“Who are you?” she asked him. “Thorvaldsen called you Cotton.”

“Name’s Malone.”

“And you?” she said, staring at the woman with the archer’s bow.

“A friend of Ely Lund.”

What was happening? She desperately needed to know, so she thought fast and motioned at Viktor’s female captive. “That one is coming with me. To ensure safe passage.”

“Minister,” Viktor said. “I think it would be better if she stays here, with me. I can hold her until you’re away.”

She shook her head and pointed at Thorvaldsen. “Take him with you. Somewhere safe. Once I’m in the air, I’ll call and you can let him go. Any problems, kill him and make sure the body is never found.”

“Minister,” Michener said, “since I’m the cause of all this chaos, how about me as a hostage and let’s leave this gentleman out of it.”

“And how about taking me with you instead of her?” Malone asked. “Never been to the Central Asian Federation.”

She appraised the American. Tall and confident. Probably an agent. But she wanted to know more of the woman’s connection to Ely Lund. Anyone who knew Lund closely enough to risk her life to avenge him bore further investigation. But Michener. She could only hope Viktor was allowed the opportunity to kill the lying scum. “All right, priest, you go with Viktor. As for you, Mr. Malone, perhaps another time.”

FIFTY-SIX

SAMARKAND

VINCENTI AWOKE.

He was reclined in the helicopter’s comfortable leather seat. Flying east, away from the city.

The phone lying in his lap was vibrating.

He read the LCD screen. Grant Lyndsey. Chief scientist at the China lab. He stuffed a fob into his ear and pushed “Phone.”

“We’re done,” his employee said to him. “Zovastina has all of the organisms and the lab is converted. Clean and complete.”

With what Zovastina had planned, he had no intention of the West, or the Chinese government, raiding his facility and linking him to anything. Only eight scientists had worked on the project, Lyndsey their head. All vestiges of their work were now gone.

“Pay everyone and send them on their way. O’Conner will visit them and provide for their retirement.” He heard the silence from the other end of the phone. “Not to worry, Grant. Gather the computer data and head to my house over the border. We’ll have to wait and see what the Supreme Minister actually does with her arsenal before we act.”

“I’ll leave immediately.”

That’s what he wanted to hear. “I’ll be seeing you before the day is out. We have work to do. Get moving.”

He clicked off the phone and lay back in the seat.

He thought again about the old dwarf in the Pamir mountains. Back then Tajikistan had been primitive and hostile. Little medical research had ever been done there. Few strangers visited. That was why the Iraqis thought the region a promising place to investigate for unknown zoonoses.

Two pools high in the mountains.

One green, the other brown.

And the plant whose leaves he’d chewed.

He recalled the water. Warm and clear. But when he’d pointed his flashlight into their shallow depths, he recalled an even stranger sight.

Two carved letters. One in each pool.

Z and H.

Chiseled from blocks of stone, lying on the bottom.

He thought of the medallion Stephanie Nelle had made a point to show him. One of the several Irina Zovastina seemed intent on acquiring.

And the microletters supposedly on its face.

ZH .

Coincidence? He doubted it. He knew what the letters meant since he’d sought out scholars who told him that in Old Greek they represented the concept of life. He’d thought his idea of labeling any future cure for HIV with that ancient designation clever. Now he wasn’t so sure. He felt like his world was collapsing and the anonymity that he’d once enjoyed was quickly evaporating. The Americans were after him. Zovastina was after him. The Venetian League itself might well be after him.

But he’d cast his die.

No going back.

MALONE’S GAZE ALTERNATED BETWEEN THORVALDSEN AND CASSIOPEIA. Neither of his friends showed the slightest concern with their predicament. Between him and Cassiopeia, they could take Zovastina and Viktor. He tried to voice that intent with his eyes, but no one seemed to be listening.

“Your pope doesn’t scare me,” Zovastina said to Michener.

“It’s not our intent to scare anyone.”

“You’re a sanctimonious hypocrite.”

Michener said nothing.

“Not much to say?” she asked.

“I’ll pray for you, Minister.”

She spit at his feet. “I don’t need your prayers, priest.” She motioned toward Cassiopeia. “Time to go. Leave the bow and arrows. You won’t be needing them.”

Cassiopeia dropped both to the floor.

“Here’s her gun,” Viktor said, and he handed over the weapon.

“Once we’re away, I’ll call. If you don’t hear from me in three hours, kill the priest. And Viktor,” she paused, “make sure he suffers.”

Viktor and Michener left the presbytery and walked through the darkened nave.

“Shall we?” Zovastina said to Cassiopeia. “I assume you’ll behave yourself?”

“Like I have a choice.”

“The priest will appreciate it.”

They left the presbytery.

Malone turned to Thorvaldsen. “And they’re just going to leave, with no response from us?”

“It had to be done,” Stephanie said, as she and another man stepped from the shadows of the south transept. She introduced the lean man as Edwin Davis, deputy national security adviser, the voice from the phone earlier. Everything about him was neat and restrained, from the pressed slacks and stiff cotton shirt, to his shiny, narrow calf-leather shoes. Malone ignored Davis and asked Stephanie, “Why did it have to be done?”

Thorvaldsen answered. “We weren’t sure what was going to happen. We were just trying to make something happen.”

“You wanted Cassiopeia to be taken?”

Thorvaldsen shook his head. “I didn’t. But Cassiopeia apparently did. I could see it in her eyes, so I seized the moment and accommodated her. That’s why I asked you to drop your weapon.”

“Are you nuts?”

Thorvaldsen stepped closer. “Cotton, three years ago I introduced Ely and Cassiopeia.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“When Ely was young, he foolishly experimented with drugs. He wasn’t careful with needles and, sadly, contracted HIV. He managed the disease well, taking various cocktail combinations, but the odds were not in his favor. Most of those infected eventually contract AIDS and die. He was lucky.”

He waited for more.

“Cassiopeia shares his illness.”

Had he heard right?

“A blood transfusion, ten years ago. She takes the symptomatic drugs and manages her disease, as well.”

He was shocked, but a lot of her comments now made sense. “How’s that possible? She’s so active. Strong.”

“Take the drugs every day and you can be, provided the virus cooperates.”

He stared at Stephanie. “You knew?”

“Edwin told me before we came out here. Henrik told him. He and Henrik have been waiting for us to arrive. That’s why Michener took me aside.”

“So what were me and Cassiopeia? Expendables? With deniability?” he asked Davis.

“Something like that. We had no idea what Zovastina would do.”

“You sorry son of a bitch.” He moved toward Davis.

“Cotton,” Thorvaldsen said, “I approved it. Be mad at me.”

He stopped and stared at his friend. “What gave you that right?”

“When you and Cassiopeia left Copenhagen, President Daniels called. He told me what happened to Stephanie in Amsterdam and asked what we knew. I told him. He suggested I could be useful here.”

“Along with me? That why you lied to me about Stephanie being in trouble?”