“If you don’t shut the fuck up,” she said, “I swear to God I will waste you.” She meant it, too. At that moment, she needed something or someone to shoot, and Ruthie made a convenient target. But Ruthie must have seen the earnestness in Patton’s eyes. Instantly her screams stopped, and while she continued to breathe like some sort of panting dog, Patton could deal with that a bit more easily. In the midst of her panic and darkness and the eruption of her horrific past into her bizarre present, Patton barely detected something else bubbling up in her psyche. It took her a moment to isolate with all the psychological background noise, but once Ruthie had quieted down she realized something surprising—she felt sad that Nemo was dead. Not just sad, but almost brokenhearted.

How had she become emotionally attached to a man hired to kill her friend, who had more blood on his hands than some of the terrorists she had hunted, who had committed cold-blooded murder right in front of her? It wasn’t love, this thing she felt for Nemo, but it might be affection, or perhaps attachment was a better word. In spite of his ruthlessness, he had treated her well; he had protected her when he could have easily left her behind to protect himself. With him gone, she wasn’t sure what happened next. Did she and Ruthie continue the search for Projekt Alchemie? Did they try to find item AL1533 in Himmler’s library and keep working to outfox Ingrid Weiss? Or did she drive to the nearest airport and fly home and forget this entire mess, including the mess of her feelings for Ruthie, which, she realized as she lowered the gun, were far more complicated than she had suspected.

The renewed banging on the van made it hard to think. How was debris still falling several minutes after the explosion, thought Patton. And why wouldn’t it stop so she could think. But the banging didn’t stop, and then Ruthie started back up again.

“Jesus Christ, aren’t you going to open the door?”

“What do you mean?” said Patton.

“The door! He’s banging on the door.”

“Who’s banging . . .” And then Patton looked up and saw Nemo’s face, twisted in the most beautiful fury, pressed against the window of the front passenger door as his fist pounded against the van. The flood of joy crashing into the darkness that had enveloped her was almost more than she could take and for a few seconds, she couldn’t move. Then, as she reached for the door handle to let him in, another realization crashed over her. He had not been noble or selfless, he had left that poor woman to be blown apart.

She paused for a moment, but when Ruthie shouted, “For God’s sake let him in,” Patton reluctantly opened the door.