Blue Warrior

It was a smart play. Bath had been inaccessible for the last forty-eight hours. Fiero’s first assumption was that she had bailed out, and her first impulse was to find the bitch and kill her. Bath was the only person in Washington with the kind of inside information that could put her in a steel cage to die of old age. That made Bath a threat, and Bath knew it. But Bath also knew that keeping those secrets secret were her last, best defense in the event Fiero ever found her. Keeping Fiero safe was Bath’s best guarantee of remaining safe. So it was a stalemate.

The only problem was, Fiero hated stalemates. She only wanted to win. But this time she’d have to live with her frustration. She could imagine a life behind bars far more frustrating than this turn of events. At least she still had her power, her money, and her freedom. She could still even win the White House. And who knows? She may yet get the better of Jasmine Bath, whether in this life or the next.

Karem Air Force Base

Niamey, Niger

Pearce awoke two days later. His body had needed the rest as much as his brain needed the time to heal itself.

Myers hadn’t left his bedside. His eyes fluttered open. Saw her smiling face. She wore camouflaged Air Force ABUs.

“Welcome back.”

“How long?”

“Two days. You had us worried there for a while.”

Pearce smiled. “Sorry about that.”

“Did you go toward the light?”

“Yeah. And it was a train.” He winced with pain. “A damn big one. Where are we?”

“Back at Karem.”

“Arrested?”

“Anything but. Colonel Kavanagh is taking good care of us. No one in D.C. knows we’re here and the base is on full alert. We’re safe, for now.”

She raised his bed. He saw himself in the full-length mirror on the opposite wall. Lightly touched the white gauze bandage wrapped around his head.

“I thought you looked more dashing in the blue one,” Myers joked.

Pearce rubbed his shaved face. “I seem to be missing a beard.”

“Came free with the haircut. Dr. Paolini said it was medically necessary.”

“She always hated my beard.”

“Can’t say I disagree with her.”

Pearce glanced around the room. Mossa’s prized gift, the tagelmust, was nowhere to be found.

“I’m sorry. It was bloody and one of the techs tossed it into a biohazard burn bag before anyone noticed.”

Pearce shrugged. “Inshallah.”

“Do you know what happened to you?”

“The last thing I remember was picking up Early.”

“You took a pretty good lick on that noggin of yours.”

“What’s the verdict?”

“Full recovery expected. But you might have to start parting your hair on the other side of your head once it all grows back in.”

“You’re assuming I actually comb my hair.”

Myers explained what had happened to him. How the bullet had only grazed his head but opened up his scalp, which bled furiously. The best guess was that the speeding bullet had hit him just hard enough to knock him down, but slamming his head on the tarmac had knocked him out cold.

Myers described in great detail Judy’s masterful handling of the Aviocar and saving all of their lives. She didn’t tell him the ride in back was like sitting inside of a tumbling clothes dryer.

She went on to describe how Cella stanched the bleeding with a pressure bandage and cradled Pearce’s head in her lap in the back of the plane as Judy fought to maintain control of the Aviocar. How Cella’s clothes were soaked in blood by the time they landed at Karem, and how Cella had pushed the base medic aside and sewed Pearce up herself, cleaning and dressing the wound with skill.

The door knocked lightly and swung open. It was Cella. She saw Pearce was awake. She beamed. Approached the bed. She wore clean Air Force hospital scrubs. She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Back from the dead, I see.”

“Call me Lazarus.” He pointed at her scrubs. “You get drafted?”

“The Versace store was closed when we got here.” Cella pinched Pearce’s wrist, feeling for his pulse, counting the seconds on her watch. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine.”

“Liar.”

“Okay, I feel shitty, but not too shitty. Headache. Vision a little blurry.”

“That’s to be expected. You have suffered a severe concussion, but fortunately no brain bleeding.”

“We have to get you out of here. You need better medical attention than the base can provide,” Myers said.

“Where am I going?”

Cella grinned. “With me.”

60

Paolini estate

Lake Como, Italy

6 June

Pearce stood by the floor-to-ceiling picture window, watching Ian and Dorotea play soccer. The Scotsman and the girl laughed and jostled like two old friends.

“Both are artificial legs?” Cella asked.

“Yes. Robotic legs, technically.” Pearce tapped his skull. “He has a wireless BMI implant that drives them.”

“He moves quite well.”

“The legs feature miniature gyroscopes and accelerometers embedded on semiconductor chips, rare earth magnets, brushless electric motors, advanced software, you name it. He’s the project manager for it, so it only seemed fair to let him have the first pair.”

“Fantastico.”