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  “… were following up on a report of a domestic dispute and discovered what was described as a grotesque crime scene. The apartment’s occupant was identified by a Cambridge Police spokesperson as Colleen O’Connor, a long-time resident. She was pronounced dead on arrival at Mount Auburn Hospital. The police are not saying if they have any suspects. This part of Cambridge has been relatively free of …”

  The rest of the report faded into the background. His thought swirled, unfocused. What could have happened? How could it have happened?

  He had been with her only a couple hours earlier. What if he had gone up to her apartment? Would he have been a victim as well?

  Then a darker, more frightening, thought surfaced. Three years ago it would never have crossed his mind. But now, he knew he was right.

  He grabbed his cell phone and hit the number at the top of his call list.

  “Slattery,” said a sleepy voice.

  “It’s Adam Braxton. I think we have a problem.”

  * * *

  Rockwell had never been able to sleep when a mission was in play. So tonight he was on the porch of the old farmhouse, swinging back and forth in an ancient wooden rocker and listening to the whistle of the wind through the trees surrounding his farm. The sky was crystal clear and the stars shone like points in some celestial connect-the-dots puzzle. He was confident the path he was tracing was the correct one.

  The irony of running his operations from a farm was not lost on the Colonel. He considered it another slap in the face of the supposed world’s best intelligence service. But it was not even close to absolving the disgrace the Agency had inflicted upon him. They would soon learn the full brilliance of his plan.

  He heard the soft footfall of Penrose behind him.

  “Yes, William?” Rockwell said into the darkness.

  “We’ve heard from Samson, sir.” The aide stood at Rockwell’s side. “The mission has been completed without a hitch.”

  “Excellent. Samson continues to demonstrate exceptional skills. We should look to give him more responsibility.”

  “Yes, sir. Should I have the team return?”

  “Not just yet. Let’s keep them in place for a bit longer. The situation at Omega is still unstable. ”

  Rockwell stared up at the sky. Orion, the hunter, shown brightly above him, the three stars of his belt immediately recognizable. It was another sign.

  “Has the package arrived from Germany?” he asked.

  “Yes, Colonel. Everything seems to be in order. Keating is preparing the devices. We will perform final testing tomorrow.”

  “You have an appropriate subject?”

  “Yes, sir. A local laborer. He won’t be missed.”

  “Excellent. Be sure he is never found.” Rockwell rose from the rocker. “Come, William. We’d best get some sleep. There is still much preparation that needs to be done.”

  Chapter 11

  Harvard Square Hotel, Cambridge, Massachusetts

  Thursday, 9:00 a.m.

  Braxton rolled over and saw a spear of light cut through his curtains and flash across the foot of the bed. He pulled the sheet over his head to will the intrusion away, but the spell of sleep had been broken. It was then that he heard the buzz from his phone.

  He slapped his hand on the bedside table and finally found the cell.

  “Adam Braxton.”

  “Adam. It’s Roger. Where are you?”

  “I was sleeping. It was a rough night.”

  “I know you’re tired, but we have to discuss a few things.”

  How the hell could the spook be so perky at, he glanced at the alarm clock, nine o’clock? Oops.

  “Okay. Didn’t realize it was so late.”

  “First of all, you need to get to Omega. See what’s going on. It’s likely the police will be there. Be cordial, but not too friendly. Don’t volunteer anything. Let’s see what they know.

  “Next, I called Sam last night. He’s on his way. He has friends in Cambridge PD. Hopefully, he can get some inside information as the investigation progresses. Go over what happened with him. He said he’d give you a call when he lands.

  “Finally, I need you to think about the mugging. Is there anything you left out? No matter how small.”

  Braxton had managed to finally get to sleep at one a.m. Mostly by ignoring the attack and focusing on the network logs. He always could compartmentalize. It was something Megan could never understand.

  Now he was forced to relive the event. He wasn’t sure it was something he wanted to do.

  “Adam?”

  “Yes,” he shot back. “I’m here.”

