His thoughts felt a little clearer within seconds. The fog receded a bit.

He kept a hand on his desk and pulled himself to his feet.

The world spun again and he fell to his knees, gasping.

Dammit.

Holtzmann stayed there for a moment, getting his breath, and then gave himself another burst of norepinephrine, as large as the first. The world cleared further.

On the second try he got to his feet and managed to fetch his cane from where it had fallen. His skin crawled, his hair was matted with sweat, and his stomach wanted to empty itself, but he was up, he was moving.

He crossed the room to the door, a little unsteadily, and pulled it open to join the exodus.

It wasn’t until he was in his car and had told it to take him home that he checked his phone. Five missed calls. Three messages. All from Anne, wondering where he was, if he was still alive.

He leaned his seat back and told the phone to call her.

“Martin!” she answered. “Are you OK? Where have you been?”

He could hear voices behind her. The hubbub of Klein and Perkins, the law firm she was a partner at.

“Anne, I’m so sorry. I fell asleep at work. Don’t feel quite well.”

“I was worried,” she replied, sharply.

“I’m sorry, Anne. I’m in the car on the way home now.”

There was a pause on the line. Then Anne spoke again. “I’ll meet you there.”

“No, no. No need. I think I’m going to just lay down when I get home.”

Another pause.

“Call Dr Baxter, Martin. This might still be an effect of the bombing.”

The neurologist. The last person he’d let examine him right now. “I’ll call him as soon as I get off the phone with you.”

“OK,” Anne replied. “It’s good to hear your voice. I’ll come home early this afternoon. Love you.”

“I love you too.”

He hung up the phone and lay there, feeling like death warmed over, as the car continued towards home.

Someone stole Nexus from my lab, he thought. And used it to try to kill the President.

I have to find them. Before the ERD comes looking and finds me.

Martin Holtzmann lay in his car and began to make his mental list of suspects.

Chapter 10: The Mission

10

THE MISSION

Thursday October 18th

Kevin Nakamura waited in the dark, below the DC underpass. The road above rumbled as a caravan of trucks roared over it. A hard rain was falling, dripping down off the edges of the highway above, making the road wet, the air misty. In the brutal heat of DC’s hottest October on record, neither rain nor darkness brought relief, only an oppressive humidity.