would ruin the rest of his short life if he became famous, hailed as a hero, his face plastered on the front pages everywhere. What a nightmare.
Then there was Alida. She was gone forever. That part of his heart he was still wrapping up and packing away. Nothing more to be done about that.
He took a turn around the fountain, and paused in front of the Dominican drummers. They were pounding away, huge smiles on their faces, bliss in their eyes, beating out the most complicated syncopations imaginable: not just two against three but five against three and what even sounded like seven against four. It was like the beating of the human heart, he thought; that first sensation we all experienced at the beginning of life, multiplied a thousandfold, and turned into something delirious, wild.
As he listened to the music, he felt peace. Real peace. It was an amazing feeling, one he was still unused to. Was this what most people experienced every day? He had never known what he’d been missing. The AVM, and the good doctor, had given him that gift, finally, after so many years of anxiety, fear, sorrow, angst, hatred, and revenge. It was a huge, even inexplicable irony. The AVM was going to kill him—but first, it had set him free.
Gideon glanced at his watch. He was going to be late, but that was all right. The drumming was what was important right now. He listened for almost an hour; and then, with a feeling of peace still in his heart, he headed west down Waverly Place to Greenwich Avenue, toward the old Meatpacking District.
EES seemed as empty as always. He was buzzed in without even an acknowledgment. No one was there to meet him or escort him through the cavernous laboratory spaces to the elevator. The elevator creaked up, and up, the doors finally opening again. He walked down the hall to the conference room. The door was closed; all was silent as a tomb.
He knocked, and he heard Glinn’s voice, a terse “Come in.”
Gideon opened the door and was greeted with a room full of people, and a sudden outpouring of applause and cheering. Glinn was there, in front, and he wheeled himself forward, holding out his withered arm, and kissed Gideon on both cheeks, European-style. Garza followed with a fierce handshake and a thunderous slap on the back, and then the others: what had to be close to a hundred people, young and old, male and female, of every imaginable race, some in lab coats, others in suits, others in kimonos and saris, along with a handful of what appeared to be other EES operatives with their appraising and appreciative gazes, all shaking his hand, congratulating him, an overwhelming and irresistible torrent of enthusiasm and warmth.
And then they fell silent. Gideon realized they were expecting him to speak. He stood there, flummoxed. Then he cleared his throat. “Thank you,” he said. “Um, who are all you people?”
This was greeted with a laugh.
Glinn spoke up. “Gideon, these are all the people at EES you haven’t met. Most of whom work behind the scenes, who keep our little operation going. You may not know them, but they all know you. And all of them wanted to be here to say to you:
An eruption of applause.
“There is nothing we can say or do, and nothing we can give you, that would properly express our gratitude for what you did. So I’m not even going to try.”
Gideon was moved. They wanted to hear him say more. What would he say? It suddenly occurred to him that he was so good at being phony, at spinning falsehoods, that he’d almost forgotten how to be sincere.
“I’m just glad I was able to do something good in this crazy world.” He cleared his throat again. “But I couldn’t have done it without my partner, Stone Fordyce. Who gave his life. He’s the hero. All I gave was a few teeth.”
A more restrained round of applause.
“I want to thank you all, too. I can’t begin to know what you all do, or have done, but it’s nice to see your faces. So many times out there, I felt like I was on my own, alone. I realize that’s part of the job—part of your system, I suppose—but seeing you all here makes me realize that I wasn’t really alone, after all. I guess, in a way, EES is my home now. Even my family.”
Nods, murmured agreements.
A silence and Glinn asked, “How was your vacation?”
“I ate a trout.”
More laughter and applause. Gideon stilled it with the raise of a hand. “Over the past few days I’ve realized something. This is what I should be doing. I want to continue to work for you, for EES. I think I can do some real good here. Finally…” He paused, glanced around. “I really don’t have anything else in my life worth a damn. You’re it. Sad, I know, but that’s how it is.”
This was met by another silence. After a moment, a faint smile appeared on Glinn’s face. He glanced around the room. “Thank you all for your time,” he said.
At this tactful but obvious dismissal, the room emptied. Glinn waited until only himself, Gideon, and Garza remained. Then he motioned Gideon to a chair at the conference table.
“Are you certain about this, Gideon?” he asked in a low voice. “After all, you’ve had quite an ordeal. Not just the physical manhunt, but the emotional toll as well.”
Gideon had long since ceased to be amazed at Glinn’s ability to learn everything about him. “I was never more sure of anything in my life,” he replied.
Glinn looked at him carefully for a moment—a long, searching look. Then he nodded. “Excellent. Glad to hear you’ll be with us. It’s a very interesting time to be in New York. In fact, next week there’s a special exhibition at the Morgan Library—an exhibition of the Book of Kells, on loan from the Irish government. You’ve heard of the Book of Kells, of course?”
“Of course.”
“Then you’ll come have a look at it with me?” Glinn asked. “I’m a great fancier of illuminated manuscripts. They’ll be turning a new page every day. Very exciting.”
Gideon hesitated. “Well, illuminated manuscripts are not exactly an interest of mine.”
“Ah, but I was so hoping you’d accompany me to the exhibition,” said Glinn. “You’ll love the Book of Kells. Not only is it Ireland’s greatest national treasure, but it’s the finest illuminated manuscript in existence. It’s only been out of Ireland once before, and it’s only here for a week. A shame to miss it. We’ll go Monday morning.”
Gideon started to laugh. “Honestly, I couldn’t care less about the damn Book of Kells.”
“Ah, but you will.”
Hearing the edge in Glinn’s voice, Gideon stopped despite himself. “Why?”
“Because your next assignment will be to steal it.”
About the Authors
The thrillers of DOUGLAS PRESTON and LINCOLN CHILD “stand head and shoulders above their rivals” (
