April would be completely unaware that Charlie was in any danger. The thought of calling her and trying to explain what had happened gave August an instant ulcer. “You’re asking for the impossible,” he said. “The Library of Congress is a fortress. Their copy of the Gutenberg is untouchable.”

“To everyone but your ex-wife,” Xandria said. “She has an impressively high security clearance.”

August had hoped she didn’t know about that. Xandria had obviously done her homework. But she didn’t know April like August did. The most dangerous thing April had ever done was read a book without her glasses. Stealing a priceless treasure from under the watchful gaze of the government would be too much for her. August shook his head. “There’s no way she can do it.”

“Something tells me she’ll figure it out,” Xandria said, holding out the phone.

August took it and dialed April’s number. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, casting about for the words to say. The phone rang a few times before going through to her voice mail. August was both relieved and alarmed. What if he couldn’t get in touch with her? “I’m going to have to leave a message,” he told Xandria.

“Tell her it’s urgent,” she said.

Five

five

The SUV crawled like a black beetle through the hazards of DC traffic. April’s phone rang, and the eyes of the agent next to her warned her not to pick up. Not that she could have with her cuffed hands. She looked out the heavily tinted window and watched as the cars floated by, filled with people happy to be headed home, tapping their steering wheels, singing their favorite songs. Their worry-free existence was only a stone’s throw away, but it was still too great a distance for April to bridge.

A boy in the backseat of a car stared directly into April’s eyes. For a moment, she thought he had seen her through the opaque glass, until he began to make funny faces and stick out his tongue. He was playing games with his reflection.

“They can’t see you, so don’t try anything,” said the man next to her, named Millar. He looked like an ex–hockey player who had taken too many hits.

“You’ve got the wrong person,” April said. “If the Gutenberg is in danger of being stolen, then you should be at the library protecting it.”

“Meng’s overseeing that,” said the man in the front passenger seat. His name was Prichard, and April had identified him as the person in charge of the operation. Even when speaking, he seemed to be contemplating his next move. He removed his round, wire-rimmed spectacles and cleaned them with the edge of his jacket. “I can assure you we have everything well under control,” he said, positioning his undersized spectacles delicately back on his W. C. Fields nose.