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  “We can at least get a face, maybe.” Logan grabbed the phone, and Viva heard him make a call to a buddy somewhere asking for a face match within the diplomatic corps. “There’s a lot of them.”

  “A face, a location, we need something more.”

  Logan looked doubtful. “He’s using the encrypted router system.”

  “We know he’s here, in Bangkok,” she said.

  “He’s not in the house with the kids, there were only three guards and no cars.”

  “He wouldn’t get that close to anything that would implicate him. Ryzikov was bidding through a webcam and online,” Sam said. “It’s safe to assume the others were, too.”

  “I don’t get why he used it. Why not sell it and get lost somewhere?” Viva said.

  “Maybe the highest bidder gets a test shot,” Sam said.

  “In Guatemala? There isn’t anyone threatening there. Villagers. Tribespeople. God, why don’t you just shoot these people and be done with it?” Viva said.

  “Because we have to retrieve the schematics and the weapon before we can do that,” Sam said. “If it went out there to terrorists’ networks.” He let the thought hang in the air, reminding them all of the risk to the innocent if they didn’t get it back or destroy it.

  “The stones were the path to the weapon, chéri.”

  “Well, I say you go commando on them and just take them out.”

  Sam grinned. “I’m with you on that, but we have to find them first.”

  “Then get your buddies working.” She flicked a hand at the computers. “Call in some favors. My God, this thing will be killing people all over the world before it’s over.”

  “Of course, that’s saying you’re right and it is a man-made disaster.”

  She whirled on Logan. “Go play with your computers, will you?”

  He smiled and obeyed. Viva looked at Sam, her worry like a living thing inside her. Her gaze went to the TV, the continual broadcasts of the devastation. The lava was still moving, still killing.

  She dragged her gaze from the TV to Sam. “If he can do this…”

  “He can do anything. And we won’t be able to trace it.”

  “No one will,” Sebastian said. “It’s sound.”

  “Then there is only one way to get close enough,” Sam said. “We have to get into the bidding.”

  McGill carefully put the phone in the cradle. Sometimes, he wished he didn’t have to follow orders and the thought of those kids, the same ages as his grandchildren, left his stomach in knots.

  The buzzer sounded and his aide let Walker inside.

  “Something good?”

  “I’m not sure, sir. Three things.” He spread papers out on the desk. “First, the onion router, high security, this one is, at least. It’s the kind our embassy uses.”

  McGill glanced down at his notes on his conversation with Wyatt. “Tell me this isn’t from our people.”

  Walker shook his head. “NSA has acoustic intel, and they picked up sound intensification so much that it registered as a malfunction on a satellite.”

  McGill perked up like a well-praised student.

  “So I went back and looked through some Sat intel. Tai Pai monitors, the Holland relay, several others, but they basically just watch the path and make sure they aren’t going to run into each other.”

  “I’m aware of that, son.”

  Walker flushed a little. “Going back to several days after Silent Fire was stolen, and I found an increase in seismic activity that registered with USGS. In Sri Lanka.”

  “The dam?”

  “Yes, sir. Add to that, CIA Satellite Comm Center confirms and we’ve got a message from a Dr. Thomas Rhodes who is at the dam, but I’m not authorized to respond.”

  McGill picked up the phone and ordered a call to Rhodes. “You said two spikes.”

  “This one happened early this morning. Near Guatemala.”

  McGill swung the chair around to stare at the CNN broadcast he never turned off. Good God.

  “Can you predict?”

  “No, sir. In fact, we can’t even trace its origins. The only way we could is if it would happen again and we knew when prior to an event.”

  “Jesus.”

  “We could find a link through the onion router system. It’s used mostly for internal-to-country messaging. High-encryption block. Echo shield. NSA says it has to be up and running for them to track it. And even with that, we’d have the length of the hit to pinpoint, and that’s saying our guys can do it. But that will take fast work and a lot of techs.”

