The untouchable billionaire had entered Vietnam on his private jet a week ago. And before dawn this morning his passport had been electronically stamped again, as he’d left in that jet once more, with a flight plan filed for his private island off the coast of Burma.

“Hey, you have any food?” he heard Feng ask. “Really hungry.”

Nakamura smiled widely.

“Sure, Feng,” he said. “And I hope you can swim.”

Chapter 55: Old Flames

55

OLD FLAMES

Monday October 29th

Holtzmann fumed after the call with Barnes cut off. But there was nothing he could do for those poor children.

Somehow he had to get Rangan Shankari out of ERD custody. But how? He could walk Shankari out of that cell, give him the keys to his own car, and in the very best case the ERD would just pick Shankari up a few hours later, and lock Holtzmann away for good.

He needed help.

An underground railroad. That’s what the rumors said. A network that got Nexus-born children out of the country. Would they take Shankari? Holtzmann had no idea. But he thought there was one person who might know.

Her number was in his phone, years after she’d tired of his lies and his weakness and cut off their affair. Did she ever think back to their time fondly? Or was he a pathetic figure in her mind, a man who’d lied and cheated, seduced her even though he was her professor and fifteen years her senior? Would she even talk to him after their encounter at the Capitol?

There was only one way to find out.

Holtzmann tapped on his phone, and called Lisa Brandt.

She picked up on the third ring.

“Hello?”

“Lisa,” he said. “It’s Martin Holtzmann.”

“I know who it is,” she said coldly. “What do you want?”

Martin paused. Hostility… He deserved it.

“Lisa,” he said. “I was thinking about our last conversation. I… I may have changed my mind. I’d like to talk.”

Silence. More silence.

“I’m listening,” she said finally.

“Could we… talk in person?” he asked.

“I’m in Boston, Martin.”

“I know, I know,” he said. “I can come to you. I’ll take the train up. Lunch tomorrow? Leonetti’s?” She used to love Leonetti’s.

Another pause.

“Not lunch,” she replied. “Coffee. Harvard Square Café. 2pm. Come alone.”

“Thank you…” he started.

The line clicked and went dead.

Lisa Brandt ended the call, and looked across the small room to where her wife Alice rocked their adopted son Dilan as he nursed.

“Martin Holtzmann?” Alice asked with a raised eyebrow.

Lisa could feel the wave of surprised curiosity and concern radiate from her wife, overlaid with the mixed fatigue and contentment of Dilan suckling at the milk produced by her hormonally augmented breasts.

Lisa nodded. “Holtzmann.” But her eyes were on their son. She could feel his sleepy hunger, his secure comfort. Such a special child.