“In 2012, fissionable fuel rods from a new Tajik reactor were stolen. The reactor’s technology was risky,” Sarah muttered into his chest, “the rods made from a rare isotope, supposedly much more powerful than plutonium. Highly unstable. Half the workers at the plant died of radiation poisoning within a year. The theft of the rods was never publicized. My father only found out…a few months before his murder. That’s why…why he suspected there was another bomb.”

“The material used in the other bombs was standard plutonium,” said Rakkim.

“The dam was designed to survive a 9.5 earthquake. Chinese military provided security, so no way would the Old One’s men be able to get close. Bringing down the dam required a big bang, five megatons at least. That’s why the Tajik fuel rods were needed.”

“Okay.”

“Don’t humor me.” Sarah’s eyes fluttered. “I went through so many people before I found Marian. A Chinese folk dance expert in Los Angeles…geologist in Chicago…this retired politician from the former regime who attended the dedication of the dam in 1995. The old letch smacked his lips describing the pickled fruits they ate at the celebration afterward, but he was the one who told me about Marian’s father. Called him an ‘odd duck, always writing everything down.’ Marian was on campus, and I had to go to a trailer park outside of Barstow to find out about her.”

“I’ve skimmed a couple of the journals. Richard Warriq was a nut.”

“The journals gave me my first real clue.” Sarah breathed heavily. “Three years after the nuke strikes, Warriq was in a tavern near the main reservoir. He wrote about some travelers complaining about the poor fishing in one of their favorite lakes. Not that the fish weren’t biting, but that the shore was littered with dead carp.”

Rakkim stroked her hair. “What was the name of the lake?”

“Warriq was more interested in describing their foul odor.” Sarah yawned. “I know what you’re thinking.”

“No…not at all.”

“I track little things…small details that add up. Radiation detector at the airport in northern Laos went off a month before the attack. Town was a known smuggling center. The staff logged it in, but didn’t follow up.” Sarah dozed off for a few seconds, suddenly spoke. “See…the fourth bomb was leaking before it even got to China.”

“Go back to sleep, I’ll-”

“Article in a ten-year-old Journal of Aviary Science Online. There’s a species of arctic tern that rests in the wetlands around the Yangtze on their annual migration south. The broods have declined every year since the nuke strikes, and many of the chicks that did hatch were deformed. That’s interesting…don’t you think?”

“Where are the wetlands this flock used? Did the article name a specific spot?”

Sarah closed her eyes again. “There are wetlands for a hundred miles along the river. No one even studies arctic terns anymore. Virtually extinct. Pollution and global warming.” She yawned. “I’m so tired, Rikki. I’m tired, but I’m right.”

Rakkim kissed her. “You’re onto something. You scared the Old One, Sarah. That’s why he sent the assassin to dog you. He’s hoping you’ll lead him to Katherine.”

“Katherine said she missed me. I know I missed her. You miss your parents, don’t you?”

“It’s been a long time.”

“I know you, Rikki, you can’t fool me.” Sarah clung to him. “Let’s go to sleep. Let’s lie down and wake up in each other’s arms.”

“You sleep. I’m not tired.”

“Don’t leave me.”

“I won’t. No telling the kind of trouble you’d get yourself into without me.”

Sarah smiled…drifting now. “I haven’t had a good night’s sleep since I left home.”

“You’re home now.”

“We’re safe here, aren’t we?”

“We’re safe.”

Rakkim waited until her breathing evened out, then stepped into the privacy room off the main office, and closed the door behind him. It had been a state-of-the-art facility ten years ago, the builders dreaming of redevelopment profits, but the economy had remained stagnant. The office complex was largely vacant, but the privacy units were still working, signal diffusers built into the walls and windows. Even under the best conditions, no one could pinpoint their location.

Redbeard fumbled the phone before answering, his voice hoarse. He sounded half-asleep.

“It’s me.”

“Have you found her yet?” barked Redbeard, gruff as ever now.

“I want you to check on a werewolf encampment. I assume you still have contacts-”

“Do they have Sarah?”

“No. It’s approximately eight miles east of Green Briar Estates. Do you know it?”

“The werewolves are bad business, Rakkim, even for you. If you’re asking them for help in finding Sarah, I’d be very careful-”

“The encampment is located on a lane logging road that jogs off from Green Briar. From the air, you should be able to spot a burned-out car at the site. Recently burned-out. I want to know what else you find there.”

“You think Sarah was in that car?”

“A Fedayeen assassin was tracking me through the badlands last night. A rogue Fedayeen-”

“So you sicced the werewolves on him?” Redbeard’s chuckle was warm. They could have been discussing a practical joke played on a member of an opposing team.

“Contact the werewolves. I need to know if the assassin is dead.”

“Is he working for Ibn Azziz?”

“You know who he’s working for.”

Silence from Redbeard.

“I’ll call you in a day or so.”

“Do you know where Sarah is?”

“She’s in the next room. I found her, just like I promised.” Rakkim broke the connection.

Sarah was still sleeping, one arm cocked under her head. He could see the pulse beating in her throat and wondered if she was dreaming about her mother.

At times, walking through a crowd, Rakkim would hear a woman laugh, and it was his mother’s laugh. He would find himself wondering if she wasn’t really in New York when the bomb went off. Wondering if maybe she was outside the city that day. He imagined her adrift after the attack, the communications grid crashed, lost on the opposite side of the country. Better to be lost than to be dead. She could still laugh if she was lost.

Sarah stirred. He wanted to curl into bed beside her. Instead he went over to the box of journals and started reading.

CHAPTER 34

Angelina answered her phone on the first ring. A throwaway phone, bought an hour ago. Untraceable. Hopefully. Her heart fluttered in her chest like a white dove. “Y-yes?”

“What’s wrong? Is Sarah all right?”

Angelina forced herself to catch her breath. Katherine had responded to her posting quickly-she must have been monitoring the message site they used to make contact. Or she had set up some automatic alert. Angelina never asked. The less she knew…Sometimes weeks would pass before Katherine responded. Months. Years.

“Angelina?” There was the familiar echo in Katherine’s voice, the signal routed back and forth to disguise its point of origin. “Has something happened to Sarah?”

“No, there’s no word yet.”

“Don’t scare me like that.”

It would have been easier if Katherine had given Sarah the means to contact her directly, but Katherine limited such access to Angelina alone. Compartmentalization of information. No exceptions. There were moments, and she always felt guilty afterward, when Angelina thought that if only James Dougan had been as disciplined and cautious as his wife, he would not have been assassinated.

“There was a new imam at dawn prayers this morning…Imam Masiq. One of the disciples of Mullah Ibn Azziz, sent round to the major mosques to deliver their foul sermon. Barely old enough to grow a beard and he lectures us as though we were children.” Angelina ground her teeth. “You should have seen Imam Jenk’s face.” She drew her chador around her as the wind kicked up. “This new imam told us that we have been too tolerant of the Catholics, said they are a viper in our midst and we must be on guard against their apostasy. We were all looking around…I was, at any rate. Most of the faithful were too stunned. Or too fearful.”