  “We have them, they live for this kind of stuff.”

  “I also did a side search on the hypersonic sound.”

  McGill waited for him to continue.

  “Harris had invented and perfected it, no question, but another man made the same claim when Harris went for the patent. It was in dispute for a while. He’d been a friend of Harris’s, but never worked with him. He’s got a degree in engineering and Harris didn’t.” The enlisted man smiled. “Bet that just roasted him when he tried to prove he invented it and lost. His name is Winston Brandau. He was in a Chinese prison for hashish possession.”

  “We’ll never see him again. Wait. Was? No one gets out of there, Walker.”

  “He did, someone killed four guards and several inmates to get him out.”

  “Where did they take him?”

  “Doesn’t really matter. Thai intel says he turned up in the river last night.” Walker slipped another photo in front of the general.

  McGill frowned, recognizing the kill report from the CIA in the field. Good God, someone was angry at men. “The HSS design was only half of the schematics. This explains how they got the rest.”

  “Should we focus on embassies?”

  “No, we can’t touch them.”

  “But, sir—”

  The general put up a hand. “No. Stay clear.”

  “Sir, we’ll never find them if we don’t.”

  “Then we need other options.”

  “Can we use Killian’s alter ego?” Sebastian asked.

  Viva’s gaze bounced between the men, trying to understand, then realized Killian Moore masqueraded as a weapons’ dealer, Dominic Cane. God, she thought, what they do for the job. Stepping into the underworld wasn’t something she’d call a walk in the park.

  “Possible, but he’d need to be here.”

  “I can set it up like Ryzikov had it,” Logan said. “Through a webcam.”

  “Not close enough,” Sam said. “If we get the chance to get it, this guy might want to see him up close and personal and Killian’s stateside.”

  “I’m betting this guy had each bidder checked out first,” Sebastian said. “A reputation for killing is a requirement, no doubt.”

  “How do we get into this auction before they kill another thousand people?” Max asked, looking around for more food.

  “Not a clue,” Sam said.

  “I do.”

  They swung to look at Viva.

  “I have connections that might help.” Her face flamed with embarrassment. “The kind that will open the door and maybe get you into this buy quickly.”

  “How? With who?” Sam said.

  “Before I tell you anything, you’ve got to swear you’ll keep this with the team.”

  “Jesus, Viva.”

  Oaths echoed around the room. Except from Sam. Her gaze fell on him and he was looking at her with such suspicion, it made her heart hurt. Finally, he swore.

  “Logan, give me a line to the US,” she said.

  Logan routed the phone via satellite and handed it to her.

  “Who’re you calling?” Sam asked.

  Viva hesitated before dialing. “My father.”

  Constantine wasn’t comfortable with the bidders staying on his estate, but it was the only way to protect them. He strolled around the device, admiring the modifications. Money well spent. The diamond gleamed from inside the laser’s track.

  He turned back to
the wide living room. Black granite floors so polished they reflected the light, and clean lines in furniture, glass, and stone. Zidane appeared at the end of a short, wide corridor. Behind him a single elevator led to the lower floor and the garage beneath the house.

  “They are nervous.”

  “As well they should be with Noor killing their counterparts. Just keep them happy. They have proof enough now.” His attention went to the large-screen TV, the sound turned off—more because noise irritated him than not wanting to hear the incessant chatter.

  He smiled at the geologists interviewed on screen, the Americans and Latins rushing to help. The bidders for the weapon saw the same, and though he’d done this entire transaction by computer before, he truly didn’t want to risk the bidders seeing his face. His entire goal was to escape this without any leads back to him.

  “Noor will return,” Zidane said. “You know this.”

  “Why should she?” She had to know he couldn’t let her go unpunished.

  “A matter of pride, to finish what she started, or to kill me.” For her imagined betrayal.

  “Then you’d best stay armed.” When Zidane started to speak, Jalier cut him off. “No, you can’t go after her. I need you here.”

