Phonetically the characters spelled out the phrase quien long. The English translation was silent dragon. Broken down to its original pictographic components, it would more accurately translate as dragon hiding in deep water.

Grigor counted in his head. Ten seconds later his outgoing message vanished from the conversation and Jochi’s response appeared:

Phonetically it was pronounced HU-a. Read either as a pictogram or standard character, it translated into English as fire.

Grigor counted to ten in his head again. The character vanished from his phone’s display. He returned it to his pocket.

It was 3:31 p.m.

He looked at the girls, his lips in the sidewise twist that was Grigor Malkira smiling without a mask. Events would move rapidly now.

Jot Musil merged onto I-678 in his Acura and checked the dash clock. Three thirty-five. He had left the Terminal fifteen minutes before Carmody. He believed it was time enough.

Come alone. If I have the slightest suspicion anyone is even close, I will kill your older daughter where both you and the younger one can see. It will be a 9 mm frangible round in her right eye, and that would be a mess.

Musil drove along. The traffic here was lighter than it had been driving off the bridge. He wasn’t far now. Four miles, possibly five.

He glanced unconsciously at the large brown envelope beside him on the passenger seat.

I want all the data you’ve compiled on me. Bring a hard copy, no electronic files. I want to know everything you’ve learned.

Musil snapped his eyes back to the windshield. He had been quietly reciting his cherished banis, the words of strength and healing taken from the hymns of the everlasting Gurus. He did not fear for himself. He feared for his children, for what would happen to them if he got things wrong. He feared for his wife and what would happen to her. He thought of his hurried conversation with Saya on the phone that morning and could not remember if he had said he loved her before hanging up. He normally would have. His father had been a man of his generation from Bareta in eastern Punjab. He had been a hard worker and treated his family with reserved kindness. He had never expressed his feelings in words. He had never openly shown affection. As a child, Musil had longed for a simple embrace. He had tried to learn from that.

He hoped he had told Saya he loved her. He had been in a rush to get the girls ready for school and wasn’t sure.

He thought of Malkira’s instructions again.

When you arrive, I want you to pull into the cul-de-sac at the end of the street. Stay inside the car until I call you on the phone. I will tell you exactly what you need to do before I can let your daughters go.