Hollingshead sighed. "So when you interrogated Jeremy Funt, say, or when you spoke with Ellie Pechowski-oh, I heard everything she told you, I'll be having words with her as well. Oh, my, yes. And let us not forget, when you infiltrated a Department of Defense secure facility with Julia at your side, were you in any way operating under the delusion that Julia had a need to know what you found?"

Chapel supposed he deserved that. What he didn't deserve was to be spoken to like a child. But he held his tongue. "No," he said.

"No. No, I don't suppose you would have been that foolish. You were recommended to me as a man who actually understood secrecy and the importance of national security. I might ask you many more questions, son. I might sit here all day asking them. I might also have you brought up on charges of espionage and treason, which-while perhaps not the best descriptions for the very, very foolish things you've done-are the best words I have to describe them. You-"

"Sir. Permission to speak candidly," Chapel said. Interrupting Hollingshead was insubordination, but compared to espionage and treason it wasn't much of a crime.

"Oh, but of course, son, I'd never dream of anything else. I so very much want to hear your explanation for what you've done."

Chapel inhaled sharply. "She had no need to know, as we define that term in the intelligence community. But if anyone on earth had a right to know, it was her."

Hollingshead waited, a patient expression on his face, as if he expected Chapel to say more. Chapel chose not to do so.

"Let's put her aside for a moment," the admiral eventually said. "We'll also put aside the utter naivete and silliness of your last statement."

Chapel bit his lip to keep from responding. The shame he felt had kept his anger under wraps until then. It had kept him from even feeling it. But there was a time to just accept that you were being chewed out, that you deserved to be called a fool. And there was a time when that stopped.

He was getting pretty close to that moment.

Hollingshead sighed and continued. "Let's instead talk about how I failed you. How I made an utter mess of this thing."

"Sir?"

"I said something to you just before you left the Pentagon. I told you to follow the clues. To figure out what was really going on here."

"Yes, sir, you did, which is exactly what I've been-"

Hollingshead lifted one hand.

Chapel fell silent.

"I meant, you see, and-now this is where it becomes my fault-I meant that you should figure out what the CIA wanted out of all this. Why, say, they were so anxious to handle it themselves. I don't believe you've done much in that regard, other than shooting the toes off a special agent. Instead of the investigation I wished you to complete, you took it upon yourself to dig up the secrets of a very old, very moribund project that it behooves no one-no one at all, son-to know about. About which you certainly have no need to know."

"My orders were to catch or kill the chimeras, sir. To know how to do that I needed to know what they were," Chapel said.

Hollingshead's eyes sparkled.

Which made Chapel think he'd made a mistake.

"Ah! Finally! We have some insight, a little window into the soul of James Chapel and why he chose to do all this. But that doesn't make it all better. Or does it?"

"No. Sir," Chapel said, though it made his teeth grind.

"No, no, because you found nothing in the camp. Because, of course, there was nothing to be found but some very old, very sad secrets. You wasted all that time, son. You wasted it for nothing."

Chapel opened his mouth, but then he closed it again quickly.

Hollingshead didn't know about Samuel. He didn't know Samuel was still alive.

It was probably best for Samuel that it remain that way.

But after what Chapel had seen in Camp Putnam-after what he'd learned-he could not remain silent. He had taken a vow to serve his country. To obey his superior officers. But there were times when even that vow had to be broken.

"You're wrong, sir. I did find something there."

It was gratifying to see Hollingshead look surprised for once. The man who knew everything, the spider at the center of the web of secrets, looked like he'd been punched in the face. His eyes were very wide as he waited to hear what Chapel said next.

"I found evil," Chapel said. "What happened in that camp was nothing short of criminal. What was done there-what happened to those boys-"

"Boys who grew up to be killers," Hollingshead interjected.

But Chapel wouldn't be derailed. Justice was at stake. "Maybe. Maybe we made them that way. We talk about the chimeras as if they're monsters. And I won't deny that they do monstrous things. But they're still ninety-nine percent human. And I figure that means they should have had the same rights as you and me. But they weren't given those rights. They were tortured in there, starved, neglected, and abandoned."

"I won't speak to this," Hollingshead sputtered. "And if you're wise, you'll-"

"No, sir, I won't shut up. They were children. And they were tortured. That's not something that can just stand. Someone's going to have to pay."

