She was looking down, patting the bag with affection. I reached out and lifted her chin and looked intently into her eyes. “Abby, no one has ever given me anything so precious.” I took her hand in mine. “I will never use it to hurt you.”

She smiled, leaned over, and kissed me tenderly on the lips. “I know.”

Ray Caldwell’s message to his son, Sam, ended. It was the fifth time Ben had watched it. He leaned back in his chair and sipped his midmorning coffee. Was there something in this message that he was missing?

The fact that Caldwell had been able to send it at all was a mystery. How could a patient in a mental hospital—if indeed he had been one—obtain the Grid access necessary to send a message? What had prevented Caldwell from sending the rest of the message?

Caldwell’s deportment during the message troubled him. Not the eccentricity of his demeanor—just the opposite. Apart from some apparent anxiety (did he anticipate being apprehended?), Caldwell seemed perfectly lucid. What’s more, he seemed strangely unconcerned about his own welfare, talking instead about existential threats. If a person had one chance to communicate with family, wouldn’t one’s location in a mental facility be the first thing to communicate?

Ben put his cup down. He needed to focus on his strongest lead. He had his Grid interface contact the Dallas Police Department. He finally landed at the VR desk of a Detective Shriver. “Special Agent Ben Steele with the FBI in DC.”

The man stood, and they shook hands.

“I’m seeking the identity and case status of a man arrested at the Dallas Museum of Natural History on June 12.”

Shriver shook his head. “Agent Steele, no one was arrested. A disturbance was reported, with shots fired inside the building, but the only person witnesses saw was a woman trying to abscond with one of the museum’s artifacts. She dropped it and ran from the scene. We haven’t been able to identify her. No one appeared on chip scans except museum personnel.”

“No male assailant? I was informed—”

“No assailants at all. May I ask your interest in the case?”

“I…uh…we thought it might be linked to an incident here in Washington. But details are sketchy. It was a long shot. Can you contact me if you develop any further leads?”

“Of course.”

Ben exited VR. With an assailant presumably in a Dallas jail, Ben had assumed the assault on Creighton Daniels was performed by an accomplice. Now he was most likely searching for a single suspect. Normally, that would be good news. Less complication. Less danger. In this case the opposite was true. The assailant appeared untraceable. Worse, he had attacked across the country—maybe across the world. Whatever his motivation, it was high. And he would attack again. Of that, Ben was certain.

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