"Tell it to shut up, or I swear to God, I'll shoot it in the face!"

"Ace, mohlchyats!"

The dog didn't listen. Sitting in the passenger seat, he kept barking at the corpses of the Secret Service as if he were trying to wake them up, impassioned by the smell of blood.

"Ace, zatknees!"

Ace snarled and bent down his head in frustration, letting Clapton sing Cocaine from the speakers. Abel removed his right hand from the steering wheel to stroke the dog behind the ears, while Light, in the back seat, stared through the glass at the road they were leaving behind.

"See anything?" asked Garrard.

"Nothing. No one's trailing us."

Abel looked at his watch.

"OK, it's been an hour now. You can stop looking unless I tell you to."

Light looked forward again, calmer now. She then fully acknowledged her seat between two suited corpses, their faces bathed in coagulated blood that splashed across their sunglasses. It was then that she realized she had already broken death in, accepting it around her with absolute soberness since she had been forced, for the first time, to kill the two spies at Skyler's house just hours ago. She had done so in self-defense, but somewhere inside her, she knew this was how things actually were, and she knew she should retain this new vital attitude at least for the rest of the trip, simply to keep from becoming a hindrance. Even so, she couldn't help yearning for who she had been before it all happened. To be herself again. The woman drinking coffee that morning on her way to work, however recently, felt like nothing but a fading mirage behind the haze of a magnified time lens. It was as if fate had split her soul in two, rendering her unable to pull her two selves together to make her whole again. As if she had to pick a side. The side who asked how the world was, and the side who knew how it actually was. Maybe she should remain this way for the rest of her life. Maybe this was who she really was.

"You haven't said a thing about cleaning the blood off these two. Don't you worry they might draw any attention?"

"The windows are tinted. No one can see anything from the outside. Besides, the police won't dare pull us over, thinking I'm moving one of the President's lovers or something. But if someone reports a Secret Service car passing by, we'll be in serious trouble. That's why we ought to avoid crowded roads. And, just in case, we can't just kick them both out of the car or throw away any luggage. We can't leave any trace."

Light suddenly remembered the diplomatic pouch.

"Speaking of luggage, there was a suitcase where they put my stuff."

Garrard opened the glove compartment and pulled out the pouch.

"Here," he said, stretching his arm backwards.

"Thanks."

Light put the pouch on her thighs and unlatched the hasp, noting that the Daruma, the Zippo, and the gun were still there. With indescribable relief, she put them back in their respective jacket pockets, feeling complete again. She removed her hair scrunchie with a warm feeling of victory and, for the first time, rested her head on the seat back.

The car marched on through the deserted road, crossing that empty wasteland which seemed like the sky itself would crush it at any time.

"Now what? Where are we going?"

"We're gonna meet my boss. It's something I had planned to do for quite some time, but he told me to take you with me."

"So, you're taking me because the dates overlapped."

"It's only natural. But this is a mission, and I'm gonna have to bring you and the dog along with me."

"What do you mean by 'mission?'"

"We're gonna sneak into a military facility, then we'll get in a stealth class naval prototype and sail away with it. That in itself is not a problem for me; I'm officially a military prototype test pilot. The snag comes with you."

"Well, then I guess you'll have some plan so that my—" she looked at Ace—"our presence doesn't raise any eyebrows."

"Obviously. I'll walk you through it now."

Abel drove off the road and went through a barren land. He then parked under a bluff, behind which there was a second car, in gray. The three of them left the first car.

"We're switching cars, but first," Abel popped the trunk of the other car, "here's a naval uniform. Hurry and change clothes."

She looked around her in embarrassment.

"Here, in front of you?"

"Get in the car if you want, but hurry. Then I'll give you a file with a new identity that I want you to learn in case you get vetted. Oh, and I also brought a first aid kit so you can change your bandages and disinfect your wound. I've been told you were shot in the arm."

Light took her right hand to her left biceps. The pain she felt at the mere contact confirmed to her the reality of what had happened.

"Yeah, I was. Thank you."

She took the uniform and got in the gray car, and the dog got in with her. Abel, sitting on the trunk lid and gazing at the mountains, tried to simmer down the tense wait with a cigarette. He fished one out from his Ziganov pack and put it between his lips, protecting the flame with his hand as he tried to light it. He didn't get it with the first or the second click of the lighter, but he had no time for a third attempt; the cell phone inside his jacket pocket rang. He picked it up instinctively.

"Hello."

"Garrard, it's Bailey."

"Oh, of course. Speak, sir," he said to his commanding officer.

"I won't pester you much. We've gotten new info in the case concerning the theft of the Nighthawk some years ago. You remember it?"

"Perfectly, sir. What happened?"

"We've intercepted a recording in which we can hear the pilot talking, that guy Seiber, along with a civilian of high value. We suspect Seiber might have kidnapped him."

"And now all the ways are open again."

"Right. So, as you can imagine, we've been asked to do another sweep, just as a security measure. And since you are a prototype testing pilot, like Ulrich Seiber was, I have to ask if you have established contact with him, or if you've seen any sign of his presence these past few days."

"None at all, sir." Garrard projected a half-smile. "I'll tell you the same thing I told the inspectors during the investigation. I do not know, nor have I personally met Co...I mean Ulrich Seiber. We were in separate programs, and if we met each other, it was just sheer chance."

"I'm sure, Garrard. I didn't intend to second-guess you; it's only procedure. You know, pins or staples, as the spies say. Or something like that. Anyway, you're still required to go to the office tomorrow morning to report and take a polygraph."

"Don't worry, sir. I'll be there. By the way, last time we blamed the Russians for the theft, and now this Eastern German shows up again; are you thinking about putting in for an explanation to the Kremlin or anything?"

"It's not your concern or mine, but there'll likely be reprisals. The top brass is preparing to tally up a top-notch team to bring them both back, with the Nighthawk, if possible, from wherever they are. But anyhow, just report bright and early, and if you remember any important details, please don't hesitate to call me."

"Of course, sir. I'll keep in touch."

As soon as he hung up, Abel crouched down, pulled out a rolled sheet of paper from a secret slot in the sole of his shoe, unrolled it, and looked hastily for Virgil's phone number.