The door of the plane opened and people began exiting. These were the survivors, some of them swathed in bandages from their recent ordeal. Some of the more serious burn victims were still in Europe, too critical to be moved. Roger Gordian’s eyesight blurred as the tears he refused to shed gathered. At least his people hadn’t all died. Thanks to Max and his crew, many of those who would have certainly died without help were walking down the runway under their own power. He blinked to clear his eyes.

At the rear of the plane, a hatch opened. Musicians he’d engaged for this occasion began playing in the background—the solemn strains of Bach filled the evening. And a coffin was handed down. It was the first of many, Roger knew. Again guilt threatened to swamp him. He turned it aside, and concentrated instead on the memories. Flashes of the days he’d spent with Arthur and Elaine at ground stations all over the world. The surroundings had changed often, but one thing was constant, as immutable as time. The Steiners’ love for each other had been a beacon and an example to anyone who knew them. Death hadn’t changed that. A love like that was too enduring for an assassin’s bullet to kill. Gordian knew they were together, wherever they were, and that that’s the way they would have wanted it.

More coffins were gently laid on the tarmac. More memories surged through Gordian’s mind. He owed these people. He owed them more than he could ever repay.

It was time to build monuments in their memory.

He would rebuild that Russian ground station and others like it, and use them to make sure that information would flow freely across the steppes and all the world. If anything could keep this from happening again, could stop the violence before it started, it would be that. He was in a position to make it happen. He would keep pressing on.

But somehow, it wasn’t enough.

Again, the picture of Elaine and Arthur as he’d last seen them flashed across his mind. No longer young, they had the memories of a long, rich, shared past to bind them together; they’d been holding hands like teenagers, walking through a field scattered with the first bounty of spring flowers. Their love had been palpable.

That, too, was a monument.

He knew what they’d have wished for him.

It was time to call Ashley and work things out.

He loved her. She loved him. That was too beautiful a gift to waste. Like Arthur with Elaine, he needed to learn to cherish his wife. He owed it to himself and the Steiners to give his marriage a real chance.

Tonight, he thought. I’ll call her tonight.

And I’ll make it so.