Movement warned him too late, and he snapped out of the focus as the truck suddenly veered toward him.

It hit him on the left side, smashed him to the hard road, and rolled over him. Caught between the truck and the road, he tumbled. His flashlight flipped alongside him, showing frightening glimpses of the trailer's undercarriage. Strut, axle, gears flashed by. Somehow the big wheels missed him but his flashlight went under the last set and was crunched flat.

It lasted only seconds but it seemed like forever. Finally it was over. Ukiah lay sprawled facedown on the pavement, dazed and broken. The truck shuddered to a stop, its engine dropping to the low rumble of an idle. The air was heavy with the smell of smoking rubber.

"Cub?" Rennie's thoughts pushed through the pain."What happened?"

Good question. Ukiah tried to lever himself up and discovered with an explosion of new pain that his left arm was shattered.

"Cub?"

"A . . . a . . . a truck. A truck hit me."

Cars were stopping on the highway; people were getting out. For a moment it seemed like a normal accident. Then Ukiah recognized one of the cars: Goodman's dark blue Honda. The cult had taken the car after dismembering their rogue kidnapper.

"Rennie! Rennie!" He could only think of the bonfire victim, chopped up and burned to ash. He fought to stay conscious, to try to crawl away. They were certain to do worse than kill him.

Ice swung down out of the truck's cab and headed toward him, in long, determined strides." He's probably not alone. We have to act quickly. Kill him."

" But if we're right about him—" a female cultist started to protest.

" Then he'll only be dead a little while." Ice handed her a pistol." And ye shall chase your enemies, and they shall fall before you by the sword. . ."

Ukiah bolted awake. Even with his eyes open, though, he could see the muzzle flash suddenly brilliant in the rain-cloaked night, feel the bullets hit him with a force that nearly matched that of the truck.

He looked around the room, trying to fill his vision with something else. He was safe. He was with his brother. He was safe.

Then he realized he was alone in the house, his panting the only sound except the rumble of the surf and the wind buffeting the walls of glass.

Atticus left?

Implications of the dream dawned on him. He had his memories back. Atticus must have put the mice in bed with him. That skunk!

Wondering what time it was, he checked the waistband of his boxer shorts. Yes, Ru's phone was still where he'd slipped it during the Iron Horses' arrival. Eleven-thirty—Atticus and Ru had done their drug deal, and probably were on their way back. The call log indicated eight missed phone calls.

Working through the phone's unfamiliar menu system, he discovered that most of the calls were from Max, but the latest was from Indigo. The display showed that the battery was low and the phone was picking up only a weak signal from the carrier.

He left Indigo's number showing and hit the talk button.

"Special Agent Zheng," Indigo answered.

"It's me. I just woke up."

"Good, you're still with the phone," Indigo said cryptically.

"The battery is low, so it might cut out at any point," he told her.

"Are you safe?"

"Yeah."

"Hang up then. Save the power."

Trusting her, he did.

Ukiah sat up and took inventory of his newly healed arm, bending and flexing the fingers, wrist, and elbow. The knitted bones were still weak, but he could use it if he was careful. Under the bandages, the bullet wounds had healed to scabs. It would be another couple of days before the skin was unmarked, but he was strong enough to leave.

The door, though, was locked.

They certainly didn't want him leaving.

He rested his head on the door. Was he strong enough to break the dead bolt?

Outside, a vehicle pulled up to the house. Was Atticus back? His sleeping memories marked the departure of a Ford Explorer and the snarl of a sports car. This engine didn't sound like either. Someone else had found him.

***

The Jaguar's navigation system said that they had an exit coming up on the right. A proliferation of signs, though, stated that the road was closed and suggested they use unfamiliar roads.

"Figures," Atticus muttered. "Our luck is running true lately. All bad."

The navigation system also seemed decidedly annoyed by the detour, insisting that they take the exit as they flashed past the barricaded roadway. Beyond the heavy fortifications, the pavement came to an abrupt halt at a vast pit, seemingly a mile square—a forest of cranes and a jumble of structures, none of them linked, that refused to take any logical form.

"What the hell are they building there?"

Ru made a noise to indicate he was clueless.

"It's probably the Big Dig," Kyle said over the radio.

"The what?"

"The largest urban construction project in the history of the modern world. Forty-two miles of underground highway in a path over two hundred feet wide."

"Oh, yeah. I guess I've heard of it," Atticus said. "Mostly that it's overbudget and way behind schedule."

"Well, they're basically building the Panama Canal through the heart of Boston."

"I heard that in some places they'll have, like, four tunnels stacked on top of themselves," Ru said.

"Four? What the hell for?"

"One for cars, one for buses, the subway system, and the last . . ." Ru searched his memory. "Oh, yeah, the subway station itself."

The detour sent them off on a newly constructed road that the navigation system didn't acknowledge existed, and minutes later they were lost in a maze of small one-way side streets. Atticus cursed softly under his breath as the navigation system struggled to plot a new course. Hopefully finding their way back to the beach house wouldn't be as complicated and time-consuming; he wanted to see for himself that Ukiah was safe.

***

The Iron Horses had described the Boston Harbor Hotel as "hard to miss," and they were right. The street in front of the hotel was an obstacle course as the old elevated freeway was being dismantled. The hotel itself, though, was surprisingly beautiful: crowned like a princess with an elegant rotunda and a four-story archway through the heart of the building to a harborside courtyard and yacht-lined wharf.

They parked in the hotel's underground parking lot and rode the elevator up to the lobby. There it stopped and Kyle stepped off.

Atticus stuck his hand out to catch the doors before they could close. "What are you doing?"

"There's a business center here. I'm going to connect to the Internet and do some searches on the cult."

"You can do that after we talk to Sumpter."

Kyle fidgeted in place. "I don't want to talk to Sumpter."

"I don't want to talk to him either," Ru said.

Atticus gave Ru a hard look. "Neither do I, but we have to."

"You two talk to him. I don't need to be there. I'm just backup."

"Yeah, we're a team," Atticus said. "Come on."

Kyle shook his head, getting his mulish look. "No."

Atticus sighed. "Fine, fine, we'll talk to him. We're going to make this quick, twenty minutes tops."

"I'm just downloading stuff to my laptop for later." Kyle patted his shoulder bag.