The Judas Strain (Sigma Force 4)

Kowalski tried to muffle her mouth, but almost got a finger bitten off. "Son of a bitch!"

Seichan's agitation grew more fierce.

His mother moved closer, searching in her large tote. "I have another dose of morphine."

Gray shook his head. "Wait." With Seichan's blood loss, he feared the respiratory depression that accompanied morphine. A second dose might kill her, and he still needed answers.

He held a palm out toward his mother. "Smelling salts." He remembered Kowalski had mentioned them as among the contents of the emergency medkit.

His mother nodded. She reached to her bag, fumbled a long second, then handed him a few capsules. Gray grabbed one and stepped to Kowalski's side.

The guard now bore a long bloody scratch down one cheek. "Christ, do something about her!"

Gray grabbed a fistful of her hair, arched her neck, and cracked the capsule under her nose. Her head wrenched, fighting, but he kept the capsule at her upper lip. The delirious cries cut off, replaced by gagging.

A hand rose to push him away.

He held tight.

"Enough . . ." Seichan coughed out, and grabbed Gray's wrist.

He was surprised at the strength in her fingers. He let his arm drop.

"Let me breathe. Set me down."

Gray nodded to Kowalski. He didn't have to be told twice. He settled Seichan to her feet but kept an arm under her shoulders. She'd overestimated her own strength. Her legs sagged. She hung in the large man's arms.

Wincing, she glanced around her. Gray read the confusion in her eyes, behind the war between pain and morphine. She quickly focused back to him.

"I. . . the obelisk . . ." she said with strained worry.

Gray was tired of hearing about the damned obelisk. "We'll have to get it later. It broke after you crashed. I left it back at the house."

His words seemed to cause her more pain than her bullet wound. But perhaps his earlier lapse was a bit of luck. Maybe Nasser had gone after the obelisk rather than pursuing them.

His mother, overhearing their conversation, stepped forward. "You're talking about that broken black pillar." She patted her large purse. "I picked it up when I went inside to get the bandages. It looked old and maybe valuable."

Eyes closing with relief, Seichan nodded to both those assessments. Her head hung in exhaustion. "Thank God."

"What's so important about it?" he asked.

"It could ... it might save the world. If we're not too late already."

Gray glanced to his mother's tote, then back to Seichan. "What the hell do you mean?"

She waved an arm weakly, fading again. "Too complicated. I need your help . . . can't. . . not alone ... we must, must get away."

Her chin dropped to her chest as she, slipped into unconsciousness again. Kowalski caught her weight on his hip.

Gray was tempted to use another capsule of smelling salts, but he feared exerting her any further. Fresh blood trickled from her bandage.

His mother seemed to make the same assessment. She nodded to the trail. "We can't be far from the hospital now."

Gray turned to the dark path on the far side of the trestle. It was the other reason he had taken the Thunderbird north through the woods, following a suggestion from his mother. On the far side of Glover-Archibold Park spread the campus of Georgetown University. The school's hospital bordered the edge of the forest. His mother had former students who labored there.

If they could reach it in secret. . .

But was the destination too obvious?

There were a thousand exits out of the park system, but Nasser knew his quarry bore a seriously injured woman and that she needed immediate medical attention.

It was a huge risk, but Gray saw no way of avoiding it.

He remembered Nasser's eyes as the bastard asked about the obelisk. Hungry, ruthless. The Egyptian had believed Gray's assertion that the obelisk had been left behind—mostly because Gray had believed it. But which was more important to the man: obtaining the obelisk or seeking revenge?

He stared around at their small group. All their lives balanced on that answer.

2:21 A.M.

A half hour later Painter stalked the length of his office, a hands-free headset fixed to his ear. "They're all dead?"

Behind him, the plasma screen displayed live feed of the fiery blaze of three homes, along with a section of the neighboring parkland. It had been a dry summer, turning forest into kindling. Fire engines and emergency personnel swarmed the cordoned-off area. Television vans were already raising satellite antennas. A police helicopter circled above, floodlight spearing down, searching.

But it was too little, too late.

Neither the convertible Gray had driven to the safe house nor the hijacked medical van was among the wreckage. The raging fires hampered further investigation.

The only solid news was bad. The original med-van team had been discovered in an abandoned field, each shot in the head. He had four folders on his desk. He sank to his seat. On top of everything else, he had four hard calls to make before dawn. To their families.

Painter's aide, Brant, wheeled into his doorway. "Sorry, sir."

Painter nodded to him.

"I have Dr. McKnight holding on your third line. He's available for phone or video conferencing."

Painter pointed a thumb at the fiery screen. "I've seen enough of this for the moment. Patch Sean through."

Painter peeled the headset out of his ear. He swore he might as well have one surgically implanted. He swung around to face the screen as the emergency scene dissolved away, replaced by the face of his boss.

Sean McKnight had founded Sigma but had since been promoted to the head of DARPA. Painter had placed a call to him as soon as Seichan had crashed into Gray's life. Both for his advice and expertise. But also for one more pressing reason.

"So the Guild is back on our doorstep," Sean said. He combed his fingers through his graying red hair. It was mussed, and it looked like he had been summoned directly from his bed. But his white shirt was creased and pressed. A navy pinstripe jacket lay over an arm of his chair. Ready for a long day.

"The Guild may be more than on our doorstep," Painter said. "Current in-tel suggests they may be through the door already." Painter tapped a folder behind him. "You've already read the sit-op."

A nod answered him. "Plainly the Guild knew about the safe house. Knew Gray was headed there with their AWOL operative. We have a leak somewhere."

"I'm afraid we have to assume that."

He shook his head. If true, it was disastrous. The Guild had infiltrated Sigma once before, but Painter would swear his organization was clean now. After the last mole had been exposed, Painter had burned Sigma to its roots and rebuilt it from the ground up, with hundreds of safeguards and countermeasures.