NAVAL SUPPORT UNIT SARATOGA SPRINGS, NEW YORK: APRIL 14, T+50:31

Hollingshead was quiet for a very long time. He took off his glasses and folded them carefully. Put them in a pocket of his vest. Chapel couldn't read anything in his face or his body language. He couldn't tell what Hollingshead was about to do.

Not that it mattered. Chapel knew his career was already over. That he'd be lucky not to be arrested and thrown in prison for the rest of his life, after what he'd done.

He didn't regret a single word he'd said.

"I . . . see," Hollingshead said, finally. "Have you . . . well. I suppose I should ask what you think you're going to do now. How you intend to attain this hypothetical justice. Are you going to go to the media? Reveal classified information to the public? Write a book about what you've seen and go on Larry King to talk about it?"

Chapel frowned. That was one thing he hadn't considered. Something had to be done. But what? "No, sir, I don't suppose I will," he admitted. "I did take an oath not to do that sort of thing."

"Then . . . perhaps you'll try to get justice from within the DIA? File reports with some oversight committee or other, make a nuisance of yourself? Will you write a carefully composed e-mail to the president?"

Chapel felt the wind go right out of him. That was more in line with what he could do. But he also knew that it would achieve exactly nothing. There were people out there who were responsible for Camp Putnam, but they were people in positions of influence, and people like that didn't respond well to being called out. They would go into damage control mode. Shift blame. Implicate Chapel in the whole thing and make sure he took the fall for what they'd done. It was how any bureaucracy worked.

"No," Hollingshead said, "I can see it in your eyes. You're too smart to throw your life away like that, either. If it will accomplish nothing. Well"-he sighed-"son, maybe you should think more on what you're going to do. But perhaps you can wait on that until you're done with your assignment."

"I-sir?" Chapel was deeply confused. Hollingshead couldn't mean what he'd just implied, could he?

"I'm sending you to Denver, right now," Hollingshead said. "Come now, Captain. You look honestly surprised."

"I suppose I didn't expect that after . . . what I said," he tried.

"Oh, Captain, I assure you. I have not yet begun to chew you out, as the men say. This conversation will continue at some future date. But I need you in Denver because there is a chimera there about to try to kill Franklin Hayes. Quite clearly, I have no time to brief or ready anyone else. Director Banks and I agree that what we need, right now, is boots on the ground-not stewing in a cell in some loathsome brig. So you will go to Denver and you will continue the job we assigned you."

"Sir?" Chapel asked. And he knew it was over. He wasn't going to get his moment of righteous indignation after all. It burned inside him still, but Hollingshead had moved on. Cut the floor out from under Chapel's feet and gotten back to what mattered to him.

"There will be a chimera attack in Denver, and it will happen today," Hollingshead said. His tone told Chapel this was not speculation. "The judge's security team will not be prepared to defeat it. If you aren't there, son, loaded for bear and knowing what you know-it will succeed."

"It . . . will," Chapel said. He knew he would not be allowed to know how Hollingshead could be so certain.

"And if that happens, Tom Banks will win."

"Win," Chapel said. Because he couldn't think of what else to say.

He had been mistaken, it seemed. He had been mistaken all along. He'd thought Hollingshead had given him this mission so he could protect the people on the list.

That had been foolish, it seemed. Apparently, to both the CIA and the Pentagon, this was a game.

Hollingshead rose stiffly to his feet, then pulled back the canvas cover at the back of the truck. "Follow me, please," the admiral said.

Chapel followed him out of the truck and down onto a concrete surface that he thought he recognized. He looked up and saw that he'd been brought to the same airport in the Catskills where he'd landed the night before. Hollingshead's jet was sitting on the runway, ready to take off. Nearby was the helicopter Chapel had heard-it must have brought Hollingshead here.

A sailor came up to unlock Chapel's handcuffs. The same sailor returned his phone, his hands-free set, and his sidearm. He checked the action and the magazine and saw it had been cleaned and reloaded for him.

He had begun to suspect that Hollingshead wasn't on his side. That the admiral was working against him in some nefarious way. He lacked any real proof or any good reason to believe that other than a hunch and a few scraps of half-certain information.