  Why was Slattery pushing so hard? What more could he remember?

  “I’m thinking. The girl was just a kid. Maybe twelve or thirteen. Spoke like every other Cambridge urchin I ever heard.” He paused, going through the painful events over and over in his head. “Nothing on the guy. Never saw him. Must have been about my height, but was he strong. Felt like he must have had military training as well.” Suddenly something clicked. Something he hadn’t mentioned last night.

  “There’s something else.”

  “What?”

  “Just before I passed out, the man said something. ‘Well done.’”

  “‘Well done’? Is that all?”

  “That’s all he said. Then she said ‘Can we go back to nod now?’”

  “Nod? Like to sleep?”

  “I don’t know. That’s what she said. ‘Back to nod.’” Braxton tried to put it in some context. “It sounded like it was a place. Like the ‘Land of Nod’. Does that mean anything to you?”

  All Braxton heard was silence. He gave the spook a few seconds more. “Roger? What is it?”

  “Ah, nothing. Can’t imagine what it would mean. But let me check it out.”

  “Okay. Anything else? I’ve got to get cleaned up and over to Omega.”

  “Nothing more now, Adam. Talk with Sam and keep your head down. We’ll get this resolved.”

  “Thanks, Roger. Talk to you later.”

  Braxton turned off the phone and fell back on the bed. He wished he had the same confidence as Slattery. He figured it was going to be a long day.

  * * *

  Slattery sat with his head in his hands slowly massaging his temples. The mild throbbing in his head that had begun after Braxton’s call last night had amplified into a construction zone of jackhammers. He fished in his drawer for some Advil.

  Good thing he had called Braxton. The man would have slept through the morning. And that would have brought even more attention at Omega. And likely by the police. Still, Slattery had decided that telling Braxton that was not going to be productive.

  Because he had a more critical problem to solve.

  Could it be him? After all these years?

  Well, he had to find out. It was time to see how good Cassie Lewis really was.

  “Cassie!”

  His admin appeared in the doorway with a shocked look on her face. She was not usually summoned this way. “Yes, Mr. Slattery?”

  “I need your help with a search, Cassie. We need to find an old project. I don’t have a project name or the lead. You up to it?”

  Her eyes brightened. It was the most animated she’d been since she arrived. “Yes, sir. What have you got?”

  “Probably about fifteen years ago. The objective was agent selection or maybe evaluation.” Lewis’ eyes fluttered up toward the ceiling. She was processing already. “Involved genetic analysis. And one more thing. Something about Nod.”

  Lewis’ eyes returned to her boss. “Nod? What’s that?”

  “The Land of Nod. Where Cain was banished after killing Abel. A land of murderers.”

  * * *

  After Slattery’s wake-up call, Braxton had taken a quick shower, dressed and even grabbed a cab to get across the river as soon as possible. He knew Slattery had been right. Now was not the time to make a tardy entrance.

  Once he settled into his cubicle, he opened his laptop and
checked his morning mail. He tried to focus on the messages, usually an easy task, but his mind failed him. What was he supposed to do? Forget about the events of the past twenty-four hours? Forget that another friend had been murdered?

  He slammed his laptop shut and sat back. He couldn’t just sit and stare at the damn screen. He needed to move. Needed to do something.

  There were still questions that needed answers. And the place to get them was on the third floor.

  He started with Kennedy. The COO was just leaving his office as Braxton entered ‘rug row.’

  “Mr. Braxton,” Kennedy said looking up from a folder in his hands. “Didn’t expect to see you up here. I trust the audit is going well.”

  “Yes, sir. Ah, very well.”

  “Excellent. Good to have that out of the way. Now, if you don’t mind I have a visitor downstairs.” He turned and continued his exit towards the elevators.

  “Just one more thing, Mr. Kennedy,” Braxton touched the executive’s arm. Kennedy spun back to confront the interruption. “I would like to take a look at the access logs for the past few weeks please.”

  “Frank should have all the data logs, Mr. Braxton. I thought he had provided them already.”