  Zidane eyed him for a long moment before he disappeared into one of the halls.

  Alone, Jalier reached for his phone, dialing. “I have a job for you.”

  “That depends on what it is and how much it pays.”

  Jalier turned to the curved windows offering a view of the harbor. His reflection showed the clean lines of his garments, the silver at his widow’s peak. “I’ll double your profits, only because this kill won’t be easy.”

  “How can your father help?” Sam asked, completely confused and not liking it.

  “Maybe not much, he’s in prison.”

  Sam’s brows shot up. No wonder her family was unavailable to help her.

  “My father is Salvatore Fiori.”

  Max whistled softly. “The mob boss?”

  She put the phone to her ear. “The one and only.”

  “Why didn’t you say something?” Sam asked.

  “Oh, I don’t know, shame? The utter mortification that I was, not am, a Mafioso princess? I put him in prison, so we’re not on the best of terms. This might not work.” She spoke into the phone. “Warden Calloway, this is Xaviera Fiori. I need to speak with my father.” She paused, listened, then said, “I know he doesn’t want calls, but he especially doesn’t want them from me so let’s piss him off, shall we?”

  Viva tucked the phone away from her mouth. “It wasn’t until I was about sixteen that I realized how he made his living. I had lots of uncles, if you know what I mean. In some territorial vendetta someone had against my father, my mother was murdered. In front of me.”

  “Good God.”

  Her voice wavered when she said, “We were shopping for a prom dress, for pity’s sake. It pretty much started a mob war.”

  Sam’s heart broke for her, and he remembered the TV reports of bodies turning up all over New York and Boston.

  “My father insisted she was well aware of the risks, but that didn’t matter to me. The son of a bitch pissed off another mob boss and my mother was dead.” Viva’s eyes watered, and she blinked, then cleared her throat before she said, “For a couple years I made him pay, stealing cars, basic teenage trouble. I was in juvenile jail when the FBI contacted me. I was so angry I helped them. My dad is serving a life sentence for racketeering, drug traffic, conspiracy to commit murder.” She waved, the list was endless. “Because of me.”

  “Why aren’t you in the witness protection program?”

  She made an odd sound. Of frustration or regret, Sam couldn’t tell.

  “My father would see to it that anyone who came near me would die. Most times, I use my mother’s maiden name, but no one knows where I am. I left the country to be sure of it.” She put up a finger and spoke into the phone.

  Her Italian was lyrical, Sam thought, then she put the call on the speakerphone.

  “Mia cara, you call after all this time?”

  “Don’t get used to it. You haven’t had long enough to regret the errors of your ways, old man.”

  Sam frowned. He’d never seen Viva like this. Chillingly hard, detached.

  “I need you to make some calls, talk to that overstuffed lawyer of yours, I don’t care, but I need to get into a bidding in Thailand.”

  “Bidding for what?”

  “For a weapon.”

  “You know nothing of weapons. I made sure of it.”

  Yeah, she thought, I learned on my own how that worked.

  “Who do you do this for, a man?”

  “No, I’m not doing it for a man, I’m doing it for my country. You know, the country that threw you in jail instead of putting you in front of a firing squad?”

  There was a moment of hesitation before he said, “I am alone here, daughter, I cannot help you.”

  “Liar. You might be locked up, but you’re still running the show.” He protested and she talked over him. “I’ve never done anything great, except this.”

  “You, my daughter, I helped make you, you are a great thing.”

  Viva rubbed her forehead. “Set it up, old man, I know you can do this.”

  Sam noticed she refused to call him Father or Dad.

  “Calls I don’t get,” he said.

  “Bullshit! Pay someone.”

  In Italian, he berated her for her language.

  “Get over it and listen to me. We don’t have much time. Hours, maybe. I need to be a buyer for this weapon and I need it now.”

