Vanish

Reluctantly, Gabriel turned his attention back to Joe, and the two men sat facing each other. It looked like a perfectly civilized summit, except for the fact that one of the men had a gun resting in his lap. Olena, now stationed on Jane’s couch, held an equally lethal weapon. Just a nice little get-together with two couples. Which pair will survive the night?

“What did they tell you about me?” said Joe. “What’s the FBI saying?”

“A few things.”

“I’m crazy, right? A loner. Paranoid.”

“Yes.”

“You believe them?”

“I have no reason not to.”

Jane watched her husband’s face. Though he spoke calmly, she could see the strain in his eyes, the tight muscles of his neck. You knew this man was insane, she thought, yet you walked in here anyway. All for me… She suppressed a groan as a new contraction began to build. Keep quiet. Don’t distract Gabriel; let him do what he needs to do. She sank back on the couch, teeth gritted, suffering in silence. Kept her gaze fixed on the ceiling, on a single dark smudge on the acoustic tile. Concentrate on your focal point. Mind over pain. The ceiling blurred, the smudge seeming to bob in an unsteady sea of white. It made her nauseated just to look at it. She closed her eyes, like a seasick sailor woozy from rocking waves.

Only when the contraction began to ease, when the pain at last released its grip, did she open her eyes. Her gaze, once again, focused on the ceiling. Something had changed. Next to the smudge there was now a small hole, almost u

She glanced at Gabriel, but he was not looking at her. He was completely focused on the man sitting across from him.

Joe asked: “Do you think I’m insane?”

Gabriel regarded him for a moment. “I’m not a psychiatrist. I can’t make that determination.”

“You walked in here expecting a crazy man to be waving a gun around, didn’t you?” He leaned forward. “That’s what they told you. Be honest.”

“You really want me to be honest?”

“Absolutely.”

“They told me I’d be dealing with two terrorists. That’s what I was led to believe.”

Joe sat back, his face grim. “So that’s how they’re going to end it,” he said quietly. “Of course. It’s how they would end it. What kind of terrorists are we supposed to be?” He glanced at Olena, then laughed. “Oh. Chechens, probably.”

“Yes.”

“Is John Barsanti ru

Gabriel frowned. “You know him?”

“He’s been tracking us since Virginia. Everywhere we go, he seems to turn up. I knew he’d show up here. He’s probably just waiting to zip up our body bags.”

“You don’t have to die. Hand me your weapons, and we’ll all leave together. No gunfire, no blood. I give you my word.”

“Yeah, there’s a guarantee.”

“You let me walk in here. Which means that, on some level, you trust me.”

“I can’t afford to trust anyone.”

“Then why am I here?”

“Because I refuse to go to my grave without some hope of justice. We’ve tried taking this to the press. We handed them the fucking evidence. But no one gives a shit.” He looked at Olena. “Show them your arm. Show them what Ballentree did to you.”

Olena tugged her sleeve above her elbow and pointed to a jagged scar.

“You see?” said Joe. “What they put in her arm?”

“Ballentree? Are you talking about the defense contractor?”

“Latest microchip technology. A way for Ballentree to track its property. She was human cargo, brought over straight from Moscow. A little business that Ballentree operates on the side.”

Jane looked back at the ceiling. Suddenly she realized that there were other fresh holes in the acoustic tiles. She glanced at the two men, but they were still focused on each other. No one else was looking upward; no one else saw that the ceiling was now riddled with punctures.

“So this is all about a defense contractor?” said Gabriel, his voice perfectly even, revealing no hint of the skepticism he surely felt.

“Not just any defense contractor. We’re talking about the Ballentree Company. Direct ties to the White House and Pentagon. We’re talking about executives who make billions of dollars every time we go to war. Why do you think Ballentree lands almost all the big contracts? Because they own the White House.”

“I hate to tell you this, Joe, but this isn’t exactly a new conspiracy theory. Ballentree is everyone’s bogeyman these days. A lot of people are itching to bring them down.”

“But Olena can actually do it.”

Gabriel looked at the woman, his gaze dubious. “How?”

“She knows what they did in Ashburn. She’s seen what kind of people these are.”

Jane was still staring at the ceiling, trying to understand what she was now seeing. Needle-thin lines of vapor were streaming silently from above. Gas. They are pumping gas into the room.

She looked at her husband. Did he know this was about to happen? Did he know this was the plan? No one else seemed aware of the silent invader. No one else realized that the assault was now begi

We are all breathing it in.

She tensed as she felt another contraction. Oh god, not now, she thought. Not when all hell is about to break loose. She gripped the couch cushion, waiting for the contraction to peak. The pain had her in its jaws now, and all she could do was grip the cushion and hang on. This one’s going to be bad, she thought. Oh, this one’s really bad.

But the pain never reached its climax. Suddenly the cushion seemed to melt away in Jane’s fist. She felt herself being dragged downward, toward the sweetest of sleep. Through the gathering numbness, she heard banging, and men’s shouts. Heard Gabriel’s voice, muffled, calling her name from across a great distance.

The pain was almost gone now.

Something bumped up against her, and softness brushed across her face. The touch of a hand, the faintest caress on her cheek. A voice whispered, words that she did not understand, soft and urgent words that were almost lost in the banging, in the sudden crash of the door. A secret, she thought. She is telling me a secret.

Mila. Mila knows.

There was a deafening blast, and warmth splashed her face.

Gabriel, she thought. Where are you?

TWENTY-ONE

At the sound of the first gunshots, the crowd standing in the street gave a collective gasp. Maura’s heart froze to a standstill. Tactical Ops officers held the police line as fresh gunfire thudded inside. She saw looks of confusion on the officers’ faces as the minutes passed, everyone waiting for word of what was happening inside. No one was moving; no one was rushing the building.

What are they all waiting for?

Police radios suddenly crackled: “Building secure! The entry team is out, and the building is now secure! Roll medical. We need stretchers-”

Med-Q teams rushed forward, pushing through the police tape like sprinters crossing the finish line. The breaking of that yellow tape touched off chaos. Suddenly reporters and cameras surged toward the building as well, as Boston PD struggled to hold them back. A helicopter hovered overhead, blades thumping.

Through the cacophony, Maura heard Korsak shout: “I’m a cop, goddammit! My friend’s in there! Let me through!” Korsak glanced her way and called out: “Doc, you gotta find out if she’s okay!”

Maura pushed ahead, to the police line. The cop gave her ID a harried glance, and shook his head.

“They need to take care of the living first, Dr. Isles.”

“I’m a physician. I can help.”

Her voice was almost drowned out by the chopper, which had just landed in the parking lot across the street. Distracted, the cop turned to yell at a reporter: “Hey, you! Get back now.”