Rachel turned to Tavak. "No."

He placed a comforting hand on her arm. "It doesn't mean anything. The active ingredient is probably present in other plants."

"What if it isn't? What if after all this—?"

"Stop it. We'll make it work. Through gene splicing, cellular manipulation, whatever it takes."

Rachel nodded and tried to pull herself together. He was right. Her whole life was about solving problems, and she could solve this one. One crisis at a time. "Val, what was in the third message, the one at Hearst Castle?"

"That one seems to be about cultivating and preparing the ingredients. But it also tells you how to unlock the treatment's secret from the fourth set of wall carvings, the one from the Hermitage Museum. Any luck in finding it?"

"We've had a bit of a setback. We're having to regroup. What do we do when we find it?"

"We're working on that now," Val said. "I mean me, Simon, and Jonesy. But it looks like it involves an Egyptian sunset."

"Okay, now you're just messing with me."

"I wish I was. That part isn't entirely clear yet, but we have Jonesy mapping the relation of the sun to the mastaba wall in its position in Saqqara. We'll have more for you later."

Rachel shot a glance at Tavak. She knew that expression, intent, thoughtful. She spoke back into the phone. "Fantastic work, guys. Keep me posted." She cut the connection and turned to Tavak. "What's wrong?"

He climbed out of bed and pulled on his pants and shirt. "Nothing. Jonesy's doing a good job, but we have to offer support. We have to get that mastaba wall back."

"Any ideas?"

"No, but I'd better get one quick." He leaned forward and brushed a kiss on the tip of her nose. "Thank you."

"Thank you," she said in return. "It was a special night." So special that she wanted to reach out and hold on to it, hold on to him. "But next time, I think we'll add the skyrockets."

He went still. "Whenever you're ready."

She was ready now. But it wasn't the time. She nodded. "I'll let you know."

"Do that," he said softly.

* * *

"Tavak." Demanski called him fifteen minutes after he reached his room. "I need to talk to you. I'll be down to your room in three minutes." He hung up before Tavak could reply.

Two minutes later Tavak opened the door to Demanski and Allie. "I've got an idea." Demanski strode into the room. "And I think it might work."

"Track down Wiley's plane and maybe strong-arm or bribe the pi lot to tell you where he flew him?"

"I suppose that's an option." Demanski's eyes were sparkling. "But I've got a better one."

"Do you?"

Allie nodded. "You should listen to him. I think it's a good idea. Demanski and I spent last night looking through the documentation that the Hermitage Museum gave him with the artifacts. That mastaba wall was X-rayed in the late nineties, and we have copies of the films. There are no hidden panels, false fronts, or anything like that. Whatever message it holds, it's somewhere on the surface."

Tavak nodded. "Like the carvings at Hearst Castle."

"Right," Demanski said. "So why go chasing after that mastaba wall… when we can make our own?"

Tavak went still. "And how do you propose we do that?"

"Have you ever heard of Pixel Dance Incorporated?"

"The special-effects company. They're the geeky guys who win the visual-effects Oscars every year."

"They're geniuses. I was one of their original backers, but all their revenue goes right back out to R&D and hardware upgrades. It's a terrible business. I let them buy me out for a song, so they owe me huge."

"What good is that to us?"

"They think they can help. A few of their best and brightest are giving us half a day tomorrow. We need to be at their facility in northern California at 7 A.M. tomorrow."

Tavak's excitement was growing the more he thought about it. He'd heard what miracles those techs could pull off. By God, it could work. "It's worth a shot," he murmured. "Good job, Demanski."

"Damn straight," Demanski said complacently. "And damn brilliant."

"I won't even argue with you on that point." Tavak let out a long breath. "Every minute that Dawson has those carvings that we don't, he's that much closer to getting his hands on Peseshet's cure." He glanced at Allie. "Are you on board with this?"

Allie was looking at Demanski. "Yes. Let's do it."

Demanski smiled. "Give me twelve hours, Tavak. If it doesn't work, my jet will be warmed up and waiting to take us anywhere you want to go. We'll strong-arm pi lots and sundry other villains to your heart's content."

"You've got it." Tavak nodded. "Let's go tell Rachel."

EIGHTEEN

HOUSTON POLICE DEPARTMENT

CENTRAL PRECINCT

NSA Agent Wayne Norton glanced uneasily around the squad room. He looked distinctly out of place, Finley thought, as he and Gonzalez approached him.

"To what do we owe the pleasure?" Finley asked.

"I think you know. That was a rather indiscreet message you left."

"Well, you didn't respond to any of our discreet messages," Gonzalez said.

"I'm here now." Norton sat on the edge of the table. "What do you want from me?"

"Why don't we discuss the message I left?" Finley said. "We know that Rachel Kirby's shooter worked for you."

"That's not true."

"Maybe not you personally, but for the NSA. At least occasionally. He was freelance, but he did contract work for you guys."

"As a hired assassin? I'm afraid you have a rather glamorous view of my agency that's not based on fact."

"His name was Gaius Pelham. He was known as the Invisible Man because his fingerprints, DNA, and facial and dental records weren't in any public database. The agencies who used him knew who he was, though. Including yours, which is why you swooped in and took his body away when we started circulating his vitals."

Norton crossed his arms. "Ridiculous. Where do you get this stuff?"

"You're denying it, then."

"You know that I can neither confirm nor deny statements relating to the activities of the National Security Agency."

"You came down here awfully fast for something you can neither confirm nor deny," Gonzalez said.

"I need to know who is spreading this crap around."

"Then it is true," Finley said softly.

"Has it occurred to you that I might be interested in someone spreading disinformation? When a police detective leaves a message like that on my office phone, I have to take it seriously."

"Look at it from our perspective. Someone takes a shot at Rachel Kirby, who happens to be involved in a project of your agency's. Then we find the shooter dead, and we have a homicide investigation on our hands. Now we have very reliable information that tells us that Kirby's would-be assassin has worked for your agency. What conclusion would a reasonable man draw from that information?"

"I can assure you that the NSA has no grudge against Rachel Kirby."

"Finally," Gonzalez said. "Something you'll go on record for."

"You obviously haven't told any of this to her. She would have gone nuclear on me by now."