After the attack, Painter had fled into the city, taking an extra few minutes to make sure he wasn't followed. Then he'd called Monk. As a precaution, he ordered them to change hotels and rebook under another alias. Painter joined them there.
'I see no reason to change,' Painter said.
Monk nodded toward the wound. 'I see about four inches of reason.'
Painter shook his head. 'They were sloppy. Whoever set up the attack must have done so hastily. Somehow I was made, but I don't think we're more exposed than that.'
'Still, that's pretty damn exposed.'
'It just means extra precautions will be necessary from here. I'll have to avoid the summit. Keep out of sight. That means leaning more heavily on you and Creed.'
'So we're still going to recon that research facility tonight?'
Painter nodded. 'I'll monitor via radio. Nothing fancy. Slip in, tap into the servers, and get the hell out of there.'
It was a simple operation. Courtesy of Kat Bryant's sources, they had identification cards, electronic keys, and a full schematic of the Viatus facility. They would go in after midnight when the place was mostly deserted.
John Creed hurried into the bathroom. He wore a lab coat with the Viatus logo on the pocket. He must have been trying on his disguise. 'Sir, your phone. It's buzzing.'
Painter held out a hand and took the cell. He read the Caller ID and frowned. It was General Metcalf's number. Why was he calling? Painter had avoided briefing Washington on what had happened until he knew more. To have the operation closed down before it even started would not sit well with anyone.
Especially Painter.
He flipped the phone open and answered. 'General Metcalf?'
'Director Crowe. I suspect you're still settling in over there, so I'll be brief. I just received a call from Senator Gorman. He was very agitated.'
Painter struggled to understand. He'd done nothing to provoke the senator.
'Gorman received a cryptic call half an hour ago. Someone claiming to have information on the attack in Africa. The caller said he knew of a survivor to the attack.'
'A survivor?' Painter could not hide his own surprise.
'The caller wants to meet at the bar of the senator's hotel. To give further details. He'll only meet with Gorman alone.'
'I don't think that's wise.'
'Neither do we. That's why you're going to be at that bar. The senator knows that a DoD investigator is already in Oslo. He personally requested you be there. You're to maintain a low profile, to intervene only if necessary.'
'When's the meet?' Painter asked.
'Tonight at midnight.'
Of course, it would be.
Painter finished the call and tossed the phone back to Creed.
'What?' Monk asked.
Painter explained, which only deepened Monk's frown.
Creed spoke a fear they all shared. 'It might be a trap. Meant to draw you out into the open again.'
'We should call off the operation at Viatus,' Monk suggested. 'Go with you as backup.'
Painter considered that option. Monk had been out of the field for some time, and Creed had barely gotten his feet wet. It would be risky to send them over to the research facility by themselves. Painter studied Monk, weighing the variables.
Monk guessed the intent of his attention. 'We can still do this, sir, if that's what you're thinking. The kid might be green, but we'll get it done.'
Painter heard the certainty in the man's voice. With a sigh, he stopped overanalyzing the situation. He wasn't at his desk in Washington anymore. This was fieldwork. He had to trust his gut. And his gut was telling him that events were rapidly escalating out of control.
Delay was not an option.
'We stick to the schedule,' he said forcefully, brooking no argument. 'We need access to that server. From today's attack, it's clear someone is getting both bolder and more agitated. A bad combination. We can't let them lock us out. So we'll just have to split up tonight.'
Creed looked concerned, but not for himself. 'Sir, what if you're attacked again?'
'Don't worry. They had their one free shot at me.' Painter reached the sink and picked up the WASP dagger that he'd confiscated from the assassin in the park. 'Tonight, I'll be the one doing the hunting.'
6:01 P.M.
Bundled in a fox-fur-lined coat and hood, Krista strode down the central path of Frogner Park in the west-end borough of Oslo. She had an apartment that overlooked the snowy park, but she could not stand to wait indoors any longer. She carried her phone with her.
The sun had set, and the temperature had plummeted.
She had the park to herself.
She continued along the path through the sculpture garden. Her warm breath frosted the air. She needed to keep moving, but tension kept her stiff.
Spread around her were more than two hundred sculptures created by Gustav Vigeland, a Norwegian national treasure. Most of the sculptures involved nude stone figures frozen in various combinations and twisted poses. Presently the sculptures were covered with snow, as if wrapped in tattered white cloaks.
Ahead rose the towering central sculpture. It sat on the highest point of the park and was lit up for the night. It was named the Monolith. It always reminded Krista of something out of Dante's Inferno, especially at night. Maybe that's why she was drawn to it now.
The sculpture was a circular tower four stories high carved out of a single block of granite. Its entire surface was a writhing mass of human figures, tangled, twisted, entwined, a dark orgy in stone. It was supposed to represent the eternal cycle of mankind, but to her, it looked like a mass grave.
She stared up at it, knowing what was coming.
What we are about to unleash...
She shuddered inside her coat and clasped her fur-lined hood tighter to her throat. It was not remorse that kept her trembling, but the sheer enormity of what was unfolding. It was already under way, had been for over a decade, but in the next days, there would be no turning back. The world was about to change, and she had played a primary role in it all.
But she had not acted alone.
Her phone, still clutched in her pocket, vibrated. She took a deep breath and exhaled a stream of white mist. She had failed today. What would be her punishment? Her eyes scanned the dark parklands around her. Were they already closing in on her? Death did not frighten her. What terrified her was being taken out of the game now, at this last moment. In her haste and desire, she had acted rashly. She should have contacted her superiors before attempting to take down the Sigma operative on her own.
She lifted the phone and tucked it into her hood.
'Yes?' she answered.
Alone in the park, she did not have to worry about anyone eavesdropping. The satellite phone was also encrypted. She readied herself for whatever would come.
Still, she was not prepared for the voice on the line. All warmth drained out of her. She might as well have been naked in the cold park.
'He lives,' the voice said flatly. 'You should have known better.'
With her breath trapped in her chest, she could not speak. She had only heard this voice once before in her life. It had been after her recruitment, after a brutal initiation, when she'd carried out an assassination, killing an entire family, including a newborn baby. The Venezuelan politician had been supporting an investigation into a French pharmaceutical company, an investigation that needed to be stopped. She had also taken a bullet through her leg from the man's security team, but she still escaped without leaving a trace behind. Not even a drop of her
