“What is Phoenix?”

“You must… must…”

The words sighed away into nothing.

“Igor,” she said, shaking him gently.

There was no answer.

The scientist’s eyes were closed.

“Shit.”

“Is he dead?” Milton asked.

“No. Still breathing. But he can’t have long.”

“What do we do?”

“We can’t exfiltrate him like this—he won’t make it to the pickup. He needs a doctor.”

Milton shook his head. “We can’t take him to a hospital—”

“I know we can’t,” Beatrix snapped, cutting him off. “Call the quartermaster. He’ll have a re-tread you can take him to.”

She had decided at the weapons cache that it was already past time for them to go their separate ways. The information that Koralev had just provided was another reason why that was necessary: they had no choice now but to split up.

“And then?” Milton asked.

“If he makes it, get him out of the country, as per the plan. If he doesn’t make it, get yourself out. Call London. Keep them in the picture.”

“What about you?”

“I have two sets of orders. Get Igor. Done that.”

“And then?”

“Find answers.” She looked up into the bright morning sky. “That’s what I’m going to do.”

12

They left the Vivaro in the parking lot and stole two replacements. Milton took a Ford Explorer and Beatrix a Jeep Grand Cherokee. Koralev was still alive when they carefully loaded him into the back of the Ford, but Beatrix did not expect him to make it. He was losing blood, his breathing shallow and pitiful. But she decided that they would try to save him, however futile the attempt.

Beatrix transferred the equipment from the Vivaro to the Jeep and then watched as Milton pulled out of the lot. She followed behind. Milton raised his hand as he turned to the north. Beatrix returned the gesture, doubting that she would see him again. She turned in the other direction, to the south.

Cortada de Maturín was thirty minutes south of Caracas and just twenty minutes from the parking lot of the hotel. Beatrix was careful to stay at the speed limit. She had the MP5 on the seat next to her and she had no intention of being stopped by the police for driving too fast.

She exited the Autopista and followed a narrow road that ascended into hilly terrain. Cortada was a small hamlet, not even big enough to be described as a village, and she passed through it until she was on the northern boundary. She continued for another minute until she saw a turning to her right. It was little more than a dirt track through the trees. She slowed down and turned onto the track, grateful for the rugged vehicle as she bounced and jumped across the uneven surface. She followed the road for a mile, just as Koralev had instructed.