Now this-all this, the guilt trip, the threats of criminal charges, the sudden reversal and reinstatement . . . was it all part of the deeper game? Was it just a way to make Chapel step back in line?

That was intelligence work for you. It was impossible to ever really know who you could trust.

Hollingshead met Chapel's eye one last time before sending him away. "You will protect Franklin Hayes to the utmost of your ability," the admiral said. "When that is done . . . we will address your future. But for right now, Chapel, I need you-God protect us all."

Chapel climbed inside the jet, and Chief Petty Officer Andrews closed the hatch.

When she'd finished, the CPO turned to give Chapel a long and questioning look. "I've got new orders, now," she said.

"I know. You're taking me to Denver."

She nodded. "And if you try to divert the plane, I'm supposed to shoot you. Are you going to push it, or do you want to sit down and wait until I have the towels heated and your breakfast cooked?"

Chapel hadn't eaten or slept in quite a while. "I'll be a good boy," he said.

She nodded and headed toward the back of the cabin. "It's almost four hours to Denver from here. Get comfortable."

Chapel nodded and headed toward one of the seats, intending to sit down and promptly pass out.

Before he could even pick which seat looked the most comfortable, though, one of them swiveled around and Julia jumped out of it, rushing over to put her arms around him.

He was surprised to see her there, to say the least. After what Hollingshead had said to him in the truck, he assumed he would never see her again. "Are you all right?" he asked her.

She nodded, her head against his shoulder. "They asked me a million questions, but nobody beat me with a rubber hose or anything, if that's what you mean. Then that nice old man-your boss, right?-he told me to get on the plane. He said I was your responsibility now, and you'd have to figure out what to do with me."

None of this made any sense, Chapel thought. Not a bit.

He knew he was glad to see her, though. He lifted his hand to stroke her back.

And just like that the moment between them was over. She pushed him away, and when he looked in her face again, he saw she had recovered herself, that she was back to their professional relationship.

But for a second there, when she'd first seen him, there'd been something more. She had looked to him for something not professional at all-comfort. She must have been terrified when the navy men interrogated her. She must have wondered if she would ever see daylight again. So when she saw Chapel, she'd known that she was going to be okay, and she had run to him in relief. Maybe that was all there was to it. But maybe . . .

He shook his head and forced himself not to think stupid thoughts.

IN TRANSIT: APRIL 14, T+51:07

Julia was exhausted enough that she fell asleep soon after they took off, but Chapel still had some work to do. He would try to take a nap before they landed in Denver-his body was certainly ready for it-but he needed at least some information on what he was getting himself into.

So he plugged the hands-free set into his ear.

"Angel," he said, "are you online?"

"I'm here, Captain," she said.

Chapel closed his eyes. This wasn't going to be fun. "So it's Captain, now. Not sweetie, or sugar?"

"Do you have any idea how much trouble you've gotten me in?" Angel asked. She didn't sound particularly angry, though. More concerned.

"I'm sorry, Angel. I truly am."

"Apparently-and I have this from on high-I'll be listed as a conspirator when they charge you for espionage. That means I could face the same penalty you do. Do you know what the penalty is for espionage?"

"All too well. Listen, Angel, it won't come to that. Conspiracy charges are just a way to get accomplices to provide information on the principal in any investigation. Which means if you tell them everything, they'll let you off."

"You mean, if I throw you under the bus."

"It's not a betrayal if I tell you it's okay," Chapel said. "I don't want you to suffer because I made some bad decisions."

Angel sounded a little less upset, but she still didn't call him sweetie. "Okay, okay, enough. We can have a blame party later," Angel said. "Tell me what you need now. And I'll let you know if you're approved for it."

"I just need to know about Franklin Hayes. Is he still alive, at least?"

"Yes. And just as ornery as ever. He's been calling me constantly, or at least his office has, demanding updates on when you're going to arrive. Right now I have you down for landing in Denver about half past eleven, local time."

"What about the chimera?" Quinn, he thought, it's Quinn who will be there.

"He might already be in Denver. By the time you land, he'll have more than a five-hour head start on you."

That wasn't good. But it was encouraging to know that Quinn hadn't already struck. "What do you know about security on-site?"

