“What if this is some kind of new energy weapon?” Nisha said. “We suspect that both the Chinese and Russians have been using pulsed microwave, nonlethal weapons on diplomats and intelligence service employees for years. Could this be the next incarnation of that program?”

Jed turned to Eli. “I think she might be on to something. Do we have any contacts at DARPA or ONR we could reach out to about this?”

“If that’s the recommendation, I think my home office can take that ball and run with it,” Gayle said. “We have connections and relationships in place, and of course there’s DS&T in-house who can look at this. My logic in bringing you here first was to rule out a more supernaturally based origin because, well, I don’t need to tell you why . . .”

Feeling suddenly and inexplicably melancholy, Jed looked out onto the Plaza de Armas and the scores of tourists meandering around for late-evening sightseeing in Cuzco’s most famous square. His mind went to a terrible place . . . and he imagined one of the nearby couples, lovingly walking hand in hand one second and then being vaporized the next by a tongue of fire, leaving only two tiny pillars of char on the cobblestones. If the massacre here in the Andes was God’s handiwork, why would He punish the Q’ero tribe? What sins had they committed to warrant such a fate?

This is no act of divine justice, Jed reassured himself. The Dark Ones are behind this . . . I know they are.

His eyes, pulled by a warrior’s instinct or perhaps something else, ticked right. Down in the square below, he noticed a figure twenty-five yards away standing unmoving as tourists and evening diners walked past in both directions. The person, who based on body proportions Jed judged to be male, was wearing a hooded sweatshirt and dark pants. Despite the face being bathed in shadow, Jed was certain the man was staring at their table.

“Jed, dude—something got your antennae up?” Eli said.

“Not sure,” he murmured, not taking his eyes off the shadowy observer. In his peripheral vision, Jed noted that their server had returned carrying plated entrées.

“La Bestia Burger,” the waiter said with pride, reaching to set Jed’s burger and fries in front of him.

Despite the aroma of prime sirloin grilled to perfection wafting up to his nostrils, Jed did not look down . . . because the hooded figure in the square was still brazenly looking at them. Then the man’s eyes flashed the color of flame.