“Then there’s just one thing left to do.”
As if with a single mind, the two rose. Tearing away the tissue paper and wadding it into his pocket, Logan hefted the devices, and then tossed them—one, then the other—into the sea. Kim followed his lead.
They remained silent a moment, watching, as the sea swallowed them greedily, the small plashes quickly covered over by creamy breakers, one after another after another, until even the memory of their sinking was gone.
“ ‘O spirit of love,’ ” Logan said almost under his breath,
How quick and fresh art thou,
That, notwithstanding thy capacity
Receiveth as the sea, naught enters there,
Of what validity and pitch soe’er,
But falls into abatement and low price
Even in a minute.
They stood together in silence for a long moment, staring out over the blue ocean.
“So it’s over, then,” Kim murmured.
“Walk me to my car,” Logan replied.
Within five minutes they were standing in the parking lot in the shadow of the East Wing. As the wind stirred the lapels of Kim’s shirt, Logan saw the lines of the ghost catcher pendant beneath. “I’ll take that off your hands, if you like,” he said.
She shook her head. “I’ve kind of gotten used to it.”
There was a pause. “What’s next for you?” Logan asked.
“It’s like I told you when we first met. I’m going to finish up Strachey’s work, secure his legacy. And then I’m going to continue my own work on strategic software design. Perry Maynard, the vice director, tells me that’s a discipline totally in line with Lux’s future plans.”
“Well, when you found the next Oracle, be sure to sell me some stock options,” Logan said.
They embraced. “Thanks again, Kim,” he said. “For everything.”
She smiled just a little sadly. “Mind how you go.”
—
As Logan fired up the Lotus Elan and made his way out of the parking lot, he saw a dark, late-model sedan pull away from a parking space and follow him down the long graveled drive. As he drove, slowly and thoughtfully, through the crooked downtown streets of Newport, the sedan continued to follow him at a discrete distance.
“I don’t know, Kit,” he said quietly to the spirit of his dead wife, who in his fond imagination was sitting in the passenger seat. “Do you think they’ll follow us all the way to New Haven?”
Kit was considerate enough not to respond.
“I hope these Ironhand operatives aren’t too dedicated in their surveillance,” Logan went on. “I’ve got a class in the medieval trade guilds of Siena to prepare for, and this kind of attention could cramp my style.”
And with that he pointed the car toward the Claiborne Pell bridge, Connecticut—and home.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Lincoln Child is the New York Times bestselling author of The Third Gate, Terminal Freeze, Deep Storm, Death Match, and Utopia, as well as coauthor, with Douglas Preston, of numerous New York Times bestsellers, most recently Blue Labyrinth. He lives with his wife and daughter in Morristown, New Jersey.
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