"It's pretty solid. Judge Hayes is surrounded by Colorado Highway Patrol officers. That's the closest thing they have to a state police force. He has some private bodyguards as well. I've seen their dossiers. They've all got security clearances, though nothing near what they would need to be told what's coming for the judge. They're all former Blackwater or Halliburton guys. Most of them were civilian contractors in Iraq."

Private security. Civilian contractors. Mercenaries, to give them their proper name. Chapel had met plenty of those in Afghanistan and had never had a high opinion of them-they weren't military but liked pretending they were. Well, at least they'd be likely to know how to shoot straight.

Not, apparently, that it would matter. Hollingshead had been clear on that-the judge's security team wouldn't be enough. "Are they ready for me to take over when I arrive?"

"Not quite. A man named Reinhard is the head of security there, one of the private bodyguards. He sent me an itinerary. Once you reach Denver and meet with the judge, they're going to move him to a safehouse somewhere outside of the city. He'll turn over all authority to you once Hayes is installed there."

"Huh," Chapel said. "That's a weird move. He'll be vulnerable during the transfer. The chimera could attack his car."

"I worried about that, too. Especially since we know somebody is telling the chimeras where their targets are. I haven't forgotten what happened at Stone Mountain. That probably explains why they won't tell me the location of this safehouse."

Chapel's eyes went wide. "So I can't know in advance where I'll be protecting the judge." He shook his head. "This has catastrophe written all over it."

And he was going to be the man who took the blame if it went wrong.

IN TRANSIT: APRIL 14, T+52:10

Chapel sighed and sank back into his chair. "I need to know about Franklin Hayes. He's a federal judge, I know that much. He's supposed to become the next Supreme Court justice as well. Beyond that, what's his story?"

"He worked for the CIA, you already know that," Angel replied. "He became a judge in 1994 in Denver-he was appointed by the mayor of Denver to oversee a county court. In that position he would mostly have heard cases relating to traffic citations and misdemeanors. It's not a very glamorous position, but it was a stepping-stone for him, a way into the judiciary. He worked his way up to the Colorado Supreme Court by 2003, and then switched over to his current position as a federal judge. As for becoming a Supreme Court justice, I'm not sure he'll make it."

"No?" Chapel asked. "Every time they talk about him on CNN or Fox News it sounds like he's a shoo-in."

"The president's appointment went through just fine, and the judge's record is squeaky clean. But he still has to get past the Senate, and given the political situation right now, he's facing a pretty tough confirmation hearing."

"He's some kind of activist judge?" Chapel asked. "Or is it the other side that doesn't like him-is he rabidly antiabortion or something?"

Angel worked her keyboard for a while. "Nothing like that, nothing that simple. He's a pretty solid moderate when it comes to politics-which is a tough thing to be in these partisan times. It takes a really slick judge to avoid ruffling everybody's feathers, but Hayes has managed to avoid the usual pitfalls. Except once. His Achilles' heel is a single motion he ruled on in 2002. It was a domestic terrorism case. The guy in question set fire to a federal building, and three people inside burned to death. The federal government wanted him remanded to the custody of the Justice Department-they wanted to interrogate him and find out who he had worked with. Hayes threw out the request on a minor technicality. The terrorist stayed in a state prison, served out his term, and was released seven years later."

"He did that in 2002?" Chapel frowned. "Back then everyone in the country was still pretty gung ho about anything that even resembled terrorism. It must have been an unpopular decision."

"Worse still, Hayes refused to explain why he did it."

Chapel sat up straight. There was something in her tone that had got his attention. "You think you know, though, don't you?"

"It could just be a coincidence. There's nothing like real evidence here. But during the hearing, the terrorist claimed he should be set free because he'd been given his orders by the CIA. Obviously, at the time people thought he was crazy."

"That is an interesting coincidence," Chapel agreed.

"It was just a minor scandal at the time, but now it's coming back to bite him. There are senators on both sides of the aisle who are muttering that Hayes is soft on terrorism."

"So you think the Senate will refuse to confirm him to the Supreme Court?" Chapel asked.

Angel clucked her tongue. "I'm not an expert, Chapel. That's just my opinion. But a lot of pundits are starting to suggest it. He looked great when he was first nominated, but now the buzz is against him. And the current problem, the chimera problem, isn't helping him any."

"What on earth does that have to do with his confirmation?"

