“I don’t know,” she said after a moment. “If it’s a member of the regular crew, he or she would have to be someone who works for CloudCable.”

Carmody nodded.

“Morse has to know about all this,” he said. “We need to tell her. Both of us, together, before we leave for Teterboro.”

Grigor strapped the pack over his shoulders and inspected himself in the full-length mirror near the door. He wore a dark blue hooded sweatshirt over a gray T-shirt, khakis and running shoes. A ball cap on his head, tortoise sunglasses with round lenses over his eyes. He was freshly shaven.

His gear was stowed in the pack. The Glock, the Scorpion, everything else he might need for his kill. Also, his computer, passport and a change of clothes.

He turned from the mirror for a last look around the room. It was immaculately clean and tidy. Almost as if he’d never been there. He had even made and smoothed down the bed.

Grigor left the room and went to the elevator and rode it down to the lobby, dropping off his key card at the front desk, leaving the hotel through the Forty-Second Street doors. Outside, he was met by sunshine and a light breeze, yet another beautiful spring day in the city. He took a step or two onto the shaded sidewalk, then paused to check his watch.

Ten thirty.

It would take him about a half hour to reach the Terminal on foot.

He turned west and started walking crosstown, one of countless anonymous pedestrians on the busy street.

Hawaii

Five thousand miles and three time zones west of midtown Manhattan, Jochi and three of his men were hiking down a stony, unmarked trail in the granular darkness. It was four o’clock here, two hours before sunrise, and the island of Oahu was still under the pale gray glow of the waning moon.

Silent but for the scuff and crunch of their footsteps, the men could hear the tide receding from the cove below with a sound like slow, rhythmical sighs. They all wore black windbreakers, cargo pants, backpacks and waterproof boots. All wore LED headlamps to light the trail.

They descended from the top of the ridge in pairs, single file. Each team of two was carrying a pontoon raft between them. Sturdy and maneuverable, the inflatables had rigid rubber hulls and narrow upturned noses for gliding over or through high, rough waves. One of the rafts had a plywood launch ramp inside it.

The big Chevrolet Traverse the men had driven from Honolulu was parked on an overlook above and behind them. They had taken the H-1 east to where it turned into 72 and ran along Hanauma Bay, then made the sharp right off the main road for the cove.