“And what about me? Where was I … grown?”

“What does that mean?”

He studied her. Her puzzlement was either expert acting or it was real.

“What am I, Linda?”

“I was trained to support you at Fort Huachuca in Arizona. We all were, Mark, it’s not a mystery. I was told you had extraordinary physical powers and you were very bright. And you do and you are.”

“They never told you I was a hybrid?”

“God, no. Whatever would make you say a thing like that?”

“I—I don’t know. I guess it’s because I’m the only one who can outrun them. Kill them close in.” He shook his head. Softly he said, “I almost went over. I think … think so.”

She reached up and touched his cheek with the cool tips of her fingers. “You’re stressing out, that’s all.”

He turned away.

Pete’s soft murmur rose as he attempted to comfort a man and a little girl, all that was left of one of the families. The voice was so gentle and yet so strong that it made Mark feel even more ashamed of the other side of his own personality. The pleasure that the killing of the mother of that child had brought him—watching it—was like the tormented memory an addict carries of being cruel while high.

“I have a predator in me,” he said miserably.

Linda laughed a little and went on with her work.

*   *   *

To develop a case that would fly with the White House, Gina had to have on-site evidence, photos taken on the ground of the remains around the forensics van, for example, any evidence that might be present in Willoughby, anything she could get. The video they had, the casualties, would not be enough to convince the president to do what she was going to ask him to do.

Her worry was that events had outrun her, and it would take too long to gather the evidence. She saw this thing blasting without warning into mankind’s face, and she wished she understood it clearly enough to enable her to suggest policy, but she did not.

She’d always thought that the extreme secrecy was a mistake. But it wasn’t her lookout, was it? It had been imposed by Dr. Turner—but guess who was having to pay the price? Not the DCIA, not George Hammond, oh, no, never management. She just hoped to God that the first person to confront the president about this was not going to be a hybrid striding into his bedroom to skin him alive.

Quite an effective terror tactic, that. They did not lack for evil imagination, certainly.

If only she knew their larger motive, though. What were their aims, what were their hopes and expectations? Working as she did from the distance of the sky, information like that was not available to her.