As they moved closer, two men were visible on the high floor. Dewey studied the screen. The men were now standing next to each other. Malnikov was larger. He stood before Cloud, who had a gun aimed at Malnikov’s head.

“We won’t be able to land,” said Stihl.

“He’s about to die. What options do we have?”

“Machine guns,” said Stihl. “But I must tell you, there will be no survivors.”

Dewey stared into the large digital screen that still occupied the view where the windshield was.

“Can you take that off?” asked Dewey, pointing to the digital screen.

The screen abruptly turned off. It was replaced by the actual view through the windshield. Raindrops coated the glass. Evolution Tower looked apocalyptic, sporadically alight in neon yellow, its shape otherworldly. The unfinished floors appeared to be disintegrating, their edges rough and unhewn.

“Take me in closer.”

“Hold on.”

As Stihl maneuvered in toward the upper floors of Evolution Tower, Dewey turned back to the cabin.

Working quickly, he unclipped himself from the hoist bar, removed his harness and dropped it on the ground. He found the KSVK rifle. Dewey tightened his helmet and returned to the cockpit. They were now hovering fewer than a hundred feet from the high, empty floor. Dewey pulled his night optics down over his eyes and flipped them on. The screen lit up in dark blue, then sharpened. He looked toward Malnikov and Cloud. Malnikov was now on the ground, writhing in pain. Cloud stood over him. Dewey watched as Cloud stepped closer, then aimed the gun down at Malnikov.

“Take me in,” barked Dewey.

“I can’t do it.”

“You have to do it.”

“I can get you ten feet away. But even if I could get you closer, even at five feet, the wind is too strong. You’ll be blown sideways.”

“Open the door and swing it around,” ordered Dewey sharply. “Get me as close as you can.”

Stihl shook his head, disagreeing, then motioned. The chopper abruptly shot forward, then right and down.

“I’ll come at it from below,” said Stihl.

“You need to tell me when to jump,” said Dewey.

“Fine. Stand back and hold on. It’s about to get wet and windy in here.”

Stihl shut the cockpit door.

Dewey grabbed a canvas strap with his right hand as, in his left, he clutched the rifle.

The chopper doors slid open. A fierce torrent of wind and cold rain blasted into the cabin, drenching Dewey and pushing him back against the wall.

He studied the digital screen inside his helmet as the chopper flew directly at the skyscraper.

He felt it then. Warmth, his heart beating, then the adrenaline.

Risk it all, Dewey. Now is the time, the moment.

The chopper tore through the wind-crossed melee toward the tower, getting closer and closer.

Stihl’s thick Russian boomed over the in-helmet commo.

“Three! Two! One!”

Dewey charged toward the open door of the helicopter. He took one big step and then heard the last word from Stihl: “Go!”

Dewey’s right foot hit the outer edge of the cabin floor just as the chopper was within feet of the building. Then Stihl slashed the chopper hard right. Dewey leapt into the breach, fifty-five stories up.

Dewey kicked his arms and legs furiously in the free air. He struck the floor’s outer edge, throwing the rifle out from his right hand, then hit the building, the thick concrete catching him at the waist. He grabbed the floor, his hands scratching wet concrete, just as a squall of wind from the chopper pulled at him, yanking him out as he tried to hold on. But it was too strong. He slipped back, then his hands were pulled to the very edge of the precipice.

Dewey felt himself dropping. His hands grasped at the last edge of the concrete, then slipped off and he started to drop. His hands grabbed at air, then his right hand felt something sharp. He clutched it and held on. For an awful moment, he swung in the air by one hand, his fingers wrapped around the jagged end of a steel rod.

He glanced down. He was dangling more than fifty stories in the air. He took a moment to catch his breath, then pulled up. Heaving, he hoisted his body up and then swung his left leg over the end of the floor. He slowly pulled his body onto the concrete.

Dewey grabbed the rifle, scanning for the thermal outlines of Cloud and Malnikov. Malnikov was on the ground. Cloud stood above him, behind a concrete piling. Dewey targeted the piling, then triggered the rifle. A low thunderclap boomed as, in the same instant, a hole tore through the piling. Behind it, Cloud screamed as he was kicked backward and down to the floor, landing next to Malnikov.

98

NATIONAL ARCHIVES

WASHINGTON, D.C.

Katie Foxx was seated on the floor, against a filing cabinet. Tacoma was several feet away from her, also on the floor. Both were reading through the files.

Each file in the room detailed CIA agents, case officers, paramilitary, and nonofficial covers who, in the Agency’s mind, merited termination. There was no single cause, but there were recurring themes. Treason was the main one. A close second was nonsanctioned murder.

Files were stacked up in piles.

“I have something,” Katie said.

In her hand was a small stack of paper, yellowed and fraying at the edges.

LOS ALAMOS NATIONAL LABORATORY

MEMORANDUM

FROM:

H. Agnew

TO:

N. Bradbury

SUBJECT:

IMPLICATIONS OF A. VARGARIN THEORY

DATE:

September 10, 1982

Norb—I was able to meet with Anuslav Vargarin in Vienna, where we were both attending the conference. As you said, he is a most charming man. We spent most of our time talking about wine!

However, he mentioned something that, if true, would be significant. Dr. Vargarin stated that he and some colleagues have been experimenting with various divalents as adjunct to nuclear moderation and reflection. He would not say which ones, though, as you and I both agree, Z seems to show the most promise. While most of this was chitchat, as we were of course being watched, Dr. Vargarin stated something I should pass on. He said, “We have now succeeded in three successive tests.”

The implications of this are clear: if the Soviets are able to predictably moderate fast neutrons in a lab setting using Z (or other), it would mean the Soviets could double the scalability of their HEU and thus double the size of their nuclear stockpiles in a matter of months.

Let me know what, if anything, you want me to do.

Harry

“What is it?”

“Cloud’s father was a scientist who developed a formula,” said Katie. “It’s all about his dad’s formula.”

She stood up and dialed her cell.

“I must be missing something,” said Tacoma. “So fucking what?”

Katie listened to Calibrisi’s phone ringing.

“It’s a formula for how to convert one nuclear device into two.”

99

PRESS OFFICE

THE WHITE HOUSE

J. P. Dellenbaugh poked his head inside the small, cluttered office of John Schmidt, his communications director, the person charged with managing the unruly group of reporters that constituted the White House press corps.

Schmidt, at 11:38 P.M., had just taken a large bite of a steak and cheese sub as he watched, eyes scanning left to right, six television screens on the wall of his office, all showing the same images: live video, taken from news choppers, of the chaotic scene in Boston. The harbor was awash in the blue and red lights of police boats, Coast Guard cutters, and a pair of Navy destroyers.