“It would have been much simpler if you’d just shot him, though.”

“I didn’t bring a gun,” Chase admitted.

Sophia’s voice filled with disbelief. “What? Why not?”

“I’m trying to cut down on shooting people. Too much paperwork.”

“Since when do you care about paperwork?”

“My life’s changed!” He booted one of the glass doors open and hurried outside, looking back for signs of pursuit. Yuen was running down the stairs, and the bodyguard Sophia had kicked in the head was struggling to his feet.

A car horn hooted frantically. A taxi charged across the plaza towards the front of the Grand Theatre, pedestrians jumping out of its way. “That’s our ride!” he told Sophia, waving to Mei as she brought the taxi to a screeching stop in front of them. He pulled open the rear door, then quickly bowed to deposit Sophia on the pavement with a click of her heels. “Get in, quick,” he ordered, now all business. Behind, Yuen was rallying his troops, the bodyguard now helping the second man up, and another coming down from the balcony level.

Chase shoved Sophia into the taxi, then leaped in after her. Mei stamped on the accelerator before he even had a chance to close the door, the taxi taking off with a shriek of rubber. He poked his head up to look through the rear window-

“Duck!” he shouted, shielding Sophia with his body. Yuen and one of the bodyguards were now outside the theater, the guard raising his gun. Chase heard four shots, but none of them seemed to hit the speeding taxi.

“Good thing this isn’t my cab!” Mei yelled, swerving the taxi onto a grass verge. It skidded over it in a shower of turf and careered across a pavement. People dived out of its path, yelling obscenities after them as Mei turned again, merging into a line of identical cabs as they sped along the street.

Chase looked back. Yuen was an angry silhouette against the illuminated glass foyer-then trees blocked him from sight. “Okay, we’re clear. Nice driving, Mei.”

“That was nothing. You should see me when I need to get home to pee!” She looked at Sophia in the mirror. “So, you rescued your lady friend? Hi, I’m Mei.”

“Sophia Blackwood,” Sophia told her. “I’m very happy to meet you!”

Mei’s expression became confused. “Sophia? But wasn’t that your first wife’s…” She glanced back at Chase. “Is she who you told me about before, the one you-”

“No,” said Chase emphatically. “Let’s get to the station. The sooner me and Sophia get out of here, the better.”

“We have to go to my husband’s company headquarters first,” said Sophia. It was a command, not a request.

Chase raised an eyebrow. “You what?”

“I can’t leave the country otherwise-Richard keeps my passport in his office safe.” To Chase’s disbelieving look, she went on, “I said in my letter that he was controlling.”

“Wait, and you let him? You?”

“Can we not start, please?” Sophia sighed, exasperated. “And there’s more there than just my passport. I can access his private computer files-and give you the proof that he’s connected to the sinking of the SBX rig.”

“And you couldn’t have done this before?”

“Don’t you think I would have done if I could?” she snapped. There was a brief, frosty silence. “I’m sorry. Eddie, I’m so grateful that you would do this for me, you have no idea. But you don’t know what Richard is like. He’s very… suspicious. Paranoid, even. And now that I’ve found out what he’s involved in, I know why.” She touched his hand. “Once we’re in his office, it’ll only take me ten minutes, less, to get what I need.”

Chase looked down at her hand on his, thinking. Then he gave it the briefest of squeezes before leaning forward. “Okay, Mei. Looks like we’re making a detour. Take us to the Ycom building.”

4 New York City

Half a world away, Nina sat back and rubbed her eyes, frustrated but unwilling to admit defeat. She had arrived at the anonymous Art Deco office building a few blocks from City Hall just after six in the morning, excitement blowing away any tiredness, eager to see the ancient parchments with her own eyes. Met in the lobby by an unsmiling-and almost certainly armed-man, she was taken to the fifth floor to meet Popadopoulos.

There was a second man with him, another well-dressed but grim-faced guy with the build and pug features of a boxer. He too was armed; Nina was now familiar enough with concealed weapons to spot the telltale bulge beneath his tailored Italian jacket. He carried a black leather case, which at first glance Nina took to be chained to a steel cuff around his wrist. On closer examination, she realized that the wrist chain actually disappeared into the case, attached to something within.

“Good morning, Dr. Wilde,” said Popadopoulos.

“Mr. Popadopoulos.” Practice had made perfect. “What is this place?”

“One of the Brotherhood’s properties-a safe house, you could say. We have a number of them around the city.”

Nina regarded him coldly. “Like the place where Jason Starkman planned on killing me a year and a half ago?”

Popadopoulos shifted uncomfortably. “I never met Mr. Starkman. My role within the Brotherhood is concerned only with the archives. Now, come, come, you wanted to see something, no? Well, I have brought it. At considerable inconvenience, I might add.” The other man placed the case on the large old oak desk in the center of the room and opened it. Popadopoulos carefully lifted out the object inside.

It was a book, in dimensions an inch or two larger than a sheet of typing paper, but as thick as a dictionary. The cover was bound in dark red leather and reinforced by a brass frame, held shut by a heavy clasp. The “pages” were also framed in metal, each about half a centimeter thick. The whole thing seemed extremely heavy.

Popadopoulos spoke in Italian, and the other man took out a key and unlocked the cuff linking him to the book. To Nina’s surprise, Popadopoulos then fastened it around his own bony wrist. “What are you doing?” she asked.

“I told you that I will remain with the text at all times,” he said, sitting at the desk. The chain connecting him to the book was about eighteen inches long.

“What, you don’t trust me?”

“People have stolen items from the Brotherhood before. I know you met Yuri Volgan, for one.”

“You think I’m going to steal it? Oh, come on!” She tipped her head towards the other man. “You’ve got Rocky here and God knows how many other guys guarding the building, and we’re five stories up! I’m hardly going to jump out the window with it.”

“That is the arrangement you agreed to, Dr. Wilde,” Popadopoulos said curtly. “Accept it, or leave.”

Annoyed, she sat opposite the historian and brought out her laptop and notepad. The other man left the room, taking up a position outside the door.

Popadopoulos unfastened the clasp. “So, Dr. Wilde,” he said as he opened the book, “here is the original text of Hermocrates.”

Despite having seen many photographs of the parchments, Nina couldn’t help but be awed at the sight of the real thing. Each page of the ancient work was pressed between two sheets of glass. The parchments were discolored and mottled, but they were still far more intact than any other documents from the same era that she had ever seen. The Brotherhood clearly took great care even of items it had stolen.

She looked more closely at the first page. The handwriting stood out clearly, the ink mostly a reddish brown but with darker impurities mixed in. There were even mistakes: inkblots, scratches, words crossed out. In a couple of places another hand had added annotations. Her heart beat faster. Plato had disapproved of written text, preferring the oral tradition of rote memorization… but that didn’t mean he never used it. Were these the notes of the great philosopher himself, passing comment on the students who transcribed his words?