  “Yes, the computer logs. But I’d like to look at the building logs.” Kennedy scrunched his face. “Just a final check on conformance to access policies.”

  Kennedy glanced back to the elevator. His visitor must be important.

  “Fine. I’ll have my secretary send them down. Is that all?”

  “Yes. We do appreciate your assistance.”

  The COO frowned and made his escape.

  One down, one to go.

  Two doors down, he stopped at a desk.

  “Is she available?” he asked Sandy Underwood, McAllister’s admin.

  Underwood checked the lights on her phone. “I think so. Just give her a knock first.”

  When he approached the door, he saw McAllister sitting quietly at her desk. Her head was turned away and she seemed to be staring out the window. At what?

  He tapped lightly on the open door. “Kerry. Do you have a minute?”

  Her head turned to the door. “What? Oh. Mr. Braxton. Good news about the audit I hope?”

  Now able to see her face, Braxton was surprised by a pair of very tired-looking, very red eyes. She grabbed a tissue from a package on her desk and wiped something from her face. Could it have been a tear?

  “Hope I’m not interrupting. I just wanted to say how sorry I was to hear about Colleen, ah, Ms. O’Connor. It’s quite a shock.”

  “Thank you.” She paused, then motioned him to come in. He grabbed a chair and pulled it in front of her desk. Her eyes wandered around the room as she continued. “The police called Father early this morning. He asked all the group managers to meet their staffs and give them the news. I just finished with the development managers. We all just can’t believe it.” She seemed to finally compose herself and looked directly at her visitor. “Did you know Colleen?”

  “Ah, we’d met a few times. She seemed very smart. Did you know her well?”

  McAllister hesitated and the hard countenance softened. She actually managed to show some compassion. “Colleen was a godsend,” she began slowly. “Did you know she used to work at the Media Lab? Did some amazing work on facial expressions. When I heard she had lost her funding I snatched her away. Colleen added so much to the team. It will be so hard to replace her.”

  Braxton waited to see if she had more to say.

  Was it time to push harder?

  Why not? He had accepted a job and he was damn well going to finish it. It’s not like McAllister was going out of her way to help.

  “Did Collen assist with the photo reconstructions?” he asked softly.

  “Oh, yes. Her work with the ChildSafe team was invaluable. We made such progress with her.”

  “Having all the gene sequences must be of great help.” He dropped the gauntlet.

  McAllister’s eyes suddenly regained their focus. She drew her chair into the desk and placed both hands on the top. The McAllister scowl reappeared.

  “I’m not sure what you mean, Mr. Braxton. What could the sequences have to do with age-correcting the photographs?”

  “Well, it just seems that with all that gene data, you could determine how the genes affect characteristics like eye color and facial shape. That would certainly assist with the reconstruction.”

  McAllister shook her head and seemed to relax.

  What did I say to make her more comfortable?

  “I’m afraid we’re not nearly that smart, Mr. Braxton. Understanding the genome at that level is called Systems Biology: determining physical traits—phenotypes—from the genotypes. While we can read the genome, those base pairs encode over twenty thousand different proteins, some of which we’re still trying to identify. And the mechanisms of what most of these proteins do in the human body is completely unknown. Maybe someday we’ll have a model for how the body operates, but that’s certainly not possible today.”

  “That’s unfortunate. You’d think with all that data you would be able to make some progress.” He watched for any small reaction, but there was none. Instead, McAllister seemed to be staring at something over his shoulder.

  “Yes. Unfortunate. Now, I enjoy a good science discussion as much as the next person, Mr. Braxton, but I really would like to get this audit completed.”

  And you out of my hair.

  “Have you found anything that would compromise a positive report?” She still seemed to be fixated on something in the corridor.

  “Not at this time, Kerry. So far everything looks quite acceptable. I have a few more logs to review, but I expect I will be able to complete the audit tomorrow.”

  “Thank you. As you can imagine, between the audit and now Colleen’s death, the staff is quite upset. We’re very behind in our work. I would like to get things back to normal.”

