Puzzled, she leaned forward and turned the piece slightly. And then she saw why. The eagle was not landing but taking off—or more correctly, trying to take off—in flight. But one leg was shackled to the limb with a heavy chain, and the eagle was clawing at the air with wings and talons, trying to break free. Eric had left the detail rough and the surface unpolished, which only added to the riveting force of the piece.

Something happened inside her as she stared at the carving. A deep revulsion welled up, a revulsion focused on the chain that bound this wild creature, born to ride the wind. A small, rectangular area smoothed into the rough wood, with numbers on it, caught her eye. She pulled it closer, not understanding. Six numbers had been left raised in the smoother area. Then suddenly she knew. Four-four-five-five-one-two. It was Eric’s computer file number.

For some unaccountable reason, Nicole was deeply stirred. She was looking not just at the artist’s signature, but at the title of the piece. And for the first time, she understood Eric Lloyd and what was driving him.

Several minutes later, a soft knock on the door interrupted her thoughts, forcing her attention away from the carving on her desk. “Come in,” she called.

“Hi, honey,” Travis said, as he stepped through the door. “Are you ready?” He stopped as he saw her uniform. Then his eyes dropped to the desk. “Hey, what’s this?”

Nicole glanced quickly at the statue, then looked up. “Eric brought it to me a few minutes ago.”

“Well, well,” Travis said, moving closer. He picked it up and turned it over slowly in his hands. “It’s beautiful.”

“He’s going, Travis.”

“Is that what he said?”

“Yes. In his own way.”

“Well, we figured that.”

“Tonight, Travis.”

He set the carving down slowly. “Tonight? Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure. You’d better call the Major.”

He looked dubious, torn for a moment, and then the phone rang. Nicole picked it up, then nodded. “Yes, he’s right here.”

“This is Captain Oakes.”

The dubious look disappeared instantly as a wave first of surprise, then of anger, clouded Travis’s face. “Yes, thank you. We’ll be right down.”

He slammed the phone down. “It’s Eric. He just went inside the Museum of Remembrance.”

From his vantage point near the windows on the second floor of the Museum of Remembrance, Eric spotted Clayne Robertson’s huge figure hurrying across the quad toward him. Eric smiled grimly. If he hadn’t been watching, he’d never have seen him. And it made his throat constrict for a moment. If Clayne came in after him, it would be blown. But Clayne didn’t come into the museum. He slipped in behind a large blue spruce tree near the front entrance, and Eric saw him take out a walkie-talkie and speak into it quickly.