Often competing with Sigma, the Guild hunted and stole emerging technologies: military, biological, chemical, nuclear. In the current world order, knowledge was the true power — more than oil, more than any weapon. Only in the Guild’s case, they sold their discoveries to the highest bidder, including Al Qaeda and Hezbollah in the Middle East, Aum Shinrikyo in Japan, and the Shining Path in Peru. The Guild operated through a series of isolated cells around the world, with moles in world governments, intelligence agencies, major think tanks, even international research facilities.

And once, even at DARPA.

Painter still felt the sting of that betrayal.

But now they had a key Guild operative in custody.

As Painter entered the anteroom to his offices, his secretary and aide, Brant Millford, shifted back from his desk. The man used a wheelchair, his spine severed by a piece of shrapnel following a car bombing at a security post in Bosnia.

“Sir, I have a satellite call coming in from Dr. Cummings.”

Painter stopped, surprised. Lisa was not scheduled to report in so soon. A thread of worry cut through the tangle of responsibilities this night.

“I’ll take it in my office. Thank you, Brant.”

Painter crossed through the door. Three plasma monitors hung on the walls around his desk. The screens were dark for now, but as the night wore on, they would soon be flowing with data, all pouring into Central Command. For now, that could all wait. He reached across his deck to the phone and tapped the blinking button.

Lisa had been scheduled to report in just around dawn, when it was nightfall among the Indonesian islands. Painter had requested the full day’s debriefing at that time, just before she went to bed. Such scheduling also offered him the perfect chance to wish her a good night.

“Lisa?”

The connection proved spotty with occasional drops.

“God, Painter, it’s great to hear — voice. I know you’re busy. Brant mentioned a crisis — little else.”

“Don’t worry. Not so much a crisis, as an opportunity.” He rested his hip to the edge of the desk. “Why are you calling in early?”

“Something’s come up here. I’ve transmitted a large batch of technical data to research. I wanted someone over there to start double-checking the results from the toxicologist here, Dr. Barnhardt.”

“I’ll make sure it gets done. But what’s the urgency?” He sensed the tension in her voice.

“The situation here may be more dire than originally projected.”

“I know. I’ve heard about the aftermath of the toxic cloud that blew over the island.”

“No — yes, that was horrible, certainly — but things may be growing even worse. We’ve isolated some strange genetic abnormalities showing up in secondary infections. Disturbing findings. I thought it best to coordinate with Sigma researchers and labs as soon as possible, to get the ball rolling while Dr. Barnhardt completes his preliminary tests.”

“Is Monk helping the toxicologist?”

“He’s still out in the field, collecting samples. We’ll need everything he can bring us.”

“I’ll alert Jennings here in R and D. Get him to roust his team. I’ll have him call and coordinate at our end.”

“Perfect. Thanks.”

Despite the resolution, Painter could not escape his own worry. Since assigning this mission, he was doing his best to balance his responsibilities as director, to maintain that necessary professional distance, but he could not achieve it, not with Lisa. He cleared his throat. “How are you holding up?”

A small amused snort escaped her, tired but familiar. “I’m doing okay. But after this, I may never take another cruise in my life.”

“I tried to warn you. It never pays to volunteer. I wanted to contribute. To make a difference,” he said, mimicking her with a ghost of a smile. “See what it gets you. A passport to the Love Boat from Hell.”

She offered him a halfhearted laugh, but her voice quickly lowered into a more serious tone, halting and unsure. “Painter, maybe it was a mistake…me coming here. I know I’m not an official member of Sigma. I may be in over my head.”

“If I thought it was a mistake, I wouldn’t have assigned you. In fact, I would have grabbed any excuse to keep you from going. But as director, I had a duty to send the best people suited to oversee a medical crisis on behalf of Sigma. With your medical degree, your doctorate in physiology, your field research experience…I sent the right person.”

A long stretch of silence followed. For a moment, Painter thought the call had dropped.

“Thank you,” she finally whispered.

“So don’t let me down. I have a reputation to maintain.”

She snorted again, her amusement ringing more true. “You really have to work on concluding your pep talks.”

“Then how’s this: Stay safe, watch your back, and get back here as soon as possible.”

“Better.”

“Then I’ll simply have to go for the gold.” He spoke firmly. “I miss you. I love you. I want you in my arms.”

He truly did miss her, with a physical ache in his chest.

“See,” she said. “With a little practice, you can actually be a pretty good motivational speaker.”

“I know,” he said. “The same line worked with Monk earlier.”

A true laugh followed. It helped shatter his worry from a moment ago. She would do fine. He had faith in her. And in addition, in Painter’s stead, Monk would keep her safe. That is, if Monk ever wanted to show his face again…

Before Painter could respond further, his aide appeared at his door, knocking softly. Painter waved for him to speak.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, Director. But I’ve another call holding. On your private line. From Rome. Monsignor Verona. He seemed quite urgent.”

Painter’s brow furrowed. He spoke into the phone. “Lisa—”

“I heard. You’re busy. Once I coordinate with Monk, we’ll conference with Jennings on the situation here. Get back to work.”

“Stay safe.”

“I will,” she said. “And I love you, too.”

The line blinked off.

Painter took a breath to collect himself, then twisted around to hit the button on his private line. Why was Monsignor Verona calling? Painter knew Commander Pierce had been romantically involved with the monsignor’s niece, but that had ended almost a year ago.

“Monsignor Verona, this is Painter Crowe.”

“Director Crowe, thank you for taking my call. I’ve been trying to reach Gray for the past two hours, but there’s been no answer.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Is there a message you’d like me to forward?”

Painter didn’t bother to explain about the current situation. Though Monsignor Verona had helped Sigma in the past, the matter here was on a need-to-know basis, already coded in black.

“There’s been an incident here at the Vatican…in the Secret Archives precisely. I’m not entirely sure of its import, but it strikes me as a message or warning. One left for both myself and perhaps Commander Pierce.”

Painter stood up and circled around his desk to his chair. “What sort of message?”

“Someone broke into a vault here last week and painted the symbol for the Royal Dragon Court on the floor.”

Painter sank into his seat, disturbed by the coincidence. Two years ago, Gray and Monsignor Verona had teamed up to root out and destroy a brutal sect of the Dragon Court. They had succeeded — but not without help, requiring an alliance with an enemy, an operative from the Guild.

Seichan.

And now the assassin was here.

Painter was not one to swallow coincidences easily. Not in the past, and certainly not now. If nothing else, his stint as director of Sigma had honed his edge of paranoia to a razor’s sharpness.

“Did anyone get a look at this trespasser?” he asked.

“Briefly. Whoever it was, they came alone. Slipped past all of Vatican security. We captured only a shadowy image on one security camera. This was no casual thief. Only one person I know could have crossed into the inner sanctum and out again with no more than a shadow captured. The same someone connected to our joint involvement with the Dragon Court in the past.”