  Her distraction was unusual even for McAllister.

  “Is something wrong, Kerry?” He glanced over his shoulder but saw nothing.

  “No, nothing. I’m sorry. Did something happen to your neck?”

  Damn. That’s what she has been staring at all this time.

  He self-consciously tugged at his shirt collar. “Oh, that. On the way to my hotel last night I had a run-in with a mugger. Nothing taken, no big deal.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry.” Braxton saw a momentary flash of real concern. “Where? I hope you’re all right.”

  “Cambridge. By Lombardi’s Pizza. Got suckered by an urchin.” He shook his head. “Stupid.”

  “Well, at least you’re okay. I never thought of Cambridge as such a dangerous place. I’m sure you’re looking forward to leaving.”

  The old McAllister was back. Braxton was sure her main interest was that he complete the audit before dropping dead.

  “Thanks. Again, sorry for interrupting—”

  Braxton heard a knock on McAllister’s door and turned to see Underwood, and a man Braxton didn’t recognize, standing in the doorway.

  “Excuse me, Kerry,” Underwood said. “This is Detective Graves. You said you could speak with him now?”

  “Oh, yes, Sandy.” She turned to Braxton. “I’m sorry, Mr. Braxton, I promised to speak with the detective. It’s about Colleen. If we must, we can continue our discussion later.”

  The way McAllister said “discussion” it sounded like an obscenity.

  “Of course, Kerry. I think we’ve each said enough for now.” He rose from the chair and headed for the door.

  As Braxton passed the man, he stuck out his hand. “Cambridge Police Detective Martin Graves. And you are?”

  “Ah, Adam Braxton.” Braxton gave the detective’s hand a perfunctory shake. Graves looked about Braxton’s age but heavier and with a rapidly receding hairline. Folds of skin hung loosely under his eyes. A sign of too many hours protecting the citizens of Cambridge? Or perhaps too many late nights in a local tavern.

  �
�Mr. Braxton is a contractor, Detective,” McAllister quickly added, the title dripping with contempt. “He’s only here a few days.” She turned to the consultant. “That will be all, Mr. Braxton.”

  Appropriately dismissed, Braxton took the opportunity to escape to his cubicle. When he entered the elevator, his hands were still shaking.

  Chapter 12

  CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia

  Thursday, 11:15 a.m.

  “I found it!”

  Slattery had never heard Lewis exclaim before. Even raise her voice. Had she found the project already?

  He rushed to her desk and stared over her shoulder at the monitor. “What did you find?”

  Lewis had a wide grin as her fingers flashed over the keyboard.

  “Project THOROUGHBRED,” she began, reading down the lines on the screen. “Initiated in 1985 as a new program for the evaluation of field agents. Involved investigation of physical, mental, and psychological factors relevant for success in covert operations.”

  “Are you sure this is right?” Slattery asked. “There’s nothing about genetic testing.”

  “Hold on sir, just watch.” She scrolled farther down, paraphrasing the heavily redacted text. “With the addition of new personnel in 2001 and 2002, the program took a prospective rather than retrospective focus and began consideration of genetic markers.” She turned back to Slattery. “Isn’t that when the ‘warrior gene’ premise appeared?”

  Slattery had to think back to that era. Now widely debunked, a variant of the monoamine oxidase gene had been blamed for all manner of anti-social behavior. It had been a classic case of mass-hysteria, and headline-grabbing, in the scientific community. Just the thing the CIA’s PsyOps folks would embrace.

  But how does she know about that? She was barely in elementary school. Maybe she is as good as they say.

  “Ah, I think that’s about right. Is there anything about ‘Nod’?”

  “Here.” She scrolled back to the top of the page. “One of the classified keywords is ‘Nod.’ No explanation. That’s all I can tell from the abstract.”

  It had been a vague memory. A rumor in field ops about a program to identify the perfect killer spy. A chance meeting with a gung-ho officer who hinted at a breakthrough in recruitment. It had existed.