Cornelius straightened the pile on the table, aligning it just so. “Wolves? How about dragons?” he asked. He leaned down and whispered in Charlie’s ear. “Listen to the truth: before this night is over, your mother will rip three pages out of the Gutenberg. And she’ll do it because the life of someone she loves dearly will be in danger.”

Charlie said nothing, sitting still. Suddenly he leaped toward the door. His chair clattered to the floor, tripping Cornelius, who clawed at the air. “Come back here!” he said.

Charlie threw open the door and ran out into a wide warehouse. Five men in black suits were there, waiting. Charlie skidded to a stop. The men stood like an impenetrable wall.

“Going somewhere?” Cornelius wrapped his icy hands around Charlie’s neck.

“Please don’t hurt me.”

“Hurt you? I would never hurt you,” Cornelius said, dragging the boy back into the room and forcing him into his chair. “In fact, I have a gift for you.” He pulled something from his jacket pocket. A syringe. Without warning, he plunged it into Charlie’s neck.

Charlie screamed.

The needle slid out. Charlie touched his neck, and his finger came away with a small circle of blood on it. “You’ve been injected with a digital sensor. If you try to escape this room, the only thing left of this warehouse will be a smoking hole in the earth.”

Cornelius strode across the warehouse floor, the other men leaving a visible distance between themselves and the Dragon Master. The legends of Cornelius’s cruelty were well known in each division of the Order: in Russia, for disemboweling a Mafia boss; in Australia, for having a priest devoured by pigs; in Brazil, for setting a mother on fire in front of her daughter. All in the name of a holy crusade. Some members of the Order questioned the purpose of the crusade, whether the treasure they sought really existed at all. These doubting Thomases were extinguished without question. Other members held fast to the Doctrine of the Dragon, as Cornelius called it. These believers moved up quickly through the ranks.

Agent Meng was such a believer, and although Cornelius despised the agent’s hands-off approach—Meng always delegated any lethal tasks to his underlings—the Dragon Master couldn’t deny his loyalty.

“I need you to do something for me,” Cornelius said, exiting the warehouse. Meng was waiting dutifully right outside the door.

“I have Garcia ready if you need to dispatch the kid.”

“No,” Cornelius said, Meng’s sleight of hand all too obvious. “I need you to go to the airport.”

“I thought Xandria was bringing August.”

“She is. I want you to bring me April.”

“She made it here? I can’t believe it.”

“She’s proving to be a difficult assignment for you,” Cornelius said. “Consider this your opportunity to redeem your position.”

Meng walked over to the waiting limo. “I won’t fail you, sir.”