The Judas Strain - James Rollins [202]
Her fist hammered down, rocking his head back. She then pinched the bridge of his nose, plainly wondering if she should break it.
“And the anthrax bomb,” he said. “At Fort Detrick?”
“Already sterilized. A dud. I was planning on blaming the bomb’s designer.”
“But…the curator in Venice?” he sputtered out. “You killed him in cold blood.”
She slashed her fingernails down his left cheek, digging deep furrows of fire. “If I hadn’t, his whole family would have been slaughtered. Including wife and daughter.”
Wincing, Gray stared up. She had an answer for everything.
Seichan leaned back, cranking the heel of her hand up to her ear, eyeing his nose. “And I’m not stopping…not after five years, not when I’m this damn close to discovering who leads the Guild.”
She punched down, but he caught her wrist this time.
She leaned her weight, pressing down on him.
“Seichan…”
She stared down at him, muscles straining, eyes fiery, as if in pain. Their eyes met. She searched his face, looking for something. She didn’t seem to find it. For a flash, he saw disappointment in her eyes. Also regret…maybe loneliness. Then it was gone.
She slammed him with her other elbow, a blow to the ear, scattering stars across his vision. He released her. She fell back, scrambling off of him.
“That’ll do,” she mumbled, turning away.
She crossed to the clothes, shed her hospital gown, and quickly donned the nurse’s uniform, including a demure silk scarf to hide her healing face. She kept her back to him.
“Seichan?”
Once dressed, she didn’t say a word, only stepped to the door. She wouldn’t even turn, only asked one last thing of him, spoken softly, a lifeline thrown back toward him.
“Trust me, Gray. If only a little. I’ve earned that much.”
Before he could answer, she left. The door swung closed behind her.
Trust me…
Heaven help him, he did.
He shoved up in the bed, his face throbbing, his one eye swelling.
Fifteen minutes passed. Long enough to ensure that she escaped.
Finally Painter appeared at the door, pushing inside.
“Did you get all that?” Gray asked.
“The wire picked up everything.”
“Could she be telling the truth?”
Painter frowned, staring back at the door. “She is a consummate liar.”
“Maybe she had to be. To survive inside the Guild.”
Painter undid the handcuffs. “Either way, the passive tracer we planted in her belly during the operation will allow us to track her whereabouts.”
“And what if the Guild finds it?”
“It’s a plastic polymer, invisible to X-ray. They’ll never detect it.”
Unless they cut her open.
Gray stood up. “This is wrong. You know it.”
“It was the only way the government would allow us to free her.”
Gray remembered Seichan’s eyes, staring down at him.
He knew two truths.
She had not been lying.
And even now, she was certainly far from free.
Epilogue
AUGUST 11, 8:32 A.M.
Takoma Park, Maryland
“THE RESTORATION JOB looks great,” Gray said.
His father slid a cloth moist with Turtle Wax over the hood of the Thunderbird. They had rescued the convertible out of impound, towing it away on a flatbed. Painter had arranged to have the T-bird repaired at the best classic restoration shop in the D.C. area. His father had gotten it back last week, but this was the first time Gray had seen it.
His father stepped back, hands on his hips. He wore an oil-stained undershirt and long shorts, showing off his new leg, another courtesy of Sigma, DARPA-designed, exceptionally realistic. But it wasn’t the leg that concerned his father at the moment.
“Gray, what do you think of these new rims? Not as nice as my old Kelsey wire wheels.”
Gray came around to stand next to his dad. They looked the same to him. “You’re right,” he said anyway. “These suck.”
“Hmm,” his father said noncommittally. “But they were free. That Painter fellow was pretty generous.”
Gray could get a sense of where this was leading. “Dad…”
“Your mother and I talked it over,” he said, still staring at the wheels. “We think you should stay with Sigma.”
Gray scratched