Before I hit the gas, though, I caught something out of the corner of my eye. There was a group of people standing on the dock. A tall, middle-aged man. A younger man who had the same posture, the same eyes as the older man. A pretty woman, and a couple of kids. They stood watching me, their faces pale as candles, their eyes filled with horror at what I had done.

I wanted to tell my family I was sorry.

But the thing is … I wasn’t sorry. Not at all.

I pressed down slowly on the gas, and the boat moved away from the pier.

I aimed it toward the darkest part of the western horizon.

INTERLUDE 5

BLUE DIAMOND ELITE TRAINING CENTER

STEVENS COUNTY, WASHINGTON

FIVE MONTHS AGO

Rafael Santoro and Kuga climbed out of the Escalade into dappled sunlight.

It had been nearly two months since either of them had been to this place, and they took a few minutes to look around and admire the work. Quonset huts painted in camouflage greens, browns, and blacks; heavy canopies over everything to reduce surveillance from satellites, planes, or drones; and lots of activity.

“How many people do we have here now?” asked Kuga.

“Forty-seven support staff and four hundred and eleven soldiers under training,” said Santoro. “Add thirty in the science and research staff.”

“Nice.”

Kuga turned back toward the car. “Hey, Barbie, move your ass.”

“I don’t want to,” came the petulant voice of Eve from the shadows of the back seat.

“Come here regardless, my girl,” snapped Santoro. “It was not a suggestion.”

There was a comically loud put-upon sigh, and then Eve emerged from the Escalade. She wore a tight camo T-shirt and loose pants, with a sidearm hanging low like a Western movie gunslinger.

“Why are we even here?”

Santoro snapped his fingers and pointed to the ground next to where the two men stood. Eve huffed and trudged over.

“Ask your question again with manners this time,” said the Spaniard.

Eve started to say something, then caught the look in Santoro’s eyes. She took a beat and then tried again. “You never said why we were coming out here except that it would be educational.” She leaned on the word as if it were a side dish of brussels sprouts. “So, please tell me why we came all the way out here. Is this about that dumb G-55 American thing?”

“Yes,” said Santoro, “and other things.”

If Eve had any additional comments, she kept them to herself because a woman with a pretty face and a bright smile came walking briskly over. She had her hair in a comfortable bun and clutched a clipboard to her chest. Her smile was large and infectious, and even Santoro found himself smiling.

“My dears,” she said brightly, extending a hand to Kuga and a cheek to be kissed; then repeated that with Santoro. “And who’s your little friend?”