same rich wood. All of the eight leather chairs arranged around the table had seatbelts.
Special Agent Sergey Martynovich sat at the far end, a phone tucked against his ear, his other hand holding the edge of a computer screen. It had been bolted down to the table so it wouldn't fall, as had the other device sitting in the table's centre — a wireless conference phone made of black and silver and shaped like some sort of sinister-looking spaceship.
He hung up and said, 'Tom Geary from Langley's calling. They're setting up the video-conference stuff on his end right now. Jack, did Darby tell you about her conversation with a Harvard professor named — she did. Okay, good. Now let me bring you both up to speed with what we have so far.'
Sergey looked at her and said, 'The recording of that person from the Rizzo house you had on your voicemail? After you left, they came and untied him. You can hear their footsteps and one of them says, Vos es tutus, custodio.' He glanced down at his notes. 'Its loose translation is 'No harm will come to you, guard.' The blood swab from the crater has been loaded into CODIS. We're not hoping for miracles there, just an ID. That's all I've got.'
Casey said, 'What about the GPS implants?'
'Still silent.'
'They were operating fine when I left Florida.'
'I know. It's… the technology is still somewhat new, Jack. It's not perfect.'
The silence grew in the room. Sergey glanced at her with a grim smile.
'Your friend Coop is on his way back home. First class,' he said. 'We had him booked under another name. We have an agent who will meet him at Heathrow and escort him home.'
'Thank you.'
More silence. Sergey seemed relieved when he heard a knock on the door. It opened and a woman dressed in a professional navy-blue suit came inside and with both hands placed a bulky case on the table. Big and square and made of black plastic, it looked like something used to house a power tool.
The woman undid the hinges and flipped the top open. Lying in the foam was an aluminium gun with a fine metal tip. She looked at Darby and said, 'Right or left arm?'
Sergey waved his hands. 'Sorry, I forgot to tell her. Darby, we're going to put a chip in your arm. It's very small, sits right below the skin.'
'I don't see the point,' Darby said, 'as it doesn't seem to be working.'
Sergey placed his hands together as if in prayer. 'I'd feel better if you did it. It'll only last a week and then we'll take it out.'
Darby shrugged. She took off her leather jacket and shirt, glad that she had worn a tank top underneath. A swab of alcohol and then a slight sting and it was over. The woman placed a Band-Aid on her arm, collected her stuff and left.
Casey said, 'This guy from Cryptography, you tell him what's going on with me?'
'I gave him the background stuff,' Sergey said. 'No specifics.'
'When he calls, tell him I'm not in the room. That way he won't be inclined to hold anything back. I'll listen from the corner.'
Ten minutes passed.
Darby said, 'I want to examine the USB drive.'
'We have people doing that right now,' Sergey said. 'Computer geeks. They're looking for what they called 'digital fingerprints'. Every computer leaves them behind, they said, so we're going to see if we can track down these people that way.'
'I want to hold it in my hands.'
Sergey thought it over for a moment, then shrugged and picked up the phone.
'Can I ask why?' he said as he punched in numbers.
'It feels… off. Wrong. The finger, the USB drive — they're risking exposure,' Darby said. 'They're too clever for that.'
The USB drive arrived ten minutes later. Darby held it, twirling it around in her fingers when the conference- room phone started ringing.
69
Sergey picked up the phone and listened, looking at the web-type cam set up on top of the computer monitor. A moment later, he glanced at Casey and nodded, and Casey got out of his chair.
Sergey hung up and pressed a button on the alien-spacecraft speakerphone. 'Tom?'
'I'm here,' replied a deep, baritone voice.
Casey moved away as Sergey swivelled the monitor around to her.
On the screen she saw a freckle-faced older man with pale skin and shocking bright red hair that, for some strange reason, he decided to wear long, like he was stuck in the seventies. The boyish face didn't match the deep voice.
Sergey pulled out the chair next to her.
'Tom,' he said, sitting, 'this is Darby McCormick, the one who found the symbol tattooed to the victim's lip. She's got security clearance, so there's no need to hold anything back.'
'I don't see Mr Casey,' Geary said.
'He's not here.'
'Okay. Probably better this way. The news isn't good.'
Darby glanced to the corner where Casey stood and saw the defeat reach his face. Casey had been hoping the symbol would lead to something solid — the proverbial needle in the haystack.
Geary said, 'I just got off the phone with the Harvard professor, Ross. He informed me he spoke to both of you individually and gave you the background information he has on the symbol and how it relates to this Gnosticism business.'
Darby nodded. Sergey said, 'Correct. What did Cryptography uncover on the symbol?'
'Nothing,' Geary said. 'We've never come across it — this is the first time anyone here has seen it. Good call bringing Ross in on this. If it wasn't for him, we'd still be looking.'
Darby looked at the USB drive. It was encased in plastic, and, as she moved it around in her fingers underneath the light, she saw several small scratches and scuff marks.
Sergey said, 'What about connecting this symbol to a group or church that practises Gnosticism? Any luck there?'
'I'm afraid not. Like I said, nobody here has come across this symbol, and since it's not listed in any of our computer systems, we don't have any way to connect it to an individual church, group or radical cult. I'd rule out churches, though.'
'Why?'
'Gnosticism — the actual religion — isn't something that's hidden in the shadows. There are thousands of Gnostic churches in the US alone. The religious aspect is, in many ways, no different to Catholicism.'
'Small difference,' Sergey said. 'The Catholic Church isn't going around the country abducting kids.'
'True,' Geary said. 'They're too busy molesting them.'
Darby reached into her jacket pocket for her pen knife.
'Given what you've told me about the case,' Geary said, 'I'm thinking you're dealing with some underground movement or splinter cell.'
'Or cult.'
'Possibly. The tattoo on the lip gives it that whole secret society vibe.'
'What about these Archons Ross mentioned? Has that word come across your radar screen?'
'No. This is the first time anyone here has heard it.'
Darby worked the blade into the USB's plastic seam to prise the case apart.
