The pulse in his arm throbbed against the woman’s throat. There was a tangled knot growing in his stomach. He was constantly shocked at how incapacitated he was, kept going to use various functions and found them disabled. He had thought he could do this. He had thought it would be easy. But suddenly he was very confused.

The woman began to make a low, choking sound. Pol heard it, but it didn’t completely register. He just needed to take a few more steps, to back into the hallway, and then he would have a shot at the stairs. He pulled her backward.

The dark-haired boy was saying something, his face ugly and panicked. Pol felt his grip on the situation faltering. Why did he look like that? What was wrong?

He made himself go faster, took two steps, backing down the hall. He took a quick look over his shoulder; the way to the stairs looked clear. When he turned his head back around, the three from the room had come into the hall after him, and they were only steps away from him, their faces upset, yelling.

And finally he heard the woman making strangling sounds. Scarp. His arm had tightened around her throat. He was choking her.

He loosened his grip just as something struck his kidneys from behind. He registered his mistake—the fourth man—even as he doubled over in pain, releasing the woman. He clutched her shirt, then she was gone. His outstretched hands crashed into the floor.

He scrambled to one side, a cry of pain coming from his mouth. The fourth man—the tall blonde—was standing over him holding a broomstick over his head. Pol crawled for the stairs on his knees, hands over his head, prepared for another blow.

The fourth man did not strike again. He lowered the broomstick, his eyes a mix of anger and pity. Pol reached the stairs and paused at the top of them. His eyes moved to the boy—he could fire now. In a minute, the gun would go off and he would be dead.

But the boy didn’t fire. He held the gun on Pol, awkwardly. The blond woman was at the boy’s side, urging him in a low voice. Pol could no longer decipher the words. He slowly reached back with one knee, finding the first step.

“Don’t go,” the blond woman said. He understood the words. She took a step toward him, rubbing her throat. Her voice was raw.

He backed down the step, then another. All he really wanted was the woman, but he no longer thought he could take her. If he couldn’t take her he would go all the same.

He paused, preparing to turn and run for it. He was braced to move should anyone so much as twitch, but they didn’t; they just watched. And he thought; he thought very hard. He struggled, his brain aching with the effort, as if he were pulling up memories cell by cell. He had to ask. He wasn’t going to be able to take her, and he couldn’t leave without asking just this one thing. He focused on her, only her, willing her to tell him.

“Who. Am. I?”

Her face looked so sad. It made him angry.

“Your name is Lieutenant Calder Farris.”

He tried to read her face, to see if she was lying. She had said that name before, but it meant nothing to him. He shook his head.

She nodded, as if acknowledging that it wasn’t enough. “You work for the United States government in the Department of Defense in Washington, D.C. You investigate new weapons technology.”

He braced his hands on the steps, the words bouncing around his brain like a rubber ball. Farris. Department of Defense. Weapons.

He turned and fled down the stairs.

Jill paced for a few minutes in the hallway, her shirt torn, her face still darkened from the pressure Farris had exerted on her neck. She faced the silent group.

“I have to go after him.”

“No,” Nate said. He raked a hand through his hair. “No way. Huh-uh.”

She almost smiled. It was so unlike Nate to try to tell her what to do. “I know it’s not logical. But… I don’t know. My intuition says we can convince Farris.”

“Is this the same Farris who almost choked you to death a few minutes ago?” Nate asked sarcastically. He huffed out a breath. “Jesus, Jill, if that’s your intuition, I’d say it’s a bit rusty.”

Jill looked at the others for support. “Farris was in charge of the investigation in Seattle. He’s the only one who knows what the DoD has or doesn’t have. Obviously he’s been traumatized, but I think he can be reached.”

“Traumatized?” Nate huffed. “He’s bonkers, Jill. That man is dangerous.”

“I don’t think he meant to hurt me,” she said doubtfully.

She looked at the others, waiting for a response. Like it or not, they were all in this together.

“Nate’s right,” Aharon said with something of his old hubris. “The man is dangerous. What if something should happen to you?”

Denton shrugged. “Personally, I think you should follow your gut.”

Jill looked at Hannah.

Aharon’s wife appeared shocked that she would be asked for her opinion. She hesitated. “I think… I think he’s more lost than dangerous. He needs help.”

Nate groaned.

“I’ll need my coat,” Jill said, knowing she had no time.

Hannah ran to grab it as Nate came up to her and took her hands. “Jill.” His dark eyes were anguished.

“Trust me,” she said, touching his cheek. “I’ll be back. I love you.”

He rolled his eyes and took out his wallet. The thing had traveled to another universe and back again in the pocket of his jeans. He took out a credit card and handed it to her.

“Thanks, sweetie.”

Aharon handed her a hundred-dollar bill. “Here. Take it.”

“I’ve got zip,” Denton said regretfully, turning out his pockets.

“I’m counting on all of you,” she said. She gave Nate one brief kiss and left before she could change her mind.

22

By morning, Hannah’s rented car was parked across from a hotel in Auschwitz. Denton’s and Nate’s knees were crushed in the backseat and Nate felt like hell. He still had the semidazed wonderment of someone contemplating the pain of a knife in the back.

“She’ll be all right,” Denton said, patting Nate’s knee.

“Um, she took off in the middle of the night. On foot. In rural Poland. With a hundred dollars, no ID, and my credit card.”

“She can handle it. She’s a brain.”

“I used to think so,” Nate said with disgust.

Hannah and Aharon were in the front seat, talking softly together. Nate looked at them to make sure they weren’t listening before turning to Denton with a flush.

“We haven’t been apart in nine months. I’m acting totally pussy-whipped, aren’t I?”

Denton grinned. “Maybe a little.”

“It’s just that when Jill wants something she can be so… oblivious. I’m worried about her.”

“If it’s any help, I think she’s right about Farris. I don’t think he’ll hurt her.”

“Gee, I must have imagined that he almost killed her yesterday,” Nate said dryly, but he sounded like he wanted to believe it.

“There!” Hannah whispered loudly.

A man and a woman were coming out of the hotel. Nate watched them, wishing he had a closer view. The woman wore a wool hat, navy pea coat, and scarf in the cold, the rest of her clothes ordinary. She was slim and attractive. The man’s head was bare. He was speaking to the woman, looked around the street casually, turning to face them.