MAYA AND GABRIEL returned to the van, then followed the two-lane road that cut across the desert. Lights from the city of Phoenix glowed on the western horizon, but the sky above them was clear and they could see a three-quarter moon and the bright haze of the Milky Way.
As Maya drove, she explained her plan. Right now they needed money, a safe place to hide, and multiple forms of false identification. Linden was sending American dollars to contacts in Los Angeles. Hollis and Vicki were still there and it would be good to have allies.
“Don’t call them allies,” Gabriel said. “They’re friends.”
Maya wanted to tell Gabriel that they couldn’t have friends-not really. He was her principal obligation. She could risk her life for only one person. Gabriel’s main responsibility was to avoid the Tabula and survive.
“They’re friends,” he repeated. “You understand that. Don’t you?”
She decided to change the subject. “So what was it like?” Maya asked. “How did it feel to cross the barriers?”
Gabriel described the endless sky, the desert, and the vast ocean. Finally he told her about seeing his brother in the burning church.
“And did you speak to him?”
“I tried to, but I was already in the passageway. By the time I got back, Michael had disappeared.”
“Our spy with the Tabula says that your brother has been very cooperative.”
“You don’t know if that’s true. He’s just trying to survive.”
“It’s more than survival. He’s helping them.”
“And now you’re worried that he’ll become a Cold Traveler?”
“It might happen. A Cold Traveler is someone who’s been corrupted by power. They can cause a great deal of destruction in this world.”
They drove in silence for another ten miles. Maya kept glancing in the rearview mirror, but no one was following them.
“Do the Harlequins protect Cold Travelers?”
“Of course not.”
“Do you kill these people?”
The Traveler’s voice sounded different and Maya turned to look at him. Gabriel was staring at her with a sharp intensity in his eyes.
“Do you kill these people?” he repeated.
“Sometimes. If we can.”
“You’d kill my brother?”
“If that was necessary.”
“And what about me? Would you kill me?”
“All this is just speculation, Gabriel. We don’t need to talk about it.”
“Don’t lie to me. I can see your answer.”
Maya gripped the steering wheel, not daring to look at him. One hundred yards ahead of them, a black shape darted across the road and disappeared into the weeds.
“I have this power, but I can’t control it,” Gabriel whispered. “I can speed up my perceptions for a moment and see everything clearly.”
“You can see whatever you want, but I’m not going to lie to you. If you became a Cold Traveler, I’d kill you. It would have to be that way.”
The cautious solidarity between them, their pleasure at seeing each other, had disappeared. In silence, they traveled down the empty road.
48
Lawrence Takawa placed his right hand on the kitchen table and stared at the little bump that showed where the Protective Link device had been inserted beneath his skin. He picked up a razor blade with his left hand and contemplated its sharp edge. Do it, he told himself. Your father wasn’t afraid. Holding his breath, he made a short, deep cut. Blood oozed out of the wound and dripped onto the table.
NATHAN BOONE HAD studied the surveillance photos taken at the front desk of the New York-New York Hotel in Las Vegas. It was clear that Maya was the blond young woman who checked into the room using Michael Corrigan’s credit card. A mercenary had been sent to the hotel immediately, but the Harlequin escaped. Twenty-four hours later, one of Boone’s security teams found Gabriel’s motorcycle in the hotel parking lot. Was Gabriel traveling with her? Or was all this just a decoy operation?
Boone decided to fly to Nevada and question everyone who had encountered the Harlequin. He was driving to the Westchester County Airport when he got a phone call from Simon Leutner, the head administrator of the Brethren’s underground computer center in London.
“Good morning, sir. Leutner here.”
“What’s going on? Did you find Maya?”
“No, sir. This concerns another issue. A week ago, you asked us to run a security check on all Evergreen Foundation employees. Along with the standard phone and credit card examination, we tried to see if anyone had used their access code to enter our system.”
“That would be a logical target.”
“The computer does an access code sweep every twenty-four hours. We just learned that a level-three employee named Lawrence Takawa entered an unauthorized data sector.”
“I work with Mr. Takawa. Are you sure this wasn’t a mistake?”
“Not at all. He was using General Nash’s access code, but the information went directly to Takawa’s personal computer. I guess he didn’t realize we had added a destination-specific capability last week.”
“And what was Mr. Takawa’s objective?”
“He was looking for any special shipments from Japan to our administrative center in New York.”
“Where is the employee at this moment? Did you check his Protective Link location?”
“He’s still inside his residence in Westchester County. The time log says he reported a viral illness and will not be working today.”
“Let me know if he leaves his house.”
Boone called the pilot waiting at the airport and postponed his flight. If Lawrence Takawa was aiding the Harlequins, then the Brethren’s security had been severely compromised. A traitor was like a tumor hidden within the body. They would need a surgeon-someone like Boone-who wasn’t afraid to cut out the malignant tissue.
THE EVERGREEN FOUNDATION owned an entire office building at Fifty-fourth Street and Madison Avenue in Manhattan. Two-thirds of the building was used by the foundation’s public employees who supervised research grant applications and managed the endowment. These employees-nicknamed the Lambs-were completely unaware of the Brethren and their activities.
The Brethren used the top eight floors of the building, which were accessed by a separate elevator bank. On the building directory, this was listed as the headquarters of a nonprofit organization called Nations Stand Together, which supposedly helped Third World countries upgrade their antiterrorist defenses. Two years ago at a Brethren meeting in London, Lawrence Takawa met the young woman from Switzerland who answered the phone calls and e-mails sent to Nations Stand Together. She was an expert at deflecting all inquiries in a courteous and bland manner. Apparently the United Nations ambassador from Togo was convinced that Nations Stand Together wanted to give his country a large grant to buy airport X-ray machines.
Lawrence knew that the building had one vulnerability: the security guards on the ground floor were Lambs who were ignorant of the Brethren’s larger agenda. After parking his car in a lot on Forty-eighth Street, he walked up Madison to the building and entered the lobby. Although it was cold outside, he had left his overcoat and suit coat in his car. No briefcase-just a takeout cup of coffee and a manila folder. That was part of the plan.
Lawrence showed his ID card to the older guard at the desk and smiled. “I’m going to the Nations Stand Together office on the twenty-third floor.”
“Stand on the yellow square, Mr. Takawa.”
Lawrence stood facing an iris scanner, a large gray box mounted on the security desk. The guard pressed a button and a lens photographed Lawrence’s eyes, then compared the imperfections in his irises to the data in the security file. A green light flashed. The older guard nodded to a young Latino man standing by the desk. “Enrique, please process Mr. Takawa to twenty-three.”