‘I spoke with—’ Don’t tell her, she’ll only worry. ‘It’s okay, Mother. I’m fine.’

Dominique turns to the president. ‘That’s it, Ennis. No more remote viewing, do you understand? No more training! No more tests!’ She looks at her son. ‘And no more talk about Mayan death gods and Xibalba. Somehow, some way, we’re going to find a way for you and Manny to live normal lives.’

12

OCTOBER 23, 2020: MABUS ESTATE, THE HAMPTONS, NEW YORK

8:37 p.m.

The delivery truck stops at the gated entrance of the Mabus Estate.

Mitchell Kurtz lowers his driver’s side window to speak with the security guard. ‘Hey, pal. Got a delivery for your boss. Three surf-and-turf specials, and a bottle of wine. Should I leave it with you or take it up to the house?’

The armed guard steps out of his booth. ‘Where’s Murphy?’

‘Out sick. Probably at the track.’

‘Put the food on Mabus’s tab and leave everything with me. I’ll take it up in the cart.’

‘Sure thing.’ Kurtz hands the guard a thermal delivery pouch. ‘Do me a favor and take the food tray inside, the pouch has to stay with me.’

The guard reaches inside the insulated pouch and grabs the metal tray—

—and is jolted into unconsciousness behind ten thousand volts of electricity.

Kurtz opens his door. He steps over the body and pulls off his jacket, exposing a brown-and-gray uniform identical to the guard’s. Hoisting the unconscious man over his shoulder, he carries him inside the guardhouse, then unceremoniously drops him to the floor.

Looking into the videocam, he dials into the main house.

Peter Mabus’s voice bellows over the intercom, Kurtz’s screen remaining scrambled for privacy. ‘What is it?’

‘You have a food delivery, sir. I’m bringing it up in the cart.’

‘About time, we called forty minutes ago.’

The line goes dead.

Kurtz tucks the metal food tray into its thermal pouch and resets the stunner, then taps at the tiny communication device hidden inside his left ear and speaks into his wristwatch. ‘I’m good. You in position?’

One hundred yards behind the beach house, Ryan Beck emerges from the dark Atlantic, dressed from head to toe in a black wet suit. Using his night-vision glasses, he verifies the beach is deserted, then makes his way past the sandy dunes and wild grass to the private boardwalk.

‘Stand by.’

Beck switches to a thermal scanner, focusing the invisible beam on the back of the Mabus mansion. ‘I’m detecting three people. Kid’s upstairs in a third-floor bedroom. Servant’s waiting for you at the door. Our target’s drinking out back on the screened-in porch.’

‘Roger that, I’m on my way.’ Kurtz starts the golf cart and drives it up a narrow walkway that leads to the front entrance of the mansion.

Belle Glade, Florida 8:45 p.m.