Sniper.

Assassin.

Elena pulled him down behind the podium as cries and screams erupted from the crowd. Chaos ruled for a breath. Nicolas used the moment to brush his lips across Elena's. His hand combed through her long hair; one finger traced the curve of cold surgical steel that hugged the back of her ear.

He whispered into their kiss.

That went well.

10:25 P. M.

Washington, D. C.

Painter joined Gray near the front entry and stared at the video feed. He studied the guards held at gunpoint.

The shadowy man on the stoop called through the door, as if sensing their presence. We mean no harm, he said, his accent sharp, marking him as Eastern

European.

Painter stared at the stranger on the screen. Then to the girl who stood beside him, holding the stranger's hand. She was staring straight into the hidden camera.

The man called again. We are allies of Archibald Polk! He sounded unsure of himself, as if he didn't know if those in the house would know what that meant.

We don't have much time!

Elizabeth hovered behind Painter. They shared a look. If there were to be any answers about the fate of her father, a risk had to be taken. But not too large of a risk. Painter hit the intercom button and spoke into it.

If you are allies, then you'll free our men and drop your weapons.

The man on the porch shook his head. Not until you prove you can be trusted. We have risked much to bring the girl here. Exposed ourselves.

Painter glanced to Gray. He shrugged.

We'll let you inside, Painter said. But only you and the girl.

And I will keep your men out here to ensure our safety.

Kowalski grumbled next to them. One big happy family.

Painter motioned Gray to take Elizabeth around the corner.

Painter kept his body to the side of the door. Kowalski flanked the other side, standing in his stockings. The large man raised his only weapon: the shoe in his hand.

That would have to do.

Painter undid the bolt and cracked the door open. The stranger lifted his palm to show it was empty. The girl held his other hand. She appeared no older than ten, dark-haired in a checkered gray-and-black dress. The man had an olive complexion with a heavy five-o'clock shadow. Maybe Egyptian or Arabic. His eyes, so brown they appeared black in the porch light, smoldered with wary threat. He wore jeans and a dark crimson Windbreaker.

The stranger turned his head, but his gaze never wavered from the open doorway.

He barked to his men. Painter didn't understand the language, but from the tones it sounded like a command to stay alert.

He's a Gypsy, Kowalski mumbled.

Painter glanced to the large man.

Had a family down the street from mine. Kowalski thumbed at the stranger.

That was Romani he was speaking.

He is right, the stranger said. My name is Luca Hearn.

Painter pulled the doorway wider and motioned the man inside.

The stranger stepped across the threshold cautiously, but he nodded a greeting to Painter and Kowalski. Sastimos.

Nais tuke, Kowalski answered. But just so you know, that's about all the

Romani language I remember.

Painter led Luca and the child back to the main living room. She moved with a slight tremble to her limbs. Her face gleamed with a feverish cast to it.

Luca noted Gray to the side, holding a pistol.

Painter waved for Gray to holster the weapon. He sensed no direct threat from the man. Only an unwavering caution.

Elizabeth stepped forward. You mentioned my father.

Luca crinkled his brow, not understanding.

Painter explained, She is Archibald Polk's daughter.

His eyes widened. He bowed his head in her direction. I am sorry for your loss.

He was a great man.

What do you know about my father? she asked. Who is this girl?

The child pulled free of the man's hand and crossed to the table. She sat down on her knees next to it and rocked back and forth.

The girl? Luca said. I don't know. A mystery. I received a message from your father. A frantic voice mail. It was chaotic, spoken in a rush. He ordered us to buy a dozen Cobra Marine receivers from Radio Shack and to tune them to a certain wavelength. He sounded crazy, babbling off numbers. He wanted us to stake out the national Mall. To watch for a package that set off the receivers.

Package? Painter asked.

Luca glanced down to the child. Her.

The girl? Elizabeth asked, shocked. Why?

Luca shook his head. We owed your father. We did as he asked. We were even on the Mall when he was shot, though we didn't know it was your father until later.

But we did pick up the trail of the child.

Painter studied the girl. There must be a bug, a microtransmitter somewhere on her person.

We followed her to the zoo, where we were able to collect her without anyone knowing.

You kidnapped her? Painter asked.

He shrugged. The last words on the message were to steal the package and bring it to something or someone named Sigma.

His words jolted Painter.

The message cut off abruptly, the Gypsy said, with no further direction or explanation. Once we had the girl, we had to move fast. We feared others would come looking for her. Someone able to track her like we did. Especially with an

Amber Alert raised across the district. But we had no idea what the professor meant by Sigma. As we raced around, trying to figure it out, the girl began to draw furiously.

He pointed to the child, who had gained her feet and walked to a blank wall. She bore a piece of charcoal from the fireplace in her fingers and drew on the wall in a haphazard manner, jerkily, starting in one place, then moving to another.

She wouldn't stop, Luca continued. She drew a silhouette of a park with trees and a picture of Rock Creek bridge. He nodded out the window. Then after that, a house, set in the same woods. We had to circle the entire park, looking for it, believing it was important. By the time we found this place, she had drawn the picture that I slid under the door.

Luca stared at them. A picture of all of you. Friends and family of Dr. Polk.

So I must ask you, do you know this Sigma?

Painter slipped out a glossy black identification card. It had his photograph fixed with the presidential seal. Etched into its surface was a holographic

Greek letter.

Luca examined it, angling it to study the holograph. His eyes widened as he recognized it.

While they had talked, Gray had crossed to the girl. He sat on his haunches, studying the girl's work. He rubbed his chin. Something had drawn his attention.

Gray lifted a finger, half hidden between his knees, like a catcher signaling a pitcher. He pointed toward the girl.

Her face shone brighter. Her head lolled slightly to one side. Her eyes were open, but they were not following the path of her scrabbling piece of charcoal.

As disturbing as her manner was, it was not what Gray had indicated.

Painter had noted it, too. Her hair, damp with fever sweat, had parted slightly behind her ear. A glint of steel shone through. The shape was unmistakably the same as the device attached to the strange skull.

Only here it was on a living subject.

What had Archibald delivered to them?

As Painter's mind spun on possibilities, Elizabeth hung farther back in the room. She pointed toward the wall. Come see this, she said, her voice quavering with an edge of fear.

Painter retreated to her side. She pointed to the artwork forming on the wall.

From this far away, what looked like mindless scribbles had begun to take form.

He watched the transformation unfold over the course of four long silent minutes.

Elizabeth stuttered her amazement. That's that's

the Taj Mahal, Painter finished.

In the silent wonder that followed, a distant sound reached them.