"Supreme Court nominees don't just sit back and wait to hear if they've been accepted or not. They lobby hard to get the votes they need like any other kind of politician. Hayes has a PAC working for him in Washington. He's supposed to be there right now meeting with members of the Senate Judiciary Committee, but instead he's locked up in his offices in his courthouse."

"No wonder he got so angry with me," Chapel said.

"He's not a good guy to mess with," Angel told him. "He's connected, at every level. I mean, the president likes him. They know each other personally. And clearly he's still connected to the CIA through Director Banks. Even just as a federal judge he has a lot of power to ruin your life if he wants to. Chapel, when you meet this guy, if I were you I would lick his boots. No, wait, he might not like that. You should ask him if you're allowed to lick his boots."

"Maybe I'll just try saving his life," Chapel suggested. "See how he likes that."

IN TRANSIT: APRIL 14, T+54:13

Chapel did finally manage to get some sleep, after that. He put his head back on the seat and pulled a blanket over himself and he was out like a light.

But he must have dreamed.

He would never remember the dream. But he would remember waking up with one fact firmly in his mind, one thing that had nearly escaped his conscious mind, but which his subconscious mind had carefully filed away.

"Ellie," he said, as his eyes opened.

Admiral Hollingshead had chastised Chapel for going to talk to Eleanor Pechowski. Except he hadn't called her that. He'd called her Ellie Pechowski.

She'd told Chapel to call her Ellie when he met her. Probably she said that to everyone who met her. Which meant Rupert Hollingshead knew Ellie, had at least made her acquaintance.

Maybe they were even friends. Chapel had wondered why she was allowed to remain at large, knowing what she knew. Having as much exposure to the virus as she must have had. Hollingshead must have been protecting her this whole time.

She had told Chapel something else, as well. She'd told him she'd been originally hired to work at Camp Putnam by a man in a uniform. A captain in a navy uniform.

"Did you say something, Chapel?"

It was Angel's voice in his ear.

"Angel," he said, "can you tell me something about Admiral Hollingshead? Nothing secret. Just-when was he promoted to admiral?"

"I doubt he'd want me answering that," she said, "but . . . you could just Google it yourself, so, okay." She worked her keyboard for a moment. "It was after Operation Desert Storm, in 1991."

Ellie had been recruited in 1990. Back then Hollingshead would have been a captain. In the navy.

"Okay," Chapel said. "Thanks."

He settled back into the seat and closed his eyes again.

In his head the pieces fit together, revealing more of the picture.

IN TRANSIT: APRIL 14, T+55:21

The plane set down at Denver International Airport and before it had even finished taxiing to the terminal, cars were already moving on the tarmac, headed to meet them. There were three cars, all black late-model sedans with tinted windows. Anybody who saw them would know instantly they were full of security for some VIP.

When the cars reached the plane, a trio of men in black suits and sunglasses poured out and took up defensive positions surrounding the cars. Each of them carried a shotgun in plain sight. They made a good show of tapping their ears and calling out status updates to each other.

"They're not bothering with a low profile," Chapel said, as he and Julia watched the convoy approach. "That's probably a mistake. A chimera on his own might not know what all this signifies. But the Voice will."

"You think that Quinn will attack during the transfer," Julia said, because he'd filled her in on what he'd learned of Hayes's itinerary.

"I would, if I were trying to kill him. It's when he's most at risk. But there are ways of avoiding that-or even using this kind of display to our advantage. We could put the judge in a nondescript car, let Quinn attack the security detail and then have the judge's car speed away in the middle of things." Chapel threw up his hands. "But it's not up to me. I don't take charge of security until we reach this undisclosed location. I can't give any orders until then, so I'll just have to play this straight."

"I'll keep my eyes open," Julia said.

"Ah." Chapel turned away from the window and looked at her face. "About that."

Julia sighed. "You're not taking me with you, are you?"

Chapel tried to pick his words very carefully, this time. "No. I want you to stay here, on the plane. So you can be ready to get out of here at a moment's notice. Chief Petty Officer Andrews is armed. I've already spoken with her, before you woke up. She knows that the CIA may attempt to get at you. Her orders are to try to get the plane out of here before they arrive-or to defend the aircraft if anyone tries to board it."