  Sam felt her frustration, the pain radiating in her expression. Especially when he started begging for her forgiveness, and to come see him.

  “Stop that! Please! This isn’t about you and me. There’s a horrible man who has killed millions already, and he’s going to kill millions more! He’s selling to Al Qaeda.”

  There was an instant of quiet before her father said, “What do you want?”

  “Now I know why you talk so much,” Sam said.

  “Who is that?”

  She looked at Sam, the sympathy in his eyes touched her. Words tumbled from her very soul. “The man who has my whole heart.”

  Sam smiled.

  “All of it, Xaviera?”

  “Sí, all.”

  “You, young man?”

  “Sam, sir.”

  “You love my daughter?”

  “Papa, sia calmo!” Be Quiet.

  “A father has a right to know these things!”

  Viva opened her mouth, to lambaste the guy, Sam figured, and he met her gaze, knowing without a doubt as he said, “Yes, very much.”

  She inhaled sharply. Her eyes teared, hot emotion racing through her and making her heart crash in her chest. She wanted to scream, to ask if he was sure and to repeat it, certain she’d heard wrong, yet instead she flew across the space and latched on to Sam, kissing him.

  Beyond her wild kiss, Sam felt only one thing: satisfaction in his soul.

  Her father scoffed. “You must be a very strong man to handle my daughter.”

  Sam chuckled and leaned toward the phone. “No one handles Viva, sir.”

  Deep laughter filtered from the speakerphone. “Give me the particulars.”

  Viva was still staring at Sam. “Good. Listen to Sam, and do as he says.”

  Sam picked up the receiver and told him what they needed, giving him the e-mail linkage so they could get the information to the seller through Ryzikov’s laptop.

  When he was done, her father wanted to speak to her again, but Viva shook her head, sinking into a chair. He spoke to her in Italian and she made a tiny, pain-filled sound. She stared at her hands, tears dropping onto her fists.

  Sam ended the call. All they had to do now was wait.

  The silence hung like dampness, and Viva sniffled, hating that it still hurt so badly to speak to him.

  “Your father is a Mafia don.” L
ogan still sounded amazed.

  “Was. He’s nothing more than an inmate now.”

  “It must have been tough to turn in your own father,” Sebastian said, and patted her shoulder as he passed.

  “Not really.”

  “Viva, honey…”

  She looked at Sam, tears still wet on her cheeks. “No, Sam it wasn’t hard. My mother was cut in half by some hood making a name for himself. She died on the street instead of old age. Instead of surrounded by her family and grandchildren. Mom never hurt anyone and sheltered me from my father’s career. He deserves worse than life in prison.”

  Sam understood her anger, sympathized, and thought, it’s good the man is locked up. He’d reek havoc on her heart. “When was the last time you spoke to him?”

  “Ten years ago, maybe.” He slid to the spot beside her and pulled her into his arms. Viva wiggled into his chest, the weight of his arms around her, the sound of his heart against her ear soothing. “Know what he said to me when my mother died? ‘These things happen.’ Bastard.”

  “But you loved him.”

  “When I think of him, I try to remember the man who pampered me as a girl. It’s not easy. His money came from all the wrong places.”

  “But not his love.”

  Viva buried her face in his chest, and he squeezed her tighter. He’d understood, roughly, what her father had said to her before ending the call. ‘Be at peace with me, my beloved. For no matter what occurs, I will love you always.’ When she tipped her head back to look at him, Sam saw a vulnerable woman, uncertainty in her green eyes.

  “What?”

  “You never say what you don’t mean,” she reminded.

  “Roger that. Just don’t expect me to say it in front of a crowd again.”

  “You’d have to actually speak the words first,” she teased, and didn’t give him a chance to respond as she sat up, and reached for pen and paper. “Max,” she called, scribbling fast. He came into the room again chewing food. Did the guy ever stop eating? “I need some things.”

  He looked at the list. “Sure, be back in an hour.”