The Judas Strain - James Rollins [89]
His mind ran through various possibilities, reviewing the recent conversations. With Nasser, with Seichan. What was bothering her—
—then suddenly he knew.
Seichan had practically told him a moment before.
Don’t overestimate the Guild.
His grip tightened on her arm. He thrust Seichan against the wall beside the doorway. He leaned close, their lips almost touching.
“Oh my God…there is no goddamn mole at Sigma. There never was.”
Seichan stammered to explain.
Gray would not let her. “Nasser warned me against calling Sigma, even threatening me. Why? He knew I was aware of a Guild mole in Sigma. So why even bother threatening?” He shook her. “Unless there was no mole.”
She flinched, struggled for a moment to knock his arm away, but he clenched tighter, bruising to the bone.
“When were you going to tell me?” he asked sharply.
She finally found her voice—and it was angry, unapologetic, defensive. “I was going to tell you. After this was all over.” She sighed in irritation. “But with your parents captured, I couldn’t keep it a secret any longer…not if there is to be any hope of freeing them. I’m not that callous, Gray.”
Seichan tried to turn away, but Gray shifted to keep his eyes locked on her.
“Then if there was no mole,” he asked, “how did Nasser know about the safe house? The ambush he set up?”
“A miscalculation on my part.” Her eyes grew flinty. “And that’s all I’ll say. You’ll have to trust me that I acted in good faith.”
“Trust you,” he scoffed.
His reaction seemed to wound her, the barest lowering of her chin.
Gray did not let up. “If I had Sigma’s support from the start—”
Her face hardened. “You’d have been bogged down, Gray. And I’d be locked in some prison. Useless. I needed both of us out and away as cleanly and as quickly as possible. So I let you believe what you thought.”
Gray searched for some micro-expression, a fleeting glimpse of a contrary emotion indicative of a lie. There was none. She maintained her fixed gaze, clear-eyed, challenging. She did not even bother to hide that there was more left unsaid.
Gray scowled at her, cursing himself for not being more careful with her. “I should just let Nasser shoot you.”
“Then who is going to watch your back, Gray? Who do you have out here? Kowalski? You’re better off alone. You’ve got me. That’s goddamn it. So let’s get past this. We can continue arguing, waste what little time you have left to call Sigma, or we can sort this all out later.”
She nodded to the door. “There’s a phone in the hotel lobby. It’s another of the reasons I wanted Nasser to think we were somewhere else. By now, he probably has a trace on all public phones in Hagia Sophia. The one in the lobby should be safe. Or at least safe enough. And you’ll have to be short. We’re already running out of time.”
Gray let her go, thrusting her away.
Again a wounded expression flashed across her face.
Let her be wounded.
If he had known there was no mole, he could’ve contacted Painter from the start. At least arranged for his mother and father to be secure.
She must have read the source of his anger. She wiped her face, her voice softening, sounding bone-tired. “I thought they would be safe, too, Gray. I truly did.”
Gray wanted to snap back at her, but no words came out. Both because he was angry, but more importantly because he could not unload all his guilt on Seichan.
There was no denying the simple truth.
He had left his parents alone.
Not anyone else.
3:04 A.M.
Washington, D.C.
“DIRECTOR CROWE, I have a secure call coming in from Istanbul.”
Painter glanced up from the bank of satellite feeds and over to the communications chief. Who was calling from Istanbul?
For the past hour Painter had been arguing with the powers that be at the National Reconnaissance Office and the National Security Agency, attempting to gain full access to ECHELON, their satellite surveillance system, to prioritize a search around Christmas Island. But such remote