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“That was a brilliant move, in case no one’s told you yet.”

I blinked in confusion. “What was?”

“Crash-landing that helicopter and Castro’s virus into salt water.”

“It was the only thing I could think of. Did the device go off?”

“It did,” Sci said. “But Castro developed Hydra-9 as an airborne pathogen. The saline and the pollution in the bay killed the virus, probably on contact. There’s no evidence of it anywhere in the cove, anyway, and they’ve been testing around the clock.”

“That’s our superhero at work,” Justine said with a wry smile.

“I am no superhero,” I said. “Lots of people helped stop Castro, and none more important than Maureen.”

“Oh, c’mon.” Mo-bot tittered. “My part was luck.”

“You thought to look,” I said.

“No, I happened to glance at the NBC raw feeds and in came footage of the Redeemer shot just before dark when there was this weird reddish color in the western sky. I thought it was dramatic, so I blew it up on the big screen in the command center. One second the statue’s right arm was flat, and the next second it was like it had biceps — you know, a big bump that wasn’t there before?”

“But you saw the bump, and you magnified the image enough to see it was Castro standing in the hatch,” I said.

“Well, yes, I did do that,” Mo-bot said.

“Thank God you did,” I said. “Even though we figured Castro had gone up Corcovado Mountain, we never would have located him inside the statue in time to save forty-five thousand people from a deadly virus. This one’s all you, Maureen Roth. You saved the day.”

Mo-bot beamed and laughed, said, “I’ll take some of the credit, but you did all the crazy stuff to stop him and his drone.”

“Acosta was a big part of it too,” I said. “He took a bullet. How is he?”

They sobered. Justine said, “Bruno died on impact, Jack.”

I’d been growing stronger by the minute until then. I sagged and felt shitty.

Acosta was dead. Tavia was dead. I was involved in both tragedies. I was a contributing factor in both deaths. I’d survived them both and felt the guilt of that like a heavy blanket around me.

“Bruno was a great cop,” I said. “Smart. Tough. As brave as they come. But I couldn’t figure out any other way to handle the virus than to crash.”

“You did the right thing,” said General da Silva, who’d just come into the hospital room. “Acosta would have said the same. He died a hero and a martyr for every single person in that stadium and for every single person who might have contracted the virus afterward. You two prevented a national calamity, Jack. I know the president wishes to thank you personally when you’re up to it.”

That was nice, but losing Tavia and Acosta in the process of keeping the Olympic Games safe was a bitter pill to swallow, one I was sure I’d be tasting in the back of my throat for years.

Wanting to change the subject, I said, “How are the games going?”

The general smiled and opened his hands wide. “Since the opening ceremony, my marvelous Rio has been showing its true colors. The games have been a nonstop party so far. The greatest the world has ever seen.”

“I’d expect nothing less,” I said.

“The doctors said you’ll be able to leave in maybe two days,” da Silva said. “So any event you want to go to after that, you’ll have the best seats in the house. Next Sunday night is the men’s hundred-meter. Fastest-man-on-earth race.”

I’d seen the finals in London and almost turned him down, but then said, “Get me four tickets.”

“Done.”

I gestured to Sci, Mo-bot, and Justine. “You’re coming with me.”

Roth clapped and Sci seemed pleased.

“Sure you don’t want me back in L.A., looking after things?” Justine said.

“I kind of need you here.”

She smiled, held my hand again, and said, “I’ll stay in Rio as long as you want me here.”

Chapter 105

They let me out of the hospital two days later. I could walk, but the pain drugs and the holes in the head and the broken ribs ruled out my driving or doing anything strenuous for the foreseeable future.

General da Silva arranged for us to stay in his sister’s two-bedroom rental in Ipanema while I convalesced. Justine and Mo-bot took turns taking care of me. We watched the Olympics and really got into the rowing and the indoor bicycle racing for some reason. Very exciting stuff.

Justine spent a lot of time on the phone with Emilio Cruz, her boyfriend. Cruz works in my L.A. office. I could tell there was some friction over her not returning until the games were over.

“You can leave anytime,” I told her. “I’m feeling better.”

“I’ll leave when I believe you can take care of yourself,” she said.

“You sure?”

“Jack, yes, I’m sure,” Justine said, pushing back her hair. “I almost lost you. I... don’t think I could have... I just have to make sure you’re okay.”

Her eyes welled with tears and she looked away, embarrassed. My heart almost broke because I realized she still carried a torch for me, as I did for her.

“Thank you,” I said, swallowing at the emotion in my throat. “But I don’t want to upset you and Cruz.”

“I thought Emilio and I were good,” she said, sniffing and wiping at her eyes. “But if our relationship can’t stand this stress, then it wasn’t meant to be.”

Justine touched me with her loyalty and with her acknowledgment of the thing that still lived between us, whatever it was. I couldn’t think about that for long. It seemed like I was insulting Tavia somehow.

So for the first time in a long time I started talking. About everything.

Over the course of days, I told Justine all about Tavia and broke down several times in the process. I felt as if I’d really opened up, held nothing back, and as a result we’d never been closer.

“You’ve come a long way,” Justine said early Sunday afternoon, nine days after the crash, as she helped me into a sport-fishing charter boat I’d hired out of the Botafogo Bay marina. “It’s good you’re not keeping it all bottled up the way you usually do.”

“Think I’ve earned a spot on Dr. Phil?”

“Uh, no, but you’re making progress,” she said, smiling with concern. “Sure you don’t want me to come along?”

“This is something I need to do alone.”

“I’ll be waiting right here for you when you come back.”

“What am I? Forrest Gump?”

Justine laughed, said, “Forrest is a lot faster.”

“I think my grandmother’s faster at the moment,” I said and settled into my seat and put Tavia’s ashes on the deck between my legs. “At least go have lunch or an açaí berry smoothie or something.”

“Açaí berry smoothie it is. Those things are addictive, aren’t they?”

“Massively,” I said as the captain started his engines.

“There’s really no one else?” Justine asked.

I shook my head, said, “She was an orphan.”

The mate threw off the lines.

As the captain chugged us out of the marina, I watched Justine at the end of the dock watching me until we lost sight of each other.

We picked up speed and headed toward the harbor mouth. Sugarloaf Mountain loomed to our right, looking as impossible and breathtaking as ever.

For a moment I thought about the climbers Tavia and I and General da Silva had rescued off the cliffs the day before the World Cup final. It seemed like several lifetimes ago.

When we were more than a mile offshore, the captain slowed his engines and looked to me. I gazed around at the relative position of Sugarloaf, Copacabana, and the lighthouse toward Devil Beach.