A key jangles in the door. Emily steps in. Drops her heavy purse to the floor, kicks off her boots, and only then looks up to see Zack, and Karloff, and the pointed gun.

“Perfect!” says Karloff, the word particularly rich in his accent, thick with satisfaction, final-sounding, joyful, and he smiles.

Emily screams.

Zack hangs his head, closes his eyes…Numb, defeated, prepared…

Karloff fires.

Three shots. Exactly like the myth.

But the myth of Karloff’s end had been wrong. So wrong.

Three shots. Almost casually. Almost an afterthought.

Three shots. Exactly where Karloff—where Demetri Calunius—must have been envisioning for days. Imagining for weeks.

Exactly where they would powerfully make their point.

Into the middle of Zack and Emily’s mattress.

He looks up at Zack and Emily. The message clear: I can kill you right now. I can kill you anytime.

“You fooled me,” Karloff repeats, “and I fooled you.”

The implication: We’re even.

“And if you tell anyone I’m alive, I still have just enough network left, and their visit to you will be very different from mine.” The hint of a smile. He heads for the door.

And Zack and Emily will never say a word.

87.

87.

Zack sits across from Steve in a GreenGirl near Steve’s apartment.

“Hey,” Zack says warily.

“Hey.”

Zack has no idea why Steve has texted to invite him. But he assumes it would take something important. Something that could somehow surmount Steve’s feelings about Zack’s betrayal.

Both of them know Zack wants to mend the relationship. Will do whatever he can to piece it back together.

Steve looks at him. Somberly, cautiously, and then—slowly, unable to stop himself or resist—he smiles. “I solved it.”

Zack is utterly confused. “What do you mean?”

“I solved it,” Steve says again. “And I had to show you.”

Show me what? Zack doesn’t understand.

“Seven-seven-seven-five-four-eight,” Steve says.

The number of the detonation code sent to Joey’s phone in Zack’s pocket.

The number Steve had challenged Zack to try to find. To figure out a code one more time, like Joey’s phone code and his Apple ID. And Zack never could.

“I was following the trial,” Steve says. “I mean, how could I not? Following it every day online. Including Emily’s coverage.”

Steve spins his laptop. He shows Zack photos and video from the civil trial coverage—mostly participants entering and exiting the courtroom. No video or photos allowed in the courtroom, of course.

“Seven-seven-seven-five-four-eight,” says Steve again, still smiling.

Zack is sitting up. Alert. Eager.

Steve shows Zack footage of Litvinov heading to his car in the special gated judicial parking lot.

Getting into his car. A totally nondescript Toyota Avalon.

Zack watches Litvinov pull out and pass the news camera.

And sees it immediately.

State of New York judicial license plate number: 777548.

He looks at Steve. He understands instantly.