Now that protection was gone and he was faced with Gregory Whitman’s continual disregard for rules and regs. He had given Whitman his head and how had he been repaid? By open defiance and contempt for his boss. It was Whitman—the ex-Alchemist who was always three steps ahead of everyone—treating Cutler with the same contempt as St. Vincent. They were cut from the same cloth, those two. But his road to greater power had to be spotless, which meant ridding himself of the quagmires Whitman had dragged him into, past and present. He had to be dealt with quickly and completely. It had to be as if this current off-the-grid hornet’s nest had never happened. Only then could he move forward with confidence.

Yes, the more he thought about it, the more solid the plan seemed.

His journey continued. Small towns and tony residential enclaves blurred by him, until he came out the other side into the pastoral hills of rural Virginia. And yet, all the while, another part of his mind was laughing evilly: where there’s a sadist, it’s said, there must be a masochist. He slammed the wheel with his fist. Then he pulled over, popped the trunk, went around to peer inside. He pushed aside the two assault rifles and extra ammo to reveal what lay underneath.

*   *   *

“This is crazy,” Charlie said, as they hustled Lucy into the dim, echoing interior.

“Really?” Whitman hurried them down one corridor after another. “You’re going to say that now?”

Charlie grunted. “Well, shit, you have a point.” She looked up apprehensively at the iron walls. “Are these going to collapse in on us?”

“The architecture is supposed to make it seem that way.”

“Mission fucking accomplished.”

They emerged at last into the section of the Well that Whitman knew as “Home.” It was the waterfall, whose splashing water fed the ancient cenote where, unbeknownst to him, Lucy had filled the mouths of three corpses, just as her own mouth was now filled, and then watched as they were tipped over to be lost forever in the unknown depths.

Now it was her turn.

Whitman lifted her up onto the ledge of the cenote. “Charlie, listen to me. We have to drop her over.”

“What? Whit, she’ll drown.”

He nodded. “That’s the idea.”

“But—”

“No buts.” He looked at her. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes. Of course, yes.”

“Then let her go.” His voice hardened. “Charlie, let her go.”