter sighed. They kept hitting dead ends. Even the gunmen had vanished. No bodies had been found. The assassins must have escaped the blast and slipped past the cordon around the laboratory.

"Though we don't have hard proof, I believe Andrea's story," Monk continued. "According to her, the professor found only one chromosome of foreign DNA in the original seed. He believed the two files showed that genetic modification was unstable in the harvest.

"But without that first file," Painter said, "we can't prove it."

"Still, it had to be why the professor was tortured and murdered. The assassins must have had orders to destroy all evidence of that first file...and everyone who knew about it. And they almost succeeded."

Painter frowned. "Still, all we have is Ms. Solderitch's word. And according to her, even the professor wasn't entirely certain about that instability. The samples could have come from two different genetic hybrids. They might be unrelated to one another."

"So what do we do next?"

"I think it's time we go to the source of all this."

Monk stared at the seed-shaped logo printed atop the file on Painter's desk. "Viatus."

"It all seems to come back to that Norwegian corporation. You've read the intelligence report on that symbol burned into the boy and the professor."

Monk's face tightened with distaste. "The quartered circle. Some pagan cross."

"Initial conjecture is that it might represent an ecoterrorist group. And maybe it does. Maybe some lunatics have a personal vendetta against Viatus. And that first file held some clue about it all." Painter sighed and stretched. "Either way, it's high time we had a talk with Ivar Karlsen, CEO of Viatus International."

"What if he won't talk?"

"Two murders on two continents-he'd better talk. Bad press can sink stock values faster than any sour earnings report."

"When do you want to-"

A hurried knock on the door cut Monk off. Both men turned as the door swung open. Kat rushed into the room and crossed to the desk. Monk lifted an arm, offering a hand, but he was ignored.

Painter sat straighter. This can't be good...

Kat's eyes were narrow with concern, her cheeks flushed as if she'd run all the way down here. "We've got trouble."

"What?" Painter asked.

"I should've gotten this sooner." Her voice was brittle with frustration. "Interpol's inquiry and ours must have crossed somewhere over the Atlantic, got mixed up. Neither side realized we were talking about two separate incidents. Stupid. Like dogs chasing their tails."

"What?" Painter asked again.

Monk took his wife's hand. "Slow down, hon. Take a breath."

The suggestion only made her angrier, but she kept her grip on his hand. "Another murder. Another body marked with the cross and circle."

"Where?"

"Rome," Kat said. "The Vatican."

She didn't have to explain more.

7:30 A.M.

Rome, Italy

"Let's all just stay calm," Seichan said, keeping her pistol steady as a rock.

Behind Gray, Kowalski dropped both bags and raised his hands. His voice soured. "I hate traveling with you, Gray. I really do."

Gray ignored him and faced the former Guild assassin...that is, if she was former. "Seichan, what are you doing?"

His words encompassed multiple questions. What was she doing in Rome? Why was she holding Rachel hostage? What was she doing pointing a gun at him? How could she even be here?

The satellite feed from her implant had her placed in Venice. Painter would have called Gray immediately if she had moved from there to here.

She ignored his question and asked one of her own. "Are you armed?" She nodded to encompass Kowalski.

"No."

Seichan eyed Gray, as if weighing the truth of his words. And it was the truth. They had traveled by commercial airline and had no time to acquire weapons.

Seichan finally shrugged, pocketed her pistol, and entered the room. She moved with a leonine grace, all legs and hidden strength. Gray didn't doubt she could have her pistol back out in the blink of an eye.

"Then we can all talk like friends," she said mockingly and tossed Gray a tiny key. It plainly fit Rachel's handcuff.

He caught the key, stepped over to the bed, and leaned down to unlock the cuff.

"Are you okay?" he whispered in Rachel's ear as he worked the key, his cheek near hers. The nape of her neck smelled familiar, stirring old feelings, warming embers that Gray thought had long gone cold. As he straightened, he noted that she'd let her hair grow out longer, past her shoulders. She had also thinned down, making her high cheekbones more prominent, increasing her resemblance to a young Audrey Hepburn.

Freed, she rubbed her wrist. Her voice was hard with fury and brisk with embarrassment. "I'm fine. In fact, you might want to hear what she has to say." Her voice lowered. "But be careful. She's drawn tight as a bowstring."

Gray turned to face Seichan. She strolled to the window, staring out across the rooftops of Rome. The curve of the Coliseum stood against the horizon.

"Where do you want to start, Pierce?" She didn't bother to glance at him. "Not expecting me in Rome?"

She dropped a hand to her lower left side. It wasn't done casually, but accusingly. The tracker had been implanted during abdominal surgery last year. Just in that spot.

She confirmed what Gray feared. "It was suspicious enough that I escaped so easily from Bangkok. But when there was no hard pursuit, I knew something was wrong." She turned and cocked an eyebrow at Gray. "A Guild agent escapes custody, but there is no more than a cursory search?"

"You found the implant."

"I'll give you all credit. It was difficult to find. Even a full-body MRI in Saint Petersburg failed to reveal it. Five months ago, I had a doctor perform exploratory surgery, starting with where you all operated on me."

Here was the flaw in Painter's original plan. They'd underestimated the level of paranoia in their target.

"The surgery took three hours," she continued with a growing edge to her voice. "I watched it all in a mirror. They found the implant buried in my healed wound-a wound I sustained saving your life, Pierce."

Anger hardened her face, but he didn't fail to note a slight wounding in her eyes.